Good Hope Road

by Lisa Wingate

  An idea came to me as I watched the papers flutter, and my heart started beating faster. “Do you think they would have some paper and a pencil in there?” I asked, grabbing a few last bites of oatmeal, then setting my bowl aside, the food half-eaten.

  “I suppose they would. Why?”

  “I have an idea,” I said, taking a bite of my biscuit, then grabbing it and the bowl. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I tossed the paper bowl in the trash can on my way to the motor home. Caleb was coming out the door with a tray of biscuits in his hands. “You look like a woman on a mission.” He stopped, the tray suspended between us.

  “I was wondering if I could get a pencil, and … ummm … some paper and Scotch tape.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Sure. Go on in the bus. Ben’s in there. He ought to be able to find what you need.”

  “Thanks,” I said, then hurried away like I had one of Daddy’s hounds nipping at me.

  I stepped into the motor home and waited a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. In the kitchen, a nice-looking dark-haired man was busy putting biscuits on a tray.

  “Ummm … hello?” I said.

  He started, then set the biscuits down and wiped his hands. “Sorry. I didn’t see you come in.”

  “Are you Ben?” I asked.

  He smiled, his bright blue eyes catching the light from the window. He stuck his hand out and shook mine. “Ben Bowman. Can I help you with something?”

  “Caleb told me you might be able to get me a pencil and some paper, and maybe a roll of Scotch tape.”

  He seemed relieved that I hadn’t asked for something more difficult. “That shouldn’t be too hard.” He started opening drawers, fumbling around. “There’s got to be something like that here. You’ll have to excuse me. I’m one of the extra hands who just came over from the church in Hindsville. I don’t know my way around in here.” Finally, he produced a black marker and some fliers for a church revival. “All right to write on the backs of these? Oh, and here’s some tape.”

  “Sure. Thanks.” I took the things he offered, the vision growing in my mind.

  “No problem.”

  I thanked him again, then ran to the armory, an idea blooming in my mind, becoming something real, something urgent. In the armory, I found my bag of pictures near the pallet where I had slept. My hands trembled as I sorted through them, selecting three and quickly taping them to the paper. Beside them, I wrote in big block letters:PICTURES AND MEMENTOS FOUND

  SEE IN THE ARMORY BUILDING

  I hurried down the hill again and pinned the paper to the bulletin board, then headed back to the armory.

  CHAPTER 9

  EUDORA

  I shook my head, watching Jenilee disappear up the hill to the armory.

  What in the world is that girl up to now? I thought, looking across the way at the paper she’d tacked to the bulletin board. It was too far away for me to read it.

  Between me and the bulletin board, I saw Dr. Albright sitting at a picnic table, bent wearily over a bowl of oatmeal. He set down his spoon and watched Jenilee walk up the hill. Stroking the outline of his bottom lip with his thumb, he narrowed his eyes like he was thinking about something.

  Like he was thinking about her.

  I wasn’t sure I liked the look of it. I’d come to care about Jenilee in the last few days, and that city fellow looking at her stirred an uneasy brew inside me. The last thing a backward little country girl like Jenilee needed was some rich city fellow who was old enough to be her daddy making eyes at her.

  I walked to his table, thinking that maybe I ought to say something, or at least let him know I’d seen him watching. He didn’t even look up when I got to his table. His gaze was still on Jenilee.

  I noticed the diamond wedding ring on that hand he was rubbing back and forth across his lip. Doubt if his wife would like the way he’s lookin’ at Jenilee.

  “Hey there, Doc.”

  “Hmmm?” he muttered. He must not of been embarrassed about his gawking because he didn’t stop.

  “I had a question I wanted to ask ya.”

  Jenilee disappeared into the armory, and the doctor glanced at me, then down at his cereal bowl. For just a second, I thought he knew what I was thinking about him.

  He cleared his throat, picking up his spoon, suddenly all business. “It’s been a long night. Unless this question is about a patient, I’d appreciate your asking someone else.”

