Morning Glory (53 page)

 
"Elly?"

 
Silence. Summer afternoon silence, stretching into Will's very soul.

 
Their bedroom was empty. He stood in the doorway imbibing familiarities—the
Madeira
lace dresser set, a slipper-shaped dish holding bobby-and hair-pins, a stack of freshly folded diapers ... the bed. It was not, he discovered, disappointing to arrive to an empty house. He'd had so little time alone. These minutes, reacclimating, seeped within his bones in a wholly healing way.

 
Neither was anyone in the boys' room. The crib, he noted, had been moved in here.

 
Back in the kitchen he cut an enormous square of the moist golden bars and took a bite—honey, pecans, cloves and cinnamon. Mmmm ... delicious. He anchored the remaining piece in his teeth and stumped to the door, then outside.

 
"Elly?" he bellowed from the top of the steps, pausing, listening. "Ellllleeeee?"

 
From beyond the barn a mule brayed as if objecting to being awakened. Madam. He headed that way, found the beast but no Elly. He checked the chicken coop—it was clean; the storage sheds—their doors were all closed; the vegetable garden, it was empty; and finally the backyard, passing under the pergola with its bonnet of morning glories. Nobody at the clothesline either.

 
With all these flowers and the warm temperatures, undoubtedly the honey would be running. He'd walk down the orchard to see, to pass the time reacquainting himself with the bees while waiting for Elly.

 
The earth wore a mantle of heavy grass but he made his way easily with the crutches, following the overgrown double-trail compacted long ago by Glendon Dinsmore's Steel Mule. Everything was as he remembered, the hickories and oaks as green as watermelon rind, the katydids fiddling away in the tall redtop grass, the dead branch shaped like a dog's paw, and, farther along, the magnolia with the oak growing from its crotch. He topped a small rise and there lay the orchard on the opposite hill, steeping in the warm May sun, smelling faintly of other years fermented fruit and the flowering weeds and wildings that bordered the trees and surrounding woods. He let his eyes wander appreciatively over the squat trees—peach, apple, pear and quince, marching around the east-sloping hill as if in formation. And along the south edge, the hives, rimmed in red and blue and yellow and green, as he'd painted them. And halfway down ... a ... a woman? Will's head jutted. Was it? In a veiled hat and trousers? Filling the saltwater pans? Naw, it couldn't be! But it was! A woman, working in fat yellow farmer gloves that met the cuffs of one of his old blue chambray shirts whose collar was buttoned tightly and turned up around her jaws. Toting two buckets in the boys' wagon. Bending to dip the water with a tin dipper and pour it into the low, flat pans. A woman—
his wife
—tending the bees!

 
He smiled and felt a surge of love strong enough to end the war, could it have been harnessed and channeled. Jubilantly, he raised a hand and waved.
"
Elly?
"

 
She straightened, looked, looked harder, lifted the veil up, shaded her eyes ... and finally the shock hit.

 
"Will!" She dropped the dipper and ran. Flat-out, arms and feet churning like steel drivers. "Will!" The hat bounced off and fell but she ran on, waving a yellow glove. "Will, Will!"

 
He gripped his crutches and stumped toward her, fast, hard, reaching, his body swinging like a Sunday morning steeple bell. Smiling. Feeling his heart clubbing. His eyes stinging. Watching Elly race toward him while the boys spilled out of the woods and ran, too, taking up the call, "Will's home! Will! Will!"

 
They met beside a rangy apple tree with a force great enough to send one crutch to the ground and Will, too, had she not been there to clasp him, Arms, mouths, souls combined once again while bees droned a reunion song and the sun poured down upon a soldier's hat lying on the verdant ground. Tongues and tears, and two bodies yearning together amid a rush of kisses—deep, hurried, unbelieving kisses. They clung, choked with emotion, burying their faces, smelling one another—Velvo shaving cream and crushed cinnamon pinks—joined mouths and tongues to taste each other once more. And for them the war was over.

 
The boys came pelting—"Will! Will!"—and Lizzy P. toddled out of the woods crying, left behind.

 
"
Kemo sabe
!
Sprout!"
Will bent stiffly to hug them against his legs, circling them both in his arms, kissing their hot, freckled faces, clasping them close, smelling them, too—sweaty little boys who'd been playing in the sun long and hard. Elly warned, "Careful for Will's leg," but the hugging continued in quartet, with her arms around Will even as he greeted the boys, everybody kissing, laughing, teetering, while down the lane Lizzy stood in the sun, rubbing her eyes and wailing.

 
"Why didn't you tell us you were comin'?"

 
"I wanted to surprise you."

 
Elly wiped her eyes on the thick gloves, then yanked them off. "Oh, lorzy, what am I doin' with them still on?"

 
"Come here." He snagged her waist, kissed her again amid the scrambling boys, who still had him shackled and were peppering him with news and questions: "Are you stayin' home? ... We got kittens ... Wow, is this your uniform? ... I got vacation ... Did you kill any Japs? ... Hey, Will, Will ... guess what..."

 
For the moment both Elly and Will were oblivious to the pair. "Oh, Will..." Her eyes shone with joy, straight into his. "I can't believe you're back. How is your leg?" She suddenly remembered. "Here, boys, back off and let Will sit. Can you sit on the grass—is it okay?"

 
"It's okay." He lowered himself stiffly and breathed in a great gulp of orchard air.

 
Down the lane Lizzy continued bawling. Donald Wade tried on Will's garrison cap, which covered his eyebrows and ears. "Wow!" he crowed. "Lookit me! I'm a Marine!"

 
"Lemme!" Thomas reached. "I wanna wear it!"

