The Scent of Lilacs

by Ann H. Gabhart

  David’s eyes went to Jocie, who was doing sentinel duty at the end of the pew next to the aisle. Nobody would get past her to harm the others. Two of the deacons were coming back down the aisle with the plates of money. He should close his eyes and pray over his sermon, but instead he kept his eyes on Jocie and thanked the Lord for giving her to him.

  She noticed him looking at her and made a silly face. He grinned back at her and felt a surge of love. He wished that somehow he could shield her from the hurts of the world. They’d talked about Aunt Love the morning before out on the rock fence in the back. Tears had streamed down Jocie’s face as she’d said, “But how could her father have done that to her?”

  “I don’t know,” David had answered as honestly as he could. “It must have been a bad time for all of them.”

  “He would have been my great-grandfather. I didn’t know him, did I?”

  “No, he died many years before you were born.”

  “Do you remember him? Was he mean to you?”

  “He was already well on in years and not in good health by the time I can remember, but my sister and brothers remembered him fondly. Said he told them stories about the farm and when he was growing up.”

  “I’ll bet he didn’t tell them stories about Aunt Love.”

  “No, I suppose not,” David had said. “But nobody is all good or all bad. Just remember that.”

  “But do you think he killed the baby?”

  Jocie had needed him to say no, that nobody could be that cruel, but David had never lied to her. He could only say the truth. “I don’t know. You said even Aunt Love didn’t know that.” He’d pulled Jocie close and kissed the top of her head. “Whatever happened, it was all a long time ago, before even I was born. No amount of worrying is going to change any of it now.”

  “I know, Daddy, but I just can’t keep from crying when I think about it.”

  “It is sad, and I know Aunt Love appreciates the way you care.”

  Jocie had pushed her hands across her cheeks to wipe away her tears. “Can I go with you when you fix the stone on the baby’s grave? Maybe I could hold it up for you or something.”

  “Sure. We’ll do it one day next week after we get the paper out.”

  She had ducked her head and directed her next words at the ground. “You know, I was never very happy about Aunt Love moving in with us after Mama Mae died. I used to wish she’d get tired of us and move out. That wasn’t very nice of me.”

  He’d tipped up her face until she was looking into his eyes. “But she didn’t move out, and now you realize she needs us.”

  “She told me that she prays for you every day and that I should be thankful to have such a good father,” Jocie had said. “And I am.”

  The deacons had placed the offering plates back on the table in the front and made their way back to their families. Jessica finished up the song and went back to her seat. David gathered his thoughts and pushed them aside so that the Scripture could come to the forefront. Forgiveness. Perhaps it was time he forgave Adrienne. For everything. Perhaps that was why the Lord had laid this Scripture on his heart. Not for the Mt. Pleasant congregation. Not for Aunt Love. Not for Ogden Martin. But for him.

  They went to the Sandersons for dinner. Jessica Sanderson always cooked twice as much as she needed whenever she had the preacher, or maybe every Sunday for all David knew. She had several grown children, and she never knew when they’d decide to show up for Sunday dinner. So she’d insisted Leigh join them. Two more than she was expecting was no problem at all.

  Leigh’s cheeks stayed rosy all through dinner, but she had no problem being the perfect guest. By the time Jessica brought out her fresh-baked apple pie, she was sending meaningful glances between David and Leigh.

  After Leigh helped with the dishes, she thanked Jessica profusely for the delicious dinner and said she’d best go home. David took pity on Tabitha and let her ride home with Leigh. It might be better if she wasn’t at church after the deacons’ meeting that night.

  That night after the evening services, David and the deacons went back into the men’s Sunday school room. He waited till the five deacons present settled into the metal folding chairs. Ogden Martin, Matt McDermott, Jim Sanderson, Harvey McMurtry, and Joe Bottoms. Two weren’t there. Whit Jackson was visiting his new grandbaby in Tennessee, and Dale Whitehead had called to say one of his cows was having trouble calving and he’d had to call the vet.

