Different Drummers (20 page)

“Well, go on, open it,” Ron said. “I'm as anxious to see it as you are.”

“You mean you don't know what it is either. But you…”

“It came by express mail. When I talked to Georgina on the phone, she said she'd planned to send it to you but thought it would be nicer if I gave it to you.”

Kathleen's eager fingers waded through layers of tissue paper until she finally pulled out a tiny green velvet box. Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered a rainy night in New York when two newfound friends were returning to their hotel from the theater. She had looked down as she stepped out of the taxi and seen the shiny object glittering there.

Slowly now, with fingers trembling, she lifted the box's dainty lid. The superb emerald, flanked by the shimmering diamonds, winked up at her.

When she looked up and saw Ron's wide eyes looking from her to the ring, she told him as briefly as she could the story behind the ring.

“There're two envelopes enclosed, as well,” he said, “It looks as if one's from the New York City Police Department and the other from Georgina.”

Kathleen read the note from the Police Department first. It was short and to the point, stating that as no person had come forward to ask for the ring, Kathleen Conroy could consider it her own.

“I just can't believe it,” she whispered. “Nobody claimed it after all.”

Judging from Georgina's letter, she'd been just as surprised as Kathleen that the ring hadn't been claimed. She had almost forgotten all about the incident. The ring had probably been smuggled into the country, she'd written. Did Kathleen remember when the jeweler mentioned it had a foreign setting? And when you got right down to it, nobody in his right mind would report the loss of a ring that was so obviously hot. She said she hoped Kathleen wouldn't mind but she'd taken the liberty of having the ring appraised. The most reputable jewelry store in Chicago had valued it at six thousand dollars.

Kathleen looked at the smoldering emerald, fascinated once again by the way it glowed from deep inside when held at a certain angle toward the light. She slipped it on her finger, knowing from before it would be a perfect fit.

“What do you think, Ron?” She raised her hand closer to his face. “Isn't it beautiful?”

“I've never seen anything more beautiful.”

But Ron wasn't looking at the ring. He was looking at her. “Please don't go,” he said, his voice was suddenly hoarse with desire. “Stay with me tonight.”

She was in his arms then, her longing for him touched with just a hint of restraint, or some feeling she couldn't quite put a name to. But she was a woman now, she told herself, not the foolish adventure-seeking girl she used to be. If she didn't snatch at this one chance of happiness, would it ever come her way again? They were together at last in this isolated place, light years away from the outside world, and Kathleen knew she would never love anybody in the world like she loved this man.

Later, in the gathering twilight, they had dinner at an elegant little restaurant overlooking the Atlantic. Then, around midnight, arms wrapped around each other, they walked along the beach, listening to the waves as they swished against the shore, and watched the clouds traveling across a sky teeming with stars.

That night was the first of five nights of heaven. During the days they were like any young people at the beach. They found surfboards in Mr. Simpson's house and carried them out into waist-high water. They shrieked with laughter when that special big wave bore down on them and they rode it to shore. Sometimes they went for long drives, exploring the quiet beauty of the low country, or traveling north to the razzamatazz of Myrtle Beach. At night, while they danced to all their favorite tunes on the tiny dance floor of the lodge, the last splinter of Kathleen's illness slipped away.

* * *

Even though they'd known all along the exact hour they'd say good-bye, it came with an awful abruptness, as if a door was about to suddenly close.

“This is my address and telephone number in Montreal,” Ron said as he pressed the piece of paper into her hand. “If you need me for anything, anytime, you must promise to call me right away.”

“Ron, I'm so sorry…”

He kissed her on the mouth to silence her. “Please Kath, don't be sorry. I'd give everything I own to scoop you up right now and take you away. It wouldn't matter where just as long as nobody could ever hurt you again. I can see though there's nothing I can do to change your mind. But please, don't regret this time we've had. I knew what I was getting into when I flew down here. You've got to believe me when I tell you l wouldn't have missed it for the world.”

He drew her close to him for the last time. “I'll always love you, Kathleen McCreadie. Always. No matter what happens to us or how far away from each other we are, we'll have this time to remember. It was magic. I want you to find a haven in memory like I will.”

