The View from Mount Joy (28 page)

I had wanted to build the balcony off my office, but Linda decided the space wouldn’t work as well as the space by Banana Square.

“We can build it on this wall,” she said, “about six feet from the floor. It’ll have a railing around it and a staircase on this side.”

I agreed, and she designed it and contracted the work—all for free.

“You know what this entitles you to, don’t you?” I asked as we stood admiring the finished project, a six-by-eight-foot platform with a railing around it. “A free cookie from the bakery every time you shop.”

“Oh, Joe,” said Linda, “I couldn’t.”

“Well, then how
can
I pay you?”

“You can let me hold Ben.”

“Then consider us,” I said, passing the sleeping baby to Linda, “paid in full.”

I was throwing a party at the store both to celebrate the completion of the balcony and to introduce our son to the greater world.

He slept nonchalantly through nearly every introduction, except when Eileen held him—then he opened his eyes and smiled.

“I’m not saying I have a way with the men,” said the cashier, returning Ben’s smile with a big one of her own, “because it’s so obvious.”

Flora hovered around her baby brother, scowling when she thought we were letting someone hold him who wasn’t up to the task. The look she gave us when we handed Ben to Mr. Snowbeck was priceless.

“You’ve got to support his head,” she reminded the grandfather of seven.

For the baby’s first three weeks, he slept in a bassinet in our bedroom, and when we moved him into the nursery, Flora dragged in a sleeping bag, announcing that she’d sleep next to his crib so he wouldn’t be scared.

“When I was little, I thought Mme. Chou Chou was pretty neat,” she confessed to me as she sat on the couch holding the baby. “But Ben is just the
best.
”

“He is the best,” I agreed. I sat next to her, my arm draped across her shoulder. “The best
boy.
You’re the best
girl.
”

Flora smiled and then made the kind of face people feel compelled to make while looking at a baby. “Wouldn’t Maman have loved him?”

“Oh boy, would she,” I said. “On the first day I met you, she told me she was
blown away
by you.”

“She did?” whispered Flora.

“You were wrapped up in this big scarf
—très chic—
that she had tied around her. She told me she liked to feel your little heart beat.”

Flora covered Ben’s chest with her hand and after a moment said, “It does feel nice.”

At the party, she dropped her vigilance only when some kids her own age showed up and she decided to join them at the refreshment table.

“But if you need me,” she told me, “do not
hesitate.
”

With the baby safely in Len’s arms, with my mother on deck to hold him next, Jenny and I slipped into the back of the store and up into the office.

“Don’t turn on the lights,” I said. “Let’s just watch everything for a while.”

I dragged my swivel chair close to the window and sat down, inviting Jenny to sit on my lap.

“Everyone’s sure having fun,” she said.

“Well, if you can’t have fun in a grocery store,” I said, “where can you?”

“Let’s do a contest,” said Jenny.

“Let’s do something else,” I said, letting my hands wander up my wife’s thighs.

She twisted around to face me. “Come on, we can’t have a party at Haugland Foods without having a contest.”

“All right,” I said, getting one final squeeze in. “What should we have them do?”

“How about a talent contest? You know, to inaugurate the new stage.”

“But we already announced that you’re going to play. Nobody’s going to want to hear Red Carlson belt out ‘This Land Is Your Land’ in his two favorite notes.”

“Well, come on,” said Jenny. She got up, turning the microphone on. “Think of something.”

She rang the little bell, and the partygoers instinctively looked up at the office window. Jenny turned on the light.

“Good evening,” I said, taking the mike Jenny thrust at me. “We hope all of you are having a wonderful time. Let’s give a big hand to Melissa and Dana in the deli department, who made all the great food you’re snacking on!”

The crowd applauded, and I saw Ben, in his grandmother’s arms, flail his arms and then settle back into sleep.

“Sorry, son,” I whispered, and continuing in a low voice, I said, “Okay, people, we’ve got another contest going. And the contest is…” I looked at Jenny, but all she offered was a shrug. That proved good enough inspiration.

“The contest is to name our stage before our first performer takes her place on it! Ladies and gentlemen, meet me by the unnamed stage by Banana Square!”

Jenny and I held hands as we raced down the steps.

“My hero,” she said. “I knew you’d think of something.”

“How about the Haugland Foods Stage?” hollered Estelle Brady as Jenny and I made our way through the crowd and to the stage.

