Miracle in a Dry Season (6 page)

But he also seemed like a righteous man, and Perla knew she needed to confess her situation to him before she let him touch her heart. She had hoped he might be the forgiving sort—the kind of man who could let the past be past. When he offered her a ride, she decided to tell him everything—well, nearly everything. Then, if he judged her like everyone else, she could rid herself of any romantic notions. And if he didn’t? Well, no need to think about that—he did judge her. And it seemed like her foolish heart had jumped the gun.

5

C
ASEWELL
LOOKED
FOR
P
ERLA
at church the following morning. He had no intention of speaking to her or approaching her, but somehow he wanted to see her—to know that his inability to take her story in stride had done no harm. Robert and Delilah were already in their seats, and he wondered if she had stayed away. That idea weighed heavy on Casewell, although he couldn’t say why. Maybe her sin kept her away.

He turned to the hymnal to find the first song and then caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He saw Perla slide into a back pew with Sadie in tow. She seemed pale, her mouth set in a straight line. In spite of that, she looked lovely in a blue dress that made her eyes shine, sad and knowing.

The whole congregation seemed a bit sluggish that morning, as though the revelry of the night before had used up all of their enthusiasm. Pastor Longbourne took his usual fiery sermonizing up a notch, probably to make up for any sinning that had gone on the night before.

After the service, Casewell hung back so that Perla would have plenty of time to wind her way out of the churchyard.
He shook the preacher’s hand last and stood for a moment on the top step of the church. He spotted Perla immediately. She stood near the gate in the churchyard, alone except for little Sadie. Casewell saw women shoot her a glance, but no one approached. He felt as though he had spread the rumors about Perla himself, seeing her gently ostracized. She didn’t linger long but soon turned and went to sit in Robert’s car until he and Delilah were ready to go.

Casewell felt anger burn in his chest at the way the women turned their backs on Perla. They didn’t know her story. They were only guessing and repeating the tales that had followed Perla from her hometown. No one had the facts.

Casewell felt his chest deflate. He had more facts than anyone and had turned his back on Perla as surely as those who were only guessing. But honestly, what else could he have done? He couldn’t condone such behavior, especially when Perla didn’t seem to feel the least remorse. God might forgive such things, but there had to be human standards. They would all be in a fix if everyone could go around committing such sins with no judgment visited upon them. Casewell didn’t like it, but he had to have standards. There had to be standards.

That afternoon Casewell determined to finish the set of doll furniture he had started for Sadie. He told himself it would be a shame not to finish it, and there was no reason to visit the sins of the mother on the child. Casewell told himself it had nothing to do with wanting to somehow make amends, to get back in Perla’s good graces after he felt he had somehow fallen short the night before. Maybe even to console her for the rejection she faced—no, certainly not that.

He buried himself in the work, lost himself in finely crafting a miniature chair, bed, and table. As he labored, Casewell found
himself enjoying the close work. He added small details, carved flourishes, and stained the wood a deep mahogany. When he finished late that evening, he realized that he’d eaten no dinner. He set the furniture out on his workbench so the stain could dry and considered his stomach. He wished he could walk into the house and find a woman setting supper out on his table—a woman other than his mother.

Casewell laughed at himself and stretched muscles cramped from the detailed work. He’d raid the basket Perla sent home with him the night before—that was the ticket. In a way, he felt he’d earned food from her hands.

Inside the house, Casewell lifted the basket from the floor beside the stove where he’d placed it when he’d arrived home. The basket felt even heavier, but Casewell supposed he was just tired. He turned the gingham tea towel back and began lifting food out. There were biscuits, thick slices of ham, canned peaches, slices of cake and pie, and a jar of chowchow. He split the biscuits on a plate and forked the ham on top, then spooned the chowchow alongside. He thought he’d manage in spite of the food sitting out for most of a day. After one bite, though, he marveled at how fresh everything tasted. The bread wasn’t stale and the ham wasn’t dried out. He finished his meal off with a slice of dried-apple pie and a square of gingerbread, both as delicious as they must have been when they came from the oven.

Casewell packed the remainder of the food, which still seemed plentiful, into the Frigidaire and supposed he’d eat on it for most of the week. It was a shame that Perla Long had to go and have a child out of wedlock. If it wasn’t for that, she was just the sort of woman he’d been waiting for.

That night Casewell slept fitfully. Dreams woke him, but he
couldn’t remember what they were about. He woke early the next morning and toasted some buttered biscuits in the oven for his breakfast. Then, even though it was early, he headed for the Thorntons’ store to pick up some finishing nails for one of his projects. He stepped up onto the stoop in front of the store and peered in the window to see if Robert or Delilah was about yet. Robert spied him and came to open the door.

“Come on in here. I’m not open yet, but you can keep me company.”

Casewell stepped inside and drifted toward the boxes of nails.

“Lordy,” Robert said, obviously in the mood for conversation. “Those women are about to run me ragged.”

“Oh, yeah?” Casewell scanned the shelf.

“Delilah says it’s obvious that the rumors folks are spreading about Perla are upsetting the girl, but I haven’t heard anything, and this place is where all the news gets spread. I don’t know what Delilah is talking about, and Perla seems fine to me.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Of course, all she does is cook, clean, and take care of Sadie. She hardly ever goes anywhere. It was all we could do to get her to go to the dance the other night, and she came home from that all hangdog. Delilah says something happened to upset her, but I can’t imagine what. Folks around here wouldn’t treat her bad.”

