Cast a Road Before Me (31 page)

He stopped for a deep breath. I could not move, listening to him. His humble words made my heart ache.

“I’m here to tell ya, I’m changin’ my ways. God’s gonna be my driver all the time now. I’ll try to keep my high opinion a myself in the background. Okay? That’s all I got to say.”

I’d never seen Thomas so meek. He stepped back from the microphone, then changed his mind and moved forward again. “Jus’ one more thing. Don’t y’all forget that my best friend, Jake, saved my life. Now he’s got his own battle scars, so I s’pose our bestin’ feud is even for now.” He grinned suddenly, and I saw the Thomas I knew. “But don’t think our feudin’s over. Somebody’s got to give this town a few laughs.”

That brought a chuckle as he left the podium. Pastor Burle stood to announce that we would sing a hymn, inviting those who wanted to publicly and fully dedicate their lives to Christ to come
to the edge of the stage for prayer. Even as the beginning words were sung, people began to move forward. Lee was one of the first to rise. My heart turned over. For the briefest moment I longed to go with him. Then guilt flashed through me at the thought, as if I’d betrayed my own destiny. More than seven years ago, somewhere around the time Martha Plott had seen her vision, I had dreamed of my mother. Now the results of both were coming to fruition.

Ducking my head, I slipped out the door. Hot sun bounced off my forehead, and I shaded my eyes as I picked up speed, hurrying down the steps. I’d reached no farther than the sidewalk when I heard my name called. Sliding to an abrupt halt, I let my eyes slip shut, sighing in frustration.

“What is it, Thomas,” I said almost accusingly as I turned. “I
have
to be going, and I don’t have time for anyone else to try and talk me out of it.”

“Well, then, I won’t try.” He drew near me on the sidewalk, standing so that a gnarled oak tree blocked the sun. “Just saw you leave and wanted to say good-bye, that’s all.”

Remorse washed through me. I nodded, looking at my feet.

“I’ll sure miss ya. I know Celia will too.”

How many times did I have to hear these words? A desperation to be gone surged through me. Only my respect for Thomas stayed a hasty farewell. “I was afraid for a moment there,” I heard myself say, “that you were going to tell them the truth.”

He smiled ruefully. “Couldn’t do that now, could I. I can ask God’s forgiveness, but not theirs. That’s what I get, bein’ so proudful and tryin’ to fix things myself.”

“How could you just make all that up?”

“Well, I didn’t make it all up. That lamp did explode after the fire was set, and pieces went through the screen.”

“But, Thomas, how’d you get
away
with it? Surely the fire inspectors know the truth.”

“Only them. And Bill Scutch. And after it was all over, your uncle figured it out. But when the men started gatherin’ that night,
I begged Bill to let me feed ‘em the story. At the time, seemed it would maybe calm things down. The hard part was convincin’ the fire inspectors afterward to let the story stay. It meant lettin’ Riddum go. But if he went to jail, what would happen to the mill? The men could all lose their jobs—for good. If I hadn’t known those inspectors personally, they wouldn’t a listened. And they could sure lose their jobs too, if the truth got out. So I guess you ‘n’ me got one more secret between us to carry to our graves.”

I smiled in spite of myself. For a moment we were silent.

“You heared what I said in there, Jessie?”

Here came the preaching. I braced myself. “Mmm-hmm.”

“I hope you’ll hear with your heart. There’s a lot a people in there right now gettin’ straight with God ‘cause a all this. Their eyes have been opened, like mine.” His voice was soft. “Like I hope yours’ll be.”

I don’t know why it happened at that moment. After the years of sermons I’d heard in Bradleyville, after all the talks with my aunt and uncle and Lee. But for some reason, right then, as I stood on the hot sidewalk opposite Thomas, the quiet chorus of a hymn filtering from the school gym, I was struck by the message he was trying to get through my head. The words hit my chest, seeping into my hollow places. And suddenly I saw everything laid before me, as though a light had flicked on in my head. I was closing my eyes to the better way God was trying to show me. I was doggedly choosing my own path—my mother’s path, because I could not admit she had lacked something herself. I saw this in a flash, and it scared me to death, for I could not imagine heeding this warning. I simply could not turn from the course my dream had put me on.

I shoved the thoughts away. Regrouping, I sought distraction in details of the sawmill.

