Ellie, Beecher, and Katherine, along with Katherine’s brother, Garry, sat in the front row of folding chairs provided by Hermann Funeral Home. Will and Audrey stood behind them. Opa’s casket, which at his request was the cheapest available and a color called Spartan Silver, was only a few feet in front of them. Ellie’s hands were folded in her lap. But if she stuck out her arm, the casket holding Opa’s body would be barely beyond her reach.
On top of the casket was a spray of red roses. Dozens of them cascaded over the sides, suffused with greenery and baby’s breath, along with ribboned banners that read FATHER and GRANDFATHER in silver glittered letters. Other flower arrangements were spread about the base. These were from friends and well-wishers, most of whom were not present at the small, private service held only—again per Opa’s request—beside the grave.
“No pomp and circumstance for me,” Opa once said in regard to his funeral plans. And those wishes were honored, as best as they could be, by his loved ones. The only extravagance was a set of bag-pipes played by a man named MacGregor in traditional Highland dress. This was insisted upon by Garry. He and Opa had been to Scotland together once and were privy to a town parade in Ben Nevis. Opa said he liked the bagpipes. Ellie figured this was Garry’s way of honoring that memory.
As music from the pipes resonated through the air, Ellie felt Will’s hand resting on her shoulder. It was warm and soft. A contrast to her heart, which was cold—flat and dull—like the drone of the pipes, which underscored the melody of “Amazing Grace” that wafted on the air above it.
In that moment a single yellow swallowtail came into view, floating down under the funeral home’s canopy of bright blue and landing on the silver casket. For a time it hovered over the roses, and then, as if hearing a distant call in its own language, it moved on, taking flight.
Ellie watched it soar past the headstones of the cemetery and into the sky. Soon it became a tiny speck against the great blue backdrop of the heavens.
The piper held the last note out long and full, and Ellie closed her eyes and listened. An inner voice reminded her of the lyrics. “I once was lost, but now am found…was blind but now I…” Ellie exhaled as she pondered the last word. See.
* * * * *
After the service, they all returned to the house, where Ruth, Katherine’s assistant at the winery, was overseeing a spread of food. Visitors came in a steady stream. Ellie tried to help her mother by receiving them and listening to their stories of Opa, though she really felt like going to bed. Her head pounded, and her soul ached. It was hard to even be in the house, because all of Opa’s favorite places were empty.
When things were finally quiet, and Katherine herself was lying down in her bedroom, Ellie went for a walk with Will. They ended up beside the pond. Sitting on a rock where she and Opa had fished a thousand times, she told Will how bereft she felt. How dry and barren and wasted. And then she started to cry.
* * * * *
Will didn’t tell her it would all work together for good. He didn’t say there was a reason for everything or that Opa’s passing was part of God’s sovereign will. He simply sat beside her and held her, letting the tears soak his shirt. He stroked her hair. He stayed in that one position on the rock without moving till his whole body ached, and then he stayed there longer. He stayed until Ellie was ready.
After her tears were spent, they walked together back to the house, where she crawled in bed with her mother. Will sat down in the living room, reading and praying and waiting for Audrey, who had kindly invited him to stay the night at the DuPrees’.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, Audrey and Beecher were on the front porch. They huddled together in the porch swing, holding hands and watching the sunset over the Missouri River. A whippoorwill chirruped in the distance. Crickets played their leg violins. Audrey’s midnight-blue dress rustled to the rhythm of the swing. Her feet barely touched the ground, clad in black peep-toe sandals. Beecher’s tie was loosened, and his jacket was thrown over the arm of the white wicker rocker by the front door.
His face was red from crying. His eyes, usually so clear and bright, were bloodshot and tired from jetlag. The porch swing swayed gently, as if marking the notes of a lullaby. He slumped, as if his last reserves of energy ebbed away even as the sun dropped lower and lower, leaving the sky a dark, royal purple.
