She shook her head. “Darling, I don’t know how they do it where you’ve been, but, ’round here, I think you know there’s no such thing as going steady until there’s a ring on that pretty finger. Nobody’s gonna pay for that cow when they can get the milk for free.”
“First of all, no one is getting mymilk, Momma. So let’s just get that straight.” I fluffed my hair. “Second of all, there will be a ring on my finger before you know it.”
“Well,” Daddy interjected, “I was telling Ernest’s daddy all about you being summa cum laude and all that time you spent in NewYork, and I promised him a date when you got back home after graduation.”
“Ernest...” I thought with my finger against my lip. “ErnestWake.” I shook my head. “Daddy, no. No way.”
Ernest had been nicknamed Booger in middle school because, far past the age when children become self-aware, he still picked his nose during class. He had curly red hair, freckles, glasses and bad teeth.
“He’s quite the catch, young lady,” Momma said.
“No, Momma,” I said, stomping my foot softly. “He’srich. Not a catch.”
“Well,” my daddy tried to soothe, “I promised him a date, so you’ll need to go out with him.”
“This isn’t some impoverished country, Daddy! You can’t just marry me off to some rich man, trade me for a couple of cows.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Daddy sniffed through his laughter. “They’d have to give me some chickens too.”
“Besides,” Momma said, perhaps feeling slightly more empathetic than Daddy, “no one said a thing about marriage.”
And they hadn’t. Not yet.
Annabelle
A Special Place
Whatever you’re doing, whether it’s the job of your dreams or washing the dishes, make sure you’re the very best at it. Because being your best and working the hardest always leads to better things, Lovey says. It’s advice I’ve always tried to follow. And starting my new job at Saint Paul’s was no different.
There was going to be a lot of on-the-job training because, before I worked for Father Rob, I didn’t know much about what a priest did. I mean, obviously, they give a sermon on Sundays and are in charge of morning prayer and visit a lot of sick people in the hospital. But, beyond that, I had no idea what the day-in, day-out life of a priest was like. And I still don’t. Because I can tell you, unequivocally, without even having anything to compare it to, that most priests don’t do the kinds of things that Saint Paul’s Priest Charming did.
My second week of work I walked in moderately more prepared, having realized that every day was going to start with a new surprise.Only, that morning, when I got to work, Junie was there but Father Rob was nowhere to be found. “Oh, good,” she said when I walked through the door. “We’ve beat him here, so maybe we can actually get some work done.”
I laughed. “Why is it that men always seem to be the distraction and it’s the women that get it all done?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, but I’ve been around eighty years, and I’ve seldom seen that not to be the case.” Junie paused, opened a file drawer, her aged hand shaking the tiniest bit, and said, “Do you think you could teach me how to use the e-mail?”
Before I could even begin to panic about trying to teach an eighty-year-old who still procured lickable stamps because she thought the self-stick kinds were a fad, the phone rang. “Good morning, Saint Paul’s,” I said unsuspectingly.
“Annabelle, this is Lucy Simmons.”
I rolled my eyes at Junie. This was going to be good. I could tell already. “Good morning, Mrs. Simmons. How may I help you?”
“Um, well, yes, I suppose it is a good morning. But... well, did you know that Brian Peterson is a chef?”
I couldn’t imagine how this was relevant to my life. “Well, I suppose I did know that.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Well, then, wouldn’t you say that it seems a little unfair that he won the chili cook-off, while I, an untrained chef, placed second? I mean, I would venture to say that my chili is the best chili anyway, but to lose to a professional chef seems to violate the rules.”
“Well, Mrs. Simmons, I’m not sure that there were any official rules, per se. We raised eleven thousand dollars for the job skills training program, which I think was really the point of the contest.”
She paused. “Well, sure. But I just don’t think that seems right. Maybe I could talk it over with Father Rob and see what he thinks,but I would suggest that maybe for next year you have some official rules in writing.”
I looked around for Father Rob, assuming that this was a joke. He was testing me, seeing how I would handle the parishioners’ more ridiculous requests. “Well, I’m sorry, he’s not in right now, but I’d be happy to take down your number and have him call you later.”
Priest Charming roared into the office, his collar over a T-shirt and shorts, but before he could say a word, I put my finger to my lips, widened my eyes and shook my head. This was a message I could see getting lost. Instead of putting down her number, I wrote “Mrs. Simmons” and circled it, showing it to him. He mimed a noose around his neck.
As she said, “Could you just repeat that number back to me so I can make sure you got it right?” I replied, “Thanks so much for your feedback. Have a blessed day!” I hung up.
