CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The silence was as awkward as anything Alex had ever experienced.

Finally, the eldest of the group—a woman with thinning white hair pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck, rheumy blue eyes and a face seamed with wrinkles—smiled at him.

“Welcome,” she said, “it is good you’re here.” Then she added, “We need help.”

The others stared at her with shocked expressions, as if she’d just violated some unspoken law.

Finding one non-hostile face was opening enough for Alex, and he moved forward to shake hands and introduce himself.

It was like shaking warm, limp fish, as halfhearted as those handshakes were, but he pasted a smile on his face and behaved as if they’d welcomed him with a marching band.

“So this is the quilting group.”

Silence.

“May I see what you’re making?” He moved forward and all but the elderly woman who had greeted him shrank back in their seats. Who, exactly, did they think he was?

Amy obviously felt some obligation to act as hostess. “We’re tying quilts. We’ve run out of fabric and will have to start collecting again so we can make more. We’ll send them off to missions in the fall.”

“Very nice.” Alex hefted one of the quilts and found it substantial yet airy. He could imagine the joy such a gift might bring. “I’m sure they are much appreciated.”

“We don’t do as many as Hilltop does,” a jowly, heavyset woman with a permanent crease between her brows said with a scowl.

“It’s not the number that counts; it’s the spirit in which it’s given. Remember the poor widow who gave her last penny? What’s important is that it is given out of gratitude and generosity. God knows your hearts.”

They all stared at him warily. Awkward silence filled the room once again.

“So…” Alex swung his arms a bit and backed toward the bottom of the stairs where Mark had remained. “I don’t want to interrupt your work. I hope to see you all on Sunday. God bless.” And he quickly turned and raced up the stairs on Mark’s heels, barely missing the rafter that threatened to knock off the top of his head.

“Well, that went well,” Mark said, sounding amused, once they were back in his pickup truck.

“Very funny.” Alex noticed his hands trembling a little, so disconcerted was he by the non-welcome he’d received.

“No, I mean it. Granted, you didn’t get asked to stay for coffee, but it’s a start. You don’t realize how insular that group has become. It’s odd that a church body would close in on themselves like that, but they’ve come to depend on Alf to take care of everything for them, from roof repair to the collection plate. Since Alf is a mainstay in their church and he has a bone to pick with Hilltop, the All Saints congregation has lined up behind him. We haven’t been able to make amends for the perceived infraction. But you’re new and fresh. They might give you a chance.”

“It’s going to be an uphill battle.”

“One thing at a time. Now you’ve been there. Next time will be easier. No one can spend a lot of time around Alf Nyborg without getting a little paranoid. No doubt he’s already been expressing his doubts about Hilltop’s choice of a new pastor.”

“But he was on the call committee too,” Alex said, climbing into Mark’s truck.

“True, but he stayed neutral intentionally. Now if you don’t work out, it will be our fault, not his.”

“How can two churches have such dissimilar personalities, Mark? I’ve experienced nothing but warmth and welcome at Hilltop. And at All Saints, if today is any indicator…”

“That’s part of the reason you’re here,” Mark told him calmly. He started the engine and pulled out onto the road. “To bring us together. To ferret out the problems and to resolve them. We don’t like it any better than you. The feeling is that if All Saints could pay for their own minister and not have to share the cost with Hilltop, they would have left us long ago. But I’m confident you can bring us back together. Like Lauren says, God wouldn’t have sent you if you couldn’t.”

There was that bit of overconfidence in him again. Listening to Mark, Alex realized that if he had to make a choice between dividing loaves and fishes to feed the masses or finding resolution between All Saints and Hilltop, the loaves and fishes gig might be easier.

Mark dropped Alex off to pick up his van at the church, and they arrived at the parsonage just as Dixon and Lauren pulled into the yard in their separate vehicles.

“Hey!” Dixon said by way of greeting through the open window of his truck. “We’ve got something for you, Reverend.”

Lauren jumped lithely out of her car and opened the trunk.

Alex felt cheered immediately. Here, at least, were welcoming faces. “You’ve given me too much already. I don’t need another thing.”

Lauren walked toward him, her arms full of parcels wrapped in thick, white butcher’s paper. “If everybody carries a load we can get this into the freezer immediately.”

Alex took a few icy packages out of her hands. “What is it?”

“Venison. Mike got a deer last fall and there’s no way we’ll eat it all before he goes hunting again. I called Dixon and asked him to help me deliver it.”

“I don’t know how to cook venison,” Alex ventured, not wanting to admit that he didn’t know how to cook much of anything at all.

“I’ll teach you. Or one of the guys will. There are also a few packages of frozen peaches. It makes fabulous cobbler. Do you have a recipe?”

“No, can’t say I do.” He didn’t even have a cookbook. His normal dessert was something from his stash of chocolate candy bars. When he did decide to cook something, he’d always depended on the Internet for directions. Alex had a hunch that it just wasn’t done that way in Hilltop. He clutched his icy parcels to his chest and hurried after Lauren.

“Where did you say we’ll store this?”

