“Just remember what I said, Preacher,” Hazel said, wagging a finger at Paul. “It’s not too late.”
“I’ll consider it,” was Paul’s only response, and Eugenie couldn’t tell what they’d been discussing. She was eager to know, though. Hazel certainly worked diligently to spread her poison around Sweetgum and its environs.
“Go on in and have a seat, Eugenie,” Paul instructed her as he moved away with Hazel.
Eugenie did just that, closing the door to the pastor’s study behind her so she wouldn’t have to continue her conversation with Cora Lee. She needed a minute to gather her thoughts.
A moment later he was back. He took her in his arms and kissed her. Eugenie especially liked that part of marriage and could only regret all the years she’d missed out on such simple but enjoyable displays of affection.
“So what’s on your mind?” Paul asked when he released her. He waved toward one of the chairs across from his desk. Eugenie sat down, and Paul lowered himself into the one next to her. “Must be important if you’re here in the middle of the day.”
His comment stung. It wasn’t intentional, she knew, but was he implying, as Hazel Emerson had more than boldly stated, that her job was more important to her than her new husband?
“I wanted to talk to you about your decision to go part time.”
He’d told her about it weeks ago, as part of a very brief, very casual conversation. She hadn’t reacted then. Now, though, she didn’t feel as if she had any choice in the matter. They might not be young and fragile, but their marriage was. Eugenie had kept her feelings for Paul a secret for forty years, from the moment they’d gone their separate ways after an early courtship. She didn’t want to keep secrets anymore.
“I should have said something sooner.” She tried to focus her thoughts so she could present a logical argument. “I guess I didn’t realize the implications. Didn’t want to realize them.”
Paul arched an eyebrow in surprise. “What’s bothering you about my decision?”
Eugenie took a deep breath. “I feel as if it’s my fault.”
“Your fault?” He looked even more surprised.
“The budget problems. They’re because of me.”
Paul looked at her as if she’d just sprouted a second head. “You think this is about you?”
“Hazel Emerson approached me last fall. She told me that many of the members don’t believe I’m a Christian. She said it made the budget problems worse.”
Paul was silent for a long moment, long enough to make Eugenie nervous. She’d hoped he would wave her worries away and assure her that Hazel was completely off base. Instead, he looked at his hands, clasped between his knees. Anywhere but at her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Eugenie’s question came out as a bark.
“Your faith is your business, Eugenie, and no one else’s.”
“Hazel says I need to prove I’m a believer.”
Paul laughed. “Is that why you’ve been volunteering for everything in sight?” He shook his head. “Your relationship to the church, to God, isn’t about me. It shouldn’t be, anyway.”
“But—”
“Look, Eugenie, I’ve dealt with far more difficult problems over the course of my career. I’ll get through this.”
“Yes, I’m sure you will, but it shouldn’t be just you getting through this. I’m your wife. We’re supposed to be a team now.”
“So what should I have done? Told you that you had to stand up in worship and make a statement of faith?”
Eugenie pursed her lips. “Of course not. But you had to have known how people felt. We could have at least discussed it.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.” As quick as a wink, his eyes went blank, as if he’d pulled a set of window blinds closed. Eugenie had never seen him do that before.
“Paul? What’s going on?”
“Nothing. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”
“Then why do you look like that? Sound like that?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He turned away to shuffle some papers on his desk.
“You sound like I’m not allowed to know what you’re thinking. To be part of your decision. Your life.”
At that his face crumpled, as if a giant hand had wadded him up like a sheet of paper. “Eugenie—”
Just her name, but filled with anguish.
“Paul—” She reached for him, grabbing his clasped hands in hers. “Tell me.”
He shook his head, and then his shoulders began to shake as well. Eugenie, for the first time in decades, knew pure fear.
“Paul, you have to tell me. What is it?”
He raised his watery gaze to hers. “It was my fault.”
“What was your fault?”
“Helen’s death. Helen’s death was my fault.”
Eugenie’s head snapped back, as if he’d delivered a physical blow. “Your wife died of cancer.” She gripped his hands more tightly. “How in the world could that be your fault?”
“I pushed her too hard, wanting her to meet everyone’s expectations. The older I got, the more I tried to dictate to her.”
Eugenie couldn’t imagine Paul being dictatorial to anyone. “That’s just survivor’s guilt talking. I’m sure you did no such thing.”
Paul laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. Only pain and loss. “I did. And eventually it killed her.”
“So your solution is to not ask anything of me? Even if what you’re saying is true, isn’t that jumping out of the frying pan into the fire?” She paused. “Besides, I’ve heard you talk about Helen. She doesn’t seem like a pushover from the way you describe her.”
“She started to get tired, but I ignored it. Just kept encouraging her to play the piano for the children’s choir, organize the fund-raising walk for steeple repairs.” He freed his hands from her grasp. “None of which was a matter of life-and-death.”
“People get sick, Paul. You can’t control that.”
