Read A New Song for Free Online Page B

mustard on mine!’”
    Loving the sound of laughter in the cavernous room, Uncle Billy nodded to the left, then to the right.
    “One more,” he said, trembling a little from the excitement of the evening.
    “Hit it!” crowed the mayor, hoping to remember the punch line to the vanilla ice-cream story.
    “Wellsir, this census taker, he went to a house an’ knocked, don’t you know. A woman come out, ’e said, ‘How many children you got, an’ what’re their ages?’
    “She said, ‘Let’s see, there’s th’ twins Sally and Billy, they’re eighteen. And th’ twins Seth an’ Beth, they’re sixteen. And th’ twins Penny an’ Jenny, they’re fourteen—’
    “Feller said, ‘Hold on! Did you git twins ever’ time?’
    “Woman said, ‘Law, no, they was hundreds of times we didn’t git nothin’.’”
    The old man heard the sound of applause overtaking the laughter, and leaned forward slightly, cupping his hand to his left ear to better take it in. The applause was giving him courage, somehow, to keep on in life, to get out of bed in the mornings and see what was what.
     
    Uncle Billy and Miss Rose looked considerably exhausted from their social endeavors; the old man’s hands trembled as they stood on the cool front porch.
    “I’d like to pray for you,” said Father Tim.
    “We’d be beholden to you, Preacher, if you would,” said Uncle Billy, “but seems like we ought t’ pray f’r you, don’t you know.”
    Hardly anyone ever did that, he thought, moved by the gesture. “I’d thank you for doing it.”
    Cynthia slipped into the circle and they joined hands.
    “Now, Lord . . .”—the old man drew a deep breath—“I ain’t used t’ doin’ this out loud an’ all, but I felt You call me t’ do it, an’ I’m ex-pectin’ You t’ help me, don’t you know.
    “Lord Jesus, I’m askin’ You t’ watch over th’ preacher an’ ’is missus. Don’t let ’em git drownded down there, or come up ag’in’ meanness of any kind. You tell ’em whichaway to go when they need it.”
    Uncle Billy paused. “An’ I ’preciate it. F’r Christ’s sake, a-men!”
    “Amen!”
    Father Tim clasped his arms around his old friend. “Uncle Billy—”
    “I hope they give you plenty of fried chicken down there!” squawked Miss Rose. She’d always heard preachers liked fried chicken.
    He didn’t know how many more goodbyes he could bear.
     
    It wasn’t that he and Cynthia hadn’t wanted to go to Whitecap to see and be seen. They had carefully planned to go for five days in March, but the weather had turned foul, with lashing rains and high winds that persisted for days along the eastern shoreline.
    He had then tried to set a date for April, but most of the Whitecap vestry, who were key players in any approval process, would be away for one reason or another.
    “Don’t sweat it,” Stuart Cullen had said in a phone call. Stuart was not only his current bishop, but a close friend since seminary days. “They know all about you. They’re thrilled you’ll do the interim. Bishop Harvey agrees it’s a match made in heaven, so don’t worry about getting down there for the usual preview.”
    “It’s a little on the pig-in-a-poke side, if you ask me.”
    Stuart laughed. “Believe me, Timothy, they need exactly what you’ve got to offer. Besides, if you don’t like each other, Bill Harvey and I will give you your money back.”
    “How about telling me the downside of this parish? All Bill Harvey talks about is the church being so attractive, it ends up on postcards.”
    “Right,” agreed Stuart. “He also vows he hears the nickering of wild ponies through the open windows of the nave, though I don’t think Whitecap has wild ponies these days.”
    “What I’d rather know is, who’s likely to stab the interim in the back? And who’s plotting to run off with the choir director?”
    He was joking, of course, but equally serious. He wanted to know what was what in Whitecap, and nobody