  If there was going to be any dividing into sides, it would be Ogden and Joe on one side and Jim and Matt on the other with Harvey somewhere in the middle. That’s the way it usually went, although David thought Joe had voted for him to be interim pastor. That’s what he needed to remember now, that the Mt. Pleasant position was just an interim position anyway. If the deacons voted to boot him out, then the Lord would lead him to a new way to serve.

  He hadn’t planned to beat around the bush—just get the news told and leave, but Matt, who was chairman of the deacons, told David he had something to say first. Beside Matt, Ogden shifted in his chair and looked about as happy as a man who was watching it rain on ten acres of alfalfa he’d just cut.

  Matt ignored him and started talking. “You’ve been here now for about six weeks, I think, Brother David, and folks have responded well to your sermons and leadership. You’ve been faithful to visit the sick and anyone who has a special need, and we appreciate that in a preacher. You know we usually have a seminary student down from Louisville, and there ain’t no way those boys can be around to see to anybody during the week. Members here have to plan the day they die so they can have their funeral on a weekend. I mean, we know the boys have to go to class and then it’s a long drive and gas prices are steep, but it would be good for a change to have a man who lives in our area as pastor.”

  “I always figured it was part of our church’s mission giving those boys experience,” Ogden said.

  Matt hardly missed a beat. “And so it has been. But there’s some of us who feel the Lord wants our church to go in a new direction, and we feel you’re the man to lead us in that direction, Brother David. We’re asking you to consider taking the church on a full-time basis.”

  Jim spoke up. “Well, full-time for us. We don’t expect you to quit putting out the Banner, Brother David. Fact is, we feel that’s a plus for our church. You being so well known in the community and all.”

  David held up his hand to stop them. Sometimes the Lord had a funny sense of humor. Here David was getting offered what he’d been wanting for years, a church full of good people to serve, and he had to present them with a dilemma instead of the simple yes he wanted to give them. At least he didn’t have to tell them that his grandfather might have been a murderer. “There’s nothing I’d like better, men, but first we need to talk about the reason I called this meeting.”

  Matt didn’t let him finish. “We’re prepared to raise the salary to sixty a week.”

  “Give me a chance to talk, Matt. I do appreciate everything you’ve said, but what I have to say is more of a personal nature.” He looked at the men one at a time. Ogden wouldn’t meet his eyes, stared out the window instead. It was getting dark. David thought of all the families out in the churchyard waiting on their husbands and fathers and getting impatient. “You met my daughter Tabitha today. Most of you, if not all of you, know that she’s been with her mother since she was thirteen. There have been times over the last seven years when I thought I might never see her again. But the Lord answered my prayers and brought her back to me.”

  “Praise the Lord,” Jim said.

  “Yes,” David said. “As you know, she came home the Sunday you voted me in as interim pastor here. So I had plenty of reasons to rejoice that night. Still, I knew something had brought her home all the way from California. It turns out she came home because she’s expecting a baby and she didn’t have anywhere else to turn.”

  All the men looked surprised except Matt. Dorothy must have noticed Tabitha’s condition that morning.
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br />   Ogden was smiling a bit again. “I take it that this is without the benefit of matrimony.”

  “That’s right. She wanted to get married. The father of the baby did not,” David said.

  “Do you know who the father is?” Ogden asked, looking happier by the moment.

  “I know his name, if that’s what you mean. But that hardly matters now. He’s out of the picture,” David said.

  “Is she giving the baby up for adoption?” Joe asked. “I know a couple who has been on the adoption waiting list for over a year.”

  “She’s keeping the baby,” David said.

  “But it would be better for the baby if he had a mother and a father,” Joe said.

  “He’ll have me as a grandfather,” David said. “And no doubt in time, Tabitha will find the right man to marry and that man will be the child’s father.”

  “It seems you’re always having some kind of family problems, aren’t you, Reverend?” Ogden said.

