by Jan Karon
Amy rummaged beneath the counter.
“How did anyone know I’m in town?”
“Everybody knows. I told all my customers yesterday, and Red came over from th’ hardware, he mentioned it, too, but he was mostly talkin’ about your dog.”
The cane wagged in his face. “Give poor Miz Crowley my regards, if she’s still livin’ after all you’ve put her through.”
Amy handed him an envelope inscribed Timothy Kavanagh.
“Thanks,” he said, catching his breath.
He turned to leave, but instead surprised himself by hugging Miz Lewis, who was shocked speechless. “God bless you,” he said, and blew out the door. By George, if he could hug Luola Lewis, he could do anything, the world was his onion.
He sprinted across the street to the hardware for a plastic dog dish; the metal deal they were traveling with conducted heat and turned cool water to warm.
“You’re gettin’ to be a regular,” said Red. “How’s it goin’?”
“Good, real good, thanks.”
“Where’s y’r dog?”
“In the car. He sends his regards.”
“Findin’ y’r people?”
“Not so far. Any word on how the hunters did yesterday?”
“Clyde just stopped by. Said a couple buzzards followed ’is truck home.”
He laughed. “Need a plastic dog bowl.”
“What color?”
“What color do you have?”
“Green.”
“I’ll take green.”
Red called to a helper unpacking work shoes. “Run get this customer a dog bowl. Extra-large.”
Red opened the cash register. “Somebody left somethin’ for you a few minutes ago.” He removed the drawer and produced an envelope. “Pretty nice-lookin’.”
“What’s nice-lookin’?”
Red handed him the envelope and winked. “Th’ lady that brought it in.”
He sat in the car with the a/c running and looked at the two envelopes. Not the handwriting he was hoping for, not at all.
He lifted the loosely sealed flap of the envelope from Tyson’s, and pulled out the sheet of cream-colored stationery monogrammed PCC.
Dear Timothy,
I’ve just heard that you are in town, though only for a short visit. Let me be among the first to welcome you home to Holly Springs.
Though I know I don’t deserve it, I hope you will allow me the chance to apologize—I have prayed for the opportunity for many years.
I am living at Mama and Daddy’s old place on Salem Avenue. Mama and Daddy left Three Oaks to me, and since my husband, Dr. Wayne Cochran, died three years ago with cancer, I’ve been trying my best to “doll it up.” So many people have moved to Holly Springs and are buying our beautiful old houses and restoring them.
If you get this, I hope to see you today at three o’clock. If you choose not to come, I will understand, but so hope you will. And if you still like chocolate, I believe you are in for a treat and a half.
Yours truly,
Peggy Cramer Cochran
He sat for a time and gazed, unseeing, at the people passing on the sidewalk.
The second envelope was so well sealed, he tore off one end and removed the single sheet of white bond.
Dear Timmy,
I hear you are a priest, and I am so happy that you got to be what you always wanted. It is so good when people do what they always wanted. As for me, I was a private nurse for twenty years in Holly Springs, then I spent twenty years working at the hospital in Oxford which amounted to hundreds of hours in the car, many of which I used to listen to books on tape, including the New Testament twice. Now I am retired and it is so much fun. I have a dog named Nellie. She’s a Border collie.
Wouldn’t it be great to talk about old times? Can you meet for lunch at Phillips Grocery today at noon? Or any other day, I don’t know how long you will be in Holly Springs. So sorry you missed the azaleas, this was their best year in ages.
I hope you can make it. I’ll jot my number so you can call me.
Your friend and neighbor from the past,
Jessica Raney
He dialed his wife, astounded that she’d predicted something like this.
“I’ve had a note from Peggy Cramer,” he said. “She’s inviting me for tea. She wants to apologize.” He might as well tell the whole truth. “She’s a widow.”
“Do you want to go?”
“I don’t know. But it might be a good thing, her heart seems…differently disposed.” He read the note to her.
