Homefires (43 page)

“C’mon, help us out, Anne,” I coaxed, knowing she wouldn’t.

“I’ll just listen and hum along.” Dawnie, having gone full circle, crawled into her lap again. Anne’s voice was wonderful for lulling babies. Period.

“Anne and I’ll pay ya’ll back in Heaven,” Kirk liked to say. “I believe we who can’t carry a tune here will be soloists up there.” Actually, Kirk’s voice wasn’t bad when bolstered by others around him.

I wondered again what was taking Kirk so long outside. He and Moose must have gone out to the church office to talk. What was too urgent that it couldn’t wait until we didn’t have company?

After
Each Step I Take, Mansion On the Hilltop
and
Wait till You See Me In My New Home,
we declared ourselves starved and raided the leftovers, lowland chicken bog, pork barbecue, baked beans, coleslaw, potato salad and Anne’s special macaroni pie.

“Don’t you want to wait on Kirk?” Anne asked as we started to be seated.

“Sit down.” I laughed. “If I waited on Kirk to get away from pastoral duties, I’m afraid we’d go hungry half the time. By the way,
Heather
made the Mississippi mud cake.”

“
Yeh, Heather
!” They applauded and she rose and took a bow. From across the table, her eyes twinkled to me a silent message of love.

My heart swelled with gratitude.

Life, I thought, doesn’t get any better than this.

The parsonage was dark and silent when Kirk finally came in. He quietly undressed and slipped into his side of the bed.

“Honey?” I turned to him. “Is something wrong?”

I couldn’t see his face in the dark as he lay facing me. Only shadows. The silence stretched out. “Kirk?”

“No.” The word was clipped. Underlined with tension. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is Moose – okay?”

Kirk gave a long shuddering sigh. “Moose spoke to me in confidence.”

“Okay.” That was that. Kirk’s pastoral confidences were sacred.

“It’s – nothing to worry about…” He turned his back to me, then reached back to pat me. “Go to sleep.”

Deep, deep inside I knew.

Kirk had not told me the truth.

The afterglow of my family’s visit
poofed
within a day of their leave-taking. Tillie Dawson was hospitalized with an overdose of valium and though Kirk was not barred from Tillie’s hospital room, Zelda, who treated him like the lowest form of vermin, distinctly discouraged any ministrations from him.

On second thought, make that
next
to the lowest form –
that,
Zelda reserved for son-in-law Rick.

I know because I was there, having insisted upon tagging along to catch a glimpse of my friend. The room was empty when we arrived so we made our way to her bedside. My heart lurched when I saw her, a sheet-draped skeleton more dead than alive, whose eyes sunk like dark caves in the small face. What lingered of the vibrant girl I’d known wouldn’t cast a shadow beneath a bright afternoon sun.

I crouched behind Kirk when Zelda came bounding into the room. “She’s asleep. Not s’posed to be disturbed.”

“Mama?” The apparition on the bed stirred the tiniest bit. “Please....”

“What is it, honey?” Zelda rushed to the bedside and hovered.

Tillie’s little mouth worked to emit sound. Her lids cracked to reveal mere slivers of white.

“See?” Zelda cast a glower at Kirk. And for once, I was glad she didn’t consider me significant enough to acknowledge. “She’s not up to company.”

A frail, pale hand slowly trembled its way from the white sheet folds to clutch Zelda’s arm. “I need – prayer,” Tillie whispered.

“But, sugar,” Zelda gripped the skinny fingers, “I don’t th – ”

Kirk’s stubbornness kicked in and he stepped up beside Zelda and leaned to speak to Tillie. “Of course, we’ll pray with you, Tillie.” He turned to me. “Join us, Janeece.” His courage transferred itself to me as we joined hands and took hold of Tillie’s limp, icy ones. Kirk tossed Zelda a brief ‘join us?’ glance and, when she did not respond, proceeded.

Rick walked in on the
amen.
Zelda glared at him.

“She’s my wife, Zelda.” Rick shook hands with Kirk, hugged me and planted himself next to Tillie’s bed, all in a matter of seconds.

Zelda lumbered to his side and leaned nearly nose to nose with him. “Not for much longer if I can help it.” Her voice reminded me of Ma Kettle in her most mettlesome moments.

Rick’s gaze didn’t waver. “Don’t you think that’s for Tillie to decide, Zelda?” he asked quietly.

Zelda snorted and gestured toward the bed. “Now, don’t she look like she’s fit to make any kind of decision?”

“Mama,” Tillie struggled to speak. “Don’t....”

“Okay, honey-bun.” Zelda’s big hand roughly patted the prone skeleton. I winced. “Mama won’t let him harass you. Now you git out, Rick Dawson.”

