A Dream to Follow (14 page)

“I appreciate that.” She had planned a long walk this morning, down along the river and back up the hill. Since school let out she’d gotten lazy. “Where is Dr. Gaskin?”

“Busy with laying out the missus. He wanted her to look nice, knowing that was important to her. She always looked nice, din’t she?”

Elizabeth nodded. Mrs. Gaskin had always worn her graying hair crimped on the sides and rolled around a rat in the back. A white apron covered whatever dress she wore, but her face always caught attention, not for true beauty but because of the love and laughter that shone from it. Comfort oozed from every pore, and her hazel eyes bestowed a benediction on those she met. Unless of course they crossed the doctor’s orders. Even the Catholic priest trembled when she got after him.

Biting her lip and sniffing to keep the tears at bay, Elizabeth wound her handkerchief around her finger. The house would feel so empty. How would Dr. Gaskin endure it? How would Henry, the little black-and-white dog that followed his mistress everywhere, get along?

When they turned into the driveway that led to the cut-stone house surrounded by roses about to bloom, Elizabeth sucked in a breath. Already black wreaths hung on the gateposts and the front door, announcing that someone had passed on to their reward.

Old Tom glanced at her. “I hung those for him. Couldn’t bear to have him nail them up. Nothing but bad memories that.” Years earlier the wreaths had been used to announce the death of Dr. Gaskin’s only son, who had died of consumption.

“You’re a good man, Tom. I know how much the doctor appreciates you.” Elizabeth picked up her basket.

“Here, I’ll take that. You go on in the front door and see that all is well.

“Thank you for coming,” Dr. Gaskin said as Elizabeth entered the house. He stood at the foot of the black-draped dining room table.

“You’re welcome, and of course I would come.” When he took her hand, she could feel his trembling. She fought her tears so she could smile for him. Often he had commented that her smile could charm the most brokenhearted. Today, he fit that part. His eyes looked as lifeless as a flower stalk in a winter garden. Deep commas bracketed his mouth, and he looked to have lost ten pounds or more, so shrunken in on himself was he. The gray of his face now matched his hair.

“How can I help you?” She fought the quivering of her lips.

“Just see to the folks for me. I cannot bear to hear how much they all loved her and how they’ll miss her so.” He rubbed a dry hand across his eyes and furrowed forehead. “I-I always thought I’d go first, and I knew she was strong enough to-to go on without me.” He clung to both her hands. “But now I have to go on alone, and . . . and I’m not strong like she was.” He leaned forward to peer into Elizabeth’s very soul. “She was, wasn’t she? I mean we haven’t believed wrong all these years?”

“I know with everything I am that Mrs. Gaskin is sitting right now at the very feet of Jesus and the angels are singing glory hallelujahs because she’s come home.” The doctor’s gulping sobs tore chunks out of her heart. She held her dear mentor and friend in her arms while he sobbed like a small child.

When the storm passed, he drew himself upright and, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, mopped his face. “Thank you, my dear. You are an immense comfort. I thought putting Helen here in the parlor was better for those who ask to see her.”

“You could have waited for some of us to help you.”

“I know, but . . . it was just something I had to do. The funeral will be tomorrow.”

“All right.”

“I will be either upstairs or out in the garden with Tom. His gentleness is such a comfort, and I think he loved her as much as I. Call me if you need me.”

Elizabeth wiped her eyes and took in a cleansing breath. “I will.” But inside she knew only someone bleeding to death on his porch would merit that call.

She spent the morning comforting callers and sending a few who needed to see a doctor across town to the new man, Dr. Johanson.

Her father was the only one she sent out to the garden to visit with Dr. Gaskin.

Gifts of food covered the counters in the kitchen and filled the icebox. One of the church women volunteered to stay and manage the kitchen, to keep the coffeepot simmering and plates filled with cookies, cake, and sweet breads.

Everyone who came brought something—a jar of jam or pickles, fresh-baked bread, hot dishes, and salads—enough to feed a platoon of hungry soldiers.

As the flow of grievers trickled off in the afternoon, the women sent some of the food to the neighbors’ iceboxes to wait for after the funeral. What they could serve, they did.

Elizabeth made her way out to the backyard as the late afternoon sun sent long shadows across the lawn and flower beds. Two men sat in the gazebo set near a small pond.

“Have you two eaten?” she asked as she drew near.

“No, but maybe we could take a little somethin’ now.” Tom looked to the doctor for confirmation. At his nod, Elizabeth smiled.

“Good.” Inside she rejoiced at how much better he looked. Color had returned to his face, his eyes weren’t as red as before, and his appearance was not so ghostly. “I’ll bring you each a plate.”

“H-how’s it going in there?” Dr. Gaskin nodded toward the house.

“We have enough food to feed half of Northfield, but we’re taking care of it. Mrs. Warren chose to stay and help. There are flowers all around the parlor. Pastor Mueller sent a message to say he wants to come by later.”

“Good. Helen had the service all planned. I found it in the box she always told me to look in if she died.”

“That sounds like her, always making things easy for others.” Elizabeth turned and blinked several times, forcing the tears back where they lurked, ready to spring forth at the least provocation.

“She even wrote me a letter.” The doctor shook his head. “Wrote it a couple of years ago.” He looked up to Elizabeth. “You think she had an idea this might happen?” He jerked his head. “If she was sick, she should’ve told me. After all, I am a doctor. I could’ve helped her.” Frustration coated with anger made him clench his teeth. He pounded one fist into the other palm. “She should’ve said something.”

“I don’t think she knew. I think she just wanted to be prepared.” Elizabeth tried to think of something comforting to say, but no wise words made their way to her tongue. She shook her head. “No, I don’t think she had any idea.”