He put his hand gently under her chin and lifted her face, then looked deep into her eyes. “You're not sorry are you?”

She smiled at the most wonderful man in the world. “No, I'm not sorry. I'm glad. And yes, I'll remember these five days as long as I live.”

Hardly able to tear themselves away from each other, they clung together for one final moment. Kathleen finally stepped inside her car and headed back toward Eddisville, while Ron drove toward the airport at Myrtle Beach.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Kathleen returned to Eddisville healthier than she'd been in ages. Ron Velnes had done that for her and she didn't regret one minute of those few precious days at the beach. In her house on Petrie Avenue and in the dead of night, she relived every single moment they'd spent together. In that lonely bed, she could feel again his strong arms enfolding her, and she whispered his name over and over in the dark of her room.

Sometimes, in the cold light of day, the Catholic side of her rose unwanted to the surface and she wondered fleetingly if there had been a Catholic church in the little town, would she have gone to confession.

* * *

Lennie Barlow called to Kathleen as she returned to her desk with a cup of coffee. “Telephone call for you, English. Sounds like your father-in-law to me.”

“Can you come over right away?” Otis asked. “Somethin' bad's happened to Beulah. She's out cold. I…we've tried shakin' her but she just ain't comin' around.”

Kathleen felt a tightness in her chest. “Have you called Dr. Parker?”

“Not yet.”

She wanted to scream at Otis for his stupidity. “I'll do it then. He needs to get to your house right away. Just as soon as I've called him, I'll be on my way.”

* * *

Beulah had been placed on the bed that Kathleen and Bob had used. Even though she looked as if she'd closed her eyes to take a short nap, Kathleen knew her mother-in-law would never open them again.

“It looks like her heart just gave out,” Dr. Parker said, pulling the sheet up over the dead woman's face.

“Yeah, there just ain't nothin' else we can do.” Otis's obvious attempt at remorse wasn't fooling anyone. “Soon as I seen her lyin' there in her garden, I knew Jesus had called her home.”

He sighed. “Beulah was strange at times, mighty strange, but there ain't no doubt in my mind she's already crossed that mighty river. Yes sir, I saved her myself so I reckon I should know.”

He turned to his daughter. “Selma, honey,” he said, evidently forgetting himself and using his favorite term of endearment for his daughter. “Why don't you let the doctor take a look at your rash. You'd save yourself an office visit. You can't even look at poison ivy without breakin' out.”

Dr. Parker's face had disgust written all over it. “For chrissake Otis, what is it with you? Your wife hasn't been dead an hour and you ask Selma to consult me about a rash?”

He pushed Otis out of the way and strode past them both into the hall to use the phone.

Before Beulah's body was taken away, Kathleen went into the bedroom where she lay. Gently she turned back the sheet that covered Beulah's face, then she took out her rosary and knelt beside the bed to pray. She didn't know Otis was standing in the bedroom doorway and as she crossed herself, his gasp of alarm startled her.

“What in the name of Jesus do you think you're doing?”

“I'm saying some prayers for Beulah.”

Seeing his look of horror, and knowing he didn't really give a damn his wife had died, she felt compelled to add, “They're called Hail Marys. I said three of them. Catholics pray to the Holy Mother of God at a time like this for the repose of the soul of the departed. It's just one of the things we do.”

Before he had a chance to reply, she walked past him, out of the bedroom and out of the house.

As she drove home, it came to her that Beulah had, after all, died fairly peacefully. She was a very sick woman, and if the doctors had been right, her days were numbered. Dying instantly in her beloved garden had probably spared her months of suffering.

She stopped at the Western Union office and sent a telegram to Bob. Early the next morning, and after all this time, he telephoned her.

“Hello, Baby.”

“I'm so sorry, Bob, so sorry,” she said, when she could find the words to speak. “You were so close to coming home and your momma was looking forward so much to seeing you.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. Did she suffer any?” His voice sounded weak, strained.

“She didn't suffer at all, so you don't have to worry. We'll miss her, won't we? She was very special to me. A good friend.”

“Yeah well, I knew you'd get along just fine. I guess Daddy can handle everything, him being a preacher and all.”

