“You’ve arrived at an inopportune moment,” Anna explained diplomatically. “Miss Beckett here can sometimes be high-spirited, as you know, and she’s just thrown us into a bit of a tizzy, is all.”
By the time Lamont and Rosemary arrived within a stone’s throw of the grove, they could see that most, possibly all, of the adult colonists were gathered in a loose semi circle around it, and that they appeared to be divided into two groups. At the head of one group—that is, closest to the entrance of the grove—was Anna Lightfoot-Owens. At the head of the other group was Constance Beckett. They were engaged in an involved discussion of some kind. The animated gesticulations of the young Constance put her in distinct contrast to the matriarchal Anna, who stood as solidly as if she were planted to the ground, leaning as was her habit on a hand-carved walking stick.
“I don’t recall that we ever put it to a vote and appointed you pastor of this here flock,” Constance was saying rather loudly as the two approached.
“You did not, and I am not,” Agreed Anna. “But we’re a small group and we worship by collective consensus, in the appropriate ways and at the appropriate times. No good can come from…”
“Who’s worshiping?” Constance interrupted. “Y’all are acting as if I’m tryin’ to…” She stopped as she noticed the medic and the newspaperman hovering nearby.
“Afternoon, ladies,” Lamont greeted them, clearing his throat. “What’s happening?”
“Don’t see as that’s any of your business,” growled Clyde Jackson, his imposing form emerging from the loose cluster of people on Anna’s side. “This is a colonist affair.”
Anna touched a brown hand gently to his beefy arm. “There’s no need to be rude, Jack. We’re all pilgrims here.”
Clyde scowled between his large sideburns, but stepped deferentially back again.
“You’ve arrived at an inopportune moment,” Anna explained diplomatically. “Miss Beckett here can sometimes be high-spirited, as you know, and she’s just thrown us into a bit of a tizzy, is all.”
“I wasn’t doing anything,” Constance defended herself. “I was takin’ a little break over here, by myself,” these last two words were thrown at Anna like a cannon shot over her bow, “and then she decided to butt in and make it a shindig.”
Rosemary looked at Lamont uncomfortably. It was apparent that they had somehow changed roles from intruders in the dispute to arbiters of it.
Anna smiled thinly. “When I got here, you were certainly not by yourself.”
Constance gestured to the handful of colonists who stood roughly on her side. Their attention appeared to be divided between the spectacle of the womens’ dispute and the shadowy entrance of the organically molded canopy behind them. Closest to her was Abner Wade, who had an expression that couldn’t seem to resolve itself between sheepishness and defiance. “I didn’t set out to attract attention,” Constance explained. “And it wouldn’t have been a big deal if y’all hadn’t made something of it.”
“How could we not, the way you were shoutin’ and carryin’ on?” Jackson chided her over Anna’s shoulder. “We thought you’d been hurt or something.”
Constance folded her arms over her chest, her freckled cheeks reddening with embarrassment. Abner appeared to be searching for words to defend her when there was a murmur among the others clustered around them.
“They’re coming out!” Someone exclaimed.