Paint Me True

by E. M. Tippetts

  “How late are visitors allowed?”

  “It’s past visiting hours, but if you really need to stay-”

  “Honey, it’s all right,” said Nora. “Go on home.”

  “It’s not all right. Listen, this is totally and completely selfish of me, but can I ask for one thing?”

  “What’s that?” She looked back over her shoulder at me.

  “Can I find some priesthood holders to give you a blessing?”

  Her eye popped wider with surprise, but only surprise. No horror or anger. “If you like,” was all she said.

  I turned to Colin. We’d arrived at Nora’s room, so I waited for him to get her settled on her bed. “So, what’s this?” he asked me.

  “I’d like to bring two men here to give her a blessing. It’s a Mormon thing.” As I’d told Nora, faith hardly ever saved us from earthly pain, but maybe, just maybe, God would cut me a break. After everything I’d endured, maybe this once He’d intervene.

  “All right.”

  “Thank you.” I dug the ward list and my cellphone out of my purse. Since I didn’t know names, I just started at the top.

  The Abbotts were a single mother with small children. No ordained priests.

  The Ansells didn’t answer their phone.

  The Babcocks did. “Hello?” said a voice deep enough to be an ordained priest.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m, um...”

  “Is this Eliza? The American visiting the ward?”

  “Yes, yes, that’s me.”

  “What do you need?”

  “I need someone to give a blessing to my aunt.”

  “Your aunt?”

  “She’s not in the ward. I mean... she’s not active, but-”

  “Doesn’t matter one bit. Of course I can give her a blessing.”

  “Okay, I’ll try to get another-”

  “Oh, I can do that. I’ll get a companion. Where do we need to go?”

  I gave him the address.

  “Shouldn’t take us more than fifteen minutes.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “It’s an honor.” He sounded like he meant that.

  I pressed my palms together in gratitude. At least something had been easy today.

  “So,” Colin broke into my reverie, “Saturday not good to go out, because-”

  “Oh no,” said my aunt. “Saturday is perfect. Take her out for the whole day.”

  “Um, right.” I laughed. “Guess that’s a yes for punting on Saturday.”

  “Punting? How lovely,” said Nora

  “Do you want to come?” Colin asked her.

  “Not on your life.” She winked at me.

  My face was so hot I feared it would burst into flames.

  Colin smiled at me as he strode out the door.

  Nora wore an expression of pure smugness.

  I shook my finger at her. This little back and forth was much preferable to the difficult conversation we’d eventually have to have. I needed to find her children, and who knew what kind of can of worms that would open? Since I didn’t know how to bring up that topic, I just sat in silence while my aunt lay with her eyes closed, though there was a tension in her expression that belied the pain she felt.

  “Right,” came a male voice from the doorway ten minutes later. It was same voice I’d spoken to on the phone. “Here we are.”

  I spun around and almost screamed. Stupid, stupid me hadn’t checked addresses on the ward list. I’d called Louisa’s husband!

  Brother Babcock ambled in and behind him came the Bishop. I turned to Nora, ready to apologize and beg forgiveness. She and Brother Babcock exchanged a rueful look. I got the sense that the large man smiled at her. She didn’t look terrified.

  I dashed out into the hall. Louisa had to be with him. She’d never stay home with such a prime opportunity to snoop in Nora’s business. But the hallway was empty, save for the nurses. Colin gave me a curious look.

  “Did anyone come in with them?” I asked.

  The other nurse, a short woman with ebony skin and neat rows of braids, only shook her head.

  “Everything all right?” Colin asked.

  “Um... I don’t know.” I turned and went back into the room.

  Brother Babcock hung back while the Bishop perched himself on the edge of Nora’s bed and spoke to her in low tones. “You comfortable here?” I heard him ask as I drew closer.

  “I’ve got Eliza. She makes me comfortable anywhere.”

