Son of a Preacher Man

by Karen M Cox

  “Actually, I’m on my way out of town, starting back to school, and I thought I might say bye to Lizzie. Is she home?”

  Mrs. Quinlan stared at me for a full ten seconds before little Susie started wailing and took her attention away. She brought the baby up to her shoulder and patted her back. “Lizzie’s gone, Billy Ray. I thought you knew that.”

  “Gone?”

  “Gone last week—to that midwife school up in Hyden. She didn’t tell you?”

  I was stunned. Why would she keep that from me? “No ma’am, she didn’t.”

  “Well, I guess it was kind of sudden-like. I didn’t even know she was thinking about going, but Mary Gardener came out here and talked to Lizzie, and next thing I know, she’s packing her things, and off she goes.” She went on, musing to herself, “Don’t know how I’ll keep Lily outta trouble now. She always listens to Lizzie better than anybody.” Then to me, she said, “You want some iced tea?”

  “No thank you, ma’am.” My brain was whirring with this new information, and I was itching to get over to Mrs. G’s place and find out what happened.

  “I’m glad Lily is on the mend. You take care, Mrs. Quinlan.” I turned on my heel and almost ran into town, not stopping until I reached 212 Adalia Street. I banged on the door, a little louder than was strictly polite.

  “Coming!” I heard Mrs. G’s pleasant voice from inside the house and her footsteps coming near. The door opened, and she smiled brightly at me.

  “Hello, Billy Ray. How are you today?”

  “Good afternoon.”

  “You’re packing up your things, I hear, and back to school with you. We sure are going to miss you around here—Doc especially. I think he likes having someone to work with.”

  “Mrs. Gardener, can you tell me where Lizzie is?”

  Her shoulders slumped, and she pursed her lips. “She didn’t tell you.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I told her she should, but sometimes she’s a little stubborn.” Mrs. G stepped back and held the door open for me. “Come in then.”

  I stepped past and waited for her. She led me past the front room and into the kitchen, pulling out two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. She filled the glasses, handed one to me, and indicated the kitchen table. A warm breeze blew the blue gingham curtains at the window and settled around us, giving the illusion of a calm, late summer afternoon. I felt anything but calm, however.

  I pulled out her chair, and she thanked me as she sat down.

  “Now,” she began briskly, “about Lizzie.”

  “Her mother said she left for midwife school last week. I didn’t even know she was going.”

  “It did come up unexpectedly,” Mrs. G conceded. “She applied to the school back in the spring, and although she was accepted, there weren’t any scholarship spots available. The administration told her to apply anyway, and there would probably be a spot next year. With her grades and my recommendation, she would be at the top of the list.”

  Mrs. Gardener sipped her lemonade and eyed me with curiosity as she set the glass on the table in front of her. “About a week ago, I got a call. Lizzie gave the school my number, given that the Quinlans have no phone. The school administrator told me one of the girls on scholarship had relinquished her spot because she was getting married, and they could offer a place to Lizzie. There wasn’t much time to deliberate over a decision, but then, she didn’t need any time, really. She took the opportunity without hesitation. Two days later, I put her on the bus.”

  This was the best vanishing act Lizzie had pulled yet.

  “Do you want the address? You could write to her.”

  “I doubt she’d want to hear from me,” I replied.

  Mrs. Gardener nodded. “I wondered why the two of you hadn’t been by in a while. You had a spat.” It was a statement, not a question, so I didn’t reply. She studied my expression, considering, before she spoke again.

  “All right then, I won’t pry, but I feel obligated to help you understand.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lizzie is a special girl, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “She has great potential—as a healer, as a woman—but in order to realize that potential, she also has to be healed herself.”

  “She told me what happened with that—that…” I couldn’t think of what to call him, and I didn’t want to even utter his name.

  “Ah, so she did trust you with her story. You should feel honored. She must have great faith in you to have done that. What did you say?”

  “She told me in a letter, so I didn’t have a chance to respond. And then she just ran off without saying goodbye.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Gardener knit her brows and thought for a second. “That’s unfortunate.”

  “How so?”

  “Because she has no idea what your reaction is. For all she knows, you’ve turned your back on her.”

  “She turned her back on me.”

  “And you’re angry.”

  I frowned, and she patted my hand.

  “A special woman needs a special kind of man to love her.” Mrs. Gardener lifted her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe a girl like that isn’t for you. Perhaps you don’t want to take on Lizzie Quinlan for the long haul.”

  “I told her I did.”

  Mrs. Gardener smiled. “But she didn’t believe you, did she?” She sighed. “That girl—so much anger and hurt bubbling around inside her. She thinks all words are cheap. If you know her story, you know why.”

  “All I know is she’s throwing away a good life with both hands. I can give her better than she’s ever known—if she would just let me.”

  “Could you really give her everything she wanted?”

  “Yes.” Although, I had to admit that moment I sounded more confident than I felt.

  “I bet Lizzie isn’t always an easy girl to love.”

  “It isn’t easy right now, I can tell you.”

  “No, I guess not.” She paused, taking another sip of lemonade. “You know, if you truly wanted her for a lifetime, you’d have to be prepared for any number of strange journeys.”