“But I made her worse. Made it worse.”
“How do you know that?”
And then, though she’d been afraid before, terror rose in her as she looked into his eyes, no longer blank but instead filled with anguish.
“I pushed her when she was sick, and she died. I’m not going to make that mistake again.”
All her life Eugenie had thought preachers were a cut above regular people. She’d believed they had some special connection to God that insulated them from the vagaries of human existence. But since she and Paul had reconnected, she’d begun to see a new, clearer picture of the life of a minister. Now that Paul had revealed his secret fear to her, she could interpret his insistence that she not conform to the church’s expectations in a whole new light. He wasn’t being generous or tolerant or supportive. He was afraid.
“Paul, I’m not going to die just because I do a few things for the church. Or because Hazel Emerson and her ilk question my faith.”
He shook his head. “I know that.”
“But do you? Do you really? Or do you just know it without believing it?”
He looked at her. She could see that thought hadn’t occurred to him before. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. And it’s not your job to sacrifice yourself at my expense.”
“Eugenie—”
“That’s why,” she said, the words spilling out before she’d consciously formed them, “I’ve decided to stand up next Sunday and give my testimony.”
Esther wasn’t sure how it had happened, how she and Brody McCullough had come to eat dinner together numerous times over the course of several weeks. They certainly weren’t dating, of that much she was sure. He was simply her friend.
Since Esther had left college to marry Frank and have her first child, she hadn’t made many friends. She had her bridge club, her garden club, and the social committee at the country club. Funny how all those things had the word club in the name, but none of them had the word friend.
During the second week in February, on a Friday evening, Brody appeared on her doorstep with a package wrapped in white paper. Steaks. Filets to be exact. Esther’s favorite.
“We can grill them,” he said, a twinkle in his eye that she was coming to recognize as a sign he was particularly pleased with himself. He must have had a good day at the clinic.
“I don’t know if there’s any gas in the tank for the grill,” she said in mild protest. Grilling in February? Funny how Brody could suggest something and get her to go along with it in a way Frank never could.
Of course, she and Frank had shared a vested interest in maintaining their facade of perfection. With Brody, she was finding, she could just be herself. He never asked about her money problems, never hinted that he knew, but he invariably turned up with some sort of treat. Tonight it was steaks. On New Year’s Eve it had been a bottle of French champagne. Even Ranger had shared in the bounty, as Brody brought several bags of the prescription dog food Ranger needed. It had turned out, of course, that the dog had an especially sensitive stomach. Esther was sure it came from eating so many of her hydrangeas.
“I can run to the hardware store for another tank of propane if we need it.” He handed her the package and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s see if we can fire that bad boy up.”
Just last week he’d been eyeing Frank’s massive outdoor grill. All Esther could do was laugh. That monstrosity was the dream of every man who’d ever gripped a barbecue fork. They might as well enjoy that ridiculous grill as long as they could. Surely the house would sell before spring.
After the proverbial dust had settled, Esther discovered that while her finances were bleak, she was not without hope. The sale of the house, when it finally happened, would provide her with a tidy nest egg. The hard part, of course, had been changing the financial habits of a lifetime.
She’d studiously avoided Maxine’s Dress Shop and could only hope Camille wasn’t offended. Esther knew she’d always been the store’s best customer. She hadn’t been to Nashville or Memphis in months—another way to save money. She wasn’t exactly searching under sofa cushions for spare change to buy bread and milk, but now she had to think through every expenditure. On one occasion, at Vanderpool’s Groceries, she’d even put an item back on the shelf rather than go over her self-imposed spending limit. Strangely enough, she’d found the whole episode empowering.
“Any word from your real estate agent?” Brody asked when they settled into their chairs in the breakfast room. Other than Christmas Eve dinner, they’d eaten more informally, just off the kitchen. The breakfast room’s bay window boasted an expansive view of Esther’s yard and garden.
Esther shook her head. “I feel as if I’m in a pit, and I have no idea how to climb out of it.” As difficult as it would be to leave her home, she was ready to make the transition. This long, slow parting was worse than a clean, quick break.
“Have you considered lowering the price?”
Esther shook her head. “Not yet. Maybe in the spring if this goes on that long.”
“It will sell soon,” he said with calm assurance. “Then what will you do? What’s next?”
Esther took a moment to slice off a bite of the delicious filet. She chewed thoughtfully and finally said, “I’ll move to my condo at the lake. Beyond that, I have no idea.”
Brody laughed. “Well, at least you’ve given your lack of plans a lot of thought.”
Esther laughed, too, in spite of everything. He was good at making her see the humor in her difficulties.
“If you could do anything in the world, what would you do?” he asked. “No limits. Whatever your heart desired.”
“No limits?” She’d never asked herself that before.
“Would you stay in Sweetgum?”
