by Austin,Robin
New England is politically incorrectly populated in lily white. Ruston United Methodist Church is ninety-nine percent lily white, Pastor Davenport is the one percent. A towering man and a good three hundred pounds, he would stand out anyway, but in this group his rich, booming voice is what makes him the main attraction.
His parishioners call him either Leroyce or Pastor, mostly the latter. One and all want his attention and I can see why. His every word is peppered with laughter or praise or agreement. Saying he’s charismatic doesn’t do him justice. Believers, I’m sure, would say he is filled with the holy spirit, and although I’m not overly dogmatic, I would have to agree.
It’s clear that getting a moment of his time alone will be impossible until the crowd thins to just the two of us. I’m prepared to wait.
As I make small talk with the others, I drop subtle hints to each about Ashland. None take the bait to share a bit of friendly gossip. All feel guilty about not visiting the residents, but none are willing to discuss its past. Neither Eunice nor Matilda will be identified in the article so I avoid naming names. Since none of my newfound friends are volunteering information, our conversations turn to the weather, my lack of offspring, and various gardening and cooking tips.
It’s nearly nine o’clock when the last of the members say goodnight. I’ve already asked Davenport if I can stay and talk to him. He’s generous to a fault, and in these walls especially, I feel sinful for thinking he’s guilty of any fault at all. When it’s finally just the two of us, he leads me to his office.
Davenport hasn’t stopped smiling all night, and I don’t mean just a pleasant grin. The man could lead a new spiritual uprising. As much as I like him though, I can’t be coy. I explain my purpose in town, limiting it as much as possible. “Have you ever met Eunice Cohoon?” I ask.
“You mean Matilda Davenport, don’t you?” He says this with a devilish wide smile then laughs deep and loud at my reaction, which is little more than speechless shock.
“I guess you do,” I say. “Why has she taken your last name?”
“I don’t know that she has. I’m not the only man on God’s beautiful earth with the name Davenport.”
“Too coincidental, don’t you think?”
Davenport nods, his smile fades. “Not long after I came to Ruston, I would go out to Ashland some Sunday evenings. I’d spend time with all the residents, read them the Bible, pray with them and for them.” His voice is quiet, humble even and I detect a rich Southern drawl that I’d missed before. “I regret that a disagreement with the director at that time prevented my continued visits.”
“You’re referring to Dr. Kaufman.” Davenport raises his eyebrows and almost grins.
“I met Matilda a few months after I met Eunice. Eunice loved for me to read passages to her, to listen to my explanation of God’s plan for her, but she never spoke to me. Then one day, I thought I was losing my own mind when Eunice opened her mouth and out came somebody she claimed was named Matilda. That other person, well, she was quite the character. Not more than a kid, thirteen if I recall correctly, but she had this Ms. Scarlett act going on. She did her best to try and charm the socks right off my feet.” Davenport laughs then cringes. “Please promise me that comment won’t be a part of your story.”
I laugh and promise.
“Inside all that suffering was a proper and fanciful young lady, wanting so much to lead a life with friends and family that she didn’t even have. I told her God had other plans for her. I just surely didn’t know what those plans were.” Davenport looks away and is silent for a moment.
“Well anyway, after a few more visits, she tells me her last name is Davenport. You can imagine my surprise and concern about that. So I asked to meet with Dr. Kaufman to discuss the matter. He surely did not react the way I expected. The man got so mad I thought he was going to call the police to haul me out of the building. Looking back now, I guess those would be the last folks he’d be calling.”
“Mad about what?”
“Can’t say for certain. He came close to suggesting I’d let the girl get too personal with me. Got the feeling I offended the man when I attempted to set him straight.”
“Or perhaps he was jealous of the attention you were receiving.”
“It’s not my place to judge him. The police and the jury took care of him for his time here. The good Lord will take care of him afterwards. I just regret that I couldn’t do more to help those people. I’m honored Matilda thought enough of me to use my name. If you’re looking for a licentious tale for her doing so, I can assure you that you won’t find one.”
