Spring Rain

by Gayle Roper

  Leigh smiled slightly. Another automotive patsy.

  “Well, would you let Dr. Wharton check the car over for you?”

  Leigh couldn’t respond; she was so floored by the very idea. She sat there with her packet of Saltines half open and stared.

  “I’m serious.”

  Leigh dropped her Saltines onto the table. “I’ve got to go,” she said with a look at her watch. “Thank you for lunch, Mrs. Wharton.”

  “But, Leigh, you’ve only eaten part of your soup. Didn’t you like it?”

  “It was very good,” Leigh assured her, even as she pressed a hand to her abdomen and swallowed repeatedly. She shouldn’t have had that spoonful of noodles. “I just have to go.” Before I throw up all over the table and upset Beach Princess Staci with the smell.

  “Are you feeling ill again?” Mrs. Wharton was all concern.

  “I’m fine. Thank you again.” And Leigh fled.

  She continued to see Mrs. Wharton every day at the Acme. Sometimes she went through Leigh’s checkout line with nothing more than a head of lettuce or a quart of milk. Sometimes she had to wait behind women with overflowing carts when the manager kept saying, “Checkout One is for small orders. It’s open.”

  “I’m fine,” Mrs. Wharton would insist, then wait her turn, smile at Leigh, and talk about the weather, Ted’s latest letter, or Clay’s lack of contact with home since he’d left for school.

  One night less than a week after the lunch at Bitsi’s, Mrs. Wharton showed up at the ice cream stand with Dr. Wharton in tow.

  “Hello, Mrs. Wharton, Dr. Wharton.” Leigh realized she now accepted that she would see Mrs. Wharton frequently, and Leigh couldn’t decide whether she was pleased or unnerved by this fact. She didn’t quite trust the woman’s niceness, but she made Clay seem real and not so far away. And Dr. Wharton was very pleasant, so unlike her father. He was a big man, like Clay. “What can I get for you? Vanilla and black raspberry?”

  “You remember!” Mrs. Wharton was impressed, but then nice people usually were easy to impress.

  “When I actually know the people I’m waiting on, I tend to remember.”

  Dr. Wharton took his black raspberry cone. “When can you come over and let me look at your car? Julia’s been telling me you need it checked so you know if it’s good enough for the commute to school in the fall.” He lunged at his cone to catch a drip before it fell onto his knit shirt with the little polo player over his heart.

  Leigh stared at him in disbelief.

  “I told you he’d help you.” Mrs. Wharton looked at him proudly.

  He glanced at Leigh, eyebrows raised in question, and she felt compelled to answer. Before she knew what had happened, she was committed to drive over Thursday after work at the Acme. She didn’t have to be at the ice cream stand until seven. There ought to be just enough time between jobs to get the checkup and grab a hot dog at the stand next to hers—if she could keep it down. She thought she probably could. Food eaten in the evening tended to remain where she sent it. It was mornings and early afternoons when the rebellion took place.

  She was very nervous when she drove into the Whartons’ drive on Thursday, but when Ted came running out and gave her a hug, she began to relax. In no time, Ted and Dr. Wharton were peering under the Red Menace’s hood and listening to all kinds of noises.

  “Come on in,” Mrs. Wharton invited when the men began to speak mechanicese.

  Feeling awkward and unsure but not knowing how to say no, Leigh entered the prettiest kitchen she’d ever been in. Everything matched, everything sparkled, and the blue and green and white colors blended with the ocean she could just see beyond the dunes. The smells emanating from the stove reminded Leigh of how long it had been since she’d had a real meal. Her mouth began to water, but she swallowed resolutely. A hot dog would be fine when the time came.

  “Do you have time to eat with us?” Mrs. Wharton asked. “Ted would be so happy to have your company.”

  Leigh glanced up to see if her hunger had been obvious and the invitation had been made out of pity. But no. Mrs. Wharton was busy at the counter with her back to Leigh. “Oh. Well—”

  Mrs. Wharton turned around, a warm smile on her face. “Please say yes, especially if you like chocolate cake.” And she stepped aside, revealing the prettiest chocolate cake Leigh’d ever seen.

