At Home in Mitford (49 page)

“My father,” she said, keeping her eyes closed, “told the firemen he had gone to church to check the pipes because of the freezing temperatures, and when he arrived, he found it already burning. Willard Porter had left the scene, and no one knew he’d been there.

“They suspected arson.

“The grief that I suffered was nearly unendurable, I could not get out of bed. In fact, it was this very bed in this very room. I kept the draperies closed and lived as if in a dream. I felt invalid and frail; I began to creep about like an old woman. I couldn’t confide to China Mae, my best friend, and certainly not to Louella, nor say a word to Mama, whose worry over me nearly drove her to the breaking point. I refused to see Absalom, yet, one day, he delivered a note to the house, asking me to marry him.

“Marry!” Miss Sadie shook her head. “I knew at last, full well, that I would never marry.

“My father never revealed the truth to anyone, and he was so gravely stricken with guilt and shame that I thought he might die. The doctor drove up the mountain to Fernbank regularly, we were all so ravaged by our secrets and our sorrows. For me, it wasn’t just all that I’d seen, and the knowledge of Papa’s deceit, there was also an awful sadness over the loss of Lord’s Chapel, the sweetest church in Mitford.

“It was a very long time until I learned that Papa had commanded Willard to leave the scene of the fire, and Willard, for all those years, was willing to protect Papa. He never said a word. He took the truth to his grave in France.

“It seemed that Satan himself had come against us. I thought Louella would never get over the horror of that time. Our faith did not shine through, Father, even my mother was broken by the burden of what she could not understand.”

She reached for the glass on the windowsill and took another sip of water.

“Papa’s business regained its footing, and he rallied to raise the money to build Lord’s Chapel on Old Church Lane. He bought your little stone office, which had been an ice house, and gave it to the parish. The rectory was already owned by the church, and standing where it is today. When the time came, Papa gave the pews and the organ, and put the roof on the nave and sanctuary, which was before the parish hall. And he had the gardens dug and planted.

“I feel that Papa would have let me marry Willard, at last, but it was too late. Oh, it was so late. When the war started, of course, Willard went away to serve, and he was killed in France and buried there.” She paused, gazing out the window. “And Absalom? Well, I scarcely ever saw him again. I know that his sister, Lottie, could not find it in her heart to forgive me, for I hurt him, and she loved him so.

“When Papa and Mama died, I did perhaps the only independent thing I had ever done in my life.” She looked at him and smiled weakly. “I moved across the aisle and started sitting on the gospel side.”

She slumped a little in the chair. He leaned forward and reached for her hand, which felt small and cold.

“That’s my love story, Father. I’m sorry it did not have a happier ending. The nursing home will give it a happy ending. The building will be given in honor of Mama and Papa. The beautiful fountain out front will be in memory of Captain Willard James Porter. It will be a place of solace and peace, a place for healing.”

Father Tim got up from his chair and placed a hand on her fragile shoulder. “Father,” he prayed, “I ask you to heal any vestige of bitter hurt in your child, Sadie, and by the power of your Holy Spirit, bring to her mind and heart, now and forever, only those memories that serve to restore, refresh, and delight. Through Jesus Christ, your Son our Lord, Amen.”

“Amen!” she said, reaching up to put her hand on his.

"Y’all been talkin’ so long, you mus’ be dry as two bones.”

Louella set a tray on the foot of the bed and handed out tall glasses of tea with bright circles of lemon.

“Thank you, Louella, please sit down. The deed is done.”

“Thank you, Jesus!” said Louella, and sat down on Miss Sadie’s blue silk vanity bench.

“Have a doughnut hole, Louella,” said Miss Sadie, extending the bakery bag. “Father?” she said, offering him one also.

How much harm could the hole of a doughnut do? he wondered, reaching into the bag.

