Drenched in Light

by Lisa Wingate

  “Karen?” I said. “This is Julia Costell. Seems like my day is looking pretty clear, after all. Do you still need help with the minicamp in Hindsville?”

  “Oh, don’t say that unless you mean it,” Karen blurted out. “Mrs. Mindia’s got the flu this morning, and James had to leave late last night to fill in for another pilot who had a family crisis. I’ve got fifty kids coming and so far only myself, Dell, my sister from Hindsville, and some of the local church volunteers to help. One of our counselors from last summer was supposed to be driving up from New Mexico, but he had car trouble and doesn’t know if he’s going to make it, and …” The sentence faded into static, then came back. “… stressful morning, sorry. If you can come, we would be thrilled. We’re in the car, about thirty minutes out of the city right now. Do you know how to get to Hindsville?”

  “Just a minute.” Fishing a map from the console, I unfolded it, traced the road south, and found Hindsville in microscopic print along a winding river. “I see it. What do I do when I get there?”

  “Just come to the Baptist church. You can’t miss it. It’s right on the square, next to …” Static overtook the line again, and I waited, thinking the connection might be lost for good this time. It didn’t matter. I had a destination and an invitation, which was all I needed.

  Karen came back on the line, laughing. “Dell’s bouncing up and down saying, ‘Cool, cool, cool!’ Can you hear her? She’s had the blues all morning because James had to leave, and Keiler might not make it to minicamp. She looks happy now, though. I think you’ve got a fan.”

  “It’s a mutual admiration society.” It sounded like a lighthearted quip, but it was true. In some strange way, Dell was doing as much for me as I was for her. “She’s quite a kid.”

  “Yes, she is,” Karen agreed. “Listen, we’re about to go down a hill, so I’ll sign off before this thing fuzzes out again.”

  We said good-bye, and I hung up, then pulled out of the driveway and headed for the interstate as I called Bett’s place to see how she was doing. Jason answered and gave me the abridged version of Bett’s symptoms. Her nausea was worse than usual, and she couldn’t keep food down, but she wasn’t running a fever. My mother was the one who had diagnosed food poisoning.

  “Listen, just make sure it’s not the flu,” I said, thinking that Mrs. Mindia had the flu, and several Harrington teachers and students were out with it. “Bett’s had her flu shot, hasn’t she?”

  “Now you sound like your mom,” Jason chided. I was reminded again of how lucky Bett was to have him. He could even laugh at Dr. Mom, right in the middle of a family medical crisis. “Yes, Bett has had her flu shot.”

  “Good, then I’ll leave you alone.” I was suddenly very, very glad I was leaving town, so that Mom couldn’t drag me into the food-poisoning drama. Next, she’d be trying to move Bett out of the apartment and back home, so that Mom and Joujou could look after her properly. “You three have a good day, all right?”

  Jason groaned, then said good-bye and hung up.

  Chuckling, I relaxed against the headrest, thinking that I’d made exactly the right decision today. An adventure was just what I needed. The shadow of gloom and worthlessness that had haunted me all morning flew out the window, and suddenly I was as bright and sunny as the late-winter day.

  The drive to Hindsville was quiet and peaceful. Leaving the interstate, I transferred to an old two-lane snaking lazily through the Ozarks, climbing wooded hillsides, plunging into valleys, climbing again. By the time I reached the outskirts of Hindsville, I was far from all my normal reference points. The town itself seemed as unreal as the road that led me there. Comprised of an old-fashioned square with a park and gazebo in the center, it looked like an advertising print on a calendar selling some wholesome, all-American product like baked beans, fresh bread, fruit, or apple-pie filling.

  As I pulled into town, the place itself seemed to be yawning and stretching, just waking up as sunlight reached the valley floor where the town was nestled like a tiny diorama tucked within the folds of a thick, winter-brown quilt. At the café, men were standing on the sidewalk next to a pickup truck, laughing and sipping cups of coffee, steam rising from the mugs and dancing near their mouths. In front of the hardware store and the grocery, merchants were setting out their wares, and at the Baptist church, the steeple bell was ringing. I pulled in and parked, feeling like I’d just dropped out of my own life and into someplace that didn’t seem quite real.

