At the Scent of Water (26 page)

“Maybe Annie would like to come,” Eloise interjected boldly. Roberta’s and Mary’s faces went blank, obviously thinking she’d gone too far.

Sam turned to face his aunt. She met his gaze, never one to back down.

He thought about it, the prospect of seeing his wife with his family once more in that familiar setting, and he remembered the first year they had attended the Truelove reunion together as a couple. He shrugged and kept his face noncommittal. “Maybe she would,” he said, then went to change his clothes. As he left, their heads were together in a flutter of busyness, and it gave him another moment of happiness to see his mother so absorbed.

Twenty-seven

Mary slept without interruption Monday night, the first time in ages. On Tuesday morning she rose when the sun did, showered, dressed, and had breakfast ready for Sam and Elijah before they left for their rounds. The three of them ate, and just as they were finishing, Sam’s cell phone rang. He stiffened, as he always did when a call came, then rose and took it into the hallway. Mary had noticed that he always became tight and tense until the caller was identified. It was as if he had been pummeled and pulled for so long, he just naturally expected every interaction to bring another blow. She tensed a little for him now, but as she overheard the first few words of the conversation, she realized it was one of Carl’s patients.

Seeing Sam and Elijah work together, having them both close again made her heart feel big inside her chest, and she realized she had felt that way more than once lately. She could not deny that things were happening. Joyful things. She did not know where they would lead or if they would usher in anything at all other than this brief reprieve. After all, there was so much that was still so horribly wrong. She thought of Sam and Annie and little Kelly Bright, but even then she could not help but feel a faint stirring of hope. She thought of Lazarus, still bound in the darkness of death and despair but hearing the first faint sound of someone in the distance calling his name.

She glanced at Elijah. He was older. They both were. She could not deny that. But he was still handsome. His sun-browned skin fairly glowed against the white cotton shirt he wore. He was taking a sip of his coffee and must have felt her eyes, for he turned to smile at her, kindness crinkles appearing on his face, his warm gray eyes lighting with what looked to her, for all the world, like affection. Oh, how she remembered that smile, and she felt a surge of what she had felt for him then. Back then it had seemed to her that her heart, the very world itself, had been too small to contain all he had meant to her. She remembered her bitter, bitter tears when he had left her, the hollow place in her heart she had thought would never be filled.

“What will you do today, Miss Mary Ellen?” he asked in that gentle voice he reserved for her. “Lie on the sofa and watch soap operas and eat bonbons?”

She smiled. No one had spoken to her that way in a long time. No one ever teased her anymore. They all treated her with kid gloves, as if she might break.

“I believe I’m going to drive to Asheville to see Carl today,” she said. “And after that, I don’t know. Maybe I
will
have a bonbon or two.” She smiled back at him.

“It feels nice now and then to have some time all to yourself, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” she said, but his simple comment made her realize that although she had plenty of time, little of it was spent on anything she particularly enjoyed. She thought of the things she never did anymore. She never quilted. She never sewed. She never went on an outing. She never read a book or a magazine. She never did anything that fed her soul, except perhaps tend her garden, but even that had become businesslike and intentional, a hunt for weeds rather than a nurturing of beauty.

She looked at Elijah, at his worn face, and she realized that he, too, must have had precious few of those days. His life had not been easy after he had left her. Granted, he had been the one to do the leaving, but it wasn’t as if he’d run off to a life of luxury and ease. It had been the Lord who had taken him away, not some other woman. He had given up everything to answer that call, and suddenly she caught a glimpse of how that must have felt, how it must still feel to be so rootless and alone.

“Have you been back to your home?” she asked him, aware she was probably probing sensitive ground.

He gave a half nod. “Reverend Lindsey drove me there. It’s all torn up and gone.” His face became bleak, his eyes sorrowful. “Everything has changed,” he said, and even though he smiled, the lonely look was still in his eyes as he gazed past her.

She put her hand on his briefly, barely touching his warm browned skin before pulling it away. “Not everything,” she said boldly, and his eyes lifted to hers in surprise.