“Once the men return to work, Riddum could go back on everything you forced him to say that night.”

Thomas waved an impatient hand. “Don’t worry ‘bout that. He’ll behave hisself, else he knows we’ll pull a few mislaid facts outta our
back pockets and come up with a ‘new’ theory. We finally got him right where we want him. Still, I’m gonna start prayin’ he sells the mill and moves on. If I wasn’t gittin’ so old, I’d buy it back myself.”

I remained unconvinced. “I just don’t want him taking things out on the men. I want Uncle Frank and Lee to be happy.”

“Your Uncle Frank’ll be just fine. Lee … well, Lee’s heart’s broken over your leavin’. But I s’pose he’ll get used to the idea, jus’ like the rest of us have to.”

“It’s about time I heard somebody say that. Seems like everybody in Bradleyville thinks this town’s got a corner on God.”

He shrugged. “Don’t know ‘bout that. I do know he’s got a corner on us, and that’s what counts. And I believe he’s got a corner on you too, Jessie. I’m gonna be prayin’ every day that you hear his voice loud and clear—whatever it is he needs to say to you. As for me, I got my work cut out for me, right in my own home.”

“What do you mean?”

He regarded me for a moment, as if deciding how much to say. “Little Celia’s a mighty sad child. I’m ‘fraid she’s payin’ the price with Estelle for things that go back long before she was born. Those things is my fault, and I might have to spend the rest a my life tryin’ to make ‘em right.”

Celia always had seemed so serious. I couldn’t bear to think of her hurting. “I’ll make sure to visit with her especially,” I said lamely. “At Thanksgiving, I mean.”

Sorrow flicked across Thomas’s face. “You do that.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Well. Better let ya go now. I gotta get back inside anyway. I need to be prayin’ with folks.”

I promised to call and give him my new phone number. He hugged me hard, his roughened cheek grazing mine. And then I was on my way down the street, alone, the strains of another hymn drifting behind me.

T
hings don’t always happen quite the way you expect. I’d once envisioned Lee waving good-bye to me in the pouring rain, but the clouds that day were high and white, and Lee was so busy praying with the townsfolk, he probably hadn’t even noticed I’d left the gym. Jealousy ripped at me as I pictured him surrounded by friends and family while I drove off alone. I’d also imagined driving out of town with spirits soaring, hardly believing that the day had finally arrived. I’d imagined it with a clear sense of my guardian angel’s protection, the indomitable excitement of embarking on the plans that God, through her, had laid for me. Instead, I didn’t feel sheltered at all, only solitary and vulnerable. Why, as I passed the Bradleyville sign, could I not shake that nagging feeling that, in truth, I was leaving God behind?

I drove out of town that morning with windows open, hair blowing around my face, wondering how far I had to go until the pull of Bradleyville would finally recede, and I could again feel deep within me that I was doing the right thing. The first three-and-a-half hours of my trip would be over winding Kentucky backroads. I drove as fast as I could, straining my neck out the
window for a chance to pass an occasional logging truck. As the wheels of my car spun, unraveling miles between my old life and new, I turned my thoughts to my empty and waiting apartment. Tomorrow I would buy blue paint. Maybe even do the room. How much easier it would be to paint without having to cover furniture. Tuesday morning I’d rent pieces for the living room, plus a kitchen table and chairs. Arrange to have them delivered by the time the moving truck arrived, if possible. Wednesday I’d drive to Hope Center, meet the new staff, maybe pitch in for an hour or two, doing whatever was needed. Thursday I’d make a point of visiting around my apartment complex, meeting new neighbors. Perhaps go swimming. Maybe by Friday I’d have made some new friends—a couple to invite to supper, a girlfriend to see a movie with. Maybe within a week or two I’d even have a date. I tried to picture what he’d look like but could only see Lee’s face.

The turnoff to the hospital in Albertsville was coming up. I passed it without slowing.

An hour from Bradleyville, I felt even more alone. As the minutes ticked by, the depression gave way to resentment.
Where are you?
I prayed to my guardian angel mother.
You’re supposed to be helping me! I’m doing what you wanted; why can’t you be here for me?

It is not what
I
want
, something deep inside me responded.

