For many minutes, they were silent, lost in their private musings, only to be jolted when a thud caused the living room walls to shiver. Amelia looked about the room with terrified eyes.
“What was that?” Grace hastened to the window.
Amelia’s hands fluttered, waving Grace back. “Don’t go near the window. The glass might shatter. Stay here by me, Grace.”
But Grace was already leaning against the pane, her hands framing her face and eyes. A stab of lightning momentarily illumined the porch. “The wind’s blown one of our rockers smack against the house.” Another lightning flash. Grace gasped to see the cracked gliders, the split seat and back of the rocker. One of the huge clay pots had toppled to its side and ruptured. Soil spewed across the wooden boards of the porch floor like a trail of ants. Aghast, she pulled back from the window, her stomach churning, her legs unsteady. Fear settled in her gut. She wanted Bob, Hannah.
Walking to the table, Grace lifted the phone from its cradle. Still dead. When she turned on their weather radio again, a man’s indifferent voice droned. It was a stranger’s voice, with an accent, Dutch or German perhaps, not the voice of any of their regular television weathermen. Without a hint of concern, the foreign voice presented the startling facts of destruction and danger. Anger flared in Grace. From what snug, safe post was he reporting this news?
“Wind gusts up to eighty miles an hour have overturned cars, felled trees, lifted roofs. Those in cars should take shelter near buildings and switch on their blinkers. Patrolling police cars and road crews will find you,” he said. “Do not attempt to drive. Many roads are flooded. Bridges are icy. A twelve-car pileup on 19–23 in Madison County has shut the left lane of that highway. Another wreck is slowing traffic on 240 at Exit 8. Current temperature in Asheville is twenty-three degrees, and lower in the northern counties of Madison, Avery, and Mitchell. Snow is already a foot deep in Avery and Mitchell Counties.” The voice went on to give temperatures and projected snowfall for Charlotte, two hours down the mountain, and Greensboro, and Raleigh farther to the east.
This afternoon, when Hannah and Wayne left for Asheville, the sky had been slightly overcast with sunshine breaking through. On the morning news the weatherman had announced that the weather was about to take a dramatic turn and suggested that people stay tuned for further news. Grace had not done so. Had Hannah? Had Bob? Bob would have been here at the hint of serious weather. Grace wondered if Molly was over at her mother’s, if Pastor Johnson was alone in the rectory of his little church, and was Lurina’s house leaking? Thank God, their own roof was new and holding firm.
Amelia was crying, her shoulders shaking. She lifted her head and blew her nose. “I wish Mike were here.”
“Let’s hope Mike’s out of this storm,” Grace said. She sat next to Amelia on the couch. “We’re safe. This is a sturdy house. It’s seen many storms in its day.”
“The stress of life wears people out, don’t you think, Grace? Maybe houses wear out from storms battering them.”
“Our house is fine.” If Amelia were not with her at home, Grace would have taken her car, and rain or not, headed for Lurina’s, at least to bring her here.
“But people, Grace.” Grace felt the urgent squeeze of Amelia’s fingers on her hand. “Don’t you think stress wears us down, and after a time we lose our ability to cope?”
Grace pondered that. “Seems to me when we’re young, say in our thirties and forties, and something bad happens, we handle it and grow stronger from it, learn we can rise above the punches life throws us. But as time goes by and stress piles on stress, then I think some mechanism inside of us breaks down, like a light dims.”
“Lance makes me nervous and my stomach knots. I can’t think straight.” Amelia’s voice dropped. “If I sleep with Lance, what happens the morning after? What if he loses interest? I’ll be devastated, feel cheap, used, ashamed.”
“Seems to me you know what you need to do then,” Grace replied. “Have you talked about HIV testing?”
“Heavens, no. Did you with Bob?”
“We did, and each of us had tests.”
Amelia stared at Grace. “How did you ever have the nerve to broach the subject?”
“I told him about Charles and Roger, then segued into talking about us.” Amelia raised an eyebrow, and Grace nodded.
“It’s so hard.”
