Miracle in a Dry Season (28 page)

Perla smiled. “Thank you for that. Once upon a time I wouldn’t have expected anything quite so philosophical from you.”

“Guess I’ve had a lot to make me thoughtful this year. And that’s not all I’ve been thinking about.” The words popped out before Casewell could catch them. He felt cold sweat bead on
his brow. Was he going to declare himself to Perla? Right here and now on the day they’d buried his father?

“Oh? What else have you been thinking about?”

Casewell’s mouth was suddenly drier than the creek had been a week ago. He coughed and Perla fetched him a glass of water. She handed it to him, worry in her eyes. Casewell realized her eyes were the color of the tiny blue dayflowers that bloomed in the yard every summer. He wanted to gaze into them all day, but he gave himself a shake. This wasn’t the time. He might admit to himself that he loved Perla Long, but he needed to do more than just tell her so. He needed to court her properly.

“I’ve been thinking it’s time we took Sadie on a picnic,” he said at last. We’ll get Delilah and Robert and take Ma along. It’ll cheer her up.”

“That sounds lovely. Just let me know when you’d like to go.”

That night Perla tucked Sadie into the bed they shared. As soon as she heard the child’s steady breathing, she slipped from under the coverlet and padded out onto the porch. She could have sworn Casewell meant to say something important to her that afternoon. Something far more important than a picnic.

Perla stared at the night sky. A shooting star streaked low on the horizon, and she gasped at how bright and distinct it was. But even so, it lasted only a moment. And that was how love seemed. Only God’s love shone on and on like the sun. Perla loved Casewell and she had forgiven him for judging her. This feeling she had that he might have changed his mind about her was frightening in a way she hadn’t expected. Especially now that she was determined to go home.

Perla sat on the porch steps and drew her knees up under her nightgown. She could see dew sparkling on the grass that was sprouting here and there. She was surrounded by miracles. Surely that was enough? She’d had the love of a man once, and it had been ephemeral. This time she would be risking not only her own heart, but Sadie’s, as well. No, although Casewell was a good man, she suspected she would do well to keep her distance. Let him find a fresh woman who had lived less. A woman who didn’t carry such burdens. A woman like Melody Simmons. Perla decided that the more she loved Casewell, the more she should be willing to let him find a wife worthy of him. Even to push him in that direction if necessary.

She gave a little nod, as though offering final approval of her plan. She stood, stretched, and went back in to sleep. For just a moment she hesitated and thought perhaps she should pray over this. But no, she knew without having to ask God that Casewell’s finding someone better to love was just good sense.

20

C
ASEWELL
MET
F
RANK
at the Talbot sisters’ house to help put in a late garden. Even though it was September, they hoped to get a few crops. He’d already plowed his mother’s plot and planted collards, spinach, broccoli, turnips, beets, and carrots. Thankfully, his mother never threw out a seed and always kept more from year to year than she needed. Even now, he had a pocketful of her leftovers to share with Liza and Angie.

“Oh, two strapping men to work the garden,” trilled Liza as they came up the front walk. “Angie, aren’t we the luckiest girls in the county?”

“Luck, I’ll grant you,” Angie said, “girls, is a stretch. Come on, fellers, we’ve got work to do.”

Casewell grinned. While Angie may have softened a bit once the sisters sorted out their romantic entanglement with Frank, she hadn’t changed all that much.

“Here you go.” Angie shoved a box of yellowed envelopes at Casewell. He lifted them out one by one and noted that the newest seeds looked to be several years old. “We planted all the new seed we had last spring, so this’ll have to do.” Angie looked like she was daring Casewell to criticize her supplies.

“This’ll do just fine.” Frank took the box from Casewell, winked, and headed out to the garden. In short order they had plowed under what was left of the old garden and were putting out Emily’s seeds along with Casewell’s and some Frank had scrounged up. The men tipped the good seed into the envelopes in Angie’s box so the sisters wouldn’t know.

“I don’t even half know what’s in there.” Liza squinted at the envelope in Casewell’s hand.

“Turnips. And this one here is radish,” Frank said.

“My, you are smart to know what a seed is by looking at it.”

Casewell grinned at the flirtatious tone Liza used. Angie harrumphed and said they ought to get busy filling buckets from the well. “Now that the well has something to offer other than dry leaves and worm carcasses.”

Once the women were busy cranking buckets of water up out of the well, Casewell turned to speak to Frank. The older man seemed to be having some sort of spasm. Casewell rushed to his side and took his arm. Frank slung him off and wrapped his arms around his belly.

“Are you ill? What can I do?”

Frank gasped and sputtered and then guffawed. “Lordy, those two women will be the death of me yet. I don’t think they even know they do it. Liza flirts and Angie disapproves. I suspect they wouldn’t know how to live otherwise.” He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Keeps me young.” He laughed a little more, then slapped his knees and stood upright. “Come on, boy, let’s tote water.”

