Magnolia Sky

by Susan Crandall

  “Ooohh.” He gave a visible shiver. “What a horror! The life most women dream about. Well, minus the migraines.” He was trying to lighten the moment, but she stared solidly at him.

  “I’d be climbing out of my skin and not be able to see the reason why. I’d suffocate a little more every day until there wasn’t anything left of me. Calvin saved me from that.”

  “I wasn’t mocking your life—”

  “Of course you weren’t. I never thought that. I’m just telling you how it is . . . was. He did save me . . . in so many ways.”

  Her eyes took on the look of distant remembering. She lifted her hand to her heart. “When I met Calvin, he sparked something inside me that had been buried deeply with the death of my parents.” Shaking her head slightly, she said, “Grandmother wasn’t the type to bake cookies and read bedtime stories. But she wasn’t careless about my upbringing. If you wanted to know which flatware to use for which course in a meal, I was your gal. If you wanted to know the proper attire for a gubernatorial inauguration, just ask me. Need someone to pen a condolence letter, an invitation, or a polite, yet scathing reprimand?” She thrust a thumb at her chest. “You guessed it—me. But all of that training was mixed with very little warmth. Oh, I’m sure she loved me in her own way. But that was hard for me to understand as a child.

  “Cuddling creased Grandmother’s clothes. Hugs messed up hair. Air kisses didn’t spoil makeup.

  “She considered the other kids at my private school spoiled and rowdy.” Analise chuckled, but there was little humor in the sound. “I guess I had to agree with the ‘spoiled’ part. I had to be on constant guard against raised voices or raucous activity; it was just too stressful to invite kids over. And with dance lessons, piano lessons, tennis lessons, golf lessons and cotillion preparation classes, there really wasn’t much time to cultivate outside friendships.

  “When I heard Calvin speak of his family, I began to understand that a loving home wasn’t just a work of fiction, a fabrication that existed only in movies and books. That there were people who made choices based on love—not power, or logic, or security. People who would take a chance, make a risky choice, simply out of love. People who gave. I wanted to be one of those people.”

  Luke wanted to tell her she was one of those people—a giver. It showed in everything she did. But he held his tongue, hoping she’d let him see more of her life.

  After a long pause, she did. “My marriage to Calvin wasn’t what I had imagined. After the first week, we only slept in the same bed a handful of times each year. The separation . . . Calvin wasn’t keen on long telephone conversations. Sometimes I felt so distant from him—not just in the physical sense, you know?” Her gaze focused on Luke’s face.

  He clenched his teeth together and managed to nod. Again he wondered what kind of fool Calvin Abbott had been to disregard a woman like Analise.

  She smiled thinly and gave a slight sigh. “I learned to live with what we had. What mattered most was he gave me a completely new view of life and what I wanted out of it.

  “This family . . . Olivia and Cole . . . Calvin gave them to me. He saved me—and I’ll never be able to repay him for it.”

  Luke started to blurt out that her remaining faithful to a man who put no more stock in fidelity than he did telephone psychic readings should have been payment enough, but he bit his tongue. After a moment he said, “I know it doesn’t help, but I am sorry. If I could change that da—”

  She silenced him by placing a finger over his lips. “Don’t say that again.” Her finger moved to the scar on his neck. “We all live with what fate deals us.”

  He wanted to say, fate had nothing to do with it. Bad judgment was the culprit. But once again, he choked back the words as he stared into her green eyes. Besides, he didn’t trust lips that were still tingling from her touch to do more than mumble and stutter.

  Allowing her hand to linger on his scar, she asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” The word came out harsh because the question had the same effect as a bucket of cold water over his head. He wouldn’t, couldn’t talk about that night—ever.

  Something closed off in her eyes. She stepped backward. “All right, then.” Offering him a handshake, she said, “I guess this is good-bye.”

