A State of Grace

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A State of Grace Page 7

by Traci DePree


  “No. She’s fine,” Kate assured. “She just fell asleep. She ate a good lunch and even had tea and cookies.”

  Patricia stopped and wiped her cheeks again. “Oh, good.”

  “Are you okay?” Kate asked.

  Patricia nodded.

  “I’m sorry you’re going through all this,” Kate said. “Especially alone.”

  “We’re going to be okay,” Patricia said. She sounded almost defensive, and Kate wondered why. “Once the chemotherapy is done, she’ll have a clean slate. Really.” She lifted her chin and turned away slightly.

  “I was hoping I could come tomorrow if—”

  “No,” Patricia said curtly. “We have plans.”

  “Well, then the next day—?”

  Again Patricia shook her head. “Marissa will be busy all week, I’m afraid.”

  Kate thought of the hope, the utter belief, she’d seen in Marissa’s eyes just a few minutes before. If only Patricia would open her heart to that comfort beyond anything that human contact could offer. Yet Kate knew Patricia was struggling. Kate would simply have to take what she was given and let God do the rest. When the right time came, she would be ready. That was all she could do.

  IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON when Kate climbed into her Honda Accord to head back home. The sun hung low in the western sky, creating brilliant designs in hot pink and tangerine across the mountain ridges.

  It had been a hard day, yet a good one. A sense of weariness overtook her. This hurting family needed so much, yet she was only one woman. And how could she help them unless she could find a way to soften the hard shell Patricia had encased herself in? But only God could do that, she reminded herself.

  Then her admonition to Paul came back: “Let the church be the body of Christ, not a one-man show.” She smiled to herself.

  It was good advice. There were many others in the church who would be blessed in the helping, though she wanted to be sensitive to Patricia’s desire for privacy. The least she could do was to call the prayer chain, without mentioning names, of course. Perhaps she could encourage those she knew to join the National Bone Marrow Registry. Even if there wasn’t a match for Marissa, perhaps another leukemia patient in their midst would find life. She would call the hospital when she got home and go get tested—Paul too. At least that was something she could do instead of sitting around feeling helpless. And if there was one thing Kate hated, it was doing nothing.

  The image of Patricia bolting upright when Kate had knocked on her door returned again. Kate couldn’t seem to get it out of her mind—and the change in Patricia’s attitude too. What had happened? Had she offended Patricia in some way? She couldn’t think of anything she’d done, intentionally or otherwise. Yet Patricia had been so jumpy, so defensive.

  What was it she was holding in her lap? A photo album? That was hardly something worth hiding. Yet it seemed that was exactly what she had been doing, judging by the way she had shoved it into the back of the closet.

  Kate sighed as she turned left onto Smoky Mountain Road. What sense did it all make?

  It seemed that instead of gaining a clearer knowledge of Patricia Harris, Kate was finding the woman more elusive than ever.

  Chapter Six

  The weekend passed in its usual manner. Paul added the finishing touches to his sermon on Saturday while Kate tidied the house and did some baking. On Sunday Paul mentioned a member of the church needing prayer “for health concerns.” Kate felt better knowing there were others carrying the burden of prayer for Marissa. Paul even went so far as to mention the need for people to add their names to the National Bone Marrow Registry.

  “There are many people,” he said, “not just here in Tennessee, but across the nation, who need marrow donation, whose lives could be saved if we did our part.” His eyes searched the congregation. Kate felt pride and love welling within her for this man.

  “Kate and I are going to be tested this week. It’s a simple swab of the cheek—that’s it. But if you’re a match, it could save someone’s life. Isn’t that a worthwhile thing to do this week?” He smiled, then glanced down at Kate.

  She hoped people would take his words to heart and get tested—if not for Marissa, then for someone else.

