A Change of Heart

by Philip Gulley

  It took Sam five minutes to pull on his suit. He ran a comb through his hair, smoothed his cowlick, then buffed his shoes with a sock. He drank a capful of Pepto-Bismol to guard against diarrhea, knotted his tie with a Windsor knot, tucked a handkerchief in his pocket, and gargled with Listerine.

  They arrived at the wedding at ten-thirty, an hour early. Miriam Hodge was arranging flowers around the trellis Ellis Hodge had built for the occasion. The ice swan, despite being shaded by the tent, was sweating profusely. It looked like a duck with bladder-control issues. Kyle Weathers was standing next to it, peering at his watch and smiling gleefully. “Don’t think she’s gonna make it. Got another hour and a half to go, and she’s leaking like the Titanic. Looks like Clevis owes me five dollars.”

  Clevis sat in the front row, a glum expression on his face. Dale was seated next to him, looking pale and worn; his tie was loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. Dolores was fanning him with the wedding announcement.

  Miss Rudy was guarding the door of the farmhouse, ready in the event roving marauders happened by to molest the bride. Bob Miles was circulating among the guests and wedding party snapping pictures. It was his present to the couple, one they’d wanted to decline, but couldn’t, and so were stuck with him.

  Deena’s parents were standing with Dr. Pierce’s parents off to the side. They were discussing that day’s weather, which was ideal. When they’d exhausted that topic, they moved on to discuss the weather in general—floods, blizzards, heat spells, and the like—trying to exhaust the topic so their conversation wouldn’t drift toward their jobs. Like his son, Dr. Pierce’s father was a doctor, and Deena’s father made his living suing physicians. Kyle Weathers had bet Harvey Muldock ten dollars the day would end in blows. Between that and the melting duck, it promised to be a profitable day for Kyle.

  By eleven o’clock, there was a stream of cars on the road from town, turning up the Hodges’ driveway, past the barn, and into the pasture where the Odd Fellows were directing them into neat rows. The chairs began to fill from the front to the back. Deena sat in the farmhouse, awaiting the grand moment when Harvey Muldock and his 1951 Plymouth Cranbrook convertible would deliver her to her betrothed.

  At precisely eleven-thirty, Harvey rose out of the Cranbrook, the Hodges’ front door eased open, and Deena’s father escorted her to her chariot. Harvey stood at attention and held the passenger door open. As Deena settled in her rightful place with her father beside her, his cold lawyer’s heart began to thaw.

  Harvey slid behind the wheel, managing somehow to look polished even in his green plaid sport coat, dark brown pants, and white shoes. The Cranbrook rolled forward, up the driveway, past the barn, and into the pasture, gliding slowly by the neat rows of cars.

  For over forty years Harvey Muldock and his Cranbrook have squired scores of beautiful Sausage Queens around town, but Deena Morrison in her bridal gown made them look like common washerwomen. She wore a simple ivory dress. Kathy at the Kut ’n’ Kurl had outdone herself, braiding a strand of pearls into Deena’s hair.

  Opal Majors leaned into Bea. “I saw a dress just like that in People magazine.”

  “A little too much cleavage, if you ask me,” Bea sniffed.

  The string quartet began playing Pachelbel’s Canon as Sam, Dr. Pierce, and his brother rose from their seats in the first row and walked to the head of the tent, next to the trellis of flowers. Miss Rudy proceeded down the aisle, her eyes straight ahead, pausing for a moment next to Kyle Weathers, whose name had appeared in the Herald the past six weeks for overdue books. It took all her restraint not to stop and slap him. Five yards before the trellis, with a librarian’s precision, she turned sharply to the left, took two steps, then turned and faced the back of the tent, where Deena stood with her father.

  In the front row, Deena’s mother stood. With the snap and pop of crackling joints, the wedding guests likewise rose to their feet. Sam nodded his head. Deena’s father reached over and laid his hand upon Deena’s, looked down, and smiled at his only daughter. They began walking toward the front. Her father looked stoic, trying not to cry, while Deena beamed with joy.

