Authors: Brenda Bevan Remmes
“I just ask that you try.”
“I will do what I can. We’ll need to go to the office in Durham. I’ll take you.”
“You just tell me when.”
When Liz looked at him, for the first time she saw a wounded man. A quote from a play by Thornton Wilder which she’d read in college came to mind:
Without your wound, where would your power be?
It suddenly made sense. All these years he had worked to seek redemption for the wound he had inflicted upon the community fifty-six years ago.
“I will hold you in the light, Grandpa, and pray a way will open.”
“What a Quaker you have become, my dear.” He rose, more burdened by his years than Liz had ever seen, and he bent down to kiss the top of her head. Then he walked out the door.
Chapter Twenty-six
Every Thursday evening since Maggie’s diagnosis, Richard Shannon had come by Cottonwoods to sit with her while Billie and Gill met Liz and Chase at The Quaker Café for supper. Things were better, not great, but better. Billie had become the watchdog in the afternoons and the bouncer when visiting hours were over.
“How’s Maggie today?” Liz asked when Billie sat down.
“As long as she takes her Percocet every five hours, she’s all right. She’s tried to stretch it to six hours. The medicine makes her drowsy and when she wants to catch up on some legal work, she’ll delay taking it. That’s when she runs into problems.”
“Lord, she should just forget everything at the office,” Liz said.
“Shoot, I think that’s why she gets up every day; the office and the elections. She’s worried that you’re not getting out enough, Liz, and she’s not able to campaign for you like she planned.”
“My heart’s just not in
it. I shouldn’t have let her convince me to file.”
“Word is the Democrats have a chance of reclaiming the governorship with
Jim Hunt. Maybe you can just slide in on his coattails.”
“I don’t even know if I want to
anymore?”
“For God’s sake, don’t let Maggie hear you say that
. She’s already voted, you know. She requested absentee ballots for both her and the Judge.” Billie said. “Unfortunately the Judge’s death was too well publicized; but give her credit, she tried.”
Miss Ellie brought two plates of fried chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans, and two bowls of chicken ‘n dumplings. “What’s this?” Gill asked as Miss Ellie put the dumplings in front of him.
“What you ordered,” Billie said. “Chicken ‘n dumplings.
“There’s chicken in here some place?” Gill pushed his fork around the plate.
Billie looked up at Miss Ellie and shook her head. “Ignore him. He’s in one of his picky moods.”
Miss Ellie refilled everyone’s glass of sweet tea. “I’ve got a pot of chicken soup in the back for you to take to Maggie,” she said.
“She’ll love that,” Billie said. “She always loves your soup.”
“Is she eating better?”
“She’s eating because she knows she has to,” Billie reassured her.
“I talked to my son
Josh up in Baltimore. He’s promised me he’d give some blood for the donor tests.” Miss Ellie’s looked straight at Liz. “My two girls and I went over to give blood on Tuesday. They say a lot of people have come in since Sunday when all of the preachers announced it in church.”
“It’s really helped out our blood res
erves, and we’re grateful,” Liz said. “Chase and I have donated blood, and I think Sophie and her husband have also.”
“Well, I hope they find a match,” Miss Ellie said and continued her loop through the restaurant with the pitcher of tea
. Liz noticed Helen’s lips in fast forward with the OHIO Squad. Liz knew Helen had hit the campaign trail, working her way through the white community, and prophesizing doom and gloom if a liberal outsider, such as Liz, ever became a county commissioner. Liz sighed. She’d lost the fire in her belly when Maggie got ill.
They finished their dinner and while Chase and Gill paid the bill, Liz went over to retrieve her sweater off the coat rack.
Helen spoke as she walked by, “I understand wedding invitations have all gone out.”
“We’re all pretty excited,” Liz picked up her sweater and gave her a pleasant nod. “Getting close now, just a few weeks until the end of October.” Liz really didn’t want to get into a public conversation with Helen, but Helen had an agenda. “A wedding and the election, all rolling in at the same time. I imagine you’re tired, dear.”
“I am, Helen,” Liz conceded.
“I guess it will be a big wedding,” she continued. “St. Michael’s in Charleston and the reception at the Mills House—sounds elegant and expensive. Nathan’s fiancée must be quite well-off?”
“They’re a fine Charleston family.”
“Just what do her parents do?”
“He’s in real estate. She owns her own business, interior design.”
“Oh, my, guess they wouldn’t profit much from those skills here in Cedar Branch.” Helen threw a puckish grin around the table.
“That’s probably why they don’t live in Cedar Branch.” Liz returned the look.
“Well, it sounds like a pricey wedding. Not very Quakerly.”
“They’re Episcopalian, Helen,—
St. Michael’s
Episcopal
Church.”
“Of course, w
ell, I couldn’t go, even if I’d been invited, you know. It’s much too expensive for me to afford. Pity about your hair.”
Liz flushed, knowing that her light complexion had just turned bright pink. Biting back a sarcastic remark, she kept her mouth closed and turned to go. Helen tugged at her sweater. “By the way, how is poor Maggie?”
“A bit stronger each day.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. Have you had any luck?”
