The Sweetest Thing (30 page)

And so I watched him turn around in the Chandlers' foyer and leave.

CHAPTER

25

Perri

I was no actress, but somehow, I convinced Spalding that I was still crazy about him and willing to follow him wherever he wanted to go. So we attended the Valentine's Dance at the Capitol City Country Club, entering the ballroom hand in hand, as if all was well between us. When Dobbs appeared on Andrew Morrison's arm, I left Spalding and walked across the long ballroom to where Andrew was removing her coat. “I'll be right back,” he said and went to check it in the valet room.

I looped my arm through hers and pulled her off to the side of the ballroom. “What in the world are you doing here with Andrew?”

Her face was pale, and she looked like she was on the brink of tears. “I invited him weeks ago.”

I gripped her arm more tightly. “Oh, Dobbs! I've messed everything up! I invited Hank, and he came down here, and now, poor thing, who knows where he is. I—”

“He came to the house first, with a bunch of roses, the most beautiful roses you ever did see.” Now Dobbs did actually start to cry.

“I'm so sorry. It's my fault! I thought if he surprised you, it'd make you feel better, just to have some time with him.”

She was nibbling her lip and wiping a finger under her eyes. “I've hurt him, and I don't know what to do.”

“What happened?”

“I was so shocked, and then he figured out real quick that I had another date. And so . . . and so he left, and it was horrible. Him walking down that long driveway, crossing shoulder to shoulder with Andrew as he came up to the door.”

I thought she might collapse in my arms. “Dobbs, take a seat. You're still weak.” I guided her to one of the lavishly decorated round tables. In a flash, I had made my decision. “Don't think about anything. You just enjoy the dance with Andrew.”

She had found a tissue in her purse and was dabbing her eyes and nodding halfheartedly.

I hurried to the bar area, where Spalding was getting drinks. Andrew was there too, and was saying to Spalding, “ . . . And I showed up at the house right when her beau, Hank Wilson, was leaving. A very awkward moment.”

“Henry Wilson is here? Well, yes, that is strange. And she didn't know?”

“I'm the guilty party,” I confessed.

Spalding frowned at me, and Andrew gave a shrug.

“Well, the gentlemanly thing to do is to find Henry and invite him to the dance,” Spalding decided.

“Yes, I suppose you're right,” Andrew conceded.

“That is precisely what I was thinking too!” I announced. “Will you help me find him, Spalding? I'm not sure where to start.”

He narrowed his eyes and then shrugged. “Why not?” He then addressed Andrew. “You just stay with Mary Dobbs.”

It actually didn't take long to find Hank. We went to the casual dining room downstairs at the Country Club, where I knew the Chandlers were having dinner with my mother, figuring they could give us an idea of where Hank was—and we found Hank smoking a cigar with Mr. Chandler in the Men's Lounge.

I rushed in and began to apologize to Hank. Mr. Chandler stood up and led me out of the room—women were forbidden in the Men's Lounge—while Spalding took a seat with Hank.

Mr. Chandler chuckled. “Oh, the traumas of youth! Don't you worry about Hank, Anne Perrin. I figured since he came all the way down here, I might as well introduce him to some of my buddies at the club. We might just find him an interview at Coca-Cola. Don't you worry.”

“But Dobbs wants him at the dance,” I whispered.

Mr. Chandler shook his head. “I can guarantee you that Hank has no desire to be there.”

“And Hank's supposed to stay with you this weekend. How terribly awkward.”

Mr. Chandler patted me on the back and said, “Anne Perrin, don't worry your pretty little head over this. We men will take care of it.”

Spalding left the Men's Lounge, calling over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Henry,” and then he took my hand and led me back upstairs to the ballroom.

That night Dobbs looked beautiful in the deep violet gown, doubtless another treasure from Becca's closet. We smiled as we danced side by side, but we knew each other perfectly well. We were both completely heartbroken, longing to be with someone else.

Dobbs

The house was quiet when I got home from the dance. I told Andrew good-night under the porte-cochere entranceway, and he kissed me lightly on the lips and thanked me for a delightful evening. I climbed the stairs to my room, feeling very confused. Parthenia had put the vase with Hank's roses on the dresser in my room. Seeing them there, I flopped on my bed and groaned, reviewing the evening in my mind. I'd managed to enjoy the dance with Andrew and danced quite a lot with other boys, but I kept glancing toward the entrance to the ballroom, hoping against hope that Hank would appear and take me away.