  They came to stop in front of Sam, who opened his wedding book and began to read the Quaker wedding vows. “Marriage, in its deepest reading, is an inward experience—the voluntary union of personalities effected in the mutual self-giving of hearts that truly love, implicitly trust, and courageously accept each other in good faith.”

  He continued, wending his way through the giving of the bride, the exchange of rings, the vows, the announcement of husband and wife, and the kiss, which was just long enough to express passion but not so long that people blushed.

  The moment arrived for the closing prayer. The night before, during the rehearsal, Sam had gone over it with Dale, explaining how he was to come forward after the kiss, stand in front of the blissful couple, and invite God’s blessing on their marriage.

  Dale squeezed past Miss Rudy. Sam stepped aside, bowed his head, and closed his eyes, looking properly reverential. Dale cleared his throat, then paused for what Sam supposed was dramatic effect. Leave it to Dale to turn the spotlight on himself, Sam thought.

  Five seconds passed, then ten. Sam edged closer to Dale to nudge him just as Dale pitched forward, knocking Deena to the ground and ending up on top of her.

  That’s what comes from suppressing your natural urges all your life, Sam thought. Put a beautiful woman in front of Dale and he’d go crazy with lust and assault her. He and Dr. Pierce reached down to pull him to his feet. Dale’s body felt lifeless; his complexion was a waxy white.

  “My Lord, I think he’s fainted,” Dr. Pierce said.

  Dolores Hinshaw screamed, while Miss Rudy helped Deena to her feet. All across the tent, people rose to their feet, straining for a better view. The men in the tent perked up considerably. Having to attend a wedding on a perfect summer day was intolerable, but this had redeemed their day considerably.

  “Somebody phone Johnny Mackey to come with the ambulance,” Ellis Hodge yelled, assuming the mantle of leadership since it was, after all, his pasture in which Dale had fainted.

  “Here I am, right here,” Johnny said, squeezing through the onlookers to crouch at Dale’s side. “Is he dead?”

  “I don’t think so,” Dr. Pierce said. He frowned. “His pulse is weak. We need to get him to the hospital.” He stood, as if searching for someone, and then spied Harvey Muldock. “Get your car ready.” He turned toward Sam and Ellis. “Help me lift him.”

  Sam grabbed Dale under his armpits while Ellis hoisted his legs. They arranged him in the backseat of the Cranbrook, elevating Dale’s legs over the side of the car. Dr. Pierce squeezed in beside him. Harvey leapt in the front seat, dropped the gearshift down three notches, and gassed his car. His tires bit into the ground and then found purchase, and the Cranbrook rocketed forward across the pasture.

  Sam turned and saw Dolores Hinshaw, ashen-faced and numb with fear. Deena was standing beside her with her arm around Dolores’s shoulder.

  “How dreadful for you,” Miriam Hodge said, taking Deena’s hand. “On your wedding day of all days.”

  “Let’s not give it a second thought,” Deena said. “I just hope Dale’s all right.”

  Sam turned to Deena, “I hate to abandon you at your wedding, but I think I should take Dolores to the hospital to be with Dale.”

  “Of course you should,” Deena said.

  “Folks are getting kind of restless. Why don’t we go ahead and serve the cake,” Ellis suggested. He’d been eyeing the cake for the past several hours. It was his favorite—chocolate with white icing.

  The last guest left around two o’clock. Jessie and Asa Peacock stayed another hour to help Ellis and Miriam gather up the trash and fold the chairs. The phone rang just as Ellis, Miriam, and Amanda walked through their kitchen door.

  “Get that, could you please, honey?” Ellis asked.

  Miriam picked up the phone. “Hello.”

  I
t was Sam. “It’s not looking good. They’re saying he won’t make it,” he said, his voice catching. Miriam heard a loud sob in the background.

  “I’ve got to go. Dolores needs me. Can you get word out to folks?” he asked, then hung up before Miriam could answer.

  She stood at the phone, dazed.

  Ellis walked into the kitchen. “Who was that on the phone?”

  “Sam. Dale’s dying. I’ve got to call people and go be with Dolores.”

