The Widow's Choice (4 page)

They went outside and sat down in the swing, which creaked as they settled into it. “This old thing is gonna fall down and bust our rears one of these days,” Truman said. “I’d better do some tightenin’ up on it this week.” He put his arm around her and drew her close. “Look at them stars. How about that? And the Bible says God knows every one of their names.”

The two sat there for a long time looking at the stars and talking quietly. After a while he took her by the chin and kissed her. “I just want you to know how lucky I am to have a woman like you and boys like we’ve got. You know what I want now?”

“I can guess,” she said, laughing at him.

“Well, that too, but the other thing I want is to have three girls.”

“Three girls! What for?”

Truman was laughing. “So we’d have a matched set. We can put three on one side of the table, three on the other side, me at one end and you at the other end. That’s reason enough.”

“I hate to break it to you, but we’re in the middle of a depression. It’s hard enough to put food on the table for three boys.”

“Three little girls won’t add much to the bills. I want them all to be just like you.”

Alona leaned over and put her head on Truman’s shoulder. A shooting star lit up the sky, tracing a fiery trail across the darkness of the heavens.

“Did you make a wish?” Truman asked.

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

“I wished for God to keep us safe.”

“I wish that too.” He held her tightly, and for a long time they sat there, letting the silence soak into their spirits and staring up at the stars that twinkled and flashed against the darkness of the night.

CHAPTER THREE

The End of Something Wonderful

The month of August brought a bit of relief with the slightly cooler temperatures. Often Alona watched the massive flocks of crows pass over the house and thought of what Truman had told her about the raincrow summer, never without a feeling that something ominous lay ahead.

America had been in a state of apprehension since the beginning of 1938. Eight million people in the country were jobless, and nobody knew what was going to happen next in Europe. Adolf Hitler, supreme commander of the German armed forces, had a sinister quality that made everybody nervous. Hitler had proven that he was to be feared when in March he had sent his armies into Austria, where he was cheered by crowds in the street. The hysterical salutes of his ardent supporters, many of them waving banners emblazoned with swastikas, were a frightening sight.

Americans tried to carry on business as usual and were cheered by a new movie called
Bringing Up Baby.
Dizzy Dean was traded from the Cardinals to the Cubs, and heavyweight champion Joe Louis annihilated Max Schmeling in the first round after Louis’s previous defeat by the German fighter. Father Divine paraded down the streets of New York with fifteen hundred followers who believed their leader would provide them heaven on earth, and Howard Hughes broke all records by flying around the world in just three days, nineteen hours, and fourteen minutes.

People died, babies were born, and all across the United
States the Depression, which had been going on for almost a decade, numbed the nation.

****

Alona and her friends from the women’s Bible study were sitting around Alona’s living room, each intent on her own quilting project. Alona was starting on the first of the quilts she had decided to make for each of her three boys, and some of the ladies were working on individual squares of a Dutch girl pattern as they listened to
Stella Dallas,
the popular soap opera, on the radio.

“I just don’t see how Stella is going to make it.” Emma Hayes looked up from her square at the other eight members. “It seems like everything she does turns out wrong. I declare, I just find myself crying when I think about all her problems!”

Alona smiled. “I don’t think we ought to shed tears over a woman who doesn’t even exist.”

“But it’s so sad!”

“I know, but it’s only make-believe. Those aren’t real people on that program,” Alona said.

“It’s silly, but it just breaks my heart to think about all of Stella’s problems.”

Betty Hodges, the pastor’s wife, smiled benevolently at Emma. “If you want something to cry about, I can tell you some stories about real people.”

“I don’t want to hear about that,” Emma cried. “I just can’t bear to hear bad stories.”

Laughter went up around the room, and all the women fixed their eyes on Emma. “You love to cry,” Maylene Strawler said. “That’s your problem, Emma.”

“What about you, Alona?” Emma challenged, looking across at Alona. “I’ve seen you cry in church a few times.”

“Yes, I certainly have, but that’s about something real, Emma.”

The argument went on for some time with Emma
determined to enjoy weeping over Stella Dallas and the others trying to convince her that such emotion was ridiculous.

