“She didn’t touch the freezer,” Eunice said. “I don’t think she knew it was there.”
Marge was already on the phone with her husband, Dale. Dale’s seventy and still farms outside of town. He keeps two beef quarters in his locker freezer for exactly this kind of morning. The kind every farm family in this county has lived through at least once. A sudden need to feed forty or sixty or ninety people with four hours’ notice.
“Dale. Bring the folding tables from the shop. And call LeRoy’s boy, see if he can run the extra chairs over from the fire hall.”
LeRoy had passed nine years ago. But his son still kept his father’s old flatbed trailer.
Inside twenty minutes, that trailer was backed up to the fellowship hall door. Eight folding tables and forty metal chairs stacked on it.
Dale and LeRoy’s boy and Harold himself hauled them down the ramp.
