by Lee Magner
The word spread quickly to the Decatur Lutheran Fellowship Church during Sunday school, and by the time the church bells rang out marking the end of the eleven-o’clock service at the Asbury Methodist Church the gossip was waiting for the worshipers as they entered the parking lot and got into their cars.
“I don’t think the priest should have let him in the church…”
“Well, how can a murderer take communion?”
“Every decent woman in the church shuddered to think he was breathing the same air…”
“Did Case sit with him? I heard he did, but he never was much of a churchgoer, was he?”
Clare heard about it when she went out to weed the garden in the afternoon. Her neighbors to the north were hanging over their fence, trading bits and pieces of gossip.
“Oh, Clare! Have you heard… ?”
Lavinia Browne watched Clare come inside a short time later, and she knew from Clare’s expression that the gossip worried her.
“You know you can’t stop these tongues from wagging around here, Clare,” Lavinia said sympathetically. “Try to pay no attention.”
“I know you’re right, but…you’d think they’d never heard of the concept of forgiveness!” Clare exclaimed in exasperation. “The man is not a threat any longer. He can barely shuffle from the car to a church pew, from what Marian next door says. No one has to like him, but surely he has a right to pray in peace during his final days in this life!”
Lavinia chuckled.
“I think you missed your calling, dear.”
“Why?” Clare demanded crossly.
“I think you should have been a soapbox orator.”
“That’s not a calling, Mother!”
“Well, whatever it is, you’d certainly excel at it!”
Clare grimaced and went to the sink to wash her hands. As she scrubbed the black earth from her fingernails and palms, she wondered how Case had reacted to that little outing. She frowned, as she recalled how he’d expected his father to receive him.
“You know, it’s really odd that Seamus let Case take him to church,” Clare said. She rinsed her hands and dried them on a dish towel and turned to look at her mother, who was snapping beans and trimming vegetables for dinner. “I wonder if they have come to some sort of agreement—you know, made amends to each other for whatever had been separating them all these years?”
“Wouldn’t that be lovely, dear?” Lavinia murmured.
“Yes.” Clare had another thought, too. “Maybe if they’re getting along better, Case will stay longer than he originally planned.”
“Well, wouldn’t that be lovely?” Lavinia said, her face brightening. “Why don’t you call him and ask him to come over for dinner, if he’ll be here for a few days. I’d love to see what kind of man that boy grew up to be.”
Clare chewed her lip thoughtfully. Hmm. Invite him to dinner? Now that might be an idea….
“It would have to seem very casual—sort of spur-of-themoment, as if I’d just thought of it that very moment…” Clare mused aloud.
“What, dear?”
“Nothing, Mother.” She hugged Lavinia and planted a kiss on her soft cheek.
“Since when does ‘nothing’ put a sly look like that on your face, Clare Browne?” Lavinia demanded laughingly.
Clare grinned and sauntered out of the kitchen, a plan developing in her fertile mind.
Tuesday morning, Clare pulled up in front of Luther’s house and parked her car.
Case came out of the barn and stood there for a moment, staring at her in surprise.
Clare got out of the car, a sunny smile on her face, a clipboard and notepaper in one hand. By the time she’d turned around, he’d nearly reached her.
“Doing a little farm work?” Clare asked in amusement as she eyed his straw-strewn jeans, dusty work boots and sweatstained short-sleeved work shirt.
“Yeah.” He flexed his sore shoulder. “It’s harder than it used to be,” he said wryly.
Clare laughed.
“You look nice,” he said. He looked her over with masculine admiration.
She was wearing a light cotton summer dress, sheer stockings, sling-back sandals and faux pearls. Her makeup was. light but enhanced the rich brown of her eyes. Her long, wavy, golden brown hair hung like a soft cloud around her head and shoulders.
“Is this an official visit from the town historian?” Case asked, beginning to grin. He leaned an arm on her car, half trapping her between his body and the vehicle, and looked over her shoulder as she bent over her clipboard.
“The Social History of Crawfordsville,” he read. He raised both eyebrows and looked at her warily. “Is this going to be an unexpurgated social history or will you edit out the nasty parts so we’ll all rest peacefully in our graves a hundred years from now?”
Clare laughed. “Actually, there’s plenty of interesting material to include in this project without digging into everyone’s closets and excavating the skeletons there.”
“I see. What kind of ‘interesting material’ are you looking for here?” he inquired curiously.
“Luther is one of Crawfordsville’s oldest residents, and his recollections provide a nice core for the history of the town… and the county. His house is one of the oldest standing, and a lot of the families who farmed around here a hundred years ago had relatives who helped put up his barn. By talking about the building of Luther’s property, I can talk about a lot of people and related events—births of children who went on to be successful in many different careers, years of economic depression and struggle and how people helped one another out as they struggled to get through them. Times of war when young men went away and didn’t always come back…or came back injured—sometimes so severely that they had to be taken care of by the community as a whole.’’
“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” he asked, impressed with her enthusiasm and her emotional bond with the people she sought to write about.
