by Jane Peart
"Well, then, won't you sit down?" Holly suggested, thinking how odd it was to feel so ill at ease with your own cousin.
"Here, this is for you," Hetty said, thrusting the package toward Holly. "It's . . . actually, it's a 'thank you' for taking care of Aurelia and Teddy while I was sick." She was struggling to get the words out. "I don't know what I can say to tell you how much—I mean, after all I said and did mean, after all I said and well, it was more than I should have expected for you to do for me—"
"Oh, Hetty, please!" Holly protested. "After all, we're family, aren't we?"
At this the tears rolled down Hetty's cheeks. "Well, I sure haven't acted like it," she burst out. "I just don't know how to say how sorry ..."
"You don't have to, Hetty."
"Yes, I do, Holly. I was mean and acted so ugly to you. I guess I had a grudge or, oh, I don't know." She broke off abruptly and fumbled in her jacket pocket for a handkerchief and impatiently wiped her eyes. Then she pushed the paper—wrapped bundle again at Holly. "Here, take it. Open it."
Holly took it and fumbled a little as she untied the string and pushed aside the brown paper. Folded inside was a beautiful red-and-white quilt. Holly remembered seeing the bright-patterned calico pieces that made up the dozens of cartwheels on the diagonally stitched background months ago at Hetty's.
"Oh, Hetty, it's simply lovely!"
"It's the Star of Bethlehem design with twenty stars," Hetty explained. "Aurelia helped cut the diamond shapes to make into stars."
"Oh, it must have taken you hours to make it, Hetty! It's so beautifully done," Holly examined the tiny, exquisite stitches.
"It's the least I could do," Hetty said in her usual stiff way.
"Thank you, Hetty, it's something I'll always cherish."
"There's another thing I want to say, Holly. Ned and I have talked it over and agreed that if the Town Council doesn't approve your adopting the little McKay boy—we'll take him in. What I mean is, he can sleep at our house, and, of course, you can see him all you want and have him with you on the weekends or whenever—that is, if you think that would work out."
Holly was momentarily speechless then genuinely touched. "That's very generous of you and Ned, Hetty."
"Well, he's a nice little fellow, and it would be good for Teddy to have someone for a big brother," Hetty concluded, then started to the door. "I best be getting back."
"Next time bring Aurelia and Teddy, Hetty," Holly said as she followed her out to the door.
"Yes, I'll do that," Hetty promised and even managed a tight smile.
Then at the door, Hetty halted and turned back to face Holly. "There's something else, Holly ..." she hesitated, "... I've had time to do a lot of thinking while I was sick. Time to go over things, things I didn't at—and what I saw—mostly in myself—well, it wasn't very nice." Hetty's inner struggle was apparent in her expression. "Jealousy is a very ugly thing. It's poison and if you let it, it goes all through you. I was deadly jealous of you, Holly. You were everything I wanted to be when we were girls. Then, by some miracle, Ned asked me to marry him and come out here with him. I jumped at the chance to escape from Willow Springs and all my unhappiness there."
Holly saw her swallow and she spontaneously put out her hand as if to stop the flow of words. But Hetty shook her head vigorously, "No, Holly, I have to say it. Then when Mama wrote and told me what had happened to you—I mean, about you and Jim—I was glad! Yes, glad. I'm shamed to admit it, but it's the truth. I gloated about it. I thought, So something bad can happen to someone like Holly!" Hetty bit her lower lip and hung her head for a minute before continuing. "When Mama asked me to let you come out here to stay until the gossip died down, I didn't want to do it. And when you came—everything that I remembered I hated about growing up in Willow Springs in the shadow of my pretty cousin hit me! I hoped you'd be so bored and dissatisfied here that you'd leave soon!"
"Hetty, you don't need to tell me all this."
"Yes, I do, Holly, it needs to be said. I've got to let all this poison out," Hetty rushed on, "but that didn't happen. Instead, you charmed everyone, made friends, created a place for yourself in Riverbend, in spite of me! And I resented that, too!" Hetty sighed deeply. "Well, I've learned my lesson, Holly. Besides hurting you, I've not only hurt myself but Ned and the children, too. And I just have to ask you to forgive me."
