Cat's Eyewitness (5 page)

5

W
hat a beautiful color, rich with depth.” Susan commented on the cranberry sauce as she handed it to Brooks on her right.

“You look good in this color, Mom.”

“Sweet thing.” Susan beamed at her daughter. “I could hold the sauce up to my face.”

“I remember when you were tiny, Susan, you spilled more food than made it to your mouth.” Brother Thomas accepted the cranberry sauce when Brooks handed it to him. He glanced at the window. “Look at that.”

Ned, at the head of the table, watched the snow whirl by the old-paned, handblown glass windows. “We’ve had an early winter and a hard one. I’m crossing my fingers for the January thaw.”

“Might be the March thaw this year.” The thin old fellow smiled. “When does Danny come home for Christmas vacation?”

“December eleventh. I miss him at Thanksgiving, but it’s such a long way from Ithaca, New York, to here. He’s spending Christmas with the Wadsworths, just outside Cazenovia. He’s made so many friends up there. They all fight to have him,” Susan bragged.

“Brooks, what are you thinking about college?” her great-great-uncle asked her.

She simply addressed him as “Uncle.” “Uncle Thomas, I’d like to go to Stanford. It’s real expensive, though.”

Susan and Ned looked at each other but said nothing.

“Saw California when I was in the service.” Brother Thomas gleefully cut into the juicy turkey slices on his plate. “Guess I wouldn’t recognize it now, but, oh, it was beautiful. I couldn’t get used to the days being hot and the nights being so cold.” He laughed.

“I like Mary Baldwin, too, even though it’s real different from Stanford,” Brooks added as an afterthought.

The dinner continued with talk of the future, what Ned hoped to accomplish in Richmond, Susan’s determination to finally make the A team in golf at the country club.

Outside, the snow piled up, making it cozier to be inside.

After their feast they retired to the small den, which Susan had smothered in chintz. She couldn’t help herself.

Ned and Brother Thomas talked about whether Ned could continue his legal practice. Susan and Brooks cleaned up before joining them, bringing in yet another round of desserts and hot coffee.

The fire crackled as Brother Thomas reached for a small shortbread cookie dipped in bitter chocolate. “If only we ate like this at Afton.”

“You’d all be fat as ticks.” Susan laughed.

He replied with assurance, “The Bland Wades don’t get fat.”

“Well, I take after the other side of the family,” Susan groaned.

“Now, Susan, your father’s people weren’t fat.” He paused a minute. “Come to think of it, Minnie was big as a house. Remember Minnie?”

“Those polka-dot dresses!” Susan’s eyes brightened, then she said to Brooks, “Honey, I’m sorry you didn’t know my father’s Aunt Minnie. She died long before you were born. She had a sweet tooth but she was funny.”

“Your father put on a little weight in his fifties,” Ned remarked, immediately wishing he hadn’t brought that up.

“At least he didn’t blow up like Aunt Minnie.” Susan snuggled into the overstuffed chair, a needlepoint pillow behind her back.

“What a blessing that we could have a quiet Thanksgiving together.” Brother Thomas leaned back into his own overstuffed chair, reveling in the comfort. “You know, the contemplative life is fading. Few young people are called these days. In fact, anyone desiring to dedicate themselves to work, prayer, abstinence, and good works, if possible, is considered mentally ill.” He waved his hand. “It’s all going. Two thousand years of spiritual life, going. Each year our prior struggles to make ends meet with less. It’s aging him. Brother Frank, too. There really isn’t anyone to whom they can pass the torch.”

Brooks, having been raised properly as a Virginia lady, knew that since her great-great-uncle was their special guest, he must be the center of attention. “Don’t you think it’s possible some young people will turn to a contemplative life? I mean, don’t you think some people will find success—what we call success—empty?”

He smiled at her, this lovely young girl, embarking on life as he was disembarking. “Ah, I hope so, but for contemplative life to be valued, to flourish, spiritual life must be paramount. If you think about it, the so-called Dark Ages and then the Middle Ages were a fertile ground for this kind of a life.” The fire illuminated his face as he continued. “When Henry the Eighth dissolved the monasteries in England, that was the true beginning of the rise of secular life. Each century has witnessed a further erosion of spiritual values as the center of individual life and community life. Oh, there are revivals, spasms of religious energy, but truthfully, it’s over. That time has passed, never to return in a way central to civilization. That’s how I read history. And with each passing century, the concept of a whole community’s relationship to God, the concept of one’s relationship to God, has eroded. It’s one’s relationship to the dollar today.” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Which isn’t to say people weren’t interested in money in the Middle Ages; they were, but they put it in a different perspective.”

“More dreadful events might bring people back to monasteries,” Ned thought out loud. “Not that I wish for them.”

