CHAPTER 37
"It's like early congregationalism," Sherry said. We were sitting in the dining hall at the Middleton headquarters drinking coffee at a table where the morning yellow sun made a pleasing yellow splash on the space between us. "We meet once a week on Tuesday evenings right here and decide on church business. I'm council chairman."
There were two or three kitchen workers gearing up for lunch, but otherwise there was no one else in the room. My new approach to cutting back on coffee was to drink it with a lot of milk and sugar. After a while it would be easy to wean myself altogether, more milk and less coffee each time, and eventually I'd have it done. The coffee mugs were the old thick white china ones they used to use in diners. I got up and went to a coffee urn and refilled mine, added a lot of milk and some sugar, and went back to the table. The smell of stew and coffee enriched the room.
"And the money?"
"The money is being handled by the trust department at Mr. Hallers's bank and they issue us a check for the interest every month. They said it would be about two thousand a month."
"That be enough?"
"I think so. We are quite self-sufficient and we are going to work on that. This compound is paid for. We raise most of our vegetables and eggs. We're going to preserve fruits and vegetables this year. We can't give people a stipend really, anymore, but they can supplement by working outside and we're considering how to make money."
Sherry had filled out a little. She had a lot of color from working outdoors, and she seemed firmer to me.
"What about Reverend Winston?" she said.
"He's agreed to supply evidence against Paultz," I said. "When the warrants are all in place they will bust Mickey and indict him and Winston will testify and they'll put Paultz away."
"What will happen to him?" Sherry said.
"Winston? I suspect he'll get a suspended sentence, and then maybe they'll give him a new identity and he'll disappear in some witness protection program."
"Because Mickey Paultz will try to have him killed?"
"Yes. We've got Winston covered now so Paultz can't get at him. And Paultz thinks he's bought silence with the church donation. But when Winston testifies . . ."
Sherry nodded. She was resting her chin on her clenched right fist and I was struck by the bizarre conjunction of Mickey Paultz and this religious little kid.
"I hope he'll be all right," Sherry said. "Where is he?"
"He's covered," I said.
"Do you know anything about Tommy?" she said.
I shook my head. "Paul says he's canceled rehearsals and they are a week and a half away from a performance."
"My God," she said.
"Not his style?"
"Oh, Lord, no. Nothing came before performance. Nothing."
The sunlight had moved slightly and now touched her hands where they lay motionless beside her coffee cup on the table. The brightness made her skin seem faintly translucent. And her unadorned hands seemed very vulnerable.
"I hope he hasn't done anything to himself," she said. She was studying the sunlight on her hands.
"Most people don't," I said.
"Would you find out if he's all right?" she said.
She had pulled her hair back from her face and caught it with some kind of pin at the nape of her neck. She wore no makeup. Her face as she looked at me seemed almost devoid of experience, as if it had begun just this morning. Her eyes were very pale blue.
"Sure," I said. "I'll take a look."
"We . . . I can't pay you."
"What are friends for," I said.
She reached one of her hands toward me through the splash of sun and took my hand. And held it.
"You are a friend," she said. "I didn't know there were people like you. I've never met anyone like you."
"I am a dandy," I said.
She reached her other hand across and patted the top of my hand.
"Yes," she said. "You are. You do what you say you'll do. You care about people. You aren't mean. You're strong. You're a very wonderful man."
"And I have a winsome smile," I said. "Don't forget that."
She kept patting my hand. "I pray for you each day," she said.
"It can't hurt," I said.