Earthly Vows (33 page)

Ida May kissed Fern for the gift of the linens. Willie took an apple out of the fruit bowl left behind by the churchwomen.
“I hope your friend gets better, Miss Fern,” he said. He chased Ida May up the stairs.

“If you have to go,” said Jeb, “I want to go with you.”

“I’ll be fine. Better you stay with the kids and get them in bed early.”

Anna had been well the night before. Jeb wanted to coax her into staying. “Stay and let’s make the first fire in that old
fireplace,” he said.

She rubbed her arms. “It has gotten cool, hasn’t it? If you saw her this morning, you’d go too, Jeb. Sybil says she hasn’t
been this bad until now.”

“Willie and Ida May will be fine.”

“I knew you’d want to go. But Anna is my project. I’ve been doing nothing but chasing after students all these years. Anna
needs me in a different way.”

“I’m glad Sybil has you. She’ll appreciate your showing up.”

“If you could see the way Sybil hovers over her, like she’s breathing life back into her.”

“I guess you’ll go back to Sybil’s place tonight, then.”

“Guess so. You can still make a fire.”

“Not a chance.” The last thing he wanted was to sit alone, stoking a fire.

Fern sat back down. “We got to bring some more furniture up. It’s a big old house, isn’t it? This place looks so empty.”

“It did,” he said. He pulled her close. Maybe a fire was a good idea.

“I want to tell you about Walt and me,” she said.

There it was. “I don’t want you to,” he said.

“For just this moment, Jeb, don’t look at me or I’ll never get this all out,” she said. “There’s a lot to be said for everyone
knowing about your past. I know you think it’s been hard trying to convince people in Nazareth that you are a legitimate minister.
But you worked at it until you finally earned everyone’s respect. You’re like the woman in the Bible with the bad past. Jesus
is scribbling in the sand, and then in plain sight of everyone, she was absolved. It was like that for you.”

Jeb got the box of matches off the table. “I’m going to light this,” he said. The wood and kindling were already stacked inside
the fireplace.

“Before I came to Nazareth, I got into some trouble. I met a lawyer at Dornick Hills during a tournament. He was alone and
seemed lonely. I was a kid. But I imagined myself some sort of sophisticate. I had a drink with him and we talked until closing
time.

“Walton Baer.”

“I shouldn’t have left with him. He took me to a hotel in Oklahoma City.”

Jeb removed his jacket. He kept stoking the fire, his back to her. He did not ask until now for that reason. He had grown
accustomed to the Fern Coulter of Nazareth. The Ardmore Fern was more complicated. The fire was taking too long to ignite.

“He never said a word about Anna. I imagined I’d be his wife. He never said I would. I made it all up and thought that by
wishing, I could make it happen.”

His neck felt as if it would snap. He looked up the hallway. Willie and Ida May had gone upstairs. Their quiet banter was
muffled by a closed door. “Until now, had you met her?”

“I never met her.”

The late-afternoon sun was behind the large tree, the shadows stretching. There was a breeze and the sunlight. The movement
of light on the old birdbath reflected against the trunk of the tree outside the window, the flickering showing through in
places and hidden in others. Jeb came back to the sofa.

“It wasn’t a one-night stand.”

He kept listening. She was dabbing her eyes. He touched the place left on her skin by the tear. “Don’t cry, Fern,” he whispered.

“It went on for that entire spring. I was a senior. He came to my college graduation. Mother thought it was sweet. Walton
brought a buddy and she thought he was a friend of Daddy’s come to see Francis’s daughter graduate. That friend took me aside,
told me Walton was married.”

“What did your father think?”

“I was sick to death from what happened. I told Walt to leave, to go back to Anna. Daddy kept asking me where he had gone.
Finally I asked him to take a walk with me. There was a cigar stand on a terrace and I knew he’d like lighting his cigar at
the lighter. I told him straight out about Walt. He went back into the restaurant and left me standing alone on the patio.
I’ve never seen him so disappointed. I had to sit through dinner that night, seeing the look on his face, like he was doing
anything to avoid looking at me.”

The fire started to crackle.

“Daddy gave me a bear every year that I finished another year of school.” She pointed to the white bear on the end of the
mantel. “That one sat on the restaurant table that night. I knew he had brought it for me, but he never did muster up the
words to give me his usual speech. He left it on the table. The note on it said, ‘This one’s for my angel, my Fern.’ ”

“You didn’t move back home then,” he said.

“When Daddy and Mother left for home, I was supposed to come home the next week, to talk to the school in Ardmore about a
teaching position. I got in my car and drove to Oklahoma City. I knew where to find Walton. It was a Saturday night. He always
took me dancing,” she said. “I saw him through the window of the club. He was in the usual spot, corner booth, always surrounded
by other lawyers. They each had a woman, none of them wives. At first, I was almost afraid I’d find him with Anna. Then I
wished that I had.”

“So that is why Walton wanted to see you at the Skirvin.”

She swallowed.

“The jeweled bracelet, you said your father gave that to you,” said Jeb. He turned his hand up and opened his fingers so that
she would lay her hand in his. “Was that true?”

“I wasn’t lying.” She clasped his hand. “Daddy had given it to me. But I left it behind one night in Walton’s car. He left
it dangling on the mirror. Anna got in his car and saw it, thinking it was for her. She must be thinking by now that she’s
lost it.”

“Nice of him to return it. Is that all? Is there anything else?”

She shook her head. The sun was gone.

His usual custom was to comfort her when she was upset. But now all that he could think to do was try and imagine the way
they were before now, before he drove her to Oklahoma City. “I’m sorry I made you come here, Fern.”

