So on Lila’s behalf, after the Good Lord had done her healing work, I sent a Direct Message to one of my Tweeps up in Maple Grove, in northern Maine. And now, my pips, you have your clue.
Chapter 32
“Come and Let Me Love You”
To know where our heroine has absconded to and why, we must go back—back to the snug country kitchen in the old Russell homestead, where the rain is splattering against the single-pane windows and Lila is still sitting at the table with the Organic Kidd. In order to follow Lila’s footsteps, we must pick up where the Devil leaves off …
The blood drained from Lila’s face. She felt sick to her stomach. Her world seemed to be crashing in on her. Mike killed Tinkerbell?! How COULD he?!
Rain pelted against the kitchen window. The lights dimmed. Thunder cracked overhead.
Lila put her head in her hands. Kidd leaned closer to whisper in her ear. She smelled and felt his hot beer breath against her cheek. His thick lips brushed against her hair. She tried to pull back up, but was frozen; transfixed! Please, God! Not NOW!
“Lila, Lila,” Kidd taunted softly. “Ya can ask Hobart yourself. Ya know he never lies!”
He never lies.
Something within Lila shifted. She sprung back up like a winter birch dropping a heavy load of snow. “NO!” she proclaimed, loudly and fiercely. “I don’t believe you for one minute!” She was so forceful she almost startled herself.
Tom Kidd jerked away from her as though struck by lightning. “Jesus, lady,” he said; “you don’t have to yell at me!”
“Get out! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” She was trembling now; standing and glaring at the Organic Kidd in righteous indignation. Her nostrils flared in anger.
Kidd stood up and backed slowly toward the door. “I’m going; I’m going! Jesus Christ!”
“Don’t ever come back here again! EVER!”
He turned and scrambled out the shed door, leaving his raincoat behind. Kidd jumped into his truck and roared out of the driveway. “What a wacko!” he expostulated to himself. “She’s perfect for Hobart!”
Lila slowly sank back into her seat, still trembling. Her mind quickly sifted through the facts at hand – Tinkerbell was dead and Gray Gilpin, who had been target practicing in back of the house was suddenly missing – and Lila pieced together the scenario almost exactly as it happened. When she came to the conclusion that Mike Hobart had been forced to kill the white deer from some sort of necessity, she experienced a surge of empathetic anguish for him. What MUST he have felt?! What pain he must have suffered, pulling that trigger!
To kill again when he had sworn that he would never kill again?! Oh, Mike! My darling!
I need to go to him now. NOW!
Lila rose up with a strangled cry.
“Lila, dear, what’s the matter?” Rebecca asked.
“I’ve got to go; I’VE GOT TO GO!” she cried.
She raced to the shed, pulled on her Muck™ boots and rain jacket, and slammed out the door. She pushed Miss Hastings’ old ’64 Pontiac LeMans harder than it had been pushed in decades as she barreled across town, over to the North Troy Road. The rain came down in buckets, but Lila didn’t notice. She peered determinedly ahead as she drove, swerving off onto the dirt drive where she knew Mike Hobart’s cabin was located. Through sheets of rain, she spotted his baby blue pickup parked beneath a towering balsam tree, near a neat-looking cabin.
He’s home! Lila thought, in exquisite relief.
The cabin door, knotted pine with wrought iron hardware, was open a fraction of an inch. Without stopping to knock, Lila rushed inside. “Mike, darling!” she cried. “I’m here; I’m HERE my darling!”
He was sitting in a Windsor-style rocking chair by a roaring fire in a stone hearth. He pushed himself up from the chair at the sound of her voice. Lila started toward him with a little joyful cry, hands outstretched and—stopped short.
It was Mike Hobart … but it was NOT the man she knew! It was Mike Hobart in fifty years!
In a flash, Lila noted that the dark-blond curls through which she loved to run her fingers were now completely white; the twinkling blue eyes were wrinkled and watery; and the firm lip of the man that she loved, trembled slightly. It was Mike Hobart—but it was NOT Mike Hobart! “Oh-my-God!” she said, moving in amazed wonderment towards him across the smooth pine floor. “Mr. … Hobart?!”