“That,” Miss Sadie exclaimed happily, “leaves two for me!” The rector noticed that her color was returning. “Oh, Father, something I’ve been meaning to ask you. You know that lovely woman who looks like Mama? Olivia Davenport, I think her name is. I’d like to give her Mama’s hats; she wears a hat with such style. You know, there’s no family to pass them on to, and there are just so many beautiful hats up in the attic, going to waste. Do you think it would be an insult?”

“Why, no. No, I don’t. I think Olivia might be very glad to have those hats. Perhaps you could call her and talk to her. I believe she’d welcome hearing from you, she’s rather shut in, you know.”

“She’s going to get a new heart, isn’t she?”

“God willing. She’s on a waiting list, but she has a rare blood type, and the heart could come from anywhere in the world. The trick is getting it to her—or her to it—in time.”

“A new heart! How thrilling! I will pray for her, Father, and I’ll call her in the next day or two. Could you run them over to her, if she’s interested? Would you mind? I could get Luther to take them in the pickup, but he hurt his back and can’t drive.”

“We’ll most certainly work it out,” he said, draining the tea glass and standing. He bent down and kissed Miss Sadie on the forehead.

“Take good care of one another,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”

Louella followed him out the door and closed it behind her.

She walked with him to the foot of the stairs. “Father,” she said, speaking in a low voice, “Miss Sadie ain’t th’ only one got a secret t’ carry to th’ grave. I got one of my own, and somethin’ tells me I better let you have it, jus’ in case.”

Good heavens, thought the rector. No wonder he had never felt the need to devour mystery and suspense stories. Nearly every day he encountered mysteries and suspense galore.

“If I was you, I wouldn’t let Miss Olivia and Miss Sadie get too thick. You know how folks always say ‘who was yo’ mama and yo’ granmaw and where was you born at,’ an’ all. One thing might lead to another, and ’fore you know it, Miss Sadie might fin’ out somethin’ that would put her down, for sure.”

He was afraid to ask. “And what is that?”

“That her mama done had a little baby ’fore she married Miss Sadie’s daddy. And that little baby growed up and was the granmaw of Miss Olivia.”

Louella peered closely at the rector’s face.

“Now, don’t take me wrong, Miss Sadie’s mama, she was a saint, she used to go roun’ to th’ poor just like th’ Bible axe us to. An’ th’ poor she was mostly goin’ roun’ to was that little girl, who didn’t live too far from Fernbank, kep’ by a lady from Alabama. That little girl had th’ name of Miss Lydia. Well, she growed up and had Miss Caroline, and Miss Caroline done had Miss Olivia, an’ far as I know, don’ nobody know nothin,’ they smoothed it out so. You know what’s sad?”

“What’s that?” asked the rector, who had heard so much of sadness today.

“Miss Sadie always talkin’ ’bout how she got no kin, when her own kin livin’ right down th’ hill— and Miss Olivia thinkin’ she got no kin, either!”

“Louella, thank you for telling me this. Will you agree with me in prayer?”

“Honey, you know I will!”

“The psalmist tells us that God ‘setteth the solitary in families.’ Let’s pray that it might please God to make these two a family, in His own way.”

“Cast yo’ bread on th’ waters . . .” said Louella, grinning broadly.

“And sometimes,” replied the rector, “it comes back buttered toast.”

He drove along Church Hill Drive, beside the stone wall that led to the ruined church. He would never again be able to look at that hilltop without a kind of sorrow. His particular job sometimes revealed more to him than he wanted to know.

There, he thought, as he made the right-hand turn into Old Church Lane, was where he’d first come panting up the hill in his new jogging suit from the Collar Button. That innocent time seemed long ago.

He felt a keen anguish over Barnabas, as he drove slowly down the hill, but reminded himself that, after all, Barnabas was only a dog.

Only a dog? Instantly, he realized where this perverse thought had come from. He’d stood by the cages with his father, surveying in frozen alarm the dead bodies of his entire herd. “There’s no use to grieve,” his father had said, coldly, “they’re only rabbits.”

