by Lyn Cote
“No.”
“She the nicest boarder we had.”
Jessie stepped to Susan’s side. “She said Linc shouldn’t be raised in a household of women.”
“She right. Why don’t you rent her room to Mr. Smith? That’s what he come for in the first place.”
“Linc need a man around here.” Wheezing softly as always, Ruby walked in, her large body shifting from one unsteady foot to the other. “What you mauling, child?”
“Six loaves a bread.”
Jessie’s worry dragged her mind away from the kitchen. Yes, Linc needs a man in his life. But would Mr. Smith be content to be there for Linc, yet expect nothing from her? In the weeks since they’d kissed, he’d been a pattern card of a gentleman. But there was still something about him that warned her away. And my heart will always be Will’s. Then why did I let him kiss me?
After lunch Jessie carried a lapful of mending out onto the shady back porch. In the heat of the afternoon, everyone else napped. Jessie sighed and threaded a needle.
“Jessie?” Her mother whom Jessie hadn’t seen in weeks came up the backyard path.
“Mother, how did you ever get away?”
“I had to come and see you. I don’t care what Hiram says.”
Heedless of the mending, Jessie stood, welcoming her mother with open arms. For a few moments they clung to each other. Jessie urged her mother into a nearby chair. “I’ll get you some tea.”
“No, I can only stay a few moments, but I had to come. I’ve felt so terrible ever since your last visit.”
Anger drove its claws into Jessie’s heart. “Hiram should feel terrible, not you. He’s forbidden you to speak to me, hasn’t he?”
“Jessie, please. Hiram’s a good man. No fire captain in Chicago is as conscientious.”
“No doubt, but he always puts himself up as the judge of the world. I can’t forgive the things he said about Will. How your husband had the gall to tell me—in front of Margaret—that a son’s duty was to stay home and provide for his widowed mother.”
“It would have been better, for you and Linc, if Will hadn’t volunteered—”
“I would never have asked Will to avoid the draft the way your husband did.” Jessie’s hands fisted.
Esther hung her head.
“I’ll never forget that your husband paid a man three hundred dollars to be drafted in his place. I have always wanted to ask Mr. Hiram Huff what it feels like to hire a man to die in your place?”
“It does no good to stir up the past—”
Words rushed to Jessie’s lips. “I can’t hold everything back anymore.”
Jessie stood and began pacing. “I’ll never forget the day when he left me—only twelve years old—on this porch. I’d never been so frightened. Mother, why didn’t you, at least, come with me?”
“Hiram said I would cry and upset you—”
“Hiram said,” Jessie parroted. “Mother, why did you ever marry him?”
Twisting her handkerchief, Esther flushed scarlet. “Please.”
“He has continually separated us.”
“No—”
“It’s true and you know it.”
Esther stared down at white cotton-gloved hands folded in her lap. “No, he’s a hard man, but I never let him use a switch—”
“Words and looks can sting harsher than any switch.”
“Please. If he hadn’t been so exhausted and worried about the drought and all the fires, he wouldn’t have argued with you—”
“You still choose to defend him.” Jessie clenched her hands. “I will never remarry.” I’ll never kiss Mr. Smith again. “I will never put Linc through this.”
“Please don’t say that. Mr. Smith…Linc loves him so much…I was hoping…”
While her mother rambled tearfully through these phrases, Jessie shook her head. “Since I was three years old, Hiram Huff has cheated me of my mother’s love—”
“No.”
“I grew up thinking you didn’t love me. Margaret had to explain that you did love me, you just couldn’t show it because of my stepfather. Every time I would reach for you, he would step between us, scolding me.”
“But Hiram speaks highly of you now. He was especially pleased that you didn’t rent to men. He says most widows are ‘shameless’—”
“Mother, on his birthday Linc asked me why his step-grandfather didn’t like him.”
Esther moaned.
Jessie drew herself up. “You are always welcome here. But if I never see Hiram Huff again, it will be too soon.”
“Jessie,” her mother pleaded, “I know he has wronged you, but you are a Christian. You must forgive.”