“Yes, you needn't worry about that. He's got everything under control. You just try to get well and strong so you can come back home soon. Are you in any pain?”

“Not much. It hurt like hell at first but it ain't so bad now. I got my two legs and ain't that a blessin'? I'm gettin' out of the army. They're givin' me a medical discharge.”

“I guessed they would. When will you be home?”

“It shouldn't be all that long now. I can't wait to see you, Baby.”

“It'll be wonderful to see you too. It's been a long time.”

Her mind whirled. How would it be when he came home? Would things be different for them?

“I'll be home real soon. You give Momma a good-bye kiss from me.”

“Yes, I will. Try not to worry.”

“Bye, Baby.”

* * *

Piped-in music played softly in the funeral parlor. Kathleen stood side by side with Otis and Selma as one after another of the residents of Eddisville stopped by to pay their respects.

This was Kathleen's first experience with an American-style funeral, and she couldn't help but compare it with her little town in England, where there were no funeral parlors such as this. It was the custom where she lived for the coffin to be placed on a table in the best room of the home until the funeral. In the case of Catholics, candles would be burning, and a nun usually sat close to the coffin keeping a deathwatch over the body. She looked at Otis and wondered what he would think of such a custom.

Nobody here said Beulah had died. They all said she'd passed away. The open coffin, which Americans called a casket, was in an alcove in the large room.

Ever since Kathleen had known her, Beulah had never so much as put on lipstick. She felt her mother-in-law would scoff at the soft pink light, placed at the best possible vantage point, which now shone on her made-up face.

Kathleen liked the American custom of dressing the deceased in everyday clothes. Much better than a shroud. Beulah had on the dress Kathleen herself had bought for her at Christmastime. She'd never seen her wear it until now.

Not wanting to be alone with Otis and Selma, Kathleen left the funeral parlor with the last of the visitors. But because she had a strange longing to be with Beulah one last time, she waited on the funeral parlor steps the next morning, the day of the funeral, for the doors to open.

Gently she stroked the cold, dead hand. “This is a letter I wrote to you last night, Beulah. I think you'll probably be able to read it now.” She placed the folded sheet of paper in the pocket of Beulah's dress.

“We were really a shock to each other when we first met weren't we?” She allowed herself a smile when she saw herself for the first time through Beulah's eyes. “We sort of grew on each other though. I'm going to miss you Beulah, and I wish we could have made that trip to England.”

* * *

It hadn't seemed to Kathleen that Beulah Conroy had any friends in life, but the Holiness Church of Jesus was crowded for her departure from it. As Kathleen took her seat at the front beside Selma, she nodded discreetly to all the people she regarded as her friends who sat directly behind. Her heart swelled with gratitude. Why, they all but filled two pews. Freddie Conroy was there, along with the Simpsons from next door. Dr. Parker sat with Sarah and William Tate, who sat closest to the aisle. Lennie Barlow and Bernie sat behind them with Johnny and Mary Mayhew. Next to Mary sat Patsy and Ed Ashcraft.

Kathleen watched Otis Conroy glance through his Bible as he walked slowly toward the lectern. He stood with his head down for at least half a minute and finally looked out over the sea of faces in front of him as if taking count. When his eyes focused on her and stayed there, she felt a slow heavy beat start in her chest. Without taking his eyes away from her face, Otis closed his Bible and came down the steps to stand in front of her.

“It's been a long time since you were in this church.” His tone was probably as agreeable as he could make it. “I'm sure Selma appreciates your coming as much as I do.”

Kathleen only nodded in reply.

“It was Homer's idea to close the casket. I reckon you told Beulah good-bye last night at the gatherin' of friends.”

“Yes I did. And I went again to the funeral parlor early this morning. Last night I wrote a letter to Beulah. A silly idea I suppose but it was just to let her know I cared. I took it to her this morning and put it in the pocket of her dress.”

A ripple of fear ran through her when Otis leaned toward her, his face dark, sinister.

“Why did you do that?” he hissed. “She can't read, and anyway, she's dead ain't she.”

Kathleen pressed back against the pew. “I suppose I did it more for myself than I did for her. Still, you never know, maybe she can read it now.”