“You should go.”
“Is that what you really think?”
“Life is short, and the road to Holly Springs is long. If she doesn’t behave herself, I’ll come and scratch her eyes out.” The sound of his wife’s laughter soothed him. “How’s that?”
“Deal,” he said.
“Beware of the chocolate thingamajig.”
“I will.” He’d been in two deep comas from gambling with his diabetes. “One more thing. Jessica Raney, of the card-in-the-sock-drawer business, has invited me to have lunch.”
“Oh, good grief. You see, Timothy? What did I tell you?”
“She left a note at Booker Hardware.”
“In there buying a drill bit, I suppose.”
“She wants to meet at Phillips Grocery for a hamburger. I confess I’d like to see her—it would be great to talk with someone I knew in the old days.”
Silence.
Early on, they’d agreed to tell each other everything. He’d failed to do that more than once, and disaster had followed.
“Kavanagh? Are you there?”
“Hush,” she said, “I’m praying.”
“Excuse me.”
“Of course, I can’t absolutely, positively tell you what to do. As your wife, however, I can make a suggestion.”
“Fire away.”
“Have a hamburger, darling.”
“Thanks.”
“With onions.”
He called the number Jessica had given him and got her answering machine.
“Hey, this is Jessica, I hope you’re havin’ a good day. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back. Bye-bye.”
He cleared his throat in preparation for the end of a long beep.
“Hello, Jessica, this is Timothy Kavanagh.” He regretted sounding pompous, and tried sounding more upbeat. “Thanks for your kind invitation to meet for lunch, I’ve been wondering if Phillips is still in the hamburger business. I have my dog with me, since my wife couldn’t come.” That didn’t sound right. “It’ll be great to see you. Noon today, then, at—” The beep cut him off.
He rinsed the new dog bowl and tossed the water on the roots of a tree. He poured another round and set the bowl on the asphalt. Barnabas sniffed the new bowl, drank, and looked up at him, expectant.
“The cemetery. We’re off to the cemetery. The hamburger comes later.”
He took his ringing cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. Morning light illuminated the ID: Dooley Barlowe.
“Hey,” he said, grinning.
“Hey, yourself.”
“What’s up, buddyroe?” He would probably never get over the thrill of hearing his son’s voice.
“Remember Edith, the ewe that stomped her foot at Cynthia?”
“I remember.”
“Triplets.”
“Who vetted?”
“Me. Had to do a C-section. One of the triplets was malformed and stillborn. I wish you could have been there, I’ve never seen anything like it and don’t want to again.”
“You handled the whole thing?”
“Blake was over at the cow barn when she went into labor. I saw she couldn’t deliver, so I reached in there and felt around, and I knew we had real problems. I yelled for somebody to get Blake. I managed to hold her ’til Blake brought the kit and handed me the knife. I’ve watched Hal and Blake, but I’d never done a C. I was scared. Really scared.”
“I’m scared just hearing about it.”
“Except for when Barnabas got hit by a car, it was the worst thing I ever had to do. I thought we were going to lose her. Slicing into her belly was really tough, I didn’t know if I could do it, but she was pretty calm through the whole business. I have a lot of admiration for what she could handle.”
“How is she?”
“Good. Strong.”
“Are you bottle-feeding?”
“Nope. We gave ’em a bottle right after, but she was nursing a few hours later.”
“Well done, son. It’s interesting that Blake turned it over to you.”
“Ever since I confronted him, he’s been different. It’s like he knew it was true.”
“So it’s a good summer.”
“How’s it goin’ for you? Is it weird to be back in the place you were born?”
“Weird. Good. Hard. Important.”
“I’ll go out there with you someday. You can show me that water tank you climbed.”
He laughed. “How’s Kenny?”
“Great. I think he might want to go to college.”
“Terrific. Let’s talk about that when I get home. How’s Sammy?”
“Hardheaded. But okay. Clowns around too much. It’s like shooting pool is the only thing that really keeps him centered.”
