Come Rain or Come Shine

by Jan Karon

  Jack Tyler examined the buttons on his pajama top.

  ‘Molly, Maggie, Chloe . . . ?’ said Dooley.

  ‘Just Charley. That’s her name.’

  ‘Is that what you named her?’

  Jack Tyler sighed. ‘Her name has always been Charley.’

  Dooley looked at Lace, who was looking at the child come into their lives. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think her name is Charley,’ she said.

  She combed Jack Tyler’s tousled hair with her fingers. After the dance with her dad, she had danced with her son, who had held her hands and jumped up and down to the music and wiggled his hips and everybody applauded, in love with the little guy who had appeared to them out of the blue.

  ‘Down you go,’ she said. ‘No more excuses.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s time to sleep.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because nighttime is when people sleep and get strong for the next day.’

  ‘And because it’s time for us to tell your story,’ said Dooley.

  ‘About th’ aunts an’ uncles an’ cousins?’

  ‘But only if you lie down.’

  Jack Tyler squirmed under the cover and put his head on the pillow.

  Her husband. Barefoot, sitting on the bed and leaning against the wall, as if he’d always done this . . .

  ‘Uncle Sammy, Uncle Pooh, Uncle Kenny, Uncle Doc, Uncle Henry, Uncle Harley . . .’

  Dooley recited the names slowly, like small waves lapping the shore.

  ‘Which is Uncle Doc?’

  ‘The big man with the big voice wearing the big tennis shoes.’

  ‘Which is Uncle Henry?’

  ‘The tall man in a dark suit with a red tie and a soft voice.’

  ‘Now you,’ said Jack Tyler.

  ‘Aunt Jessie,’ said Lace. She would draw out the syllables, lull him to sleep. ‘Aunt Julie, Aunt Marge, Granny O, Granny C, Granny Pauline . . .’

  ‘That is so many grannies for one person.’ His eyelids were heavy.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Lace said to Dooley. ‘We’ll start tomorrow . . .’ Teaching Jack Tyler not to say ain’t, which was a big no-no with Dooley, teaching him to say please and thank you and all the things that . . .

  Jack Tyler yawned. ‘Now you,’ he said to the dad.

  ‘Granpa Tim, Granpa Hoppy . . .’

  ‘Hoppy is a bunny rabbit.’

  ‘Granpa Buck.’

  ‘Plus Cousin Etta,’ she said. ‘And Cousin Ethan, Cousin Rebecca Jane . . .’

  ‘She’s not a real cousin,’ said Jack Tyler. ‘She’s a fake cousin.’

  ‘So, okay,’ said Dooley. ‘There are a couple of other people in your story. Who am I?’

  He really, really wanted to say it but he was scared to say it but the ring said forever. So he opened his eyes. ‘You’re my dad.’

  ‘And who am I?’ said Lace.

  He felt the laugh bubbling up inside. ‘You’re my mom.’

  His mom and dad looked at each other and then at him and his dad kissed one side of his face and his mom kissed one side of his face and he laughed and laughed because it tickled.

  ‘Let’s pray now,’ said his mom. ‘Hold hands.’ Jack Tyler held out his hands. He had learned this in church those times he went with the lady whose husband died and went up to heaven with the organ music.

  ‘Dear God, we thank you for Jack Tyler and for making us a family forever. Lead, guide, and instruct us and thank you for everything about this amazing day and all the days to come . . .’

  The sleeping pup rolled over in her crate at the foot of the bed.

  Jack Tyler snored the nearly silent snore of childhood. Lace leaned down and kissed his forehead. She liked his sweaty, sleeping, hopeful smell of a boy come home.

  The music started again; two people singing. It sounded like a CD instead of live. But it was Beth and Tommy, singing a song that she and Dooley didn’t know.

  I’m gonna love you like nobody’s loved you

  Come rain or come shine . . .

  They got up from the bed and drew each other close, and in the wash of moonlight, they danced.

  Honey Hershell had not danced with her husband since their own wedding, shame on them. This was heaven right here in the piney woods, and right next door to their farm. She would like to dance to this incredible band every week, but without cuttin’ all that corn off the cob.

