Chapter 17

When I pulled up there was a man digging in the flowerbeds that Cecelia maintains around the front of the house. He looked up when Darlia and I got out of the Blazer, a lean weather-beaten man in worn clothing. As Darlia and I went up the walk he stuck the shovel in the dirt and wiped his hand on his pants, then offered it to me. "You must be Mr. Carpenter."

"Yeah, that's me." I was puzzled, but figured I'd let him go first.

"My name's Jim Monaghan. Your wife asked me to dig up some things to start preparing for spring."

That was definitely puzzling, for Cecelia can use a shovel as well as I can, and frequently does – more often than I do, in fact. And when she needs help she comes to me. But I kept my mouth shut, for Cecelia doesn't do anything without reason. I nodded and went on inside, where Darlia had already gone. That was proof she was tired; normally her manners are better than mine, or at least more refined.

Cecelia was at the stove, where I seem to find her half the time when I come in. She was stirring something in a pot – chili, from the odor that met me. She turned and gave me a brilliant smile. She had on a black blouse now, and a black skirt with gold highlights in it – they looked from the front door like random gold threads. She gave the pot another stir, and turned down the burner, and came to meet me.

"Did you meet Mr. Monaghan as you came in?"

"Yeah. How 'bout you enlighten this poor baffled mind?"

Her grin lightened her face, and I was almost ready to settle for that and forego the enlightenment. But she went ahead and answered me. "You and I both know how many people pretend to a desire to exchange work for a meal. And we both have offered meals to any number of these people, only to receive rejection – and we know why. But we still make the offer on occasion."

"Yep."

"I made Mr. Monaghan such an offer today as I was shopping. He accepted, and has kept me busy finding him things to do. And so I plan to feed him well tonight."

"I get it now – and I approve, not that you need my approval to do good. He's working in the front flower beds now – looks like they're gonna get a better plowing than John Deere could give 'em."

"He indeed – in the southern phrase – makes a hand, although you, having lived in Oklahoma and Texas, probably don't need me to elucidate where the phrase comes from."

"No, not hardly." I gave her a quick kiss. "Darlia's tired, so let me be sure she cleans up before we eat. When do we eat, by the way?"

"It's just about ready – I moved things up in order to accommodate Mr. Monaghan."

"Cool. After I see to Darlia I'll bring him in."

"Very good. By the time you are all here, the table will be ready."

It was, too. It was indeed chili I'd smelled, the chili and hominy that I taught Cecelia about. She makes the chili herself, improving on the Wolf Brand that I used to eat before we got married, but the hominy is my own innovation – at least, I taught it to her. It was actually Tony, my uncle, who came up with it; I just passed it on. There were tortillas as well, and I saw the jar of honey sitting on the counter and figured there would be sopaipillas afterward. I'd asked Monaghan what he wanted to drink, and Cecelia put a cup of coffee at his place along with sugar and cream – real cream, for she's picky. She had a cup of coffee herself, and set a glass of lemonade by Darlia's plate and a bottle of Coke at my place.

It was interesting to see Monaghan eat. He tried to take it easy, but eventually hunger got the better of him. He hadn't been starving – that shrinks your stomach and at first you can't eat much – but he must not have been eating much or often, or both. All three of us – me, Cecelia, and Darlia – have healthy appetites, but Monaghan kept up with us.

Finally we all slowed down, and there were indeed sopaipillas. As we spooned in the dark cactus honey and ate, Monaghan spoke for the first time since thanking Cecelia for the food. "Why are you doing this – feeding me, and giving me work, I mean?"

I had my mouth full of sopaipilla, and nodded at Cecelia to take it. She said, "To the extent that I did or did not show compassion to you, to that extent I would or would not have shown compassion to my Lord."

Cecelia, who's normally loquacious, has a gift for brevity when she wants to draw someone out. It worked here. Monaghan asked, "What do you mean by that?" He caught himself. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Carpenter – I don't mean to pry or anything."

"That's perfectly fine, Mr. Monaghan. I intended you to ask that question." And she smiled at him, happily. "What I mean is that I'm a Christian – indeed, all three of us are Christians. As such, we have an obligation to do good. But you should not regard this supper as a mere fulfillment of duty; because I'm a Christian, I wanted to give you both honest work, and an honest meal in exchange therefor."

"I grew up in church, at least till I was a teenager, but I never saw anything like this."

"There may be two reasons for that. One possibility, of course, is that it did not occur. The other is that it did not occur within your vision. It is possible that all around you people were doing good, without calling attention to it." She turned a hand palm up, as though offering the alternatives to him. "There are, sadly, churches which preach very fine sermons and live very poor lives; there are also churches which go about the Lord's work quietly, where the people do as they ought to do, without fanfare."

"I hadn't thought of it that way, Mrs. Carpenter."

"That is no shame, Mr. Monaghan. All of us have flaws in our thinking, and I am not least in that regard. My husband – though he doubtless cannot recall any such occurrence – has more than once rescued me from sloppy thinking and erroneous conclusions."

I grinned. "You're right, C – I can't remember nan such instance." I turned to Monaghan. "But my wife's right – we're all messed up to some extent. And she's right about why we're doing this, too. I'm not saying that only Christians would feed you or give you honest work. But when we do it, our faith is the reason we do it. And to follow up on something else she said, we're not gonna broadcast it around. Unless you tell someone – and if you know anyone who's genuinely down and out and needs a hand, by all means tell 'im – unless you tell someone no one's gonna know what we're doing this evening."

"You're not ashamed, though."

"No, not at all. Cecelia paraphrased the Bible to you a minute ago. Here's more of what the Bible says, as close as I can quote it: 'When you give, don't let your right hand know what your left hand's doing.' The point of our doing good isn't fame. It's not to impress anyone, nor to show off. The act itself is the reason – that and the glory of the Lord."

Monaghan took a sip of coffee – Cecelia had refilled his cup during supper. "No offense, Mr. Carpenter, but I've heard that before, and never saw none of it."

"No offense at all, Mr. Monaghan. I've been there myself. I wasn't always a Christian – in fact, I wasn't a Christian till I was 24. And even since then I've seen people who talked a good Christianity and lived like they'd never read any of the Bible. That's one of the problems of living in a country where it doesn't cost much to say you're a Christian. Back in the New Testament days you didn't casually say 'I'm a Christian.' If you said it, you meant it, 'cause it might get you dead. Here and now, especially if you don't believe too much of the Bible or believe it too fervently, you can say you're a Christian and actually get praise for it. And you don't have to live like it either; people don't bother much looking at what you do, unless they're determined to hate the faith anyway."