Part 20 (1/2)
”So,” Thurlow said, plopping himself down in the form-fitting recliner, ”I've already told you I'm not buying anything or donating anything; let's get that straight right now. So why am I being blessed or hara.s.sed with a visit from two such elegant ladies?”
I wanted to tell him that sarcasm was unbecoming, but he wouldn't care. Poppy laughed her bubbly laugh, but I felt a s.h.i.+ver across my shoulders, fearing that Thurlow was just revving up for some of his usual hurtful bl.u.s.ter. I didn't want Poppy to have her feelings hurt or be humiliated when he began to rant and rave.
”Oh,” she said in a merry fas.h.i.+on, ”we don't want a thing from you. I asked Miss Julia to come with me because you're a hard man to catch, and I am fis.h.i.+ng for men.”
”Ha!” Thurlow said and pulled the lever that reclined him a few degrees. Ronnie lifted his head, then plopped it down again. ”I bet you think I don't know the double meaning of that. Well, I do, and I didn't have to go to a seminary to know it.”
”Then you know why I'm here,” Poppy said, a little teasing in her voice. ”I am sorry if I offended you last Sunday-”
”If! If you offended me!” Thurlow shouted, and straight up came the recliner. ”You offended every right-thinking man there. Listen to me, young lady, G.o.d is not a mother and I can prove it. Let me get my Bible.”
He sprang out of the chair, looked around the room, then sat back down. ”Well, I can't put my hands on it right now, but,” and he lifted a finger to her, ”it says he, he, he all the way through. And it's a crying shame that we have to put up with women up there trying to preach without them poking some heathen message down our throats. You're a fine-lookin' woman-you ought to be fis.h.i.+n' for a husband. You ought to be married. You ought to be raisin' children, not up there usurpin' a man's place.”
I stiffened as he built up a head of steam as fierce and as outrageous as I'd feared. Poor little Poppy, she'd be outtalked and outwitted, and most likely reduced to tears before he was done.
Instead, though, she leaned over and gave him a light tap on the arm with the back of her hand. With a delighted smile on her face, she said, ”Why, you old misogynist!”
Up came the recliner again, almost catapulting Thurlow out of it. ”Miss-what?”
”You heard me, and you don't fool me. You're trying to make me feel bad because I made you rethink some of your ingrained beliefs. I gave you something new to think about. Now you can reject the new . . .”
”I did! Or didn't you see me walk out?”
”Or,” Poppy went on, her eyes twinkling as she challenged him, ”you can broaden your understanding of G.o.d and deepen your faith.”
”I'm gonna prove you wrong!” And he was on his feet again. ”Let me get my Bible. And by the way, I've never yet seen a preacher come visitin' without his own Bible.”
”Well,” Poppy said, with another bubbly laugh, ”you've just seen one. Besides, I'm pretty much up on Scripture and don't need to point out chapter and verse every time I turn around.”
Thurlow plopped back in the chair, seemingly outdone by her claim. ”Arrogance!” he yelled, disturbing Ronnie so that he stood up and shook himself. ”Scriptural arrogance, that's what it is. That's what happens when women get above themselves. Madam Murdoch, why're you just sitting there without saying a word? What do you think of women getting too big for their britches and climbing up in a pulpit? Let's hear from you for a change.”
”I think,” I said, choosing my words carefully, ”that I wouldn't want to get between G.o.d and whomever he's called to preach, regardless of what kind of britches they wear.”
Thurlow's eyes bugged out at me, while Poppy threw back her head and laughed. ”She's got you there, Mr. Jones. Now listen, we could go round and round about this and never come to a meeting of the minds. I think you're just a big ole teddy bear that just likes to argue and get the best of whomever you're arguing with. And I expect, deep down, you don't really care who's in the pulpit and that half the time you don't even pay attention to what they say. Well, I want to change that. I want you to give me another chance and come back to church. You can walk out again if you want to and I'll come visit you again, and next time, you can bet I'll bring my Bible.” Then she laughed her merry laugh. ”I know where mine is.”
I had never in my life seen Thurlow without a word to say. He stared at her, his mouth half open, then he stared some more. It seemed a good time to absent myself, so I stood up.
”Excuse me,” I said to Thurlow. ”I'd like a gla.s.s of water. Do you mind if I go to the kitchen?”
He flapped his hand at me. ”Go, go.” Then to Poppy, ”Now you listen to me, young lady.”