Jessie looked away, hardening her heart against the crushed expression on her mother’s face. “I can’t help how I feel. I won’t lie any more.”
Esther rose slowly and left. Feeling close to tears herself, Jessie turned her back and went into the kitchen. She was done with Hiram Huff and with kissing Mr. Smith. Linc came first.
In the waning light of sundown, Jessie approached her home, crumpled, downcast. When would the cool, rainy fall days begin? Dry leaves dropped and shattered on the parched brown lawns and dusty wooden streets. The lingering drought and her own futility oppressed her.
As she hastened up her back steps, she tried to put aside the pain of her seventh rejection by a physician. She had been certain this doctor who’d studied for the mission field would say yes. The man’s hypocrisy had staggered her. As long as he was miles away, on their soil, he did not mind treating dark “natives.” But not in Chicago.
Voices coming from the kitchen drew her attention. Caleb opened the door for her. “Mrs. Wagstaff, I’m so glad you’ve finally come home.”
“What is it? You looked worried.”
“My father…his heart….”
Jessie grasped his hands. She didn’t want to face this alone. Though she’d kept Dr. Gooden at arm’s length since the night of the Palmer dinner, he’d come now. Wouldn’t he?
“The Rev’rend wants you to come,” Susan said, her voice breaking. “We bin waiting for you.”
Lee entered through the kitchen curtain. “Linc’s in bed.” When he spotted Jessie, he halted. “Linc and I missed you tonight, Mrs. Wagstaff. Was your mission successful?”
His behaving as if he belonged in her house irritated her. “I don’t have time to talk now.”
Lee surveyed the company gathered around Jessie. “Something’s wrong.”
“Caleb’s father is mortal bad again,” Susan said.
“What are his symptoms?” Lee asked automatically.
“He’s experiencing chest pain and can barely breathe.” Caleb’s face twisted. “It’s worse than last time.”
“Heart failure.” This medical pronouncement slipped out of Lee’s mouth before he could prevent it.
“Caleb, go to the doctor’s hotel. The Reverend needs him. Susan, let us go quickly,” Jessie urged.
“I’m coming, too,” Lee said in spite of himself.
“You’re not…needed.” Caleb glared at him now.
This goaded Lee. “I’m coming anyway.” Jessie objected but he went on: “Mrs. Wagstaff will need an escort home.”
Jessie glared at him, but Lee doubted the good doctor would come and he couldn’t let her face the disappointment alone.
Jessie, Susan, and Lee covered the few miles to a one-room house. Somber people hovered around the dwelling. With a sinking feeling, Lee recognized that the Reverend’s flock wouldn’t come unless they thought this the end.
Susan led them inside. Homemade candles, clustered on the bedside table, cast flickering shadows on the unfinished walls. Lee looked at the spent, old man who lay just as he had that other night.
“Mrs. Wagstaff?” the old preacher’s low voice sounded like sandpaper on rough wood.
She went to sit on the only bedside chair. Lee, feeling out of place, slipped to the rear of the crowd, surrounding the bed.
“Reverend.”
Jessie took the gaunt hand. “Shall I make you a cup of Margaret’s herb tea?”
“I don’t think…it will be of any…further help to me.” The old man wheezed as though he had been running for miles.
Lee vicariously felt the effort it cost the preacher.
Jessie clung to his frail hand. “I’ve sent Caleb—”
Unexpectedly, Caleb’s voice came from the doorway, “I left word for the doctor at his hotel.”
“Mrs. Wagstaff, God bless you….” The old man gasped between phrases. “Let your light so shine…. Whatever you have done for the least…”
“I haven’t done anything anyone else couldn’t do better,” Jessie objected.
The tears in her voice wounded Lee.
“But who else does anything?” Caleb’s voice sounded harsh in the velvet cocoon of the dark room.
“Son, forgive. Bitterness…will destroy you.” The Reverend’s breathing rustled like a tide of dry leaves swept over pavement. He choked.
Jessie looked helpless, frantic.