  “So would you like to share anything with us?” he asked. “It isn’t necessary, of course. We can do the blessing regardless. But if there’s anything at all you need, you let us know.”

  She smiled a thin, tight lipped smile. “Mainly, I’m tired.”

  “Shall we just say our blessing and then leave you?”

  “That’d be nice, thank you.”

  Brother Babcock came over and adjusted her bed and pillows so that she sat up enough for them to place their hands on her head. She didn’t flinch at his touch. If anything, she seemed relieved to see him.

  “Do you want me to leave?” I asked.

  Nora shook her head.

  The two men stood on either side of the cot, and the Bishop produced a small metal vial of oil. I folded my arms, shut my eyes, and bowed my head.

  Brother Babcock began by invoking his priesthood authority and pronouncing a blessing of healing. It was the same standard phrases I knew well. My father had uttered them over my head whenever I’d been hurt or sick as a child.

  Only this time, I heard them clearer than ever. They took on a power that penetrated my heart as if written in fire on my flesh. He kept his eyes shut as he spoke, oblivious to the witnessing that shone real, illuminating light into my mind. This man, I knew, was a good man. He was worthy of the priesthood, and the Lord was pleased with him.

  Then it was the Bishop’s turn to seal the blessing. The witnessing faded. This, I perceived, was not because the Lord was any less pleased with the Bishop, but because what He had said what He wanted to say to me. The Bishop’s soft voice paused. He’d reached the point in the ordinance when he was to say any personal words that he felt inspired to say. For a long, long moment he was silent. I kept my head bowed, my eyes shut.

  I heard him swallow a few times.

  Finally, he began to speak. “Sister Nora, the Lord would have you be at peace. Now is the time in your life to find joy, grant forgiveness, and seek your Father in Heaven. You have not always walked an easy path, but now...”

  The silence stretched so long this time that I cracked open an eye. My aunt was asleep, or so it appeared, and the Bishop was overcome with emotion. He sniffled, wiped his nose with a handkerchief, and for another long moment, struggled to speak.

  “But now, know that the Christ will take your burdens upon Himself as He always has. Allow Him to help you on your way and prepare for whatever is to come.” He closed this in the names of the Godhead and all of us said, “Amen,” except for Nora. Her head tipped to one side and she gave a soft snore.

  I hadn’t seen her sleep that deeply since I’d arrived in the UK. She always seemed so restless and easy to wake.

  The Bishop wiped his eyes and nose again and turned to me. “Thank you for calling us.”

  I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, Brother Babcock retreated. He went to stand just outside the door, out of earshot. He knew his protocol. If I wanted to talk to the Bishop in confidence, he made that possible.

  “And how are you?” the Bishop asked.

  “Been better.” I smiled as I said this though.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  He had a point there. If this was a happy moment in my life, that pointed to an awful life. “Thanks for coming out,” I said.

  “Of course, and if you need anything else, let me know. Right now, let me give you a ride home.” He put his hand on my arm and led me out.

  In the hallway, Brother Babcock fell into step next to us. “Louisa didn’t come?” I asked him.

>   He chuckled. “She didn’t know where I was going. She didn’t overhear our phone conversation, because as you can guess, she’d have a hard time keeping her nose out of the situation.”

  The Bishop shook his head.

  “I don’t tell her whom I give blessings to, though.” Brother Babcock winked at me.

  Which, now that I thought about it, was typical. I never knew whom my dad went out to tend to at odd hours of the night. It wasn’t my business.

  I felt no discomfort or fear as I stepped out into the darkening parking lot with these two men. They saw me safely to Nora’s empty house and a very lonely little Pip.

  That night I dug through all of Nora’s legal file to see if there was any contact information for my cousins. I found their names and birthdates, and I remembered that Nora said one lived in Bristol and one in Leeds, but Chesterton was a common enough last name that this didn’t narrow it down enough.

  They needed to know about their mother.

  I dug through the utility drawer and searched around for Nora’s address book. I found nothing. Her computer didn’t have any lists saved on it where I could find them, and I didn’t know how to get into her email.

