by Dorothy Love
“Can’t help that. If she ain’t here, she ain’t here.”
Ada sized him up. “Then you will have to do.”
“Ma’am?”
“What’s your name?”
“Ulysses, ma’am.”
“Ulysses, do you know Mr. Caldwell? At the lumber mill?”
“Ever’body been knowin’ who he is.”
“My name is Ada Wentworth. I need to you to go to the mill and find him. Tell him his aunt is very sick and that he needs to bring Dr. Spencer to the house right away. Can you remember that?”
“Yes’m, I reckon. But how am I ’sposed to get there?”
“You haven’t a horse or a mule? A wagon?”
“No ma’am. Not since las’ fall.”
“Then you’ll come with me. I’ll take you as far as the crossroad, but you’ll have to walk from there. And you must hurry.”
He crossed his skinny arms. “I don’t want no trouble.”
“Listen to me. I don’t blame you for being afraid, I’m afraid too. But there will be more trouble if Mr. Caldwell’s aunt dies because you wouldn’t help me. Now stop arguing and get in!”
Ulysses complied. Ada turned the rig and drove as fast as she dared over the rough path to the main road, where a horse and rig passed them going the opposite way. Two men she didn’t know turned to stare. She felt a wave of uneasiness but pushed it away. Getting help for Lillian was more important than anybody’s rules about what was or wasn’t proper.
“All right, Ulysses,” Ada said when they reached the crossroad. “What message are you to deliver to Mr. Caldwell? Tell me word for word.”
“Mr. Caldwell, your auntie sick,” the boy recited. “Miss Ada say bring the doctor to the house right quick.”
“Yes, that’s right. If you can’t find Mr. Caldwell, I want you to find his foreman, Mr. Whiting, and tell him. Anyone at the mill can tell you who he is.” Ada handed him a coin. “Now run, Ulysses. Run as fast as you can!”
The boy sprinted down the road. Ada left Smoky in the yard and ran inside.
Lillian lay still, her breathing shallow but even. The fire still crackled in the grate. The clock in the parlor ticked into the silence. Too numb to think, Ada moved mechanically, lighting the lamps, building a fire in the cookstove, setting the kettle on to boil. When the tea was ready, she poured a cup and took it into Lillian’s room to keep watch. Not knowing what else to do, and unnerved by the silence, she opened Lillian’s Bible and read aloud. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? . . .”
The familiar psalm and the sound of her own voice calmed her and kept at bay the nagging worry that her sharp words to Lillian were somehow to blame for the older woman’s condition. Tears sprang to her eyes. She should have been kinder. She should have been more patient. After all, she and Lillian wanted the same thing: Wyatt’s happiness.
Darkness had fallen. Through the window, she saw Smoky standing patiently in the yard. He needed to be freed of his harness, watered, and fed, but she lacked the energy, and she was afraid to leave Lillian again. Wyatt would never forgive her if Lillian died alone.
At last, she heard hoofbeats along the road and then Wyatt’s familiar tread on the porch. He rushed inside.
“Ada.” He gathered her into his arms. She sagged against him.
“Where’s the doctor?” she asked when he released her.
“Right behind me. He’ll be here shortly. What happened?”
Ada told him. “One minute she was fine, and the next . . .” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes welled.
Wyatt bent over the bed. “Aunt Lil,” he murmured. “It’s me. Can you hear me, darlin’?”
Lillian’s eyes fluttered, but no words came. He drew up a chair and sat beside her, holding her hand. Ada heard the doctor’s rig outside, and she hurried to let him in.
Dr. Spencer bent over the bed, his thin face serious in the flickering firelight. “Has she spoken at all since this happened?”
“No.” Ada clenched her hands. “Nothing.”
He nodded. “I saw a number of cases like this during my training in Philadelphia. Most likely it’s a venous congestion of the brain. That would account for the sudden onset of her symptoms and her loss of speech.”
“What can you do?” Wyatt asked. “Does she need an operation? Medicines? Whatever she needs, I’ll take—”
“Wyatt.” The doctor returned his stethoscope to his medical bag and snapped it shut. “I’m not going to lie to you. In cases like this, where there has been little movement and no speech for several hours, the prognosis is not good—especially in one so old and frail. I think—”
“What about a specialist?”