  She made her way to the kitchen table, sat down heavily, thought of Dale Hinshaw, and then, to her utter surprise, began to cry.

  Seven

  Life’s a Gamble

  Ralph and Sandy Hodge sat in Owen Stout’s law office on a Monday morning in mid-July. Owen was suffering the aftereffects of a weekend of fishing with his brother-in-law during which he’d imbibed his share of the grape. This conversation, however, was starting to clear his head.

  “You want what?” he asked them.

  “Our daughter Amanda,” Ralph said. “My brother has her and he won’t give her back.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Sixteen, soon to be seventeen,” Sandy answered.

  “Did you give Ellis custody?”

  “Not really.”

  “What do you mean not really?”

  Ralph lowered his head, clearly ashamed.

  “It happened when we were drunk,” Sandy explained. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

  Owen paused, chewed for a moment on the end of his pen, then said, “Why don’t you tell me about it.”

  “Well, Ellis gave us some money if we promised to let her live with him,” Ralph said.

  “How much money?”

  “Thirty thousand dollars up front and five thousand a year after that until she turned eighteen.”

  “So you sold your daughter and now you want her back?”

  “We weren’t in our right minds,” Sandy said. “But that’s all over with. We joined the AA and stopped drinking and found a church and got jobs and things are better now. We just want to be a family again.”

  “So what do you want from me?”

  “We want to hire you to get her back for us,” Ralph said.

  Owen leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. He’d forgotten all about his headache.

  “I don’t think I want the job,” he said after a bit. “Amanda seems happy, and Ellis and Miriam have done a good job. Technically, she’s still your child, and you can get the sheriff and go fetch her. But it’ll cause you nothing but trouble, and I’d advise you against it.”

  Sandy began to cry. “We know it was wrong, what we did. We just want another chance, that’s all.”

  “Well, if you go charging in there with a lawyer, it’ll get nasty real quick. And you’ll risk turning Amanda against you. I don’t think you want that. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll have a word with Ellis and see if we can’t arrange a visit.”

  “We sure would appreciate that,” Ralph said. “We don’t want to cause any trouble, and we don’t want to hurt Ellis and Miriam either, but she is our daughter, after all.”

  “Maybe you should have thought about that when you had her,” Owen said.

  Ralph looked up, his shoulders sagging forward and his hands clasped between his legs. “Mr. Stout, there’s not one bad thing you can say to me that I haven’t already said to myself a thousand times.”

  Owen thought for a moment, staring at Ralph. “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he said after a while.

  “Will you help us?” Sandy asked. “We know we don’t deserve a second chance, but we’d be grateful for your help.”

  “All I’ll promise is to go see Ellis and Miriam,” Owen said. “But I’m not going to institute any sort of legal action against them. If you want that, you’ll have to get another lawyer.”

  “Thank you,” Ralph said, rising to his feet and extending his hand to shake with Owen. “We appreciate your help.”

  “Leave your phone number with my secretary and I’ll give you a call after I’ve spoken with Ellis.”

  “We don’t have a phone,” Sandy said. “We’re staying at the tourist cabins. Number five.”

  “I’ll knock on your door then. Until then, keep your distance from Amanda. We don’t want Ellis and Miriam getting upset.” Owen ushered them from his office, just as Dolores Hinshaw came through the door for her ten o’clock appointment.

  She studied Ralph and Sandy, and then recognition dawned. “Ralph, is that you?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Hinshaw. I read about Dale in the paper. Sure am sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re in our prayers,” Sandy said, taking Dolores by the hand.

  “Why don’t you go on in the office, Dolores,” Owen said. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  “Take care, Mrs. Hinshaw,” Ralph said.

  “Bye, Ralph.”

  They left the office, and Owen followed Dolores into his office. She settled herself in the chair across his desk.

  “So how are things going?” Owen asked.

  “It’s one day at a time,” she said.

  “That’s all you can do.”

  “I can’t help but think the Lord has a purpose for all this. There Dale was, deader than a doornail, and Dr. Pierce got his heart going again. Said if they’d have gotten to the hospital even two minutes later, he’d been a goner.”

