Authors: Jan Karon

A Light in the Window (72 page)

BOOK: A Light in the Window

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Quite a few had never been on the lawn at Fernbank and had only seen the rooftop over the trees. They’d heard for years the place was falling to ruin, but all they saw was some peeling paint here and there, hardly worse than what they had at home.

Not a soul was untouched by the enchantment of it, and the skirted tables on the lawn, and the young, attractive strangers in black bow ties who smiled and poured champagne and served lime-green punch and made them feel like royalty.

Enormous baskets of tuberoses and stephanotis and country roses and stock flanked the porch steps, pouring out their fragrance. And through the open windows, strains of music—Mozart, someone said—declared itself, sweetening the air all the way to the orchards.

Uncle Billy Watson stood near the end of the line and straightened his tie. “Lord have mercy!” he said, deeply moved by the occasion. He gave Miss Rose a final check and discovered he’d missed the label that was turned out of her collar. He turned it in.

Absalom Greer felt an odd beating of his heart. Where had more than sixty years gone since his feet came down those steps and he drove away with Sadie Baxter in her father’s town car, believing with all his heart that she would be his bride?

Hessie Mayhew did not wait in line. She marched up the steps and across the porch and slipped in and found a chair and claimed her territory by dumping her pocketbook in it.

Then she took out her notepad and pen. After all, she was not here to have a good time; she was here to work. She had finally talked J.C. Hogan into letting her do something besides the gardening column.

The reception line alone had been an emotional experience for the rector. When he met her, Olivia Davenport had been dying, and he had, with his own eyes, witnessed her agonizing brush with death. Now, to see her beauty and to feel her joy ... it was another miracle in a string of miracles.

Hoppy Harper clasped his hand and held it for a long moment. Working as a team, they had pitched in and prayed for Olivia, and it would bind them together for life.

But perhaps what he was feeling most deeply of all was this strange, new sense of family as he moved through the line with Cynthia and Dooley. He felt a connection that was beyond his understanding, as if the three of them were bound together like the links of a chain.

It was a new feeling, and he was intoxicated by it even before he got to the champagne.

Esther Bolick had made the wedding cake, which was displayed on a round table, skirted to the floor with ivory tulle and ornamented with calla lilies.

“A masterpiece!” he said, meaning it.

Esther was literally wringing her hands, looking at it. “I declare, I’ve never done anything this complicated. I was up ’til all hours. Three different cakes, three layers each—it looks like the Empire State Buildin’ on that stand the caterers brought.”

“What do you think of the other masterpiece in the room?”

“Law, I haven’t had a minute to look around. Where?”

“Up there.”

Esther looked up and gasped. “Who painted that?”

“Leonardo and Michelangelo.”

“You don’t mean it!”

“I do mean it!” he said.

Once again, he went to the windows that faced the circle drive and looked out. Planes were always late, weren’t they?

And then he saw the taxi coming up the drive, and he went out quickly and hurried down the steps and was there to greet the tall, dark, gentle man who was Leonardo Francesca’s grandson.

Sadie Baxter came off the dance floor in her emerald-green dress, on the arm of Leo Baldwin. Leo retrieved her cane and gave it to her as she turned and saw the man walking into the ballroom.

There was an astonished look on her face, and the rector went to her at once, wondering if the shock might ...

But Miss Sadie regained her composure and held out her hand to the young man and said, wonderingly, “Leonardo?”

Roberto took her hand and kissed it. “I am Roberto, Leonardo’s grandson. My grandfather salutes your beauty and grace and deeply regrets that he could not come himself. He has made me the emissary of a very special message to his childhood friend.”

The rector was enthralled with the look on her face, as she waited eagerly to hear the message that had come thousands of miles, across nearly eighty years.

“My grandfather has asked me to say—
Tempo è denaro!”

Roberto smiled and bowed.

No one had ever seen Sadie Baxter laugh like this; it was a regular fit of laughter. People drew round, feeling yet another pulse of excitement in a day of wondrous excitements.

“Does he,” she said, wiping her eyes with a lace handkerchief, “still like garden peas?”

“Immensely!” said Roberto.

Miss Sadie reached again for Roberto’s hand. “Let’s sit down before we fall down. I want to hear everything!”

“Miss Sadie,” said the rector, “before you go ... what does
tempo è denaro
mean, anyway?”

“Didn’t I tell you? It means ‘time is money’!”

“Is this heaven?” asked Cynthia as they danced.

“Heaven’s gates, at the very least.”

“Everyone loves you so.”

“Everyone?”

“Yes,” she whispered against his cheek. “Everyone.”

“That’s a tough act to follow,” he said, his heart hammering.

“You were the one who brought Roberto here.”

“Yes. I didn’t say anything to you because I wanted to ... I wasn’t sure we could pull it off. I called Florence for his grandfather, who answered but had forgotten all his English. He handed the phone to his son, who knew a bit of English—and then Roberto, whose English is flawless, called me back.

“I said, ‘Please, if you could do it, it would give great joy.’ And Roberto said, ‘My grandfather’s life has been spent in giving joy. I will come.’

“I had tickets waiting at the airline counter in Florence, and here, thanks be to God, is Roberto.”

“It’s the loveliest gift imaginable.”

“Miss Sadie is so often on the giving end ...”

“How long will he be with us?”

“Only a few days. We’ll have Andrew step in for a glass of sherry while he’s here. They can rattle away in Italian, and we’ll do something special for Miss Sadie and Louella. Roberto will occupy my popular guest room. Of course, there’s no Puny to give a hand, but we’ll manage. ”

“I’ll help you,” she said.

He pressed her hand in his. “You always help me.”

As the eight-piece orchestra played on, he saw the room revolve around them in a glorious panorama, bathed with afternoon light.

He saw Absalom Greer laughing with Roberto and Miss Sadie.

He saw Andrew Gregory raise a toast to the newlyweds, and Miss Rose standing stiffly with a smiling Uncle Billy, wearing her black suit and a cocktail hat and proper shoes.

He saw Buck Leeper standing awkwardly in the doorway, holding a glass of champagne in his rough hand, and Ron and Wilma Malcolm trying to lure him into the room.

There was Emma wearing a hat, and Harold looking shy, and Esther Bolick sitting down and fanning herself with relief, and Dooley Barlowe walking toward Miss Sadie, who was beaming in his direction.

He saw Winnie Ivey taking something fancy off a passing tray, her cheeks pink with excitement, while J.C. Hogan conferred with Hessie Mayhew next to a potted palm.

And there was Louella, in a handsome dress that brought out the warmth of her coffee-colored skin, dancing with Hal Owen.

The faces of the people in the sun-bathed panorama were suddenly more beautiful to him than heavenly faces on a ceiling could ever be. Let the hosts swarm overhead, shouting hosannas. He wanted to be planted exactly where he was, enveloped in this mist of wisteria.

“Man,” said Dooley, as they came toward him off the dance floor, “you were sure dancin’
close.
”

“Not nearly close enough,” said Cynthia, looking mischievous.

“Dooley, why don’t you dance with Cynthia?” Dooley, who was unable to imagine such a thing, paused blankly. Seizing the moment, Cynthia grabbed Dooley and dragged him at once into the happy maelstrom on the dance floor.

He who hesitates is lost! thought the rector, grinning.