****

Mary was still blushing over her brashness as she pulled into the hospital parking lot in Asheville. Poor Elijah had no idea what he’d been stepping into when he’d arranged to stay at the church lady’s guesthouse, had he? No idea he would run up against some long-forgotten romance. And how she had behaved herself this morning! Why, she saw now where Laura Lee had gotten that flirtatious streak she’d tried so hard to contain when her daughter was in high school. Mary’s cheeks burned, and she resolved to put the matter behind her. She hoped Elijah would do the same. She parked the car, found the elevator and Carl’s room, and by the time she’d arrived, she was back in proper order again.

Diane was there knitting. Carl was watching television, looking bored enough to jump out of his skin, but he brightened considerably when he saw her. People had that effect on him. He fairly vibrated with energy when he was in a crowd.

“Well, if it isn’t Mary Truelove come to visit me,” he said, and he beamed a welcome at her. She smiled back warmly in return. Carl had always been like a brother to her, and Diane had become like family. Mary bent over to give Diane a hug, then gave one to Carl.

“Here, sit down,” Diane offered. “I’ll go find another chair.”

“I’m all right,” she protested, but Diane was already gone. She returned in a moment with a rolling stool, and Mary wondered if she’d stolen it from the nurses’ station. She wouldn’t put it past her. They both sat down, and Carl beamed at her again.

“So I hear you’ve had a visitor,” Carl said, not wasting time on small talk, and Mary felt her cheeks heat up again.

“I thought we could cover the topic of your health first,” she said with a wry smile.

Diane rolled her eyes. “Carl doesn’t think he has a health problem. He thinks we’ve all overreacted and he should go back to his diet of fried chicken and potato chips.” She effortlessly picked off stitch after stitch in that strange method of knitting she had. Continental, she had told Mary one time. She had said it was faster and more efficient. “Besides, he’s much more interested in discussing your personal life.”

Carl grinned and didn’t deny it. “How is Elijah?” he asked. “Has he made the adjustment back to civilian life?”

Mary stopped joking and considered his question. “I think it’s helped him a lot to have something to do. He seems happy, but every now and then I know he feels as if he doesn’t really belong anywhere.”

Carl nodded and for once looked serious. “It’s got to be a difficult adjustment after all these years. Nothing is the same as it was in 1959.”

“That’s what he said,” Mary agreed. “Everything has changed.”

“He’s invested his whole life in God’s work,” Diane said, looking up, “and now it’s finished.”

Mary shook her head, her stomach feeling empty. “I think he plans to go back.”

Diane frowned and picked off several more stitches. Carl grinned broadly and shook his head. “What a man says and what he does are two different things. I don’t think the Lord brought him here just to take him off somewhere again.”

“We’ll see,” Mary evaded. She thought of the other things the Lord had taken away and realized with a sinking feeling that she had no assurance this would not end in loss, as well.

They talked of generalities then. The dry weather. Diane’s sheep. Carl’s anticipated release date.

“It sure is good to see Annie,” Mary finally said. “It’s good to see her and Sam together again.”

“There’s another situation God’s working on,” Carl said, smiling broadly.

Diane shook her head and set her knitting down. “Carl, you’re worse for gossip and matchmaking than any old lady I know.”

“I’m interested in the welfare of the people I love,” he said staunchly. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all, sugar,” Diane said, but rolled her eyes again.

The nurse’s aide came in with Carl’s lunch tray, and Mary checked her watch. It was nearly noon. The girl set it on the bedside table, and Carl lifted the lid with a dispirited expression. It was Salisbury steak and stewed tomatoes and two boiled potatoes. He shook his head and put the cover back down.

Diane stood up and stretched. “It’s time for my outing,” she said to Mary. “I always go for a walk at lunchtime so I won’t have to listen to Carl complain about the food. How about joining me?” she invited.

Mary checked her watch, then wondered why. She had no schedule to keep.

“Let’s take the car and go to Mill Village,” Diane suggested, and Mary agreed after only a moment’s hesitation. She had heard about the little collection of restaurants, galleries, and craft stores. “All right,” she agreed. “Let’s go.”

“I know what y’all are up to,” Carl said, shaking his head. “You stay away from those shops.”

Mary knew he was teasing. He was the one who couldn’t keep a dollar without it burning a hole in his pocket.

Diane planted a kiss on his lips and grabbed up her purse. “I’ll be back soon,” she said. “No trips to the snack bar while I’m gone.”

He grumbled.