“I wanted to be like you, to face up to the past.”

F
ERN PROMISED TO MEET
J
EB BY NOON IN
his office at the church. By twelve-thirty, she was a half hour late, and then by one, it seemed not showing at all. If her
time spent with Anna was pleasant or if Walt showed up, he did not know.

Rowan came in bearing letters for Jeb. There were quite a few cards welcoming him, so many that he had Rowan keep them in
a separate stack for later. He had the morning free of deacons and women’s committees, a relief. After he got a couple of
letters off, he’d start his Sunday sermon early, get ahead of the week. There was one difference only between Church in the
Dell and First Community, he thought. More people. People that needed advice or wanted to talk, needed to be made to feel
better about themselves. “Rowan, you’re going to be a busy young man.” He gave him the job of opening all of the mail.

“I like that, Reverend,” he said. He said he’d take out the mail and bring it back, but he surprised Jeb when he returned
five minutes later. “Someone to see you.”

“Is it in the book?” he asked.

“No. Unexpected. I think you ought to see, sir.”

After, he would take Rowan aside and give him a talk. “Are you going to tell me who it is?”

“Just me, Reverend, Deputy Faulk.” The deputy stuck his head in.

He wearied Jeb the last time and upset Fern. He stood up and extended his hand. Faulk shook it. “The last time we met, we
forgot something,” said Faulk.

Jeb couldn’t imagine what he forgot.

“Your home address. My missus had to sit up half the night with an anxious teenage girl because we didn’t know where to take
her. Poor girl doesn’t know her own address,” said Faulk.

Jeb was broken in two. He came around the desk. “Don’t tell me if it’s not true,” he said.

Angel walked into Jeb’s office, her eyes taking in the new space, nearly overcome, yet a funny giggle coming out of her. “Jeb!
I thought you were gone for good!” She threw her arms around him.

His heart was thumping.

The deputy backed away. He bowed his head.

“I’m sorry.” Jeb kept saying it until he was sobbing.

Angel commenced crying too.

He held her out at arm’s length to look at her. Her dress made her look grown-up. He was overjoyed and sad. Sad she had changed
in his absence.

“I can’t believe it!” said Angel. For an instant, she was thirteen again. But then he pulled back and she was seventeen, tired
around the eyes, but pretty as always. Her smile faded and she looked sullen. “You moved away.”

“Mrs. Abercrombie forgot to give you the letter.”

“So you did write! I knew something was bad wrong. I’d never believe you’d leave me like that.”

The dam broke loose again.

“You’re crying, Jeb. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pain you,” she said. She kept throwing her arms around him, squeezing him.

Fern came up behind the deputy. “What’s going on? Angel!”

Jeb didn’t want to let her go. “Our girl is back, Fern.” The women hugged. He liked the look of Fern and Angel crying and
holding on to one another.

The deputy backed out into the hall. “I owe you, sir,” said Jeb. He followed him and kept shaking his hand. “How did you find
her?”

“You gave us the lead, the name, the description of the young man’s car.”

“So it was him. Jail?”

“I expect so, sir.” He kept inching toward the front door. “I could still use that address. Your daughter is a witness for
a high-crime case.”

“You’re right. She is my daughter,” said Jeb.

Rowan stuck his head around the corner, still holding the mail.

“Rowan, my man! Take this deputy for coffee,” said Jeb. “And give him whatever facts he needs about us.”

Jeb was glad that Fern took Angel home for a hot bath and to sleep. He managed to get out the letters. The sermon for next
Sunday would not settle down in his thoughts. He was thankful to God for bringing Angel home, but also upset she went through
so much. He could do battle with life’s monsters, but hated to see a girl so young exposed to such seedy elements. It wasn’t
right. He got up to take a walk. He wanted the chance to be alone in the sanctuary. The afternoon sun poured through the stained
glass. All the lights were off, so the natural light exploited the cathedral’s tranquility. He was going to kneel and pray.
But it seemed a shame to turn his back on the light. He lifted his hands.

“Thanksgiving, Reverend?”

The voice completely startled him.

A woman wheeled out of the shadows. She was in a wheelchair, but it moved along well under her hands. He had not seen her
before. That was not a surprise. He knew that he wouldn’t know all of the members right off. “If we’ve met, I’m sorry.”

She rolled into the light. Her face was round and encircled with a tangle of brown and silver curls. “Not officially, we haven’t
met.”

Jeb didn’t know what to say. “I never get to appreciate the windows. My last church didn’t have stained glass.”

“They’re kind of ostentatious, aren’t they?”

He might have thought that once. “It’s what they do for the room and my soul,” he said.

“What do you see?”

He studied the glass. “The Passion. Is that what you mean?”

She kept smiling up at him.

“What do you see?” he asked.

“The beauty of suffering.” She rolled back into the center aisle. The sun hit right at the exact spot where she stopped. She
looked bronzed. “Don’t be impressed,” she said. “I’ve done this before.”

She was a funny woman. “I have a question,” he said.

“I got nothing but time, Reverend.”

“Henry Oakley told me a story about a young artist who made these windows. It wasn’t you, was it?”

She rested her arms palms up. Henry also told him how the artist’s arms and neck ached as she colored and assembled each pane.

“Can’t put nothing past you, Preacher.” A covering of clouds crossed the sun. The light dimmed. “I’m done. Enjoy your prayers.”
She rolled out of the sanctuary and was gone.

He had not knelt or spoken a word in prayer. Yet, there it was, a message for Sunday. He hoped she would return to hear the
sermon Sunday. He’d like to know her name.