They Called Her Mrs. Doc. (32 page)

“But certainly I won’t be Mrs. Doc anymore. I won’t even be Cassandra.”

And she closed her Bible and wiped at a tear.

Then she straightened her shoulders and lifted the once-stubborn chin.

“Well, no matter,” she said firmly. “God knows my real name. He always has—always will. He calls me ‘My child.’ ‘Child, I am with you.’ ‘Child, I will never forsake you.’ ‘Child, there are no changes in life that we can’t handle.’ ”

The porch rocker eased to a stop. The elderly woman sighed deeply and slowly pulled herself to her feet. She reached to the small side table by the chair and lifted her teacup. It was time to get on with life.

The two tall boys were disappearing at the far end of the concrete sidewalk. Soon they would be young men. So many of Samuel’s babies had grown to adulthood. Many of them had babies of their own—and some even had grandchildren.

She smiled at the thought of it. Why, he had tended most of the people of the community.

But now Dr. Otikama was caring for the needs of the folk, and he would not be asking for her help at the office. Not that she could have given it. She was too old—too stiff—and she was tired.

She straightened her shoulders and reached to tuck a strand of straying white hair neatly beneath her hairnet. She must get on with her packing. There was so much to do and if she didn’t get it done herself, the children would take over and she wouldn’t get to sort through the things as she intended.

She let her glance slide over the town that had grown with the years. The new school building that stood proudly on her right—the old, yet new, main street where Morris’s old drugstore had been torn down to give way to a more modern building—the grove of planted poplars that marked the borders of the cemetery where Samuel rested. The tears formed and she picked up the edge of her apron and wiped them as they slid down her wrinkled cheeks.

Then her head lifted, her chin thrust slightly forward. It was time to move on.

“Samuel would say, ‘Where’s your spunk, Red?’ ” she told herself. “ ‘Life still holds out a hand to you. Take it.’ ”

She moved to the edge of the porch and leaned over the railing to pour the remains of the cold tea on the rose bush below. Then she straightened and looked toward the heavens.

“Father,” she whispered, “help me with this big change too. Perhaps the last until I make the final one. I’m really going to need you—again.”

Her eyes rose to the tall green spires that framed the cemetery, and she managed the faintest of smiles.

“I’ll be back,” she whispered to Samuel. “It won’t be long till my time comes and I’ll be back. I made them promise. I told them I wouldn’t go unless they brought me back.”

She stood for several moments looking out from the front porch while her eyes again scanned the town. No tears came. She was done with weeping. The afternoon breeze teased the silvery hair that escaped her hairnet. Her shoulders sagged slightly, her brow puckered in thought.

And then the green eyes began to sparkle. She pulled back her shoulders, swished her skirts with a calloused hand, straightened to her fullest height and lifted her head in determination.

“I’ll have family there,” she reminded herself. “And Virginia will be near. I miss Virginia. Almost as much as I miss Samuel. It will be good to be able to visit with her again.” She stopped for a moment and then went on. “And God has never let me down. He will keep His promises to be with me now.”

She moved toward the room where the packing boxes awaited her. Her face looked calm—serene. She spoke to herself once more, “Who knows—I might even learn to like it in the city.”

The telephone on the hall wall began to jangle. Cassandra went to answer it, hoping that it wouldn’t bring bad news.

It was Christina who answered her “hello.” She sounded excited.

“Mama? Guess what? You’d never guess. We are moving. George and I. He had the choice of three different churches. He picked Jaret. We’re coming there, Mama. At the end of the month.”

The flowing words poured out too fast for Cassandra. She couldn’t keep up—couldn’t sort out the information she was receiving. But one little message did make it through. Christina was moving to Jaret.

And just as I am moving out,
she thought.
What a shame!

But Christina bubbled on. “This is the last pastorate that George plans to take. He thinks that Jaret is a great little spot to retire. We’ll just stay on there, Mama.”

Cassandra was still busy sorting.

“Mama? Are you there?”

“Yes,” managed Cassandra. “Yes, I’m here.” Had Christina forgotten that her mother was moving out? That the house was soon to be sold?

“Mama?” A pause. “You won’t have to pack.”

What was she saying?

“I’ll be there. I’ll be able to look after you. If you like—that is—if you’d rather stay in your own house, you can. As long as I’m there the others won’t mind.”

Silence.

“Mama?”

But Cassandra was weeping gently, her heart crying out a thank you to her God. The truth of the call was gradually reaching her understanding. Christina was coming. Christina would be her shield against further change. She would not have to move. She could stay in her own house, in her own town, near Samuel.

“Mama?”

“I hear you,” managed Cassandra. “I heard every word.”

Then a big smile lighted her face. “I’m glad I’m so slow,” she said to her daughter. “I hardly have anything to unpack.