The Scent of Lilacs

by Ann H. Gabhart

  Zeb was waiting on the back step with a grin as if he hadn’t seen her for a month instead of just being shoved out the door fifteen minutes ago. Jocie grinned back and let him lick her fingers. “Good dog.”

  Aunt Love came to the door. “Careful. He’s smelling the bacon grease on your hand. Who knows with a stray like this? He might take a bite.”

  Jocie ignored Aunt Love and headed toward the rock fence at the end of the yard. She stepped into the coolness of the two old oaks that stood sentinel on either side of the gate that went into the apple orchard. The top hinge of the gate had been broken for years, and the iron gate stood open, its bottom iron pieces embedded in the grass and weeds. It didn’t matter. They didn’t have any cows or horses to keep out of the yard.

  A few more rocks had bled down out of the wound in the fence. Jocie picked up one of the rocks and tried to place it back, but as soon as she turned it loose, it slid back to the ground. Her father said there was an art to placing the rocks so the fence would stand without mortar. He had tried to find someone to teach him, had even advertised in the Banner, but the fence had been built over a hundred years ago, and the men who knew the secret of placing the stones had all long since died out in Hollyhill.

  Jocie usually found her father sitting on the flattest rock where the fence was spilling its guts as he contemplated the necessary arrangement to rebuild the fence. But today he wasn’t there, so Jocie climbed through the gap in the fence to the orchard. The rocks still held the cool of the night.

  The apple trees might not be as old as the rock fence, but they were gnarled and twisted by years of withstanding the weather. A couple had blown down, but enough of the roots still clung to the earth that the trees had leaves and sometimes apples. Jocie loved walking through the trees in the spring when the petals were floating in the breezes.

  But the petals had fallen weeks ago, and small round apples dotted the limbs now, promising a bumper crop. One of those mixed blessings her dad sometimes talked about. It was good to pick up an apple to chomp whenever she walked this way, but Jocie dreaded the long hours peeling the apples for Aunt Love to can. Of course, stewed apples for supper beat stewed cabbage hands down.

  She was about to give up and head back to the house, when she spotted her father at the far end of the orchard. He waved when he saw her.

  She stopped and waited for him. He looked taller as he came through the trees with the sun at this back. He wasn’t half bad looking for somebody his age. Not that he was all that old. She’d never really thought about what her dad might look like to other people, but Wes talking about stepmothers had sort of knocked her eyes open a bit. She could see why Leigh Jacobson might drive all the way out to Mt. Pleasant Church to listen to his sermon. Still, the idea sort of scared her. She and her dad had managed for a long time together.

  Aunt Love hadn’t changed that. They managed in spite of Aunt Love. She didn’t know whether Tabitha would change that. But she was pretty sure Leigh Jacobson would change that if she became her stepmother. Still, she might know about bras. It didn’t look like Tabitha would. She hadn’t been wearing one.

  David lengthened his stride when he spotted Jocie and the dog at the other end of the orchard. He hadn’t intended to walk so long, but his prayer line to the Lord had been clogged with worries that had nothing to do with Mt. Pleasant Church. He’d hardly been able to think of anything but Tabitha. He hadn’t slept well, and at the first gray light of dawn he’d gone to stand in Jocie’s bedroom door to watch Tabitha sleep.

  It seemed appropriate that the light was new. It was all going to be new, getting to know this daughter so long missing from his life and finding a way to help her. And she was going to need help. She hadn’t ridden a bus all the way across the plains states because she was tired of California. Something was wrong.

  But until she trusted him enough to tell him what it was, he’d have to be patient. Who knew what had happened to her over the years. Obviously there had been no thought of church. Of course, it wouldn’t be all gone—the Bible teachings she had learned before she left. After all, she had been thirteen. Way past old enough to know right from wrong. And she had made a confession of faith when she was twelve, had been baptized, had joined New Liberty Church. Still was a member there, he supposed, unless the church had taken her off the roll. Not many churches did that anymore. No cleaning house just because a member no longer occupied a pew.