“There’s a small deep freeze in the basement. You probably didn’t notice it behind the pile of Christmas decorations. This will keep you from starving until at least the first of the year.”

“I hadn’t really worried about starving,” Alex said with a chuckle. “So far the food is flowing in faster than I can eat it.” He felt a little like the widow of Zarephath—his jar of meal would not empty, nor his jug of oil fail.

“Another reason to have a freezer.”

Arms full, Alex, Dixon and Mark followed Lauren into the basement, where she pushed aside boxes of greenery and a plastic outdoor Nativity set. With a practiced hand, she packed the small rectangular chest freezer, even leaving room for some of those seemingly endless casseroles that kept arriving.

“There.” She wiped her hands on her jeans and smiled. “I have fresh doughnuts in a container on my front seat. How about some coffee?”

There was no delayed response this time. Mark hustled to her car to get the doughnuts while Alex brewed coffee. Dixon and Lauren set out cups and napkins. The kitchen had a warm, familial feel that Alex relished. It was particularly welcome after his visit to All Saints. It was as if he’d been given two families, one healthy and the other dysfunctional. He’d be on his knees a lot over All Saints in the next few weeks.

“By the way,” Mark said as Lauren dug for paper plates in the cupboard, “what would you think about having an open house for Alex? We were just talking about…”

Lauren stared at him. “Great minds must think alike. It’s already in the works. The Ladies Aid is debating about the date; but as soon as it’s set, we’re ready to roll. I love the idea of hosting All Saints, reaching a friendly hand across the border, so to speak.”

“That was easy enough,” Mark said with a laugh.

“What did you guys do today?” Dixon mumbled, a doughnut already in his mouth. There was granulated sugar all over his lips, which he laid waste with a swig of coffee.

Alex and Mark filled them in on their trip into town, but kept Jonas out of it, other than saying he’d joined them for a piece of pie and coffee at the café.

Dixon leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. “You make the best doughnuts in seven counties and even trump the Cozy Corner Café, Lauren. Maybe you could relieve Lila Mason of the task of bringing doughnuts to me.”

“Lila brings you doughnuts?” Alex asked, astounded. “Why?”

“She’s adopted me as a son,” Dixon said with a smile. “I fix her roof, she gives me doughnuts. I stop the toilet from running twenty-four hours a day, she gives me doughnuts. I—”

“I get the picture.”

“Unfortunately, I doubt Lila has two pennies to rub together, so she gets the day-olds or the ones they are about to throw out at the grocery store. Then she makes coffee that resembles dishwater and makes me eat a half dozen at her table.” Dixon shuddered. “It’s enough to make me consider retiring from the fix-it business at Lila’s.”

This discovery about Dixon and Lila pleased Alex inordinately, both because it proved his initial reading about Dixon’s good nature and thoughtfulness, and because it meant that Lila was not completely alone in this world.

“Since you’re discussing eccentrics, I have news on a couple more,” Lauren said. “I saw Flossie and Charles Kennedy in town the other day. I’ve never seen a mother and son who are practically joined at the hip like those two are.”

“What’s their background?” Whenever he got the opportunity Alex was determined to learn more about the members of the community.

“Before they came to Horace Abel’s so that Flossie could be his housekeeper, you mean?” Lauren thoughtfully sipped her coffee.

“Yes. Were they originally from Grassy Valley—or Wheatville?”

“No one knows,” Mark said, interjecting himself into the conversation.

That was the answer he least expected. “What do you mean no one knows?”

Lauren put her cup down and twiddled with her paper napkin as she spoke. “Horace had advertised for household help in several papers. They appeared here one day when Charles was a child. Flossie said she’d come in answer to one of those ads and since she and her son were already on Horace’s front step, he told them she could have a one week ‘trial run.’ They’ve been here ever since.”

“She must have been a good housekeeper,” Alex mused.

“She’s a good cook, keeps a spotless house and knows how to drive a tractor if Horace is in a pinch. He thinks she’s practically perfect.”

“And he didn’t mind the little boy?”

“Charles has always been bookish. When Horace bought him a computer, he disappeared into his room and has hardly come out since. Now he makes his living selling things on the Internet and pays Horace rent to stay in the house. It’s worked out well for everyone.”

“And no one from Flossie’s past ever showed up? A friend or relative?”

“Not a soul.” Lauren’s expression was pensive. “Of course, it’s been so long that now we assume there was no one.”

The conversation hit a lull, and Alex took a sip of his coffee. It was good to hear about the people he would be living among. There were so many mysteries, so many unanswered questions.

“Hey, does anyone know that unmarked grave in the cemetery?” Alex asked, setting down his cup. “Should we be responsible for ordering something for it or…?”

Dixon’s and Lauren’s eyes widened as they stared at him. “A grave? What are you talking about?”

Mark leaned forward in his chair. “Are you sure it was a grave?”

Alex looked from one face to the other and could see that they had no idea what he was talking about. He must be mistaken. Maybe he was just imagining things.

“I’ve got something in the pickup for you,” Dixon said after Mark and Lauren had driven off in their separate directions. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why should I mind a gift?” Alex asked as they strolled toward Dixon’s truck.