He’d learned that one obstacle to childlike faith in a heavenly father was bitter disappointment in earthly fathers. No, not everyone had that obstacle to faith, which was clearly a favorite of the Enemy, but Miss Sadie had had it, and he had had it and come to terms with it, and forgiven his father, long years ago.

His research for the paper on Lewis revealed this had been a major obstacle for the apologist. One commentator had said, “For years, Lewis had not been able to forgive himself for his failure to love his father, nor had he been able to appropriate God’s forgiveness for this sin. But when finally enabled, he was almost incredulous of the peace and the ease he experienced.”

He glanced vaguely at the rose arbors that had come into bloom along Old Church Lane. The Rose Festival! He still had no inkling of what to talk about.

The War of the Roses? No, there was enough talk of war in this world.

He would think about it all later, perhaps in the evening when Dooley was asleep. Of course, what he really needed to think about was what to do with Dooley for the summer. And then, there was always what Cynthia had asked him to think about.

He felt oddly relieved to arrive at the office and have the peace of it to himself.

He checked his phone messages and calendar. Meet with the Altar Guild at three o’clock about designs for needlepoint kneelers to replace the ancient leather-covered cushions. Dinner at Wilma and Ron Malcolm’s, with Dooley in tow, tomorrow evening. Drop by The Local and pick up a ham to bake for the Newland reception on Saturday. Should he have warned Miss Sadie, who was hoping to be there, that Absalom Greer would be there also?

A note from Emma said: “Winnie expecting you. Olivia fine. Russell behaving. Rabbit food on sale.”

As he took the cover off his Royal manual, to type a quick note to Stuart Cullen, he heard a thunderous sound out front, and felt the building shake. There was the explosive whooshing of air brakes, and, in a moment, a loud rap on the door. He opened it to see a truck as vast as an auditorium parked in the street.

“Yes?” he inquired of a large, bearded man with a cut of tobacco in his jaw.

“Bells,” said the driver, handing him a clipboard with a delivery slip.

Puny had set up the ironing board in his bedroom so she could press the drapes that had been folded over a hanger for two years. Dooley had promised to help her hang them in the afternoon. “I seen that big mess in th’ churchyard,” she said. “What
is
all that stuff, anyway?”

“Bells. Bells under a tarp, delivered without warning, and nobody to put them in the tower ’til next Wednesday.”

“I thought Emma was gittin’ married Saturday. That don’t look too good with a weddin’ goin’ on.”

“No kidding.” He was going through his pants pockets and making a pile for the dry-cleaning truck.

“That ham you got is a whopper. You want me to bake it Friday?”

“I’d be beholden to you if you would.”

“I’ll use my pineapple glaze that Joe Joe . . . I mean, ah . . . oh well.” She flushed beet red.

“Joe Joe, is it?”

“Shoot!” she said, “I didn’t mean to let that out.”

“And why not? Have you forgotten who prayed for a parade, out of the goodness of his heart?” He was so pleased with her unintentional confession that he could scarcely contain his smug delight.

“I don’t think it’s right to talk about things like that ’til you know what’s goin’ on with somebody. That’s what Mama said. She courted our daddy a whole year before she talked about it.” Frowning, she pulled the heavy, lined drapery panel off the ironing board. “I wish you’d help me put this thing over the chair back, it weighs a ton.”

“I’ve never understood exactly how you keep something like that under cover,” he said. He took one end and helped her spread it over the other panels.

“Oh, come on, now,” she said, winking hugely at him, “you do know, too. I mean, look at you!”

“What do you mean, look at me?”

“I mean your neighbor is what I mean, ha, ha.”

“Ha, ha, yourself,” he said, feeling the color steal into his face.

“Somebody said y’all were out walkin’ th’ other night, right on Main Street.”

“Walking on Main Street is hardly keeping anything under cover. Can’t two people go for a stroll without causing tongues to wag?”