Mary and Diane walked down the corridor and rode the elevator to the hospital entrance. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when he’s up and around again and capable of driving himself to Waffle House and Old Country Buffet,” Diane said with a shake of her head. “I suppose I’ll just have to leave him to God.”

“That’s a hard thing to do sometimes,” Mary said gently, and Diane gave her a tight smile.

“Don’t we know it?”

No answer was necessary. They walked, companionable in their silence. Mary pointed the way to her car. They negotiated their way through Asheville, through the historic district. The buildings were old and well preserved, lovely and graceful. They went through town, and Diane directed her to the Village. Mary found a parking spot, and they walked slowly along the sidewalk. There were craft shops, galleries, and restaurants on both sides of the street.

“Look here,” Diane said, stopping in front of one. “This was meant to be, Mary. Right up your alley.” She stood in the doorway of A Stitch in Time quilt shop. Mary smiled and followed her inside. The walls were lined with bolts of fabrics and display samples of quilt squares. Mary walked slowly, looking at the fabrics and patterns. She was drawn to one in particular, a display of watercolor quilts. They were beautiful—works of art, really. She examined the intricate piecework, the colors so carefully arranged to wash from dark to light. There were samples already pieced and quilted—an arched garden door dripping with flowers in shades of red and pink and coral, a garden reflected in a pond, every color finding its quieter, gentler reflection in the shimmering water, and her favorite, called “Siena,” a collection of red-roofed buildings on a hillside of verdant greens, the sky behind them blending from pale blue to distant purples. There were several books with instructions and patterns. She began leafing through them, then immediately felt guilty. She was taking too long. She glanced around to see if Diane was ready to go, but she was absorbed in another section of the store. Mary went back to the book. She looked at the piecing diagrams and examined the colors the artist had chosen.

“Those are beautiful, aren’t they?” Diane asked, back at her side.

“They are.” Mary put the book down.

“Are you going to get the book?”

“No, I don’t expect so.”

“Why not?” Diane asked, and Mary couldn’t really give her an answer.

They went back onto the sidewalk, walked a little longer, chatting, stopping to window-shop a time or two.

“Shall we eat here?” Diane asked after a while. Mary looked her way. The Appleseed Café, the sign said. The front wall was all windows, the tables covered with checkered cloths, the atmosphere cheerful. A few diners sat outside in the sunlight.

“Yes. It looks like a nice place,” Mary said.

“Shall we sit outside?”

“Yes,” Mary agreed and was glad Diane had suggested it. They found an empty table and sat down, and Mary turned her face up to the sun for a moment and closed her eyes. It felt warm and healing. She opened them. Diane was looking at her. She smiled, Diane smiled back, and Mary felt a little ill at ease. It had been a long time since she had sat down with a friend without some purpose between them or some function to perform, even if it was just serving them a meal. She wasn’t sure what to say or how to behave. She was spared by the arrival of the menus. They both examined them. Diane ordered a spinach salad. Mary did the same.

“Is that really what you wanted?” Diane asked when the waitress left.

Mary felt surprised. She lifted her shoulders slightly and was ready to say yes, it sounded good, when she realized the truth. “No,” she said. “I really wanted a hamburger and onion rings and a chocolate milkshake.”

Diane laughed, a merry sound, and Mary found herself laughing, too.

“Well, why didn’t you order it, for heaven’s sake?”

And Mary, for the life of her, couldn’t give an answer. Calories came to mind, but she knew that wasn’t really the truth.

The waitress served their lunch. They chatted about Carl. About Elijah. About their gardens. About the drought again, Diane’s face taking on a worried expression but clearing quickly. “I guess Carl’s illness has put things into perspective for me,” she said. “I’m not so worried about
things
as I was before.”

“If everybody is healthy and happy, that’s what matters,” Mary said quietly, and she felt that familiar desolation creep over her, and having it back made her realize that for a while, for a few hours, at least, it had been gone.

“I think I know why you ordered the spinach salad,” Diane said quietly.

“What?” Mary was disconcerted at the sudden change of subject.

“I said, I think I know why you ordered the salad instead of what you really wanted,” Diane repeated.

Mary gave her head a small shake, not sure what in the world Diane was talking about.

“I haven’t seen you happy in years,” Diane said, still in that gentle quiet tone. “In fact, I’ve seen you push happiness and joy away, as if you didn’t deserve to have them.”