He came forward to greet her, a delighted smile lighting up his blue eyes. He stooped slightly from age and from the physical labors of a long life on a potato farm in northern Maine. He held out thick-veined, curled arthritic hands. “You must be Lila!” he exclaimed. “Mikey’s told me so much about you! I feel like I already know you, my dear. Won’t you come and sit with me?”
Mikey?
She took his outstretched hands in a daze, and allowed him to escort her back to the opposite chair by the blazing fire. She sank down onto the edge of the matching Windsor rocker, never taking her eyes from Mike’s father’s face. It was a friendly face, an honest face, a loving face.
“Where’s Mike?” she asked, completely befuddled.
“I don’t know, dear; I’ve just driven down from Maple Grove, myself. I was hoping you could tell me where he is. I’ve been here long enough to get the fire going.” Mr. Hobart’s bright blue eyes emanated good humor and kindness.
Instinctively, Lila glanced around the cabin. The knotted pine dwelling with exposed posts and beams was exactly what she would have expected from Mike Hobart. His home was sparse, neat, attractive in a masculine way. Two pair of wood and leather snowshoes decorated the wall by the stone fireplace and pictures of white tail deer, black bear and moose hung on the walls. She could smell the scent of him all around her and her soul was filled with an intense, physical aching for him.
She suddenly recollected his father, and turned back to Mr. Hobart. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude,” she said, attempting to shake herself back to normal. “Did Mike’s Mom come down with you from Maple Grove?”
“Hasn’t Mikey told you yet?” he asked, softly. Mr. Hobart read her answer in her eyes. “His mother died from complications giving birth to him. Mikey was quite an unexpected gift! Margaret was 44 when we found out she was pregnant and I was nearly 50! The three girls were grown and almost gone, and we were thinking more of grandchildren than children at the time. But, God has a sense of humor, I guess,” he added, sadly.
“I’m so sorry!” said Lila, tears springing to her eyes. “He’s never mentioned his mother, only you. Now, I know why!”
Mr. Hobart breathed in deeply, and let out a long, tremulous sigh. A log shifted on the fire and sent up a spritzing spray of orange sparks. “He feels responsible, I think. He never says so, but that’s what I think. I raised him by myself. I did the best I could—the girls helped, of course, but they had lives of their own to live.”
“He’s an amazing guy. I love him!” Lila blurted out.
“I know you do, dear,” said Mr. Hobart, leaning over and patting her hand. “And I know he loves you, too. I miss him terribly, of course, but we’re still very close. I know Mikey had to move away from me, in order to become his own man. But he’s been down here a long time; a very long time! I was hoping he’d come back to Maple Grove one of these days, and bring me back a pretty little daughter to love.” The old man hesitated. His thin hand trembled. “Will you come and let me love you, Lila? Will you come to Maple Grove and be my pretty little daughter?”
Will you come and let me love you?
Lila’s parched heart responded greedily to the proffering of love from this old mother hen. “Yes!” she cried, sinking onto her knees on the braided rug in front of his chair. “YES!” She put her head on the old man’s lap and burst into tears.
“Oh, my dear!” he exclaimed, patting her back and lightly stroking her silken black hair in the familiar comforting fashion for which he had so longed. “Shhhh; everything’s going to be alright!” His blue eyes filled with tears, and he coughed a little to clear his throat. “W
e’ll be just fine now, my dear, won’t we? All of us!”
Mike Hobart, who wasn’t always the “shaapest” of suitors, finally figured out where Lila had gone to and why. Half an hour later, he reached his cabin. He saw Lila’s car parked out front, but in the pouring rain failed to notice his father’s matching baby blue pickup.
He burst into the cabin calling Lila’s name. He broke off when he beheld a beaming Lila sitting in front of the hearth, holding hands with—his father! He stopped dead in his tracks. “Dad!” he exclaimed, astonished.
The exultant old man rose from the rocker, pulling a radiant Lila up to her feet by his side. He gave her an affectionate squeeze. “I’ve done the heavy lifting for you, my boy!” Mr. Hobart crowed. “Lila’s said ‘Yes!’ You don’t even need to get down on your knees!”
Hobart shook his head in amazement. He attempted to process his father’s words, but could barely fathom the fact that his father was here, and not in Maple Grove. Fortunately, the glorious look in Lila’s eyes revealed all. “Lila?” he said, wondrously, opening his arms to his beloved.