Audrey loosened her hand from his grip and scooted to the far end of the swing. Then, putting her arm around his broad shoulders, she tugged him over so he could lay his head in her lap. Keeping her arm around him and holding him close, she stroked his cheek with her other hand and curled his hair around her tiny fingers. He closed his eyes and more tears came. She wiped them away one by one.
Audrey and Beecher stayed like this for a long time. The stars came out and, with them, a bright three-quarter moon. His breathing became even, the tears stopped, and she thought perhaps he’d fallen asleep. She leaned her head against the swing and closed her eyes, still cradling his head on her lap. She had no idea how much time passed this way.
Then he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. Sliding out of the swing, he dropped to his knees in front of her. “Audrey,” he said, breaking the silence, “I want you to marry me.”
Dazed, she leaned forward in the moonlight to inspect his face. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she caressed the back of his neck and then dug into his shoulders, loosening knots of muscle with her delicate fingertips. “You’re not lucid, Beecher. You’re under extreme duress.”
He pulled her down from the swing and onto his lap so their noses were nearly touching. She tucked his head into the soft pillow of her neck and hugged him like a child, excusing his irrational behavior.
He kissed her on the neck, then spoke into her ear. Audrey tingled all over.
Beecher’s voice was muffled by her hair, but she could hear him whisper, “I mean it.” There was urgency in his words.
Now it was Audrey’s turn to cry. Maybe he was delirious, and maybe the offer would be rescinded after a good night’s sleep. She wouldn’t hold it against him. But just in case this was really happening, Audrey wanted to feel it—completely. She could always remember it later as a beautiful dream.
“I would love to marry you, Beecher.”
He leaned into her then, putting his arms around her and enfolding her in a tight embrace. “I love you, and I need you, Audrey. I don’t want to live another moment apart.”
She shook her head and smiled at him. “We don’t have to.”
“I want to seize the day.”
Just like their first kiss on her New York balcony, this really was happening. Beecher had proposed, and Audrey had accepted. They held each other for a long moment in the moonlight. Then she stood, and he rose with her, keeping her close.
Her voice was that of a lover and a friend. “I don’t want to leave, but you need to sleep.”
He turned her toward him, cupping her cheek in his hand, and kissed her gently on the lips. Once…twice…three times.
Audrey led Beecher inside the house to his room and kissed him again at the door. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
He kissed her eyes, her nose, her lips.
“Good night, Beecher.”
“Good night, Audrey.”
Chapter Thirty-six
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. The best because Audrey and Beecher were getting married, which was a dream come true for Ellie on so many levels. But even such boundless joy was darkly overshadowed by the overwhelming loss of Opa. Time seemed insignificant, and the weeks that followed were a blur. Ellie stayed home in Hermann for four days, returning to New York with Audrey only at the insistence of her mother and Beecher. It was that or lose her part in the play.
Once she was back in New York, she poured herself into her role, glad for the respite of being another person and having another life outside the void of facing life without Opa. Sometimes as herself, Ellie felt the void would swallow her up. Playing the pa
rt of Stella helped her escape. Working was all she could do to keep going, to survive. That, and running. She became very familiar with the running trails of Central Park. By not answering her phone unless it was Will, her family, or Audrey, she also managed to avoid Jackson Jenkins.
On opening night everyone came. Beecher, Katherine, and Will flew to New York together, along with the DuPrees. They all booked rooms at the Washington Square Hotel, not far from New York University and Audrey’s apartment. Jackson, who had contacted Beecher, sent flowers and also expressed his condolences about Opa. He planned to join the group from Missouri on the third row, center stage, and Ellie hoped he would absorb the fact that she and Will were a couple.
Thirty minutes before the lights went down in the house, Corbin Oliver came to the door of the room where Ellie was dressing. His eyes were wild, and there was a deep crease in his forehead. His spiky hair was wet with sweat.
“There’s been an emergency.” Oliver was breathless. “Emily Jordan cannot perform.”
Ellie turned her head to one side, knowing she could not have heard him right.
“What?”