  They would have to talk. He’d have to find out if the decision she’d made as a child meant anything to her now. He’d have to know if she loved the Lord. That was something he’d never had to wonder about for himself. He knew, had always known, the Lord was with him long before he felt his touch on his shoulder in the submarine. He hadn’t always made the right decisions, but he’d never doubted the Lord was there rooting for him to choose the right path.

  He wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision this morning walking through Herman Crutcher’s cow pasture. He’d prayed. He’d tried to put what he wanted aside. He’d listened and heard nothing but a baby calf bawling for his mother. But sometimes that was the way the Lord answered prayers. With no sure push one way or the other.

  He could have asked for a sign. He could have prayed, “Lord, if you want me to keep preaching at Mt. Pleasant, let me hear a meadowlark call,” but who was he to push the Lord for signs? And it didn’t matter that three minutes after having the thought he had heard a meadowlark. He might have heard one earlier and that was what had given him the idea to begin with. He trusted the Lord to lead his thoughts, to lead him. Not just in what to do about the Mt. Pleasant vote, but in everything he did from what he published in the Banner to what he said to the people he talked to on the streets of Hollyhill. Wes told him that sometimes made him a sorry editor of a boring small-town paper not good for much more than lining dresser drawers.

  At times David wished he could liven up the Banner a bit, but the facts were that Hollyhill was the town he had to write about and the folks in Hollyhill were upstanding, regular folks who didn’t go around shooting one another. At least not very often. Thank God. The bank had never been robbed. As far as anybody knew, no city official had ever stuck city funds in his own pocket. The mayor might not be the sharpest pencil in the box, but the Hollyhill folks were comfortable with him and had elected him three terms running. The chief of police spent the better part of his day writing parking tickets.

  There were scandals, of course. Junior Jackson’s wife had just run off with the high school track coach three weeks ago. And there was Bennie Adams who’d been fired at the bank because he’d come to work drunk. Not to mention the Harrisons’ divorce after little Stevie was born. Cutest baby in town, but gossip said the baby didn’t look a thing like Seth Harrison for a reason. Several names of possible fathers had been bandied about, but David couldn’t print that kind of news in the Banner. He’d been that kind of news when Adrienne left. Tabitha coming back might bring the story back to the gossip buzz line. If so, nobody would need to wait for the Banner to come out to get the scoop.

  “Hi, Dad,” Jocie said when he got close. “Breakfast’s ready.”

  He was glad she didn’t ask about his decision about the church. “And I’m ready for breakfast,” he said with a glance at his watch. “I didn’t mean to be out so long. Wes will wonder what’s happened to us.”

  “Wes won’t, but you’ll hear it from Zella for being late. You’d think she was never late for anything.”

  “I doubt if she has been.” David had inherited Zella Curtsinger from the last editor, who’d made him promise to keep her on. The Banner was all the family she had. Not that David would have fired her anyway. She knew where everything was. She sent out the bills on time, kept up with who paid and who didn’t, made sure the paper sold enough ads to pay them to put it out. Without her, David would have sunk in red ink years ago.

  “Of course, I left Aunt Love alone with the eggs,” Jocie said. “We might not even have a kitchen to eat in by now. She need
s to teach Jez—I mean Sugar—to yowl when something starts burning. I’ll bet Zeb would do that.”

  “If he were allowed in the house.” David looked straight at Jocie and almost smiled when she ducked her head. The child had never been good at hiding anything from him. Even as a four-year-old, if she jumped in a mud puddle with her Sunday shoes on, she’d run straight to show him. He knew every recess she’d lost for talking too much. She hadn’t tried to hide the broken pieces or glue them back together when she’d broken Aunt Love’s favorite candy dish. She’d faced right up to the music. The dog was no different.

  “I know I didn’t ask, but I let Zeb sleep beside my bed last night. You don’t care, do you? I mean really care.” She looked up. “He was good.”

  “If Sugar shows up on the porch in the middle of the night, we’ll have World War III.”

  “Then he can keep coming in? I mean at night.” Jocie’s eyes were hopeful.