“I’m sure I won’t Pastor, and I appreciate your clearing things up. Couple of things, if you don’t mind. You said Eunice was thirteen at the time of your visits. I understand she gained some weight around then. Do you recall anything about her appearance?”
Davenport cocks his head and creases his brow. “Skinny little thing, as I recall.”
How do you think Matilda came to know all the things she does? How do you think this, this alter personality—”
“Got herself such a big old self?” Davenport’s laughter fills the room. “God’s will would be my guess. You sure wouldn’t think it possible just by looking at Eunice, now would you? That’s why Jesus warned us not to go judging others.”
No sooner does he speak these last words than thunder claps so loud it practically shakes the church. We both laugh then say our goodbyes. Davenport walks me to the back entrance to save me a trip around the church in the sudden downpour.
I run through the parking lot dodging puddles and slipping on slick asphalt. I fumble with my keys then turn on the heat getting a blast of cold air before the engine warms. When I flip on the windshield wipers and headlights, I see Davenport standing in the doorway. His silhouette is taking up the entire opening. A pole light sprays a foggy haze over him.
I pull forward towards the exit and start to wave but stop. His arms are crossed over his chest, his legs spread military style, his smile is gone. The caring pastor’s mask seems to have slipped away. I continue out of the parking lot, glance once in the rearview mirror, then again when I circle around to reach the main road. He’s there, as still as the moon over Gibeon, watching me.
It’s late when I get back to the hotel. A message from my mother weakens my knees as I fumble with my phone to listen. She’s clearly pissed at me, and at that I feel a huge relief.
Her tough New England attitude has always been as thick as potato soup and always somehow soothes me equally well. My mother isn’t mean; she’s strong, though harsh when she needs to make her point. She’s the type of woman that most women her age are afraid to be. My father always says there’s nothing she can’t handle. “Or won’t take to task,” I’m always quick to add. Tonight, she’s taking me to task for not coming home this weekend.
“What do you mean you’re not coming home until the story is finished?”
I have no idea how she knows this as she long ago disowned Rick, while not admitting to any such thing.
“Jan, stay away long enough and you’ll have no home to come home to.”
There’s a long pause on the line and I don’t know if she was thinking or busy doing something else. She’s a multi-tasker if ever there was one. Finally she’s back, speaking much softer.
“Relationships don’t come easy and they don’t make themselves. You have to work for what you want. If you don’t work at it, someone else will. Okay, enough said. Call me tomorrow. Your father’s fine. He says hello. Goodbye.”
Salt of the earth, words of wisdom. I know she’s right. I know she means well. I still won’t be going home until I’m done and ready.
Chapter Sixteen
§
Over the next three days, my plan is to spend as much time with Eunice as possible. I hope I’m just a small ways away from winning her over, opening the door to the mind that holds the wisdom her alter simply shouldn’t possess but does.
As soon as I woke up, I
was nagged by the image of Davenport from last night. I want to believe he’s the magnetic man who all his parishioners love, as well as the man I found so kind and forthcoming. But as I see that image standing in the doorway, I can’t help but hear my dad’s voice saying to always trust my gut. If only Davenport had gone back inside the church or waved goodbye. If only, then my gut wouldn’t be churning the way it is.
I suspect he won’t be hard to find online and I’m almost right. By my second cup of coffee, I find him in Alabaster, Alabama, on the Methodist Church website. There’s just two sentences at the bottom of the staff page about the man: After three years of service at the Alabaster Methodist Church, Pastor Leroyce E. Davenport received an invitation to minister at the United Methodist Church, replacing Pastor Randal Clarkston who the Good Lord has called home. Pastor Davenport will be missed by all, and we wish him much success at his new church.
Short and sweet and unrevealing.
I search the photo gallery for pictures of a going away party, his towering form and smiling face during a sermon or at a pancake dinner; I find nothing. Google searches turn up nothing as well. As for the Ruston Methodist Church’s website, it hasn’t advanced past its Coming Soon banner.