“And how’s Lace doing?”
“Gotta go, Dad.”
“Later, alligator. Love you.”
“Love you back.”
So things weren’t so good with Lace Harper, who, like his boy, had been a thrown-away mountain kid with everything against her.
The temperature was climbing. He chugged a pint of water.
No flowers today.
They drove through the gate and up the hill and found their spot. He pulled the Mustang onto the grass, beneath what would soon be the shade of an oak, and got out of the car.
He hadn’t allowed himself to think about it much, but he had to wonder why Jim Houck had followed him up here yesterday. He’d never really known Jim, but remembered he’d been a surly kid, a loner, and the only son of the cotton broker Martin Houck, who was infamous for his hostility and aggression in business dealings. Houck had been severely crippled in the fall down the steps from the law office, and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.
In his gut, he’d always feared that his father might have pushed Houck—the possibility had disturbed his sleep for years. The assurance he sought, as did his mother and all those at Whitefield, was that it had been winter, and with any trace of ice on the steps, it would be easy to slip and fall. Indeed, his father’s clerk usually cautioned visitors to be careful when going up or down the steps in winter. One of the points made by Houck’s attorney was that the temperature on the day of Houck’s fall had been four degrees above freezing.
What Jim Houck said yesterday was true—men with status in the community had often gotten off scot-free when facing charges, even very crucial charges. His Grandfather Kavanagh, in one of his legendary fits of anger, had shot a Holly Springs black man who accidentally backed into his automobile on the square. The shooting incident, which was serious but not fatal, had been brushed off with an informal hearing. God help a man who had no prominence in Holly Springs in the years he’d grown up here; he didn’t even want to think about some of the stories that had come from the courthouse.
He walked to the oak and sat in the same spot he’d occupied yesterday, his dog beside him. He would pick up where he left off.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, relishing the light breeze and the peace.
Tea with Peggy Cramer. Of all things.
He could remember the time, not so long ago, when he would never have considered such a meeting. Had he really forgiven her? During the years in seminary, he’d certainly prayed for the grace to forgive her, and on the surface, at least, he was certain he had.
It had been the first blow to his manhood, not to mention his social pride. He’d probably been more humiliated by Peggy Cramer than anyone else in his seven decades.
His bishop, Stuart Cullen, had run into her a few years ago. ‘She’s still a beautiful woman, Timothy, but good heavens—boring as bathwater. Never appropriated the depth of feeling you’d be needing in a mate.’
He’d always thought himself essentially boring until Cynthia convinced him otherwise—he would be eternally grateful to his wife for that.
“Don’t fear whatever God lays before you today,” she’d said this morning.
Before he went sticking his fork in whatever chocolate business Peggy was setting out, he wanted to get his act together…
Peggy Cramer had the whitest teeth he’d ever seen.
Sure, he knew what the other guys were looking at, he looked there, too. But more than anything, he was mesmerized by her teeth.
He’d never spoken to her, and as far as he knew, she had never noticed him. Then, one day after school, they were seniors, she brushed against him at the foot of the front steps and looked at him and smiled.
His knees did an H2O.
‘Hey,’ he said. His voice didn’t sound like his own.
‘Hey.’
He wanted her to keep walking like nothing had happened, but she just stood there, looking at him. He tried to step back, but was shackled at the ankles and couldn’t move.
“Why do you have such great teeth?” He didn’t mean to say that.
“Milk.”
She pronounced the word as mee-ulk. It had a sound as ravishing as Henry James’s favorite phrase, summer afternoon.
‘I drank milk when I was little,’ she said, ‘an’ never had a Co-Cola, not one time.’
He was incredulous. ‘You never had a Co-Cola?’
‘Not one time. My daddy says a worm will disappear jus’ like that in a bottle of Co-Cola.’ She snapped her fingers, her charm bracelet jangled; he found it the most extraordinary physical gesture he’d ever witnessed. ‘Not to mention a nail, so just think what it does to your insides.’