  SINCE PATRICIA HAD MADE it clear that she didn’t want Kate’s help anytime soon, Kate decided to spend the next week continuing the work on her stained-glass studio. So after she and Paul stopped at the hospital on Monday to have their cheeks swabbed, she drove to Pine Ridge and purchased a closet organizer with plenty of drawers and solid-surface shelves for the assorted supplies and tools her craft demanded. Then she labeled each drawer for easy identification. She had everything from foil to lead to jewels and nuggets, which were particularly pretty in lampshades, to caulk and the assorted chemicals she would need, as well as soldering supplies and leading tools, a stack of framing materials for window work, a small miter saw, a glass saw, her old grinder, soldering irons, and on it went.

  When everything was in its allotted place and correctly labeled, she stood back in satisfaction. All she needed now was her light table, which was scheduled to arrive that week, and a large worktable that was essential in her craft. She wondered if Sam Gorman carried anything like that at the Mercantile, or at least if he had a catalog of such furniture. She liked the idea of supporting local businesses if at all possible, and she had discovered that if she ordered such a large item on the Internet, the cost of freight would be prohibitive.

  So, on Tuesday afternoon she headed to the Mercantile. She parked on Main Street and entered the store’s cluttered interior. Sam Gorman’s warm smile met Kate as the bell above the door tinkled when she entered. Aisles in the store were narrow, and the shelving was tall, giving the place a claustrophobic yet cozy feel. Sam carried every item imaginable—from milk and food products to knitting supplies, camping items, jewelry, clothing for every member of the family...you name it. A few shoppers perused the shelves near the back of the store.

  “How are you this fine day?” Sam asked. The church’s organist, he had become one of Paul’s best friends in the months since their arrival. He was in his late fifties, loved fishing, and was one of the nicest people Kate had ever met.

  “Oh, not too bad,” Kate said as she set her purse on the counter.

  “Anything in particular I can help you find?”

  “Actually,” Kate began, “I’m looking for a large table.”

  “Like a kitchen table?” He scratched his stubbled chin.

  “No. More like a large craft table. Something square that I can lay my stained-glass projects out on, with a surface I don’t need to worry about scratching. Something I can drive a nail into without worrying.”

  “So, a real craft table...” he said. “Hmm.” He chewed on his bottom lip as he thought, then said, “I think I have just the thing.”

  He reached down beneath the cluttered counter and pulled out a voluminous binder that he laid open between them. “There’s some furniture like that in here, I think.” He paged to the back. “Ah, here we are.”

  He turned the book so Kate could see it right side up. “Says here it’s thirty-one inches high, and the top is forty by eighty. That about right for you?”

  “Do you have a tape measure?”

  Sam nodded and retrieved the item, also beneath the counter. He held one end while Kate pulled the tape out to the correct length. “That’s a good-sized table,” she said. “What’s it going to run me?”

  Sam reached for his calculator with the large buttons and punched in some numbers before looking up to give her the total.

  “Let’s get it ordered,” Kate said.

  Sam began copying down the details on the special-order pad alongside the cash register as Kate watched.

  “Heard through the prayer chain that Marissa Harris has been sick,” Sam said as he wrote.

  “Paul didn’t mention her name—”

  Sam shook his head. “News like that is pretty hard to keep hushed in a town like Copper Mill
,” he said. “Besides, Renee Lambert has been in.”

  Kate nodded her understanding. “That poor child,” Kate said. “I wish there was more we could do to help.”

  “I’ve heard several people say they’re going to be tested for the marrow-donation program.” He glanced back and forth between the catalog and his notes, as if to be certain he’d copied everything correctly.

  “Really?” Kate said, amazed at the quick response to the plea for help. Sam raised his head.

  “No one likes to see a young person suffer,” he added. “Especially that one.”

  “You know Marissa?” Kate asked.

  “I knew her dad. Nice guy. Good friend, and a great sailor. He used to take me on his boat on occasion. Played a mean cello, so we shared a love of music. Even played duets together in church a couple of times.”

  “Patricia didn’t mention that Ray was a musician,” Kate said.

  Sam closed the binder and placed it back in its spot beneath the counter, then straightened up again. “That woman keeps a lot to herself,” he said. “Ray was kind of her opposite when it came to that.”