The doctor shook his head. “If it will make you feel better, I can summon one of my colleagues from Knoxville for another opinion. But frankly, by the time he gets here—”
“It’ll be too late.”
“It’s hard to say. I’ve seen cases such as this where the patient lingers for many days. Others go in a matter of hours.” He clasped Wyatt’s shoulder. “If there’s any other family who would want to see her before she goes, now would be the time to send word.”
“There’s no one. I’m all she has left.”
Dr. Spencer picked up his bag. “People tend to forget their own needs at times like this.” His voice was gentle. “It won’t do Lillian any good for the two of you to go hungry. I’ll send word to the Whitings. They’ll want to help.”
Wyatt drew his chair closer to the bed and grasped his aunt’s frail hand. Ada followed the doctor to the door. “Please. Isn’t there anything we can do for her?”
He patted her shoulder. “Pray, my dear. Just pray.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Ada woke with a start, her heart jerking in her chest. The fiery nightmare had returned, haunting her sleep. The images of roiling smoke and blistering flames were as vivid and familiar as ever, but mixed into the horrifying dream was an image of Edward as she’d last seen him, resplendent in his uniform, laughing at some joke her father had told at dinner the night her world had shattered. And somehow she was in the dream too, alone in the cold. She sat up, waiting for her pulse to slow, and massaged the knot at the small of her back. Lillian’s parlor settee was no place to sleep, but she’d been too worried and too exhausted last night to climb the stairs to her room.
She rose and opened the curtains. Outside, frost glittered on the brown grass. A thin winter sun rose over the mountain. She shivered. The fire had burned low in the grate. She knelt beside the hearth, added some kindling, and, with the bellows, coaxed a flame to life.
Wyatt, disheveled and bleary-eyed from a long night of keeping watch at Lillian’s bedside, shuffled down the hall. Her heart twisted at the sight of him. Dear Lord, please give me the right words to say to him. And please take care of Lillian.
Ada stood. “Is she—”
He shook his head. “I think her breathing is slowing down. I wish the doctor would get here.”
A sound drew her attention to the window. Ignoring the headache building behind her gritty eyes, she pushed her tangled hair off her face and opened the door.
“Ada.” Mariah’s brown eyes welled. She set her food basket on the table in the hallway and enveloped Ada in a strong embrace. “Ennis Spencer told us what happened yesterday. You must have been frightened out of your wits.”
Ada felt her tears coming back. “It was so sudden. One minute we were talking, and the next . . .” She wiped her eyes and smoothed her hair. “Oh, I must look a fright.”
“Well, you’ve had an awful time of it.” Mariah turned and took both of Wyatt’s hands. “This is terrible.”
Wyatt nodded and swallowed hard. Ada’s heart went out to him. Lillian had been like a mother to him; her passing would leave a huge hole in his life. She wished she could take his grief upon herself.
“I brought breakfast.” Mariah picked up her basket. “I’ll get everything ready.”
“I’m not hungry,” Ada and Wyatt said as on
e.
“You have to eat,” Mariah said firmly. She headed for the kitchen just as the doctor returned.
He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the rack in the entry hall. “Any change?”
“She’s the same.” Wyatt ran his hand over his stubbled face. “I tried talking to her this morning, but—”
“I’ll take a look.”
Ada and Wyatt followed Dr. Spencer into Lillian’s room. Ada was stunned at how greatly Lillian had changed overnight. Her skin was slack and papery, her eyes shrunken into their sockets. Each shallow breath was accompanied by a faint wheeze. Ada’s stomach clenched. She remembered that terrible sound. The death rattle, her mother’s doctor had called it. There was surely no hope now for Lillian’s recovery.
The doctor bent over the bed to examine Lillian.
“How long?” Wyatt asked, his voice rough with tears.