  The instant he took her hand, he realized he didn’t want to let go. “I guess so.” Was she clinging as tightly to his hand as he was hers? She didn’t let go, but riveted those green eyes on him. Luke’s insides puddled like melted butter. Which was all the more reason he had to leave here now. “Good-bye.” He made himself pull his hand back. “Tell Olivia and Cole good-bye for me.”

  She nodded, then slowly moved in the direction of the Jeep. He waited by the driver’s door of his car, watching her. She hesitated with her hand on the windshield frame, looking his way, then gave him a faded smile and climbed in.

  He got in his own car and thought, well, that was that. He’d drive away from here and never see her again. There was a little pinched place in his soul that stabbed with regret. He’d sensed, while she’d held his hand, she felt some connection to him, too. If only he’d met her in a different place, under different circumstances.

  The possibility of what might have been between them stung at the back of his eyes. But there was nothing to be done. She’d lost the love of her life, and had come to terms with it. He was going to have to follow her strong example—accept what couldn’t be changed and press on.

  She started the Jeep and ground the gears as she put it in first. Pulling a wide U-turn on what was at one time a pristine lawn, she held up one hand as she passed back by.

  He just nodded, unwilling to take his own trembling hand off the wheel.

  Luke swung the Taurus around and followed Analise slowly back out the narrow lane, snaking their original path in reverse. The Jeep’s vinyl top was up and the plastic rear window was so fogged and scratched, he couldn’t begin to see her behind the wheel.

  He rolled down the window, allowing the springlike air to wrap around him. How could it have felt so wintry just yesterday? He’d better draw on the warmth while he could. Tomorrow he’d be back up north where winter still held the land firmly in its grip. Breathing deeply, he smelled the moist earth warmed by the sun and a hint of something near blooming. If only he could stay, not have to return to the cold that would make his body ache and his wounds throb.

  At about the spot where the deer had jumped out in front of them, the Jeep’s brake lights suddenly flared and it jerked to a stop.

  Luke stopped just as suddenly, looking for a sign of Jocko.

  Analise climbed out of the Jeep and crooked a finger at him. Her face was serious; there was nothing playful in the gesture. She then stepped into the weeds beside the lane and waited.

  Curious, he shut off the engine. When he got out and caught up with her, he could see she stood on a weedy gravel path.

  “There’s something I think you should see,” she said as she started down the pathway through the woods.

  “What’s back there?” he called after her, his voice sounding harsh against the quiet hum of nature.

  “Come on, you’ll see.”

  As she walked away, Luke stood fixed in place, watching her with an unsettled feeling in his belly. She moved gracefully, with light steps and gentle movements that set her long braid to swaying. Occasionally, a sunbeam winked through the heavy mix of evergreen and leafing deciduous, shooting her hair through with brilliant gold.

  She turned and looked over her shoulder at him. “You coming?”

  He moved through the primeval growth, feeling as if he were walking toward a mystery about to unfold, one that would forever change him.

  Ridiculous.

  Even as he dismissed the notion, it rose again, stronger this time.

  The path curved and went down a slight decline. He momentarily lost Analise from his line of sight. When she again came into view, she was standing in a ray of sunlight beside an ancient, yet rec
ently painted, black iron fence. Her hand rested on the gate as she looked back at him. Beyond her were ten or so tall, aging monuments, some tilted on ground that had shifted long ago. Around them stood smaller markers—some so old and weathered there was no longer more than a ghost of the lettering that declared the dead, some newer, more modern granite headstones.

  A slight breeze picked up the hair that had come loose around her face, giving an angelic impression as she stood in the shaft of heavenly light. The certainty that his life was about to change renewed itself. He tried to ignore it, the same as he tried to ignore his growing attraction for the wife of another man.

  She didn’t move as he came closer, but held his gaze. Again the feeling of leaving the world behind struck him. It was all he could do to keep from reaching out and taking her hand when he got close enough.

