She shrugged. “People go to church.”
“Other people do. I mean, I’ll hardly be inconspicuous. And old Ames doesn’t think the world of me.” After a moment he said, “Well, nothing to be done about that, hmm? That’s why I thought of going in the first place. I can’t think of another approach. I have tried. I will sit under his preaching, as they say, and maybe his feelings toward me will soften a little. I’ll be very attentive.” He smiled. He said, “It’s worth a try. Then he and the wife will come to dinner, I’ll play a few of the old favorites. It could work.”
“All this is fine, Jack. But I can’t quite convince myself that it’s necessary.”
He nodded. “I’ve been a torment to his dearest friend for forty-three years, give or take. He’s sick of me. He doesn’t want to be, but he is. I would be, too. But I want to talk to him.”
She said, “It’s a good idea. Very good, I think.”
“All right, then. If you say so. I’ll probably do it.”
Jack put on his tie and his hat and went off to the store to buy groceries for Sunday dinner with two ten-dollar bills from the household money Glory kept in the drawer in the sideboard. She could have called the grocer’s and ordered them, as she usually did, but Jack said he needed to get out of the house for a while. So she went down to the Ameses’. Lila was in the garden picking lettuce into a basin and Robby was fooling around on his swing, lying across the plank on his stomach, pushing and pivoting and sweeping the grass with his fingertips. Lila stood up when she saw Glory at the fence and smiled at her and called the little boy to come say hello, so he came and said hello and then ran off to look for his friend Tobias, who had been called in for lunch.
Glory said good morning, and Lila answered, “It is. It’s a fine morning.” She brushed her hair back with her hands. “Could you use some salad? It’s coming in faster than I can eat it myself, and my men aren’t much for greens, neither one of them.” She handed the basin to Glory. “I was just picking it because it’s so pretty. I’d be glad if you could use it.”
Lila was wide at the shoulders and hips, and her hands were large, tentative, competent. Sometime, somewhere, it had seemed good to her to pluck her brows thin and arched, and so they remained, a suggestion of former worldliness at odds with her stalwartly maternal frame. Sunlight seemed a bother to her, like a friendly attention she might sometime weary of, though for now she only smiled and shrugged away from it, holding up her hand to shield her eyes. Glory said, “Papa asked me to invite you to dinner tomorrow.”
She nodded. “Jack stopped by a few minutes ago. I told him I’d speak to the Reverend about it. Preaching wearies him more than he likes to admit.”
“It could be an evening dinner. That would give him time to rest.”
THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN SHE WAS OUT IN THE GARDEN weeding the strawberries, picking the handful of ripe ones, she heard the DeSoto’s starter straining twice, then again, and then the roar of an automobile engine, the sound robust for a moment, then trailing away. Again the starter and the engine, and after a minute or two the rattle and pop of gravel as the DeSoto eased backward out of the barn. It gleamed darkly and demurely, like a ripe plum. Its chrome was polished, hubcaps and grille, and the side walls of the tires were snowy white. There was a preposterous beauty in all that shine that made her laugh. Jack put his arm out the window, waving his hat like a visiting dignitary, backed into the street, and floated away, gentling the gleaming dirigible through the shadows of arching elm trees, light dropping on it through their leaves like confetti as it made its ceremonious passage. After a few minutes she heard a horn, and there were Jack and the DeSoto going by the house. A few minutes more and they came back from the other direction, swung into the driveway, and idled there. Jack leaned across the front seat to open the passenger door. She walked across the lawn to the car and slid in.
“Wonderful!”
He nodded. “We’re doing all right so far. I smell strawberries.”
She held out her hands. “I haven’t washed them.”
He took one, eyed it, and gave it back. “How about a little spin around the block?”
“Papa will want to come.”
“Yes, well, I’m working up to that. I’d like to put a couple of miles on this thing, so I’ll know it can be trusted. We wouldn’t want to make the old fellow walk home.”
So she closed the door and they pulled into the street.
He said, “You must have a license. You used to drive.”
“I do. Somewhere. Do you?”
He looked at her. “Why do you ask?”
“Never mind. Just making conversation.” They completed a decorous circuit of the block, and when they pulled into the driveway, they saw their father standing in the screen door.
“Something very exciting!” he called. “I thought I might come along, if it’s no trouble.” He seemed even about to attempt the front steps.
“Wait!” Jack ran across the lawn and took him by his arms and helped
