Tempting Taine (23 page)

‘
Shall
we
join
together
to
sing
Hymn
…’

Who
was
he?
As
the
local
doctor
for
the
past
two
years
Dixie
thought
she
knew
everyone
hereabouts.
He
stood
easy,
leaning
against
a
pillar,
but
although
vague
familiarity
nagged
her,
memory
slipped
tantalizingly
out
of
her
grasp.

She
became
aware
that
the
vicar
was
signaling
for
the
pall
bearers
and
she
stepped
forward.
She'd
insisted
on
this.
Her
Uncle
Foster
had
looked
skeptical
and
Aunt
Lilian
had
said,
‘
Dorothea,
’
-
how
she
hated
being
called
that
and
her
aunt
knew
it!
-
‘
with
your
handicap
anything
could
happen.
’

Hummmph
.
A
slight
limp
didn't
qualify
as
a
handicap.
It
was
merely
an
incidental
fact
of
her
life.

She
watched
as
the
Reverend
Brown
removed
her
wreath
of
daffodils
and
hyacinths
from
the
top
of
the
casket
and
she
hoped
the
unusual
centerpiece
would
not
roll
out.

Her
Granny
had
insisted
on
having
an
apple
on
her
coffin.
Dixie
recalled
her
sitting
in
her
wicker
chair
under
the
apple
tree
less
than
a
year
ago
saying,
‘
If
my
old
teeth
can't
eat
a
crisp
apple
now,
I'm
darned
if
I
won't
take
one
with
me.
They've
promised
me
eternal
youth
in
Heaven,
including
my
teeth.
Free
too.
’

True
to
her
promise,
Dixie
had
put
an
apple
in
the
middle
of
the
wreath.

The
pallbearers
lifted
the
coffin
and
proceeded
down
the
church.
As
she
passed
the
stranger
at
the
door,
he
smiled
at
her
and
Granny
came
near
to
being
dropped
.

Uh-oh.
Could
it
be
…
?

A
short
while
later,
standing
beside
the
open
grave
breathing
in
the
raw
smell
of
wet
earth,
Dixie
shivered.

The
old
cemetery,
another
quirk
of
her
grandmother's
and
hardly
used
since
gold
mining
days
in
southern
New
Zealand,
was
on
a
hill
top
and
exposed
to
the
chill
wind.
Heavy
spring
rains
had
soaked
the
ground
and
she
could
see
drips
falling
from
the
lone
yew
tree
by
the
gate.
Her
feet
were
wet.
A
watery
sun
did
its
inadequate
best
and
she
wound
her
possum
scarf
round
her
neck
and
tucked
it
into
the
collar
of
her
jacket.

Solemn
words
were
spoken
and
somber
faces
watched
as
the
coffin
was
lowered.
It
got
most
of
the
way
down
before
it
stuck.
Dixie
peered
over
and
could
see
that
the
sodden
earth
had
subsided
on
one
side
and
there
was
no
way
that
coffin
would
go
any
further.
It
was
pulled
back
up
.

The
vicar
whispered
to
Uncle
Foster
who
pulled
out
his
mobile
phone.
He
dialed
and
stood
listening,
his
frown
deepening.
After
a
while
he
snorted
and
put
it
back
in
his
pocket.
Then
more
whispering
with
the
people
around
them
and
Caleb
Pringle
squelched
back
over
the
grass
to
his
pick-up
truck.
He
returned
with
a
shovel
and
Dixie
wasn
’
t
surprised
to
see
him
hand
it
resolutely
to
Foster.
Caleb
watched
the
pennies
and
wouldn
’
t
welcome
the
dry
cleaning
bill
from
the
black
mud
down
there.

No
one
else
seemed
keen
either.
Foster
disclaimed
it
promptly
by
laying
it
down
beside
the
grave.
The
rest
of
the
mourners
shifted
from
foot
to
foot
and
avoided
eye
contact.
No
volunteer
came
forward.

Just
when
the
silence
was
becoming
embarrassing,
the
stranger
stepped
forward.
She
felt
hope
surge
through
the
crowd.

‘
Hi,
Dixie,
’
he
said.

Oh
God,
her
hunch
was
right.
It
was
him
!

His
face
lit
up
as
he
smiled
at
her
and
she
smiled
back.
There
was
brief
but
intense
eye
contact,
and
suddenly
Dixie
felt
the
day
warm
up.
Then
he
bent
down
and
picked
up
the
shovel.
There
was
an
audible
ripple
of
relief
through
the
crowd.

‘
Thank
you,
Nate.
’

With
mixed
feelings,
she
watched
him
balance
on
one
foot
and
then
the
other
as
he
removed
his
loafers
and
rolled
up
his
cargoes.
He
pulled
off
his
red
polar
fleece,
dropped
it
on
top
of
his
shoes
and
gingerly
hopped
over
the
edge.