Once the garden was planted and watered, Casewell sat under an oak tree with Frank. For a long time they sat in silence, taking in the green valley and the old farmhouse, where the voices of the two women carried across the yard on the occasional breeze.

“It’s a good life,” Frank said.

“What is?”

“This.” Frank waved an arm to include all they could see. “Good land, good people, running water. I’ve traveled the world over, and I’d trade most everything I’ve seen for this right here. ’Course, I had to get sober to appreciate it.”

“You’d trade everything?”

“Well, there was that China girl . . .” Frank laughed. “Yes, son, everything. I suppose what I’m really talking about is the peace that comes when you’ve spent the day in good company doing good work. Satisfaction—real satisfaction—is hard to come by.”

“But what about marriage, children, a family?”

“Looks like I missed out on all that.” Frank ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “Oh, looking back on it from this height, I can see that I would have done well to marry one of those gals in there. Probably would have had a mess of children to take care of me in my old age. But might-have-beens never appealed to me much. Sometimes I feel like there’s nothing but this moment right here we’re living in. No past, no future, just right now. And this right now suits me like lemonade on a hot day.”

Casewell felt somehow dissatisfied with Frank’s philosophy. “Even so . . .”

Frank turned to face Casewell head-on. There was a strange light to his eyes, and his wild hair reminded Casewell of how he used to look when he was drinking. It flashed through Casewell’s mind that angels weren’t lovely gossamer creatures, but fearsome messengers of God. He leaned back a little.

“Son, I think you have something—or maybe someone—specific on your mind. I’ve made it a habit to never regret
anything. With the life I’ve lived, I won’t live long enough to get over my mistakes. I can’t change things now, and it surely doesn’t make me feel any better to moon over what might have been. But I will tell you this.” He took a deep breath, and fire lit the depths of his eyes. “If you find a woman you can love, a woman you can marry and rear children with and live out your days in abiding peace with, then for the love of God, do it.”

The old man seemed to subside against the trunk of the tree. He smoothed his hair and brushed some dirt off the left knee of his dungarees. “’Course, that’s just my opinion,” he said with one of his winks.

As Wise settled into a normal autumn cycle of rain and sun, gardens slowly began to offer a late October harvest. Cattle fattened and began giving milk again. Hens laid eggs, and while the people weren’t exactly feasting, the sense of impending doom began to fade.

In the absence of a preacher, church became a weekly sing, with Bible readings and prayer. Occasionally, either Casewell or Robert gave a short homily. No one seemed to be in any hurry to find a new preacher. And although there was more to eat now, people still came to the store for Perla’s cooking a couple of times a week. But now folks rarely came empty-handed. They would bring a handful of turnip greens or some spinach. There were even a few root vegetables—small yet, but all the sweeter for it.

Perla welcomed the variety in her cooking. Robert promised a hog-killing after the first cold spell in November, and she caught herself planning ahead to make cracklings and roast pork and sausage, even though she assumed there wouldn’t be
a need for her cooking anymore by then. Although she still felt a long way from welcome, the community seemed to have decided to take her ability in stride. No one marveled over it or commented on it, and no one asked Perla for miracles or accused her of witchcraft. Casewell took it as proof that people will get used to anything.

And then, one day no one came for food. Casewell was helping, as he often did. He noticed that there seemed to be less food than usual.

“Perla, why are you cooking less today?”

“Am I? I thought I was doing everything just the same.”

“Seems like a lot less to me.” Casewell looked over the bowls of cabbage sautéed with onions, spinach salad with hard-boiled eggs, and buttered carrots with honey. “It looks good. There just seems to be less of it.”

Perla came to stand beside Casewell and surveyed the food. “I think you’re right. But it’s always been enough, so I guess we should trust it still is.”

They waited for someone to come and eat, but no one did. Finally, they got Casewell’s mother and took all the food to the Thorntons’ house, where they ate their fill. Perla laughed as she cleared the table.

“What did I tell you?” she said, tipping a bowl toward Casewell to show him the little bit left in the bottom. “Enough and then some.”

Casewell smiled at the woman he loved and watched her put away the little bit. He spent time with Perla as he could, but he wanted to court her, and he wasn’t sure how to go about it. Every time he tried to get close, he felt her shy away. It was as though she had decided against him but didn’t have the heart to say so. As if she were being polite by having him around.
Well, he wasn’t going to give up without a clearer sign than he’d gotten so far.

Perla put away the last dish and turned to walk out onto the porch.

“Perla.” Casewell said her name, surprised by how tender it sounded in his mouth. “Would you walk out with me?”

“Oh, well, I’m pretty tired.”

“Too tired to walk out in the cool of the evening and watch the stars come out one by one?” Again Casewell surprised himself. Where did that come from?

Perla grinned. “When you put it that way . . .”