"Of course, I forgive you, Hetty," was all Holly could say. She was too moved by Hetty's obvious grief and remorse. She started to give Hetty a hug but wasn't sure whether to or not. It might be too soon. After all, Hetty had taken the first step toward reconciliation. Maybe she should wait, let her cousin set the pattern of their future relationship.
Hetty opened the door and started down the steps, out to the wagon and climbed in. She raised her hand in a wave before she picked up the reins and turned the horse around.
Standing at the door, Holly watched the wagon as it went down the road. Many things were going through her mind. She realized she had written Hetty off as troublesome, abrasive, and tiresome, never taking time to weigh the reasons that her cousin so often manifested these traits.
She understood so much more now about her cousin. Hadn't she gone through feelings of isolation, of being judged, rejected, disliked, and without friends, since she came to Riverbend? She could understand how having enough of those kinds of experiences could embitter someone. Maybe it has to be that way, thought Holly. A heart that has never known pain can't empathize with someone else's.
Back in the house, Holly took the quilt to her bedroom and spread it on the bed, but the sides trailed to the floor on either side of the narrow bedstead. It was a quilt made for a larger bed, a double bed. It was the kind of a quilt that a young woman usually made for her hope chest or the kind that one received as a wedding present. Holly felt a little twinge of wistfulness.
Almost at the same moment she thought of Blaine.
Holly had not seen much of Blaine. Was he avoiding her? She'd spent an inordinate amount of time worrying why.
When the date of her appeal for Joel's adoption was set, Holly was told that there were several documents she would have to present to the Town Council with her application to become Joel's legal guardian. Along with a verification of her contract for another year as Riverbend's schoolteacher and a recommendation from Reverend Mobley that she attended church regularly and was of good moral character, would be a health certificate. This presented Holly with the perfect opportunity to stop by Blaine's office.
The night before her appointment, Holly washed her hair in fresh rainwater and soaked for a long time in a tub lavishly scented with rose oil. Afterward she sat for a long time brushing her hair in front of the mirror, her thoughts as dark as the gathering evening outside. Why, suddenly, did the optimism she had been feeling seem wrapped in a pall of melancholy?
Things were actually working out very well, much better than she could have hoped. Systematically she counted her blessings: She had a contract for the following year, she had supportive friends, there was the reconciliation with Hetty, the very real hope that her adoption of Joel would be granted—why then this sadness creeping over her?
Was it because Ad was gone? Did she have any lingering regret that she had not accepted his proposal, ensuring Joel's future with her? No, Holly had never been more sure that turning down Ad's offer was the right thing to do.
Then what was it? It was Blaine. Holly put down her brush and looked deeply into the eyes of the young woman in the mirror. Hadn't she matured, become self—reliant and responsible? Why, every time she saw or was near Blaine, did she become a fluttery schoolgirl?
Resolutely Holly reminded herself that Blaine had had a life before she had known him, before she ever came to Riverbend. A full, dedicated life. He was admired, trusted, respected; he did not seem to have a void in his life nor any need for someone to fill it. He was well—educated, widely traveled, had known personal loss, faced life-and-death challenges that she knew nothing of, had lived
and known a whole existence of which she had no part, had a past that she had not shared.
Meeting such a man in this remote little town in Oregon had been such happenstance. Or—and here a little shiver trembled through Holly—was anything in life just happenstance or was there, as Vi believed, a plan, a Divine one, for everything—every meeting, every event, every person?
The next day as she got ready to go into town for her appointment with Blaine, Holly's hands shook as she pushed the pearl—headed hatpins firmly anchoring her bonnet on her head. Her hair was so shiny clean and silkily slippery that it defied her attempts to secure it neatly into a twisted coil. She wore a blue jacketed dress and a lighter blue blouse underneath with a ruffled jabot. It looked as though it might rain, so she carried her umbrella, recalling with a smile the first disastrous time she had set out for an appointment with Blaine.
Walking into his small waiting room, Holly was aware of its antiseptic smell, a clean, astringent odor that she always vaguely associated with him. On the desk to the right of the door was set a metal bell next to an open ledger, identified as "Patients Log," and a neatly printed sign that read, "Please sign your name and tap bell to let doctor know of your arrival."