“Yes. I guess I am,” she said, a little embarrassed by her own zeal. She laughed a little and shrugged. “The stories of each of the people who’ve lived here is what makes the history of this place. It isn’t the big, wealthy people who interest me. It’s easy to find out about them. They always have buildings named after them, and they get large obituaries in the newspaper, and, well, they’re part of the general conversation that passes itself off as history. It’s the orphan who settled here with a Native American tribe three hundred years ago who interest me,” she said. “Or the telegraph clerk who sent daily messages and went home to his wife and family. Or the livery stable owner who became a car dealer when horses and buggies were overtaken by automobiles.”
“So you came here to ask Luther what it feels like to drive that thirty-year-old Chevy of his?” he teased.
Clare laughed and shook her head. “No. But I did come out to set up some interviews with him in the future. This project is still in the early stages. I’m just getting people to agree to talk with me.”
“Well, I think you’ll find Luther sitting in his living room, playing chess with my old man.”
Clare’s face fell.
“Oh, I hate to interrupt.”
“Da’ll probably appreciate it,” he said with a shake of his head. “Luther’s a damn good chess player. And I don’t think Da got that much better playing in prison, though he certainly had the time.”
Clare shielded her eyes from the sun and looked into Case’s face.
“You look relaxed, Case,” she said.
“Yeah. I guess I am. The hard work kind of clears away the cobwebs.”
“Hmm. I guess your father didn’t throw you off the place, then?”
Case frowned a little and shook his head. “No. It’s the damnedest thing. He’s.changed.”
“Because of being in prison?” she asked hesitantly.
“That forced him to look himself in the mirror,” Case conceded. “But it was more complex than that. I’m not sure I know exactly what is going on w
ith him, but he’s gotten some information about my mother that gave him a different perspective on his whole life.”
“Really? And…has it helped you, too?” she asked cautiously.
Case shrugged. “I dunno.”
“And how is your father feeling?” she asked gently.
Case sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “He doesn’t look good. His skin is a sickly, yellowish hue. He barely has the strength to walk from the house to the barn without stopping to rest.” Case looked toward the house where his father and Luther were playing chess. “He’s enjoying being here, though. I think he’s having second thoughts about moving into a shelter over in one of the big towns.”
“And how are you doing, Case? This must be tough on you.”
“Not exactly the way you might be thinking,” he said, smiling at her wryly. “I’ve had more good conversations with my old man since I got here than I remember having with him in almost my entire life.”
Clare stared at him in amazement.
He grinned.
“Come on,” he said, touching her elbow lightly. “I’ll go in with you. It’s time to clean up, anyway. And Seamus may be getting tired enough to take a nap. Maybe you can get an earful from Luther while you’re setting up your interview schedule with him.”
“By the way,” she said lightly as she walked up to the front door beside him. “My mother was sorry she missed you the other night, and she’s inviting you to supper—any night that you want. Are you busy?”
“Uh…” He held the screen door for her and followed her into the house. “No. I’m not busy. Exactly.” He watched the soft sway of her hips and the elegant shape of her legs as she walked ahead of him into the living room. “Well, I…”
“How about tomorrow night, then?” Clare asked. She turned and gazed at him innocently. “You’ll break my mother’s heart if you don’t stop by to eat her food,” she warned him cajolingly.
Case had heard this kind of female manipulation before and a suspicious look settled over his face.
“Well, we can’t have you breakin’ Lavinia Browne’s heart!” exclaimed Luther as he turned in his chair and waved at Clare.
“No, indeed,” chimed in Seamus, sitting across the chessboard from Luther. “Besides, you owe Clare here for that ride home the other night.”
“How’s taking her mother’s food a repayment for the lift she gave me?” demanded Case in amazement.
“Tomorrow night’ll be fine, Clare. Tell your ma that he’ll be there,” Luther said, getting up and making a big fuss about stretching his stiffened muscles and sore joints.
“That’s right,” Seamus agreed. “Isn’t it, Case?” He stared at his son with an Irish glint in his pale blue eyes.
“Whatever you two say,” Case conceded in exasperation. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go wash Luther’s barn off me.”
Clare grinned as he stomped up the stairs.
So far, so good, she thought cheerfully.
“Now, Luther, do you remember that history project I mentioned last month…” she began.
Chapter 7
Lavinia Browne still made the most mouth-watering chickenfried steak that Case Malloy had ever tasted. And the mashed potatoes were still the lightest, the fluffiest. And Lavinia’s rhubarb, cut fresh from her backyard garden, was still the perfect blend of tart and sweet flavors cradled in the flakiest golden crust it was humanly possible to make.
Case pushed himself away from the table and patted his flat, muscular stomach contentedly.
“If I ate like this very often, I’d be a poster boy for extralarge-size clothes. You sure can cook, Lavinia.”
Lavinia chortled and beamed at his clean plates and satisfied expression.
“Well, I just hope you come back as often as you can,” Lavinia assured him warmly. She reached out and patted his arm maternally. “You used to drop by here on a regular basis when you and Clare were in high school. Don’t be a stranger, Case! Come over anytime. Even if it’s just to sit and pass the time of day with us.”
