by Jan Karon
‘Soon,’ said Dooley. ‘Soon.’
She looked skeptical.
‘I promise,’ he said.
‘Jack thinks if something is kept secret, it comes true. Maybe we should keep it a secret for now to see how . . .’ With all their heart and soul, they wanted it to come true. It had to come true. But there was a chance it wouldn’t come true. ‘What if . . . ?’
‘We’re not thinking what if,’ he said. ‘We’re thinkin’ when. And we can’t keep it a secret. We need to do it today, before people leave. Who knows when we’ll all be together again?’
‘He’s already exhausted by this whole incredible day. It would be too much excitement for him.’ It was too much excitement for her; she was ready to be where nothing life-changing was going on.
‘Rebecca Jane’s getting ready to put the kids down for a nap,’ he said. ‘If she can make that happen, that’ll be another miracle—they’re wired to the max. So let’s tell everybody while he’s asleep and tell him in the morning, just the three of us.’
‘Let’s pray,’ she said, relieved.
Jack opened the door and looked in.
‘What are you doin’, Dad?’
‘We’re praying.’
‘Thirty minutes to four!’ Jack shouted, and closed the door.
‘He’s my new timer,’ said Dooley. ‘Five hungry patients to feed at th’ clinic.’
They held hands, prayed the few words together.
‘Thank you, Jesus, for all you have done and are about to do in our lives.
‘Amen!’
He kissed her, quick. ‘Love you deep.’
‘Love you good.’
He was out the door.
• • •
He saw Sammy at the corncrib, facing the mountains.
‘Go on over,’ he said to Jack, ‘and give everybody clean water. I’m right behind you.’
Sammy didn’t turn around.
Dooley put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘We’re uncles again. It’s a girl.’
Sammy liked kids. One day he would teach kids and old people how to shoot pool.
They stood together, wordless.
Did you let her win? he wanted to say. It was a question Sammy would be asked more than once.
‘Don’t ask me,’ said Sammy.
And he didn’t.
• • •
Father Tim saw Pauline through the living room window, sitting in a rocker on the front porch.
He pulled on his jacket.
He had his church pension, his social security check, the monthly rent from Helene Pringle, his IRA, which due to age he was forced to dip into annually, and a few small stocks that had escaped the whiplash of a few years ago. He wasn’t exactly on the dole. But there was no way he could do this alone, either.
Several things turned Cynthia’s blue eyes a deeper, more ravishing blue. A tender word, roses in winter, children—and money talk.
A few days ago, he had given her the rundown and ended with a mini-sermon that was hardly needed.
‘Pooh believes, and I believe with him,’ he said, ‘that his sole focus is to try and love others as unconditionally as God loves us. He may not become a great orator, but I believe he can become a great lover of those whose lives are broken. He has a true heart. I think he’s the real deal. Maybe enough for the first two years of college? Till we see where this is headed?’
From cornflower blue to sapphire.
‘I’m in,’ she said.
He had kissed her hand. Both hands.
He went out to the front porch, which the others seldom used.
This was risky. He had been involved in one way or another in the lives of all Pauline’s children, and felt there was some resentment or wounding from it. But he had prayed about what to say today and the answer was clear.
He thought she wasn’t wearing enough to keep warm, so he removed his jacket and put it around her shoulders.
She looked up. ‘You shouldn’t . . . thank you.’
He sat in the rocker next to hers. ‘Congratulations on your new granddaughter. Hoppy is convinced she looks like you.’
‘Oh!’ she said. Her cheeks colored. ‘It’s all so . . . everything so . . . I saw her, I can’t even begin . . .’
‘And congratulations on winning the game. They say you shoot a mean stick.’
‘I don’t know how to do what I did; it seemed to come out of nowhere. I didn’t think about winning, I was just trying to shoot a game that wouldn’t embarrass him. He shouldn’t have let me win.’
‘Who says he did?’
‘He could have made that shot.’
‘We don’t really know that. And in the end, does it really matter?’
‘The game was one of the most wonderful moments of my life. So many wonderful moments today. All so . . . wonderful.’
She was quiet, then laughed a little. ‘It would be nice to feel good about winning, but I can’t because I don’t know.’
‘Feel good anyway would be my suggestion. You shot a great game.’ It was freezing out here. ‘There’s something important I’d like to discuss with you. Is this a good time?’
She looked away. Maybe the mention of an important discussion. He outlined the plan and kept it simple.
‘I hope you’ll let us do it, Pauline. Just say yes. He’s a special kid. This is not for you and Buck. We’re doing it for God and Pooh. Please allow us.’
Snow cascaded from the branch of a cedar tree.
This would mean, she thought, that all four of her sons had in some way at some time been rescued by this good man. It was a constant reminder that she was unable, unfit, but this was wrong thinking and she was desperately trying to move beyond that. What it was really about was Father Tim’s caring example in the lives of her sons, which was changing their lives for good, forever.
She looked at him. ‘What we all owe you, Father, we could never repay.’
‘This is grace, Pauline. Grace to you and Buck and Pooh, and grace to Cynthia and me that we have it to give. Grace can never be earned and it can never be repaid. It’s a win-win, Pauline. We should go for it.’
