Beauty Queen

everywhere," she moaned to Auntie Mary. "It doesn't matter what you do. It's like a smell that you can't get rid of, no matter how many windows you open."
    Then there was Jessica.
    Yesterday, before Jeannie had driven up, the little girl had disappeared off the property completely. Auntie Mary had panicked and called the state police. Eventually the little girl was spotted, nonchalantly riding her black pony along a back road in the direction of the Connecticut state line. The police loaded her and the fat little pony into a van and brought them back to Windfall. Jeannie had spanked the girl and sent her to bed without dinner, but she was beginning to have the feeling that all this was just an exercise, that Jessica was beyond hearing her.
    "I'm not supposed to have children like this," she said to herself. "I'm supposed to have good children."
    Then Lance, her eighteen-year-old and oldest son, had called from Las Vegas. He and his girlfriend were having a good time playing the dollar machines, and they had paid for part of their trip with a $700 jackpot. They had actually been smart enough to walk out of the Sands with their winnings.
    "Good for you," said Jeannie dryly.
    Now, with the morning sunshine slanting strongly through the tall glass windows of the church, she tried to put it all out of her mind. Many of the congregation had come up before the service to tell her what a blessed thing she was doing to the homosexuals, that it was high time somebody did it.
    "You ought to do it all over the country," Sister Ethel had said to her. "New York isn't the only state with this problem."
    Sister Ethel was right. It occurred to Jeannie that she ought to carry her fight against homosexuals to the national level. She had already been invited to tape a segment for "Sixty Minutes"—why not keep hammering away on the big talk shows, etc.? It would be a start, long in advance, on her campaign for President, if she went that far. The problem was that Tom Winkler had warned her against doing anything like this right now. He had even warned her to limit her anti-homosexual activities to New York State. "You want to be remembered for a lot of edifying things," he had said, "not just one rather unsavory thing."
    Now Reverend Irving came slowly to the pulpit, using his cane.
    The morning sunlight fell strongly across his snow-white hair, across the tops of his hom-rimmed glasses, as he stood and gazed out over his flock.
    Then he preached a fiery sermon against homosexuals, using a lot of quotes that Jeannie didn't even recognize. How wonderful the Bible was—a mine of riches! The congregation vibrated with approval. Reverend Irving asked them all to pray for the city council, to pray that they would vote the right way.
    After the service, she visited alone with Reverend Irving in his study, while her security people waited for her.
    "It's Sidney," she said. "I'm at my wit's end. If I weren't a Christian woman, I'd say that my marriage was on the rocks."
    "Your basic problem, Sister Jeannie, is that intellectually you know what God's ideal woman is like, but emotionally you cannot fit yourself into that pattern. Am I right?"
    "I suppose so," she said wearily.
    "Deep down," he said, "you are one of those bossy women. You really feel that women have the right to preach, and to lead men."
    "No, I don't," she said. "Politics isn't preaching."
    "Now, Sister Jeannie," he said shrewdly, "don't argue with me because I know you too well. You have let your short hair grow out, and you are not playing the beauty queen any more, and you wear modest Christian clothes, and you are stirring up a nice fuss down there in New York City, but that is not the same thing as obeying your husband in all things, the way God has commanded you to do."
    "Obey him?" she said. "He isn't even saved yet."
    "Perhaps if you tried obeying him," said Reverend Irving, "he would be saved. Perhaps he is waiting to see that example from you."
    "I'm not sure that's the kind of woman that Sidney ever wanted," she said a little sourly.
    Danny and Armando celebrated the Sabbath in their own way.
    In the early evening, just before the little St. Francis of Assisi Church on Wade Street closed for the night, the two of them slipped in and quietly walked down the aisle.
    The church was nearly dark, and the scent of incense lingered in the air. The only light was from the flickering sanctuary lamp, beside the altar where the Blessed Sacrament reposed, and from the banks of