  It was a delicious dinner, the best Leigh had had since Mom died. She tried not to feel too guilty when she decided maybe it was even better than one of Mom’s specials. Mrs. Wharton could really cook. And Leigh’s stomach was barely complaining, thank goodness.

  “Come on outside with me, Leigh,” Dr. Wharton said when everyone was finished. “I want to give you the report on your car.”

  Leigh nodded and stood. Ted rose too.

  “I want to talk to Leigh alone,” Dr. Wharton said, looking at Ted.

  Ted looked surprised but nodded and sat down. “I’ll just have another piece of that great cake. It’s another winner, Mom.”

  Leigh followed Dr. Wharton outside. Now she was going to get it, whatever it was. Now she’d find out what they wanted from her, or she’d get that lecture about corrupting Clay. Cloak it in kindness, and then it hurt even more. She squared her shoulders and looked at Dr. Wharton with hostility.

  “I think your car’s in pretty good shape, Leigh.” He slid his hand along the front right fender. “I see from the sticker that you bought it from Wade Richter. He’s a fair and honest man. We go to the same church.”

  Leigh nodded, too nervous at what was coming to be very relieved about the condition of the car.

  “But,” he said, “that’s not my main concern.”

  Here it comes, she thought, rubbing her hand across the pain in her forehead.

  “You know I’m a doctor, don’t you?”

  She looked at him in surprise and nodded.

  “Do you know what kind?”

  “A baby doctor, right?”

  He nodded and looked at her with concern. “Is there a possibility that you’re pregnant, do you think?”

  “N-no,” Leigh said. “I’m not pregnant! I can’t be pregnant. Why would you think such a thing?”

  “Mrs. Wharton has been concerned because of some things she’s observed when she’s been with you. Your frequently upset stomach, your fatigue, and the circles under your eyes, for example.”

  Leigh thought of the take-at-home test that sat on her bureau—the test she’d been too scared to use because the possibility of a positive reading was too terrifying to deal with.

  “I can’t be pregnant!” she repeated. “I can’t! I can’t!”

  “Are you saying that you were never with a man?” Mrs. Wharton asked as she slid an arm around Leigh’s waist. Leigh hadn’t even heard her come outside.

  Leigh looked at Clay’s mother and began to cry. She cried until she became afraid she’d never stop. The whole time she sobbed, Mrs. Wharton held her and rocked her and murmured sweet mother things in her ear.

  When she finally calmed down a bit, they took her inside and sat her down. Then they washed her face with cool water, gave her a drink, and showered her with kindness.

  “I’ve a hard question for you,” Dr. Wharton finally said. “If you are pregnant, can we expect any help from the father?”

  Leigh shook her head. “I haven’t heard from him since—” She couldn’t say it.

  The Whartons nodded their understanding. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you.”

  And to her amazement they had. They helped her find an apartment in Glassboro so she could go to Rowan without the terrible commute. The rent was very low, too low, and she always suspected they underwrote it. She knew they paid her tuition.

  “We’ve saved for the boys’ college expenses for years,” Dr. Wharton said. “Now Clay’s going to a school where we don’t have to foot the bill. Let us use that money for you. We’d consider it a privilege, and you should look at it as another scholarship.”

  They had paid for Bi
lly’s prenatal care and delivery. They had bought her all the baby things she had known she could never afford—a frilly bassinet, a wonderful crib with beautiful sheets and blankets, a car seat, and a highchair. Every time they came to visit her in Glassboro, they brought a CARE package for her and Billy: small gifts, silly gifts, necessary items. Because Billy was their grandchild, she was able to still her conscience as she accepted gift after gift.

  Most astounding of all, Will and Julia Wharton loved her. At first Leigh couldn’t believe it, distrusting them, looking for ulterior motives, waiting for their repayment demand. But she finally realized there was nothing here but Christian love freely given. And for some reason, God had chosen her to be the recipient.

  Billy was three years old when it finally all came together in her mind, and she realized Jesus could come into her life and make her like them. He’d died to be her sacrifice and to forgive her of all her wrongs—which were legion. The gift of new life was hers for the taking. And she believed.

