she just stood there, feeling the slow, hot beat of her pulse in her temples until Heddy shrugged and plucked a pastry crumb from the edge of the table, rolling it between her fingertips. “All I’m saying is it’s better to be prepared. Call it what youwant.” Then she leaned in so close, Edna could feel sour breath against her face. “Acts of God,” she whispered. And popping the crumb in her mouth, she walked away, her thin legs moving sharp and precise as the blades of scissors.
Edna fumed. Heddy—how dare she. Her and that whole pack of dirty, drunken Kretsches and their scrawny, ragged, thieving kids and never a penny to their names—yes, they should be the ones to talk about God. Shouldn’t they just. Then, watching Heddy poke her way alone and ignored from table to table, hands jammed deep in the pockets of her dirty brown coat, not buying anything (of course not, how could she?), Edna relented a little. Judge not, lest ye be judged, she thought. There was a lot of truth in that. It was something Mr. Crosie had always said, and she’d almost always given her wholehearted assent. Y
es, indeed, you said it, Mr. Crosie, that’s for sure. Judge not.
It was a good motto to live by. Also, There but for the grace of God go I. That was a good one, too.
Edna watched Heddy slip something from the crafts table into the pocket of her coat, something glittery and round, a Christmas ornament perhaps. For a moment, Edna was delighted with the grace of the motion, with the way the silvery object had flashed briefly, then disappeared into that dark pocket like a falling star. But as soon as she’d thought it, the beauty was gone. Isn’t that just the way, she thought then. The minute you’re inclined to think charitably of someone, they go and do a thing like that. There but for the grace of God, indeed. How about, You reap what you sow? You reap what you sow (even Mr. Crosie would have agreed with her there), be it in this life or the next. And where would they be—people like the Kretsches—on that final day? Not burned up in hell-fire, Edna didn’t believe in that holy roller business—she was a Catholic, after all—but maybe just waiting, hands raised to the heavens for a mercy that would never come. Not even realizingthey’d been missed. No, not missed, she corrected herself, passed over. That was the sad thing. Well, she sighed, it would all come out in the wash. She didn’t know why Heddy irritated her so much. Ghosts. No, what had she called them? Haints. What nonsense, and then she laughed a little. If Heddy Kretsch can get my goat, she thought, I’m a sorry case indeed.
The following morning, Edna phoned around about bringing someone out to the farm to drill a new well. The estimates they gave her were nothing short of shocking. And there was no guarantee, they said, they couldn’t make any promises. What did they mean by that? she asked them. They said, Chances are you got water out there somewhere, but how much drilling we do to find it, that’s another story. We’ll drill as many holes as it takes, they said, but we charge by the foot. I’ll have to think about it, she told them. You do that, the last fellow agreed, but don’t think too long. Once that ground’s froze, you won’t get anyone out there. Buggers up the drill bits.
So Edna thought about it. She thought about it as she loaded the half-ton with clean five-gallon pails, she thought about it as she drove the few miles over to Thaubergs’ to stock up on water, she thought about it as she filled the buckets from the hose by the barn and then, as he loaded them back into the truck for her, she asked Eulan Thauberg what he thought.
“Oh,” he said, heaving a pail up on the bed and sliding it back against the cab in one motion, “I don’t know, Edna. Seems like a shame, all this at once.”
“If you’re going to tell me trouble comes in threes …” Edna said, rather sharply. She needed no one’s pity, certainly not Eulan
Edna fumed. Heddy—how dare she. Her and that whole pack of dirty, drunken Kretsches and their scrawny, ragged, thieving kids and never a penny to their names—yes, they should be the ones to talk about God. Shouldn’t they just. Then, watching Heddy poke her way alone and ignored from table to table, hands jammed deep in the pockets of her dirty brown coat, not buying anything (of course not, how could she?), Edna relented a little. Judge not, lest ye be judged, she thought. There was a lot of truth in that. It was something Mr. Crosie had always said, and she’d almost always given her wholehearted assent. Y
es, indeed, you said it, Mr. Crosie, that’s for sure. Judge not.
It was a good motto to live by. Also, There but for the grace of God go I. That was a good one, too.
Edna watched Heddy slip something from the crafts table into the pocket of her coat, something glittery and round, a Christmas ornament perhaps. For a moment, Edna was delighted with the grace of the motion, with the way the silvery object had flashed briefly, then disappeared into that dark pocket like a falling star. But as soon as she’d thought it, the beauty was gone. Isn’t that just the way, she thought then. The minute you’re inclined to think charitably of someone, they go and do a thing like that. There but for the grace of God, indeed. How about, You reap what you sow? You reap what you sow (even Mr. Crosie would have agreed with her there), be it in this life or the next. And where would they be—people like the Kretsches—on that final day? Not burned up in hell-fire, Edna didn’t believe in that holy roller business—she was a Catholic, after all—but maybe just waiting, hands raised to the heavens for a mercy that would never come. Not even realizingthey’d been missed. No, not missed, she corrected herself, passed over. That was the sad thing. Well, she sighed, it would all come out in the wash. She didn’t know why Heddy irritated her so much. Ghosts. No, what had she called them? Haints. What nonsense, and then she laughed a little. If Heddy Kretsch can get my goat, she thought, I’m a sorry case indeed.
The following morning, Edna phoned around about bringing someone out to the farm to drill a new well. The estimates they gave her were nothing short of shocking. And there was no guarantee, they said, they couldn’t make any promises. What did they mean by that? she asked them. They said, Chances are you got water out there somewhere, but how much drilling we do to find it, that’s another story. We’ll drill as many holes as it takes, they said, but we charge by the foot. I’ll have to think about it, she told them. You do that, the last fellow agreed, but don’t think too long. Once that ground’s froze, you won’t get anyone out there. Buggers up the drill bits.
So Edna thought about it. She thought about it as she loaded the half-ton with clean five-gallon pails, she thought about it as she drove the few miles over to Thaubergs’ to stock up on water, she thought about it as she filled the buckets from the hose by the barn and then, as he loaded them back into the truck for her, she asked Eulan Thauberg what he thought.
“Oh,” he said, heaving a pail up on the bed and sliding it back against the cab in one motion, “I don’t know, Edna. Seems like a shame, all this at once.”
“If you’re going to tell me trouble comes in threes …” Edna said, rather sharply. She needed no one’s pity, certainly not Eulan
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