  “I don’t look upon this baby as a problem, only a blessing, Brother Ogden.” David stared straight at the man for a moment before looking at Matt. “However, I realize that everyone might not have the same feeling about this.”

  “Are you handing in your resignation?” Ogden asked.

  “No, I’m not. If you want it, you’ll have to ask for it.” David stood up. “Now, I’m sure you’d feel freer discussing this without me here, so I’m going home. I’ll see you men Wednesday night for prayer meeting.”

  Harvey McMurtry pushed himself up out of his chair before David got to the door. “Pastor, don’t you think we should pray together before you leave?” Harvey was in his late seventies and had been coming to Mt. Pleasant since he was three weeks old.

  “Of course, Harvey.” David came back and knelt down in the middle of the men. “Dear Lord, we praise thee for this day of worship that we have had. And we thank thee for every man here and the family of God they serve so ably. Help us to always seek thy will, O Lord, and to allow thee to guide and direct our lives in service to thee. Forgive us our shortcomings, and thank thee for the many blessings thou dost shower down on us each and every day. Comfort those in our church family who are grieving, heal those who are sick, and convict those who are lost. In thy precious and holy name we pray. Amen.”

  When he went outside, Aunt Love had already gone to the car. Jocie gave the McDermott baby a hug and handed him back to his mother when she saw David come out of the church. As he headed for the car, he promised the families chatting in the yard that the other men would be out soon.

  Jocie waited till they climbed inside before she said, “You told them about Tabitha?”

  “I did.”

  “Good,” Aunt Love said.

  “Did they fire you?” Jocie asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Are they going to fire you?” Jocie asked.

  “That remains to be seen, but whatever happens, the Lord will take care of us. And Tabitha.” He backed the car out onto the road and turned it toward home.

  “Dorothy McDermott brought us two bushels of beans and a bucket of tomatoes,” Aunt Love said. “You’ll have to remember to thank her, David.”

  “I will on Wednesday night. They’re good people.”

  Aunt Love smiled. “She didn’t know what to think of my red hat.”

  “I guess you surprised us all with that,” David said.

  They drove a little way in silence before Aunt Love said, “That girl, I can’t ever remember her name, but the one that’s stuck on you. She seems nice.”

  “Leigh,” David said. “Yes, she does.”

  “Maybe she’ll make us another chocolate cake,” Jocie said from the backseat. “Paulette told me last week that her mother always says the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Maybe I should tell Leigh that. Or even better, maybe we can invite her over to help string beans.”

  David glanced in the rearview mirror at Jocie. “Maybe it would be better if you leave the inviting up to me.”

  Jocie grinned. “Oh dear. I think my daddy has fell in love.”

  “Well, maybe not yet, but I’m not saying it couldn’t happen. It’s been a pretty wild summer so far. Who knows what might happen next?”

  “Something good, I hope,” Jocie said.

  “ ‘Truth shall spring out of the earth; and righteousness shall look down from heaven. Yea, the LORD shall give that which is good.’ Psalm 85, I think,” Aunt Love said. “I’m thankful the truth did spring out of the earth this week, and I’m thankful for my family.”

  “And we’re thankful for you,” David said.

  Again there was a moment of silence as they drove along before Jocie said, “I like your red hat, Aunt Love.”

  “That’s sweet of you, child. I’m thinking about putting a flower on the one I wear next week, or maybe a feather.”

  David smiled out at the road and silently thanked the Lord for the blessings of the week. Even for the ones that hadn’t especially felt like blessings at the time. He even planned on working on forgiving Adrienne during his prayer times next week. After all, hadn’t he profited from some of the wrongs she’d done against him? He glanced up in the rearview mirror again. Jocie was dozing off. Again he felt that terrible need to protect her, even to make sure whatever she was dreaming was good and happy.

  But then he remembered the way the tears had flowed down her cheeks when she’d talked about Aunt Love and her baby. There would be other times when life would knock her off her feet. He couldn’t keep that from happening. Not every time. He could only try to be there to help her up and make her smile again.

