that fact, because, as you probably know, a low crime rate means a more stable and trusting community, and a stable and trusting community means a more productive local economy, and—”
Like that, practically non-stop. He gave the impression that he never stopped singing the praises of Cuba Landing and his mayoral administration, that if you woke him up in the middle of the night he would immediately crank up the hard sell out of sheer habit. And maybe that explained it—he’d been doing it for so long that it meant nothing to him anymore.
But I listened patiently, nodding once in a while. After all, he was the mayor. It wouldn’t do to just walk away from him.
And then Elise Garrity came down the stairs.
At the serving table, Mrs. Edels gasped, but everyone else showed a bit more tact and just dropped into a sudden silence. They caught themselves quickly, resumed at least an imitation of their former conversations. But a different feeling immediately came over the hall, a feeling of quiet moral outrage.
No one greeted her right away. She wore black, an elegant blouse and skirt, no jewelry. Her hair, that beautiful blonde hair touched faintly with gold and red, pulled up in a tight bun at the back of her head, her face bare of any make-up except a pale lipstick and eyeliner.
Nerves of steel.
I didn’t realize that even the mayor had fallen into an uncomfortable silence until he started talking again. He muttered something about “Community pride” and “Common good . . .” trying weakly to pick up the thread of his oration. I didn’t focus my attention back on him, but if he noticed he didn’t care. He kept talking, almost to himself, casting his eyes about for someone nearby who seemed receptive. An older man strolled by and unwittingly became my replacement as Ishy’s audience.
Moving away from the mayor, I made my way towards the table where Mrs. Rutherford served coffee. She gave me a Styrofoam cup and told me to help myself—her eyes, like so many others, peeled on Miss Garrity. I filled my cup and gravitated into a corner of the hall.
After a few minutes, most of the townsfolk had gotten over her presence there, had moved on to other subjects. Three or four left the church in disgust—I heard one man say, “That takes some nerve, her showing up here!”—but for the most part the individuals who were displeased merely kept their distance.
I had a hard time putting it together, to tell the truth. That is, picturing this beautiful, and, let’s be honest, worldly looking woman being related to Reverend Jathed Garrity. Of course, I didn’t know Jathed—I’d never met the man—but I’d formed a pretty clearly defined image.
But what the hell did I know about it? I guess there was no law against a reverend being rich. Or having the sexiest goddamn sister ever to slink through the church doors.
By the time I finished my coffee, Officer Oldfield, whom I hadn’t noticed in the hall before then, greeted Miss Garrity and introduced her to Reverend Childe. I recognized the look on the Reverend’s face as he took her hand, and before I knew it I’d crossed the crowded hall and was at his side.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Elise Garrity said to him. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you. Did you know you were in the paper this morning?”
Her voice was very much as I imagined—almost startlingly deep but thoroughly feminine, with just the barest trace of a Delta accent.
The Reverend beamed. “I heard something about the paper this morning, but I didn’t pay it no mind. I understand that you have a long and personal history with this fine church, and I surely hope I can convince you to stay on with us.”
“I think you’ll find that it isn’t me who has the long history with the church, Reverend. That would be my mother. And, until he dropped off the face of the planet, my brother.”
“Speaking of your mother . . . I’ve heard so much about her. Is she with you?”
“Mother stayed at
Like that, practically non-stop. He gave the impression that he never stopped singing the praises of Cuba Landing and his mayoral administration, that if you woke him up in the middle of the night he would immediately crank up the hard sell out of sheer habit. And maybe that explained it—he’d been doing it for so long that it meant nothing to him anymore.
But I listened patiently, nodding once in a while. After all, he was the mayor. It wouldn’t do to just walk away from him.
And then Elise Garrity came down the stairs.
At the serving table, Mrs. Edels gasped, but everyone else showed a bit more tact and just dropped into a sudden silence. They caught themselves quickly, resumed at least an imitation of their former conversations. But a different feeling immediately came over the hall, a feeling of quiet moral outrage.
No one greeted her right away. She wore black, an elegant blouse and skirt, no jewelry. Her hair, that beautiful blonde hair touched faintly with gold and red, pulled up in a tight bun at the back of her head, her face bare of any make-up except a pale lipstick and eyeliner.
Nerves of steel.
I didn’t realize that even the mayor had fallen into an uncomfortable silence until he started talking again. He muttered something about “Community pride” and “Common good . . .” trying weakly to pick up the thread of his oration. I didn’t focus my attention back on him, but if he noticed he didn’t care. He kept talking, almost to himself, casting his eyes about for someone nearby who seemed receptive. An older man strolled by and unwittingly became my replacement as Ishy’s audience.
Moving away from the mayor, I made my way towards the table where Mrs. Rutherford served coffee. She gave me a Styrofoam cup and told me to help myself—her eyes, like so many others, peeled on Miss Garrity. I filled my cup and gravitated into a corner of the hall.
After a few minutes, most of the townsfolk had gotten over her presence there, had moved on to other subjects. Three or four left the church in disgust—I heard one man say, “That takes some nerve, her showing up here!”—but for the most part the individuals who were displeased merely kept their distance.
I had a hard time putting it together, to tell the truth. That is, picturing this beautiful, and, let’s be honest, worldly looking woman being related to Reverend Jathed Garrity. Of course, I didn’t know Jathed—I’d never met the man—but I’d formed a pretty clearly defined image.
But what the hell did I know about it? I guess there was no law against a reverend being rich. Or having the sexiest goddamn sister ever to slink through the church doors.
By the time I finished my coffee, Officer Oldfield, whom I hadn’t noticed in the hall before then, greeted Miss Garrity and introduced her to Reverend Childe. I recognized the look on the Reverend’s face as he took her hand, and before I knew it I’d crossed the crowded hall and was at his side.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Elise Garrity said to him. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you. Did you know you were in the paper this morning?”
Her voice was very much as I imagined—almost startlingly deep but thoroughly feminine, with just the barest trace of a Delta accent.
The Reverend beamed. “I heard something about the paper this morning, but I didn’t pay it no mind. I understand that you have a long and personal history with this fine church, and I surely hope I can convince you to stay on with us.”
“I think you’ll find that it isn’t me who has the long history with the church, Reverend. That would be my mother. And, until he dropped off the face of the planet, my brother.”
“Speaking of your mother . . . I’ve heard so much about her. Is she with you?”
“Mother stayed at
Similar Books