Casewell realized he’d been standing with his hand in the box of finishing nails while Robert rattled on. He pulled out a handful and dropped them in one of the little paper sacks.

“I’ll take these,” he said.

Robert moved around behind the cash register. “You haven’t heard anything, have you?” he asked.

“About what?”

“Perla. Haven’t you been listening?”

“Oh, well, you know how it is. Folks talk just to fill up the quiet.”

“Then you have heard something,” Robert said. “Is it bad, what folks are saying?”

Casewell blushed. It was no worse than the truth, but what could he say to his friend and Perla’s uncle? “Folks are just guessing at her . . . situation,” he said. “Folks like to assume the worst.” He blushed deeper.

“That they do.” Robert sighed. “Wish there was some way to set ’em straight.”

Casewell looked up, surprised. “But she said . . .” he trailed off.

Now Robert looked surprised. “She told you about herself?” he asked. “Well, now, I’m glad she found someone trustworthy to confide in. Maybe that’ll cheer her up a mite.”

“But you said you’d set them straight,” Casewell persisted. “Seems like maybe folks are guessing pretty close to the truth.”

“Why, I’d tell ’em how Perla is a fine Christian girl who made a mistake but has taken responsibility for it and is raising her child to know the Lord and respect her elders. I’d say how my niece hasn’t done anything worse than most folks, only the result of her choice is more obvious. I’d tell ’em God’s forgiven that girl and ask who are they to hold anything against her. I’d say whichever one of them was without sin could go ahead and throw the first stone.”

Robert banged the flat of his hand against the counter. “Yessir, maybe I ought to call a town meeting and say just that.”

Casewell noticed that his mouth hung open. He closed it with a snap.

“Anyhow, I’m glad she’s found you for a friend. You’re one of the good ones. That’ll be fifty-eight cents.”

Casewell paid, said his good-byes, and walked home, wishing that Robert truly had something to be glad of and wondering if he was one of the good ones or not.

Casewell meant to take the doll furniture to Sadie that afternoon, but after talking to Robert, he felt torn. Would Perla mind seeing him? Would she regret having confided in him and send him away? But so what if she did? Robert talked big, but he was a married man with no children of his own. The shame of this thing wasn’t on him. Casewell had imagined courting Perla, if only briefly. How could he love a woman who’d given herself to a man not her husband? God might forgive, but there was no forgetting, and it wouldn’t take long for rumors to start once Casewell gave a present to this woman’s child.

Casewell’s mind was finally made up by the sweet little pieces he had so carefully crafted. It might be vanity, but he couldn’t stand the thought of boxing up the furniture and shoving it on a shelf. He’d only stay a minute, and he’d be polite and distant with Perla so that anyone watching would know he only meant to be kind.

Casewell tucked the little pieces into the basket Perla had sent him home with Saturday night. He needed to return it, anyway. He felt a little silly carrying a basket as he approached the Thorntons’ house, but he didn’t see anyone watching. Sadie sat in the porch swing, deep in conversation with her doll. Casewell was glad. Maybe he could just give the toys to Sadie and be on his way without having to see Perla at all. He cleared his throat so Sadie would notice him. She looked up.

“Hello,” she said, her shyness seeming to have faded now that she knew Casewell a little.

“Hey, there, I’ve got something for you,” Casewell said. “Or rather, for Amy.” He surprised himself by remembering the doll’s name.

“Oh, we both like presents,” Sadie said. “Maybe we can share.”

Casewell sat on the top porch step and placed the basket beside him. “Well, you’d better come see what’s in this basket, then.”

Sadie scurried over and pushed aside the dish towel Casewell had placed over the furniture. She gasped and then crouched down, using both hands to hold Amy as if letting the doll look into the basket.

“You can take them out,” Casewell said, enjoying the child’s wonder more than he expected.

Sadie reached in and removed the chair, then the table, and finally the little bed. She placed them in a semicircle in front of her and then just gazed at them. Casewell grinned.

“Maybe Amy would like to try them out,” he said. “You know, to see if they’re the right size.”

Sadie glanced at him as though to make sure he meant it, then carefully sat her doll in the chair. It was an excellent fit. Casewell had given the chair arms, and they held the doll upright. He reached over to pull the table up in front of Amy. Sadie giggled and clapped her hands.

“We can make her some dishes out of bark and acorn caps. I’ve seen girls around here do that.”

“We can?” Sadie looked at him with eyes wide. “And can we keep these? Or will you take them back home with you?”

“Oh, they’re for you to keep.” Casewell colored. “I knew
it was hard on Amy not having a proper chair or a place to sleep.”

A sound caught Casewell’s attention and he looked toward the door. Perla stood behind the screen, watching. Casewell leapt to his feet.

“Oh, hey there,” he said, rubbing his hands on his pants. “I, well, I had some leftover bits of lumber and took a notion to try my hand at some doll furniture. Never tried that before, and well, since it’s my first attempt, I thought I’d just give it to Sadie.” He stopped talking and looked at Perla, hoping she wouldn’t take this wrong. Perla stepped out onto the porch but held the door behind her with one hand.