‘What else?’

‘Needs a wall back there to like frame things.’

‘A wall! Good thinking.’ This kid was born with an eye. The space just wandered off into Earle Johnson’s yard, which was appointed with whitewashed rocks lining the driveway and an early Buick on blocks.

‘Stone, of course.’

‘I don’t lay no stone.’ A stream of Red Man into the bushes.

‘Me, either. But we probably could, don’t you think?’ He had always wanted to lay a stone wall. ‘We could get a book on how to do it. Dry wall, like in Ireland.’ He’d be on this job ’til he was as old as Methuselah.

‘Yeah. We don’t need to be m-messin’ with no mortar. Harley’s laid stone walls.’

‘Okay, great, we have a plan. But that’s it, we’re done. We’ll go soon.’

‘Where?’

‘Big Mountain Nursery. We’ll look at their maples and check out the stone.’

Color rushed to Sammy’s face. ‘I always wanted t’ g-go there.’

•   •   •

THEY SAT ON THE STUDY SOFA and watched the news. Cold weather coming, as cold weather does, it was October. Bundle up. Bring in the plants. The usual.

He was thankful for the burning logs, his dog, their cat, the whole caboodle.

She patted his knee. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Pretty beat. But I’ve scarcely ever been so . . .’ He thought about it, making sure he had the right word.

‘. . . happy,’ he said.

Dear Henry,

This will be a mighty short letter, utterly undeserving of your recent three pages which Cynthia and I savored. I will most definitely do better next go-round.

Now to it—you could never guess what scrapes I’ve gotten into since we talked . . .

On Thursday morning, he posted a couple of quotes on the board.

It’s what you read when you don’t have to that determines what you will be when you can’t help it. Oscar Wilde

People say that life is the thing, but I prefer reading. {Logan Pearsall Smith

A calm, slow morning. The trees ablaze, Barnabas dozing in a patch of sun in the display window. To borrow a word from Abe, the morning was a bracha. At ten-thirty, the Muse skidded to the door.

Good grief. A front-page photo of him trying to decode the lock, and his nose looking like a turnip.

Mitford Still Takes Care Of Its Own. Yayyy!

by VANITA BENTLEY

And here’s LIVING PROOF, people!!

Father Tim Kavanagh opened for business last Thursday at Happy Endings, where he is working two days a week for Hope Murphy . . . for FREE. For free, can you believe it?

Which brings up the good news that Marcie Guthrie, the daughter of our former mayor, Esther Cunningham and the mother of our soon to be police chief, Joe Joe Guthrie, ALSO volunteers at Happy Endings. All to help out a person who has helped US so much by bringing a BOOK STORE to our little town.

Just think—if not for Hope we would have to DRIVE TO WESLEY at $3.65 a gallon and try to find a parking spot on the campus and by a perfectly innocent mistake park in the wrong place and then walk two blocks to the college bookstore possibly in a driving rain and back again to your car which you find has been very unkindly decorated with a PARKING TICKET!!! Go, Bears!

Come in on Wednesdays and say hello to Marcie or on Thursdays and Fridays to say hey to Father Tim and check out the O for October sale. 10 til 4:30.

And remember—Marcie and Father Tim cannot do our job FOR us. We have got to get out there and take care of our own OURSELVES!

Send a photo and let me know what YOU are doing to take care of our own, OK? And thanks for praying for Hope##Scott says Dr Wilson is very pleased nd more later!!!

Vanita had discovered all-caps, which was news right there. Mule’s real estate ad was once again cheek by jowl with the Wesley funeral home ad—somebody needed to speak to Mule about this. The weather prediction for the coming week was mixed, and there was the latest Leading Citizen countdown, which he chose to skip . . .

A Delicious Way To Fade Your Freckles

He read the Hint with absorption. How amazing. He did like to learn something, however useless, when he invested time in reading a newspaper.

Wanda’s Feel Good Café Caves to Local Demand

Wanda Basinger is breaking her rule of NO BREAKFAST!!! Yayyy! But with reservations.

Breakfast will be served on SATURDAYS ONLY, starting at eight o’clock through ten-thirty, which seems a pretty short time frame but since lunch starts at eleven thirty they have to get the tables cleared.

To celebrate, Ms. Basinger will be serving a Mexican dish which she hopes we will all like. Caution: SPICY!

As for giving in to local demand, we asked Ms. Basinger how she feels about it.

“I feel good.” she says//8%

•   •   •

THE CLOCK OVER THE SALES COUNTER read eleven-fifteen. His nose had been stuck in the Muse for . . . how long? A good half hour. It’s what you read when you don’t have to that determines what . . . Too late now.

•   •   •

‘I HAVE A CONFESSION to make,’ said Vanita.

He thought the tortoise frames of her eyeglasses imparted a very owlish and wide-awake look.

She leaned over the counter. ‘I’m Anonymous.’

‘You, Ms. Bentley, are anything but anonymous.’

‘No, I mean, in th’ paper I’m Anonymous. By bein’ Anonymous, I can say what I really think and don’t have to be politically whatever. Do you think that’s okay? I mean, is that just another type of media cover-up?’

‘Well . . .’

‘Like, Coot only got one vote and that was a mean joke, so anonymously I’ve given him nine more for two reasons. One, because his great-great-great-granddaddy, Hezekiah, founded this town, and two, I knew it would make him feel wonderful. Surely there idn’t anything wrong with makin’ people feel wonderful.’

‘I’m with you there,’ he said.

‘I needed to confess that to somebody besides my husband, I drive ’im crazy tellin’ ’im stuff he says he doesn’t need to know.’

‘I’m inclined to that same behavior. My wife is very patient.’

‘I just really admire you, Father.’

‘Well, thank you. Good gracious.’

‘I hear you cried in church and people cried with you.’

‘True.’

‘It is so nice when men cry.’

‘I read that according to a study of over three hundred adults, men cry an average of once a month, and women five times a month.’

‘Y’all were runnin’ way behind and caught up all at once! Like, yay-y-y!’

They had a small laugh, which he managed to enjoy.

‘I know Mr. Hogan wanted to run a story about Father Talbot an’ all, but he couldn’t find any real facts to report, just mean things people are sayin’. I’m so glad you wouldn’t tell him anything.’

‘Nothing to be told.’

‘Anyway, here’s another secret an’ I’m done. If I ever run for mayor, which I prob’ly won’t, I have my campaign slogan already picked out. I wouldn’t want anybody to steal it for their campaign, so you wouldn’t ever tell, right, because you’re clergy?’

‘Right.’

‘It’s th’ sort of thing we all have to do if we’re goin’ to keep takin’ care of our own, okay? Imagine this on a bumper sticker . . .

‘Get off your butts, people!’

Barnabas sat up, looked around.

‘That’ll work,’ he said.

‘As for the plaque you were goin’ to write . . .’

‘Nobody ever asked me.’

‘We printed it in th’ paper, that was asking,’ she said.

‘Okay, when is the deadline?’

‘Tomorrow. It takes a lot of time to get something engraved. On bronze.’

‘There is no balm in Gilead, Ms. Bentley, did you know that?’

‘I know all about that. You can email me or I can come pick it up.’