Chapter 17 – The Value of a
Good Wife
One week after Lily Cloudee battled for Billy Greeter’s
reputation on her exhausting round of visits, Willina Hipp was busy with her seminary
duties. Today was the last session of her most important seminary work: “Strong Women,” the required course for
all seminary wives. For this purpose, Mrs. Hipp had co-opted the use of the
seminary president’s office with its adjacent meeting room and sixteen-foot
long conference table. Twenty-one wives of graduating seniors dragged
themselves wearily from the meeting room doors, thankful to be done with the
arduous task of learning the lessons Mrs. Hipp assigned. They’d mastered
setting a formal dinner for the church session and its wives. They’d twisted
and fluffed linen napkins into half a dozen elegant shapes, polished silver and
nervously handled the seminary stemware. They knew their Mikasa from their
Villeroy-and-Boch. Every woman among them could sew a neat hem, thread a Singer
sewing machine, paint French nails, make perfect strawberry jam, give herself a
perm, carry on endless light conversation, drive a fifteen-passenger van, and
run a household of seven on a shoestring budget. According to Mrs. Hipp, they
were prepared for ministry.
The wives were happy to be done, and wobbled back to their
apartments, babies, and sinks of dirty Tupperware.
While Mrs. Hipp and Miss Jones anticipated the effect of
their missive to the Mt. Moriah session, which they thought had traveled
speedily via the postal service, Athena Shepherd was whispering quietly to her
husband of Billy’s plight. She’d waited until after his Sunday preaching to
tell him.
Sam looked angrily at his wife.
“Who’s spreading such despicable stuff?” he demanded.
“I don’t know! She didn’t say,” Athena replied. Her eyes
were wet. “But I imagine it’s Aunt Hipp. This is right up her line.”
“But why?” Sam paced around their bedroom. “What does she
have against Billy?”
Athena sighed. “She doesn’t have to have anything against
him, Sam. She’s just this way! When she spots a sin in somebody, she jumps on
it.”
“But --” Sam began. “But, it’s not even somebody in the
enemy camp!” He looked beseechingly at her. “You know what I mean.”
Athena ran her hands over her face. “I think she’s worse
when it’s somebody on her own side. She feels compelled to purge the evil from
her own camp, or something.”
“Well, she’s not using the church session for her ends, I’ll
say that!” Sam nearly shouted.
“Shh, Sam!” She stood, and put her hands on his shoulders.
“Don’t do anything foolish. You’re right that she shouldn’t be influencing the
session. And you can prevent that. But carefully, dear.” She looked into his
eyes. “Carefully. If she thinks you’re covering something up, she’ll be after
you too.”
“She doesn’t have as much recourse as she used to,” Sam
replied. “With the new denominational situation, she doesn’t have all the
strings to pull on committees. She doesn’t even know these men from SNACK.”
“She knows Dr. Cloudee.”
Sam laughed. “They’re arch enemies, Athena! He’d never help
her.” He paced the room again, shaking his head. “No, I’ll talk with Billy, and
then with the session, and assure them of his innocence in this matter.”
“That means Dr. Greeter will have to know.”
“Billy’s gonna have to deal with his dad, in the end,” he
said, and his jaw clenched. “He should have done that a month ago.” He turned again to his wife, and held
her hands. “That’s the best I can do.” He smiled. “You and Uncle Horace will
have to manage Hippy between you.”
Athena sighed. “Easier said than done.”
Lily Cloudee placed the final baby blanket on her neat pile
of folded wares. Fourteen blankets, all pieced and trimmed! Each one had a tiny
corner tag telling both baby and mother that she had made the blanket, and wishing God’s
blessings on the little one. Each one was a work of love. As Lily smoothed
their folds and smiled, she hummed “I Am Jesus’ Little Lamb.”
The side door slammed. James was twenty minutes late. She
could tell by his labored breathing and heavy step that it had been a bad
afternoon.
“It’s either Deacon Helph’s colon, Hilda’s vacation plans,
or that darned committee!” she thought.
James Cloudee collapsed into his leather armchair. “Ahhhh!”
he exhaled loudly. “Those men will be the death of me!”
“The committee it is!” Lily thought.
“Coffee, James?” she paused. “Or is this a night for a glass
of wine?”
“Lily! I’m not an Episcopalian yet!” He slumped further in his chair and
kicked off his shoes. “What a day! I tell you, sometimes I wish I didn’t live
in Greenfield.”
“James!”
“Well? Honestly, the rummage sale is this Saturday.
Graduation is the following week. And I have the Committee on Institutional
Institutions coming to tour the campuses with a prospective buyer – “
“No!”
“Yes! And a group from the SNARKS coming with some of their
men, trying to lure me into recommending one of them for the president’s spot.”
“Oh, James!”
“I wish it would all go away. Why am I the one left to
choose a candidate?” He stood creakily and leaned on the wing of the chair.
“But Lily, they’ll sell the campuses outright if we don’t come up with a
solution. They will!”
Lily had learned from many years of such conversations that
it is often best to listen and refrain from speaking, even when one’s name is
invoked as hers had been. Usually she turned her eyes quietly down to her
sewing, but all the blankets were finished. Instead she reached to retrieve the
decaf coffee from the cabinet and hummed very quietly, “I Am Not Skilled To
Understand.”
Her husband perched himself on a counter stool and began to
fiddle with the condiment jars. “I think,” he began, “I think I must begin to
work more aggressively on Ernest Greeter to accept the post.”
“Hmmm,” Lily replied.
“Of the options, he is clearly the best. At least then this
business would be over.” And he tipped the salt over and scattered a little
pile of miniature snow on the countertop.
“Hmmm,” Lily consoled.
“Yes, I think it must be Greeter,” he finished.
“Hmmm,” Lily mused, knowing that he did not want her opinion
on the matter.
“I’ll see him tomorrow,” James said, and sighed deeply.
“Coffee, dear?” she inquired.
No comments:
Post a Comment