  “Journeys?”

  “Yes. Detours through your well-planned life that might not be what you expect. For example, on one path, like when a woman has a baby, she leans on you, and you’ll be strong for her. At another time, perhaps the tragedies of the world that you see in your line of work will trouble you, and you might lean on her. There are many times, all kinds of little journeys, where you walk hand-in-hand as lovers, enjoying each other’s company, excluding everyone and everything else around you. And then there are times when you’ll just be friends, walking side by side.”

  “‘But from the beginning of the creation, God made them male and female. For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife. And they twain shall be one flesh…’”

  “Mark, Chapter Ten. Yes, that’s a succinct way to put it,” she said with a bright smile. “Lately,” she went on, “especially since the war, it seems the TV and the magazines are telling us that once young people marry, their lives are smooth sailing. Every husband tows the line at work, and every wife knows her place at home. There’s this idea floating around that marriages like that are ‘traditional,’ but actually, they’re a pretty modern notion, in my opinion. And that’s a definition of marriage I’m not sure is strong enough to last a lifetime.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She waved her hand as if to send the notion away. “But regardless of all that, Billy Ray—do you honestly think Lizzie is the kind of girl who will live her life like everyone expects her to, just because they expect it?”

  “No. In fact, I’m sure she wouldn’t.”

  “Too right. Moreover, would you be so fond of her if she were that kind of girl?”

  “It sure would make things easier, but maybe you’re right. Maybe I wouldn’t like it.”

  Her lips twitched in amusement. “If y
ou want a woman like Lizzie, you have to ask yourself: Are you ready to take all those little journeys I talked about? And wait for the cycle of romance and friendship to begin all over again? Could you accept her as she truly is and then allow her to become what she will be in the future? Because that is the honest-to-goodness truth of a woman and a man living together for all their days. That’s what I had with my Ed. We just didn’t have as many journeys as I hoped.”

  Mrs. Gardener’s smile had a dreamy yet sad quality, and it occurred to me that, no matter what Doc thought he wanted with her, he was the kind of man that would be hard pressed to walk a path like the one she described—not with her, not with Mrs. Miller, not with any woman. He was too set in his ways.

  She shook herself out of her reverie and pinned me with an earnest look. “Lizzie’s soul needs healing, no doubt. Love will certainly help but love alone won’t do it. You alone can’t do it. This drive she has to nurture other people, to help women and babies, it is essential to her well-being that she carry it out. She must allow that part of her to flourish, so she can be a whole person. Surely, you can relate to that. You’re called to be a healer too.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You may not want my advice, but…” She moved her glass around in a circle, drawing on the table with the condensation pooled around the bottom of it. “I think I’ll give it to you anyway. Maybe it will take root—if not now, maybe later on.”

  I didn’t want to hear advice. I just wanted someone to say I was right to love Lizzie—that I was right to want her for my own—but Mrs. G’s next words gave me pause.

  “Don’t ever try to take her mission away from her or make her choose between that calling and you, because if she chose the mission, you would lose her companionship, and if she chose you, you would eventually lose her love. And be patient, young man, because maybe all she needs is some time.” She went over to the counter and pulled out a pencil and paper. “Here’s her address. After you’re through being angry, you might want to write her a line. I know it seems like she’s closed the door, but you may be able to re-open it someday—if that’s what you want.”

  She put the paper in my hand and enclosed it in both of hers. “You know, you’re the real deal, Billy Ray, and a rarity in this day and age—a truly good man.” She squeezed my hand and gave me an amused wink. “And there’s something very pleasant about your smile.” She let me go and stepped back, retrieving her apron from the back of her chair and tying it around her waist. “Now, I’ve got to get out in that garden, and I’m sure you’ve got to get back to packing.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good luck to you, young man.”

  “Thank you.” I turned to walk away but paused as I reached the door. I looked over my shoulder at her, stray wisps of hair around her face, her sad but graceful smile. “God bless and keep you, Mrs. Gardener.”

  “And you,” she said, her smile growing broader.

  I walked across the street just as Doc and Marlene pulled up in front of the boarding house.

  “We came to help you move out,” Marlene said brightly, adjusting her ponytail and smoothing the man’s shirt that dwarfed her figure.

  “Marlene insisted we would need an extra pair of hands,” Doc added.

  “Is my father at your house already?” I asked him, ignoring Marlene as best I could.

  “He wasn’t there when we left, but I’m sure it won’t be long.”

  “He’ll definitely be there for Mrs. Miller’s dinner.” I just barely grinned, and Doc laughed.

  “Yes, Martha knows how to put a good meal on the table.” He rubbed his belly and winked at Marlene. “As y’all can tell by looking at me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Daddy!”

  “I’ve got most everything packed up already,” I said as I led the way into my room. “I appreciate the help.” Reaching into my pocket for the room key, I unlocked the door and went inside to survey my things. I also pulled out the piece of paper Mrs. G had given me with Lizzie’s school address. I stared at it, wadded it up, hesitated, and opened it again. When I looked up, Marlene was watching me, a curious expression on her face. I reached over, drew my biology book off the top of the stack in the box and stuck the paper inside.

