The Fullness of Time--A Novel of Watervalley

by Jeff High

  “I came by to see how the conversation about the Vanderbilt letter went with Christine.”

  I shrugged. “It didn’t.”

  “What do you mean it didn’t?”

  “She seems completely unaware of it. I’ve thought about bringing it up on a couple of different occasions. But both times, it wasn’t the right moment. It hasn’t happened.”

  “But you are going to tell her, aren’t you?”

  John's question was the Genie in the bottle. A large part of me wanted to talk about the attorney's letter as well, to confide everything to him about the incredible choice before me. But at that moment, I realized that this decision affected him also. John was my best friend. Despite our mutual inability to communicate any sentiment of friendship toward each other, it would be a great loss for both of us if I were to leave. I held my thoughts in check.

  “Yeah. I’m sure the conversation needs to happen at some point. I imagine it will soon enough.”

  "I wouldn't hold my cards for long, sport. Probably best to get that business behind you. Otherwise, it will be the tar baby that fouls everything."

  “So noted.” I smiled and said nothing more. I appreciated John’s advice but wanted no further discussion on the matter. John read this. He changed the subject.

  “By the way, has Walt Hickman said anything to you about being on a Community Development Panel?”

  “Yeah, he mentioned something to that effect at the party the other night. I think he’s looking for ways to attract more business and manufacturing to the valley. Sounds like the kind of thing a mayor should be doing. He hit you up as well?”

  “Of course. He wants to know if I have any thoughts about how the old DuPont plant can be retooled.”

  “Doesn’t seem like a bad idea.”

  John was more skeptical. "Maybe. Maybe not. I like Walt, I really do. As far as local politicians go, he's about as good as we've had. But he also knows how to change his politics based on the prevailing winds. Over the years his opinions have taken more positions than a Sports Illustrated model.”

  “Sounds to me like he’s just trying to build some momentum and consensus.”

  “Eh, you’re probably right. I guess change is inevitable.” After saying this, he fell silent.

  “John, I need to ask you about something.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  “What can you tell me about Hiram Hatcher?”

  His gaze tightened, and I could practically feel the heat of emotion rising within him. “What would you like to know, other than that he’s my grandfather?”

  "Is that true?"

  “Hell no, it’s not true. Who told you this?”

  "Nobody did. I was asking Connie about Hiram Hatcher, and she mentioned I should talk to you, that you would know more about him."

  The fact that Connie had been my source seemed to have a calming effect. He settled in his chair and spoke impassively. “My maternal grandmother, Jessica Ravenel was Hiram’s personal secretary. And in her day, she was one damn good-looking woman, the kind that made men ogle and women envious. She married my grandfather, Trenton Ravenel, in 1925. He was no slouch, either. He was over six feet tall, had broad shoulders and a lot of dash about him. He was a manager for the railroad, the L&N, not the one Hiram owned. She went to work for Hiram in 1926, and the three of them became good friends, they were close."

  “And you know all this because...”

  “Because they told me. They used to laugh at the rumor about Hiram and my grandmother. Said it was all bunk.”

  “So, what was the rumor all about?”

  "As I mentioned, she was his secretary and personal assistant. Well, in early December of 1927, she went on a five-day train trip with him to Chicago to handle some critical business matter. Normally, Hiram always went alone, but there was something very important that he needed her help on. That's when all the talk started."

  “But it was all bunk?”

  "Yeah, it was all bunk. Because here's the part that most people don't know. Hiram begged my grandfather to come along, pleaded with him to do so. But he couldn't get away and was perfectly fine with my grandmother going. My grandfather told me this to my face, and it was pretty convincing. Look, Hiram Hatcher was a big deal in this town, and my grandparents were the quintessential insiders. A lot of the locals were jealous of that. My mother was born in late August of the next year, close enough to the timing that people were inclined to speculate.

  “What was the business trip all about anyway?”