  Climbing out of the car, I stretched, taking a long breath of the clean, fresh air as I slipped on my coat and surveyed the town. What a perfect place to take a short vacation from the stress of ordinary life.

  A flock of geese flew overhead as I walked to the front door of the church. Shading my eyes, I stopped to watch them lazily circle the town, sizing up the river as a landing site. Finally, they veered off and headed north again, the change in direction effected when one bird took the lead, in a hurry to move on toward spring nesting grounds.

  “Indian legend has it that sometimes they’d circle until they fell out of the sky.” An elderly man, balding, with puffy shocks of gray hair on the sides, was standing in the doorway, holding open the door. Portly and modest of stature, he reminded me of Mr. Stafford, except that this man had a quick eye and a kind face. He focused on the geese again. “Of course, what they’re really looking for is a leader. All those birds, and they’ll just keep circling forever until one breaks the cycle and heads north again.” Tapping a finger to his lips, he made a quick notation on a spiral-bound pad taken from his shirt pocket. “I’ll have to put that in the Sunday sermon. I’ll call it, ‘One Bold Bird.’ ” He waved a hand across the air, as if he were putting the title up in lights. “What do you think?”

  “It sounds great,” I said, smiling. “I’m a middle school guidance counselor, so I understand the ‘one bold bird’ theory. Most of the kids want to circle with the flock, unfortunately.” Strange how easily “I’m a middle school guidance counselor” rolled off my tongue. I’d never identified myself that way before, even in my own mind.

  The man at the doorway nodded in agreement, or recognition. “You must be the one from Dell’s school. She’s been looking for you ever since she got here. I hear you’re our dance teacher for today.”

  “I think so.” Again, strange how quickly and naturally that answer came out. Julia Costell, guidance counselor, dance teacher.

  He extended his hand as I walked up the steps. He had a warm, twofisted grip that lingered for a moment. “Brother Baker. Welcome to First Baptist of Hindsville.”

  “Julia Costell.” Taking another breath of the fresh mountain air, I gazed up at the old frontispiece, its peak adorned with stained glass showing a dove landing in Jesus’ hands. “What a beautiful old building.”

  Leaning back, he studied the window with me, then glanced into the building, the lines of his face straightening with concern. “How are things going for Dell in school?” He checked the doorway again, making sure we were alone. “She started the year very excited about the musical opportunities there, but the last few times she’s been here, she has seemed somewhat worried and overburdened by it all.”

  I winced, wondering how much to say. “She’s … trying,” I hedged, tempted to blurt out the whole story. I wanted to talk about Dell with someone who knew her, but I couldn’t risk driving her away. In her desperate bid to preserve the ideal family image, she had to fill the role of ideal daughter—talented, smart, helpful, loving, not conflicted in any way, not failing in anything. Especially not failing her classes at school.

  “I was afraid of that,” Brother Baker said soberly. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

  Blowing out a long breath, I stared at the sidewalk. “It might be.” Ethics or no ethics, my job was about helping kids, and the best thing I could do for this kid was to find out more about her. “We’re trying, but she’s behind. She doesn’t want her foster parents to know.”

  Brother Baker nodded. “It isn’t u
ncommon for adoptive kids to have a hard time relating honestly to a new family. When life has taught you that you’re not worth loving, you either reject the idea of love altogether, or you try to mold yourself into someone good enough to be loved. Kids in Dell’s situation are afraid to be real. Experience has taught them that doesn’t work. We are all products of our experiences.”

  I realized he was looking at me very directly, and I was falling into the words, thinking not only of Dell, but of myself, hopelessly convinced that the real me wasn’t good enough, that I needed to be a little thinner, a little more talented, a little more successful. “I think a lot of this stems from being abandoned by her father.” I blinked, trying to separate the mixture of Dell’s life and mine, like egg whites from yolk. “Her biological parents, I mean. She writes often of her mother’s reasons for leaving and of wondering about the identity of her father. I think she’ll always be seeking the answers to those questions.”