  He said softly, “Why?” It came unbidden, uncontrolled by thought. And he wasn’t even sure what he meant by the question. Why did she bring him here? Why had she stopped and waited with such a somber, yet expectant look in her eyes? Why was he feeling like he was in an emotional free fall?

  Turning from him, she opened the gate and stepped through.

  As he followed, he looked at a few of the names on the more recent stones: Franklin Coleman Lejeune, Roberta Layton Lejeune, Layton Coleman Lejeune. Then to the stones that looked like worn, bleached bone sticking from the earth: Oscar Milford Lejeune, Stuart James Lejeune, Marianne Lejeune Carson, Robert Patterson Carson, Infant Carson. This cemetery must have been used since the first Lejeune cut down the first tree to till this land.

  Analise had stopped by a red granite stone at the far edge of the burial ground. Luke didn’t have to look at the lettering to know to whom it belonged. They stood side by side for a long moment, looking down at the plot of ground that held Calvin Abbott’s earthly remains.

  “Calvin’s father’s body was never recovered from Vietnam. Liv wanted Calvin with family, so she put him here, with the Lejeunes—where she’s to be buried and she hopes Cole’s family will rest when the time comes.”

  Luke shivered. All of this death, inevitable as it was, cast a chill over him. He closed his eyes.

  Abbott’s face appeared in his mind, laughing as he often did at a practical joke. Then the smile twisted into something grotesque, a scream of pain came from the contorted lips, shock and pain filling the once-glittering eyes.

  Luke realized he must have made a sound, because Analise touched his arm. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He shook his head, words failing to come forth. Would he ever be all right again?

  “Is it your knee? I shouldn’t have made you walk all this wa—”

  “It’s not my knee.” His voice rasped in a choked whisper.

  “The crash,” she said as understanding dawned. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “I just thought you’d want to see how peaceful . . .”

  Peaceful? Death peaceful? If she knew the reality of her husband’s last minutes she would never again associate peace with his death.

  He swallowed roughly, wishing he could find something to say. She stepped close enough that her body was pressed against his arm; her hand slid down and held his.

  Tears of frustration clouded Luke’s view of Calvin’s name carved in the stone. After a long while, he said the only thing that he could: “He was a good soldier.”

  He felt her stiffen beside him. She removed her hand from his. “That’s good.” She paused. “Because he was a lousy husband.”

  She turned and walked quickly out of the little cemetery. Stunned by her comment, Luke didn’t try to stop her.

  Chapter 7

  Luke stood, his feet unable to move from Calvin’s grave, his mind racing in wild and ever-widening circles. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the engraving on Calvin’s headstone; the death date, September 6, stabbing into his eyes like poison needles, echoing in his mind in the thunderous roll of automatic weapons fire.

  Somewhere under the sounds of the past, he heard the quick squeak of the gate opening, and the drawn-out moan as it drifted back closed. Analise’s footfalls were swallowed in the woods, masked by the twitter of birds whose worlds remained as constant as the rising of the sun. But for Luke, constancy was gone, obliterated the moment he’d decided to follow his instincts and not well-ordered rules. From that instant, his world had been rocked with continual aftershocks.

  After a long moment, he turned toward the path.

  What the hell had she meant? Had she known of Calvin’s infidelities? Were there other problems in their marriage? He’d never known Calvin to get rough with a woman, but there were lots of things he was discovering he didn’t know about his buddy. A thousand questions circled in his head—and Analise had fled with the answers.

  Shaking off the weight of surprise, Luke followed her back toward the cars. His knee was much better today, but on the uneven ground he had to watch his step. When he reached the lane, the Jeep was disappearing around a curve.

  For a moment he considered hopping in his car and chasing after her. But to what end? he asked himself. If she’d wanted to explain, she wouldn’t be halfway back to Magnolia Mile right now. For a reason that only Analise knew, she wanted him to know just so much and no more.

  After a few minutes, he climbed in the Taurus and wound his way back to the main road. Sitting between the ruins of the brick pillars, he stopped and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. His heart demanded he go after her, but his good sense said to leave well enough alone.