  "They were always tight-lipped on that subject. Only that Hiram was going through a pretty tough personal time and needed their help."

  “Hmm. But I guess it’s easy to see how that kind of thing could be used to stoke the rumor mill, especially from jealous detractors.”

  John leaned back in his chair, and a broad grin returned to his face. "Well, I guess that's one of the things I loved about my Ravenel grandparents. They didn't give a rat's ass what other people thought."

  "Interesting. Apparently, social indifference is hereditary."

  John grunted. "Could be. But probably the real reason sport is that they weren't local. They were from Baltimore. My grandfather was transferred here with the railroad just after they married. They were well educated, stylish, and financially successful. My mother was their only child. You know, my dad was a postman. He made a solid living and was well respected. But any wealth that's been passed along came from my mother's side. A lot of the antiques and old books up at the house come from them."

  Having said this, John fell silent. He seemed haunted by some deep preoccupation.

  “Something else on your mind, John?”

  “Hmm, oh...nothing. I was just thinking about my people not being from here.”

  “And?”

  He sharpened his focus at me, and then, oddly, assumed an expression of strained uncertainty.

  “Do you ever wish for more than this life has given you?”

  Although my blank expression hid it well, dumbfounded would best define my reaction. John was not one for reflective inquiry. But perhaps, more than the question itself, was the intensity and earnestness, the complete vulnerability in which John had said the words. My response was hesitant, stammered. “Well, sure. I guess we all do at some point.”

  He nodded quietly. I leaned forward in my chair, resting my folded arms on the desk. “What brought that question on?”

  With his legs out-stretched, he stared ponderously at the ceiling before speaking with dry precision. “Non sum qualis eram.”

  Even at this moment where he was compelled to unburden the weight of his troubles, he cloaked his sentiments in Latin. He had said, "I am not the person I once was.”

  “In what way?”

  Again, he looked to the side before speaking, as if he was uncertain about revealing his thoughts. Exhaling, he turned to me. "It was always Molly's idea to move back here."

  “Yeah, you’ve um...you’ve mentioned that before.”

  “After she died, with everything we had done to clear the land, to build the house, to establish the orchard and all the landscaping...I couldn’t just walk away from it. I couldn’t just sell it off to some stranger. It had been her dream.” He paused for a moment, deliberating his next words. “But I have to admit. I don’t know that it was ever my dream.”

  I nodded. “So, what are you thinking?”

  To my surprise, John shook his head and released a kind of exasperated laugh. “That’s the problem, sport. I don’t know what I think. Part of me wants to travel, live other places. I feel the need to push back my horizons.”

  “I didn’t realize they were standing so close.”

  The faint suggestion of a smile hovered around his mouth. “You know what I mean, smartass.”

  I said nothing. But in truth, I did know. I knew that far-off look, that hunger for journeys, that was written all over him. “Where are you thinking about going?”

  John held up his hand, a gesture
of indecision. “Not sure. New Zealand, Spain, Patagonia, Big Sky Country...places I’ve always wondered about and wanted to see.”

  “Doesn’t sound that complicated to me, John. Pick out a place and go there for a few weeks. Try it on for size.” I paused, realizing one small complication. “So, where does Ann fit in all of this?”

  John crossed his arms and hesitated for a moment. “Yeah. Well, that’s the problem. I don’t think she does.”

  His assertion came as a sharp surprise. “Oh! Okay. I guess I didn’t see that one coming. I assumed you two had become pretty tight.”

  “We have. I love the woman and have told her as much. She’s told me the same.”

  “And yet you’re thinking about leaving her behind.”

  John scratched his head. “Yeah, yeah I am. It’s just this desire inside of me, this need for adventure. Who knows; wanderlust, middle age crisis... I don’t even know what to call it.”

  “Here’s a thought, why don’t you call it, ‘how to make a really dumb decision.’”

  “Not helping, sport.”