People walked around them.
‘Have you ever watched a nail disappear in a Co-Cola?’ he asked. Why couldn’t he at least step back from her? He could feel her breath as his own.
‘Why take th’ trouble if Daddy already did it?’
Her daddy was the richest man in Marshall County. Whatever Ed Cramer said, went—with everybody. Just standing next to somebody so rich was scary. But her sweater was pink, and his heart was hammering.
She ran her fingers through her blond hair, her eyes locked with his. ‘I’m Peggy Cramer.’
‘Tim. Kavanagh.’
‘Your daddy an’ my daddy know each other. You write poetry.’
‘No. I just read it. Memorize it, sometimes.’
‘I can’t understand poetry. Not at all. Except, “I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree” is really pretty.’
He would pay cash money for someone to pull him away from her by force.
‘You’re a big track star,’ she said.
Not really, but why argue? He shrugged.
‘Do you smoke?’
He’d had serious bad luck with smoking.
‘No. But I could.’
‘So, do you want to go smoke?’
She was wearing pearls; she smelled good; he couldn’t bear this another minute.
‘I’ll meet you at th’ cemetery at four o’clock,’ she said. ‘At the big angel, under the holly.’
She was gone before he could speak.
He was scared out of his mind by the stupid things he’d just said, stupid from start to finish. He didn’t want to meet her at the cemetery—or anywhere else—plus he had practice in fifteen minutes. Why had she even talked to him? She’d never once looked his way before. She could have anybody she wanted, she had at least four guys on the string, including Jack Sutton, and any one of them could easily break his neck. But no, he thought, Peggy Cramer herself would do the breaking—in some way he couldn’t imagine.
He didn’t meet her at the cemetery that day.
/> Not that day…
“Are you Timmy Kavanagh?”
Startled, he opened his eyes and looked up. A woman in tan pants and a red blouse was peering down at him.
“I’m Jessica. Jessica Raney. I got your message just before I left to bring flowers to Mama and Daddy, an’ I looked over here an’ saw this nice man sittin’ under a tree, an’ I knew you looked sort of familiar, an’ you were wearin’ your collar an’ all, so…”
He scrambled to his feet and shook her hand.
“Jessica! I declare.”
“…so I knew it must be you!”
“It’s me, all right. Good gracious, you haven’t changed.”
She laughed. “Preachers aren’t supposed to tell lies.”
“No lie at all. You look wonderful.”
“Well, thanks. I really ’preciate it, ’cause I’m a whole year older than you.”
“Nobody’s older than me, I’ve decided. And this is my dog, Barnabas.”
Barnabas stood, also, wagging his tail.
“Oh, my gosh. He’s big as a haymow.”
“I like your pastoral view of things.”
“My Nellie would have a heart attack.”
“He’s good with other dogs, wouldn’t harm a fly.”
“How old is he?”
“Eighty-four in dog years. We occasionally call him the Old Gentleman. I’d offer you a seat, but…”
She proceeded to thump down in the grass and settle an enormous handbag in her lap. “I’ll just plop down with you. Hope I can get up again!”
He sat beside her, bones creaking. “Fancy meeting you here, Jessica.”
“I like to visit Mama and Daddy at least once a week, an’ sometimes th’ graves of my old patients, but only th’ nice ones.”
“When did you lose your parents?”
“Mama passed ten years ago. I lost Daddy two years ago, he was ninety-four.”
“I remember Lloyd Raney as very robust and hardworking. What became of your dairy farm?”
“I sold it when he passed. It has a golf course and fourteen houses on it now. I hate they tore the springhouse down, I always loved the springhouse.”
“I rode my bike over to your place one day to take your mother some jam, it was hot as blazes. You took me in the springhouse and gave me a Coke you said you’d been saving for a special occasion. It was ice-cold, I felt like a heel for drinking it.”