Grace said no more, and after a while Amelia’s face grew soft, her eyes dreamy. “When I was young every new city we traveled to, Thomas and I, every party we attended, even the fearful beauty of an active volcano, stirred my blood, triggered all my senses. Then, over time the excitement dimmed, and I grieved the loss of my passion, my exuberance. I convinced myself that passion belonged to the young. I got used to that. Then Lance came along.” She stopped, looked down, then up into Grace’s eyes. “There’s a kind of passion when I lose myself in photography, but it’s softer, more subdued, more grounded, and that’s been fine for a long time.” Amelia’s face, her voice changed, softened. “With Lance, I’m hardly grounded. It’s rather extraordinary. I soar, feel totally alive, and out-of-my-mind aroused.”
Grace, asked to describe her relationship with Bob, would recount that theirs was not fire and ice: rather it was soft like cotton candy, sweet, comfortable, and safe. “I can’t tell you what to do, Amelia. Is he pressuring you to have sex with him, or are you pressuring yourself?”
“He wants us to make love,” Amelia whispered. “He said recently that if we were young, we’d have been in the sack long ago.”
“Probably. But you have the advantage of maturity.”
“It doesn’t feel mature the way I respond to him,” Amelia whimpered.
“Perhaps if you trusted him, felt safe with him.”
“He’s going off any day now. Won’t be back until some time after mid-January.”
“So he won’t be here for Christmas. Maybe that’s for the best. He doesn’t like any of us much, I don’t think. He’ll hate hearing Russell and Emily’s plans for an early-June wedding, and he certainly wouldn’t appreciate Tyler being the center of attention.” Grace paused. “Why do you think Lance is so secretive about his goings and comings?”
Amelia bit her lip. “I don’t know.”
The candles in the living room suddenly flickered as if struck by a breeze.
“I just can’t help wondering what he’s hiding.”
Amelia bridled. It was fine for her to criticize Lance, but not Grace, and especially not Hannah.
The lights flickered on, and off, and on again. “Oh, thank heaven,” Amelia said. “I hate being in the dark. The house gets so cold. Even with the fireplace and this fleece coverlet, I can’t stay warm. Even the toilet seat turns to a chunk of ice.”
A shadow from the doorway drew their attention. They had not heard the front door open or close. Hannah stood looking at them. Snow capped her coat at the shoulders and further whitened her hair. Water beaded her face and oozed from her shoes. “Have Lance checked out,” she said bluntly.
Amelia gasped. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.” She did not wait for a reply, but was already peeling off her coat and turning away. “I’m going up to change.” Her Rockport oxfords squeaked as she walked to the stairs and mounted them.
“I’m so ashamed.”
“Listen to yourself. You’ve just told me you don’t trust Lance. Neither does Hannah. You actually agree. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea to check him out.”
“How?”
“Come on, let’s go ask her.”
“Harold Tate has a friend who’s a private investigator. He should be able to check Lance’s comings and goings and his background in no time,” Hannah said as she attacked her dripping hair with a towel. “Got this wet just going from Wayne’s truck to our porch.”
“It seems dishonest, checking on someone behind their back.”
“In today’s world, Amelia, you can’t be too careful.” Unself-consciously, Hannah l
oosened her robe, and the others turned to give her privacy while she dressed.
Grace changed the subject. “Did you have trouble getting home? Did you get stuck behind that twelve-car pileup?”
Hannah pulled a blue sweatshirt over her head and hugged herself. “Feels good, warm,” she said. “Wasn’t raining when we dropped off the plants. They took all the anthuriums and gardenias, and they ordered more. Went for an early dinner, and when we came out it was pouring. Never did our errands. Had a time of it coming home. Sat nearly two hours, a crash, three cars at the Weaverville exit. We heard about a big pileup on the radio, between Mars Hill and the turnoff to Burnsville. At Mars Hill we got behind a DOT plow and sand truck.”
Hannah ran a comb through her wet hair, sweeping it back from her face and flat against her head. It looked darker and made her face seem larger and more square. Grace wanted to blow-dry Hannah’s hair and fluff it out softly about her face. “Truck plowed and sanded; we followed, drove right along. Icy spots and snow on the road from Mars Hill to Covington. Elk Road’s snow-covered, but not icy. I invited Wayne to stay the night, but he’s gone to Miss Lurina’s.”