A knock broke into the conversation, and Alona got up. “Excuse me. I don’t know who that can be.”

“It’s probably Alice,” Betty said. “She said she wanted to come but would be late.”

Going to the front door, Alona could see a man she didn’t recognize through the screen. “Yes?” she said.

“Mrs. Jennings?”

“Yes, I’m Mrs. Jennings.”

“My name’s Burt Sinclair. I wonder if I could talk to you.”

“If you’re selling something, Mr. Sinclair, we’re not in the market.”

“Oh no, ma’am, I’m not selling anything.” The tall, gangly man pulled off his hat and twisted it around in his hands. “I work for the quarry.”

An alarm went off in Alona’s mind. “Would you like to come in?”

“It sounds like you’ve got company, ma’am.”

“Just my Bible study group. We’re making quilts.”

Simmons twisted his hat nervously and chewed on his lower lip. “Mrs. Jennings, would you mind coming out on the porch?”

Her alarm increased as she stepped outside. The boys were down the street playing ball with their friends. She could faintly hear the sounds of the youngsters from the vacant lot two blocks away. She closed the screen door behind her. “What is it, Mr. Sinclair?”

“Well, it’s . . . it’s not good news, ma’am.”

Alona knew at once it was Truman. “Is it about my husband?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid it is.”

“An accident?”

He met her gaze for a moment, then dropped his eyes. “Yes, ma’am. A real bad one.”

Alona froze. “How bad?” she whispered.

“Well . . . ma’am . . . I hate to have to tell you that . . . well . . . he’s dead, Mrs. Jennings.”

The earth seemed to stop for Alona. The words had no meaning. Truman so full of life and vigor, laughing, shouting. He couldn’t be dead!

The man went on, “I hate to be the one to tell you, but they sent me down here. He was killed right off, ma’am. He didn’t suffer or nothin’ like that.”

“What happened?” she asked, the words barely audible.

“Well, somebody set off a charge before they was supposed to. It took down a shelf of rock. It came right down on Truman, ma’am. It happened so quick there wasn’t no time for nobody to help.” He continued twisting his hat, a wretched expression on his face. “We . . . took him to the doctor, ma’am, but it wasn’t no good. He was gone before we got him there.”

Alona felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her, and she could barely get her breath. She tried to think clearly, but fear hovered over her like a giant, dark specter. If the sun had suddenly disappeared from the sky, she could not have been struck harder. She whispered, “Where is he now?”

“The doctor. He called the funeral home—Mae’s Funeral Home, Mrs. Jennings. He’s there.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sinclair.”

“We’re all right sorry, ma’am. Everybody liked Truman.”

Alona turned slowly. Her arms tingled as she fumbled for the handle on the screen door. Her movements were awkward, and she had to will herself to step inside. The door slammed behind her.

She moved woodenly down the hall and into the living room. Betty Hodges looked up. “Was it Alice?” And then she saw Alona’s face. She jumped up, knocking over her sewing basket as she rushed around it. “What is it, Alona? What’s happened?”

“It’s . . . it’s Truman. He’s dead.”

Cries went up and gasps from all the women as they rose
and gathered around Alona. Betty Hodges put her arm around Alona’s shoulders, tears running down her face. The others were crying too, and finally Emma asked, “What happened? Tell us.”

Alona forced herself to give the report. Her mouth was as dry as cotton, and she stood there hearing the voices of the women but not understanding any words. They might as well have been speaking a foreign language.

“I’ll go get Charles,” Betty said. “The rest of you stay here.”

“You don’t all have to stay,” Alona said. “I’ve got to tell the boys.”

“Shall I go get them for you?” Mary Devrees offered.

“Yes, and when they come, let me be alone with them.”

“What’s wrong, Mom?” Tim asked.

“Yeah, we were winning. Why’d we have to come home?” Zachary asked.

Alona’s three boys stood in a row before her. The other women had gathered their belongings and left her alone with them, and now she sat in a chair facing them. Lifting her eyes, she looked at the boys, and something in her face frightened all three of them. Carl began to tremble. “What is it? What’s wrong, Mom?”

“It’s . . . it’s your dad, boys. He’s . . . he’s had an accident.”