Now, I thought of him just downstairs, sleeping in the guest room, and again I longed to tiptoe down the steps and find him there and tell him my heart. But what was in my heart? Only doubt and confusion and other things that would hurt him. I lay awake most of the night, retracing every moment I'd spent with Hank over the past two and a half years. I finally fell asleep around dawn.

“Mary Dobbs! Yoo-hoo! Breakfast time!” I awoke to my aunt's cheerful voice, but I doubled over with cramps. How in the world could I sit across from Hank at the big table, laden with scrambled eggs and bacon, biscuits and gravy, with the rest of the family looking on, and act as if everything was all right?

“I'm not ready, Aunt Josie! Please start without me. I'll be down in a jiff.”

When I got to the table, Hank was not there. But Mother was. “Did you have a good time last night, Mary Dobbs?”

“Yes, Mother. It was okay.” From the look on Mother's face, I knew my aunt had filled her in on the details.

“Where's Hank?” I asked.

“He's in his room getting ready for church,” Uncle Robert said. “He wants to hear the new preacher at Westminster Presbyterian, Peter Marshall. He's taking the Ford over there.”

Hank came back in the kitchen, dressed again in Holden Singleton's suit. “Good morning, Mary Dobbs.” His tone was formal and guarded.

“Hello, Hank.” It seemed like a hundred awkward years passed between us as my mother and my aunt and my uncle looked on. Finally I jumped to my feet, knocking over my glass of orange juice, and said, “May I please go with you to church, Hank?”

Aunt Josie covered her mouth with a napkin, but I saw her smile.

Hank looked surprised and then shrugged. “Why sure, if you'd like to.”

“I'll be ready in three minutes.” I dashed upstairs without even offering to clean up my spill, but I don't think the grown-ups minded a bit.

“I'm awfully sorry about last night,” I said when we were in the car.

“Don't worry, Mary Dobbs. It wasn't your fault.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“You don't have to explain anything. It's okay.” Then Hank changed the subject and began talking about Peter Marshall.

All through the service he sat next to me, never even touching my hand or brushing his shoulder against mine. He seemed mesmerized by the young preacher, whose sermon was powerful and moving—he preached on the subject of overcoming doubt—and several times, I got a chill. It seemed as if he were preaching directly at me.

I could almost imagine Hank standing in that very spot, delivering an eloquent sermon. I wanted to grab his hand and tell him that, but instead I kept mine folded in my lap, and honestly, I think Hank forgot I was sitting next to him.

When the service finished, Hank said, “Someday, Dobbs, I pray the Lord will give me the poise of Peter Marshall and the ability to communicate God's Word in such a powerful way. It's what I want with all my heart.”

And I knew it was absolutely true. I did not doubt Hank Wilson's sentiments for me, but I knew his real love was the living God.

After Sunday lunch, Mother went to Piedmont Hospital to be with Coobie. “I'll come back later in the afternoon, and if the doctor says she's strong enough, you can go see her.”

Mae Pearl, Peggy, Perri, and I went to the Alms Houses. I asked Hank to join us, but he said, “No thank you, Dobbs. I have some things to talk over with your uncle. But it's a mighty fine thing you girls are doing.”

Mae Pearl drove us there in her coupe, following along behind Hosea and Cornelius and Parthenia in the Ford.

Perri had her camera with her, and she spent the afternoon photographing what she called “spring around the corner,” using the new film Philip had sent her—brought down by Hank—to take many photos of nature. In the fields, the first little wildflowers were dressing the grass in yellow and white, and buds were forming on every tree.

Peggy and Mae Pearl found Mrs. Clark and talked to her about another project that was percolating in Mae Pearl's mind, and I felt strangely out of place, with nothing to do.

I found my way to Anna's room at length and stood outside, watching her cuddling Parthenia in her lap. Hosea had his hand on her shoulder and every once in a while, he'd reach over and brush her cheek lovingly. Cornelius was busy trying to repair something on Anna's shelf.