  Well, his manners ain’t any better this morning. He didn’t ask me to sit down, so I helped myself. I braced my elbows on the table and stared across at him. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it.

  I took a breath and started right into what was troubling me. “Doc, I was just wondering …”

  His cool blue-gray eyes were slightly narrow, icy, impatient. He had the look of a man who didn’t let anyone push him, who controlled every situation. He had the better-than-thou look of someone who wouldn’t possibly be gawking after a young girl in a way that wasn’t seemly, and wouldn’t stand well for being accused of it, neither.

  I begun to think I had read too much into it. I lost my nerve and decided I’d better take a little more roundabout course. “I … uhhhh … I was wondering. I wanted to ask you about … about …” Think of something, Eudora. “Well, first, I wanted to thank you for helping us here. You come when we sure enough had a desperate need.”

  He tipped his chin back like he was suspicious of the compliment. “As I’m sure you know, I came here completely by accident.”

  “Nothing in this life happens by accident.”

  There was a flicker of something in his pale eyes, something I couldn’t quite read. Some bit of emotion that made me think he wasn’t the rock he pretended to be.

  “You were the answer to some pretty desperate prayers.” I pressed on to see if I could break through that steel shell around him. Why I wanted to, I couldn’t say.

  He just shrugged and went back to his bowl of oatmeal. “I suppose you could look at it like that.” He put a bite in his mouth, swallowed, then added coolly, “Or you could just say I turned on the wrong back road leaving the golf course, got my car stuck in the mud, and happened to be trapped there when the deputy came by. You could say that I wouldn’t even have been here that day, except that I had two surgeries canceled, the golf course in St. Louis was too wet, so I drove out here to play a round of golf.” The corner of his lips twitched—a smile? a frown?—hard to say. It was gone quick.

  “I don’t know why you’d want to describe it like that,” I said quietly. “I don’t know why you’d want to call it other than a string of miracles.”

  “I don’t believe in miracles,” he told me flatly, trying his best to finish the oatmeal so he could get away from me. “Not modern ones, anyway.”

  “I seen two just yesterday,” I said, thinking about the emptiness that must be inside him for him to say that.

  “I saw good medicine and some luck under bad circumstances. There weren’t any magic roots and berries, angels, faith healing, magic potions, or miracles.” He shook his head, letting out a heavy, frustrated sigh. “It’s all just medicine. Science and biology, that’s all.”

  “There’s more to folks than that.”

  He stopped with the spoon suspended in midair, his lips pressed in a thin, tight smirk. “I don’t have time for more than that.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  Silence fell between us as he finished his bowl of cereal and took a swallow of coffee. He glanced at me, then away, then back, like he was wondering why I was still there. “Something else you wanted?”

  The question in my mind found quiet words. “You a man of faith, Doc?”

  He tore the top off a packet of sugar and dumped it in his coffee. “I’m a member of the board at Grace Life Church in St. Louis.” He paused to stir the coffee, then added, “If that’s what you mean.”

  “That ain’t what I mean.” I had a feeling he knew it wasn’t.

  �
��Mrs… . Gibson, is it?” He smacked his tongue against his front teeth irritably. “I don’t know why it was you felt compelled to sit down here and probe into my background, but I don’t need it, and I don’t have time for it. I don’t need any amateur backcountry psychology, grandmotherly wisdom, life coaching, or faith counseling. I’m not looking to build relationships, make friends, or gather hero-doctor stories for my scrapbook here.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “I have a perfectly good life back in St. Louis—wife, house and two cars, kids that go to dance class, private school, and all that other jazz, the whole thing. You can rest at ease. I’m a happy man.”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t.”

  I noticed that his hands shook as he raised the coffee cup to his lips, took a sip, then looked toward the motor home. “The damned coffee is cold,” he muttered under his breath, then stood up and walked away without another word.

  I watched him as he downed the rest of the cold coffee like a shot of whiskey, threw the cup in the trash can with a vengeance, and stalked off toward the armory.

  If you’re happy, then why do you look at Jenilee like that? What is it you want from her?