“I’m so relieved,” Grace said.
Hannah sat on the side of her bed and began to pull on socks. “Polar fleece, the warmest. Ordered them from L. L. Bean.” She didn’t say that she had bought two pairs of the same socks for Grace and for Amelia. They were wrapped and tucked under the tree. “I’ve got news. Wayne says Lurina insists she and Old Man live in her house. Old Man says the sound of the traffic on Elk Road’s ‘like near to kill him.’ ”
“That’s one obstacle. Any others?”
“Yep.” A teasing smile played about the corners of Hannah’s mouth.
“Okay, what?”
“Burial. They agree that ‘properly married folk should be properly buried next to one another.’ Old Man’s hell-bent on burial with his kin in their family graveyard. Lurina has her place next to some aunt in the family cemetery up on her hillside. Lots of arguments about which graveyard is taken care of best, and who’s left in the family to tend it, and on and on. They’re going to have cemetery visitations, and Wayne says they want you and I to judge which cemetery is kept up the best. That one, I assume, will become the site for the two of them.”
“Heaven help us,” Grace said. “And we’re in the middle of that?”
“I feel left out,” Amelia said.
“Price of spending too much time with Lance.” Hannah laughed, put her hand about Amelia’s neck, and pulled her down gently to sit beside her on the edge of the bed.
“Can I come with you guys?” Amelia asked, smiling and relaxed, just like the old Amelia. “I don’t want to be left out of all this good stuff, and I know Mike would love to come too. Please?” She looked to Grace. “A matron of honor can surely ask a favor.”
The prospect of the four of them as Lurina’s representatives accompanied by a brigade of Reynoldses struck them as funny, and they flung themselves back on Hannah’s big bed and giggled like girls. “I can see it,” Grace said. She sat up, crossed her arms over her chest, held her back stiff, her eyes straight ahead. “We walk solemnly around the graveyard. The relatives stand off a bit to the side, arms folded across their chests, hats on, Sunday best.”
Amelia leaned on her side and propped her chin on the back of her hand. “I’ll wear my straw hat with the cherries on it. What do I care if it’s winter?”
“Welcome back, Amelia,” Hannah said.
Any reply of Amelia’s was drowned in a paroxysm of thunder that sent her burying her head under a pillow, at which point Grace tickled her, and they were laughing again. It was the sharp, unexpected ring of the phone that brought an end to their hilarity.
33
The Night of the Big Storm
Bob’s voice was frantic.” Are you all right? I’ve been worried sick.”
“I’m fine. We’re all here, and we’re fine. Where are you?” Grace asked.
“At my apartment. I was just about to leave for the tearoom when the rain started. My god, it was a deluge. The confounded hill across the road tumbled down, mud, rocks, huge rocks blocking the entire road.”
“Are you all right?” Grace asked.
“I’m fine, there’s just water everywhere, the front yard’s a pond; it’s oozing under my door. Lucky I was here. I plugged the front door with towels, and that stopped the mud at least. The phone went out for a while. I couldn’t call you.”
Grace repeated Bob’s news to the ladies, who listened, appalled. “Are you all right?” Grace repeated.
“Yes, just shaken to hell. Never seen anything like this. I thought the whole blasted hill was coming down. One huge boulder just missed, or it would have walloped one hell of a hole in my apartment. I’m going to take pictures for the insurance company. Might be of use to Hannah later on.”
“I worried so. Thank God you’re safe,” Grace said. “I love you, Bob.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. It’s snowing, now. I’m afraid I’m stuck up here. As soon as the road’s open, I’ll be over.”
She craned her neck to look outside. “Snowing here, too.”
“What about the villas? Ask him,” Hannah said.
“How about the villas? Did Little River flood?”
“Yes. Looks like a lot of damage down there. Can’t see how much. I thought I’d stuck my binoculars in a box, but I can’t find them. Emily’s with Russell and Tyler. She’s staying there, you know, taking care of Tyler. What about your stream?”