“I ain't never heard tell of anyone writin' a letter to a dead person and puttin' it in the casket,” he said through his teeth. “If that ain't the strangest thing I ever heard tell of. What did you say?”

Before she could answer, Homer Conroy came down from the platform.

“Otis, are you coming on up here?” he whispered urgently. “We gotta be getting on with this.”

Her father-in-law turned from her then and with Bible in hand, mounted the steps to the pulpit.

Facing the congregation, his angry look was now replaced with one of humility and grief. He smiled a sad smile, the perfect expression for a preacher who had just lost his wife. Kathleen watched him in morbid fascination. What an actor he was, what a fake. When she'd told him about the letter she'd put in Beulah's pocket, for some reason known only to himself, he'd been extremely agitated. Now though, up there where he obviously thought he belonged, he was more at ease. He looked relaxed and talked almost cheerfully of Beulah and their life together.

“My wife just loved growin' things in her garden. She told me she felt more peaceful there than anywhere else except when she was in this church. And now she's crossed over into Glory Land.”

Talking all the while, his gaze once more roamed the church. His face beamed now, filled with a sort of exultation. Steadily he worked his way from the very back all the way to the front, until finally his enigmatic gaze locked with hers. He stared at her with a look bordering on surprise, as if he hadn't expected to see her there, as if he hadn't talked to her just minutes before. His face turned a shade paler and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat that suddenly appeared on his brow.

He began talking faster and at a higher pitch until he abruptly stopped talking. He tilted his head slightly as if listening for a sound, a sound nobody else in the church could hear.

Kathleen looked uneasily around as people turned to one another, clearly puzzled by his behavior. What was the matter with Preacher Conroy? They'd never seen him like this before. Otis, apparently realizing he was losing the thread of his thought, looked desperately around the church.

Then his wild amber eyes fastened again on her. “It's this woman who's at fault here.” His voice was an octave higher than usual as he pointed at her accusingly, his arm outstretched. “She comes sneakin' into my house while my wife's in the hospital and, well, Selma and me, we…”

“Daddy!” Selma, her face chalk white, screamed the word either in fear or in warning. Then, with a moan, she crumbled to the floor.

Kathleen tried to hold her as she fell but Selma slipped from her grasp.

Dr. Parker was beside her in an instant, lifting Selma from the floor. He motioned to two male members of the choir to come forward. After he'd spoken to them urgently, the men carried her through a side door.

Kathleen watched Otis, visibly shaken, once again walk down the steps from the podium and come toward her. The hammering of her heart eased when she felt, rather than saw, William Tate and Freddie Conroy join her in the pew, one on either side.

Dr. Parker beat Otis to it, intercepting him as he reached the pew. “You'd better pull yourself together, Otis. Whatever Kathleen saw, or you thought she saw, has got nothing to do with this service. How about if we just get on with it.”

“Yes, but last night she wrote a letter to Beulah. She told me she did. She went to the funeral parlor this mornin' and put the letter in the casket. What with Beulah bein' dead an' all, it just don't seem fittin'.”

Otis talked softly but in his agitation it was loud enough for people close by to hear at least snatches of what he said. A murmur rippled through the church as his strange words passed from row to row.

Dr. Parker motioned to Homer Conroy, standing uncertainly on the podium. “I'm taking Otis outside for a breath of air,” he said. “Why don't you take over? Tell the congregation he's overcome with grief. Tell them anything.”

As Otis was led away, the buzz in the church became louder. Homer stood in front of the lectern and raised his hands for silence. “My brother isn't able to continue. I warned him against officiating at the funeral service for his own wife. Will y'all now join me in prayer for him and his daughter Selma who are grieving so sorely.”

* * *

Otis and Selma were not at the graveside when Beulah was buried in Sunset Memorial Park on the edge of Eddisville. Kathleen wished she hadn't told Otis about the letter. It seemed to have unhinged his already fragile hold on reality, and she didn't doubt that if the coffin hadn't already been closed, he would have taken the letter out and read it. Was he frightened of its contents? But what harm could it do in the pocket of the dress on a dead woman in a closed coffin who was about to be buried?