Madness In Maggody

Kevin had been permitted into Dahlia's bedroom by her gra

"Dahlia?" he whispered.

The dune quivered. "Whatta you want, Kevin Fitzgerald Buchanon?"

"I came by to see if you was feeling better. You looked mighty pale yesterday."

"So would you if'n you'd retched your gut out all afternoon."

He sat on the edge of the bed and patted what he guessed was her shoulder or head or something. "I felt real bad for you, my darling. It must have been about the worst thing what ever happened to you. I brought you a little present."

The blanket edged down until two dark eyes were regarding him in a most u

"A package of vanilla sandwich cookies. I know how much you like 'em, and I was just hoping they might speed you along on your road to recovery." Kevin held his breath until a hand snaked out from under the blanket and snatched the package from his lap. "I guess I'd better let you get some rest now. When do you reckon you'll be better?"

"About the time the preacher finishes the sermon and they lower my casket into the hole. Then everybody throws ashes to ashes and dust to dust down on me and goes away to watch television or have supper, while I just lay there waiting for the worms."

Kevin's stomach began to flop like a crappie in the bottom of a johnboat. "But, sweetness, your gra

Cellophane crackled. "That ain't what I'm talking about," came the muffled voice from under the blanket. "I am referring to this humiliating session we got to go to with Brother Verber, that fat ol' pious pig. It's your fault, Kevin Fitzgerald Buchanon, and you know it. On account of how you jumped all over me on the porch swing and tore a hole in my best blue blouse, I got to listen to the preacher go on and on about lust and sin and the fast track to eternal damnation. And so do you."

By now his stomach was flopping so hard, he started to wonder if he had a touch of the same stomach flu that had gripped hold of everybody the day before. "I do?" he croaked.

"Brother Verber and Mrs. Jim Bob came up to me while I was in the kitchen waiting for the pan of tamales to heat up in the oven, and the two of them started lecturing about how I was a lustful slut and you was some kind of sex maniac. All I could do was stare. Before I could even think what to say, she was telling me how the whole town knows you and I was fornicating on the porch swing, and he was all the while sermonizing about going to hell in a hand basket. Then she got all priggy and said we got to have some damn fool premarried counseling session or we're going to be the stars of next week's sermon."

"Oh my gawd…"

The blanket flew back and Dahlia grunted and struggled around until she was sitting up. Her eyes were almost invisible under her lowered brow, and her mouth was screwed up something fierce. Her words came out like bullets that pierced his heart. "This is all your fault. What do you aim to do about it?"

"Maybe I can talk some sense in them," he said, scooting back so far that he almost toppled off the edge of the bed. "They ain't got no call to tell us we have to go to this counseling session. I'll tell them that to their faces."

"What are you going to tell your ma and pa next Sunday morning when Brother Verber starts naming names from the pulpit of the Voice of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall? What am I supposed to tell my gra

Kevin breathed in and out for a while, his Adam's apple rippling and his palms getting so sweaty that he had to wipe them on the sheet. He couldn't think of a single thing to say, which was probably just as well.

"Now to which base do we throw the ball?" I asked patiently. I was on the pitcher's mound (a clump of weeds), with those players who hadn't found something more interesting to do. "There's a ru

Hammet waved his arm. "Home plate. We don't want those dumbshit sumbitches to get a score. Long as we got the ball at home, ain't no way they can sneak in."

I pretended to consider his reply. "That's true, Hammet; the opposing side ca

"Home plate," Saralee said promptly.

"Why?"

"'Cause none of them can catch the ball except me. Ain't no point in throwing it at them if'n they're go

She took off her glasses and cleaned them on her shirt, then settled them back in place and studied Hammet, who promptly turned petunia pink and began to shuffle his feet in the weeds. "I don't know about him," she added pensively. "He's kind of mysterious, ain't he?"

"About as mysterious as a skunk squashed on the highway," said Georgie, snickering. "You can smell it a good mile away, and you just about puke when you get too close."

Saralee and I were hanging on to Hammet for dear life-Georgie's, anyway-when Buzz Milvin picked his way through the cow patties. "Howdy, Arly," he said. "Everything going well?"

I hissed a warning into Hammet's ear, and when he relaxed, I left him in Saralee's custody and went over to Buzz. "Everything's just dandy. Have you decided you want to coach? I've got a ton of work at the PD and I'd truly appreciate some relief. The bats and balls are in that bag and-"

"Sorry," he said, gri

"Martin's giving it his best, although he hasn't quite yet figured out what to do with the ball if it lands in his glove. He is not alone." I looked over Buzz's shoulder at Lissie, who was sitting under a scraggly oak tree at the far edge of the pasture. She glanced up at us, then quickly looked back down at the daisies in her lap. "Lissie's not especially motivated," I added, shrugging, "but she's not alone, either."

Buzz located her and let out a piercing whistle. "Lissie, get over here! No, you leave those fool flowers alone and get over here right this minute!"

"She's not a problem, Buzz," I protested. "Enoch and Georgie are a lot more interested in picking their noses than catching fly balls, and Jackie Sattering won't even stand up unless I go out there and pull him to his feet. Our pitcher speaks no English, and our second baseman has yet to speak at all. Our catcher and first baseman are both contenders in the local Golden Glove competition."

"Lissie can try," he said as she came slowly toward us, her head drooping like the one daisy in her hand. She stopped several yards away and continued to stare at the ground. Buzz snorted and said, "What's this I hear about you not playing baseball, young lady? Didn't I tell you I expected you to try your best? Didn't we go outside after supper most every night last week and practice throwing and catching?"

"Yes, Pa," she whispered.

"Do you recollect that talk we had about team spirit?" Buzz continued relentlessly. "Do you?"