  “What do you mean?” Kate asked.

  Sam shrugged, and his ocean blue eyes twinkled. “Ray was just a very open guy. Wasn’t afraid to talk about things, like how much he adored that daughter of his. He wore his affection for her on his sleeve.” He shook his head. “It’s a crying shame he died so young. A crying shame.”

  A moment of silence stretched and yawned.

  “He always wanted a son. When he found out he couldn’t...well, that was a hard blow.”

  “He couldn’t?” Kate said.

  “Oh, they went through that whole barrage of tests the doctors have out there. It was a miracle he and Patricia had Marissa in the first place, I say. But he was heartbroken. I think that’s why he worked extra hard to make Patricia and Marissa feel loved. He felt to blame.”

  “From everything I’ve heard, he sounded like a pretty extraordinary person,” Kate said.

  “Oh, that he was,” Sam agreed. “He really cared. And it wasn’t just an act with him—he really did care. Went the extra mile, you know? He had these vivid blue eyes. I can still see them. They drew you in with their caring.” He took in a deep breath, then he cleared his throat and said, “Well, enough about that.”

  Kate picked up her purse from the counter and said, “I appreciate your ordering that table for me. It sure will be a help.”

  “It should be here in about a week. I’ll bring it out to the house.”

  Chapter Seven

  The next day, winter made itself known. Snow had fallen in a thick coat during the night, covering the landscape as well as the streets of Copper Mill. Paul was outside snow-blowing the driveway and sidewalk as Kate watched from the window of their bedroom. A cup of hot coffee steamed between her hands as she sipped. The loud snow-blowing machine sent an arc of white onto the front yard as Paul walked along behind.

  He had been out there for a while and was just about done with the job when the county snowplow came by, leaving a ridge along the edge of the driveway. Paul stood upright, then his shoulders slumped as he looked at the long mound that now blocked the driveway.

  Kate chuckled to herself before returning to her studio and the task at hand. She set the cup of coffee back on its saucer and picked up her pencil.

  When she’d returned home from the Mercantile the day before, she’d been delighted to discover that UPS had left a large box on the front stoop. Her light table had arrived a day early. Considerably smaller than the table she’d ordered from Sam, this table had a glass top with a light underneath that made it possible to see how the colored glass would look in bright sunlight. She’d had it out of the box and assembled by suppertime.

  She sat at it now with a large sheet of paper before her and her laptop computer alongside it. She’d been looking up pictures of different objects for her surprise for the church and had finally settled on one in particular. She didn’t want Paul to suspect what she was doing, so when she’d seen all the snow, she’d been glad to know he would be outside giving her a little time to begin her design before Paul left for work.

  She was immersed in her drawing, enjoying the moment, sipping her coffee and then sitting back to decide whether she liked the placement of this or that item, and erasing and redrawing as needed. She didn’t want to make it too intricate, since that would eat up more time than she wanted, but she also wanted a sense of realism for the piece. It was a delicate balance, but one that she enjoyed finding.

  Her thoughts turned to her talk with Sam Gorman the day before. He’d added a couple of pieces to the puzzle that was Patricia Harris—most notably that the reason she’d never had another child was because of Ray’s infertility. Kate wondered if Marissa knew that detail. The young woman certainly hadn’t mentioned it, but, Kate supposed, most men wouldn’t share such intimacies with their daughters. What was it Sam had said about Ray’s blue eyes? They drew you in with their caring. Kate hoped people could say the same of her when it was her time to go.

  “What are you working on?” Paul stood at the door, his cheeks red from the cold.

  Kate hadn’t even heard him come in much less open the entry closet to put his winterwear away. Quickly she shut the laptop and turned her sheet of paper face down. When she faced him, she saw that his eyebrows were raised in question. She cleared her throat.

  “It’s nothing...Just a new project.”

  He took a step into the room, grinning. “Can I see?”

  “Oh no!” she said a bit too loudly.

  He stopped walking and looked at her. “Why not? Are you hiding something?” he asked in jest.