After a few minutes, Anna noticed me and called out, “Come on in for a visit, Miz Mary Dobbs.”

“Anna's safe at the Alms House,”
Aunt Josie had assured me
.
Yes, she was safe and somehow satisfied. Parthenia bubbled over with stories of how Perri was teaching her how to take real photographs. Then she told about Hank bringing me the prettiest bouquet of roses that she'd ever seen.

When it was time to leave, Anna placed her calloused hand on mine, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Don't you worry none about us. Miz Chandler knows jus' what to do, and I trust her with all our lives.”

“Yes, ma'am. I know.”

Late in the afternoon, Hosea drove Mother and me to Piedmont Hospital.

Coobie looked so small in the hospital bed, her pale face peeking out from under the crisp white sheets. Her black curls hung limply around her, and there was a sickly yellowish hue to her skin. But when I walked in the room, her face lit up and she cried, “Dobbsy!” Then she immediately collapsed in a fit of coughing.

Mother went to her side. “Remember, whisper, honey. Whisper.”

I stayed with her for several hours. We played game after game of Old Maid, and I tried so hard not to see Jackie sitting in the bed. Once in a while, I even shook my head to get rid of the image. We didn't talk much, but nothing could have covered up Coobie's deep, throaty cough.

I watched my mother with Coobie, admiring her gentleness as she wiped Coobie's forehead with a cool cloth or patted around Coobie's mouth after one of my sister's coughing fits. And I remembered the same mannerisms with Jackie. I wondered how Mother had held up through the excruciating pain of accepting Father's child, growing to love her, nursing her through a terrible disease, and watching her die.

Later that evening, sitting with my mother in her room at the Chandlers', I said, “I'm so sorry you have to do this again, Mother.”

She knew exactly what I meant.

“I keep asking God over and over again, Why? Why?”

Mother's voice was a bare whisper. “That's not the right question, Mary Dobbs. You'll drive yourself crazy asking that question.”

“So what are you supposed to ask?” I said bitterly.

Mother shrugged. “Honey, I've learned to ask not
why
but
what
? ‘Now that I'm in this impossible place, Lord, what do I do next?' ”

“Does God always tell you what to do next?” I asked incredulously.

She gave a little chuckle and nodded. “I usually have a pretty good idea, if I take time to listen.” She gathered me up in her arms the way she used to do when I was a child, on the old sofa at home. “It's okay to ask questions, sweetheart. You're going through some rough waters. God is bigger than your questions. Don't you worry about that.”

I nestled in my mother's comfort and thought about my father. His life was a paradox of sin and forgiveness, faith and unrelenting penitence, and a zeal that had led him straight into sin and back out again, but had left a complex trail of broken relationships with his sister and parents.

There was no middle ground for my father, and Aunt Josie said I was just like him.

There I was, swinging wildly on a branch, like a monkey at the zoo. On the left was over-the-top religious zeal, and on the right was a young woman who was cynical and bitter and so very angry.

I wondered if there was a flat, stable place where faith mattered most but didn't swing precariously on emotions and events. Mother had a faith like that. So did Anna.

I found myself wanting it too.

———

The doctor met with Mother and me on Monday after school was out. He spoke gently as he went over Coobie's treatment, but his words sounded sterile and cold to me.

“As you know, Mrs. Dillard, there is no known cure for your daughter's disease. The treatment we are proposing is experimental, begun only a year ago. It lasts for two months. For the first month, your daughter will be in a completely sterile room. Only family is allowed to visit. Of the five children treated last year, two have gotten remarkably better, with almost no signs of illness remaining.” He gave us a stiff smile.

Mother nodded.

I blurted out, “And the three others? What has happened to the other three children?”

The doctor cleared his throat twice. “The three other children succumbed to the illness, I am sorry to say.”

“They died? They died within a year of the treatment?”

He nodded.

“Could it be the treatment itself that killed them?”

“Mary Dobbs,” Mother whispered, “lower your voice.”

The doctor's face relaxed. “It's all right. I know this news is very upsetting. The truth is that we only took children who were in the final stages of the disease. So honestly, we don't know if it was the treatment or the disease that killed them.”