 
"No, it's mine!"

 
"Ain't neither—I get it, too!"

 
"Boys, go get your sister and bring her here."

 
They dashed off like puppies after a ball, Donald Wade in the lead, wearing the hat, Thomas in pursuit.

 
Elly sat on her knees beside Will, her arms locked around his neck. "You look so good, all tan and pretty."

 
"Pretty!" He laughed and rubbed her hip.

 
"Well, prettier'n me in these durn britches and your old shirt." They couldn't quit touching each other, looking at each other.

 
"You look good to me—good enough to eat."

 
He tasted her jaw, nipping playfully. She giggled and hunched a shoulder. The giggling subsided when their gazes met, leading to another kiss, this one soft, unhurried, unsexual. A solemnization. When it ended he breathed the scent of her with his eyes still closed.

 
"Elly..." he prayed, in thanksgiving.

 
She rested her hands on his chest and gave the moment its due.

 
At length they roused from their absorption with one another and he asked, "So, what're you doing out here?"

 
"Tendin' your bees."

 
"So I see. How long's this been goin' on?"

 
"Since you been gone."

 
"Why didn't you tell me in your letters?"

 
"'Cause I wanted to surprise you, too!"

 
There were a thousand things he wanted to say, as a poet might say them. But he was an ordinary man, neither glib nor eloquent. He could only tell her, quietly, "You're some woman, you know that?"

 
She smiled and touched his hair—it was long again, streaky yellow, bending toward his face just enough to please her. She rested her elbows on his shoulders and wrapped both arms around his head and simply held him, bringing to him again the scent of crushed cinnamon pinks from her skin. He buried his nose in her neck.

 
"Mercy, you smell good. Like you been rollin' in flowers."

 
She laughed. "I have. I didn't like the mint, but your pamphlets said cinnamon pinks worked just as good so I smeared myself with them. Guess what, Will?" Exhilarated, she backed up to see his face, leaving her arms twined about his neck.

 
"What?"

 
"The honey is runnin'."

 
He let his eyelids droop, let his lips soften suggestively and closed both hands upon her breasts, hidden between them. "Y' damned right it is, darlin'. Wanna feel?"

 
Her blood rushed, her heart pounded and she felt a glorious spill deep within. "More than anything," she whispered, nudging his lips, but the children were near so he sat back with his hands flattened against the hot grass while she angled her head, tasted him shallow and deep. He opened his mouth and remained unmoving as her tongue played upon his in a series of teasing plunders. He returned the favor, washing her sweet mouth with wet kisses, sucking her lower lip.

 
"What you guys doin'?" Donald Wade stood beside them, holding Lizzy P. on his hip while Thomas approached, wearing Will's hat.

 
Leaving her arms across Will's collarbones, Elly squinted over her shoulder. "Kissin'. Better get used to it, 'cause there's gonna be a lot of it goin' on around here." Unrattled, she dropped down beside her man on the grass, raising her hands for the baby.
"C'm 'ere, sugar.
Come see daddy. Well, goodness gracious, all those tears—did you think we all run off and left you?" Chuckling, she brought the baby's cheek against her own, then set her down and began cleaning up Lizzy's tearful face while the little girl trained a watchful stare on Will. The boys plopped down, doing the things that big brothers do. Thomas took Lizzy's palm and bounced it. "Hi, Lizzy." Donald Wade brought his eyes down to the level of hers and talked brightly. "This's Will, Lizzy. Can you say,
Daddy
? Say,
Daddy
, Lizzy." Then, to Will, "She only talks when she wants to."

 
Lizzy didn't say Daddy, or Will. Instead, when he took her, she pushed against his chest, straining and twisting back for Elly, beginning to cry again. In the end he was forced to relinquish her until she grew used to him again.

 
"The orchard looks good. Did you have the trees sprayed?"

 
"Didn't
have
'em sprayed, I did it myself."

 
"And the yard, why that's the prettiest thing I've seen in years. You do all that?"

 
"Yup. Me'n the boys."

 
"Mama let me put seeds in the holes!" piped up Thomas.

 
"Good boy. Who built the archway for the morning glories?"

 
"Mama."

 
Elly added, "Me'n Donald Wade, didn't we, honey?"

 
"Yeah! An' I pounded the nails and everything!"

 
Will put on a proper show of enthusiasm. "You did! Well, good for you."

 
"Mama said you'd like it."

 
"And I do, too. Walked into the yard and figured I was in the wrong place."

 
"Did you really?"

 
Will laughed and pressed Donald Wade's nose flat with the tip of a finger.

 
They all fell quiet, listening to the drone of bees and the wind's breath in the trees around them. "You can stay now, can't you?" Elly asked quietly.

 
"Yes. Medical discharge."

 
Keeping one arm around Lizzy's hip, she found Will's fingers in the grass behind them and braided them with her own. "That's good," she said simply, running a hand down Lizzy's hot hair while her eyes remained on her husband's face, tanned to a hickory brown, compellingly handsome above the tight collar and tie of his uniform. "You're a hero, Will. I'm so proud of you."

 
His lips twisted and he chuckled self-consciously. "Well, I don't know about that."

 
"Where's your Purple Heart?"

 
"Back at the house in my duffel bag."

 
"It should be right here." She lay a hand flat against his lapel, then slipped it underneath because she found within herself the constant need to touch him. She felt his heartbeat, strong and healthy against her fingertips, and recalled the hundreds of images she'd suffered, of bullets drilling him, spilling his blood on some distant jungle floor. Her precious, dear Will. "Miss Beasley told the newspaper about it and they put an article in. Now everybody knows Will Parker is a hero."