“I don’t think so.” Brother Thomas tasted the rich coffee. “Susan, this is quite something.”

“My husband bought me a coffeemaker for my birthday that cost more than my monthly car payment. I love coffee and I love Ned.” She smiled a touch nervously at her husband, who smiled back.

“Ah.” Brother Thomas loved Susan as he had loved her mother and her grandmother before her. When he looked at Susan he could see three generations reflected in her face. “Well, Ned, you made all the right choices.” He placed the bone-china cup on the side table, then folded his hands. “I’ve lived a long time. I don’t know if I’ve done much good in this life, but I hope I haven’t done harm. The war—” He stopped. “I did harm in the war, for which I ask God’s forgiveness. I put the desires of my government before the tenets of God. ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ and I killed.”

Susan interrupted, “If you hadn’t gone to war, Uncle Thomas, we might not be here today.”

“Perhaps.” He smiled at her. “I won’t be here next Thanksgiving. I feel fine, but I feel my time on earth is nearly over. I really do feel fine. Poor Brother Sidney, only sixty-two, has to get transfusions of blood to keep going. And here I am, no obvious problems. Yet, I feel I will soon be called to our Lord. I want you to know, Susan, that I have arranged for the Bland Wade land, those fifteen hundred acres that wrap behind Tally Urquhart’s over to the edge of the Minor place”—he used Harry’s maiden name—“to go to you. There’s not much else that I have of value. I thought for years about what to do about the land. As our numbers dwindled I knew the monastery couldn’t manage the Bland Wade tract, and I can’t bear the thought of it begin broken up and sold. So few large tracts these days. A great pity. Land is the ultimate wealth, you know.” He paused again, took a deep breath. “All the pastures are overgrown, second-growth timber on them pretty much. I can’t tell you what to do, but if I were a young man, I’d restore the pastures, because the soil is good. And I wouldn’t harvest the hardwoods, although I’d thin them. Whatever you do, Susan, and you, too, Brooks, don’t sell the land. I assume some day the Bland Wade tract will pass to you and Danny. No matter how great the temptation, don’t sell that land. It’s one of the last land grants intact. Land is a breathing thing.”

A silence followed this, then Susan, overcome, said, “Uncle, I never expected anything like this. I promise we will cherish the land, and I promise Ned will create easements so it can’t be subdivided.”

“Just leave me room to build a house, Dad,” Brooks blurted out.

Ned, with gravity, stood up, walked over, and shook the old man’s hand, inhaling as he did so the odor of lanolin from the virgin wool of Brother Thomas’s robe. “This is a great blessing to our family. I don’t think I can properly express my gratitude.”

Brother Thomas smiled, squeezing Ned’s hand. “Care for the land, Ned; she is under all of us.” Then he laughed. “Since not one of you is a good Catholic, I can’t exhort you there.” He laughed again. “A Lutheran, Susan. I could have died from mortification when your mother became a Lutheran before her marriage.” He paused a moment. “But then, the years have taught me perhaps that the denomination isn’t as important as I once thought, so long as one fears and loves God.”

Brooks didn’t take to the fear part, but she kept that to herself. “Uncle Thomas, how do I know God loves me?”

He blinked, then replied with a depth of feeling that reached each of them. “Every time you behold the Blue Ridge Mountains, every time you feel a snowflake on your eyelashes, every time you see a frog on a lily pad, every time a friend gives you his hand, Brooks, God loves you. You’re surrounded by His love. We look for it in all the wrong places as we pray for worldly success. We say that must be proof of God’s love. Some people pray not for material success but for an easy life.” He shook his head. “No, even our pains are a sign of His love, for they will lead you to the right path, if you’ll only listen.” He opened his eyes wide, touching his fingertips together. “Ah, well, I’m not much of a preacher. I didn’t mean to go on. I spend so much time in prayer or fixing pipes or both,” he laughed, “or with Brother Mark, my apprentice. This summer when we repaired the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mother he asked so many questions he made me dizzy. He’s still a chatterbox around me.” His eyes twinkled. “Sometimes I forget how to carry on a true conversation.”

“We will never forget what you’ve said,” Ned replied.

“Well, you’re kind. I’m an old man with an audience. That’s more intoxicating than wine.” He laughed at himself. “Or cognac?” He lifted his white eyebrows.

Ned rose, returning with three brands of cognac—each expensive—and four snifters, all on a silver tray. He placed them before Brother Thomas, pointing to one brand. “I think this was first made by monks.” Ned wasn’t sure that the precious liquid had been created in a monastery, but the possibility shouldn’t be overlooked.

“Yes. Well, I mustn’t disappoint my brethren. I’ll try just a taste of each of these to see if the spiritual life improved the product.”