Mr. Hobart released her, and she flew to him like a chickadee to a pine tree. He embraced her hungrily. “My darling!” he cried, crushing her to his muscular chest and pressing multiple kisses upon her face and hair. “My darling!”
She lifted her chin and her eyes begged for the fulfillment of his kiss. Hobart didn’t hesitate. He accepted her offering, claiming her as his own. She was his own; his Lila! Was there ever a more perfect name than Lila?
And that, my pips, is how our little chick finally came home to roost.
Chapter 33
Conclusion
Since now you know my peculiar position of sacred confidante in the community, you might also suspect the truth: that there have been many different sources for this little tale. All of my sources, however, have since given me permission to share their stories—Lila, especially is hoping that her personal history might help others find the courage to seek and secure happiness despite similar childhood trauma. So let us take a moment and follow this tale to its many happy endings …
While Lila, Mike and his father were making merry in Hobart’s little cabin in the woods, celebrating the couple’s informal engagement, the rain let up on the other side of town and the sun made a bold run at dispersing the remaining thunder clouds on Russell Hill. Wendell Russell had watched from Bud’s place as first the Organic Kidd, then Lila, and then Mike Hobart had sped out of the driveway. Never one to miss an opportunity, he calculated that Rebecca was finally alone, a situation which had been difficult for him to engineer. Wendell ambled hurriedly across the way, pulling his black plastic comb through his hair and returning it to his back pocket.
He rapped quickly on the shed door in his familiar fashion and let himself in. Rebecca was on her hands and knees cleaning up the mud and water from Mike Hobart’s dirty boots. She sat back onto her haunches at the sound of his knock.
“Come in, Wendell!” she called, but he was already poking his head through the inner door.
“Lila gone?” he asked, wiping his feet on the rug and stepping inside the toasty country kitchen.
Rebecca absently dropped the dirty sponge back into the bucket of cleaning water. “Yes! I don’t know what’s going on here! Things are getting curiouser and curiouser!”
“Ayuh, thet happens in Sovereign,” Wendell said, chuckling. He reached down and helped Rebecca to her feet. He set the pail to one side, next to the soapstone sink, so that it wouldn’t get knocked over.
“Tinkerbell is dead! Lila’s missing! That organic man was here; my goodness! Would you like some rhubarb sauce? I just made it!”
“Ayuh,” Wendell said, pulling up his usual chair at the table.
Rebecca served him a large helping of the rosy red sauce, and he admired it with obvious enthusiasm. She poured out two cups of tea from the boiling water in the nickel-plated tea kettle that was hot on the cookstove, and set the steaming cups at each of their place settings.
Rebecca sank down with a sigh into her chair across the table from him. She watched with fond satisfaction as the old chicken farmer devoured with gusto the big bowl of her rhubarb sauce. “You know, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Wendell,” she said, fingering the handle of her teacup.
“What’s thet?”
“Why is it you never use my name? You call ‘Lila—Lila’ and ‘Mike—Mike’ but I’ve only ever heard you refer to me as ‘yore little friend’?”
Wendell grinned, his charming, gold-toothed grin, and reached across the table, securing her hand from the teacup. “Thet’s ‘cause I was waitin’ ‘til I could call you ‘Mrs. Russell,’” he said. “Think I might?” He winked.
Rebecca, our modest, old-fashioned Rebecca, did not even blush! Instead, she giggled like a schoolgirl. “Oh, I think you might!”
He leaned across the table – she met him halfway – for an affectionate kiss. And then Wendell and Rebecca finished their tea in companionable silence in the kitchen of the old Russell homestead.
Our young lovers, Lila and Mike, were married in June at the Sovereign Union Church. What a crowd we had that day! The entire Hobart clan motored down from Maple Grove in Aroostook County and what with husbands and wives from the seventh generation and children and grandchildren from the eighth generation, the Hobarts filled up most of the pews on both sides of the little white church, although it was obvious to all that more of the family selected the bride’s side of the aisle than the groom’s! Poor Lila, who had no family of her own, was overcome when she entered the church in her lovely white gown to discover that Mike’s family was determined to show to Lila and to the world that she was part of their family now.