  “Decided to keep that?” she asked.

  “What? Oh, yeah. It’s just some notes that fell out earlier,” I lied.

  She opened the door, and I carried the box of books down to the car, putting them in the back seat.

  “Are we ready?” Doc asked.

  “Yes sir, I think so. I’ll just go take one last look around the room and run the key over to Mrs. Gardener.

  When I returned, Marlene was sitting in the back seat with the door open. She turned toward me, trying to draw me in with a brassy smile.

  “Hop in, Billy Ray.”

  I ought to be annoyed with her, I thought, but after everything that had happened, her attempts to get my attention just made me tired—and maybe a little sorry for her too. I shut the back door and opened the front passenger side for myself. She pouted, but I pretended not to see. Doc pulled away from the curb and crept down the street away from my first real home away from home. I was headed toward my new life as a med student—by way of Mrs. Miller’s dinner table.

  Chapter 17

  In early September 1959, I left the town of Orchard Hill without looking back and started my studies at Sumner University’s Medical School. That first month was a blur: learning my way around the campus, organizing my books and notes—and the reading! It seemed to never end. There were three very specific subjects of study—gross anatomy, histology, and biochemistry—where it was a challenge to read the chapters before they were covered in class, but it was necessary in order to grasp even half of the professors’ lectures. There was no time to think, no time to be homesick, no time to pine over the girl who had just run out of my life for good.

  The second month was even crazier than the first, and I gloomily wondered what I had gotten myself into. For the third night in a row, I found myself at a table in the library, head in my hands, words blurring together even though I’d had plenty of coffee with my dinner. The letters swam in front of my eyes, and in a faint moment of clarity, I realized that frogs, femurs, and ferns did not belong together in the same sentence. That’s when I felt the nudge on my shoulder that almost sent my face crashing into the tabletop.

  “Hey, Daddy-o. Wake up. You look like a nerd with your mouth hanging open and drooling on your anatomy book.”

  I shot up straight in my seat, almost falling out of it, and squinted at the guy standing over me. The overhead lights obscured his face, but then he sat down across the table from me, grinning from ear to ear.

  “I thought that was you. Dr. Robbins’ anatomy class, right? You sit in the front row.”

  “Yeah.” I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to clear my head. “I guess I fell asleep.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Do I know you?”

  He grinned even wider and stuck out his hand. “Now you do.” He shook my hand with three vigorous moves. “Richard Donovan.”

  “Billy Ray Davenport,” I replied.

  “Billy Ray, my man, you are a serious med student now, and you need a serious name to go with it. From now on, you’re Bill.”

  I chuckled. “If you say so.”

  “Me and the guys over there were having a ball watching your head sink lower and lower toward the table. They started taking bets on how long it would take you to plant your nose in that book. But I’m a good guy, so I took pity and came over to roust you. You have a rough night last night?”

  “Hmm? Oh…yeah. I was up until almost two in the morning reading that histology chapter.”

  Donovan laughed. “That is not what I meant by rough night. I meant being out on the town, maybe playing a little back seat bingo with some dolly—but making out with your school book till 2:00 a.m.? That’s just sad, man.”

  “I can’t afford to get behind in my
classes.”

  “Sure, you can’t, but running yourself in the ground is cruisin’ for a bruisin’. There’s plenty of time for staying up all hours when we start the clinical stuff. You should study with us. It’s a lot easier in a group. We meet up around eight o’clock most weeknights here on the second floor. We read the chapters on our own, but then we divvy up the material and make study cards, quiz each other. So far, it’s working.” He clapped my shoulder. “And we don’t end up using our books as pillows.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be here. It sounds like a good idea.”

  “Come on over, and I’ll introduce you to the guys. We’re getting ready to head out for the evening. Go grab a brew before heading home.”

  I followed him to the table where the other guys were packing up their books and papers.

  “Hey guys, this is Bill. He’s joining our study group tomorrow. Bill, this is John, Ed, Dan, and Tony.”

  We shook hands all around, and Tony asked me, “You wanna come out to Barney’s with us? Get a beer?”

  “Thanks, but I don’t drink.”

  “You don’t drink beer?” Dan asked.

  “I don’t drink anything,” I answered, ready for the chortles and smirks. I’d gotten those from time to time back in college.

  “Not even a Coke? They do sell Cokes there. Just ask Ed—that’s what he gets every time,” John said.

  Ed gave him a playful punch in the arm. “Hey, I don’t like beer. Sue me.”

  “Well…”

  “Or maybe Bill can get some coffee,” Richard joked to the others, “so he can stay awake till he gets home.”

  They all laughed, but it wasn’t mean-spirited. I decided I’d go and get to know these guys better. After all, we were going to be in a lot of the same classes over the next couple of years, and if the first month was any indication, I couldn’t keep up the pace on my own.

  The first thing I learned that night was that Richard Donovan could put away some beer.

  “Another round, honey.” He winked at the waitress, indicating our table with a circle gesture of his index finger.