She and Alene went out and the woman at the piano closed the lid over the piano keys and walked away and the rest of the small congregation filed out of the church, not talking any more than they had the previous Sunday, moving quietly. The usher began to close up the high stained-glass windows with his hooked pole.
When Lyle left the church he went home to the parsonage and walked directly through the house and out the back door to the garage and climbed in the car and drove out on the narrow blacktop to the south, driving fast but slowing after a few miles and turning east on one of the county roads. He drove without motive or destination and after a while he came to the sandhills and stopped to look at three horses standing in a pasture. He got out and walked down through the ditch weeds and stood at the barbed-wire fence. The horses watched him, two red mares and a colt. One of the mares came forward and he held out his hand and she nuzzled it and backed away. Then the mare and the two others turned and walked off. He went back to his car and drove on along the section roads, all running north and south or east and west, straight and surveyed and exact, and after an aimless hour of driving he came to the Johnsons’ place.
They were already home from church, not having wanted to see anyone or talk to anyone, and at home they’d taken their Sunday dresses off and changed into soft worn housedresses and had sat at the kitchen table and had eaten tomato sandwiches, the tomatoes from their own garden, and had drunk iced tea. They’d spoken only a little about what had happened at church. Then they heard the car on the gravel coming up to the house. Alene got up and looked out the kitchen window. It’s him, she said. Reverend Lyle.
Oh good Lord, Willa said. What would he want?
Let’s find out, Alene said.
He’ll want to talk, Willa said.
Maybe he will. That’s all right if he does.
They went to the porch and stood waiting as they had when Lorraine and Alice had come to visit in the previous week. Lyle climbed out and looked over the roof of his car at the women and at the barn and corrals and pens and the windmill and the outbuildings and sheds. He turned back to the women again and walked around the rear of the car and stopped. Would you mind if I rest a moment?
No. For goodness’ sake, Willa said. Come in. Won’t you?
I’d like to.
Yes, Alene said, do please come in.
He came up the little sidewalk in the yard and followed the women into the kitchen.
This is pleasant in here, Lyle said. It’s very cool and peaceful.
It always stays cool in this part of the house, Willa said. Because of the shade trees and the porch.
And you keep the windows open, Lyle said.
We almost never close these windows in summer. There’s almost always a breeze. Will you sit down?
I’d like to wash my hands first, if you wouldn’t mind.
The bathroom’s there, Willa said.
He went inside and shut the door and when he came out Alene was clearing the table.
Do you prefer to sit here or in the living room? Willa said.
This is fine here, Lyle said. Don’t you think?
Have you had anything to eat?
No.
We have cheese and tomato for sandwiches, Alene said. Or I could make you a bacon lettuce tomato sandwich.
Thank you. I’d like that.
Please sit down. We don’t stand on any formalities here.
He sat down at the table and Willa seated herself across from him. Alene brought the iced tea and began frying bacon in a black iron skillet.
I saw the name on the mailbox, Lyle said. That’s how I found you. I thought it must be you.
Yes. We’ve been here a long time. My husband grew up on this ranch and then we lived here after we were married and then Alene came. After she went away to college and started teaching, it was just the two of us again until he died.
When did he die?
It’s been thirty years now, Willa said. I’ve been without my husband for thirty years. He had a heart attack out in the calf pen at night checking for new calves. I was the one who found him. I went out in my nightgown and overcoat with a flashlight and there he was on the ground with his eyes staring up.