Clare had been clearing the table, pleased with the success of the dinner. They’d had a good time. A really good time. Case had regaled them with stories of some of his travels and funny misadventures. And he’d listened with apparent interest as Lavinia filled him in on Clare’s activities and the careers of some of their old friends.
But now it was over.
And Clare wasn’t certain how much more socializing Case was really interested in doing. He’d always held Lavinia in high regard and he’d genuinely adored her cooking, scarfing it down as only growing adolescent males can do to full-course meals. But he hadn’t come back to Crawfordsville to renew old acquaintances.
And coming back to sit around and chat…well, Clare didn’t think that was the kind of thing Case did now with his time.
She rinsed out the last of the pie dishes and coffee cups and popped them all into the dishwasher.
“I don’t think Case ‘passes the time of day’ with people now, Mother,” Clare said.
Case lifted his eyebrows and shot her a surprised glance.
“Well, maybe he should, then,” Lavinia said firmly. “We all need friends and family and it’s all too easy to get caught up in business and forget that. But while Case’s here, he’s certainly welcome to enjoy a little easygoing pace of life. And I’m sure he can speak for himself on this, Clare Browne. So don’t chase him off before he has a chance to accept my little invitation,” Lavinia teased.
Case laughed and Clare glared at her mother.
“Thanks, Lavinia,” Case said easily. “If I have time, I’d be happy to come spend a while with you, passing the time of day.”
Lavinia looked at her daughter triumphantly, rose to her feet and headed toward the living room.
“I’ve got a little record keeping to attend to,” Lavinia explained. “So if you two will excuse me, I’m going upstairs to my office and wrestle with the bank statement for a while.”
“Good night, Lavinia,” Case said, getting to his feet.
“Night, Mother,” Clare said.
Case turned to Clare, a quizzical look in his eyes.
“What’s this business about my not being able to sit and shoot the breeze?” he teased her. “I seemed to recall doing quite a lot of that with you.”
Clare nodded. “Yes, but I thought with all the business meetings and traveling that you do, well, maybe it would seem too tame. Boring.”
He laughed and followed her into the living room.
“Some of the most boring things I’ve ever sat through are business meetings,” he said emphatically. “You can find boredom everywhere—in the backyard or in the boardroom.”
They went out onto the porch and Clare sat on the old swing.
Case hesitated.
“I should be going,” he said uncertainly.
Clare smiled and patted the space next to her on the swing.
“C’mon, Case. I don’t bite.”
He laughed and sat down, stretching his long arm along the back of the swing behind her.
“I’m not worried about your biting, Clare.”
“Surely you’re not worried about yourself?” she exclaimed. She batted her eyelashes at him in mock flirting. “I think you already passed that test once a long time ago.”
“Yeah. I guess I did.”
It hadn’t seemed that way to him. Oh, sweet heaven, no. But if he’d convinced her that he was immune to her charms fifteen years ago, it seemed wise to keep her thinking that now. It would be so easy to slide back into a relationship with her. And it would be wrong. Wrong for her and wrong for-him.
Clare saw the frown on his face and the preoccupation. He was drifting down into that place where he wouldn’t let her follow.
“Why do you do that, Case?” she asked, curious and a little hurt.
“Why do I do what?”
“Move away from me, start worrying? You never admit what’s going through your mind, but s
omething’s bothering you.” She looked away. “Is it something I said? Or did?”
He slid his fingers beneath her hair, just enough to feel the softness. He didn’t even want her to know he was touching it, really.
“No. You didn’t say anything wrong. I guess I’m just always looking out for something to go wrong.”
“Here?” she exclaimed. “What could possibly go wrong here on my front porch? With me?”
He grinned. “Well, for one thing, your reputation could get severely tarnished if it got around town that you were keeping company with a fast-talking man from the big city, son of a convicted felon.”
“That’s silly,” she said with a disgusted sniff. “People aren’t that narrow-minded around here.”
“No? Is that why they mill around talking about how they can get Seamus removed by the sheriff to another county?”
“What?” she exclaimed.
“The good mayor let us know this morning that there’d been some talk along those lines and he was trying to help everyone keep a cool head, but there were hot-tempered and impulsive folks that he just couldn’t be responsible for…”
Clare was shocked. “You’re not leaving because of that, are you?”
He smiled cheerlessly. “No. I’ve had a little practice over the years staying in places where I wasn’t wanted. So has Seamus. I didn’t think it was a good idea for him to come here, but since he has…” Case shrugged. “No one’s going to run him out of town on a rail if I can help it.”
Clare wanted to reach out and hug him, to comfort him and to comfort herself. But she was afraid to touch him. It was too soon. She hadn’t seen him in years, and surely he would find that gesture, made in the dark on the porch swing, something other than an offer of friendship. So she squeezed his hand instead.
His eyes connected with hers in the darkness and the silence between them stretched out painfully..
Clare withdrew her hand and looked out on to the street. There were a few people taking after-dinner walks. It was still light enough for them to see up on the porch. They’d nod at her and look curiously at Case. Some sent looks more cold and disapproving than curious.