Hell With the Lid Blown Off by Donis Casey Page B

Methodist Church and the two congregations had moved in together, leaving the North location vacant. The church was a perfectly lovely little red-brick building with a bell tower and steeple on one end. The ground floor held the sanctuary, and the basement contained a fellowship hall and a couple of rooms just right for Sunday School classes.
    The new pastor, Mr. Bennet, and Mr. Skidmore, the Sunday School superintendent, called an emergency meeting of the governing board the minute they heard that the North Methodists were vacating. The board voted unanimously to put in a bid on the building, and the Methodists accepted.
    The first meeting in the newly dedicated church was scheduled for the first day of July, so to commemorate the last service in the Masonic Hall at the end of June, the ladies of the church planned a big picnic to be held after the last Amen was said.
    Considering that it had been a cool, mild spring to now, the final Sunday of June was hot and dry and crackling. While the women unpacked the pies and soups and salads and cold meats they had carefully brought from home in crates and baskets, and laid them out on the long board-and-sawhorse tables under the trees, the men and children milled about, impatient and hungry, fanning themselves and talking too loudly. Mrs. Bennet stood at one end of the picnic table and Alafair’s sister-in-law, Josie Cecil, stood at the other, directing the proceedings with the efficiency of a couple of sergeant majors.
    You couldn’t swing a cat , Alafair thought, without hitting a Tucker. Shaw’s mother, Sally, and stepfather, Peter McBride, sat on hardback chairs under a spreading live oak, holding forth among the rest of the elders. Shaw and various of his brothers, cousins, and neighbors were arrayed along the side of the building and energetically discussing whether or not the United States should get involved in Mexico and how the European war had affected the price of cotton.
    With their blessed events pending, John Lee and Phoebe had decided to stay home, as had Alice and Walter. But her eldest girls, Martha and Mary, were there, which pleased Alafair no end. The youngsters had organized a game of baseball in the field to the west of the building—all but Alafair’s youngest, Grace, who was still unwilling to let her mother out of her sight after their month-long separation earlier in the year.
    Ruth and Beckie were inside the hall, planning the post-picnic sing-along and hymns for the afternoon prayer meeting. Since Beckie was a Presbyterian, her presence at this special service showed in what high regard she held her protégée.
    Alafair and Martha stood at the end of the table and sliced pies, chatting happily with Josie. It was quite a while before Alafair noticed that her helper Grace had acquired a playmate and abandoned her post at her mother’s side. Grace was sitting in the grass, engaged in make-believe with a very blond child just a little older than she. It took Alafair a moment to recognize Lovelle Beldon, the youngest by far of the Beldon brood.
    â€œIs Mildrey Beldon here?” Alafair asked her sister-in-law, surprised. “I never saw her during the service.”
    Josie’s gaze followed Alafair’s. “Oh, yes, Mildrey came in late and sat at the back with Lovelle. There she is yonder.” The mother of the Beldon brood was standing at the center of the table, dishing out baked beans. Josie snorted out what could have been a laugh. “I don’t see any of them boys, I’m glad to say.”
    Martha smiled. “Poor Miz Beldon. She’s a nice woman. I never could figure out how such a kind creature managed to raise so many wastes of breath.”
    There were six Beldon boys in all; Jubal, Hosea, Ephraim, Hezekiah, Zadok, and Caleb. That’s how many tries it had taken Mildrey to produce the golden-haired light of her life who was now creating a doll town with Grace. Lovelle was five years old.