“How about the
Super
Market Stage?” said Marlys Pitt, and then blushed, as if embarrassed by her suggestion.

“The Banana Square Stage!” shouted Irv Busch. “That’s perfect.”

I had climbed up onto the stage, pulling Jenny along with me.

“Now, come on, people. My beautiful wife is going to perform in a matter of minutes, and you can’t think of a better name?”

“Hey, what’s the prize anyway?” asked Kay Nelson, who asked me nearly every time she was in the store when I was going to hold another Supermarket Sweep so she could load up on steaks.

“The prize is…” I looked at Kay. “Ten pounds of whatever you want from the butcher counter.”

“But I’m a vegetarian!” said Helen Hanson’s teenage daughter.

“Or ten pounds of fresh produce—your choice. Now to help you along, just think: this stage is going to be the home for performers who’ll bring a little class to your grocery shopping—mostly musicians, but you never know when someone might want to recite a Shakespearean soliloquy.”

“Why don’t you just name it after yourself?” asked Millie Purcell. “Call it Joe’s Place?”

“I appreciate the suggestion,” I told Millie, “but I told you, I want a little class!”

I wasn’t being modest—I thought Joe’s Place sounded like a hamburger joint. I fielded other suggestions and then felt an elbow in my side.

“I’ve got it!” said Jenny softly.

She told me later that the name came to her as she stood on that little stage with me and, looking out at all the customers, saw Flora.

“You could tell she was thinking hard, trying to come up with a good name,” said Jenny. “I just felt this surge of love—could we have a sweeter girl? Could Ben have a better sister? And then I thought, let’s honor her mother. I mean, she was an artist…and your best friend.”

Talk about class.

And so the little stage my aunt’s girlfriend designed and on which Jenny wowed the crowd by playing Handel and Bach was named the Darva Pratt Performance Center. Jan Olafson even made a plaque down in her basement woodshop, and every time Flora came into the store and passed by the stage, she ran her hand over it.

Twenty-two

From the “
Chat with Chip
” interview published in
Popular Life
magazine, February
1995:

This month I’m talking to the talk of the town—if the town is Bethlehem, that is—Kristi Casey! For those of you who don’t have radios or TVs—I guess I’m talking to you Amish folk—Kristi Casey has a devoted radio audience who tunes in five days a week to hear her
On the Air with God
show. Now the Kristi Corps, as her rabid fans call themselves, will have more of Kristi via her own television show, which begins next month on the Personal Prayer Power (PPP) Network. I caught up with Kristi at the very chic Tristano’s in New York City, where she was enjoying a glass of pinot noir.

Chip:
Whoa, Kristi—it’s not often that I get to interview a real live evangelist!

Kristi:
Nice to meet you, Chip.

Chip:
So you’re not one of these nuts who think liquor is taboo, eh?

Kristi:
If Jesus changed water into wine for us to enjoy, who am I to refuse?
(She winks)
Actually, Chip my doctor advises me that a glass of red wine a day is good for my health.

Chip:
So tell me, Kris, how’d a pretty woman like you decide to get into the preaching biz? Did you flip a coin or something—heads dental hygiene, tails evangelism?

Kristi:
Honestly, Chip, I thought I was going to be a lawyer—a public defender representing the downtrodden! But one night, many years ago, God performed a little miracle for me. I was camping up in northern Minnesota—I’ve always liked to escape into the great outdoors—and suddenly the sky was filled with the northern lights. It was such a beautiful spectacle, and while I can’t presume to think God put on this show just for me, I saw the miracle in it all. I was on a bluff overlooking Lake Superior and I was filled with His truth and presence and my heart was so gladdened, I truly thought, looking over the dark waters of the lake and into the changing colors of the sky, “Oh my goodness, I have been given the view from Mount Joy.”

Chip:
And that, in fact, will be the name of your new television show, isn’t that right? What does “the view from Mount Joy” mean?

Kristi:
Chip, I think anyone has the capability to climb their own Mount Joy—the place that makes them see the true miracles of God’s world.

Chip:
Yeah, yeah, yeah…Now listen, Kristi—you do not look like your average evangelist. For a forty-year-old, honey, you’re one hot mama.

Kristi (laughing):
Now that was a segue if I ever heard one! And I thank you for the compliment, Chip, although I can’t say I had much to do with the outside package—that’s all God’s work.

Chip:
Seriously, Kris, don’t you get bored by all this religion stuff? I mean, don’t you ever want to kick off your shoes and have some fun?

