Letters on the Table

by Pattie Howse-Duncan

  At first light, he loaded a variety of gardening tools, a cooler of water, and his worn leather gloves into the back of the faithful old farm truck. Nestling the seedling in his lap, he left plenty of room on the truck’s bench seat for Baxter.

  It was half-past six by the time they drove through the ancient ivy-covered gated columns of Holly Grove Cemetery. The fact that his ancestors purchased the land for the town’s burial ground explained why his people’s plots were nestled under the shade of a large grove of trees at the crest of the highest hill. Theirs was the heavily shaded section surrounded by a beautiful antiquated black iron fence with an ornate gate. The enclosure sent a message that the ones buried there were bound together, as connected in death as they had been in life. Other trees and benches were nestled in and around the expansive cemetery, but as an adult Murphy seldom traveled past the McGregor tombstones. He knew what was out there. The place was filled with markers that gave credence to the lives of those that now slept under their stones.

  Holly Grove was one of Baxter’s favorite spots because, if they arrived early enough, he was allowed the freedom to run and sniff and explore. On this particular day he stuck fairly close to the truck as his master unloaded his assortment of gardening tools, but when Murphy became preoccupied with his digging, Baxter took off down the first hill and over the second.

  Murphy pruned some shrubs and then raked the last of winter’s debris from all the plots in the McGregor’s gated area. He carefully planted the gardenia seedling just outside the ancient iron gate, positioning it so the giant pin oak would provide plenty of shade and shelter during the heat of summer but also allow an ample dose of morning sun. He patted the soil lightly around the gardenia’s freshly mounded home and gave it a hearty drink from the cooler, emulating what he’d seen his mother do countless times when he helped her plant at Holly Grove and Beechwood.

  Murphy stood back to study what he had accomplished. Turning to a grave, he stood and studied it for quite some time. Removing his cap and kneeling before her headstone, he began, “Mother, I never should have married her. Should have trusted my gut. I guess I’ll never understand why I didn’t take a stand and call the whole thing off. Well, to be fair, that’s not entirely true. I didn’t take a stand because of you, Mother. I just didn’t want to disappoint you. But you do realize now, don’t you, that was not a good idea. It would have been more honorable for me to call off the wedding and break Marianne’s heart than to marry her and let her ruin my life and Beechwood Manor. I followed your rotten advice, and it nearly destroyed me. But I’m not here to blame you, Mother. Just here to remind you I love you and to offer your favorite gardenia as a peace offering and to tell you I’m glad you didn’t live long enough to see the ugliness of it all.” There was nothing more to say. Those words had been welling up inside him for a long time, and they needed to be said, regardless if she was above or below the ground.

  “Darn old curious dog, where’d you wander off to this time?” Murphy gathered his tools and the box of collected leaves and twigs, realizing Baxter had been out of his sight almost since their arrival. The familiar whistle, which usually brought Baxter galloping his way, produced no such response. A second whistle amounted to the same. “You little rascal. This better be something really magnificent you’ve discovered.”

  Murphy’s head rotated back and forth as he slowly drove the expanse of Holly Grove. It wasn’t until he reached the crest of the second hill that he spotted whom Baxter had chosen over him. It was Katherine. Only he saw the sudden grin on his face when he glanced in the rearview mirror. And what a grin it was.

  She was in dungarees and a cotton button-down shirt with a sweater tied around her neck. Her blonde hair hung loosely around her shoulders instead of the coiffed chignon he was so accustomed to seeing under her starched nurse’s hat. She was kneeling at someone’s grave, and Baxter was lying right next to her, supervising her every move. Woman and dog looked up simultaneously when they heard the engine coming over the hill. Katherine waved and Baxter wagged, but neither of them moved from their positions.

  As he cut the truck’s engine, he thought Leave it to Baxter. Good dog!