“Let’s go, Neecy,” Kirk took my arm, his features closed. But I saw the flare of his nostrils, the barest revelation that he’d like to stuff Zelda’s mouth with dirty socks. “Hang in there, Rick.” His nod to Zelda was terse. “Good day, Zelda.”

As we left, we heard Rick’s quiet response.

“Now, you can like it or lump it, Zelda. I don’t care. But I’m
not leaving my wife.”

Three days later, my phone rang. It was Tillie.

“I’ve missed you, Neecy.” Her voice was reed thin, like a weak kitten’s
meow.

“Oh, Tillie, you just don’t know how I’ve wanted to see you and help you....”

“I know.” A long sigh. “Neecy, I told Rick to bring me home from the hospital. Mama’s pitching a fit, but I don’t care. Well – I
do
... but she’s just gotta get over it.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I swiped at them. “You okay, Tillie? I mean – the last time I saw you, you looked like death warmed over.”

“I’m getting there, Neecy. I just lost it there for awhile. Always said I’d never be able to live with an unfaithful man.” She huffed a little hoarse laugh, then burst into tears. “I-I didn’t know how hard it is to stop loving, Neecy, till – ”

“Listen, Tillie. All that stuff’s past now. I’m proud that you’ve decided to hold your marriage together.”

Tillie snuffled. “I just wanted to say thanks. Yours and Kirk’s hospital visit – and prayer – was a real turning point for me. I just wanted you to know.”

“Thanks, Tillie. Now, you just get yourself well and get back to singing, darlin’. The choir jus’
ain’t the same
without you. Y’hear?”

Tillie giggled. “I
hear
you, girl.” My heart soared.

“Thanks for the coffee, Neecy,” Cal kissed my cheek, “I gotta run. Promised Mama I’d call her.”

“Call her here.”

“Naw. I need to shampoo my hair anyway.”

After she left, I checked on Dawnie, who’d fallen asleep playing, using her ‘bankie’ as a pillow on her carpeted floor. I lay her in her bed, covered and kissed her and returned to the den, where Toby’s cartoons blasted away.

“Toby? Would you listen for Dawn while I take a short walk?”

“Sure, Mom.”

I strolled to the cemetery, knowing I would find Heather there.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I said softly. She looked up at me from her little plaid pallet beneath the oak and lay her book aside. She smiled and it took my breath, for it was both sweet and sad. Auburn silk framed the lovely face that had seen too much – too soon.

“Sit with me, Mama.” She patted a spot and I joined her. We gazed at each other in wordless affection.

“You know, Heather,” I said gently, “we have our share of mother-daughter climaxes. But – times like this makes me think of porpoises who bump folks along from one threat to another, keeping them afloat.” I took her hand. “These sweet moments are like that. They rescue us from deep, troubled water...keep us focused on what’s important.” I squeezed her hand. “What’s important is that we love each other.”

“Oh, Mama,” suddenly, she crumpled into tears. Heather, who seldom cried.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I don’t understand, Mama.” She gazed at me imploringly. “I know Ralph likes me,” tears riveted her cheeks. “But his family has heard so much ugly gossip about us.
Darn
that nasty old Zelda and her big mouth. They – Ralph’s family – just can’t believe we’re what we are. They don’t approve of him dating me.”

“Ohh, baby.” My heart lurched. How
could
they? The Stevens family didn’t even know us personally. They attended the Episcopal Church in town and had only heard the mudslinging stuff via the gossip channel. And the
stuff
was mainly innuendoes.

“It’s n-not
fair,
Mama! We haven’t done anything wrong. Know what they said about Dad? Steve told me they said Daddy is a Bible-thumping, jack-leg preacher from the backwoods.” She drew her knees up, buried her head on them and bawled like little Dawn.

Anger machine-gunned through me. What
lies.
What malicious vilification. And from so-called Christians, in whose hands Kirk, at one time, would have entrusted his life. Kirk’s sermons
had
changed in recent months. How could he bury a child and
not
change? But
Bible-thumping, backwoods preacher?
No. Since Krissie’s death, his speaking had become more eloquent. If anything, it had prompted more soul-searching.

Was that the sore spot? Had Kirk’s mellowed entreaties offended some traditional, stiff-necked parishioners who didn’t want to be blown from their comfort zone? But wasn’t that what sermons were supposed to do? To instruct and challenge and exhort? If not, why even have church?

I rubbed Heather’s shoulder, feeling as helpless as I’d ever felt in my life.

When the wails subsided, I held her in my arms. “I know it’s tough, baby.”
Why do my children have to get hurt?
“But try to remember what Ephesians 6:12 tells us...we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness....’