She was weeping, but he felt these weren’t the old tears. This was a flood of relief.
And after a time, her smile.
‘Thank you, Father.’ She put her hand on his arm for a moment, and then stood. ‘I must get back inside. There’s a lot of life going on in there.’
She handed him his jacket and he reached into the pocket and gave her his handkerchief—then said what sounded like a platitude, but he believed it to be true.
‘Everything’s going to be all right, Pauline. Everything’s going to be all right.’
• • •
Sammy was entering the kitchen as Pauline came out.
He thought he’d said Great game after it was over, but he wasn’t sure. Maybe not. He didn’t remember much of what happened.
From the world of words needing to be spoken, she couldn’t sort even one from the millions.
‘G-Great game,’ he said in a voice he didn’t recognize.
She had not addressed him by name at the wedding or at any time today, though she had longed to say it.
‘Sammy. With all my heart, I thank you. Not for letting me win, if that’s what you did, but for treating me like an equal at the table. For going through with it when you could have walked away. I will never forget our time today. It has given me great joy.’
She was trying not to cry, he could see that. He couldn’t believe this woman with gray hair was his mother. At the wedding, she had said I’m sorry. That’s all. She had not asked him to forgive her, which was fine with him.
But she had played an amazing game. The least he could do was shake her hand. He felt drawn to do this now, but he could not. Instead, he put his right h
and on his left shoulder, shielding himself.
His hands were like hers, she thought . . . broad with long fingers. She remembered now his long fingers when he was born. ‘He’ll play th’ piano,’ said her mother.
She needed to say it, it had to be said. She had never before asked this of her children because she had no right to ask anything of them.
‘Forgive me, Sammy. You are a wonderful man and I am so proud of you. Please forgive me.’
He looked at her a long moment, and turned and walked up the stairs to his room and closed the door.
She leaned against the wall.
It could take years.
But she could love, she could pray, and she could wait.
• • •
He was zipping the ham pan and platters into their carryalls when his phone rang.
Cynthia took the phone from his shirt pocket. ‘The hospital,’ she said.
‘Could I speak with Father Kav’na?’
‘This is his wife, Cynthia. He’s busy now. May I help?’
‘This is Linda Pope at Mitford Hospital. We have two patients who’re askin’ for Father Kav’na. They said please come if he can.’
‘Who are the patients?’
Cynthia held the phone so he could hear.
‘I didn’t get their names, they’re not completely registered. I don’t think it’s life or death, but nobody said for sure.’
‘Describe them if you can.’
‘I didn’t really see them yet. I just know they arrived in a police car a few minutes ago. An officer, I think it was th’ chief, gave me this note to call you an’ say th’ father should come if he can.’
‘Thank you, Nurse Pope.’
‘I’m not a nurse, I just work ER check-in part-time.’
‘Tell them we’re on our way,’ he said to Cynthia. ‘Thirty minutes or so, depending.’
Now what? he thought. Now what?
• • •
People getting into coats and jackets and vests and scarves and hats and gloves. Musical gear collecting at the door. Vehicles warming in the driveway; cousins sleeping; Charley barking; cookies packaged to go with the homeward bound . . .
In the living room, Dooley rang the cowbell, a companion to the one rung at their wedding. His dad and Cynthia came in from the kitchen. The Biscuits stopped packing up their gear.
He stood by Lace, gripped her hand.
‘We have an announcement to make, everybody.
‘First of all, Mom, congratulations.’
Applause.
‘Because of th’ weather, you don’t have to wash th’ supper dishes.’
Cowbell. Laughter. A whistle or two.
‘But when you and Buck come out next time, no excuses, okay?’
‘Okay!’ said Pauline.
Buck looked at his wife, drew her close.
‘Okay. Here we go.’ Dooley swallowed hard.
‘Jack is going to have . . .’
Golf ball in his throat.
‘Jack is going . . .’
It wouldn’t go down.
‘Jack . . .’
He couldn’t do this.
Lace smiled; saw the tears of her mom and dad, the expectant look on the faces of Father Tim and Cynthia. She felt like a kite that had bumped along the ground for a long time and was lifting now and sailing . . .
‘Jack,’ she said, ‘is going to have a little brother or sister.
‘We’re pregnant.’
21
MITFORD
EVENING, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 12
Wilson called as they drove into town.
He dropped Cynthia at home to feed Truman and drove fast up the hill. Pauline and Buck were with Jessie; he was on his way to Father Brad and Mary Ellen.
‘We must keep a cot in the hall for you, Father.’
‘Kennedy, it’s you!’
‘No, this is a clone. I’m home sleeping or possibly watching Netflix in my bathrobe.’
‘What’s the scoop?’
‘Dr. Wilson thinks it’s a high ankle sprain for Father Brad, much worse than what Cynthia went through, so you can imagine. We’re waiting to see X-rays. We’ll make him comfortable tonight and off he goes in an ambulance first thing in the morning—to Holding, of course, to their fancy bone doc. Ms. Middleton will go also. She twisted her knee and must see an orthopedic specialist. Can’t bend her leg; looks like ligament damage. Very painful, but the meds should help. They’ll do an MRI on both. You should have seen them in their wheelchairs. Like bookends! Just darling!’