Unable to resist her silent appeal, Lee arranged the pillows under the old man’s featherlight upper body. The man was literally drowning from within; fluid pooling and compressing his lungs. As Lee pictured the laboring worn-out heart, he felt pressure on his own chest.
“Music,” Reverend Mitchell whispered. “Sing.”
A momentary silence greeted this. Then a woman started humming; another sang softly, “My Lord, what a mourning. My Lord, what a mourning. My Lord, what a mourning when the stars began to fall.” More women joined in, reverently humming and singing the chant. The melody took Lee back to war days in Mississippi and later Virginia. In this humble setting, the genuine feeling in the words opened emotions long buried.
As though expecting the doctor, Jessie walked to the door and looked out.
Don’t get your hopes up, Jess. The good doctor will disappoint you. Maybe tonight.
Without pause, the next spiritual began. “Soon I will be done with the trouble of this world.” An almost physical longing crystallized within Lee. If only one could be done with the trouble of this world. “Soon I will be done with the trouble of this world. Goin’ to live with God.” He drew a painful breath. Penetrating, unanticipated grief weighed him down. He leaned back against the rough wall.
Song followed song. In the funereal glow of the candles, Lee could not take his eyes from the old man. Jessie paced in front of the door, looking outside at the sound of each passing wagon.
Lee felt hard-earned barriers against memories of the war begin to crumble. He wanted to escape this room, from remembering, but he couldn’t leave Jess. The doctor wasn’t coming tonight, yet Lee took no satisfaction in being proved right.
“Son,” the old man’s raspy whisper sounded loud in the silent room.
Caleb knelt on one knee and gripped his father’s thin hand. “Father.”
“Forgive, son. Let go…of hate….”
Caleb pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose as though forcing back tears.
“You will…never know peace.” The old man wheezed again under the killing burden of fluid and blood.
Breaking the silence, one of the mourners intoned in a rich bass voice, “Swing low sweet chariot comin’ for to carry me home.” A crescendo of harmonies and emotions coursed through the grief-saturated room.
The old preacher raised one hand. “Caleb, it’s beautiful,” the Reverend mumbled. “I see it.”
Jessie came to Lee. He held out his hand. She accepted it, staying beside him. The touch of her hand in his strengthened him against the sorrow around him.
The old man tried to lift his head. “Praise God.” The dying man collapsed against the pillow. Silence descended. No one moved.
Lee waited until he realized that foreboding had immobilized everyone. He stepped close to the bed and pressed his hand to the man’s throat, feeling for a pulse. “He’s gone.” Lee tenderly closed the old man’s eyes.
A moan. A cry. A heartrending sob.
Lee felt his low spirits sink farther. In a heartbeat, he was transported to the past. He stood at the edge of a battlefield at daybreak. The moans and shrieks of wounded men ripped and shredded the peaceful dawn. Lee began trembling. Before it could overtake him completely, he fled the house.
Heedless of her own tears, Jessie accepted and returned the embraces of the other mourners. Inside, she felt scoured out by grief and disappointment. Dr. Gooden, why didn’t you come?
After Susan released her from a fierce hug, Jessie searched the room for Lee. Gone. She threaded her way through the mourners until she was able to escape outside. By the glow of the streetlamp, she spotted him and hurried to him.
Before she could speak, he took her arm and began to rush her along the alley. She couldn’t keep up with him; she pulled against him.
Abruptly he pulled her close. Only then did she become aware of the trembling of his hands. “What is it?”
He groaned. The sound unnerved her, standing alone in the dark. Drawn against her will, she moved closer to him, closer. She rested her forehead on his chin. A drop of moisture, then another fell onto her cheek. Looking up, she realized the tears were not hers, but his. “What is it?”
He gripped her arms. “Oh, Will…” He swallowed convulsively and his grip tightened on her. “Hurry, Will! They’re dying. Why don’t they send us more wagons, more men?”
At the stark despair in his voice, she wrapped her arms around him. He was shaking. Like a mother soothing a child, she stroked Lee’s back, murmuring comfort. His arms closed around her. One last harsh groan escaped him. He was still.