“Any luck with what?”
“Well, I understand you hope to find someone who is a brother or sister to Maggie for a transplant.”
Liz was startled. “You must have misunderstood, Helen, we’re looking for a match for Maggie. They will try to find someone through a national registry.”
“Oh,” Helen said with lack of conviction. “I thought I heard that you had asked around to find out if Maggie had a half-brother or sister.”
Speechless for a moment, Liz felt herself start to puff up like a blow fish. Others now eavesdropped on their conversation. The one thing about The Quaker Café was that nothing said there ever remained private. “Helen, that’s simply not true. I don’t know what you heard, but you heard wrong.” Liz knew Helen had caught her in a lie, but she simply refused to confirm the rumor. She responded to her guilt with anger.
“Sorry,” Helen said sheepishly, raising her eyebrows. “I certainly didn’t mean to offend anyone.”
“But you do, Helen, over and over again. And you, ladies.” She turned to face the remainder of the OHIO Squad. “Why do you let her do this? Surely you all have better things to talk about than town gossip.” She could feel herself bubbling over like a lava flow.
Chase walked over and put his hand in the small of her back. “Come on, Liz. Let’s go.”
Helen had stiffened, her mouth puckered up. “Liz Hoole, if Nathan and Euphrasia could hear you talk.”
“Don’t bring my in-laws into this, Helen. Damn it. Just give it a rest, would you?”
“Liz,” Chase took her shoulders and pointed his wife in the direction of the door. “Good night, Ladies,” he said as he nodded and then ushered Liz out.
“Whew,” he said once they were out.
“I was just getting started.”
“I could tell.”
Billie scampered out of the restaurant behind Liz while Gill kept his distance. As they walked to their cars, Billie was in a titter. “My God, Liz, bet that will keep the old biddy quiet for a while, especially if you’re in the room.”
“She just aggravates me to death. I declare, what to do with that woman?”
“It might have been better to
declare
instead of swear back there, but you made your point,” Chase said softly.
“I didn’t swear,” Liz said. She knew full well that swearing was never considered appropriate by Quakers, nor by the Hooles. Years ago she’d learned to control colorful language.
“I believe you did,” Chase said.
“What did I say?”
“
Damn it
comes to mind.”
“No, I didn’t. Did I really say damn it?”
“Yes, you did, yes, you did,” twittered Billie. “Loud and clear.”
“Well, damn it!”
Chapter Twenty-seven
The day after Liz deposited Maggie at Duke for her consolidation treatment she picked up Grandpa Hoole and headed back to Durham to the Donor Center. Grandpa said little on the way over. Liz made small talk about the boys and school.
Liz had called Rachel Wells, her only contact at the Donor Center, and explained the dilemma and Grandpa’s unu
sual request. Liz knew Rachel on a professional level but Liz didn’t think that Rachel would make any concessions. Her reputation throughout the Red Cross offices was one of high expectations and rigid regulations.
“Liz,” she said when they talked on the phone
. “They’re just not going to let him be a donor. He’s too old.”
“I promised I’d try, Rachel,” Liz pleaded
. “He’s dead set to find out whether or not he’s a match. Can’t you just give him the test?”
Rachel greeted Grandpa with a frozen smile that Liz imagined went with the job
. Smartly dressed in a tailored blue suit, her look said management. She glanced at Liz’s Tar Heel baseball cap and Liz expected to be the brunt of a joke before Rachel realized the hat covered a cropped head. Whatever Rachel intended to say, she stopped. Liz’s name was Hoole. Grandpa’s name was Hoole. Her mind weighed the possibilities. Instead, she turned and ushered them into her office.
Grandpa and Liz stepped into a well-organized room with notebooks lined up in alphabetical order by county, topic, and data on long, dust-free shelves
. Rachel offered each a seat and positioned herself behind a spotless clear-top table fashionably sized to be a desk. Liz envisioned an immaculate house, void of children. The thought resulted in an uncomfortable stomach spasm similar to ones she experienced when visiting her own mother.
“I hope you had an easy trip over
. How long did it take?” Rachel asked.
“Oh, a bit more than two hours …
mostly country roads, not too bad, as long as you don’t get behind a school bus.”
Rachel’s smile remained unchanged. “Your call last week surprised me somewhat, Liz
. I’ve never had this particular request before and I never expected one to come from you. I had to check with a couple of people first. I had a busy day yesterday and didn’t have time. I just touched base with some of our staff this morning.”
“I know how busy you are
,” Liz said, this more as a courtesy and because she wanted something out of her, not because she felt the least bit sympathetic. Liz always got annoyed at anyone who wanted to make a point of how busy they were. Everyone’s busy. She resented being told she didn’t make their priority list. Rachel might as well have said, “What you want simply isn’t that important to me.”
Rachel continued. “Mr.
Hoole…”
“Please call me Nathan,” Grandpa corrected.
“Mr. Hoole,” Rachel continued without flinching, “what you want to do is exceedingly generous. I understand your deep love and concern for the individual involved.” She cast her eyes from Liz to him. “There are several reasons we have age limits on who can be a BMT donor.”