  After twenty years—or was it nineteen?—she still loved her big guy. He knew how to get away with stuff nobody else could, like the Lincoln beard he was tryin’ to grow and that little gold stud in his right ear and him a cattleman! Oh, yes, she knew exactly where Mr. Danny Do-Right got his mischief, it was from th’ Hershell side.

  He adjusted his collar, squinted into the mirror of the hall room, and took out his pocket comb. If nothing else, he had hair.

  The band was taking a break and Mary Ellen was sitting on the porch with Agnes and Clarence and Henry and Tim and Cynthia and the New Jersey Kavanaghs.

  He was probably being too forward. Then again, he didn’t have forever; nobody had forever. He sat beside her and everyone was talking and he said, very discreetly, he thought, ‘May I ask how long it’s been since you took a stroll in the moonlight?’

  ‘Forever and a day,’ she whispered.

  ‘How are your shoes?’

  She looked at him and smiled. ‘Made for strolling.’

  Was she being too eager, too open? She was a little scared, her heart was racing. But he was special and she was leaving in the morning and it was only a walk . . .

  He offered his arm. She took it.

  ‘Excuse us,’ he said, nodding to all, including the dogs.

  They walked across the front yard and across the driveway and turned into the moonlit ribbon of the hay road, and there was the music of crickets in the grass and the singing of stars overhead.

  ‘The light is terrible,’ said Doc Harper, ‘but I never got a shot of you two with Dooley’s parents, so let’s do it.’

  She was going to remind her dad about the awkwardness of Dooley having two sets of parents, but it all happened so fast. A lot of people were in the living room during the band break, some getting ready to leave. It was a scramble. Her dad collected Father Tim and Cynthia and had backed them up to the fireplace and was fiddling with his camera. Pauline and Buck were standing only a few feet away. Why hadn’t her dad thought this through?

  ‘Mama, Buck,’ said Dooley. ‘Get in here.’

  ‘Bride and groom in the middle, terrific. A set of parents either side, good, great smiles, here we go.’ Flash, flash. ‘Let’s do it again, stand a little closer, wonderful, terrific, okay, back up another inch or two, I’ve got a shadow here, that’s it! Lookin’ good!’ Flash, flash, flash . . .

  ‘You’re okay drivin’ around these mountains at night? I can follow you and your mom to Wesley, make sure you’re all right.’

  ‘Really, we’ll be fine,’ said Beth. ‘Thanks. Everything was lovely. I loved your great music. I’ll love having your CDs.’ She wish she hadn’t said love so many times. She almost said she loved his voice, too; she was a wreck.

  ‘There’s something about weddings,’ he said. ‘They kind of shake me up. All that long road ahead—how do two people do that? Maybe it’s what Bono said—marriage is like jumpin’ off a tall building and discovering you can fly.’

  She was flying now—looking into his kind, honest, soulful eyes, and flying.

  ‘You comin’ back anytime soon?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I hope so. I mean, yes.’ He was tall like Dooley.

  ‘You’re amazing. I like the way you sing. No tricks.’

  ‘You don’t learn many tricks singing with a choir. You have to do it without tricks. I like the way you sing, too. Really
great.’ Saying really great was insipid. You have a unique style, she might have said, or I like the way you mash the high notes . . .

  She had to go, she had to finish packing, she could hardly breathe.

  ‘I want to start playing my own stuff,’ he said.

  ‘You write, too?’

  ‘For years. Just haven’t been brave enough to put it out there.’

  ‘You are very brave,’ she said. ‘It could have been Pamplona.’

  He laughed. ‘Thanks.’ He leaned to her and kissed her cheek, and there he went, walking away like a cowboy.

  She stood at the door in a kind of daze. She had never sung like that before. She had followed his lead and something happened—she had used her voice in a way that was completely unfamiliar and yet as natural as breathing. It was as if she’d long withheld a secret from herself.