  I chewed the end of my thumbnail, trying to figure it all out and wondering why I cared. It really wasn’t any of my business. Like he said, he wasn’t looking to make any friendships in our little town. He only come to play golf on the exact wrong day, at the exact wrong time, and took the exact wrong road home. All by accident.

  Except God don’t create accidents. We only think there are accidents because we don’t know what God has in mind.

  And when you’re a nosy old busybody, you don’t like to let even God keep secrets. You do all you can to figure it out, and have a hand in the outcome.

  Brother Colville come out of the motor home to wash out a kettle. He was there alone, so I took advantage of the opportunity.

  “Morning, Brother Colville,” I said, walking over to him.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Gibson. You’re here early this morning.” He paused in what he was doing and stood up, bracing his hands on his back and stretching stiffly. “How are you this morning?”

  I started to smile, then didn’t. “Better than you, looks like.” It didn’t seem right to smile, with all that was going on.

  Brother Colville nodded. “Long day yesterday.”

  “Um-hmm. Well, we sure appreciate it, Brother Colville. We surely do. We appreciate you and all your crew coming all the way from St. Louis, and you calling in all the extra help from the church over to Hindsville. And, my goodness, we surely do appreciate that Dr. Albright. He come when there was a desperate need. When lives were at stake, and he saved the situation. Little Jimmy Ray come within just an inch of cutting an artery in his leg and bleeding to death. Probably would have if Dr. Albright hadn’t been here yesterday.”

  Brother Colville nodded. “He’s a fine doctor. You couldn’t ask for someone more qualified. Dr. Albright is one step away from becoming the next chief of surgery at All Shores Hospital.”

  “Is he, though? Well, that is something.” Must be personality don’t count for much in the medical profession.

  “A fine community man, too. On the board at our fellow church, Grace Life in Blakely Heights.”

  “That is impressive.” Interesting that he didn’t add more personal compliments, like good friend, loving father, man of faith—all those things preachers usually said when they bragged someone up.

  Brother Colville seemed to be searching for something else to say. I wondered if he knew what I was thinking, if he knew his compliments rung pretty hollow.

  “Has a heart for charity, too.”

  “He does?” It slipped out a little more honest than I meant it to.

  “Why, sure.” Brother Colville went back to rinsing the pot, like he wanted our conversation to be over. “Didn’t you know that he was the one who put out the radio call that brought our relief van to Poetry? We were all set to head to a relief center in Marshall.”

  Good thing the preacher was busy rinsing out his kettle, because my mouth dropped open and I gaped like a cow trying to cough up a cud. All them unkind thoughts I had been chewin’ about Dr. Albright went right down my gullet, and I got a bellyful of shut-my-mouth guilt.

  “Oh, well … yes. I … certainly, I …” It ain’t good to lie to the preacher, so I made an excuse instead. “Oh, my, look at the time. I’d better get back up the hill and … and see what needs to be done up there.”

  Brother Colville nodded, and I scooted out of there like I had brimstone on my tail. I walked up the hill thinking about my conversation with Dr. Albright, trying to piece together the puzzle and wondering why I cared to. In a day or two, he’d be gone and we’d probably never cross paths again.

  You shouldn’t be such a busybody, Eudora. You ought to stay out of things that aren’t your business.

  I sat down on the armory steps, thinking about it. Maybe you ought to apologize to Dr. Albright for getting into his business down there at the picnic table.

  Mazelle Sibley’s car pulled into the parking lot and come to a stop near where I sat, like that thought had brung her there. She climbed out carrying a tray of candy bars and cheese crackers.

  “Well, good morning, Eudora,” she chirped like a spring robin.

  “You back again this mornin’?” The words come out of my mouth before I could stop them. Luckily she was busy knocking her car door shut with her rear end, and she didn’t hear me.

  I looked toward town instead of at her, hoping she would pass on by me and go into the armory.

