Sadie- In- Waiting

Chapter One

So she never prayed for patience. Not once.

And yet for some reason she still seemed to get dished out more than her share of adversity.

It seemed to follow her around, in fact, like a lovesick pup. A pup with the sleepy-eyed gaze of her husband, Ed, the persistent whine of her children's teenage angst and the maddening bite of her sisters' habitual bickering. To top it off, that puppy traveled with a pack, constantly nipping at her heels.

President of the contentious Council of Christian Women - contentious not being part of the official title, though she often thought it should be. Nip.

Unpaid, unnoticed, as-needed, fill-in employee at her husband's pharmacy. Nip.

First person everyone in town called to report about the often exasperating actions of her father, Solomon Shelnutt. Nip.

And ever-present gnawing that made it all the more difficult for her to shake it all off - the seemingly silly, self-indulgent empty ache of being a mommy to teens and no longer having any little babies to mother.

Adversity, in her case, loved company. For Sadie, more often than not, the biggest helping of it - adversity, not company - came in the form of her seventy-one-year-old father's never- ending pursuit of what he called "authentic individualism." That was Daddyspeak for "Nobody tells Moonie Shelnutt what to do."

He'd said those very words to her this morning, so she should have had an inkling that this was the day trouble would go out of its way to find her. Find her? It had already phoned her three times! Well, three people had already phoned her trying to pry her out of the house to come down and "deal with your daddy."

Not today, she had decided. Today she would hide out from the relentless responsibilities of her life.

She had planned to let the phone ring.

She had planned to ignore the petty problems people piled at her feet daily with the expectation "Sadie can fix it."

She had planned to let somebody else learn from adversity today, even if it meant she never, ever, ever mastered the noble virtue of patience.

Adversity, she discovered this fine May Monday morning when she flung open her front door - dressed in high-water overalls, shower shoes and a freebie windbreaker a pharmaceutical rep had given her husband, no less - had other plans. It had come in the form of a brand-new, never-expected variety right there on her doorstep.

And it had a proposition for her.

She heard him out impassively before saying, "Earl Lee Furst, I know you've been elected mayor of this little slice of Kentucky paradise an unprecedented thirteen times." Sadie quoted directly from the ruddy-faced man's mayoral-campaign ads, knowing he'd never allow himself to acknowledge the sarcasm in her doing so. In fact, because he'd got her up out of her safe, comfy easy chair when she was definitely not in a mood to do so, she laid it on extra thick. "And that the Furst family has roots so deep in Wileyville that they not only helped found the town, they grew themselves into the very character of the place, but -"

"It's true, Mrs. Pickett." He beamed, his hand on his low, round belly. "Me and mine have long been pillars of the church, the chamber of commerce and the community at large."

"And don't forget primary sponsors of the Tri-county Bass-travaganza Fishing Tournament," she droned.

"Ah, yes, the Bass-travaganza." His eyes shone with a distant light usually reserved for talk of Mother, God and country. "That sucker really hauls in the cold hard cash."

Sadie cleared her throat.

"That is to say, it's a real boon to you business owners, Mrs. Pickett. And like most things that keep this town's head above water - all my idea."

"Well, you've had some, um, doozies in the past, I'll grant you that." And even though the local paper had predicted a scorcher of a day - going so far as to remind the parents of the children taking Lollie Muldoon's town walking tour to slap extra sunscreen on the kids - Sadie wrapped Ed's jacket more tightly around herself and took a deep breath. "But I hope you understand, Mayor, that all I can ask about this latest brainchild of yours is ."

He leaned in close like a kid getting a whiff of pie - or like a thirteen-time mayor getting wind of a palpable piece of praise. "Yes, Mrs. Pickett?"

"Are you out of your cotton-pickin' mind?" She plunked her hands on her hips.

He gave her one of his polished politician's chuckles, shifted his feet on the chipped-paint floorboards of her old porch then smiled. "Mrs. Pickett . Sadelia . Sadie. May I call you Sadie?"

She didn't want him to call her anything, but she did prefer Sadie over her legal name of Sadelia, or the more formal Mrs. Pickett, which even after nineteen years of marriage still made her think someone was talking to her mother-in-law. "Yes. Fine. Sadie is fine. Though I don't think we need to bother with a lot of these niceties, because we just don't have anything more to say to one another."

"Oh, but I hope that's not true. I very much hope that this is only the beginning of a very long, very productive working relationship and perhaps . yes, even a friendship, Sadie."

She tried to hold back a shudder, failed miserably, then mustered up a meek smile and murmured, "Somebody must be walking over my grave."

Instantly she regretted introducing the g word into the conversation.

The mayor leaped on the opportunity and motioned toward her open door. "Speaking of graves - I was hoping we could. Speak of them, that is."

Wileyville Parks and Recreation Supervisor and Superintendent of City Interment Locality. Sadie could hardly catch her breath to think of taking on such a title much less the implications of the job the mayor had come to quite literally lay on her doorstep.

"All right, we'll talk about it." She drew a deep breath trying to force her mind to form a cogent, clever, well-worded argument as to why she could not possibly even consider his offer. After a few seconds when no such argument materialized, she simply shook her head and, her voice cracking, said a bit too loudly, "The cemetery lady? You want me to be the town cemetery lady?"

"Don't forget the park."

"The park is just four swings and a slide. What you are, in truth, asking of me is to take on managing Barrett and Bartlett Memorial Gardens. And since, despite that lovely name, there are only a few shrubs and wild rosebushes to be found on the premises, it's plain to see you want me to oversee the graveyard."

"Maybe if we sat down and talked this over sensibly ." He stepped toward her half-open front door.

Manners dictated Sadie ask the man inside, but .

A home reflects the people who occupy it. Chaos in the home meant chaos in the family. That's one of the first things a girl learns growing up in a small town. Always keep your house - or at least the part seen from the front door - in order, and people will know that you manage the rest of your life with the same sense of style and grace.

Sadie glanced back over her shoulder into her living room.

Empty pizza boxes left over from Saturday night lay on the coffee table. Her fifteen-year-old son's video game system tangled in a heap in front of the TV. Her daughter's clothes draped up and down the stairs and dangled over the banister - the aftermath of yet another mother-daughter heart-to-headphone talk.

(Continues.)