Searching for Caleb

But Duncan understood. He gave Arthur a long, clear, untroubled look, as if nothing such a man could say would bother him. Then he said, "She's seventeen."

"Eighteen," said Meg.

"Eighteen? Oh yes."

"And Arthur's twenty-six."

"Well, that's ridiculous," said Duncan. "When you're seventy he'll be seventy-eight."

"So?"

"And you're still in school."

"We're planning a June wedding," said Arthur. "She'll be graduated by then."

"And Daddy, you know I'm not the college type."

"Who is? Who cares about college? Did I ever say I wanted you to go to college? But I didn't say I wanted you to get married right off the bat, either, and go live in Simper, Virginia, sitting in the front pew every Sunday nodding all the flowers off your hat. It's a trap. Do you want to be trapped? I thought you would go off and do something, Meggie, travel somewhere. Leave old Caramel behind if you like, we're not trying to keep you for ourselves. Hitch-hike to California. Take a freight train. Take a bus. Learn to surf. Marry somebody unpredictable. Join the Foreign Legion."

"But I can't be that way."

"Try! Anything but this. Just settling for it doesn't matter who, any pale fish in a suit-"

"Mr. Peck," said Arthur, "I understand, of course, that in the heat of the moment-"

"How will you have babies, Reverend Mildew, osmosis?"

"Mama!" Meg called.

"Don't trouble your mother, Meg, I'll see him out myself."

"Unfortunately I am not that easy to discourage," Arthur said.

"That is unfortunate." But Duncan was guiding him toward the door anyway, and Arthur was allowing it. "Now," said Duncan, "if by any strange chance Meg still feels the same when she is of a decent age, Reverend, I admit there is nothing I can do about it. Meanwhile, goodbye."

"But I am of age!" Meg said.

The front screen slammed.

Meg looked at her great-grandfather, who smiled a weary smile showing every one of his perfect teeth. She crossed to the kitchen door and opened it.

"Meg," said Dorcas, "your mother's a marvel. My cards say Ann-Campbell is with Joe Pete and I'm to enjoy the rest while she's gone."

"Mama, listen."

Justine looked up. She was seated at the kitchen table, holding both hands rigid. Between each finger were long sprays of raw spaghetti.

"Look, Meg!" she said. "I'm learning the I Ching!"

"Is that all you have to do?"

"Well, we should use yarrow stalks but we don't know what they are."

"I just want to tell you this," Meg said. "I blame you as much as him."

"What, Meggie dear?"

"The two of you are as closed as a unit can get, I don't care what he says."

"Closed? What?" said Justine, looking bewildered. She rose, holding out two spaghetti whiskbrooms. "Wait, Maggie darling, I don't-"

But Meg was gone. She ran across the hall and out of the house. There was no sign of Arthur or Duncan in the yard. Only the Ford, melting into the twilight, with a magazine page flapping in the space where the door should have been. WOULDN'T YOU REALLY RATHER HAVE A BUICK?

9

For the Polk Valley church's April bazaar Justine wore her very best dress-an A-line shift that Duncan had bought her five years ago at a nearly-new sale. She pulled her hair into a sprout on top of her head, covered it over with her hat, and dabbed at her mouth with a pink Tangee lipstick from high school. On her feet she wore her black Mary Janes, on her arm a gypsy bracelet borrowed from the Blue Bottle. Generally speaking, she thought she looked very presentable.

Because the car was in the body shop, Justine had to ask for a lift in Dorcas's baby-blue Cadillac. And Ann-Campbell had to come along, jouncing in the back seat, periodically nosing her sharp little freckled face between the two women to eavesdrop. Justine liked Ann-Campbell. She was certain she was going to lead a very interesting life.

On the way to Polk Valley Dorcas talked about her ex-husband, Joe Pete, whom she had married and divorced three times now. Every time she married him she had a large church wedding all over again, with Ann-Campbell as flower girl in a floor-length organdy dress to cover the scabs, scars, scrapes, bruises, and Band-Aids on her bony knees. Lately relatives had stopped attending, and the gifts had thinned out. "But," said Dorcas, "he's still my first husband, isn't he? I've never been married to anybody else, and neither has he. Why can't I have a wedding like I choose?"

Justine didn't want to think about weddings. They reminded her of Meg.