Searching for Caleb

"Where's the minister?" asked Grandfather Peck, settling creakily into an armchair.

"Grandfather, turn on your-"

"Arthur is napping, Mr. Peck," said Mrs. Milsom. Her voice was thinned to just the right pitch. "I know all about the deaf," she told Justine. "My father was afflicted. In his later years he would go so far as to sing the 'Doxology' while his congregation was on 'Bringing in the Sheaves.' "

"Oh, your father was a minister too," Justine said.

"Oh yes. Oh yes. All my family."

"And your husband?"

"No, ah-he was in construction."

"I see."

"But my family, now they have been clergy for a great many years. I myself am a healer."

"Is that right?" said Duncan. He stopped rolling up his magazine. "You heal by faith?"

"I certainly do."

She smiled at him, her eyes like black pools. Then Meg came tinkling and clinking through the doorway with a tray, and Justine tensed because she herself, of course, would have spilled ice cubes into Mrs. Milsom's snowy lap or tripped over the veins in the carpet. She forgot that Meg was as graceful and confident as her maiden aunts. The tray paused at each person, dipping neatly, holding steady. Mrs. Milsom watched its progress with her lower lip caught between her teeth. She was tense too, as if Meg were her daughter. It wasn't fair. She had no right. Justine snatched a tumbler off the tray and a disk of tea flew onto the sofa cushion, but Duncan instantly covered it with his Lady's Circle. "Mama. It's sweetened," Meg whispered.

"What?" Justine said aloud.

"It's sweetened."

"The tea is sweetened," said Mrs. Milsom. "Thank you, Margaret. Won't you take some yourself?"

"I was thinking I might go see if Arthur's awake."

"Oh no, dear, I wouldn't do that just yet."

"He did say to wake him when they came."

"If we do he'll have his head till tomorrow, believe me," said Mrs.

Milsom. "I know him." She smiled and patted the arm of her chair. "Come sit with us a while."

So Meg came to perch at Mrs. Milsom's side, and Justine averted her eyes and concentrated on her tea. It was a fact that the only thing she couldn't stand was sweetened tea. It made her gag. She would feel sick and heavy for the rest of the day. Still she drank it, searching with her tongue for the nearest ice cube to dilute the sugary taste. Duncan, who didn't care one way or the other, finished his own drink in one breath and set the glass down upon the polished table. "Well," he said. "So you've got your diploma, Meggie."

She nodded. Her hair touched her collar, a little less neat than it used to be. Maybe she was trying to look older.

"So what next?" Duncan asked her.

"Oh, I don't know."

"Going to get some kind of a job?"

"Mr. Peck," said Mrs. Milsom, "being a minister's wife is a job."

Duncan looked over at her. Justine grew worried, but in the end all he said was, "I meant, besides that."

"Oh, there's nothing besides that. Believe me, I know. I'm a minister's daughter. And I've been standing behind Arthur all this time filling in until he found himself a wife: attending teas and sewing circles, helping at bazaars, fixing casseroles-"

"Meggie, your mother must know people," Duncan said. "All sorts of people with jobs to offer, I'm sure of it. How about Pooch Sims? The veterinarian." He turned to Justine. "She could use someone."

"Oh, Mr. Peck," said Mrs. Milsom. She laughed and her ice cubes rattled.

"Margaret wouldn't want to do that."

Everyone looked at Meg. She stared down into her glass.

"Would you, Meg?" Duncan asked.

"No," said Meg, "I guess I wouldn't."

"Well, then, what?"

"Oh, I don't know, Daddy. Mother Milsom's right, I do have a lot to do already. I've taken over the nursery at church and I have so many calls to pay and everything."

Justine's teeth seemed to be growing fur, and still she hadn't made a dent in her drink. She longed for something sour or salty. She had a craving for pickles, lemon rind, a potato chip even. But Mrs. Milsom gazed at her so reproachfully that she raised the glass and took another swallow.

"Mainly of course the minister's wife is a buffer," said Mrs. Milsom.

"She filters his calls, tries to handle the little things that so clutter his day-oh, Margaret can tell you. We've been teaching her all about it.

Arthur is not terribly strong, you see. He's allergic to so much. And he has these headaches."

"But I thought you were a healer," Duncan said.

"A healer, yes! I have a little group that meets on Sunday evenings.

Anyone can come. I inherited the gift from my father, who once gave sight to a blind man."

"But your father was deaf."

"He still had the gift, Mr. Peck."

"I meant-"

"Of course the gift must be kept alive by prayer and faith, it has to be nurtured along. That's what I tell Arthur. I feel that Arthur very definitely has the gift. I am working with him on it now. So far there has seemed to be some-I don't know, some sort of resistance, I'm just not-but we're working, I'm sure we'll get there."

"How about Grandfather here?" Duncan asked. "He could use some help."

She hesitated.