  When she was twelve, her voice teacher had sent a note to her parents, alluding in part to ‘the remarkable gift of Elizabeth’s splendid classical soprano.’ Her mother had framed his monogrammed note card, written in a racing and eccentric hand; it had hung in their library for years. Classical. It was official. Tonight had been like discovering a room in her apartment that she’d never seen.

  She was going inside when she heard him call her name. He was standing by the porch steps with his guitar case with the decal saying, You want mustard with that?

  ‘I was just thinking. I could pick you and your mom up in the morning . . .’

  Bugs smacked into lanterns. Lights shimmered in trees.

  ‘. . . and we could drop off your rental car and . . .’

  He would have to send the equipment with the guys and the extra speakers could be shoved to the back of the van to make room for whatever luggage they had. He would sweep it out tonight, definitely, and a little Armor All wouldn’t hurt.

  He would miss seeing Harley’s truck pull into the driveway next door, and taking over the occasional soup to Helene’s tenant in the basement.

  ‘I’ll miss you, buddyroe.’

  ‘Yessir, Rev’rend, it’s been a good run out here. But I’ll be seein’ you ’uns when I come in for supplies an’ all.’

  ‘Remember to put that book in Kenny’s car for me.’

  ‘We tried to git ’em out on Tuesday mornin’ instead of afternoon, but I’m glad they won’t be any planes flyin’ to Oregon on that schedule, this gives ’em more . . .’ Harley stopped, aghast. ‘Boy howdy, I’ve stepped in it now.’

  ‘Harley, Harley. You sent the tickets!’

  ‘But don’t tell nobody. Nossir, that’s our little secret, you hear?’

  ‘I hear. How in the world? I mean, did you make the reservations? How did you do that?’ He couldn’t possibly have made plane reservations; that took a university degree.

  ‘Well, sir, Amber, she’d done a good bit of travelin’, she done th’ tickets online. I give her a nice tip.’

  He breathed out. ‘No more plans to visit Las Vegas?’

  ‘Plumb over that monkey business,’ he said. ‘Miss Pringle wants me to lay out a garden by her back steps. I can do it m’ days off.’

  He gave Harley a hug with a good bit of backslapping. ‘You’re the best.’

  ‘I figured this would mean a lot to Lace an’ Dooley, to th’ whole family. I wanted to do somethin’ for everybody who’s done it all for me. It started with you an’ Cynthia takin’ me in when I was sick as a cat an’ it’s went on from there, everybody pitchin’ in for ol’ Harley.’

  ‘I’ll pitch in for ol’ Harley anytime,’ he said.

  What a wonder. Of all things!

  ‘Good night, beautiful. Thanks for a wonderful day.’ Her dad slipped something into her hand.

  A key. A car key!

  ‘Looks and runs like brand-new,’ he said.

  She had hoped for something like this, but didn’t know. She loved hugging her tall, funny dad. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’

  ‘Leather seats,’ said her mom, ‘in your favorite color.’

  She also loved hugging her mom, who always smelled so good.

  ‘With plenty of room for Jack Tyler and Charley,’ said her mom, ‘and only five years old!’

  The Harpers, herself included, were not fans of the sleek and shining. They drove vintage stuff proudly.

  ‘How can I ever thank you for everything you’ve done for me, for us?’

  ‘Here’s how,’ said her dad. ‘Love God, be strong, be safe, be happy.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘It’s parked behind the woodshed. New tires, low mileage, trailer hitch. In the long run—way better than the Caymans.’

  Up ahead was a ribbon of taillights, an unusual sight on their dark country road.

  ‘Looks like when we’re leavin’ th’ county fair,’ Mink said.

  Mr. Do-Right was sleeping off his behavior in the backseat, along with Rudy, who, quiet as any mouse, was staring out the window to see what the moon was doing.

  ‘Maybe we should have a renewal ceremony,’ said Honey.

  Danny popped up from his doze. ‘What’s a renewal ceremony?’

  ‘Or maybe not,’ said Honey.

  ‘You know we’ll come when needed,’ he told Lace and Dooley.

  ‘And occasionally,’ said Cynthia, ‘when not needed!’