Kristi (laughing):
Believe it or not, Chip, bringing people to God can be fun. It can also be challenging, exhilarating, and frustrating, but yes, there is some fun there.

Chip:
Sure, sure, it all sounds like BS to me. Anyway, ready to take my quiz?

Kristi:
As ready as I’ll ever be.

Chip:
Okay, let’s get down and dirty. I’m going to ask you questions and I want honest answers. No censoring.

Kristi:
Fire away.

Chip:
How old were you when you lost your virginity?

Kristi:
You know what, Chip? I try to spread God’s word, not salacious gossip.

Chip:
But you’re not really gossiping if you’re talking about yourself, are you?

Kristi:
I just think your readers aren’t interested in inconsequential patter like this.

Chip:
Obviously you don’t know my readers. They don’t think virginity—or the loss of it—is inconsequential at all. But I respect your need to play the proper church lady. Because really, all you guys are a bunch of hypocrites anyway, right?

Kristi (laughing):
You know, Chip, I do read your column, so I am aware of how you like to put people on the spot. I understand it’s your job and you do it well.

Chip:
So as far as answering my question…you’re not answering it, right?

Kristi:
I will answer any serious questions put to me.

Chip:
Oh,
serious
questions. Okay, I understand the First Lady is going to be the first guest on your television show. How’d you bag her?

Kristi:
First of all, let me just say I’m very flattered the First Lady has agreed to grace my first show. I know she loves the Lord, and I imagine she’s coming on my show to help spread the good news.

Chip:
Lately you’ve had a lot of politicians on your show, but they all seem to be of one particular stripe. Doesn’t God call you to welcome everyone in?

Kristi:
I’d love to welcome everyone in, but not everyone takes me up on my invitations.

Chip:
Riiiiiiiiight. So does this TV show mark the end of your radio career?

Kristi:
Goodness, no, I’ll be on the radio even more. As you said, I’m on Monday through Friday. So I’ll actually be spending more hours on the radio than on TV.

Chip:
Is it true you and evangelist Johnny Priestly had a torrid affair?

Kristi:
I always like to assume the best in people, Chip, so I’ll assume you’re going for humor with that question.

Chip:
Well, the thought of an affair with Johnny Priestly
does
strike me as funny, but you didn’t answer my question.

Kristi:
I answered it, just not in the way you wanted me to.

Chip:
You’re no dummy, are you, Kristi?

Kristi:
I like to think I use the brains the good Lord gave me.

Chip:
I listened to a couple of your programs, and I haven’t liked what you’ve said about gay people, seeing I’m pretty gay myself. What exactly do you have against me and my sisters?

Kristi:
Chip, I think your sexuality is an unfortunate choice you made. I can’t imagine the reasons—maybe because you could better use your naturally flamboyant personality as a gay man?

Chip:
Kristi, you are so wrong you make my head spin. I didn’t make a choice choosing my sexuality; I
am
gay.

Kristi:
I’ll pray for you, Chip.

Chip:
And I’ll pray for you, Kristi, because there’s a lot of light you
haven’t
seen. But it was brave of you to talk to me, and I thank you.

Kristi:
Brave is Job standing up to all his trials. Brave is Daniel in the lion’s den. I’m just delivering a message to people—like you—who desperately need to hear it.

Chip:
Kristi, I’m going to shut off my tape recorder before I barf.

Fortunately, my time was taken up with my work and my family, so the temptation to waste time listening to Kristi lecture sinners was practically nil. Occasionally I might tune in, but it’s my experience as a radio listener that the more time a host is given to talk, the less interesting the talk becomes. There was no denying she was a big deal, though—you could see her on the news, accepting a Christian Woman of the Year award; you could see her on a late-night talk show, sparring with the host in a such a way that he told her, blushing, “You make this old-time religion sexy.” You could see her in newspapers and magazines, giving a cup of gruel to a starving child in Africa; sitting on the bed of a sick child in Chile; holding hands with the victim of a land mine. Kristi was spreading the Word throughout the world, and no matter what drought-ridden, virus-laden, war-torn place she found herself in, she always looked good.

“Your body really is your temple,” she said in a story in
Vogue
magazine. “And I don’t know about you, but I like a pulled-together-looking temple.”

“Oh sure, now she shows up!” said Kirk, shooting the TV off with the remote control. Kristi had just been on the news, posing with Earl Ellis and Johnny Priestly before the three evangelists went into the Waldorf-Astoria for a political fund-raiser.