I shook my head to clear it. I breathed deeply and searched for other things to think about. In great detail, I began picturing my job. Going in the first day, wearing my yellow dress. I pictured sitting in on meetings with Edna Slate, the social worker I was replacing; being introduced to her families; going over files with her; meeting other people in the agency. I pictured the faces of the little children I’d see, imagined how my heart would go out to them, how fervently I’d want to help. I would be happy there; I’d be doing all day what my mother could only volunteer to do after work.
Plus
I’d be helping at the Center. I’d be doubly blessed. Never would I face the despair that had crossed my mother’s brow as she drove away that final day of her life.

Two hours from Bradleyville I stopped in a tiny town and bought a Coke and candy bar. The girl behind the counter reminded me of
a young Connie, apple-cheeked and dark-haired. Accepting change, I smiled at her lingeringly. As I left the store, I could feel her eyes on my back, wondering if she knew me.

My candy bar disappeared slowly, the Coke growing warm on the seat between my legs. The road curved and twisted, pulling me away from Bradleyville, toward my new home. Two-and-a-half hours out, I whispered aloud to my guardian angel, “Another thirty minutes and I’m halfway there.” The knowledge brought no comfort.

… to show us all that he is Lord
. Unexpectedly, Miss Martha’s words flashed through my head. I saw her in front of the podium, tiny and frail, telling the town of her vision. What a remarkable thing that was. Amazing. And she and others had prayed for
seven years
about it. How strong her belief in that vision had been, to keep her praying for that long. I understood the energizing power of such unearthly knowledge, comparing Miss Martha’s vision to my dream. And yet her knowledge had culminated tangibly, while mine was….

The word
diminishing
sprang to mind, and I forcefully pushed it away.

At three hours the Coke was gone, the candy wrapper long since wadded onto the empty passenger floor. I had tired of actively seeking my guardian angel’s comfort, now feigning nonchalance. Defiantly, I told God it didn’t matter; if he was keeping her away from me, it would be no deterrent.

You know the truth
.

I blinked. Where was this stuff coming from? What was wrong with me? My foot pressed a little harder on the accelerator. After all this planning,
why
couldn’t I be happy today? It wasn’t as if I was going off to rob banks, for heaven’s sake.

I had mentally reviewed all I could of my apartment and employment and the Center. Unattended, my mind began to meander repeatedly back to Bradleyville. I found myself mulling over Thomas’s lie, amazed that he’d gotten away with it. Maybe Uncle Frank was right; maybe God could use anything for his own
purpose. Without God answering the prayers of Miss Martha and the rest, I couldn’t imagine even Thomas Bradley possessing the fast-talking required to bend law enforcement’s ancient rigidity. Then I thought of Jake Lewellyn and his immediate response to sacrifice himself for an old friend. Once I’d opened my mind to those two, other faces and names crowded in like clamoring schoolchildren. Lee’s features were foremost. One by one, against my will, I remembered our evenings together, the conversations and kisses. Our fights. I told myself I couldn’t imagine living under the same roof with him. We couldn’t even get along three weeks straight, dating.

I counted the months until Thanksgiving, wondering if Lee’s house would be rebuilt by then. Probably. The whole town would help. If I had stayed, we could’ve been building our own by then. I wondered how big Katherine May would be, if Connie would have lost her pregnancy weight, and if Miss Wilma’s hip would be improved. I railed at myself for not having stopped at the hospital. I would make it up to Connie. Find her another angel lamp, that’s what I’d do. I wondered what it would be like at the mill by Thanksgiving, with Uncle Frank and Lee almost four months at the helm. Would production be up? Would the men be happy? I thought of Miss Alice and her sewing shop, Tull’s Drugstore, and the IGA. I thought of little Celia, berating myself that I hadn’t said good-bye to her either.

Listen to me
, a voice whispered within.
How much more must I show you?

Please, God
, I begged,
leave me alone
.

Three hours and twenty minutes since I’d left. Soon I would hit interstate, leaving behind the narrow, undulating roads that symbolized rural Kentucky. Undoubtedly, assurance from my guardian angel lay ahead, somewhere along the great stretch of asphalt leading to civilization. It did not matter that I was feeling more miserable by the minute. Everything would be all right. It had to be.

The air was hot and sticky, my back wet. When I’d stopped at the store I’d bound my hair back in a rubber band, tired of it whipping
my face. I steered the car resolutely, keeping eyes on the road as I wiped the side of my face with a sleeve. I wanted another Coke. I wanted the drive over with. I wanted to see Lee one more time.