  Instead she plunked her tray down and sat on the step next to me, her body deflating with a huge sigh. “It sure is hard to take in,” she said, looking at what was left of Main Street. “Sometimes my mind just wants to forget it all happened. I forget it for a minute, sometimes, and then I look and it’s all real again. I wonder how we’re going to get through it all.”

  “Um-hmm,” I muttered, wishing she would get up and leave. The last person I wanted to talk to right then was Mazelle. I could tell by the singsong in her voice she was ferreting around for gossip.

  “So I see that Janet isn’t here with you again this morning.”

  I couldn’t imagine what that had to do with anything, but I knew Mazelle was aiming at something. She always was. “She went on home after she dropped me off this morning. She needed to get Lacy back to the house.” Why in the world, today of all days, couldn’t Mazelle lay off looking for gossip?

  “Well, I can understand that. Yes, I surely can. Poor little child, left on the doorstep by her folks, and now having to go through this storm.” She folded her hands in her lap, sticking her nose my way like a weasel sniffin’ at the chicken house door. “I wondered why you didn’t stay home with Janet today, Eudora. You look completely exhausted.”

  “Um-hmm.”

  “Well, I would think you would want to get settled in at Weldon and Janet’s house. You will be staying there now, won’t you? Now that you don’t have a place of your own, I mean. It’s a terrible shame about your house. It truly is.”

  “I reckon.” Truth was, I hadn’t let myself think about where I would stay after the worst was over. When I kept busy, my mind stayed convinced that I was going to go home to my own house eventually.

  “Do you think you’ll move in with Weldon and Janet for good? I mean, I’m sure they and the kids must want you to, what with poor little Lacy living there now, needing help and all. Surely you’re not thinking of rebuilding the old place … well, at our age, I mean. It just doesn’t seem practical.”

  “I really hadn’t given it a good think.” I can’t even make myself go back and look at the old place. It was more than my heart could bear to think of all my life’s work, all the things I thought were solid and would last longer than I did in this world, blown everywhere like so much trash. Below in town, I could see people sorting through what was left of their homes. I wondered how they got the strength to
do it.

  “I’m going to move in with Benjamin and Patty,” Mazelle prattled. “They have been wanting me to move in with them in the worst way these last few years, but I’ve always said I didn’t want to be a burden to my children.” Which wasn’t true. Mazelle was nothing but a burden to her children. She called around, seemed like daily, telling her kids, and anyone else who would listen, about who in town had died, and who was arrested, whose teenage daughter was pregnant, and who was getting divorced and why. Then she’d add on her own aches and pains.

  Mazelle Sibley spread misery like cake frosting. It was no wonder she was enjoying hanging around the armory stacking bandages, wallowing in the sadness and grief, gathering horrible stories she could tell around town and to visiting newspaper reporters.

  Looking up, I noticed Dr. Albright stepping out the door behind us. He stood on the stoop for a minute, not seeming to notice we were there. Bending his head forward, he rubbed his eyes, looking tired.

  I hated the fact that he was going to see me there with Mazelle. Now he really would think I was an old busybody.

  “Eudora …” Mazelle’s voice scratched the surface of my mind, and I glanced sideways, realizing she was still talking, and she hadn’t noticed the doctor standing in the doorway. “I said, did you hear about that little Anderson baby? Pulled right out of her crib by the wind. Just ten minutes after her mama put her down for a nap. Her mama was right in the next room when the tornado came through, and she couldn’t get to the baby.”

  She sighed, shaking her head and making a sorrowful tsk-tsk with her teeth. “It’s just the most terrible thing. So sad. A newspaper reporter came around earlier and asked me about it. I could hardly tell him the story for crying, myself. It’s just the saddest thing. A newborn baby. They still haven’t found her. Just can’t imagine why something like that would happen to good churchgoing folks, and meanwhile, the houses of people like … well, the Lanes, for instance, left standing without a scratch.” She crossed her arms. “And can you believe that Jenilee Lane, running around here pretending she’s Florence Nightingale? Well, it’s just a fortunate thing she didn’t kill somebody. I can’t imagine what she was thinking.”