  “Don’t be silly. It’s just...You know us artists. We want to wait for the big unveiling.” She raised her hands in an awkward “Are you buying this?” gesture.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that so? I can let it go...I guess.”

  “Thanks, honey,” Kate said. “It’s something special that I want you to see when the time is right.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that.” He walked over to her and kissed her forehead, then pretended that he was going to sneak a peek. She smacked his hand.

  “Just kidding!” he said as he reached for her cup instead and took a sip of the steaming brew. “It’s so cold out there! Did you see what that plow did to all my good work? Talk about frustrating!”

  “I did. Poor baby.”

  “So much for my ideal life.”

  “You keep learning this lesson, don’t you?” Kate said.

  “I guess some of us never learn!”

  “Speaking of never learning,” Kate said, “did you ever figure anything out with the Wilson brothers and their dog, Toto?”

  “The dog’s name is Scout,” Paul said. “And no...Actually, Eli and I were going to head over there later this week. The younger brother is digging in. I don’t get it.”

  “You’re not alone on that front. I’m still trying to figure out Patricia Harris too. She has no parents or husband or extended family to speak of, yet she’s completely shut me out so I can’t help her. It’s as if she’s afraid of something.” She reached out for her coffee cup, taking it from her husband’s hands and setting it on the light table.

  “Don’t take it personally,” Paul said.

  “And how about you, Pastor—are you taking your own advice?”

  “I think the Wilson brothers enjoy the attention they get by keeping this feud going,” he admitted. “Jack actually moved out of the house with the dog, to their aunt’s house. Carl is threatening to sneak in and kidnap the animal. I thought it was all talk, but these two are serious.”

  “All for some prize money?” Kate said. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Paul shook his head. “I wish I were. Eli and I are going to take another shot at reasoning with them. If that doesn’t work, I don’t know what we’ll do. Brothers shouldn’t treat each other this way. In all my years of counseling, I’ve ne
ver had this much trouble getting through to two people.”

  “Why don’t you go talk to Nehemiah about it?” Kate suggested. “We live nearby now. You should take advantage of that. Besides, you know he’d love a visitor.”

  Nehemiah Jacobs, the previous pastor at Faith Briar, had been Paul’s mentor growing up and into his adult life. There was no one’s opinion, other than his own father’s, that Paul valued more.

  “You know,” Paul said, the light of an idea dawning as he looked into her eyes, “I should get Nehemiah’s advice on it.”

  “Oh really,” Kate deadpanned.

  Paul gave her a wry grin. “I love it when I get good ideas like that.” Like a mountain climber on a frosty morning, he took a deep breath of air. “I’ll go see him just as soon as I check in with Millie. You know how she gets if I’m tardy!”

  He bent for another kiss, which Kate happily returned, and then he headed to the church.

  IN TENNESSEE, winters oscillated on a yo-yo string of highs and lows. By the time Paul got to Chattanooga to see Nehemiah Jacobs, the temperatures had risen to the midfifties. The snow that had covered everything was melting, and the runoff was flowing through the city streets in a shimmering sheen. Paul made his way up Dodson Avenue and pulled into the lot for Orchard Hill, the assisted-living facility where the seventy-nine-year-old former pastor now made his home.

  Tucked beneath the hills of the Smoky Mountains, Orchard Hill looked more like a grand home than a medical facility. Divided windows lined the front near the entrance, and white pillars gave the place an almost regal feel.

  Paul could see several of the residents inside, gathered around the grand piano that was the focal point of the front sunroom. The television in the corner sat silent. Paul made his way inside the door and to the piano room to the left. Men and women with varying degrees of graying hair sat mesmerized by the ragtime sounds that the pianist brought forth. She was a dark-haired woman with bright red cheeks, and she reminded Paul of a gypsy.

  Nehemiah Jacobs listened from the couch nearest the window. His eyes were closed, yet a smile touched his wrinkled face, and he was swaying ever so slightly with the rhythm of the music. Paul took the seat beside him, and Nehemiah opened his eyes.

 

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