The Blue Bottle Club (30 page)

"I know. It's been years since Daddy died, but I remember."

Ellie looked up and smiled at her friend. Letitia Cameron was exactly the right person to be with her now—someone who understood from personal experience how absolutely horrible it all felt. Tish didn't try to force her to talk or attempt to probe into her grief. She was just here, and her presence had made the last few days, if not easier, at least bearable.

"Thanks for being here, Tish," Ellie said at last. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

"What are friends for?" Tish reached over and patted her hand. "You were with me when Daddy died, remember. And—I don't know, somehow I feel a little, well, responsible. . . ."

Ellie looked up and fixed her friend with a steely gaze. "Let's get one thing straight, Tish. Your father did his best for my mother, and even though it was a terrible time for everybody, I don't hold him accountable for Mama's inability to deal with losing her money. It was more than just the money, anyway. She depended upon her social status to give her a reason to live. She was weak, and when she didn't have her wealth and power to lean on, she simply broke. Your daddy wasn't responsible for it—and neither are you. There's no reason for you to feel guilty."

"I know," Tish said. "But it's not just that. I was the one who brought you the bad news about Rome too. We've been friends for years, Ellie. I hate causing you pain, no matter what the circumstances."

"It's all right." Ellie lowered her eyes and blinked back tears. "I had to know sooner or later. It's certainly better for me to find out now, before I made a mistake that would follow me the rest of my life."

They fell silent for a moment, and at last Tish asked, "What will you do, Ellie?"

"I don't know." Ellie shook her head. "I don't think I can stay here, in this house."

"Remember, years ago, when we wrote out our dreams and put them in the bottle? Back then you wanted to become a social worker, to help people. You could still do that."

The memory swept over Ellie like tongues of fire. She had been so innocent then, so naive. She could still feel the surge of freedom she had experienced when she finally committed those dreams to paper. She had felt noble and strong . . . even invincible.

But the past ten years had smothered that zeal. The flame had died and with it her dreams for making a difference in the world.

"It's too late," she murmured after a while. "I feel old, Tish. Old and tired. I don't have the energy—or the money—to go back to school."

"Can I offer one suggestion?"

Ellie sighed. "Sure. Suggest away."

"Well"—Letitia's voice took on a tone of hesitancy—"you've been cooped up in this house for a very long time."

"It seems like forever."

"Maybe you need to get out a little. You know, meet people."

Ellie blinked. "Meet people? Tish, I've lived in this town my entire life. I know lots of people."

"But you haven't spent time with them in years. You've given your life to taking care of your mother. Now you need to do something for yourself."

"And your suggestion is—?"

"Come to church with Mama and me."

Ellie felt her jaw drop. "You can't be serious."

"You used to go to church."

"Yes, when I was young and didn't know any better. But when we needed support and compassion, where were all those people who claimed to be my friends—and Mother's? You didn't see the great Pastor Archer at the funeral, did you?" Ellie could hear the edge in her voice but couldn't seem to temper it. "I didn't abandon the church, Tish. The church abandoned me."

"I know, I know." Tish nodded. "The same thing happened to us when Daddy died, at least at Downtown Presbyterian. I swore I'd never darken the door of a church again. But then we found East Asheville Methodist—a small church with a real feeling of family. These people don't just
claim
to be Christians, Ellie. They
live
it. It's very refreshing."

Ellie resisted the idea, but she had to admit that Tish and Maris's friends at the Methodist church did seem to be different, somehow. They didn't know Ellie or her mother, but Reverend Potter had conducted the funeral, and a dozen or so of the members actually came to the service. In the past few days, people she had only seen once or twice in her life kept appearing at the door with cakes and pies and casseroles, offering hugs and condolences instead of pat answers and religious drivel. The truth was, in three days she had received more genuine care from simple folks she didn't know than she had in ten years from the society people who had claimed to be her friends.

"A lot of nice people worship there, Ellie. Not rich people or powerful people, but honest, good people who will accept you without question. People who might help make this transition a little easier."

"I don't know," Ellie hedged. "I'll have to think about it."

"All right. You don't have to make a decision immediately," Tish soothed. "You can take your time, get through this, and when you're ready—"

"When I'm ready, I'll let you know," Ellie interrupted. "In the meantime, promise you won't pressure me about it."

Tish lifted her sandwich in salute. "I promise," she said. "No pressure."

August 31, 1940

Tish had been right, of course. Ellie needed contact with people.

She had known loneliness before, during all those years of caring for Mother before Rome came and broke the monotony. At times she had thought she might go mad from the sheer isolation. But back then she had a mission, a duty. She had her mother to attend to, and even in the midst of her isolation, she was never really alone.

Now, the huge old house echoed with every footfall, and the only companionship Ellie had was Pisgah. The big cat never left her side, watching her with enormous blue eyes, purring and rubbing against her at every opportunity, as if to assure her that she had one friend left in the world, a friend who would never forsake her. But even as Ellie grew increasingly attached to Pisgah, she knew, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, that a cat's company simply wasn't enough. If she wasn't careful, she would become one of those eccentric old women who lived with a houseful of felines and never spoke to a living soul.

"You know," Ellie said to the cat one evening as they sat together in the porch swing, "maybe Tish is right. Maybe I do need to get out and meet people, develop some friendships."

"Rrrowww," Pisgah answered, burrowing her head under Ellie's arm.

"I mean, the only real friend I have is Tish, and I can't expect her to be at my beck and call every time I need someone to talk to, now can I?"

"Rrroh-roow-roow," the cat responded.

Ellie stared at the big Himalayan, who sat back and gazed at her, her tail flipping against Ellie's arm. "I'm losing my mind," she muttered. "It sounded like you said, 'No, you can't.'"