  Her beauty in those casual clothes almost took his breath away. Murphy grabbed his gloves and clippers, hoping Katherine might let him help her in some way. He was surprised by the excitement he was feeling. Or was it a tinge of anticipation? Whatever it was, it was a feeling he thought he was incapable of experiencing at this point in his life, especially over someone twelve years younger.

  “Nice dog, lady,” Murphy said, laughing. Baxter’s snout appeared glued to his front paws, but his tail beat frantically against the dirt; apparently amused he had led his master to this very spot.

  They were congregated at a gravesite with Katherine’s last name on the monument. The stone bore witness to her mother’s birth and death but included only the date of birth for her father. How do you bury a body when you have no proof the person ever died? he wondered silently.

  “Do you visit here often?” he asked.

  “Oh, about once a month. I like to keep things tidy.” She looked up at Murphy with a comfortable smile and a twist of her head, shielding her eyes with a gloved hand as she looked up at him.

  “I see you have a supervisor.” They both looked at Baxter, and he barked at them in response, wagging his tail to indicate he, too, could play their game.

  Murphy felt a magnetic pull to her like he had never experienced. The beat of his heart began to accelerate, and he suddenly became very shy. He had never acted this way around Katherine. For that matter, he had never acted this way around any female, and he had known many. He realized some time ago he’d come to adore her, but he always assumed he would be able to disguise it. It was seeing her in a different setting that was tilting his axis.

  Dusting herself off, Katherine gave her handiwork a quick glance and decided she’d done all she intended to do. When she turned, she realized he was staring at her, and she blushed.

  “What is it?” She swatted at her hair, assuming something had just landed on the crown of her head.

  He reached over and brushed her hair just above her right temple and pretended to shoo something away, happy to tell a little fib that would excuse him for staring. He wasn’t expecting to react so strongly to the touch of her hair. He instantly wanted to hold a handful of it and not stop until he gathered her in his arms. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks and was amused to discover he was still very much alive, at least around her.

  “Just an early spring ladybug…want to throw your bike in the back of the truck and grab a cup of coffee?” He hoped he didn’t sound too pubescent. Even reminding himself of their age difference did nothing to extinguish his lighthearted mood.

  “Sure, if you think there’s room for me and this beautiful dog.” She rubbed behind Baxter’s ears, who by this time had scooted so close to her side he blocked all daylight between them.

  Katherine and Baxter climbed into the cab as Murphy loaded her bike and then climbed in next to them. He drove slowly up and down the hills, out the arched entrance, and made a right turn.

  “Aren’t we going to the clinic for coffee?”

  “Oh,” he paused, realizing he assumed they would do something different this time. “Well, we could but I thought we might go down to The Grill on the town square for some coffee and pancakes. What’s a good Saturday morning without a stack of flapjacks?” he asked, looking her way while hoping she wouldn’t refuse him.

  “Sounds delicious.” This adventure felt fresh and invigorating, and she was happy. And something more. Giddy with a twinge of what? She refused to process it all but was willing to at least marvel at how comfortable she was at that very moment in the truck with a man she knew so very well.

  Turns out the pancakes and coffee and easy conversation were just the precursors of the day. From there they stopped by old man Baker’s bait shop and b
ought three dozen minnows, just as many crickets, a couple of made-to-order sandwiches and cold drinks and then on to his place to grab his tackle and a pair of rods and reels. They walked as a threesome; man, woman, and dog, to the largest lake on Murphy’s land and, much to her delight, she spent the next several hours out-fishing him.

  “This isn’t your first fishing derby, obviously. Who taught you to fish?” he asked, realizing he was envious of the lucky person who’d taught her one of his favorite pastimes.

  “I fished as a child with Lily Mae using cane poles, and Doc taught me how to fish with a rod and reel. Lily Mae fished for supper. Doc fished for fun. I like being on the water, it reminds me of those two. Especially early in the morning. I’ve found that whatever worries you might have in the middle of the night seem to evaporate when you sit on the water’s edge with a fishing pole in your hand. It’s delightfully peaceful.”