I’m feeling brave, thinking with Aljala by my side, I’ll try to coax Eunice into giving me her opinion of the good Pastor. Hopefully with a less dramatic display than she did with the pigs.
I decide to take Martha’s advice, and head to the shopping mall where I buy matching knit hat and gloves for Eunice and a bag of brightly dyed gummy candies– granted, I’m not a natural at this gift giving ploy.
I’ve already called Ashland and confirmed that Eunice is feeling well enough for my visit. I’ve also scheduled interviews with two of her regular nurses. This is the second time they’ve been scheduled, the first was cancelled due to understaffing issues. That came after my last clash with Rodham, reminding me that the temperament I inherited from my mother sometimes runs rampant over the cool, calm lessons taught by my father.
When I arrive at Ashland, the desk nurse tells me Eunice is on the east grounds. I ask if Aljala can accompany me. Nurse Fowler, whose favor I will clearly never win, is called for confirmation. I’m told he’ll be notified.
As soon as I go out the east wing door, I see Eunice– staring into space, bundled in her frayed sweater.
“Hello, Eunice,” I say, as I approach. She doesn’t acknowledge me. As usual, she doesn’t react when I sit beside her on the bench. “Lovely day, isn’t it? Not many more like this one, I suspect. Not for awhile anyway. I brought you a couple of things.”
This time, I didn’t bother to wrap the gifts. I offer her a candy from the bag with no response, then I show her the hat and gloves. “Blue, one of your two favorite colors,” I say, flashing them in front of her. I catch sight of Aljala crossing the lawn, coming our way.
“Ms. Jan, Ms. Eunice,” he says, and I notice a slight shift from Eunice. Not enough to turn his way, but enough to prove she’s more than a mannequin. “You are both looking wonderful on this wonderful day.”
I can’t help but smile. Either he’s a good actor or he’s learned not to carry any of life’s endless burdens, even at a place like Ashland.
“Can we walk a few minutes?”
Aljala gently swings his arm, presenting the ground in front of us.
“Does she speak to you?” I ask as soon as we’re far enough away not to be heard.
“Speak? Sadly, no. I’m afraid Ms. Matilda does all the talking for Ms. Eunice.”
“She spoke to me.”
He’s dramatically surprised; stopping and making prayer hands and raising them fully to the sky. “You are blessed, Ms. Jan. She surely likes you very much. I am happy for you. Happy for both of you.”
“I understand she talks to Dr. Rodham and a few of the nurses.”
He nods, seems to consider my comment but doesn’t respond.
“I’m going to ask her about some things. Things that may disturb her—”
“Oh no, not the pigs again,” he says, with a laugh.
“No, definitely not. About Matilda. About Pastor Davenport.” I wait for Aljala’s reaction regarding the pastor. He’s silent. “Do you know the man? He’s from the Methodist Church. Said he used to visit with Eunice and Matilda on Sundays. You may have seen him here.”
We stop walking and Aljala reaches to pluck a leaf from one of the bushes just as Matilda had. “Pastor Davenport?” he says, sliding the leaf through his fingers. “I cannot recall the man or Ms. Matilda ever speaking of him. Sunday is my day off, though I fill in whenever needed. Maybe I will meet him sometime. But why bring up things that may upset your friend?”
“I’m not sure bringing up the pastor will upset her. She may have the opposite reaction. As for asking about Matilda, I don’t expect much, but I’m hoping for a small acknowledgment. One that indicates she’s aware of this alter personality.”
“Your job is most complicated. I think Ms. Eunice prefers that things stay simple, prefers not to have any reactions at all.” Aljala laughs and slips the leaf into my hair. “Less complicated is sometimes best.”
“But not always the solution to difficult problems. If you wouldn’t mind staying close by, I’d appreciate it. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
“I shall do that, Ms. Jan. No worries. I will look out for the both of you.”
