Free At Home in Mitford by Jan Karon

Tim’s legs, joyfully dashed around his left ankle, and headed for a laurel bush.
    It seemed to the rector that it all happened within a matter of seconds. And while his memory searched wildly for a Scripture, nothing came forth.
    Barnabas circled the bush at a dead heat, catching the leash in the crotch of a lower limb, and was brought to an abrupt halt.
    The tautly drawn leash had run out. Barnabas was trapped on the bush. And each of the rector’s ankles was tightly bound.
    Shaken, Father Tim observed this set of circumstances from a sitting position, and in the most complete state of shock he could remember.
    Miraculously, he was still wearing his glasses.
    Barnabas was now lying down, though the leash was caught so tightly in the tree that he could not lower his head. He stared at Father Tim, obviously suffering the misery of remorse. Then, his contrition being so deep that he could not bear to look his master in the eye, he appeared to fall into a deep sleep.
    The rector began spontaneously to preach one of the most electrifying sermons of his career.
    His deep memory bank of Holy Scripture came flooding back, and the power of his impassioned exhortation made the hair fairly bristle on the black dog’s neck. In fact, Barnabas opened his eyes and listened intently to every word.
    When his oration ended, the rector felt sufficiently relieved to try and figure out what to do.
    He could see it now. His guests ringing the doorbell, finally coming inside, searching the house, calling out the back door, and then spying him in this miserable condition, while the stew pot sat cold on the stove.
    No wonder so many people these days had heart fibrillations, high blood pressure, and a thousand other stress-related diseases. No doubt all of these people were dog owners.
    Lord, be thou my helper, he prayed.
    “Father Tim! Is that you back there?”
    Avis Packard came crashing through the laurel hedge, looked down at his good customer, and said, without blinking, “I let you get away without your butter. Do you want me to put it in the refrigerator or just leave it right here?”
    Fortunately, the washtub incident had put him only an hour off schedule.
    The stew was on and simmering, and the fragrance in the rectory was intoxicating. The old walnut dining table gleamed under the chandelier and cast a soft glow over a silver bowl of yellow roses tinged with crimson. The cabernet sparkled in cut-glass decanters, the strains of a Mozart sonata filled the rooms with an air of expectancy, and in the fading afternoon light, the gardens looked fresh and inviting from every window.
    He felt rather fresh and inviting, himself, having shaved and showered. Also, he was wearing his new sport coat.
    He hadn’t come up with two more guests who would perfectly fit in, but he saw this as an advantage. Tonight’s little gathering would be relaxed and intimate, like family, and all would get a chance to know each other better.
    At 6:45, the bell rang, and while the invitation was for 7:00, he was ready and waiting. He opened the door to see Miss Rose and Uncle Billy, standing on the porch holding hands and dressed in their best finery.
    “Preacher,” said Uncle Billy, grinning broadly, “we didn’t know if you was ever goin’ to visit us, so we come t’ visit you.”
    Emma arrived at 7:00 sharp, parking her lilac Oldsmobile in the rectory drive. Hoppy Harper’s old Volvo station wagon pulled in behind her.
    Emma glanced furtively in the rearview mirror to see whether she was wearing enough eye shadow, as Hoppy walked up to open her door. She thought he looked surprisingly boyish in a cotton sweater and khakis.
    When Father Tim greeted them on the porch stoop, Emma was so delighted to see her rector in a new jacket that she gave him a big hug and an air kiss that sounded something like “Ummmwah!”
    Then she walked into the living room.
    There, seated on the antique Chippendale sofa, were Miss Rose and Uncle Billy Watson, sipping a glass