Esther nodded. “I was born and raised here. I’ve lived here most of my life.” Unexpectedly, a small sob rose in her throat. It wasn’t the first time grief had surprised her. She took a deep breath so she wouldn’t cry. “I guess I never envisioned anything but doing what I’ve always done. Growing old with Frank. Doing my clubs. Spoiling my grandchildren.”
“You can still do two of those three.”
Esther shook her head. “Not without money.” And then she was sorry she’d brought up the subject. She didn’t want to talk about it.
Brody took a sip of his iced tea. “If you could try something new, what would it be? What are you passionate about?”
“Passionate?” Esther had no idea. She never thought of herself or her life in those terms. Duty, social standing, family—those were the things she had always known. She shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“What’s your favorite thing to do?”
“Shop, of course.” She smiled with more than a touch of self-deprecation. “I’m very good at that.”
“So why don’t you try the flip side of the coin?” Brody leaned back in his chair. “Why not open a store?”
“In Sweetgum? I’d be broke in six months.”
“Not necessarily.”
“How do you know that?”
Brody looked away, as if considering something, and then turned his attention back to her. “If I tell you something, do you promise to keep it confidential?”
Esther couldn’t imagine what he could possibly tell her that would need to be shrouded in secrecy. “Yes. Of course.”
“It’s about the lake.”
“The lake? What about it?” The ancient boat slips and even older clubhouse at Sweetgum Lake sat below the small condo development where Esther would live once her house sold.
“It’s going to be redeveloped by some investors from Memphis. Upgrades to everything. New condos and lake cottages, retail, restaurants, the works.” He put both hands palm down on the table. “It’s going to be massive, Esther. And it’s going to bring a lot of business to Sweetgum.”
“Surely we would have heard about that. How do you know all this anyway?”
“Because my friend James is behind it all.”
“The one you thought might buy my house?”
“Yes.”
“But when—”
“They’re going to announce it publicly in a few months.” He stood and picked up their plates. “The influx of people will bring new life to Sweetgum and a lot of money to business owners.”
“Oh.”
“So if you decided to go into some kind of business for yourself now would be the time.”
“I can’t. Not until the house sells.”
“You could borrow against the equity in your home.”
She suddenly found it very hard to breathe as panic spread through her. How could she possibly run her own business? She’d helped Frank from time to time with some aspects of his practice, but she was by no means well versed in things like inventory and accounting and payroll.
“I couldn’t—”
“Your own clothing store. That’s what you need.”
“Sweetgum already has one.” And she knew Camille struggled every month to balance the books. “Maxine’s, on the square. My friend Camille runs it.”
Brody scraped the plates and rinsed them before placing them in the dishwasher. They’d gotten so comfortable with this routine—Esther cooking and Brody cleaning up—that she hardly noticed it anymore. “Maybe you should offer to buy her out,” he said.
“But what would Camille do?”
Leave Sweetgum. The answer popped into Esther’s head immediately. The younger woman had been waiting for years to get out of her hometown, and now that Nancy St. Clair had passed away, Camille was free to go.
Brody poured them both a cup of
decaf coffee from the waiting pot. He put sugar in his, sweetener in hers, and then brought the cups to the table. This time he took the seat next to her instead of across the table.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“I was thinking about Camille. She’s always wanted to get out of Sweetgum. She never got to go to college because her mother fell ill.”
“Maybe this is an opportunity for both of you.”
To her surprise, Esther found herself nodding. “Maybe it is.”
Then reality came flooding back. She had no business borrowing money against her house for such a risky venture. Habit and instinct told her she needed to hoard every penny she could find. Now that Frank was gone, she was a widow. Alone. But the thought of a miserly, diminished existence depressed her more than the idea of taking a risk scared her.
“I don’t know,” she said, and Brody let the subject drop.
But the seed had been planted, and Esther couldn’t quite put it out of her mind.
Maria couldn’t figure out why James Delevan kept turning up—at the five-and-dime, at Tallulah’s, even at church. She also couldn’t figure out why he was still in Sweetgum. Since Christmas, she had seen him at least two or three times a week. Once, she’d even gone upstairs to find him drinking coffee with her mother.
Maria couldn’t understand it. From the first, he’d made his contempt for her family clear. But now he didn’t seem contemptuous at all. He was civil, polite. But why?
When she posed this question to Daphne, her sister only smiled.
“Surely Evan’s told you what’s going on?” Maria pressed. The only person turning up at the five-and-dime on a more regular basis than James Delevan was Evan Baxter. After that night at the movies, he’d disappeared, but not long ago he’d shown up at the five-and-dime with an apology and a dinner invitation for Daphne.
“Maybe he just likes the company,” Daphne said evasively.
Friday evening, a week before the next meeting of the Knit Lit Society, Maria found herself closing up the store alone. Thankfully, business had been brisk that day, but it meant extra time dealing with the night deposit and balancing the register. By the time she finished and had the bank bag tucked under her arm, it was close to eight o’clock.
The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love Page 21