She gathered the letters in her hand and stared at the ragged edges where they’d been torn open with Tripp’s finger. She wondered if he’d been excited to receive them, if he’d torn them open still standing. Or if he’d been amused by the gushing of a young girl so desperately in love and carelessly set the letters aside.
Looking at the petal-pink stationery festooned with magnolias and her swirling script, it all appeared so childish to her now. When she thought of Tripp’s drinking, the wild despair…Tripp had told her he wanted freedom. How could she have been so blind?
Preston sensed her turmoil and took a step closer, grabbing hold of the swing rope. “Mary June… He loved you. He would have married you.”
His face was crumpled with anguish and she sought to relieve him of the burden he’d obviously been carrying for days. He was the noble boy again who beat back snakes and spiders in the dark woods, and he was hell-bent to beat back this sad specter from her path as well.
She reached up to place her fingers over his lips. “Thank you for telling me that,” she said. “Now you can tell me the truth.”
He looked at her cautiously.
“Tripp was not going to marry me. That’s what the fight was really about.”
He searched her face for clues as to what she might know or suspect. Whatever he saw there tore away the final veil between them. Preston exhaled, resigned to the truth. He moved to sit on the ground and rested his elbows over his knees.
“The war changed him,” Preston said, choosing his words. “It was like something was dead inside and he knew it. But he fought it. He traveled around the country when he first got back. That’s where he was when you came to visit in May. I’d thought he seemed better when he came home. We all did. We didn’t realize just how deep the hurt was, or that he could change so quickly. He was like the tides he loved so much.
“At times he’d seem swelled up with life, flooded from bank to bank—and man, we loved being with him then. At other times, though, the pain drained the life right out of him, leaving him dry and laid bare to the countless demons gnawing him to the bone.” He paused, plucking the grass.
“I had to learn to read the tides, to look for the dark water and shallow shoals. When he came back to Bluff House that day, the minute I saw him I knew it was bad. It was like he’d already hit that oyster bed and was cut up and bleeding.”
“Oh God,” she uttered, bringing her hand to her mouth. “My letter.”
Preston nodded. “He was torn up about it. He loved you, he told me that.” He took a breath. “But he couldn’t face getting married and settling down. I think he felt he wasn’t fit. He knew what was the right thing to do. What was expected of him as a gentleman. As a Blakely. But somehow, he couldn’t do it.”
She felt humiliated. “So you told him to marry me.”
Preston nodded.
Her cheeks burned with wounded pride yet she was grateful for his honesty.
He lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “We fought about that.”
They both knew that was a grave understatement of the bloody struggle they’d waged. Their last words had been in anger, and she knew then that after Tripp’s death he’d run away in despair because he could not take them back.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I never meant to come between you two. I never meant for this to happen.”
He paused, then said, “There’s one more thing you should see.”
He gave her one sheet of yellow lined paper. On it was Tripp’s trailing scrawl.
“He wrote this on lots of the papers. Over and over. I saved this one for you. I think, well…I can only think it was what he wanted to say.”
She brought the paper closer to read. Mary June recognized the words. On this paper, through the words of Jack Kerouac, Tripp had given her his answer.
This is the night, what It does to you.
I had nothing to offer anybody but my own confusion.
She pulled herself up from the swing to leave.
Preston rose to his knees to grab her hand.
“Mary June, wait. Marry me,” he blurted out.
She swung her head around, unsure she’d heard right. “What?”
“Marry me,” he repeated.
Her face crumpled in disbelief. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. Please, wait. Hear me out. Have you given thought to what you’re going to do now? With the baby?” When she shook her head he pressed on. “I have. And this is the only answer.”
“I can’t ask you to offer your future to me.”
“You’re not asking me! I’m asking you.”
“No. I’m not letting you do this. You don’t want to marry me. I don’t want to ruin another person’s life.”
He shook her shoulders gently. “Mary June, don’t you know that I’ve been in love with you since the day you tripped over that root and fell into my arms? Only when it was clear your affections lay elsewhere did I step aside. But things are different now and I don’t have time to court you.”
“I can’t do this. It’s too soon.”
“Think, Mary June! This child’s going to come without mind to when you’re ready. You know what will happen if you have this baby out of wedlock. Even if the baby is recognized as having Blakely blood, it’ll be labeled a bastard. I know that’s a cold, hard word,” he said when he heard her intake of breath. “But they’ll say it. The secret of the baby’s birth will be whispered behind raised palms every time that child enters a room. Not to mention your reputation. Simply put, it would be destroyed.”
“They’ll find out, anyway. They always do.”
“No, they won’t. We’ll need to tell Mama and Daddy.”
“No, Press. I’m so ashamed. They’ll hate me all the more.”
“No, they’ll be comforted by knowing that a part of Tripp is still alive. Plus, they’ll want to keep it hushed more than we will and they can help. No one will ever guess the baby isn’t mine.”
“Adele will.”
His face tightened. “She’ll wonder.”
“She’ll know.”