  “I guess God has a plan for him,” Owen conjectured. Owen Stout had never been a big believer in God, but Dale’s revival would have given pause to even the most callous.

  “So what can I do for you today, Dolores?”

  “Dale wanted me to look into getting one of those living wills, just in case the transplant doesn’t go well.”

  “Have they found a donor yet?”

  “Not yet, but we’re hoping.”

  “Just think of it,” Owen marveled. “They can take out a man’s heart and put in somebody else’s.”

  “He just doesn’t want machines keeping him alive if things don’t work out,” Dolores explained.

  “I can certainly understand that,” Owen said, turning around to pluck a piece of paper from his file cabinet, then handing it to Dolores. “You need to have Dale sign this in front of two witnesses and a notary public.”

  “Who’s a notary public?”

  “Well, my secretary is one,” Owen said. “And my brother, Vernley, down at the bank, and Johnny Mackey at the funeral home.”

  Dolores stood to leave. “Thank you, Owen. It’s awful kind of you to help us. You sure there isn’t a charge?”

  “You don’t worry about it, Dolores. You just keep a good eye on Dale.”

  “Folks have been so…so…” Her voice caught. “They’ve been so kind.”

  “Well, that’s what we’re here for, to help one another.”

  He walked around his desk, took Dolores by the arm, and walked her past his secretary to the front door. He stood in the doorway, watching as she climbed in her car and backed out of the space with a roar. She’d gotten her driver’s permit three weeks before. Dale had always done the driving, his way of keeping her on a short leash. Now she’d unbuckled her collar and didn’t seem inclined to wear it again. She goosed the gas, squealed her tires, and sped off down the street, narrowly missing Clevis Nagle, on his way to the barbershop for a trim.

  Dale Hinshaw’s medical condition has been the talk of the barbershop the past several weeks. Kyle Weathers began a lottery predicting the date of Dale’s demise. Even though half the pot is going to Dolores, people still think it’s tacky. Bob Miles wrote a scathing editorial against it, but not before betting Dale would shuffle off to glory on or around August 21. Kyle doesn’t understand why people are upset. “For crying out loud, we’re givin’ her half the money. Just trying to bring something good out of all this bad.”

  “But you don’t bet on people’s deaths,” Sam Gardner tried to explain while getting his hair cut. “It’s unseemly.”

  “It’s no different th
an life insurance. You buy a fifteen-year policy and you’re bettin’ you’ll die and they’re bettin’ you won’t. I don’t see the difference.”

  Sam let it drop.

  Sam’s car was parked in the Hinshaws’ driveway when Dolores reached home. He’d been stopping by a couple times a week to play checkers with Dale. They were seated at the kitchen table. A stack of reds was piled next to Dale. He had Sam’s last checker trapped in the corner and seemed inordinately pleased with his victory. He’d been winning most of their games. Dolores was beginning to suspect Sam was going easy on him.

  It gladdened her to see them together. For the last five years, Dale had railed against Sam and just this past spring had tried to get him fired. But somewhere along the way they’d forged a truce and Sam began stopping by with his checkerboard. At first it had been awkward, but now it was the highlight of Dale’s day. On Mondays, he brought Dale a cassette tape of the Sunday service, which they listened to together, pausing the tape now and then for commentary.

  Today was tape day, so after their game of checkers, Sam turned on the tape player. Bea Majors is back on the organ after her three-month strike over Sam’s refusal to crack down on the freethinkers, so Dale and Sam winced their way through her prelude, then listened to Sam’s opening prayer.

  “Nice prayer,” Dale said. “I liked that part about God keeping watch over the sparrows.”

  “Why, thank you, Dale,” Sam said after a moment, caught off guard by Dale’s charity.

  Then they listened to the opening hymn. Sam had brought a hymnal so they could sing along—Dale in his high, reedy voice, Sam filling in the low places. Since Dale came home from the hospital, Sam has been letting him pick the hymns for worship, to help him feel a part of things. He brings Dale a church bulletin and points out his name on the prayer list.

  After the first hymn is the children’s message, which this week was delivered by Jessie Peacock. “What has a bushy tail and gathers nuts?” she asked.