He acts like he is angry,
Elizabeth thought on the way back to the kitchen. Surely he isn’t. All his dear wife had done was to make things easier for him, just as she had done all her life.

Choosing from the wide variety of food in the kitchen, Elizabeth fixed two plates and, setting them on a tray along with coffee, rolls, and a plate of desserts, headed back out the door. Like the men, she’d rather be out here in the peace of the garden than in the parlor where more tears were being shed.

When she finally went home later that evening, she could hardly make herself climb the stairs to her room. Moonlight streaming through the sheers at her window painted squares of light on the floor. Thoughts of the doctor pacing around that big house all by himself made her eyes smart again. While she’d suggested he drink a glass of wine to help him sleep, she doubted he would.

Lord, take care of Dr. Gaskin tonight. Let him know you are with him and that Mrs. Gaskin is in heaven with you. Please help us all get through tomorrow
. While Elizabeth had been to funerals, none were for someone as close to her as this. She’d thought of staying at the doctor’s house during the funeral tomorrow to help prepare for the repast to be served after the burial, but when he’d asked her to sit with him in the front pew, what could she say?

Lord, that’s the last thing I want to do
. She sighed and turned on her side.
I know they both looked on me as a daughter, but, God, right now I’d rather be in Africa
.

She turned again and reached for the glass of water that always waited for her on her nightstand. One thing for sure, crying so much made her very thirsty.

The morning dawned bright with sun, but the house as well as her heart felt like rain. She donned the black dress her mother had hung on the armoire door. Freshly brushed and pressed, nevertheless, the black silk looked like what it was, a dress of mourning. Rows of pin tucks fitted the bodice to the waist, and mutton sleeves puffed at the shoulder and fitted from elbow to wrist. The skirt fell straight to the tops of her shoes in front and gathered in the back to a small bustle. The black hat with a small feather and full veil sat on a form on the side of her dressing table.

“I hate wearing black,” she told the pale face in the mirror. “I look bad enough this morning without unrelenting black.”

“What’s that, dear?” Annabelle stuck her head in the doorway. “I was just on my way to wake you.”

“Nothing.” Elizabeth knew that complaining would do no good. One wore black for mourning, and that was that. No sense in starting a scandal. If she wore anything but black her mother would be mortified, and while her father’s eyes might dance in delight, he’d never admit that he liked it.

The organ was playing as they entered the church—sad, dark music that managed to even take the color out of the sun streaming through stained-glass windows. Long faces, handkerchiefs held to sniffing noses, dark clothing—all the accoutrements of sorrow.

Boughs of cherry blossoms filled large vases and pots, bringing not only a burst of pink and white to the darkness but also a cool fragrance as Elizabeth made her way down the aisle and slid into the first pew next to the doctor.

He took her hand and shook his head at her whispered question asking how he was.

The service passed. That was about all she could say for it. Her throat clogged so badly on the hymns that she could not sing. From the sounds of the standing-room-only congregation, others were doing no better than she. Only by keeping her gaze on the empty cross above the altar could she keep from breaking down.

After the benediction Elizabeth and the doctor followed the pastor out the side door and into the cemetery. A mound of dirt was piled by the oblong grave. Men from the congregation, including Phillip Rogers, carried the coffin to its final resting place under the spreading boughs of an ancient maple. A sob broke from Dr. Gaskin’s throat, but he never said a word, even when they lowered the casket into the hole in front of them. Her fingers felt about to shatter from his grip on her hand as the pine box disappeared. Elizabeth let her own tears flow unheeded.

Back at the house she stood beside the doctor, greeting the mourners as they arrived. Ladies of the church directed visitors, served the food, and made sure there was plenty of coffee.

“You don’t have to stay here with me,” Dr. Gaskin murmured to her when there was a pause in the line of mourners.

“I know. But I want to.” She bit her lip against the lie. No, she didn’t want to, but she felt she should.

When the last person left, she wandered out to the garden, where Tom and her father were in deep discussion by the roses. She angled away from them and took a seat in the gazebo. She and Mrs. Gaskin had sat there so often, talking about everything from the doctor’s cases to Elizabeth’s latest beau. Or imagined beau. She’d scared most of them away with her talk of medicine. True, that wasn’t the most ladylike topic of discussion, but it was what interested her.

She smiled to herself. One time she’d asked a young man how his gall bladder was. She’d never heard from him again, but then, that was the purpose of the question. He’d been so full of himself she’d wanted to stick him with a pin to burst his bubble. The question worked equally as well.

Ah, Mrs. Gaskin, why’d you have to go and die like this? No wonder your husband is upset. We fight for life, and you just left it
.

It had to have been her heart,
she reasoned.
Perhaps it surprised her as much as it shocked us
. After all, think of going to sleep thinking of all you had to do on the morrow and instead waking up in heaven.

Father God, that’s the only good thing about all this, knowing that our life continues in you. If I didn’t feel so sure I’d see Mrs. Gaskin again, I’d . . .

I’d what?
She didn’t know. The thought of no heaven was too excruciating.

Swallows dipped and swooped over the pond, snatching their evening feast of bugs. Two frogs croaked from the cattails, a tenor and bass duet.

Somewhere in the near distance, a child laughed and shrieked, “Higher, Daddy, higher.” A dog barked, announcing an unwelcome visitor.

Elizabeth leaned back against the cushioned bench. Slight movement on the railing caught her attention. Two ants carried bits of something, maybe crumbs dropped by a grieving guest.

Life went on in spite of sorrow.

Would tomorrow be just another day? she wondered.

CHAPTER TWELVE