  Murphy thought it ironic she’d chosen those last two words to describe the water. He would have used the same words to describe her, along with several other words for her can’t-stop-staring-at-you loveliness.

  When the bait was gone, they wandered to the boathouse and cleaned up. Eventually, they launched a rowboat and after Murphy had rowed quite a distance, they dined on the bologna sandwiches and cold drinks he’d picked up earlier. Murphy couldn’t think of anything that felt more natural than to have her right there with him. Baxter sat between them, his tail thumping softly each time either one of them laughed aloud. They rowed over to the spillway and he showed her where the big channel catfish gathered and told a couple of stories of catching some as a boy. They eventually made it back to shore and sat in the rockers on the deck of the boathouse.

  “I’m proud of how you’ve handled yourself these past months since the fire. I know it has been difficult, but you seem to have come out on the other side even stronger than you were before.”

  “Thank you for all of that. I guess you surely must know, that you, Doc, Lily Mae, and Father Drew are the ones responsible for my…for my rebirth, if you will.”

  “I can’t speak for everyone, but I think I can speak for Doc and myself. We want nothing more than for you to be happy and healthy, and if a cup of coffee and some conversation five days a week has been part of your prescription, then we’ll be saddened if you ever decide we are no longer needed.”

  “You can get that thought out of your head right now, that I’d ever reach the point when I would stop my coffee counseling with two of the finest people I know.” Murphy smiled at Katherine and took great pleasure in seeing a blush cover her cheeks.

  Katherine tried to redirect the conversation, hoping Murphy wouldn’t notice the sudden color. “Yes, I like Father Drew very much, and I like what he’s done for St. Thomas. He arrived as a bachelor, but I’m not sure he’ll remain that way. He’s young and wise and very handsome, but most importantly, we all, meaning all the congregants of St. Thomas, find his charisma irresistible. More than that, I think he understands the brokenness of the world. People come to him drowning in darkness, and he helps them turn on the lights.”

  Murphy agreed. “I couldn’t agree more. I don’t think I’m telling anything I shouldn’t, but in the course of my counseling sessions with him, I’ve gained a friend. We spend time almost every week fishing, hunting, or birdwatching here on my land. I’ve learned our favorite member of the clergy needs and deserves the luxury of removing his collar.” After a quick pause and the emergence of a devilish grin, he added, “As well as bingo.”

  “Bingo?”

  “Yes, bingo. It’s his secret addiction, but I don’t think he’d mind me telling it. I’ve heard him say it in public. Almost every night of the week he has church commitments of one type or another. If it’s not a vestry meeting, it’s the Christian education committee, or a premarital counseling session for a young couple, or it’s Wednesday night evening prayer, or it’s, well, it’s endless. So, every now and then when he has a free evening, he sneaks over to the bingo hall over in Burke and plays bingo. There’s a group of old, worn out, down-on-their-luck ladies who save him a seat every night, just hoping he’ll show up. They have no idea he’s a minister, which makes it even more fun for him. He occasionally cooks up a batch of fudge from his grandmother’s recipe and takes it to those he affectionately refers to as ‘his bingo girls’.”

  Katherine was hanging on every word. “I love it. I love every single bit of that story. I love that he has a life outside the church, and I love that he has a gaggle of women who adore and coddle him without ever really knowing who he is or what he does. That’s genuine.”

  “And every now and then he wins! He won $1,200 about six months ago. Do you know what he did with it?”

  “I’d love to know.”

  “He took it to a car mechanic in Burke and told the guy to call a particular bingo-playing lady, Margaret Weir, and tell her some nameless person came through town and left money for her much-needed car repairs.”

  “Do you think the guy did it?”

  “Oh, I know he did it. Father Drew wore his collar the day he visited the mechanic and as he firmly shook the guy’s hand he said, “Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.” Then he gave him cash and told him he expected to see a repaired car within the week.”

  “Oh, I love this story. How did it end?”