I return to Eunice. The hat and gloves still rest on the bench where I left them. “You don’t like these?” I say, holding them in front of her. “I can return them for another color if you like, or maybe another style? I just thought these suited you.”
I slip one of the gloves on and run my finger over the back of her hand, despite my prior warnings not to touch her. “Soft, isn’t it?” She doesn’t move. Even with a hint of fall chill, I feel perspiration beading on my forehead.
“I’ll take them back. I’m sorry you don’t like them,” I say, putting the hat and gloves back in the bag, feeling like I’m talking to myself again.
“I meant to bring my poetry journal again to read to you, but I left it at the hotel. I was running late and walked out without it.” Now I am talking to myself, still hoping something will slip out that grabs her attention.
“I’m staying at the Ruston Hotel. It’s very nice. Well, more comfortable than nice. The staff is very friendly… just like they are here. Friendly, friendly people everywhere.” I’m watching a group of residents kick, or try to kick, a beach ball, barely listening to my own senseless chatter.
With a deep breath, I double check that Aljala is nearby. “I met Pastor Davenport last night. From the Methodist Church?”
I wait, watching Eunice out of the corner of my eye. Watching her hands, which don’t move, her saucer eyes and crooked smile, which don’t move either. “I went to a pancake dinner they had. It was very nice. They had blueberries and whip cream—” I start to say, and bacon, but catch myself.
“Blueberries.”
I’d gone back to watching the ball kickers and nearly didn’t hear Eunice speak, and then wonder if she really did. By all appearances, there’s no sign she’s decided to join the conversation.
“Yes, blueberries. Very juicy and sweet. Do you like blueberries? If so, I’m sure I could bring you some. Would you like that?” Eunice is still silent and I think I may have mistook the wind for a single word.
“Perhaps, I could bring them on Sunday. Pastor Davenport said he used to visit you on Sundays. I think we should invite Matilda too. The four of us could have blueberries together. Would that be all right with you? Blueberries and whipped cream for each of us. How do you think Matilda would feel about that idea?”
The ball kickers have gotten into a skirmish. Aljala’s attention and efforts have turned to pulling them apart, freeing the ball from several struggling hands. Despite the protests, he retrieves it and kicks it gently for the patients to chase, and now they’re back to laughing together.
I’m a person without natur
al ease, one who envies Aljala’s absence of reservations. I’ve been told I was once carefree. I don’t remember that me.
Aljala is laughing with the patients, happy to keep things simple, which keeps these uncomplicated people happy. I watch him as he scans the grounds for any other mischief. Then he turns back to me, and I’m caught staring before I can look away.
I check my phone for the time and see I’ve been talking to myself for over a half hour. I also see that I have a message from Rick. Heaven’s, I hope my mother didn’t call him. I fear this tangent she’s been on about my home life may have her renewing ties with him.
“Eunice, I’m meeting with a couple of your nurses to talk about my article, about your story. I’m going to be here the rest of the day so if I can, I’ll stop by to see you before I go. I really hope we have a chance to talk. I want this to be your story as much as it is mine.” I’m gathering my things, still feeling like I’m alone at this visit.
“I hope to see you later today,” I say. When I turn to Aljala to wave goodbye, I feel a tug and think I’ve caught myself on something. Eunice’s hand is holding my jacket. She’s not looking at me, hasn’t moved at all.
“What is it? Eunice? Do you want to tell me something?” She puts her hand back in her lap, and I sit beside her.
“Eunice. I know you can hear me. I know you understand me. You can trust me and tell me anything you like. I’m here for you.”
I sit for another ten minutes without a single word, a single reaction. “Shall I leave you the hat and gloves?” I remove them again from the bag and lay them over her hands in her lap before I stand. “I hope you like them,” I say, and head to the building.
I look back before I get to the door and see that she’s moved her hands on top of the hat and gloves. I feel happier than I have in a long time for reasons that escape me.
Fowler meets me as I make my way to the lobby. She tells me the two nurses I was scheduled to interview today are now unavailable. Her attempt at a professional smile is no better than a sour smirk.