  “Okay, fine. We’ll workshop the title a little. But the point remains. Why would you leave and not take her with you? I mean, is this about Molly? Because, let’s face it John...not that you care what anybody thinks, but it’s been almost three years. I think moving on is an acceptable option at this juncture.”

  John seemed unaffected, dispirited. He rubbed his chin in a small act of resolve. “No, it’s not about Molly. It’s about me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Ann and I are adults, and what transpires between us around here is our business. So, you can laugh if you want, but I’m a little old fashioned. To ask her to go gallivanting around the world with me as my girlfriend, well...that’s just not my style.”

  "Okay. Good to know that chivalry's not dead. But if that's an issue, and you love her, why not just ask her to marry you? Admittedly, I realize that's a daunting thought for any woman."

  “I’m not ready for that.”

  “So, you would just go without her?”

  “Maybe. And here’s the thing. If I’m going to break it off, I need to do it sooner rather than later. No sense in delaying the inevitable. Besides, she can’t just leave for three weeks and expect to have a job to come back to.”

  I slumped back in my chair, perplexed by all that he was telling me. It made no sense, and candidly, part of me was annoyed at my good friend's foolishness.

  "Okay, let me try to summarize all this. Hmmm...you're bailing out on a meaningful relationship with a lovely woman that you adore without even talking to her first. Gee John that doesn't sound like you." Then I slid into a tone of full sarcasm. "No, hold it. That sounds exactly like you.”

  He was unaffected. “I don’t think I’m picking up a sympathetic vibe here.”

  “John, everything you’re saying is nuts. This entire conversation should serve as a reminder of the importance of taking your prescription medication.”

  “I’m not on any prescription medication.”

  “Then it’s a reminder you should be. I can recommend some anti-psychotics. In fact, I’ll even make them generic. Just because you’re delusional doesn’t mean you should overpay.”

  He grinned. “I know you’re trying to humor me, sport. But I’m not getting any younger. I’ve got some tough decisions to make.”

  "John, look. You're killing me here. I know in this world that not everyone can be a star, but you don't have to be a cloud either.

  He offered nothing in return.

  "John, buddy...you need to think this through. Psychology is not my long suit, but maybe you're simply coming to terms with the loss of Molly. Or maybe it's chemical, some kind of serotonin issue. I honestly think this may be a non-situational depression. It's got you in a temporary funk...emphasis on temporary."

  He pondered this for a moment. “Hmm, depression, you say?”

  “Let’s face it. You’ve been pretty down lately. If you sink any deeper, I might as well shovel dirt on top of you.”

  “I guess you may be right. I haven’t noticed anything different. But apparently, you have.”

  “John, I've been around diseased and dying people for the past ten years, and the way you've been acting lately is starting to make that look like good times.”

  He leaned forward in his chair. "Well, thanks for listening, Luke. I care a lot for Ann. I'm not sure what's the right choice. I know you two work pretty closely. I'll let you know before I make any big decisions."

  I nodded. “I appreciate that. But let me offer a little unsolicited advice. Forget about talking to me. Talk to Ann before making any big decisions. See how she feels. Not that I want to lose a great nurse, but she may be just fine hopping a plane and traveling with you. And one other thing, John. For better or worse, Watervalley is home to you. It always will be. Maybe there's a life for you and Ann in both worlds."

  John said nothing. He pressed his lips together and stood silently, weighing my words.

  After a time, he smiled and extended his hand. “Again, thanks for listening.”

  “Sure thing.” I walked with him to my office door. “And not to get all mushy or anything...just know that I’m with you either way, whether you make the right decision or the really stupid one.”

  “Comforting. Thanks.”

  “Oh, and regarding payment, if you would, on your way out you could throw a dollar in the slushie fund.”

  John looked at me, confused. “You mean the slush fund?”

  “No, the slushie fund. We actually buy slushies with the money. My favorite is strawberry.”

  “How did you ever make it through med school?”

  “Mostly on my looks.”

  “Apparently.”