  “The next time Father Drew played bingo the ladies swarmed him and told him about Margaret’s guardian angel who paid for her car to be repaired.” Murphy’s eyes danced as he added, “And he never let on.”

  She smiled and said, “One act of mercy at a time. That seems to be the secret to life.”

  They both sat back and took it all in. The story of a good man doing a good deed. Katherine knew there were countless stories like that involving Murphy, and he knew the same about her. There was so much they knew about each other, and yet so much more to learn.

  They talked of many things that day. She told him some of the humorous events that had happened over the years with Doc at the clinic and a couple of throw-your-head-back-and-laugh stories about Lily Mae. He delighted her with story after story of his boyhood escapades growing up at Beechwood. She laughed easily at his antics and prodded him with questions wanting to know more. Between stories, they sat quietly just enjoying the water and the breeze. He’d always loved his family’s land, but today he saw it with fresh eyes and realized the fire had not destroyed what he really loved about Beechwood. It was a majestic place full of trees and shade and colors and smells, and it possessed a pull that made a body just want to sit back, rest, and let it fill your pores. And stay.

  His adult life had been spent fighting two wars, one on the other side of an ocean, and the other with Marianne on this soil. He was so busy trying to correct the wrongs of others he forgot to notice what he had all around him. The blinders he had worn seemed to disappear, and he fell in love with the land all over again.

  “We’ll have to take a walk through the woods sometime. There are so many fascinating things to explore,” he said with conviction in hopes she would agree.

  “Oh, please, yes, I would like that. What kinds of things are out there? Can you name me six things without stopping?”

  Her eagerness was contagious. “Well, a beaver’s dam for one; two would be a rock wall built by a battalion of civil war soldiers who made camp here for almost two weeks; three would be the call of the whippoorwills that lull me to sleep each night; four would be an elm tree with a knot shaped like an Indian’s head; five would be the old barn with a 1924 Farmall tractor, the very first combustion engine ever driven on this land; and, six would be my very own natural history specimens my mother allowed me to collect and chronicle including snakeskins, a hornets’ nest, and an almost entirely intact skeleton of a groundhog.”

  “You rattled those off so fast I think you could have named fifty! I’m impressed!”

  “Is that a challenge? You want
fifty? I can deliver fifty without even pausing between each one.” And taking a deep breath, he successfully produced a list of fifty of the most fascinating, enticing things Katherine had ever heard.

  Something happened between the two of them during his reciting of the fifty wonders. He looked deep into her eyes as he spoke, and she matched his gaze. They never stopped looking at each other and maybe didn’t even blink. He felt her look deep within him and saw a heart that was beginning to thaw. At the very same moment, he looked into her eyes and felt her beckon him to join her in a life that was healthy for his soul.

  Katherine broke the spell when he finished his litany of wonders. “I think I have a glimpse of who you were as a boy living on this land and who you’ll be as an old man, and the only difference between the two will be years and nothing else. This land will take care of you because you love it so.” She said it with such genuine warmth that he knew it was perhaps the truest thing anyone had ever told him. And he knew it came from a woman who would cherish the land enveloping her.

  He reached for her arm and said, “I’d like to show you something you probably don’t even know exists, but it’s directly related to you, in a sense. Feel like walking?”

  Intrigued, Katherine nodded eagerly, secretly hoping it wasn’t already written across her face that she was ready to follow him anywhere. They ambled down the winding lane that had at one time served as the drive connecting the mansion to the guesthouse. Massive trees lined each side and their branches reached across high above the pavement as though they’d linked hands to form the thick canopy of limbs and leaves. While the pavement was plenty wide enough for a vehicle, she realized they were walking so close their arms often brushed against each other and she repeatedly felt his hand brush against hers. The sensation caused her to inhale deeply and she tried her best to savor the moment, knowing this incredibly delightful day might never happen again. At least not for her. Common sense told her Murphy McGregor was never going to find contentment with a woman who’d lived such an ordinary life as hers.