  Will and Julia rejoiced with her, helped her find a church where she would grow, and continued to love her.

  It had taken her six years including summers, but she’d finally graduated cum laude. By working part time, she’d made enough to feed herself and Billy, pay a baby-sitter and the miniscule rent left after the Whartons’ contribution. Every year for her birthday, the Whartons gave her her car insurance, and Dr. Wharton made sure she and Billy were covered with health insurance.

  When she graduated, they told her about the fourth grade teacher’s position that had just opened up in Seaside, asked her to come back and live in their apartment and let them continue as Billy’s surrogate grandparents. She’d agreed with trepidation because her memories of Seaside were not pleasant, but she could not abide the thought of losing them. They’d made her return as painless as possible, though not even they could protect her from the cruel people of the world.

  When she finally fell asleep, she was smiling at all the proof of God’s goodness through the years and full of confidence that He would come through for her again.

  Eleven

  CLAY WANDERED INTO the kitchen about eight-thirty Saturday morning, surprised that he had slept so well after all the chaos of the night before. He glanced out the window at the garage and wondered how Leigh had passed the night.

  He shook his head. It bothered him that she always had to deal with the fallout of being Johnny Spenser’s daughter. She had done so much with her life: finishing college, teaching, and according to Greg Barnes—or Greg Barnes’s daughter—doing a fine job of it. She was responsible, efficient, and capable.

  But then she always had been. When he recalled that young girl he thought so lovely, he remembered a whole person, not just a pretty one. He remembered her dedication to her schoolwork, her shy friendliness, her kindness, her determination to be more than Johnny Spenser’s daughter.

  Of course he remembered her beauty too. What man wouldn’t? She had been enough to make his mouth go dry every time he looked at her. And she was lovelier now than she had been then. Maturity had given depth to her face, honed the girlish roundness from cheek and jaw. Granted, he missed that waterfall of chestnut hair that intrigued him so, but her brisk, chin-length curls were equally charming. She had a brightness to her eyes that made them spark with life and emotion, especially when she was telling him where to get off or trying not to tell the young cop Pete to mind his own business.

  He grinned to himself. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone do the Frost Princess better than she’d done it last night with the young cop. And he’d deserved every icy breath. Clay could still see the avid curiosity with which Pete had weighed Leigh in some mental balance.

  It just wasn’t fair that she had to be subjected to insolence like that, but then no one said life was fair. But it still galled him and aroused an unexpected urge to be her knight-errant riding his destrier to her rescue and becoming her protector. Don Quixote de la Seaside.

  Careful, Wharton. Dangerous territory. You were there once before and look what it did to you. And her. You’re the last person who should ever consider rescuing her.

  Trouble was, he saw no one else riding over the horizon to tilt at her windmills for her, to raise his emblem in her name.

  It was funny how he still saw her as that innocent, pure girl in the white dress with the pink flowers and green vines embroidered around the hem. Why he did was a mystery to him. Billy was proof that she was anything but. Still, there was something about her, about the way she carried herself, the way she cared about his mother and brother, the way she obviously doted on Billy that moved him. She had always been without artifice, and he saw that same quality in her still.

  No wonder he had rarely come home over the years.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe warming on the coffee machine. He took a swallow and choked. Vanilla! He should have known. The whole kitchen smelled of it, but he’d assumed his mother had been baking. Instead, she had been making corrupted coffee.

  He’d always thought Mom a purist, what with her made-from-scratch baking frenzies and dinners to die for. That she, a wonderful and previously incorruptible woman, had fallen for flavored coffee was a sad sign of the subtlety of the moral decay in America.

  He sighed and poured the mugful down the drain. He resisted by sheer strength of character the urge to dump the whole carafe. He went to the refrigerator. There sat a can of real coffee-flavored coffee. He pulled it out and made himself a pot. It tasted wonderful. He was just finishing a bowl of Cheerios and some whole wheat toast with real butter when his mother came in the back door.

  “Hi,” she said with a smile, fresh air eddying about her. She wore jeans, a blue plaid flannel shirt and sweater, and a red fleece jacket. She looked more like an older sister than his mother. “I’ve been walking on the beach.”