“A matter of hours, I should think.” Dr. Spencer straightened and put away his stethoscope. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I’d be obliged if you’d stop by the mill. Tell Sage I’m closing down until after the funeral. And find Charlie Blevins. He’s the best coffin maker around. Tell him to use some of that good oak we milled out last week.”
“I’ll take care of it. Shall I send the minister out here?”
“Lillian would like that. Tell him we’ll have the service here at the house. The stove at the church isn’t working properly.” He massaged the back of his neck. “You’d best send word to the undertaker too.”
The doctor nodded. “I wish I could stay, but I’ve a couple of very sick children who need attending and a mother with a baby due any minute.”
“We’ll be fine.” Wyatt shook the doctor’s hand. “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
They saw him out and went the kitchen, where Mariah had set out breakfast—warm bread with strawberry preserves and fresh butter, a platter of bacon and eggs, a pot of strong coffee. Ada found herself suddenly famished. When had she last eaten? It seemed a lifetime ago.
The three of them ate in a heavy silence broken only by the clink of silverware on their plates and the soft chiming of the parlor clock. When the meal was finished, Mariah quickly washed and dried the dishes, retrieved her basket, and pulled on her cloak.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” she murmured to Ada. “There’s nothing you can do for her now. Look after Wyatt.”
When Mariah’s buggy disappeared around the bend, Wyatt slumped onto the settee. “Go on up to your bed and get some sleep,” he said gently. “You’re exhausted.”
“So are you. I’ll wait with you.”
“You’re not obligated.”
“I want to stay with you.” Her eyes filled. “And with her.”
They returned to Lillian’s room. Wyatt replenished the logs in the fireplace. The fire flared, and the logs popped, sending up a gray plume of fragrant wood smoke. The birds awoke and chattered in the trees. Feeble sunlight pushed through the drawn curtains.
“She was quite fond of you,” Wyatt said quietly.
Ada managed a weak smile. “I was fond of her as well. I’m sorry I vexed her more than I meant to.”
He smiled. “So did I. But Aunt Lil could be difficult. Judgmental. Demanding. And stubborn to a fault.”
“I wasn’t certain how she’d react to my bringing Sophie here, but she seemed to enjoy having her around.”
“She always had a soft spot in her heart for those in distress. I think that’s one reason she took to you. She might not have always acted like it, but she knew how heavy your burdens were.” His voice cracked. “I’m going to miss her.”
“Oh, so will I!” She looked up. “Wyatt, could we pray for her?”
He gazed back at her. “I think that’s exactly what we should do.” They joined hands across the bed.
“Lord,” Wyatt began, “you gave me this good woman, Lillian Caldwell Willis, at a time in my life when I needed her most, and now I reckon you’re wanting her back. We thank you for her long life, for what she’s meant to us and to our town. We ask you to remember her virtues, forgive her sins, and welcome her into your loving presence.”
A soft sigh escaped Lillian’s parched lips. Ada bent to kiss the older woman’s cool, dry forehead and wondered about death. Did Lillian somehow know that the end had come? Was she afraid? Relieved? Expectant? Ada didn’t try to stop her tears.
Outside, a cardinal took up its morning song. It seemed that minutes passed before Lillian took another shallow breath.
“The Lord is my shepherd,” Wyatt began.
Ada joined him. “I shall not want . . .”
Lillian’s breath grew fainter. Tears slid down Ada’s face as she and Wyatt recited the ancient words.
“Yea, though I walk—”
Lillian’s eyelids fluttered. Wyatt bent to kiss her cheek, and her expression grew peaceful. She released a final breath.
Wyatt and Ada stood for a long minute in the awful silence. Then Wyatt gently drew the covers over Lillian’s head. “I wish the preacher had arrived in time.”
Ada wiped her eyes. “Your prayer was lovely. Pastor Dennis could have done no better.”
She stood beside Lillian’s bed, wondering what came next. When her mother died, she’d been banished to her room while Elizabeth’s body was prepared for burial. What was expected of her now?
“Ada,” Wyatt said quietly, “you should rest now. The pastor will be coming soon, and I expect the undertaker will be along this afternoon too.”
“I am tired,” she admitted. “But what about you?”