  “If you can keep the peace. If war breaks out, it’s outside. Sugar was here first.”

  “Deal,” Jocie said. “But we shouldn’t tell Aunt Love, should we? No need upsetting her for no reason, and I’ll keep the porch clean.”

  “Agreed. Of course, I’m going to claim ignorance if war breaks out. You’ll be on your own.”

  “Oh, Dad. You wouldn’t do that. That would be lying.”

  “You call it what you want to. I’m calling it self-preservation.” David laughed and put his arm around Jocie. “Preachers learn that early on. What you don’t know you can’t be blamed for.”

  Aunt Love hadn’t forgotten the eggs. Breakfast looked good. David waited until after Aunt Love said grace to make his decision announcement. He buttered a biscuit half and said, “I’ve decided to accept the vote. We’ll be at Mt. Pleasant Church for the summer at least.”

  “That’s great, Dad. I can surely be nice to Ronnie Martin that long. With prayer and the Lord’s help, of course,” Jocie added as she broke up a piece of bacon to fit on her biscuit.

  Aunt Love was briefer. “Good,” she said.

  David smiled. That’s the way it was with decisions half the time. You wrestled with them. Let them keep you awake at night. Studied and pondered. Then the decision was made and life went on with barely a ripple in the surface of the day. “I’ll call Matt McDermott when I get to the office.”

  “He’d be at the barn milking now anyway,” Aunt Love said. “Do you want me to just let Tabitha sleep?”

  “That might be best. She was worn out,” David said.

  “I can’t wait to tell Wes. He’ll never believe it. The dog prayer and now the sister prayer,” Jocie said. “It’s okay if I go to work with you, isn’t it? I left my bike there the other night, and I promised to help Wes with those Bible school ads this morning. He has five to set up.”

  “Dorothy McDermott was talking about Mt. Pleasant’s Bible school yesterday. I think they’re expecting you to be there to lead the assemblies,” Aunt Love said.

  He’d have to figure out a way to handle the newspaper deadlines and drive to Mt. Pleasant Church every day. He didn’t mind. It was a good problem to have again.

  Zella looked up from her typewriter when they got to the Banner a little after nine. “Oh, you’re here. I thought perhaps you’d taken the day off even though it wasn’t written in on your calendar.” She swiveled her chair around to face David and Jocie. With her index finger she pushed her green-rimmed glasses up on her nose and then lightly touched her dyed-black hair to make sure each round curl was still in place. David had never seen her with a hair ruffled even on the windiest days. Jocie said Zella’s hair would break before it would blow out of place.

  “Now, Zella, you know I wouldn’t not let you know if I wasn’t coming in. I’m sorry. I guess I should have called to let you know we were running late.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I’m sure you had more important things to worry about than whether the people at your workplace knew where you were. After all, it hardly matters if I have to tell the mayor you’re not here and I have no idea whether you will be or not.”

  Jocie rolled her eyes at David. “Yikes, Zella. What did you eat for breakfast? Prunes?” Without waiting for an answer, Jocie opened the door to the pressroom. The sound of the machinery spilled out. She was yelling to Wes about Tabitha before the door closed.

  “So the mayor called. Did he want anything special or just some free advertising for his next political campaign?”

  “The election is not until next spring,” Zella said.

  “It’s always election time with the mayor.”

  “True enough,” Zella conceded. “But he says he wants to get with you about the community having a Fourth of July celebration. He says he thinks it’s especially important this year after the tragic events of the fall, and I couldn’t agree with him more. I still get tears in my eyes every time I think about little John-John saluting his father’s coffin. Such a tragedy.” She fished a tissue out of her skirt’s waistband and dabbed her eyes. “What is the world coming to when they’ll shoot down wonderful men like President Kennedy?”

  “I don’t know, Zella.” He wished he was in the back with Wes and Jocie talking about Tabitha coming home. Not that he didn’t agree with Zella about the tragedy of the Kennedy assassination. He did. But Zella wallowed in her grief, enjoying it as much as a pig loves mud.