Then she felt him lower his cheek to hers. This slight adjustment completely altered the mood of their closeness. No longer were they mother, son. Now they were man and woman. His embrace made her feel light, small, feminine. His breath feathered the small curls at her temples. Breathless, she turned her face into the crook of his neck.
“Jessie,” he sighed her name. He lowered his lips to hers. She did not resist. He kissed her, a demanding kiss, not a kiss to be ignored.
She gasped and he deepened his kiss. A yielding sigh drifted from her mouth. She knew she should pull away, but the same inexplicable pull she had experienced on the Fourth compelled her to remain against him
When his eyelashes flickered against her face, she trembled with her need for him. Shocked at her own response, she forced herself to step back. Grudgingly he let her go.
“You were remembering the war?”
“Yes,” he admitted curtly. He took her arm and started down the dark street.
She tried to keep up with him. “Why now?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. The war should never have happened.” His pace became brisker.
“Then Susan wouldn’t be free.” Jessie tugged against him, forcing him to slow.
“If the South could have foreseen all that the war would rob them of, and all that it would force them to endure, they would have let Susan’s people go, and gladly.”
“I doubt that.”
“What do you know about it? We all joined to ‘Save the Union’ and later ‘Free the slaves.’” His voice became fierce. “On enlistment posters they don’t say: ‘Give us your youth,’ ‘Leave your wives widows and your sons orphans,’ ‘Die like dogs—worse than dogs.’”
He halted, gripping her wrists. “I have seen amputated legs stacked like cordwood. After winter battles, we had to chip men out of pools of their own frozen blood.” He jerked her closer. “The war was a travesty. No cause justifies war.”
The visions his words evoked terrified her, but suddenly she recalled all his words. She said in a dazed voice, “You said Will. You knew my husband. You’re Smith. You drove an ambulance for the Sanitary Corps, didn’t you?”
His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
She touched his arm. “I won’t make you talk about it. But I need to know.”
He closed his eyes as though drawing inner streng
th, then he nodded.
“I’m glad.” She searched for words to strengthen him. “You and Will did what you had to do. Some things are worth dying for, but we, you have to go on.”
He said at last, “Always the crusader.”
Exhausted, Jessie did not speak, but she took his arm, leading him home. She ached for Caleb in his loss and for Lee, but she could not heal their pain. Only God could. And she doubted either man would seek God’s healing. Lee had suffered with her Will. He deserved peace, comfort now. Then her mind pulled up another painful thought. Dr. Gooden hadn’t come.
As they were parting on her back steps, she couldn’t hold back the words. “Would you be interested in renting Miss Greenleigh’s room?”
“I thought you never rented to men.”
“I’ve—I’ve changed my mind,” she stammered.
“Then I would like the room.” He looked her full in the face.
She avoided his eyes. “At the end of the week?”
“The end of the week.”
Her gaze followed him as he ambled away. It was done. She should have sent him away; instead, she had brought him closer to her, to Linc.
I let him kiss me again. Her lips tingled with the memory. She resisted the warm tide, engulfing her. How did this man make her go against her common sense and convictions? What power drew her to him? Walking through her back door, she hummed, “My Lord, what a mourning when the stars begin to fall.”
After Reverend Mitchell’s evening funeral, the lake breeze was blowing through Jessie’s parlor windows, swelling the sheers. Jessie pulled the crisp, white sheet up to her son’s chin and patted his cheek. “Good night, son. God bless you.”
Yesterday it had been laundry day and in spite of Susan and Ruth’s help, her back ached from bending over the washboard. She knew she should kneel beside her son’s bed and pray with him at bedtime, but most nights she felt that if she got down on her knees, she would merely lie down on the wooden floor and go to sleep.
If only Will had come back from the war, there would be someone with strong hands to rub her back. She could easily picture Will humming softly as he worked the tenseness out of her tired muscles. Sitting down on the chair at the foot of Linc’s narrow bed, she sighed.