“Her son was in a serious accident. She’s on her way to Mount Sinai right now.”
The director’s words began to sink in.
“You want me to play Blanche? Tonight?”
“You have to, or we’re sunk. Can you do it?”
Ellie’s mind raced. “Who will be Stella?”
“Jane can do it. She’s your alternate, Ellie; I already told her.” Oliver’s voice was developing an edge.
“I’m sorry. This is just so sudden.” Ellie looked the director in the eyes. “Of course I’ll do it. Let me get ready.”
She rushed to Emily’s dressing room, where a costume designer was waiting. Ellie was much taller than Emily, and they had to be creative to make things work. When she walked on stage as Blanche, however, Ellie lost herself in the character. Channeling all of the pain she’d experienced in the past month from losing Opa, she gave the performance of her life.
The theater critics raved about the girl from Missouri. “Branson Beauty Haunts Broadway as Blanche,” the headline in the theater section of The New York Times the next day proclaimed. Even Corbin Oliver was not short on praise. The celebration of Ellie’s success seemed to do them all—especially Katherine, Beecher, and herself—good. She knew Opa would be proud.
As she and Will said good-bye at the airport, Ellie didn’t want to let him go. “I don’t know when I’ll ever come home now, Will.”
“You’ve got all of New York at your feet.” He smiled, but his eyes were wistful.
“Could you ever come to New York City? I mean, to stay—and be with me if I was here?”
“I am so proud of you, Ellie. And you must know how I long to be with you.” Will looked away for a moment and then back into her eyes. His voice was gentle, yet firm. “But I belong in Branson. I know that’s where God wants me to be.”
He held her for a long time, crushing her to him, before they said good-bye. As Ellie watched him walk away, a piece of her heart went with him. Something had changed. It was as if the universe had shifted. And she didn’t know if it would ever be the same for her and Will again.
* * * * *
Ellie remained in the role of Blanche, continuing to get great reviews. Emily Jordan’s son recovered, and because of Emily’s star power Corbin began to alternate their performances so that part of the time Ellie went back to being Stella. To the critics, it seemed Ellie could do no wrong. She was their new darling, a precarious position to be in, she knew, but a wave she planned to ride as long as possible.
Jackson Jenkins was persistent. As much as Ellie hated to admit it, her contact with Will had slowed down, and she felt them moving apart, as though their geography was redefining their emotional boundaries. Since the weekend of opening night, they had not been able to find their footing with one another. The implications of it all made her uneasy. Ironically, Jackson seemed to speed things up in proportion. There were roses in her dressing room before every performance and invitations to fashionable events. A reporter from the New York City Wire magazine snapped a picture of them leaving Madison Square Garden after a concert, and they were featured in the society section as New York’s New “Power Couple.” Most of the time Ellie was too distracted—and depressed over Opa—to give it much thought. Jackson was a nice and undemanding friend.
One Sunday afternoon Jackson took her for a carriage ride in Central Park. For once, he was dressed in jeans with a pummeled gray T-shirt. He wore a washed cord shirt the color of a persimmon for a jacket, and copper-colored leather basketball sneakers that were scuffed, like antiques. Ellie was in a dress Katherine ordered her from Sundance, a lacy silk-cotton number in gunmetal that was ironically dubbed “Elysian Fields.”
The ride took them past the Dakota, where John Lennon once lived and died, the Wollman Rink, through the Mall, and ended at the Sheep Meadow. At the Sheep Meadow, Jackson paid a seemingly random guy for a kite and handed it to Ellie to fly. She was surprised at how effortlessly it glided on the wind. The colors were vibrant and the shape exotic, like the ones she imagined the children flying in Khaled Hosseini’s book.
After a time, the wind died down, so Ellie began to reel in the kite. Something on the tail caught the light of the sun just right and it sparkled, shooting out rays of blinding fire. When it came in closer, Ellie realized there was a ring tied to the kite’s tail—a platinum ring with a very large diamond.