Ned poured Hennessy Paradis for Susan and a little drop of Rémy Martin Louis XIII for Brooks after he poured Uncle Thomas’s Hors d’Age No. 9. “Ladies.” He then poured some of the amber liquid into his own snifter, holding it high. “To Brother Thomas, a man of love and a man of light.”

They toasted Brother Thomas and he acknowledged the accolade, savored his cognac, then held up his glass for Ned to fill it with another brand. He tasted that. “Hmm, the distiller may not have been a monk, but I’m certain he was a Christian.” He took another sip. “A very good Christian.”

6

D
riving slowly through the fast-falling snow, Fair kept his eyes on the road.

“Can’t see the center line.” Harry squinted.

“It’s the side I’m worried about. Damn, it’s easy to slide off. We’d be sitting in a snowbank until morning.”

“Well, at least we’d be well fed. Miranda knocked herself out.”

Fair smiled. “And who would have thought that a big, tough Korean vet like Tracy could bake? I still can’t believe he made the pumpkin pie.” His shoulders dropped a bit as he could just make out the sign to the farm. “Whew.”

As he turned his truck off the road, the wheels sank deep into the snow. He geared down.

“Glad I put the snow blade on the tractor. It must be snowing two inches per hour. Jeez, I’ll be out on the tractor all day,” Harry exclaimed. “Any scheduled calls?”

“A full book, but it’s exams and X rays; can be rescheduled if need be. It’s the emergency calls that worry me.”

“Maybe I’d better plow the drive tonight. Still be covered with snow tomorrow but not as deep.” She turned to look at him as the bed of the truck slowly swung right.

He corrected the slide but didn’t breathe normally until he pulled up by the back porch door. “Thank God.”

They hurried inside, Harry carrying a take-out bag. “Aunt Miranda made Thanksgiving dinner for you all.”

She picked up their bowls, putting in giblets, gravy, and some dressing.

“Hooray,”
the three cheered in unison as they pounced when the food was placed on the floor.

“Honey, don’t plow. It’s late. Let’s trust to luck. If I get an emergency call we can worry about it.”

“Sure?”

“Sure. Let’s sit in front of the fire and remember Thanksgivings past.” He walked into the living room, removed the fire screen, and began placing hardwood—oak, walnut, one precious pear log on top—in a square.

Harry picked up the bowls, instantly licked clean. She rinsed them in the sink.

“Is a saint bigger than the Blessed Virgin Mother?”
Tucker thought for a second.

“No. The BVM is the Big Cheese.”
Mrs. Murphy cleaned her whiskers.

“Think any human has ever made a statue to cheese?”
Pewter thought honoring food with a statue not a bad idea.

“Not that I know of.”
Mrs. Murphy intended to join Harry, who had just walked into the living room, but her belly was full and the distance seemed too great.

Harry inhaled. “Pear wood smells fabulous.”

Fair smiled, holding out his hand.

She took it and he led her to the sofa. They put their feet on the coffee table, continuing to hold hands.

“Remember the other Thanksgiving when it snowed so much? Not that common. We were in junior high.”

“Yeah. Dad had to put chains on the tires.”

The fire crackled and glowed. The two cats were fast asleep in the large basket filled with old towels that Harry saved. They were in the kitchen. Tucker managed to totter to the hearth before conking out.

“I remember digging Mrs. Clark out of that big snow. So many of our teachers are gone now. Mrs. Clark died back in 1989. Liver disease, and she never even drank.”

“An entire generation is leaving us. Funny how fast time goes.” He squeezed Harry’s hand. “I don’t have anything else to say about what I did, what I learned, where I am at this exact moment. You’ve heard it all. I want to marry you. I won’t ask again. I know making a big decision is very hard for you. You can be so good in a crisis, but you don’t like change, and life
is
change.”

“I’m trying. I’m studying viticulture, other ways to make money,” she softly replied.

“I know. Skeezits, give me an answer by Christmas Eve.”

“This is an ultimatum?” She liked ultimatums about as much as she liked change.

“I guess it is, but I don’t think about it quite like that. There’s a lot of life left to me. I’m staring at forty. I want to love a true partner. I want a family. I love you.” He took a deep breath. “But if I’m not really the man for you, I have to move on. It will kill me, but I have to go. I can’t live in limbo.”

Harry heard him in her heart, yet she feared making the same mistake twice. And it was true, she feared change. She’d adjusted to single life. She liked it. No, it wasn’t as fulfilling as a deep partnership, but could she be that partner?

“Fair, you’ll have your answer by Christmas Eve.” She paused. “And whatever it is, I do love you.”

Tucker, ears sharp, eyes closed, heard every word.