“It’s not a traditional gift, just something I thought you needed.” Dixon cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s something that also needs you. You can give it back, if you like, but I hope you don’t. Give it a little time and see what you think before deciding.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Alex looked at the truck for a clue. The truck bed was empty, and no box or package was poking up to reveal itself in the front seat.

He recoiled as Dixon gave an ear-splitting whistle. He flinched again when he saw a head pop up on the driver’s side of the truck like a jack-in-the-box. It was a dog, its black-and-white head suggesting a Dalmatian somewhere in its ancestry.

“Dixon, I—”

“Don’t say a word, and don’t pass judgment. Just meet him first, okay? His name is Tripod.” The dog bounced up and down inside the truck like a trampoline had replaced the passenger seat, his smooth head bumping against the top of the cab, his rosy red tongue lolling happily at the sight of them. “He’s a good dog and he needs a home. I’d take him myself if push came to shove, but I think he’d be much happier with you and vice versa. When I open the door, just stand still. He has good manners and won’t jump, but he might have to let off a little steam.”

Slowly Dixon opened the door and a quivering black nose forced its way through the crack. Then, as if Dixon couldn’t hold the dog back a moment longer, the door flew open and a thin, muscular dog with short black-and-white fur rocketed out of the cab and made a few happy circles around the men. He stopped directly in front of Alex and sat, his black rope of a tail thumping on the hard-packed ground. He gazed at Alex inquiringly.

“Dixon, I don’t know what to say!” Alex could actually think of plenty of things, but none of them seemed prudent.

“Sure you can. You think I’m crazy, you don’t want a dog, and he’ll eat you out of house and home and make messes in your yard. You’ll have to use masking tape on every one of your black suits because there will be dog hair on them; he’ll bark, scare parishioners, and make a general nuisance of himself.” Dixon looked at Alex. “Should I go on?”

“No, thank you. You’ve covered the major ones.” The dog gently put a front paw on the tip of Alex’s shoe.

“Then let me remind you of some of the positive things he’ll do,” Dixon offered.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.” Dixon didn’t even smile, so intent was he on making his point. “He’ll keep you company when no one’s around, keep you warm in bed at night and think you’re the greatest thing on earth since sliced bread.”

Alex studied at the dog at his feet. He jumped up and began to wag his tail again. It was only than that Alex noticed that the dog stood with one hip higher in the air and the other lowered, as if he were standing on the side of a deep hill. “This poor thing only has three legs!”

“Of course. What did you expect of a dog named Tripod? But if you don’t tell him something is missing, he’ll never know. What do you think?”

“How is he able to run?” The dog obviously could, Alex had seen it for himself.

“A chair has four legs but a stool has three, and they’re both sturdy enough to sit on. Tripod’s like that stool. He creates balance with the remaining leg to make up for the one that’s missing. It’s second nature to him. He doesn’t even know he’s not exactly like other dogs.”

Everything in Alex told him to reject this ridiculous idea with no further discussion, but something about the way Tripod held his gaze with an almost human look of adoration held him back.

“What about the parsonage? They surely won’t allow a dog in such a lovely home.”

“I cleared it with the board. They’re fine with it. He’s housebroken and kennel trained and sheds very little.”

“What if he bites someone?”

“He has a very soft mouth. I gave him a raw egg to carry, and he did it without cracking the shell. I’ve been working with him ever since I rescued him, and he’s the easiest dog I’ve ever trained.”

Alex searched for more questions and came up empty.

“Like I said, I can keep him for myself,” Dixon went on, “but I already have dogs and you don’t. I think you’ll be happier with him than without him, Alex. There may be times when you need someone to talk to about private things, and Tripod is an excellent listener. I guarantee he’ll never reveal a word of what you tell him. Mum’s the word with ol’ Tripod here.”

“Mutt is the word with Tripod.”

Dixon grinned. “That too. So you’ll take him?”

“I grew up in an apartment building in Chicago. I don’t know what to do with a dog, especially a three-legged one.” His arguments were feeble, Alex noticed. He wasn’t trying very hard to convince Dixon to take the dog away.

“He’ll teach you.” Dixon dug behind the seat on the passenger side. “I brought his favorite food. Directions are on the bag. Let him out to run and do his business, and he’ll be fine. The more you scratch him the better he’ll like you.” Dixon studied the dog, which had now lain down on Alex’s shoes. “He appears to like you quite a bit already.”

Dixon gave a leisurely but highly theatrical stretch and ambled to the driver’s side of his vehicle. “I think I’ll be going now. I know the two of you will be fine, but call me if there’s any trouble.”

He departed in a cloud of dust, leaving Alex and Tripod alone together in the middle of the yard.

He hoped what Dixon had said was true, Alex thought, as he stood with Tripod at his side. The dog, in order to survive life at the parsonage, would have to teach this preacher how to treat him. Suddenly laughter bubbled up inside Alex and he leaned down to scratch the black ears. “The Pastor and the Pooch, that’s us, Tripod. What do you think of that?”