She turned it over in her hand and looked at Jackson, who was beaming. There was no hint of fear in his eyes, just confidence. And excitement. He was a good person—a good friend, even. But Ellie had no design on marrying him. If she married, and it had become a big “if,” the only life she imagined was with Will. But Will would never be a New Yorker. And for now Ellie’s dreams were here. Did that mean God had sent her Jackson? Was she crazy to turn down a millionaire’s offer? The ring shimmered and glowed like the bright lights of New York.
“Jackson, I cannot accept this.”
The stars in his eyes flickered slightly.
“It’s beautiful—amazing. And I am very honored. But it would be wrong of me to take it. I can’t.”
He grabbed ahold of her hand. “Ellie, you are a fascinating woman. No one has captured my interest like you do. Please consider it.”
Ellie shook her head, pressing the ring firmly into his palm. “No.”
* * * * *
At the next performance of A Streetcar Named Desire Ellie got a standing ovation. Jackson, who miraculously didn’t hate her, was in the front row leading the charge. As he stood smiling at her, exultant in her success, Ellie prayed. She bowed, looking out over the crowd as though searching for God’s will. “What is Your will? Your will, Lord? Your Will,” she murmured.
She could not wait for the curtain to go down but ran off the stage and into her dressing room. The scent of roses filled her nostrils as she closed the door behind her. Almost immediately the knocking began.
“Ellie!”
“Miss Heinrichs!”
“May we have a word with you?”
Ellie picked up her phone and dialed Will. It was nearly mid-night, but he answered on the first ring.
“Hey there. What are you doing?” His voice sounded sleepy, and she could hear someone snoring in the background.
“Who is snoring?”
“You mean you don’t recognize her?” The snoring grew louder and more obnoxious.
It was Dot! Ellie sighed with relief then cringed at her own absurdity. “Thank goodness Cristal hasn’t sued you for custody.”
“Oh, Cristal’s cooled down quite a bit since you left town. She comes to practice with Seth and acts all sugary sweet. I think she’s got new designs on the part of Sammy.”
“Well, maybe she wouldn’t run out on you, like I did.”
“I’m not that desperate for a new Sammy yet. Suzy’s coming along.”
“That’s good.”<
br />
“Ellie, honey, what are you doing?”
“I’m calling you.”
“Are you on stage?”
Ellie laughed. “No. I just ran off.”
“Why would you do that? You don’t want to disappoint your public.”
“I don’t care about my public.”
“Ellie, have you lost your mind?”
“No. Just my heart.”
Will sounded more wide awake now. “What do you mean?”
“Will, I mean that I love you. Do you love me?”
His voice sounded anguished. “You told me not to say that unless I was ready to put a ring on your finger.”
“Well, do you love me or not?”
“Ellie, I can’t hold you back. I won’t do that. It would never work.”
“Will, you haven’t. In fact, you let me go so easily that I, well, I don’t know. I’ve been confused. And with Opa, everything’s been kind of a fog. But I’m gaining clarity. And I have to know right now. Do you love me?”
Will sighed heavily into the phone. “Ellie, I love you more than anything or anyone besides Jesus.”
A warmth spread over Ellie from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. There it was. She could see it. She could finally see God’s Will.
“I’m coming home.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
The vineyards were resplendent with color. It was harvest time, and the air was cool and kissed with the sweet fragrance of grapes. At the end of the rows under a bower in the center stood Sam and behind him a crowd of guests on chairs draped with white organza. Ellie recognized most of the cast of The Shepherd of the Hills, as well as many friends from Hermann. Even Jackson Jenkins was there with his new girlfriend.
On one side of Sam was Beecher, a Greek god in his black tux and tails, and Will was on the other in matching attire. He was the only man who could possibly have been more handsome than Ellie’s brother. Ellie could hardly believe she was going to go home with Will, and make her home with Dot in their cabin, and live happily ever after in Branson. God had given her more than she ever could have imagined!
Love Finds You in Branson, Missouri Page 24