Lila’s side was also represented in the church by steadfast friends such as Ryan MacDonald, Miss Hastings and the Gilpin family. Cora Batterswaith, “Queen Cora,” held court among a little group of Lila’s former coworkers, including Shelly Thompson, who had helped Lila pick out the outfit for her mother to be buried in, and Carl Esler, who had held Lila’s hand through her mother’s funeral service. Queen Cora had been invited because of her single act of kindness to Rebecca that last day at Perkins & Gleeful—she had helped Rebecca carry her things to the car. Joe Kelly, that “tight-fisted twit” (as Miss Hastings still describes Lila’s former boss) was not invited.
Lila was walked down the aisle by our old friend Wendell Russell on one side of her, and by her new father on the other. Her handsome, steady hero waited for her at the altar and I’ve never performed a wedding service for a man more in love, nor a more deserving man, than Mike Hobart. Patience, selfless love and a sense of humor had won him his prize.
The wedding service was short and sweet, and the guests decamped to the old Russell homestead, where Rebecca and Maude Gilpin had prepared a wondrous feast for the wedding celebration. Mike’s older brother John gave a toast, officially welcoming Lila to the Hobart family. It was a glorious, joyous day; one that us Sovereign folk won’t soon forget.
A few weeks later, I performed the wedding service for our other unmarried lovers, Wendell and Rebecca—a small ceremony at the old Russell homestead. After first paying off the mortgage, Lila gave the deed to the place as a wedding gift to her faithful friend and her new husband, so now Rebecca’s name, her rightful name – Rebecca Russell – is finally recorded at the registry. Like all of us, Lila recognized that Rebecca belonged in Sovereign, in the house that she had brought back to life. Wendell, the old chicken farmer who had once dreamed of bringing the farm back to life, suddenly found himself an official proprietor of The Egg Ladies. He discovered that he was NOT too old after all to take over Grammie Addie’s operation! Plus he had plenty of help from his devoted wife and the newest egg lady, Amber, whose organic propensities had perhaps instigated the whole Maine adventure.
This summer, Amber has been staying at Bud’s place, to give her parents some privacy during the early days of their marriage. However, a proposed late August visi
t from Ryan MacDonald is being talked about, so at least one of the three upstairs guest rooms will once again be pressed into service at the old Russell homestead. An excursion to the Maine coast that will include the Gilpins, Miss Hastings, the Russells, Amber, and Ryan MacDonald has been planned during MacDonald’s visit, and this time they have even invited yours truly!
Our married lovers, Ralph and Maude Gilpin, celebrated their 53rd wedding anniversary in June, at which illustrious event Ralph took care to assure the couple’s guests: “She’s still my bride, though!” Gray Gilpin took and passed his hunter’s safety course in July. Despite the Tinkerbell incident, he will be deer hunting this fall with the new shotgun his Dad gave him last Christmas. Gray is hoping that his father will return soon from the war in Afghanistan, an event which some of us know for a fact will soon come true and for which Maude Gilpin has prayed every day during the past 10 years. Sometimes – if we have patience, hope and faith – we are rewarded with our heart’s desire! But perhaps the imminent return of Bruce Gilpin is fodder for another tale …
The Organic Kidd is still floating loose in our area, although he’s officially stationed in Unity, at the MOGG certification office. He hasn’t shown his devilish face again at the old Russell homestead, however, Lila did receive the official certification for the egg business in the mail not long after Kidd’s last momentous visit.
Miss Hastings – the town’s beloved Miss Hastings! – is alive and kicking, along with her pet chicken Matilda. Miss Hastings has planned another trip to the Sovereign Elementary School for this fall – this time Rebecca will accompany her – and has been practicing on her piano the songs the children will be singing during her next “music lesson.”
Mike Hobart’s father, once too proud to accept offers of assistance from his children, is now regularly to be seen squired about Maple Grove in a 1964 Pontiac LeMans by his new daughter-in-law, of whom he is unabashedly proud. In a private moment after the wedding ceremony, Mr. Hobart had given Lila the keys to the old family homestead in Maple Grove, which was in effect giving her not only his home but also his heart. “Sorry, Mikey,” he said, jubilantly; “if ‘whither thou go, I go’ is still in effect, you’re coming home to Maple Grove!”
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