“I’d like to be alone for a little bit—take a walk around the place while I wait for the undertaker. Go on up now. I’ll wake you in a while.”
Ada went up to her room and crawled into bed without bothering to undress. Now that the crisis was over, she was bone-tired and soul-weary. She slept without dreaming until Wyatt came upstairs to wake her.
He had combed his hair, but a two-day growth of beard still shadowed his cheeks. “The undertaker has come and gone,” he said, his voice raspy with fatigue and grief. “The Spencers are downstairs with Mariah and Sage. Pastor Dennis is here to talk about the service. I could use your help with deciding what to do. I’m not much good with ceremonies.”
“Of course. I’ll be right there.”
She donned the dove-gray dress she’d worn on her first Sunday in Hickory Ridge, saving her best one for tomorrow’s service. She washed her face, pinned her hair, and pinched some color into her cheeks.
Downstairs, a fire popped and hissed in the grate. Beneath the window sat a wooden coffin stand. Someone had draped the hallway mirror in black and placed a black wreath on the front door. The doctor’s wife bustled about, helping Mariah serve tea.
“Miss Wentworth?” Pastor Dennis set aside an empty cup. “Wyatt says you’re to help choose the songs and readings for tomorrow.”
Ada sat down and accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Spencer. “She liked Psalms and Proverbs and Ecclesiastes. Whatever you choose, Pastor Dennis, will be fine.”
“Very well. What about hymns?”
“ ‘My Shepherd Will Supply My Need.’ It was her favorite.”
“Mine too.” He licked the tip of a pencil and scribbled on a piece of paper. “What else?”
“ ‘Abide with Me,’ I think. She used to hum it when she walked in her garden.”
The pastor scanned his notes as if checking a grocery list. “I suppose that’s all I need. Much obliged for your help.” He shook hands with Wyatt, bundled into his black frock coat, and picked up his hat. “I’ll see myself out.”
Late that evening, when everyone else had gone, Wyatt lit the lamps. He and Ada foraged in the kitchen, preparing a cold supper that they ate before the fire.
“I walked in her garden this afternoon,” he said. “I could almost hear her fussing at me for trampling on her Louisiana iris. When I was a boy, she’d tell me not to take a shortcut through the garden, and I’d alw
ays forget and step on one plant or another. One time she switched me good for ruining a primrose bush.” He smiled. “Of course, she had to catch me first. I took off for the river, thinking I could outrun her, but she cut through the trees and caught up with me just before I got to Billy Rondo’s place. She walloped the tar out of me—not so much for ruining the bush, but for running from her. I guess I deserved it.”
Ada laughed, then sobered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing at a time like this.”
“Don’t apologize. Aunt Lil wouldn’t mind your enjoying a laugh at my expense.” He took a sip of his coffee. “She used to tell me I was too big for my britches. Nothing pleased her more than taking me down at notch or two from time to time.”
They sat quietly for a long time. The fire collapsed on itself with a soft sigh. At last Wyatt rose. “I should go home, but I hate leaving you here alone. Will you be all right?”
She stood too. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be back early tomorrow to help prepare for the service. I want to be here when Aunt Lil comes home for the last time.”
He looked so tired, so weighted with grief, that Ada’s eyes filled again. “I’ll have breakfast ready. I’d like to do whatever I can to make things easier for you.”
“The whole day will be easier if I’m with you.” He kissed her forehead. “Good night, Ada.”
She walked him to the door. When he had gone, she extinguished the lamps in the parlor and went up to bed. But despite her weariness, sleep proved elusive.
Now that Lillian was gone, Ada no longer had a job or a place to call home. And she was scared. All her life she’d been a planner. She hated not knowing what would happen tomorrow and the day after.
The winter wind seeped into the old house. She drew her covers more tightly about her and tried to think. She had no doubt that Wyatt would honor his promise to let her stay on here until she could make other arrangements, but what possibilities were open to her? Should she move to that rundown ladies’ hotel in town and try to support herself making hats? Look for another opportunity as lady’s companion? Or should she leave Hickory Ridge for a larger town with more opportunities?