Tim’s voice came out in a strained fashion. “Is he hurt bad?”

“You must be very brave. All of us must be brave.” Taking a deep breath, Alona said, “Your father was killed this afternoon in an accident in the quarry.”

Tim, the most sensitive of them, simply sat down on the floor and began to cry. He was the oldest, but in a way the other boys were stronger. Zac’s eyes filled with tears, and his hands were unsteady. “What happened to him, Mom?” Carl climbed onto his mother’s lap, his arms around her neck. She told them the few facts she knew, and finally she said, “Come here, Tim. Get up off the floor.” She put her arms around
him and gathered Zac to the group as well. “He’s gone to be with Jesus, boys. We must remember that. It’s sad for us, but he’s with the Lord now.”

Tim choked, and his voice was thick. “I don’t want him to be dead. I want him to be here with us.”

“What will we do, Mom?” Carl asked, his voice breaking. “How will we get along without Dad?”

“We’ll have to trust Jesus. He’ll take care of us.”

Tears were running down Zac’s face, but at the same time anger marred his features. “Why did God let my daddy get killed?” he demanded.

Alona had no answer. In fact, she had been asking the same question. “I can’t answer that, but I know that God always loves us and always wants the best for us. It’s going to be hard, because we all loved your dad so much, but we still have each other, and we’ll trust in the Lord to take care of us.” She pulled the boys even closer, feeling nothing but a terrible emptiness. And in her grief, she knew that this feeling would only get worse.

****

The rain was falling out of gray, leaden skies as Pastor Charles Hodges pulled his car up in front of the Jennings’ house. “You wait here, Alona. I’ve got an umbrella.” He opened the door, grabbed the umbrella from under his feet, and walked around the car. Opening the passenger door for Alona, he said, “You boys wait here for a minute. I’ll come back for you.” He waited until Alona got out, shielding her from the downpour, and walked with her to the porch. When she was under the porch roof, he went back and opened the car door again. “Come on, boys. Get close.”

Carl and Zac came in close enough, but Tim apparently hadn’t heard.

“Come on, Tim,” Hodges urged. “You’re going to get soaked.”

“I don’t care!” Tim said woodenly, his face set in a deadened expression.

Hodges herded the boys under the umbrella until he got to the porch, and Alona said, “You boys go in and put on some dry clothes.”

As the boys went in, Hodges thought of the graveside ceremony, which had been spoiled by an unexpected shower. The rain had poured down, soaking everyone except the immediate family and a few others who were able to crowd underneath the green tarpaulin tent that Mae’s Funeral Home had raised over the grave. Most of the people had stayed, simply choosing to get thoroughly soaked until the service had finished. They had filed by to shake hands with the boys and Alona, giving whatever words of comfort they could.

“I never saw so many people at a funeral in my life,” Pastor Hodges said. Indeed it was true; the church had been packed. “Truman had so many friends. Why, all of the boys who’ve been in his Sunday school class for the last four years were there, as well as the ball players.”

“I didn’t know he had so many friends,” Alona said stiffly. Her face was pale and set, and she found it difficult to speak, but she managed a semblance of a smile. “You’ve been just wonderful, Pastor. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

“I don’t think I’ve done much. There’s not much to do, is there? It’s at times like this,” he said quietly, “I realize the weakness of human language. We want to express what’s going on inside of us, but the words just aren’t there.”

“You seemed to find the right words for your sermon today. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. It was just what I always thought about Truman, and you said it so well.”

Hodges tried to smile. “I think the Lord was with us.” He looked out at the rain for a moment. “Betty has offered to stay with you for a day or two. I’m going to go get her now if that’s all right with you.”

“No, don’t do that. I’m all alone now.” Then Alona caught herself. “I didn’t mean to complain like that, but I meant—”

“I know what you meant, and in a way you’re alone and in the most painful way. But you know the church is supposed to step in at times like this and do what it can. I was reading an article about how when a cut is made in the human body, the white corpuscles all rush to heal it. I think that’s kind of what a church should be, Alona. When one of us gets hurt, the others should come rushing to help. It doesn’t always work like that, but—”