”Don't you *young lady' me,” Poppy said, giggling, ”you ole sweet thing, you.”
Lord, help us, I thought, as I hightailed it through the dining room and into Thurlow's kitchen. Never in my life had I witnessed such a pastoral visit as this one had turned out to be. What were they teaching seminary students at Duke? Or maybe at any seminary?
Well, whatever it was, Poppy, with her smiles and giggles and laughs, along with her refusal to let Thurlow outtalk her, was more than holding her own.
I hurried to the window over the sink, the one that looked out over the backyard and the one, I quickly confirmed, that was in a direct line with Miss Petty's toolshed. I couldn't see the knothole, of course-it was too far away and there were too many tree limbs in between-but I knew where it was, and I came to the firm conclusion then and there that it had been the back of Thurlow's house-which meant Thurlow himself-that Richard Stroud had been watching.
Leaning over the sink to scan the yard, I saw a dilapidated building that might once have been a stable and was now a remodeled garage. To a.s.sure myself that Richard would have had a wide-angle view, I leaned farther over the sink, then almost levitated to the ceiling when I felt a nudge in a most sensitive area.
”Ronnie! ” I said in a harsh whisper as I whipped around. ”Don't sneak up on me like that.”
I swished past him, trying to pull myself together after such a fright. Just because we'd shared a bed didn't mean he was free to take liberties.
Breathing rapidly, I hurried out into the hall, where I found Poppy and Thurlow. She was b.u.t.toning her coat, readying herself to leave, but the two of them were still going at it.
”Well, you can't just sit at home and criticize,” Poppy was saying. ”For all you know, there'd be some of the finest preaching around, and you'd miss it all.”
”Ha! I'd like to hear some of that fine preaching,” Thurlow said, his eyes glittering at her. ”Lord knows I've not heard any lately.”
”You can't hear it if you're not there.”
”I'll be there,” Thurlow said, leering at her in open challenge. ”You can bet your sweet patootie I'll be there.”
With Poppy laughing her head off, I murmured our farewells, and pushed her out the door before Thurlow could close it on us.
We were halfway down the walk when he opened the door and stuck his head out. ”Yeah, and I'll be taking notes too!”
Chapter 40.
”And probably kickin' you-know-what too,” Poppy said, laughing as she turned on the ignition.
I latched on to the armrest as she took off. ”I'll tell you,” I said, as I caught my breath, ”I have never in my life witnessed a pastoral visitation like that one. How did you know to stand up to him like that?”
”Oh, my daddy's pretty much like him,” Poppy said, as if handling Thurlow had been all in a day's work. ”I did like Mr. Jones's house, though. Except, funny thing, it didn't seem to go with him. Or he with it.”
”I noticed that too. But it's his house that's different, not him, because it used to be as unkempt as he is. Why, the last time I was in it, which has been some while ago, it was dark and dusty and cluttered. I could hardly believe what I saw today. Maybe,” I mused, ”he finally broke down and hired some household help.”
”Well,” Poppy said, ”he needs to hire a personal trainer or valet or something too. I have to tell you, I kept picking up a rank, musty odor.”
”That was Ronnie, but,” I corrected myself, ”it could've been either or both.”
As we parked in front of my house, I invited Poppy to come in and meet Hazel Marie and Etta Mae. ”You can see the babies too.”
”I'd love to,” she said, ”but I have a bunch of teenagers meeting at the church at four. I better come back another time.”
”Drop by tomorrow afternoon,” I said, my hand on the door handle. ”I think Hazel Marie's planning to have the babies on display. We'd love to have you. And, Poppy, I have to tell you that I am in awe at what you accomplished with Thurlow. I think you should have a seminar or something for preachers in this town to teach them how to conduct pastoral calls.”
She laughed. ”Well, we Methodists have to deal with backsliders all the time, so we have a number of tricks up our sleeves.”
Actually, I didn't know that Thurlow had ever been anywhere to backslide from, but I wasn't in the mood for theological quibbling. I had something else on my mind, so taking my leave, I walked toward the house thinking of the transformation in Thurlow's house. Why, even the draperies had been cleaned and freshened. Some even, I suddenly realized, replaced. Who in the world could've done that-not him, that was certain. Yet I couldn't imagine Thurlow engaging an interior designer. For one thing, he wouldn't want to spend the money, and for another, he'd never before cared what his house looked like.