“She’s everywhere!” said Nance.

“Everywhere but here,” said Martha Casey.

Jenny and I were poolside, or close to it; we were sitting in Kirk and Nance’s lanai, which was really an outdoor living room.

“Can you imagine having an outdoor living room back in Minnesota?” I asked Jenny, watching as Kirk mixed the daiquiris. “Watching TV and having drinks while the snow drifted up around us?”

“That’s one thing I do
not
miss,” said Clarence.

“I think moving down here was the smartest thing we ever did,” said Martha.

We were in Florida for business and pleasure, the pleasure being another Casey wedding: the bride was Kirk’s mother, the former Mrs. Casey (and who now insisted we call her Martha), and the groom was Clarence Selwin.

“Well, I suppose I ought to get dinner started,” said Nance.

“Let me help,” said Jenny.

“And me too,” said Martha, but Nance told her to sit down; the bride was in no way expected to prepare her wedding supper.

“I suppose we shouldn’t be expected to help either,” said Kirk hopefully.

“I’ll take a rain check,” said Nance. “To be cashed in when it’s time to wash the dishes.”

There was a loud splash.

“You can’t come on!”

“Why not?”

The kids were in the pool and eight-year-old Coral was exercising her right to torment her younger sister by barring her entry onto the small water slide.

“You gotta have a ticket!” demanded Coral.

“But I don’t have one!” wailed Gina.

“Please tell me,” said Kirk, pouring my drink, “that one day they’ll grow up to be like yours.”

I smiled. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

I had heard from enough parents at PTA meetings and along the sidelines at soccer games how their sweet and easygoing daughters had suddenly turned into, as one mother put it, teenzillas. It was as if fourteen was a foreign country with evil powers, changing those who entered into snotty, sullen girls who if they deigned to speak to you at all, would just as soon lie as tell the truth, But even though Flora was of age, her passport had not yet been stamped by fourteen. She still liked us, still conversed civilly with us, and still thought babysitting her three-year-old brother was actually fun.

“Daddy, she says I have to have a ticket to go down the slide I’ve gone down twenty hundred times for free!”

“Hey, you guys,” said Flora from the center of the pool, where she and Ben floated on a giant inner tube. “See who can swim to us the weirdest!”

The smirk that had been on Coral’s face and the rage on Gina’s were replaced by expressions of glee, and the younger girls grabbed each other’s hands. After they jumped into the water, Coral began flailing her arms and making faces, whereas Gina floated on her back as she kicked her legs up into the air.

“So contests are the key,” said Kirk, nodding.

“They work in the store.”

“We can vouch for that,” said Martha, who had first met Clarence in Banana Square when they were reciting Walt Whitman poems.

“Amen!” said Clarence.

“Who won?” said Coral, who had reached the inner tube and hooked one arm around it.

“Yeah, who won?” asked Gina, scrambling onto the other side,

“You were the funniest!” said Ben, pointing at Gina, on whom he had a little crush.

“But you were the strangest,” Flora quickly told Coral, and before an argument about who was the victor could begin, Flora said, “Now let’s see who can swim the scariest!”

She pushed away from the inner tube, and Ben, wearing water wings, followed. He began paddling around the pool, pushing out his lower jaw and groaning, rolling his eyes back into his sockets.

“Genetically, I think he resembles you a lot more than Jenny,” said Kirk.

Coral was walking around the shallow end, arms held rigidly in front of her, and Gina chose to once again float on her back, although this time she waved her arms and moaned.

“And it looks like both of your girls got all your DNA,” I said.

Martha, watching the kids, laughed.

“Actually, Coral reminds me of Kristi at that age.”

“Ma!” said Kirk. “Don’t say that about my own daughter.”

Martha winked at me. She was trim and tanned and the alcohol that had dragged down her features and spirit had been burned out of her system years ago, so at sixty-five she looked better than she had when I’d first met her, when I was in high school. “Kristi was a lot of fun when she was a little girl,” she countered. She took a sip of her iced tea. “It was only after Daddy’s accident that she changed.”

“No,” said Kirk, “she was mean way before that. At least to me.”

“Well, she did always have that capability,” agreed Martha. “Of being mean, that is.” She sighed, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears. “I did really think she might want to see her own mother married.”

Clarence took her hand and patted it. “It’s all right, Martha. I’m sure she tried.”