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“Well, if it isn’t Ginny Atkins,” a warm baritone voice said from behind her. “What a surprise.”
Careful of her plate’s balance, she turned, Sunday-best dress swirling around her legs, to see Freddy and Louise helping themselves to the picnic spread.
“Well, hello to you too,” Ginny said cheerfully. Best to pretend this was all normal and neighborly, despite the questioning look ol’ Louise was shooting her, having never seen her at church before.
Thankfully, Ginny was saved by a rustle of skirts as twowomen—mother and daughter from the looks of their matching upturned noses—swooped in from the other side of the table.
“Why, hello again, Mr. Keats,” the matronly one cooed. Her straw hat was so weighted down on one side with artificial sunflowers that Ginny didn’t know how she could stand up straight. “I see you’ve taken quite the serving of my Lillian’s blue-ribbon rhubarb pie.”
“My Lillian” was a girl about Ginny’s age, only freckle-less and prettier, with perfect golden hair that must have taken an hour to pin up around her face. She probably liked embroidery and pressing wildflowers, Ginny decided, and had never gutted a fish in her life.
“Oh, Mama, stop,” Lillian said, her voice louder than Ginny would’ve expected. “It’s just a simple old thing. Didyoubring anything, Mr. Keats?”
Freddy nodded politely. “Just a salad with some of our lettuce and radishes. Plucked a nice batch of each of them just this week from the garden.”
“How delightful!” Lillian’s mother tittered, searching the dishes to take a hefty spoonful from the indicated bowl. “You really were ahead of the times, Louise. Now that canned goods are slated to be rationed, all the magazines are talking about how more citizens need to sow Victory gardens come spring.”
“It’s a worthwhile task,” Freddy agreed.
“Oh, I’d just love it if you’d tell me all about it,” Lillian cooed, and Ginny nearly gagged.
“I’m sure, if there’s community interest, Mr. Keats would be happy to make apublicdemonstration of gardening techniques,” Louise said coolly, stepping between him and Lillian.
Good for Louise, putting her foot down. Fluttering eyelashes, really. Who did that, outside ofGone with the Wind?
“I don’t know how interesting—” Freddy protested.
“Oh,wouldyou, Mr. Keats?” Lillian’s smile spread evenwider. “What about the Fire Muster? Everyone in town goes to that.”
“Yes,” Ginny said, matching her enthusiasm, “theneveryonecould listen to you go on for hours about the benefits of earthworms and the different types of squash.”
He glared at her. She smiled sweetly, imitating Lillian, with maybe a hint of mischief thrown in.
To her surprise, Louise nodded thoughtfully. “I could see that being instructive.”
Ginny pushed back a laugh as Freddy squirmed, betrayal written billboard-large on his expression. “But—”
“Then it’s settled.” The sunflowers jiggled dangerously as Lillian’s mother nodded like a judge rendering a verdict. “Oh, this will be such fun! Come along, Lillian. We must spread the word.”
Lillian seemed torn between telling others she had convinced Mr. Keats to give a demonstration and actually being in his presence, but a glare from Louise settled the matter, and she scampered after her mother to join a group of women fanning themselves in the shade.
“What was that about?” Freddy protested as soon as they were out of earshot.
“Mrs. Buckwold is an intolerable meddler,” Louise said bluntly, “but itisa good idea, Frederick. The Department of Agriculture is providing some resources to local communities—pamphlets and starter seeds and the like—but a demonstration would still be of great practical value.”
They’d reached the end of the picnic’s buffet table, but Freddy’s grim expression didn’t seem to be because of the lack of ice cream. “I suppose the demonstrator has no say in the matter.”
“I didn’t know you don’t like public speaking,” Ginny put in.
“I didn’t knowyouwere a Methodist,” he countered.
Classic change of subject, but Ginny was ready with an answer. “Back home, there was one church. Didn’t even have aname, just took in any of us island folk who felt we ought to square things up with the Almighty, regularly or just at weddings and funerals. Not having any labels to choose from, I don’t know what I am, except open-minded.”
“And by that you mean you’ll attend any church that will feed you,” Louise said dryly.
So she’d guessed that little pattern. It was pretty straightforward to Ginny’s mind. More free meals meant more money for her little tin bank ... and one step closer to buying land on Long Island once the war was over and the navy gave them their lives back. If she had to sit through a service to get to lunch, then so be it.
“As the Scriptures say,” Freddy declaimed, a twinkle in his eye, applying the tone he’d used for the Shakespeare reading, “‘For he satisfieth the longing soul, and filleth the hungry soul with goodness.’”