  Monday morning, Jocie had to help Aunt Love with the green beans. She would have rather been helping Wes set up the paper, but her father said they couldn’t very well leave Aunt Love alone with two bushels of beans and a pressure canner. Just last summer old Mrs. Cranfield out on Benson Creek had put a canner full of beans on the stove and gone out on the porch to check her flowers. She hadn’t thought about the canner again till its top blew off and jars of beans went everywhere. Her grandson had even found a jar on a rafter in the attic. David had gone out and taken a picture of the unbroken jar of beans for the Banner.

  So there was no way they could trust Aunt Love’s memory when it came to pressure canners. When Jocie pointed out that Tabitha wasn’t having memory lapses yet, her father said Tabitha probably didn’t have the least idea how to can beans.

  So Jocie sighed and accepted her fate. At least she didn’t have to grate head after head of cabbage to salt down in crocks until it rotted into sauerkraut. She still hadn’t figured out how people ate that stuff.

  Actually, stringing beans wasn’t so bad except for it taking forever. They sat on the front porch surrounded by the buckets of beans. Even Tabitha helped. She said it brought back memories of helping Mama Mae years ago. Zeb lay by Jocie’s chair, ready to pounce when she dropped a bean.

  “I don’t think I ever saw a dog eat a green bean,” Aunt Love said.

  “Wes would say it’s because he’s a Jupiterian dog.” Jocie dropped another bean on purpose.

  “Wes isn’t from Jupiter,” Tabitha said. “He’s from Illinois.”

  “How do you know that?” Jocie asked.

  “DeeDee told me. She said Wes was the original beatnik and that when he first came to Hollyhill, she tried to get him to tell her stories about some of the places he’d been.”

  “And he told her?” Jocie carefully pulled the strings off the long green bean in her hand. For some reason, it bothered her that Wes might have told her mother things he had never told her.

  “Not a lot. Said he wouldn’t talk about his past at all. She said there were times when she wondered if Zella was right and the man was running from the law.”

  “He hasn’t done much running for the last ten years or so,” Aunt Love said.

  “I didn’t say I thought that,” Tabitha said. “Anyway, DeeDee said about all she ever got out of him was that he used to live in Illinois. At
least, I think she said Illinois. Maybe it was Ohio. Somewhere up north. I can’t remember for sure.”

  Jocie broke up her handful of beans and threw them into the big kettle sitting in the middle of their chairs. She practiced what she was going to ask a couple of times in her head before she said it out loud. “Did you talk a lot about things here in Hollyhill?”

  “Some. DeeDee said she didn’t plan on ever thinking about Hollyhill again after she left, but then she decided some of the stories were just too good not to tell.”

  Again Jocie practiced, but her voice still sounded a little tight when she asked, “Did she ever talk about me?”

  Tabitha picked a bean up off the pile on the newspaper in her lap and studied it as if it was the first green bean she’d ever seen before she answered, “I talked about you. I missed you, Jocie.”

  “But what about Moth—DeeDee?”

  Tabitha dropped the bean back down on the pile in her lap and looked up at Jocie. “Do you want the truth?”

  Jocie didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

  “Well, okay. DeeDee didn’t talk about you. I would try sometimes to get her to write after we got a letter from you, but she always either acted like she didn’t hear me or told me to write myself if I wanted to. She said she didn’t have any claim on you, that she gave you to Daddy when you were born. She said Daddy wanted you, so Daddy could have you.” Tabitha’s eyes were moist with tears. “I’m sorry, Jocie. I know that sounds awful, but the truth was, DeeDee was never a mother to you even before we left. Surely you remember that.”

  “What do you mean?” Jocie asked. “She was my mother, wasn’t she?”

  “She gave birth to you, if that’s what you mean, but I never saw her holding you or feeding you or changing you. Daddy did all that. If Mama Mae couldn’t watch you, Daddy took you to the paper with him or to church, visiting, wherever he went.”