“But we won’t confirm it. Adele would never say anything to hurt us or the family name. Mary June, we can’t breathe a word, not even in confession. If we do, people will find out. The truth will slip from a tongue without intention, but it will get out. We won’t even think it.”
“Do you really think that others won’t figure it out?”
“You were here as a guest for the summer and dated Tripp in a whirlwind. No one really knew you were even a couple. We’ll get married right away, and when the baby comes early, the worst they’ll think is that you and I jumped the gun a little. Hell, Mary June, we won’t be the first ones in this county to do that.”
“But, Press…” She hesitated, struggling with how to say this. “I don’t love you. Not in that way.”
He grimaced, acknowledging this statement with a curt nod of his head.
“I know,” he said, looking at her in a straightforward manner. “But that’s not what’s most important now. We have to think of your situation and what’s best for the baby you’re carrying. It’s my brother’s child. I will love it as my own. And in time, I hope you can learn to love me as I love y—”
She put her fingers against his lips. “Please, don’t say it.”
He took her hands in his. “Mary June, will you do me the honor of being my wife? I’ll be a good husband to you, and I swear I’ll be a good father to your baby.” He smiled then, a boyish, hopeful smile. “Marry me, Mary June. We’ll make a good life for each other and for this baby.”
She thought for a long while before giving him her answer. This was the only course of action open to her; she knew he was right about that. She had to do what was best for the baby. She looked into his eyes, as bright a blue as the sky above, at his wavy curls that refused to be tamped down. Dear Preston…
“Mary June,” he said again, leaning
forward and pressing his lips against her forehead. His voice was husky with emotion. “Just say yes.”
She closed her eyes and put her hands upon his chest, falling.
And once again, Preston was there to catch her.
“Yes,” she replied.
While Mary June clung to the swing and rocked gently back and forth, Preston sat and plucked the long, wild grass that grew in clumps in the sandy soil. He looked out at the sun shining on the surface of their beloved creek. The wind rose off the river, ruffling Mary June’s blond hair from the collar of her dress.
If someone had looked up at that moment, they would have thought the two were sweethearts, stealing time together under the shade of the old live oak by the water. Months later, when the announcement of the marriage was made, guests of the luncheon would, in fact, recall having seen the two of them together that day and comment on how perfect a couple they’d seemed, right from the start.
Mama June slept late. When she awoke, the birds were singing in force and the piercing coastal sun had chased away all the evening’s clouds. The scent of coffee and bacon was tantalizing in the air, and she could hear the rumbling noise of a vacuum cleaner downstairs.
She stretched lazily, fingers to toes, then relaxed again, languid in her bed. Glancing at the crystal clock on her bedside bureau, she smiled guiltily. Goodness, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d slept so late. She felt boneless against her soft mattress, yet strangely refreshed.
Through her dreams she had revisited defining moments of her past. And now in the light of day she saw them clearly, without the clouds of deception.
Tripp had been a young girl’s crush. As an old woman, she could see and accept with hard-earned wisdom that though he might have been in love with her, he did not truly love her.
Preston, her husband, however, did love her. With a deep, abiding kind of love. He always had. He may not have swept her off her feet or filled her mind with grand, airy philosophies. That was not his style. Preston was a man of the earth. He was rich and true and compassionate and steadfast.
And she loved him!
She brought her hands to her cheeks, flushed with amazement. When she began this journey, she’d hoped to help Preston remember who he once was. To help him. She didn’t imagine that she would remember him.
Lowering her hands, she held them in the air, looking at them. They were small hands with fine bones, blue veins, oval nails and telltale age spots. To look at them, they were rather ordinary. Yet in the past few months, they had accomplished the extraordinary.
For years, hers had been a stale, tired marriage, one filled with disillusionment and disappointments. Her and Preston’s conversations were perfunctory. They didn’t share interests, nor did they even try any longer. They’d fallen into a routine of isolation. He often preferred to be alone than with her. He went for walks with his dog or spent time in his office with the door closed. This did not distress her, as she felt the same. They didn’t argue; they were resolvedly civil. She and Preston had not been close in any intimate sense for years.
Yet, wonder of wonders, since his stroke she’d helped Preston with his range of movement exercises and given him massages. These hands had touched his body over and over in myriad ways. She’d had more tactile connection with her husband in these few months than she’d had in years. The touching had created a new intimacy between them.
Kristina had been right. Through touch, she’d remembered. She’d remembered all the good times they’d had in their long marriage. She’d remembered the tender moments, the kind gestures and the thoughtful words. And through remembering, she’d fallen in love with him all over again.
She’d endured her share of tragedy in her life, and it was serendipity that through this last tragedy she’d found joy. It was, she thought humbly, God’s sweet mercy.
She rose and walked swiftly to the window, her long cotton gown catching the breeze. Leaning forward against the frame, she smiled. Yes! There was Blakely’s Bluff, its steep pitched roof glinting in the bright sun. She didn’t feel the usual uneasiness at seeing it. Tonight darkness would fall again and she would be ready for it. But right now the sky was cerulean and fresh salt air was blowing in from the ocean. It was going to be a beautiful day!
