EAVESDROPPING

Now, you gals stop nipping at each other, you hear. We ladies must learn how to get along and cover each other's backs (and other necessary parts). Don't you all remember what happened to our town when we women were put in our places and stayed there?--well, at least most of us did.

I'm leaving Mary Margaret alone for a few days. She and Miguel are doing just fine, other than the fact that they aren't moving any closer to setting a date for a wedding. She reminds me that she hasn't even been offered a ring yet. Well, la dee dah. I wonder why? If you weren't given much encouragement at all, would you go out and hoke your soul for a diamond? I know I should just shut up, huh? But I'm concerned that my darlin' girl is goin' let happiness pass her by. I want her to have it all--her business, a nice husband, and babies. Ah, little feet runnin' around would be so nice. And I could spoil him--do I know something? Well, of course, I know what Mary Margaret's first child will be; I just haven't been given a clue to who the father is yet.

Things are pretty quiet around Harts Corner, too. You'd never know if anything out of the ordinary was going on behind closed doors, but then we didn't know folks were out of control before either. One thing about being a ghost--okay, I've admitted that I'm a spirit, a ghost if you must call me that. Repeat after me--Lutie Mae Lucas is a ghost. Now, wasn't that easy?

Back to the fun part of being such a creature. I can watch people doing all sorts of things--No, I do not peek in bedroom windows. Gosh darn it, you people have no morale fibers left at all these days. But I can keep tabs on anyone I want to. I also can eavesdrop and they never have a clue. Sitting above the front windows in the Blue Moon gives me an earful, let me tell you. At a counter in First National Bank one day, I hovered around two strangers and found they were casing the place for a heist. Miguel can't hear me so Mary Margaret insisted he go to the Bank right at closing time. Bingo!

On Sunday last I sat near Sarah Cochran, President of the Woman's Love Circle Bible Study, and a deacon's wife, Amanda Chandler, before the morning service started. Now you would think they both shared Christian love for their fellow parishners, wouldn't you? They were sweetly pious when you met them outside the church, and were always asking Mary Margaret to make time to attend their Bible Study. Kind, decent, caring? Hmm.

"Sarah, did you ever think we'd have a lawman in this town who'd take up with a cafe owner? I mean, Billy Ray Cobb, was an upstanding widower and proported himself with honor. Our sheriff's cruiser is parked outside the Blue Moon until all hours of the night."

Maybe they're talkin' over the events of their day.

Amanda whispered in her ear, "And we both know what that means, don't we?"

What does it mean, you two old biddies?

"They're both a disgrace to this town. I don't know why Pastor Micah doesn't have a talk with them both."

And just what would he say to them? Would Micah be making judgments on his congregation? Isn't that God's place?

Sarah was watching Caroline Dobson coming down the aisle with a huge bouquet of assorted spring flowers to place in front of the altar when she answered, "Someone should call the Juvenile Court and have them do a home check. I'm sure they'd remove Bethy Rose from that den of iniquity immediately."

That was the proverbial straw that broke that camel's back. Bethy Rose Wheeler, beloved foster child, was the heart of that home above the Blue Moon. And no one was going to change that. As Caroline walked by the pew where the two women sat, I stuck out my foot, and dodged. Flowers and water drenched the hypocrites (I know a thing or two about their home life that would make good gossip fodder if I was that kind of a Christian woman myself) with holy water and blessed lilies of the valley, yellow daisies, gladiolas, and blue-dyed carnatiions.

Served 'em right. Don't mess with Lutie Mae Lucas, or any of the people she loves, you hear.