After writing her name in the book, Holly gave the bell a tap then sat down, her hands clasped tightly over her small handbag in her lap. Almost immediately the door to the inner office opened, and Blaine looked out.
"Good morning, Holly!" he smiled. "I wish all my patients looked as much like they didn't need a doctor as you do!"
With a sudden little flash, Holly had a prescient vision of what Blaine might look like in the years down the road. Traces of character were already forming around his eyes, the laughter lines would deepen, and there would be silver in the thick tawny hair. In that second a strange thought followed, Will I know him then, will I share those years?
Quickly Holly brought all her imaginings into subjection. In her most sedate manner she rose from the seat and said demurely, "Well, I certainly hope I'm well and healthy, Blaine. There's a great deal depending on it, you know."
"Well come into my examining room, and we'll soon find out. Although I've never been surer of my diagnosis," Blaine said heartily. He sensed her nervousness and was trying to reassure her. "Would you mind removing your jacket so I can listen to your heart and lungs?" he asked in a very professional manner.
Blaine took the jacket and hung it up on the coatrack; then indicated a small stool for her to sit down on, then put on his stethoscope. He listened to her heart and took her pulse. To her annoyance, both had accelerated the minute she had stepped into his office. Asking her to remove her bonnet, he poked some kind of instrument into her ears, checked her eyes, and had her open her mouth so he could look at her teeth and throat.
"My goodness, I feel like some kind of prize calf being readied for the county fair!" she exclaimed, flustered.
Blaine smiled as he folded up his stethoscope and returned it to his pocket. "Not at all. I give you a clean bill of health. You are as fine a specimen of healthy American womanhood as it has ever been my pleasure to see."
Blaine busied himself making notations on the certificate Holly had given him to fill out after the examination. Even as Blaine wrote the medical comments in professionally accurate terms in the appropriate spaces, he was keenly aware of Holly- the flawless skin of her softly curved cheek, the warm scent of her faintly reminiscent of summer roses . . .
Finally he handed her the certificate with a flourish. "There you go, Holly. With all the other good recommendations I'm sure you'll get, I feel very positive that the adoption will go through."
She drew on her gloves slowly, sighing and said, "I wish I felt that confident."
"Come on now, Holly, where's all that spunk? I don't think you've got anything to worry about. I know what my vote would be. Joel would be a very lucky little boy to get someone like you for a mother."
Too bad you're not on the Town Council!" she declared.
"Everything's going to work out just fine. You'll see."
Holly got to her feet, and Blaine took her jacket down from the coatrack and helped her on with it. He followed her out to the reception room and opened the office door for her. At the door she held up the certificate. "Thanks, Blaine, for this. And your encouragement."
"Look, Holly ...," Blaine hesitated a second, then said, "May I take you to the meeting the day of the hearing?"
Holly was taken back by his offer. From the first, Blaine had not said very much about her plan. While everyone else had counseled, warned, advised, argued about it, Blaine had remained silent. Holly thought that perhaps he wasn't interested, or maybe he thought it a bad idea, or worse still, maybe he didn't really care about the outcome. She would have welcomed his opinion, wished he had come forward, made some suggestion. Of all the people in Riverbend, Blaine was the one with whom she most wanted to discuss it. Why not? She had been more hurt by this than she cared to admit.
But now she saw the genuine concern in his eyes, and it gave her a surge of strength and optimism. "Why, yes, Blaine, I'd like you to. Thank you very much."
Two weeks later, standing at the schoolhouse window, Holly waited anxiously for the sight of Blaine's shabby little buggy. Dressed in a simple olive green suit of light wool Vi had made for her, Holly checked her fob watch for the dozenth time, hoping nothing unexpected, some kind of emergency, would delay Blaine or, at the worst, prevent his coming to escort her to the meeting at Town Hall.
Joel was staying with the Healy family until the Council made its decision, and Holly missed him already. She had been awake half the night, worrying and praying about the meeting today. At dawn she got up, wrapped herself in a shawl, sat in the rocker by the bedroom window with the Bible in her lap, turning its pages, seeking comfort and guidance. Over and over she had returned to the book of Joshua, relating very much to his apprehension of what lay ahead. It had to be God's will for her to have Joel, she told herself. There were too many "coincidences" about their relationship for it not to be so!
