But they're the same kind of women, Pick thought. They'd like each other.
"God is punishing us, Mother. You don't have to trouble."
"What was the occasion?"
"It isn't every day you get to meet the President of the United States," Bill Dunn said.
"The President? When you came in here, you said you got your medal from Mr. Knox. And you're in hot water about that, too, by the way. The Senator called your daddy."
"Senator Foghorn's mad they gave me a medal?"
"Don't be a wise-ass, Billy. He saw your picture in the Washington papers. Senator Whatsisname from California..."
"Fowler, Mrs. Dunn," Pick furnished.
"... Senator Fowler was in the picture. Senator Chadwick called your daddy to tell him he'd have been there himself if he'd known about it. And your daddy is mad that you didn't call the Senator and tell him what was going on."
"Mother, come on! What was I supposed to do, call him up and say, 'Senator, they're giving me a medal, why don't you come watch?' "
"That's what I told your daddy, but it didn't seem to help much."
Kate delivered a Bloody Mary, and Alma Dunn took a sip, nodded her approval, and then saw Pick's eyes on her.
"Does your mother drink, Mr. Pickering?"
"Only when she's thirsty," Pick's mouth ran away from him.
Alma Dunn laughed. "Now I know why you're friends. Two wise apples."
"Where is Daddy?"
"He had to go to the bank in Mobile. I think he's taking your medal to show your uncle Jack. You were telling me about the President?"
"He gave the Medal of Honor to a sergeant. Sergeant 'Machine Gun' McCoy. Pick had to take him. I tagged along."
"I don't understand."
"The Sergeant, Mother, is not fully readjusted to life in the States."
"Neither are you, apparently. But I still don't know what you're talking about."
"The only reason I'm telling you this, Mrs. Dunn," Pick said, "is because I want you to believe that we are not the only sinners in The Marine Corps. Ol' Machine Gun is even worse. The Corps assigned two very large gunnery sergeants to make sure he showed up at the White House sober. I was in charge of the sergeants."
"What's that, the blind leading the blind?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Pick said.
"Eat your ham, Billy," Kate ordered. "It'll settle your stomach. And you, too," she added to Pick.
"I don't suppose either of you heard it, but the phone's been ringing off the hook all morning."
"Those of us with clear consciences sleep soundly," Billy said.
"Huh!" Kate snorted. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Billy. You came in here, kissed your mama, and fell asleep on the couch. Clear conscience, my foot!"
"Fred called. He's coming down this afternoon from Fort Benning," Mrs. Dunn said.
"Fred is my brother," Bill explained. "He's a major in the National Guard. The Army's teaching him to jump out of airplanes."
"He said, 'Don't tell him I said so, but I'm so proud of Billy I can't spit.' "
"Did he say 'Billy' or 'the runt'?" Dunn asked.
His mother ignored him, and went on: "And both the newspapers called, Mobile and Pensacola. They want to send reporters to talk to you."
"No," Bill Dunn said flatly.
"I told them you were asleep, and to call later. And the Rector called-"
"The Reverend Jasper Willis Thorne," Bill Dunn interrupted. "You ever notice, Pick, that Episcopal priests always have three names?"
"Mine is James Woolworth Stanton," Pick said.
"I told him you would call him back," Mrs. Dunn said, then looked at Pick. "You're Episcopal?"
"Fallen, Ma'am, at the moment."
"A little churching would do the both of you some good, after the way you was yesterday," Kate said.
"And, of course, Sue-Ann," Mrs. Dunn said.
"Oh, God!" Dunn said.
"Tell me about Sue-Ann," Pick said.
"Nothing to tell," Dunn said.
"That's why you had her picture next to your cot, right?"
"We're friends, that's all."
"They grew up together," Mrs. Dunn said. "She's a very sweet girl."
"I can't wait to meet her," Pick said.
"She said she saw your picture in the newspaper and was just thrilled. I told her to come for supper," Mrs. Dunn said.
"If your father brings your medal back, you're going to have to wear it," Pick said. "For Sue-Ann."
Dunn gave him a dirty look.
"I hear a car coming. Maybe it's your daddy," Kate announced, and left the kitchen to investigate. In a moment, she came back. "It's not your daddy. It's an Army car."
"Then it must be my brother the major," Billy said, and stood up.
Pick followed him out of the kitchen and through the living room and then onto the porch. The house was large, rambling, and one story; and he remembered from the night before that it was all on high brick pillars. He also remembered that the wide steps leading up to the porch seemed a lot steeper last night than they appeared now.
The driveway ran between a long row of ancient, enormous, live oak trees. He looked down it and saw that Kate hadn't got it quite right. It was a military car, a 1941 Plymouth sedan. But it was Marine green, not Army olive drab.
"Why does that fella in the back look familiar?" Bill Dunn asked.
"It's Captain Mustache," Pick said. "He drove us here last night."
"And now, I suspect, he's come to extract his pound of flesh," Dunn said. "You didn't say anything to him Sergeant McCoy-like last night, did you, Mr. Pickering?"
"Not that I recall," Pick said.
The Plymouth came out of the tunnel of live oak and stopped parallel to the wide stairs. Pick noticed for the first time that the driveway was paved with clam shells, bleached white by the sun.