  “But as a preacher, what do you think, David? Do you think we’re in the latter days with rumors of war and storms and upheavals all around?”

  “The Bible is pretty clear on that, Zella. It says no one can know, so I don’t spend a lot of time trying to figure out God’s plans.”

  “But they have those bombs that could wipe us out in a millisecond and those red phones and everything. It’s scary when you think about it. I thought about having one of those bomb shelters built in my backyard, but I couldn’t see tearing up my rose garden. My mother planted some of those rosebushes, you know. Besides, who wants to be all squirreled up under the ground while everything is dying above you? Better to go first and quick, I say.” Zella bobbed her head up and down. Her curls didn’t bounce out of place.

  “You could be right,” David agreed. “We just have to keep praying for peace.”

  “Well, of course, that goes without saying.”

  “Any other messages besides the mayor’s?” David said as he edged past Zella’s desk. Zella could talk nonstop for hours about the world going to the dogs, but she had no trouble jumping back to the business at hand.

  “Just Harry Sanders. He called to say he had his paint on sale this week if you still needed some.”

  “Did you talk him into putting a sale ad in the paper?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re worth your weight in gold,” David said.

  “A man doesn’t advertise, he goes broke.” Zella turned back to her typewriter to hide her pleased smile.

  “And a paper that doesn’t sell ads goes broke even faster.” David was to the door to his small office. “Oh, by the way, I’ve got news. Good news.”

  Zella looked up at him again. “The church voted you in? Well, that’s wonderful. Of course, they should have.”

  “That too,” David said. “But more. Tabitha came home.”

  Zella frowned, at a loss, until it dawned on her what Tabitha he was talking about. Her eyes flew open wide. “Your Tabitha?”

  “Yes, my Tabitha.”

  “Oh my heavens, David. That’s fantastic news.” Zella stood up but didn’t seem to know what to do next. “Is she okay? What about Adrienne? And my gracious, why didn’t you tell me the minute you got here? This is so exciting.”

  “She’s fine, Zella, and Adrienne’s still in California.”

  “California suits her.” Zella sat back down, her smile disappearing.

  “How do you know? Have you ever been to California?”

  “No, but Wesley has, and you see how he is.” Zella rolled a fresh piece of paper into her typewriter. “You really shouldn’t let h
im tell Jocelyn all those crazy stories about being from Jupiter. She half believes him.”

  “Oh, they’re just having fun. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Wesley’s something to worry about. Has he ever told you why he’s hiding out here in Hollyhill? He has to be running from the law.”

  “I don’t think he’s hiding from the law,” David said.

  “He’s hiding from something. But Tabitha.” Zella gave him a hard look. “You surely didn’t know she was coming and just keep it a secret from all of us.”

  “Nope, we came home from Mt. Pleasant Church last night, and there she was on the porch.”

  Zella’s smile came back. “How amazing! How old is she now?”

  “She’ll be twenty next month.”

  “Twenty? It’s been that long? That doesn’t seem possible. Well, tell her to come in to see me. You know I taught her to type when she was just a little thing and showed her how to water my violets without getting water on the leaves. She used to sit out here with me and draw rainbows when she came to work with you. She was such a sweet little girl.”

  “Jocie could probably use some pointers about improving her typing.”

  Zella slid a look his way. “She’ll be going to the high school in the fall. They have typing classes.”

  David gave it up and went on into his office to call the mayor. No, the mayor didn’t have any concrete plans for the Fourth of July celebration. He was thinking some patriotic songs and maybe some preaching. Of course, they’d have to get the preacher at First Baptist for that. And the Christian Church preacher for the opening prayer. That wasn’t exactly equal time, but there were more Baptists in Hollyhill than Christian Church members.

  “What about the Methodists?” David asked.

  “Oh, they can come too,” the mayor said. “We don’t discriminate on denominations. Do you think, if you put something in the paper, we can get some of the folks to donate a little cash for a few fireworks? I was over at Grundy last summer on the Fourth, and they had this American flag in fireworks. Made me want to salute or something.”