"Bbbrrrr," Pisgah purred.

"So, what do you think? Do I dare take Tish up on her offer and go to church with her?"

"Yeowp," the cat answered. She jumped down from the swing and stood by the door, waiting.

Ellie opened the screen and followed Pisgah inside. The cat made a beeline for the hallway, leaped onto the table, and rubbed her cheek against the telephone.

Ellie shook her head and closed her eyes. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"Mmoww." Pisgah nudged her arm.

"Now?"

"Mmoww," the cat repeated.

"All right, all right." Ellie clicked the receiver and gave the operator the name of Maris Cameron.

Tish came on the line. "Hello?"

"Tish, it's me, Ellie."

"Are you all right? You sound—I don't know, strange."

"I feel a little strange. Listen, do you remember inviting me to church with you and your mom? A couple of weeks ago, right after the funeral?"

"Sure I remember."

"Well, ah, I've—I've decided to go. Can you pick me up in the morning?" Silence.

"Tish? Are you there?"

"I'm here. Yes, we'll pick you up. Around ten—is that all right? Wait a minute."

Ellie heard Maris's voice in the background, then Tish came back on the line. "Mama says there's a social after church—a covered-dish dinner. Don't worry about bringing anything. There's always enough to feed a small army."

Great,
Ellie thought.
Why did I have to pick this Sunday, of all days?
It was tough enough subjecting herself to an hour of worship; now she was facing an additional two hours, minimum, of small talk, with people she didn't know. What had she gotten herself into?

Pisgah rubbed against her hand and purred.

Tish's voice came through the receiver again. "Just one question, Ellie. What made you decide to come?"

"I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, as long as you promise not to have me committed." Ellie chuckled. "Let's just say I got a gentle nudge from a very good friend."

When Tish hung up, Ellie stood there holding the telephone and shaking her head. After a minute she replaced the receiver and turned on Pisgah. "This is all your fault."

"Bbbrrrr," the cat purred, rubbing against her.

"If this turns out to be a disaster, I'm going to blame it on you, understand?"

Pisgah jumped down from the table and sat on the rug, regarding Ellie with wide blue eyes. Her tail curled upward in its characteristic question mark.

"Rir-rrurrr?" she asked, then stalked off toward the kitchen.

"Yes, yes, I'll get your dinner," Ellie muttered, following. "But you'd better be right about this, or some musician is going to get himself some new violin strings."

29

PROVIDENCE

September 1, 1940

W
hen she walked into the East Asheville Methodist Church close on the heels of Tish and Maris, Ellie's stomach clenched into knots. She suppressed an unaccountable surge of fear—the urge to bolt, to flee for her life.
Don't be ridiculous,
she argued with herself.
These people won't bite.

In truth, they didn't seem like the biting kind. Everyone was smiling, crowding around her, introducing themselves and shaking hands. Ellie caught a phrase here and there, words intended, she assumed, for encouragement:

"We've heard so much about you—"

"We feel like we already know you—"

"So sorry about your mother, and—"

"We've all been praying for you—"

She recognized a few faces, the strangers who had appeared at her mother's graveside. These friends of Tish and Maris's seemed like genuinely nice people, and yet—

And yet she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being examined, scrutinized like a bug in a jar. She wished they would all just leave her alone.

It was a noisy, happy crowd that filled the little white church—not at all like the somber parishioners at Downtown Pres. No organ music played, no stained-glass windows filled the sanctuary with a soft, reverent glow, no empty crevices reminded her of long-dead saints. Here everything was bright and loud and chaotic, more like a party than a service of worship.

From somewhere else—down the stairs leading off the nave, perhaps— the aroma of fried chicken drifted to her nostrils. A tantalizing scent, and yet one that set Ellie's teeth to grinding. Not only would she have to endure the actual service, but afterward, she would be subjected to another hour or two of the Christian concern and reassurance she had tasted on her way in. Maris called it "fellowship." Ellie thought of it as torture.

At last Reverend Matthew Potter mounted the two steps to the platform and stood at the pulpit—a small movable lectern, actually, which swayed dangerously when he leaned on it. The congregation showed no sign of coming to order, however. People still stood in the aisles, leaning over the pews. A group clustered behind Maris and Tish continued to pat Ellie on the shoulders and murmur their condolences.

Reverend Potter cleared his throat. No response.

At last he rapped his knuckles on the lectern and shouted, "If you'll all take your seats, please!" The crowd settled down—rather slowly, Ellie thought, and without the least hint of embarrassment—and Potter went on with a chuckle, "You'll have plenty of opportunity to fellowship after the service."

Everybody laughed, and a woman called out, "You just want more time to preach, Matt."

"And you'd preach yourself, Eunice, if I gave you the chance," Potter responded.

"I would," she retorted. "And I'd do a fine job of it too."

More laughter and a smattering of applause. Ellie stared around at the lively congregation in amazement. She had never in her life witnessed this kind of camaraderie among church folks, this kind of down-to-earth banter. She couldn't imagine anyone at Downtown Presbyterian ever talking back to Pastor Archer, and she couldn't recall a single instance in all her years there that anyone ever laughed out loud.

Tish and Maris had spoken truly when they told her this church was different.

Reverend Potter shuffled a few notes in front of him. "I'd like to welcome you all to worship here at East Asheville Methodist Church. As you can tell, we're a pretty close-knit group, but we always want to open our arms to embrace newcomers." He peered over his spectacles and fixed Ellie with a warm smile. "We have with us today Miss Eleanor James, a friend of Letitia and Maris Cameron. You all know abut Ellie's, ah, situation. We've been praying for her for several weeks now."