  Brother Baker rubbed his brow, then his eyes, looking tired. “That’s a can of worms.”

  I wondered if my mother might answer the question about my father the same way, if I asked. That’s a can of worms… . “She has a lot of questions about her past. She’s coming to the age of trying to figure out who she is, where she came from.”

  Brother Baker nodded in a wise way that made me wonder if he knew this was as much about me as it was about Dell. “I can’t tell you much about Dell’s past,” he admitted. “Not beyond what you probably already know from her school files. Her grandparents were agricultural workers down on Mulberry Creek, never had much, never were considered very fine folks, if you know what I mean. The grand-father died in a farming accident when Dell’s mother and her brothers were teenagers, and the family went further downhill after that. One of the brothers got killed. The other one, Bobby, was in and out of jail and right now he’s back in for DUI. Dell’s mother quit school as a teenager, ran off, got involved in drugs and whatnot. Came back a few years later, with Dell just a tiny baby. Never said who the father was, as far as I know. She eventually left again, got pregnant, later gave that baby to its father, and took off a third time. She died in Kansas City. Overdose. Dell was left with no one but a grandmother, who was in declining health and unprepared to raise a little girl.”

  Shaking his head, he sighed. “One of those stories that never seemed like it would have a happy ending, but here we are. Karen’s grandmother, Rose Vongortler, lived across the river from Dell’s granny. Rose was lonely and Dell was lonely and the two of them became friends. Eventually, Dell was like a part of the Vongortler family. It seemed a natural thing that when Dell’s biological grandmother died last year, Karen and James took her in. They’d never been able to have children of their own, so Dell was a long-awaited gift. God has an amazing way of weaving lives together.”

  Clearly, he wanted to leave the story at that. Happy ending. No more to be said. I pushed for more, anyway. “Dell has mentioned a boyfriend of her mother’s—someone with long dark hair. She thinks he might be her father. Do you know who that could have been?”

  Brother Baker squinted upward. “No, I don’t believe I do. Dell’s family always kept to themselves. They didn’t like a lot of people knowing their business—always afraid of the welfare authorities and things like that.” Tapping a finger against his chin, he frowned thoughtfully. “I hate to say it, but if Dell has a biological father out there, she’s probably better off not knowing him. Dell’s mother didn’t run with a very savory crowd.”

  “I suppose not,” I muttered, but in the back of my mind, I felt that even if the answers weren’t pleasant, Dell still had a right to find them. I’d learned from experience that ignoring the questions wouldn’t make them go away.

  Chapter 15

  Inside the main chapel, Karen and another woman were busy setting up rudimentary props for what looked like a production of Alice in Wonderland. Karen introduced the other woman as her sister, which was obvious because of the family resemblance.

  Even without the physical similarities, I would have quickly determined that Karen and Kate were sisters—only sisters talk to each other that way. Friends require a certain level of politeness, little niceties and conversation makers. Sisters get right to the point. Only half as many words per sentence are necessary. The rest comes from unspoken understanding and common life experience. Watching Kate and Karen laugh and joke with each other as we constructed the theater set, I felt a pang of missing Bett. Standing next to a giant Styrofoam toadstool, I was momentarily overwhelmed by the fact that I was losing her. In two weeks, she would be married and moving away.

  Bett would have loved helping with the Jumpkids production of Alice in Wonderland. When we were little, she always wanted to play storybook dress-up with my dance costumes. Even though she didn’t pursue ballet after the first grade, she still loved the performance outfits. The one from Alice in Wonderland was her favorite, but I was always stubborn about letting her wear it. Now, I wished I’d let her be Alice every time she wanted to. Our years as sisters and playmates went by faster than I’d ever imagined. Now we were grown-up, and life was sweeping us into an entirely new phase, taking us to unknown places.

  I wanted to speed home, burst into Bett’s bedroom, wrap my arms around her, and tell her I loved her and she couldn’t move away.

  Dell came through the side door, and I wiped my eyes, feeling silly. She frowned as I dabbed my face with the remodeled bathrobe that would soon clothe the Queen of Hearts.

