Love Songs: The Wrong Note - A Collection of Short Stories

5

 "I don't care if he is the King of Kingdom Come!" an angry voice spewed. "He promised that girl his hand in marriage, and now he's trying to weasel out of the deal!"

"But . . .​ ," another voice screeched.

"Oh, don't you dare but me, Morrona Millstink, if you think I'm gonna sit here and listen to your lame excuses about that sorry, no-good nephew of yours, you gotta 'nother thought comin.'"

Two white-haired ladies sat on the front pew. Dressed in their Sunday best, the pair were hardly bigger than two biddies.

Chicken hawks, to be precise.

"Excuse me, ladies," Crispin said. "I'm sorry to interrupt, and awfully sorry to be so late, but has everyone left. I mean, it is understandable because I was so delayed, but . . ."

"Delayed!" said Morrona. "Lulu, can you believe the nerve of this fellar?"

"Shh, Morrona," Lulu said. "I think he's the preacher."

As if on cue, Felicity's book of Bible stories tumbled out of Crispin's jacket, it's pages a riot of raw color and coated in wax. Crispin blushed, his jaw dropping open as if they'd both caught him naked and dancing in the outhouse outback.

Both women ignored the indecency.

"No, young fellar," said Morrona. "The congregation did not leave on account of your lateness. In fact, you looking at it. The congregation, I mean. The whooole congregation."

"We number few," said Lulu, looking down apologetically at the worn, wide-planked wooden floor.

"Few! Hah!" said Morrona. "We number two."

She swirled around and grabbed her ugly woolen coat with the over-sized red plastic buttons.

"No," said Morrona. "I take that back. I quit, Lulu! If you're gonna bad mouth, Roy Woodrow, then your congregation just shrunk to one. That niece of yours can't keep her legs closed. Everybody knows what a wild girl she is. And that ain't no reason to corral Roy Woodrow. Us Buttsez got family honor to think about. Roy Woodrow Butts ain't gonna let hisself be handcuffed to no Stankies 'cause you think he might be the father of Lerlean Stankie's biscuit. That oven's plumb wore itself out, and you know it."

Lulu pulled her hat down until the rim of the cloche brushed her eyebrows. The bell-shaped monstrosity looked as if it was squeezing Lulu's head in a vice.

She looked up at Crispin.

"The pulpit's all yourn," said Lulu. "I guess I could stay, but the way I'm feelin' right now, the Spirit might strike me dead if I stayed and warmed my pew. Don't worry, though, son. You see fit to come back next Sunday, and I promise to come back and listen."

***

A congregation of one.

Crispin smiled.

At least, she hadn't tossed him out on his behind when she spied Felicity's story book.

Come to think of it, he thought, Felicity would have loved to watch that just happened. The devil in her would be delighted.

Perhaps, he'd take Lulu up on her offer. And toss his little niece too in the bargain.

He climbed up on the old mule and headed home. No worries. He had a whole week to make up his mind.