Her nervousness began to abate. She felt curiously calm. Once before she had had to go before the Town Council to plead her case. She had won then, against all odds, and now the stakes were even higher. This time more than her own self-interest depended on the outcome: Joel's life, his future, his bright little mind, his eagerness to learn, his outgoing personality, and his loving heart-all the things Holly saw in him that no one else had seen or cared about. Why wasn't it obvious to everyone that this homeless orphan would be better off with her than placed in an orphanage in another county? Why couldn't a single woman raise a child? Vi Dodd had.
Holly's hands twisted tensely. She wouldn't let Joel go to someone else, to a farm family who might use him as another field hand, consider him just an extra mouth to feed. She was determined to fight for Joel as she had never fought for anything in her life before. And if she lost, if the Council refused her request to adopt him—what then? She pressed her lips into a straight line. Holly dared not think of the alternative that had already presented itself to her rebellious spirit.
Just then she saw Blaine's gig pull into the yard. She hurried out ready to climb into it before he had a chance to get out and help her.
"Fortified to face the gladiators?" he greeted her, trying to lighten her mood.
"Yes," was all she could manage to say. She was too preoccupied, mentally rehearsing her speech, hoping it had the right mixture of conviction and appeal.
They were almost to the edge of town when Blaine looked over at her and remarked, "That's a mighty pretty hat."
Surprised, she touched the brim with one hand and said, "You noticed?"
"Of course, I noticed," Blaine said, then added quietly, "don't you know I notice everything about you, Holly?"
Suddenly, spending considerable time putting new ribbons on her bonnet seemed suddenly worth the effort. Breathlessly, Holly realized Blaine was looking at her the way she had always hoped he would. She started to reply
, but they were too near town and there wasn't time. They turned into Main Street, and Blaine drew up in front of the Town Hall. He pulled on the brake, then got out and came around to the other side of the buggy to help her down.
"Good luck, Holly. I know you'll do a good job,"
"Aren't you coming in with me?" she asked.
"This is your moment, Holly. You're going in there as an independent, capable woman. You don't need me or anyone to make your case for you. Remember Larkin and the Renner boy and the day you walked boldly into the Doggone Best—you didn't need anyone then and you don't need anyone now. Nobody can forget what you did during the epidemic. Just stand up and be yourself, Holly. That's all you need to do." Blaine helped her down, held both her hands in a strong clasp for a single second.
Holly looked up into his face, a face she knew now that she loved. She longed to say, "You're wrong, Blaine, I need yow!" But she couldn't. Not after what he'd said, not after what he believed about her. She swallowed her fear, straightened her shoulders, and started up the Town Hall steps, repeating under her breath the words she had read and memorized the night before from Joshua: "Be strong and of good courage, I will not leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go."
If Holly had been made to relate word by word what took place in the council meeting that day, she would have found it impossible to do. She recalled her name being called to address the members with her petition; she remembered Vi squeezing her hand for encouragement; then the next thing she knew, she was standing at the podium, clearing her voice to speak.
Others in that crowded meeting hall that day did remember the sight of the slender young woman, becomingly yet conservatively dressed, whose voice shook a little as she began but grew stronger as she went on, "Even though I do not have a husband, a protector, a provider, I feel that as Riverbend's schoolteacher, with the salary and living quarters allotted me, I will be able to give Joel McKay a stable home. More than that, I love him dearly. We have been through things together that many a mother has not experienced with a son born to her. I comforted him at the death of his own parents. I have nursed him through the sickness that took his younger sister, and I shared his grief. We have grown closer through these trials. If I am given the privilege of rearing him, I feel I can best help him learn and develop the abilities I see in him. Since he's been one of my pupils, I've become aware that he is extremely bright. Now, that I've had the opportunity of observing him more closely, I am convinced Joel McKay has the potential of becoming a fine man, a benefit to this community. With your help and the help of those other citizens of Riverbend who are sympathetic and supportive of my appeal to adopt Joel, I believe he will have a far better life with me than being made a ward of the county and sent to the orphanage. I have submitted the personal character references you required, and I earnestly ask you to grant my petition for legal adoption of the minor child, Joel McKay."