  A quick call to my dad reaffirmed what I already knew. He had no idea. I didn’t tell him the news, because it felt wrong for him to know before my cousins did, but I’m sure he guessed. He didn’t warn me against contacting them this time.

  Finally, at midnight, I gave up and went to sleep on it.

  The next morning I got up early and got to work. My dad put up with five phone calls from me in what were the wee hours of the morning for him, and he brushed off my profuse apologies each time. Together we decided that home hospice care made the most sense for Nora. I had access to her checking account, thanks to the debit card she’d given me, and it more than covered the fees even if her insurance didn’t.

  I spoke to two private home hospice nursing firms and chose the one that answered my nosy questions without pause. Then I got on the phone with St. John’s and organized transportation to get Nora home.

  By late afternoon the next day, she was back in her own bed with an IV drip and prescription strength painkillers. I thanked the nurse who’d set everything up and she told me she’d be back in a few hours. I let her out the front door, then went back upstairs to perch myself on Nora’s bed.

  “Okay, not sure how to broach the subject,” I said, “but I guess I should just do it?”

  Her eyebrows went up. I’d piqued her interest.

  “I want to contact your children.”

  At that she wilted. Her expression went from exhausted to despair, and then a notch beyond. “Best leave them be,” she said.

  “They’re going to want to know about this.”

  “No, honey, they won’t.”

  “You’re their mother.”

  She shook her head like a stubborn two year old refusing to eat her peas. “Please, honey, leave it. My children and I parted ways a long time ago.”

  “You’re sure you can’t-”

  “I’m sure. Just leave it.” She lay down and rolled so that her back was to me.

  I wondered if she was in denial about how sick she was, or how much her children would regret not knowing. I wished my mind would drop the subject as easily and completely as she had. My stomach lining was getting thin.

  The next morning I woke with a start. It was Saturday. I’d promised Colin I’d go punting with him, but that felt all wrong. He knew how bad Nora’s condition was. He’d understand.

  I got up and went to peer into Nora’s room. She was awake, and looked me up and down. “I thought you had a date this morning.”

  “I did, but-”

  “You’re going, aren’t you?”

  “Aunt Nora-”

  “Listen to me. If you don’t accept life’s invitations, you’ll never get anywhere interesting. Thank you for caring about me, honey, but I’ll be fine for a few hours. You, on the other hand, have an invitation from life that I expect you to honor.”

  I remained in the doorway, unsure whether to ignore or obey her.

  “In other words,” she said, “get lost. I don’t want to see you until after your date.”

  It felt wrong, turning away. I’d never left my mother or my sisters during their last days. I’d absorbed every last memory I could with them and learned them by heart so a part of them could be with me for the rest of my life. Then again, I looked back on those days and felt I gazed into a bottomless pit of despair. How much of life had I set aside to follow each of them into death?

  “You’re still here,” said Nora.

  “Well, you’re disrupting my routine.”

  “Good. I’d hate to be remembered as agreeable and passive. It’s those last memories that stay with a person, you know?”

  “That’s morbid.”

  “It’s the truth. Begone. Now.” Her eyes had their old sparkle.

  “I’ll be back this afternoon.”

  “Not too early.” She shooed me again.

  I went to take a shower, and then got to work on my makeup. I had to be waterproof, and I didn’t care if Colin had seen me as my normal self at the hospital. This was a potentially serious date. This could lead to kissing. I had to treat it appropriately.

  But the magic that had suffused my paintings recently did not affect my cosmetics routine. My lips looked too pink for my taste and my eyes just a bit overdone. I finally gave up out of frustration, got dressed, and got myself out the door.

  Colin was already at the Cherwell Boathouse. The day was so sunny that it was impossible not to squint. There were a lot of people milling around, and the slightly dank smell of the river permeated everything.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said.