  He would house-sit, babysit, cattle-sit, dog-sit—you name it. Indeed he would be volunteering to sit something for the rest of his life. It was the very job he had always wanted.

  One o’clock in the morning and they were headed home to Mitford, jiggety-jog—Cynthia beside him, Walter, Katherine, and Henry in back. The Big Knot had lived up to its name in every way.

  ‘What happened to the bourbon?’ said Walter.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘The empty bottle was fetched back for recycling by two Presbyterians, three nondenominational musicians, and one Southern Baptist. Oh, and an accidental Episcopalian.’

  ‘Who would that be?’ said Henry.

  ‘That would be Harley, who once served time for bootlegging and didn’t touch a drop of the contents!’

  Their laughter was quiet and good.

  ‘While the hole was open,’ he said, ‘they did another burial. The cowbell.’

  ‘Hurray!’ said his wife.

  He was grateful for all the days gone by at Meadowgate—all the happiness and the many surprises. And now he was looking toward the days ahead and the happiness they would bring—with, of course, the many surprises. Some would be welcome, others not. But he would try—he really wanted to try—to welcome them all.

  They met a taxi on the road, driving fast. They hardly ever saw a taxi in these parts, and certainly not at this hour. The taxi streaked by. If he had been a gambling man, he would bet good money that Walter and Katherine’s luggage was en route from the airport to Meadowgate. C’est la vie.

  Sammy would be cooking breakfast in the morning, making, or so he promised, a ‘killer’ omelet. He had requested two dozen eggs they just happened to have on hand—and what better filling for an omelet than leftover ham?

  He would try hard not to call Dooley in the morning, just to see how things were progressing.

  Dooley and Lace stood on the glider porch and watched the taillights of the Mazda vanish along the state road. His parents had been the last to leave, reluctant, in a way. And in a way he hated to see them go. Now it was all up to them. He was ready.

  ‘Did you see it?’ she said.

  ‘Your dad took me out to see it. You’ll love it. Cup holders.’

  She had never had cup holders.

  ‘Listen,’ he said. The crickets.

  He recognized the great mixture of excitement and relief and fatigue surging in him.

  ‘Amanda says he’s fine, but I’m goin’ across to check Homer because . . .’

  ‘Because that’s what you do,’ she said, and
kissed him.

  She ran upstairs and looked in on Jack Tyler and Charley, who had been walked an hour ago. All was well, everybody was breathing. Then she took off her shoes and carried them next door to their new bedroom and dashed off an entry in the Dooley book.

  June 14~

  It is 1:30 in the morning and I am Lace Kavanagh.

  Thank you, God~ it was perfect.

  She slipped out of her dress and hung it on the closet door and took a quick shower and brushed her teeth and let down her long hair and put on her old nightgown that she had ironed yesterday and turned down the bed with its clean, starched sheets and went barefoot to answer the small knock at the door.

  Dooley was carrying the beat-up overnight bag he had carried on weekends through college and vet school, and looking vulnerable and faintly embarrassed.

  ‘Hey,’ said Dooley.

  She caught her breath. ‘Hey, yourself,’ she said.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ~

  Heartfelt thanks to:

  Chris Pepe, my involved, discerning, and creative editor.

  Dr. Tim Short, who generously provided exactly what I needed of medical wisdom and fact; Woody Baker, seasoned cattleman and cheering section; Tammy Cody, generous spirit and tireless mother of four forever children; Merry F. Thomasson, beloved wedding planner/coordinator and apostle of grace; Nancy Bass, acclaimed painter of creatures great and small in the rural Virginia landscape; and Jerry Torchia, award-winning ad man and dear friend.

  Dr. Diane Snustad; Carolyn Schaefer; Amanda Smith; Lucas Shaffer; Lee French; Randy Setzer; Eleanor Birle; Brad Van Lear; Will Lankenau; Christopher Hays; Tripp Stewart, VMD; and the outstanding staffs of Greenbrier Emergency Animal Hospital, Virginia Veterinary Specialists, and Animal Hospital of Ivy Square, all of Charlottesville, Virginia.

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