“It’s over its banks, but so far it’s running off toward Cove Road. Don’t you try to come off that hill until it gets cleared, promise me.”
“I won’t, don’t worry.”
“Have you food? Heat?”
“My electric stayed on. Yours?”
“Out for several hours. We had candles. It’s on again now.”
“I have food: tuna, canned soup, couple of frozen dinners. I’ll be fine. We can talk by phone. Take care of yourself. When you can, check the tearoom.”
“I will. I’ll call you.”
“Darn shame a storm like this just before Christmas,” he said before hanging up.
“We have a week. I’m sure the roads will be cleared by then.”
The night of the big storm, right after Bob called, Maxwell appeared in a poncho and high rubber boots with an unexpected and much appreciated container of Anna’s vegetable soup. He stayed on to chat with Hannah after the others slipped off to bed.
“How are you doing, Max?” Hannah asked. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, and he filled the armchair in the living room. His long legs stretched out and under the coffee table.
“I’m missin’ Bella somethin’ awful,” he said. “Anna cooks, and I hardly eat.”
“You’re not used to eating alone. Would you come over and eat with us sometime?”
“Thanks. That’s a great kindness. I will if I’m not too busy. We’ve had damage to the barn. Lost about a hundred bales of hay.”
“You have to eat.” They let it drop then and spoke of the storm, and about Zachary. “Boy’s good with the herd, and he’s got a talent for paintin’, like his Mamma. In January he’ll be starting college at Clemson University down in South Carolina. He hasn’t a clue what he wants to be when he grows up.”
“He’s so young. He’ll find his way. These days young folk take longer to find themselves.” She thought of her daughter, Laura, in Maine, mate and companion to a charter boat captain, and soon to sail for the Caribbean. He was so much older than her daughter, and Laura with a degree in computers. Well, you never knew where life would lead, or what might capture your interest. Laura loved the sea. Hannah couldn’t fault her for following her passions. Plants were Hannah’s passion. She made a mental note to phone Laura, to wish her bon voyage, as Amelia would say.
Max’s voice startled her. “You’re a comfort, Hannah. No wonder Bella liked you so well. She spoke of you every day, and looked forward to your visits.”
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“Wish we’d met sooner.”
“Your visits eased her time, and her passin’,” Max said. “She never stopped talkin’ how you made it so she could plant daffodils one last time.” His eyes misted and he looked away. “That woman loved the earth.” They were silent a long time. She thought he would leave. Then he asked, “How you doin’ with Anson’s land?”
She sat up straighter. “It’s a hard thing to come out of nowhere and try to interest people in shelling out money to conserve land, especially since Masterson’s tract is scheduled for a park. We created the Cove Road Preserve Coalition, and it’s turning out to be only a handful of people. Haven’t been able to interest folks from Asheville or even here in Madison County. I’ve been in contact with land trusts and foundations. I’m waiting. Never give up hope.”
“I’d sure hate to see Cove Road go the way of Loring Valley,” Max said. He leaned toward her, and his legs slipped even further under the coffee table, causing Hannah to think, He’s quite an imposing man, in a good way. She was sorry that they didn’t have a chair in this room large enough to accommodate him comfortably.
Max was saying, “Some folks think you have a lot of nerve tryin’ to stop a man from doin’ what he chooses to do with his own land.”
His words startled her. Of course some folks on Cove Road would be angry. Some of her neighbors agreed with her, but as Harold Tate had said, “Sorry, Hannah, I’m with you in spirit, but I can’t go against my kin.” She felt a stir of fear. “Are you giving me a warning?”
Max cracked his big knuckles. “You go on with this, Hannah, I worry what might happen. Bella was concerned too. Could change things for you ladies.”
“Change things, how?”
“I’ve seen folks shun a person, harass a person, even threaten a person, or worse, till they drove them out.”
Had they shunned Maxwell and Bella? Hannah wondered. Probably yes, for the Maxwells, although they were Southerners, were outlanders from Atlanta. “All of that?” Hannah asked.
The Gardens of Covington Page 23