  Within fifteen minutes, he was on the main highway, headed toward the interstate that would lead him home to Indiana. Over and over in his mind, Analise’s words replayed. He was a lousy husband.

  Somehow Analise made it through lunch without strangling Olivia. It wasn’t Liv’s fault, which made Analise’s nasty impulse that much more appalling. Each time Liv mentioned Luke’s name, which seemed to be every other sentence from the moment they sat down at the table—Why didn’t Luke stay for lunch? Cole still needed to apologize to Luke. What do you think Luke’s going to do, stay in the army or take a discharge? I wish I had been able to say goodbye to Luke—shame burned deep in Analise’s chest. She had betrayed her family. She’d said the words that she’d kept bottled up inside for more years than she wanted to think about. What had she thought she’d gain by tainting Calvin’s memory that way? And right at his graveside. Why had she been compelled to say those words to Luke?

  If only she could take them back.

  Her single consolation was that she’d never have to see Luke again. He would take those words with him and they would never echo back to Olivia’s ears.

  Analise tried to put the entire thing out of her mind as she headed to her metal workshop. It was done, there was no recalling the words. As she neared the carriage house, Reverend Hammond’s car pulled in the drive behind her. She wasn’t surprised when it stopped at the house. He gave her a wave as he went up to the kitchen door—just like he was family. At least he knocked and didn’t barge right in.

  Olivia answered the door with a smile, apparently glad to see him, and they both disappeared back inside. These visits seemed to be happening more frequently. Was Olivia encouraging the man?

  Analise shook her head. Surely not. Olivia had been alone for more than eight years and never given any indication that she’d be interested in dating; the very word, dating, seemed much too young and frivolous for a woman Liv’s age and twice widowed.

  As Analise entered the shop she saw Rufus snoozing in his usual place. He didn’t so much as twitch an ear when she walked in.

  Roy appeared in the back door. “Miz Abbott?”

  The very sound of the man’s voice made her cringe. She reminded herself of her commitment to be more open-minded and mentally scolded herself for her harsh thoughts. They seemed to be popping up about everyone around her today. “Yes, Roy?” She even managed a smile.

  “I seen the reverend’s here.” His gaze d
rifted shyly away. “I was wondering if I could take a bit to pray with him before he leaves?”

  “Of course.” She had to be the most uncharitable person in the state of Mississippi. Poor Roy only wanted to get his life back together and she couldn’t see anything but ulterior motives.

  He nodded and backed out of the doorway, as if she were royalty. “Thankee, ma’am.”

  A horn honked in the drive. Analise looked out to see Mr. Baker’s pickup pulling up in front of the shop. The man arrived just after lunch every March first like clockwork. March second was his wedding anniversary and each year he planted another magnolia tree for his wife, the chemistry teacher at the high school.

  Analise met him at the door. “Right on time. I’ve tagged the best of the bunch for you, but you’ll want to look them all over before you make your choice.” She couldn’t help but smile: The man was a walking, talking contradiction. His gruff manner belied his tender heart and his clothes were the oddest combination Analise could imagine ever assembled on one body. He wore a cowboy hat, a light blue oxford button-down shirt under old-fashioned bib overalls, a Tag Heuer watch, white socks and Teva sandals. Sort of new-moneyed farmer meets outdoor adventurer.

  He took off his hat. “This’un will make forty-one.”

  “Happy forty-first anniversary. That’s quite an accomplishment in this day and age. You two should be proud.” He nodded in agreement. Analise added, “Running out of places to plant yet?”

  He shook his gray head. “Gonna stop when we get an even fifty. Maybe I’ll switch to oaks then.”

  Analise tried to absorb some of the man’s optimism. Something she herself was feeling in short supply these past days. Planting slow-growing oaks at his age was a . . . a true statement of faith.

  “The magnolias are right out here, in the side lot.” She took him out the back door to the display behind the white trellis wall.