He had to laugh. ‘Darling, is it? I must say you’re someone who enjoys her work.’
She gave him a rare smile. ‘Takes one to know one, Father.’
• • •
He found his colleague in bed; one leg in a sling, pointed vaguely toward heaven. Mary Ellen sat next to Father Brad in a wheelchair, a leg thrust out on the elevated leg rest.
He kissed Beth’s mother on the cheek. ‘How are you making it with the pain?’
She smiled. ‘Minute by minute, grace by grace.’
‘Beth and Tommy are on their way. And how about you, my friend?’
‘Hurts like the dickens. But the med is kicking in. This was my swan song, Father. If I can’t stay upright and take care of the kids . . . ’
He sat in the visitor’s chair. ‘Might be best to cross that bridge when you get to it.’
‘I tried several times to locate the blasted sweet spot on the ridge. The last time I went up there, I stumbled into a shallow place, like a bowl—it was covered with brush and snow—and dear God, the pain. A violent pain in my left ankle and calf, I thought my leg was broken. I tried to get out but couldn’t. Then Mary Ellen came and tried to help and fell in with me.’
‘I twisted my knee,’ she said. ‘It was terrifying, I couldn’t bend my leg, couldn’t move it at all. I started screaming for Jessie.’
‘The so-called youth whisperer,’ said Father Brad, ‘was hollering, too, I assure you. It’s a long story, but Jessie offered to go for help. I asked how she’d manage in the snow, with dark coming on.
‘Trust me, she said.
‘What if she wanted out just to get to the drug she was using? How can you trust a kid who’s wrecking her life? But I did. Okay, we had to, but there was something about her I’d never seen before. She was scared and yet completely determined.
‘If we’d waited till they came looking for us, we would have waited a long time. Drew gave up trying to get a signal. We weren’t due back till Sunday afternoon, and in those temperatures, broken or fractured bones start doing their own thing. Honest to God, I thought we might be done for.’
‘Hiking up,’ said Mary Ellen, ‘we noticed Jessie hanging back, always at the rear. You must ask her to tell you what she was doing.’
‘She was going to dump us, Father!’ Father Brad laughed, ironic. ‘What if she had? A compass would have gotten Drew back to Mitford eventually, but only eventually, and we needed him desperately up there, we were helpless. Tiffany and Sarah kept the fire going, an amazing feat given that they had no past experience with campfires.’
Father Brad stiffened. ‘Whoa. The pain. It’s semper fi! How about you, sweetheart?’
‘Okay for now,’ she said.
Sweetheart! thought Father Tim. This train is moving.
‘When we made camp, I found a Heath bar wrapper in the trash left behind in the cabin. That’s Jessie’s favorite bar, so I said, “You’ve been here before, I take it!” I thought I was making a joke, but she said, “Yes, my school chums and I smoke weed up here.”
‘She was willing to be open with me, also something I hadn’t seen before. So I asked her what else she was using, and she told me. Crazy, dangerous stuff. I knew she’d need professional help.
‘But what a scra
pper she is. What a terrific young woman behind the iron mask! What did I tell you, Father? Hearts may open, heads may roll! Divine Dice!’
‘Brad and I agree it was worth it,’ said Mary Ellen. ‘Worth it for everyone.’
‘How did they get you down?’
‘Three firemen and Hamp Floyd, four police, including Adele and the chief, and two EMT guys,’ said Father Brad. ‘They would have sent more, but a lot of people were off duty because of the snow.’
‘They carried us out in what they call Stokes baskets,’ said Mary Ellen. ‘I felt like we were being carried off Everest—every step those wonderful people took was excruciating, and it snowed most of the way down. What a ride!’
Father Brad took Mary Ellen’s hand, kissed it.
‘Now!’ he said. ‘Saving the best for last . . .
‘What do you think this wonderful, remarkable woman and I did while waiting for help to arrive?’
‘You made loud lamentations?’
‘We got engaged!’ they said in chorus.
Their visitor gave a spontaneous shout. ‘Thanks be to God! Congratulations! Good job!’
‘Will you do the honors, Father?’
‘Absolutely, and thanks for the privilege. When do we herald this glad event?’
‘May,’ said Mary Ellen. ‘When my mom has recovered from shoulder surgery, and when Brad’s gardenias are in bloom.’
‘My daughters don’t know yet, or the parish. So mum’s the word for a few days.’
‘Count on me. I can safely say your parish will be over the moon.’ And then he said what he always said in cases such as this.
‘I’ll bake a ham.’
• • •
I knew Father Brad, like, wanted me to turn my life around. That’s what his campin’ stuff is always about. To make people shut up, I said I’d go. But I’d be, like, ready to get out when I wanted to.
‘I made trail markers—big tacks painted with reflective paint, in case I wanted to split at night. I stuck ’em on trees facin’ east ’cause I’d be, like, hikin’ east down th’ mountain an’ carryin’ a flashlight.