Preston was sitting up against his electric bed, already bathed, dressed and fed. Even his morning movement exercises were completed. Kristina was maneuvering the wheelchair into position near the bed to take Preston to the porch for his morning outing.
“Good morning,” Mama June called out in a cheery voice as she entered the room. “And isn’t it a lovely morning. You were very kind to let me play hooky.”
“Not at all,” Kristina replied. “It was long overdue. And you must’ve needed it.” Her eyes brightened. “Aren’t you chipper this morning?”
“I feel wonderful.” She turned her head toward Preston. He, too, watched her with a glint of curiosity. “I feel happy.”
“All this from a little extra shut-eye?” asked Kristina. “I’m definitely not getting enough sleep.”
Mama June chuckled and reached out her hand for the gait belt. “It’s your turn for a break. Why don’t you take a few extra minutes for a cup of tea? I’ll bring Press outside.”
Kristina looked doubtful. “Are you sure you can handle his weight? It’s not as easy as it looks. I don’t want to come in here and find both of you in a heap on the floor. Then I’ll have two patients to care for.”
“How many times do I have to practice? I know what to do. And if I forget something, Preston can show me, right, darlin’?”
His eyes lit up and he blinked twice.
Kristina was reluctant, but she gave Mama June the two-inch cotton belt designed to help a stroke patient transfer his weight. “Remember to buckle it in front once you get it around his waist.”
“I know.”
“And be sure to make it tight enough, but not so tight that you can’t get your fingers under it.”
“Go,” Mama June told her, nudging her forward. “I can handle it.”
Kristina studied her for a moment. “He’s all yours,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye.
“Don’t I know it?” Mama June replied in turn.
Once Kristina left, Mama June felt a sudden shyness. This man was her husband of forty-seven years; they were hardly strangers. And yet, they were. For so long they’d been more like roommates than husband and wife. Barely friends, much less lovers.
She looked at the man sitting in the hospital bed, his white hair gleaming, his eyes bright and alert. Once upon a time, this man had come to her rescue. He had stood by her. He was her knight in shining armor.
She went to his side, still smiling. “So, handsome. Are you ready to go for a stroll?”
At the sound of her voice, Blackjack rose up at the window and pawed at the screen. He was impatient for Preston to join him outdoors.
“He’s getting pretty bossy for an old dog, don’t you think?” she asked. She was glad to see a lopsided smile twitching at Preston’s lips.
She reached for the lever, raising the bed’s head and lowering the foot. She hesitated, licking her lips, a little nervous.
He reached out his good hand, resting it on her shoulder. She looked up. His face was inches away from her own, and in his eyes she saw the gleam of confidence she’d depended on during their marriage. Bolstered, she shifted to sit on the bed beside him.
“Okay, then.” She reached her arms around his waist, looping the woven belt around him. Her cheek pressed against the starchy fabric on his chest.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she teased.
She stood again, taking a breath. Then, putting her hands around her husband, she took firm hold of the belt. It seemed such a feeble thing to help balance his weight. He was too weak to stand alone. She’d worked with Preston on a range of motion exercises, she’d massaged his muscles, she’d combed his hair and tended to countless other personal needs, but this would requi
re both of their efforts. They needed to work together.
“We can do this,” she said, centering her position on the floor. Once balanced, she looked again into his eyes, their best medium of communication.
They shone back with nervous concentration.
With her arms around him and holding tight to the belt, she offered him a seductive smile. “Shall we dance?”
His expression changed as understanding of the nuance slowly dawned. His corded muscles relaxed and he took a deep breath.
They began a waltz of coordination. Preston put his good hand on the nightstand. She bent at the knees. As he strained to push his body up, she pulled with her legs. Push and lift, rocking to a stand in choreographed cooperation. Her arms were around him, her head against his. The scent of sage and eucalyptus on his skin was clean and fresh.
Mama June heard an inner music in her ear as they moved, hip against hip, working together, shuffling across the floor, pivoting in a half circle, in each other’s arms again, husband and wife, slow dancing.
Preston helped lower himself into the wheelchair. Their breathing came in short puffs of exertion. Once settled, Mama June’s hands lingered at his waist as their strength returned. Her head stayed close to his. The intensity of his gaze drew her nearer. She leaned forward, naturally, closing her eyes as her lips touched his. It was a kiss as pure and sweet as a first one, familiar yet new, filled with longing and a hint of promise.
Mama June drew back, feeling her cheeks color. “Oh, my.”
She thought he smiled as he held her gaze.
Her expression softened and she reached up to cup his chin in her palm. “I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a dance more.”
She remembered again the day he’d confessed his love to her, so many years before. She remembered how she’d refrained from declaring her own love.
“I love you,” she told him.
She felt his hand tighten and his eyes filled with tears.
From the porch, Blackjack’s piteous whine ended with a high-pitched yelp.
Mama June laughed and shook her head, glancing up to see the large black shadow at the screen. She smiled contentedly and bent to kiss Preston once more, lightly. Then she moved behind the chair and wheeled her husband out into the sunshine.
Sweetgrass Page 23