  “Sorry,” I said, laying the bathrobe over my arm and reaching into the prop box for the queen’s crown. I was supposed to be sorting out the costumes, not musing over Bett’s life changes. “I was thinking about my sister getting married and moving away. I was having a little moment.”

  “Oh.” Dell was still perplexed, the way kids are when they realize that—oh, my gosh—schoolteachers have actual human emotions beyond simple anger and irritation. “Well … ummm … you should get this thing we’ve got on the computer. You can call each other up and talk and see each other on the screen, and everything, and it’s all free. Karen and Kate do it all the time.” Before I could stop her, she’d hollered across the stage, “Karen, what’s that computer thingy we’ve got where we can talk on the phone?”

  “Phonefamonline,” Karen answered, then paused to glance over her shoulder, and added, “Why?”

  “Ms. C needs it.”

  To my horror, everyone turned to look at me, standing there clutching the Queen of Hearts bathrobe, wiping my eyes. “Sorry,” I said sheepishly, feeling like a complete moron. Terribly unprofessional, crying in front of a student and a parent. “My sister’s getting married in two weeks and moving to Seattle.”

  Karen and Kate seemed to understand perfectly. Girl thing. Sister thing. They made pouty lips at each other, then lamented, “Aaawww,” in unison. Karen got misty eyed, and Kate, whom I didn’t even know, came across the stage and gave me a sympathetic hug.

  Dell joined in, patting my shoulder and saying, “I’m sorry, Ms. C.”

  I began to blubber in earnest, babbling on about my sister, and how she was going to be so far away, and of course I was happy for her, and Jason was a great guy, but I was losing my sister… . And so on, and so on. All the things I couldn’t say to Mom or Bett.

  Karen walked over, and the three of them stood consoling me, while I drenched the Queen’s gown, vaguely aware that when I finished, I was going to feel so idiotic that I would have to make some excuse and leave. I would never be able to face these people the rest of the day.

  “What’s this, Steel Magnolias?” A man’s voice came from the back of the room, and I wanted to turn to vapor and dissipate out the back door.

  “Keiler!” Dell squealed, and I registered the fact that Dell’s friend Keiler was here, and he wasn’t a little kid.

  Kate withdrew from our circle of sympathy. “You made it!” she said, as Dell jumped off the stage and ran across the room.

  “What happened to the ho
pelessly broken-down car?” Karen asked. She kept her arm around my shoulder, and I realized I was about to be introduced.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so ridiculous and completely undignified. Fortunately, Dell delayed our meeting by tackling Keiler with a hug. I wiped my eyes furiously with the bathrobe, taking in the guy in the stocking cap with Mental embroidered on the front, a Ski Red River T-shirt, woefully wrinkled khaki hiking pants, a hiking boot on one foot, a multicolored walking cast on the other, and a guitar case slung across his back. He stumbled sideways, catching Dell and bumping the guitar case against one of the pews.

  Karen gaped at the cast. “Well, I guess now I know why you’re back here helping us before ski season’s over,” she commented, still keeping her arm over my shoulder, as if she’d forgotten I was there. “What happened to your foot?”

  Dell let go, and Keiler righted himself, mussing her hair with a lazy movement that was both playful and sweet. “Tried to catch a kid falling off the ski lift.” Holding out his hands with a few feet measured between them, he added ruefully, “Big kid. I did a good job of breaking his fall.”

  “Oh, my gosh.” Dell leaned down to investigate the nylon-and-Velcro cast, and Keiler pulled off his ski hat, dropping it on her head. “Eeewww!” She squealed, tossing the hat on the pew, then slapping a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my gosh, you cut off all your hair!”

  I wondered how much hair Keiler had before, because from where I was standing, he looked like he still needed a haircut. The thick brown mass came out of his ski hat, sticking up in all directions, seeming to have a will of its own.

  He shook it out, grinning good-naturedly at Dell. “Got bored in the hospital. Did it myself. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know …” Dell mused, standing back to survey the haircut.

  It looks like you did it yourself, I thought.

  “That’s what the nurse said.” Keiler ruffled Dell’s hair again, then grinned and winked toward us.