When I got to my car, where Peachie awaited, I was breathing as though I’d just run a great distance.
“The church is going to be a sadder place without Brother Morrisohn,” I said as we drove to Char-Hut.
“Poorer,” Peachie answered distantly. Her forehead was beaded in perspiration despite the wind from the open window that animated her long braids. It was hot and my old Mazda didn’t have air-conditioning. “No more free rides for the Faithful. The candyman is gone.”
“At any rate,” I said, “I think we presented him a great tribute.”
“Especially your playing, Brother Elwyn. It brought tears.”
I ignored her sarcasm. “He was a great saint. He’ll be missed. I for one am going to miss him.”
“You and the widow both.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Peachie continued to stare out her window. “I said nothing.”
She was not telling the truth—she had indeed said something, a something that unabashedly implied impropriety: You and the widow both. I may have been in love with Peachie, but I was not going to suffer her insolence. I had never been anything but a gentleman with any of the sisters at the church, Peachie and Sister Morrisohn included. How dare she intimate such a vile idea! Such a rude side of Peachie I had never encountered.
Was she jealous?
Just as I was about to chastise her for her un-Christlike behavior, my Mazda stalled.
“This old car,” she grumbled.
“God will give us grace,” I said, cranking the engine to no avail as the vehicle rolled to a stop in the middle of traffic. Other cars began blowing their horns, whizzing around us.
I got out. Peachie crawled into the driver’s seat. I popped the hood and jiggled the wire connecting the alternator to the battery. Peachie clicked the ignition at regular intervals. When her click matched my jiggle, the frayed end of the wire sparked in my hand and the engine came to life. I closed the hood and got back into the car, rubbing my hands. “That takes care of that.”
Peachie stared out the open window again. “I’m not hungry. Take me home.”
“Peachie—”
“Please, just take me home.”
I passed to the center lane to make a U-turn. The traffic light caught me. I floored the clutch and the gas pedals so that the car wouldn’t stall while we waited for the green. “You could at least tell me what I did to upset you.”
“Who said you upset me? I have serious things on my mind.” Serious things I had little doubt. She was jealous.
“Ever since you got into the car, you’ve been answering me curtly or ignoring me altogether. I thought we were friends.” The light changed.
I made the U-turn. “See there,” I said, “you can’t even look at me.”
“Says who?” She turned on me with angry eyes.
“Are you jealous of Sister Morrisohn?”
“Jealous of the fragile widow?”
“Are you jealous?”
“Now you’re being silly.” Peachie laughed. “Wait. Are you in love with Sister Morrisohn? You certainly seemed concerned about her at the funeral. And what—do you think she’s in love with you? She’s only about ten times your age.”
“You don’t have to be so mean to me. I just thought that maybe you felt threatened.”
Peachie stared at me with eyes that mocked. “And what—how can I feel threatened? Do you think, my dear brother in the Lord, that I possess any feelings for you other than the sincerest and purest friendship?” If she had been standing, Peachie’s hands would have been akimbo. “Did I forget to share with you that Barry McGowan has written to me several times from Bible College?”
“Barry McGowan?” Why didn’t he just leave her alone? He was too old for her. “What does Barry have to do with this?”
“He graduates in December. He’s building a church up there in Lakeland. He already has the land and everything. He wants me to direct the choir.” Then she added with finality: “He wants me to marry him.”
“What? Well you won’t,” I said. “At least you won’t marry him now. You still have school to finish. And your mom and dad—”
“They’re all for it. They love Barry. I can finish school up in Lakeland, and then go to Bible College.”
“But they’ll just let you go like that? You’re so young.”
“Lots of sisters get married young,” she said, as though I should know this, and well I should, having played at many of their weddings. But Peachie didn’t have to go that way. She was virtuous, I was sure. “Don’t worry, Elwyn, Barry can take care of me. He’s a great man of God.”
I had trouble focusing on the road. “This is so sudden.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for four months.”
“Four months! You never told me. We’re best friends. You tell me everything.”
“Everything but this.” Her features softened, and she lowered her eyes. “I didn’t tell you this, Elwyn—because, I guess, I didn’t want you to hold it against me. You’re so perfect, so holy.”
“I’m not that holy. I told you that I deceived my parents in order to take piano lessons.”
“That’s small, Elwyn. Everyone does little things like that,” she said.
“I took piano lessons with Sister McGowan in order to be around Barry.”
I shook my head. “You never told me that. You’re making this all up.”
“Elwyn, you’re so innocent, you wouldn’t understand how these things happen. If I had told you about Barry and me, you’d have held it against me.”
“I’d never hold anything against you.” I said a silent prayer for courage, and the Lord sent me courage. “How can I hold anything against you, Peachie? I love you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“But I do. I love you—”
“Elwyn, do you?”
“—and I think you love me too, Peachie.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“You knew. We both knew.”
“Oh, Elwyn.”
I let go of the gearshift and found her hand. “Don’t go to Lakeland
