Madness In Maggody

"So what are you going to do?" she demanded.

Brother Verber gulped down the tea. His voice still was on the high side as he said, "What do you reckon I ought to do, Sister Barbara?"

"Something," Mrs. Jim Bob replied, her arms locked and her foot tapping away like a woodpecker. "Both of those young people attend the Voice of the Almighty on a regular basis. I know for a fact Kevin has a lapel pin for not missing Sunday school for ten years. Dahlia's gra

"Should I kick them out?" Brother Verber asked, bewildered. "You know, excommunicate them?"

"Excommunicate them out of the church? Of course not! That would not be the charitable, forgiving thing to do, Brother Verber, and I'm shocked you could say such a thing. Who knows what they might do next if they thought no one was minding their behavior, that no one was deeply concerned with teaching them to restrain their lust?"

"I could denounce them from the pulpit, I 'spose. Tell the whole congregation about this shameful scene and ask everyone to pray for their souls right then and there."

Mrs. Jim Bob pondered this one for a second, imagining the two faces when their disgusting actions were aired in front of a good percentage of the town's folks. Reluctantly, she realized Edwina would be in her regular seat at the end of the third pew and would wonder how certain graphic details had crept into the story. "No, we can't have that sort of thing said aloud in the Assembly Hall where God can hear us. We'd be obliged to exorcise the building to get rid of the stench. What you need to do is call them in for premarital counseling, Brother Verber. Instruct them about how decent, God-fearing, betrothed couples behave. Warn them about going to hell for all eternity if they even think about bestial practices that no good Christian couple would ever engage in."

"What if they won't come?" Brother Verber asked humbly, doing his best not to let his mind stray to his study material under his sofa, where bestiality was almost the order of the day.

"You just tell them that if they won't, you'll be forced to try to save their souls anyways by speaking out during the Sunday service. I do believe you can make them understand, don't you?"

"Oh, Sister Barbara, some days you are a saint just waiting for a halo. I can almost see it now. Praise the Lord!"

She looked down modestly.

Estelle squinted at the list, wishing the light was a little bit better but determined not to pull out her reading glasses and thus give Ruby Bee the opportunity to make catty remarks. "Okay, we got Saralee Chewink, Jackie Sattering, Raimundo Mandozes, Lissie and Martin Milvin, both of Elsie McMay's grandchildren, and the Nookim boy."

Ruby Bee leaned over Estelle's shoulder and carefully counted the names. "We only got eight players. Didn't Arly say we needed nine?"

"Maybe. I used to watch games on television when there wasn't anything else on. You've got your pitcher and your catcher, three base guards, and three outfielders."

"That's just eight," Ruby Bee said, nobody's fool. "We don't supply the referee, do we? Even if we do, one of us could do that part. In fact, it seems real silly to have a child out there telling people what the rules are."

"Hush for a minute and let me think," Estelle muttered.

Ruby Bee went over to the corner booth to make sure the fellow from number four didn't want dessert (he didn't), inquired if he'd enjoyed his lunch (he had), and left him alone to read his important-looking papers.

"Well," she said once she was back behind the bar, "have you solved the mystery of the ninth player? Are you going to tell me now or shall I wait to read it in the newspaper? Is it go

"Aren't we full of ourselves today? I happened to have remembered another position, but if you're more inclined to listen to your jaw flap, then I sure don't want to interrupt you. Go ahead, flap your jaw. It makes a nice breeze."

Ruby Bee stalked into the kitchen, rattled the pots and pans on the stove, ran water in the stainless-steel sink, opened and closed the refrigerator door, and gnawed on her lower lip until it began to smart. None of this took more than a minute, and when she came back out, Estelle was still on the stool, nibbling on a pencil and pretending to study the list.

Ruby Bee grabbed a washrag and began to wipe the spotless countertop. "What other position is there?"

"I beg your pardon. Are you speaking to me?"

"What other position is there?" Ruby Bee repeated, trying not to envision the washrag in Estelle's mouth, which was big enough to hold it without cracking her lipstick.

"Stop short. It's between second and third base."

"Stop short? I've never heard of any position called stop short. You've got it wrong, Estelle. That's downright crazy."

"I do not, Miss Walking Baseball Bible. The stop short is the fellow that hops around between second and third base. He's almost as important as the pitcher."

"How can he be as important as the pitcher? If the pitcher didn't pitch, then the batter wouldn't have anything to try to bat. I suppose now you're going to say this stop short is as important as the batter. I swear, Estelle, you've been sniffing the perm solution too long. As important as the pitcher!"

The fellow from number four came to the register and took out his wallet. "Lunch certainly is a bargain," he murmured.

Ruby Bee glared at Estelle, then managed a pinched smile for the fellow whose name she didn't recall right offhand. "I hope this conversation didn't disturb you."

"Of course not," Lamont lied smoothly, having had more than a little practice in his day. "I couldn't help overhearing bits and pieces, however. I gather you're both baseball fans?"

Estelle glared at Ruby Bee, then fluttered her eyelashes for the fellow, who had attractive silverish hair, a nice face, and drove a late-model black Cadillac. "Perhaps you could settle a small bone of contention for us," she said, still fluttering like crazy to make her request sound more friendly. "You're the fellow in number four, ain't you?"

"Lamont Petrel, and at your service."

Ruby Bee figured Estelle had a gnat in her eye, so she decided to butt in before she made a total fool of herself, which was destined to happen any second. "We were discussing the name of the player what stands between second and third base," she said.

Lamont was watching both of them warily, since neither seemed real stable. "Which team are you interested in? I don't follow baseball religiously, but I might be able to remember a few of the shortstops."

There was a moment of silence. "Never mind," Estelle said in a fu

Ruby Bee considered saying something right there in front of the fellow, but changed her mind after a quick peek at Estelle's face. "Don't let us detain you from your work, Mr. Petrel."

"Whatever you say," Lamont said, puzzled. "Have a nice day."

"You, too," they said in unison.

Estelle waited until the door closed, then leaned forward and said, "Isn't he opening the supermarket with Jim Bob?"

"Yeah, he stays out back two or three nights a week so he can meet with Jim Bob or go across the street and look at blueprints with those foulmouthed hard hats. The very first day they started that job, there must have been a dozen of them strutted right in here like they owned the place. Let me tell you, I straightened them out quicker than a snake can spit. They don't even look over here when they drive up to work every morning. It's bad enough being driven out of business without having to serve beer and lunch to the people who're twisting the screw in your back. Mr. Petrel's quiet, so I put up with him, and he's real good about paying for any long-distance calls he makes from the room."