  He shrugged. “You’re not. Sorry I’m so tired. Tried to sleep last night, but used to being awake and on duty.”

  “You want sugar?” I asked. “Or caffeine?” I patted the picnic basket I toted under one arm. I’d packed a couple of Cokes in it along with some pasta and bean salad that I’d bought on the way. I’d also brought a big bottle of water. I wasn’t sure how long we’d be out.

  “Nah, I’m all right.” He spoke this barely above a whisper, just a soft rumble in his throat. I indulged in the excuse to lean close to hear him. “Our punt’s this way.” We walked past the two dozen or so at the dock and got into the one that Colin pointed to. It was a long, flat boat, not much wider than a rowboat. I stepped carefully to the seat in the center and held my skirt as I sat down.

  Colin stayed at the end of the craft and pushed it away from the shore with a long pole. I watched as he expertly hauled the pole up, dropped it straight down to the river bottom below, and then leaned against it to push the boat forward. As the pole drifted astern, he hauled it up again. Our boat nosed its way free of the others it had been docked with and soon we were sliding along against the current. Sunlight glinted off the water and mallard ducks and the occasional swan slipped past, their necks arched and serene while their feet paddled away below. Several came up to the boat, no doubt expecting treats, but I didn’t have any to toss at them, so they moved on quickly.

  Dozens of other boats were out on the river. The punters coming the opposite way would gesture to Colin as they figured out who would go right and who would go left. It was a bit more crowded than I’d imagined, but the sky was endless and blue above, the chuckle of the river current was soothing, accompanied by the rhythmic slosh of Colin’s punting. Together those sounds washed every care out of my mind.

  “So,” said Colin, “how’ve you been?”

  “All right, considering. You?”

  “Overworked.” He laughed. “Not that you want to hear me complain.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Um no. Not to you of all people. Look, I’m sorry about your aunt.”

  “Thanks.”

  He went silent after that and kept punting.

  I hooked my sketchbook out of my bag, flipped it open, and did a quick s
ketch of a duck that had stuck its bill over the edge of the punt, hoping for food. The bird was too short, and the side of the punt too high, for the bird to lean in, so the gesture had been plaintive. If it hadn’t looked plenty well fed, I might have felt sorry for it.

  “Amazing how you just do that,” he said. “I’d make a right mess of it if I tried.”

  “Well, imagine what would happen if I had to put in an IV. It’d be gruesome.”

  “Naw. You can learn that in an afternoon. What you’re doing, I think takes longer.”

  I shrugged. “Started out as a hobby.”

  “Do you want to try this?” he asked, holding up the pole.

  I squinted up at him. “I don’t know, do I?”

  He beckoned to me. “It isn’t hard.”

  I got up and made my unsteady way to the end of the boat. Colin moved down towards the middle and directed me from there. I’d half hoped he’d put his arms around me, but he kept his distance, though the warm smile on his face softened that rebuke.

  The pole was heavy, which meant it was easy to drop down to the river bottom. I leaned against it and pushed the boat forward. So far, so good.

  “Don’t push down too hard on the pole,” he said. “You’ll sink it into the muck and it won’t come up again.”

  I pulled the pole up with a jerk, relieved that it came. I dropped it again and pushed. Again the punt moved forward. It was exhausting, but in a good way.

  The fourth time I tried to lift the pole, it wouldn’t come. I gave it an extra jerk and the next thing I knew, the punt had slid out from under my feet and I was in the frigid water, hanging onto the pole for dear life. Only then did it come loose from the bottom of the river, and for a second I feared its weight would pull me down. The river closed over my head and I held my breath. With a flail and a splash I got the pole upright and stuck it in the mud at the bottom of the river again, then lifted my head back up into the air, spat filthy water out of my mouth, and looked around for the punt.

  Colin had burst out laughing. “Here, hurry,” he said. The river current had slowed the punt to a stop, and as I watched, it began to drift the other way, towards me. “Hold out your hand. Get ready.”