  “I wondered where you were,” he said, smiling at the roses blooming in her cheeks.

  She headed for the vanilla coffee and poured a cup. “It’s going to be lovely this afternoon, but it’s still brisk right now.” She shivered. “I’ve got to get warm.”

  The back door slammed open, and Billy exploded into the room. Obviously he’d escaped before Leigh got him to brush his hair. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on last night, a true ten-year-old boy with all the disdain for cleanliness that typified the age.

  “Hey, Clay! Hey, Terror!” He dropped to his knees and hugged the dog who wiggled with delight at the attention. “Hey, Grandma Jule, did you hear about our visitor last night?”

  “Someone besides Clay?” Mom asked, laughing as Terror enthusiastically kissed Billy.

  “A vandal!” Billy swiped an arm across his face to wipe off Terror’s saliva and looked at her, waiting for her reaction.

  Clay couldn’t help grinning at the boy. Now that order had been more or less restored to the apartment and the sun was shining, he was once again enjoying the excitement of this new adventure. Quiet little Seaside didn’t often offer firsthand mysteries, and his front row seat to this one obviously delighted Billy.

  Mom didn’t disappoint the boy. “What? A vandal?” Her face blanched, and she put out a hand to grab the counter as if she needed help to keep standing.

  The back door opened again, and this time Leigh entered. She was wearing jeans and a shirt and sweater just like his mother, but she reminded him of no one’s sister, older or younger, and certainly not his. Nor did he feel anything remotely brotherly when he looked at her.

  “Billy, what have you been telling Julia?” Leigh asked, taking in Mom’s white face and strained expression.

  “Are you all right?” Mom demanded, coming to Leigh and taking her hands.

  Leigh kissed Mom’s cheek and smiled reassuringly. “We’re fine. Truly.”

  “Yeah, now we’re fine. But last night there was mess and water everywhere! You should have seen it. Toothpaste all over the sink. Dirt all over the floor. Books everywhere. The kitchen floor was a little
lake!” Billy was enjoying the drama, playing it with an over-the-top disregard for the sensibilities of his audience.

  “That’s enough, Billy,” Leigh said in a firm voice. “You’re scaring Grandma Jule.”

  “It’s all right, Mom.” Clay pulled out a chair for her. “Greg Barnes was here last night and took care of everything.”

  Well, almost everything, he thought. He looked at Leigh, and she nodded. She had reported the threatening call. She pointed to Billy and shook her head. The boy knew nothing about it. Clay inclined his head and wondered at the ease of their wordless communication. He hadn’t understood Emilie, the giver of Terror, even when she used audible words.

  “How’s Ted this morning?” Leigh asked, changing the topic to the one guaranteed to distract his mother. Mom shrugged as she took the seat Clay had pulled out for her. “He seems very tired to me, even after a full night’s sleep.”

  “Did he manage to eat anything?”

  “He ate a couple of soft-boiled eggs with some bread mixed in, complaining the whole time about how tasteless they were.”

  “The medicine makes things taste strange?” Clay asked.

  Mom nodded. “Though I think it was more a case of not being able to put salt on the eggs. You know Ted. If he can’t bury it in salt, it isn’t worth eating.” She smiled. “I think his mouth is a bit better this morning. The stuff David gave him is helping.”

  Leigh poured herself a cup of the vanilla coffee and added a spoonful of sugar. She took a sip and sighed. “Delicious. I just love this stuff.”

  “You can’t be serious!” Clay shook his head. “It’s like drinking a hot milkshake. Now this is real coffee.” He picked up his carafe and poured himself another mug. “That stuff’s for wimps.”

  “Well, now at least I know what you think of me.” She smiled to take any sting out of the words.

  Mom looked wistfully at the almost empty carafe of vanilla coffee, and Clay felt suddenly guilty about the cup he’d poured down the drain. She topped off her mug with the remaining coffee and rose to rinse the pot at the sink. “Ted and I had a lovely, lively discussion this morning about whether his bouts with thrush were worse than these sores. It’s amazing what becomes interesting fodder for contemplation in certain circumstances.”