  “Well, big fellow,” I said pointedly. “If you thought it was that easy, why didn’t you go to med school?”

  “I considered being a doctor, but I didn’t like the idea of being nice to stupid people.”

  “And he’s back, folks. For a minute, we thought we’d lost you.”

  John ignored this. “Hey, you hungry? Why don’t you let me buy you lunch?”

  “Thanks for the offer. But I’m heading over to the Depot Diner to meet Christine and her Grandmother.”

  “Mattie Chambers?”

  “The one and only.”

  John smirked. “Lucky you.”

  “Right, thanks. I’ll probably order the hamburger special. I think I'll need a lot of grease and ketchup to medicate my misery."

  We shook hands and John departed. I shut the door behind him and returned to my chair, sinking into it, slightly dazed. Even in her death, Molly had remained the center of John’s life. It hadn’t occurred to me that the grand house in the hills that he and Molly had built together had become a shrine to her memory; a symbol of his everlasting love for her and how their life was supposed to have been. It had defined him. Now, he likely saw his love for Ann as a betrayal. His head and his heart could not reconcile the maze of conflicting emotions, causing him to do the one thing he knew was safe; isolate himself...leave and search elsewhere for the elusive happiness that he believed was missing from his story.

  The duplicitous hypocrisy of the morning was not lost on me. First, I’m giving Hoot Wilson relationship advice that open communication was the best remedy for the lovelorn and now, of all people, here I was encouraging John to do the same, as well as to stay in Watervalley. Nevertheless, their situations were clear cut with simple solutions. Mine was a morass of complexities.

  But more than I wanted to admit, John’s news shook me. It seemed that much of my world was in disarray. My best friend was deeply troubled and in the throes of a heart-wrenching decision. As well, I would have to live with the daily dread that Ann Patterson, my adorable and dear coworker, was in love with a time bomb. I cared for them both, but it seemed I was helpless to do anything for either`.

  Churning beneath this was my own anxious predicament. Along with the unsettling encou
nter with Polly Shropshire from earlier that morning, my day was totally awash with apprehension, angst, and doubt.

  On the upside, however, at least I was about to have lunch with Mattie Chambers.

  Chapter 17

  MATTIE

  NOON ARRIVED AND THE clinic closed for the day, much to the glee of my coworkers who jokingly called me Dr. Scrooge the entire morning. Outside, the day was sky blue and brisk with the cold, fragrant smoke of winter in the air. I was in no hurry and decided to walk the few short blocks to the diner. Along the way, it occurred to me that Watervalley was one of the seven remaining towns in America that still didn’t have a fast food restaurant. The Sweet Life Bakery and the Depot Diner were the only eating establishments available... provided you disqualified the concession stand at the ballpark during the summer.

  Despite the natural lethargy of the holidays, the diner was packed with the usual assortment of red-faced farmers and local merchants. Upon entering, I was met with a palpable wave of clamorous conversations, clanking dishes, and robust laughter. I found Christine and her grandmother in one of the booths against the back wall. They were engaged in a lively conversation that suspiciously collapsed upon my arrival. Mattie’s animated smile promptly soured to a baleful glare. I endeavored to strike a congenial chord, but the task was requiring every bit of my “A” game.

  “Hello, Mrs. Chambers. Wonderful to see you again.” I extended my hand to her. Reluctantly she took it, giving it a lifeless, clammy squeeze. The experience was akin to holding a recently departed catfish.

  I'm not sure why Mattie Chambers intimidated me so much. She was a small woman, no more than five-feet-two inches and probably weighed less than a hundred and twenty-five pounds, including her brass knuckles. But something in her personality had a magnificent power of torturing amplification. Past conversations with Mattie convinced me that she suffered from a mild form of dementia, an idea that Christine completely dismissed. I released her hand and slid in next to Christine, who greeted me with an unabashed kiss and mirthful smile.

  “We were just talking about you,” Christine said, giving her grandmother a secretive glance.