Come Rain or Come Shine (6 page)

‘We wanted to tell you for a long time but knew it would be hurtful,' she said. ‘Having children was the first really big thing we ever agreed on. A year later, we agreed on four. It was wonderful to dream like that, it helped us get through vet school. I felt so ashamed when I found out, ashamed that I couldn't make that happen for him, for us. In many ways it was like a death, four deaths at once. So much loss—his siblings lost all those years, and now this. I thought he might want someone else, someone who could give him an unbroken family. I wanted to die, Father, I really did. Cynthia said she had wanted an escape route, too, when she learned she would never have children.'

Nearly a half century in the priesthood and he couldn't find words. God will use this for good, he wanted to say. I promise.

There was a silence he felt responsible to break. ‘Is the diagnosis a closed book?'

‘That's what the doctors tell us. Hoppy, too.'

Closed books, either figuratively or literally, had no appeal. Indeed, he often kept a book lying open in his study so he could see the words or pictures as he walked by.

‘I watched Mama die a little every day,' she said. ‘I always thought death came at an appointed hour, but it came on daily house calls to the Creek. I remember the county woman was there Tuesdays and Thursdays. She would sit in the swing my father rigged on the porch and hum tunes she
heard on the radio. She always said,
Your mama's dyin', we got to keep her comfortable.

‘But I thought if I tried hard enough, I could keep her alive. I was totally consumed by three things—keeping Mama alive, learning everything I could from books, and staying away from my father. I could not possibly have gone to school regularly and worn nice clothes and pretended.

‘He never did the terrible things that my roommate Laurel's father did to her. You know I ran to Harley's trailer whenever I could; he was my funny, generous, secret angel. And I made that little nest under the house, where I read and prayed and did endless pencil drawings, and later I used to sleep there. It wasn't so bad, really, except for the spiders. Under the house with a flashlight, I went to Antarctica with Lord Shackleton, to Northanger Abbey with Miss Austen . . .'

‘I remember you talking about Jacques Cousteau.'

‘Yes, I loved following Monsieur Cousteau into the deep. I read everything the bookmobile lady chose for me, and then started choosing on my own. There were also books I didn't love at all but I read anyway, hoping to find something hidden and accidental that would change things.'

‘Somewhere in there, you fell in love with Rilke, I believe.'

‘Not in love, really, he was a project—during my sophomore year, I tried to translate his poetry into art. Perhaps all the dragons in our lives, he said, are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage.
Perhaps everything that frightens us, he said, is in its deepest essence something helpless that wants our love.

‘I realized how much I wanted to act with beauty and courage, and how hard it is to do this. I almost managed to love the spiders.'

She gave him a smile, suddenly shy. She always opened up like this with Father Tim; she didn't know why and she couldn't seem to stop. He brought that out in people.

‘I'm talking too much,' she said.

‘Never!' he said, and she could tell he meant it.

‘I'm so glad you caught me stealing Miss Sadie's ferns, it was truly meant to be. I'm grateful that you and Cynthia invited me to live with you, though I couldn't leave Mama. You let me know there was a way out if I really needed it. And then Mama died and you and Cynthia and Olivia promised it was not my fault, it was just the perfect and incomprehensible timing of God.

‘Mama dying was hard, but it saved my life. I was like a chick hatching from a dark shell into a new world.

‘And now all this—the wedding, the farm, everyone being together like family. A lot of times it seems like a dream. But I know what it is. It's grace. Totally.'

‘You're precious to all of us,' he said. ‘You've helped our son become a thoughtful, deeper man. You've touched us in ways that make us better.'

He could say it now, this truth that must be told. ‘God will use this loss for good. I promise.'

There seemed nothing more to be spoken. They were quiet amid the symphony of crickets and night birds.

Little by little, he was gaining helpful information.

‘So, what is Dooley wearing?' he said over breakfast.

‘A white linen shirt, khaki linen slacks, and loafers,' said Lace.

‘With socks?'

‘No socks.'

‘Ha!' From now on, he would get the skinny on such matters from the horse's mouth.

As for music, Dooley's old friend Tommy from Mitford School was a great guitar and mandolin player who was in a group called the Ham Biscuits. They were pretty famous in these parts, and this would be a freebie.

As for the Potluck Paranoia so recently broken out in their household, it was unanimously decided last evening after supper that they'd leave this conundrum to God and be completely happy with whatever turned up.

He'd been glad to say, in Baptist fashion, ‘Amen and amen.'

Wed. Can there be such a thing as too much love? I am serious about this. I am filled with all the love for D that I
was never able to give to my mother or my father or my brother or anybody. And so I love D with all this held-back love. Is it overpowering to him? Is it too much? I am certain that God does not ask himself these stupid questions, He just loves us.

He called late last night and I was so worn out and crazy and he was too and we just went to sleep with each other on the phone. Okay, so that was a waste of money. I do not care. Just to be doing the same thing at the same time with him was a beautiful communication. Amazing that we woke up at the same instant around two in the morning. He said, “Whoa. Hey, girl. I love you.”

Thurs. Irene McGraw called today. She said her twin sister Kim Dorsay, the film actress, loves the painting Irene bought~ she sent Kim a pic from her iPhone~ and that Kim is doing a beach cottage in Malibu and would like to see my work. If I would ever say it, which I will not, I would say OMG!! I will take pics and email to Irene. Will send my portfolio too. Even if it is old I think it's some of my best work.

Fri. D says he is partying down and all the girls are crazy about him. So strange that a year ago it would drive me nuts if I knew he was out partying, but now I know he loves me so much that nothing could ever happen. It's almost scary to know he loves me like this.

Made barbecued ribs tonight. I cannot believe it. I have
never done it before. People practically licked their plates. I should truly be vegetarian but maybe later.

Sat. To church in the morning to worship at Lord's Chapel and see Father Brad. We all try to clean our country selves up as best we can. When we don't go to LC, Fr Tim celebrates Holy Communion here and sometimes Evensong. I love Evensong, especially when the crickets are out. I am glad we don't do Lauds and Prime!

I have never seen so many ugly dresses. I cannot find this dress, which was woven out of daydreams and naiveté. I am not giving up. When I am too tired to do anything else I am searching for my dress. Hello, dress of my dreams! Please be out there!

S
he rolled onto her back and laughed. How perfect. How perfect! There was no other word. ‘Thank you!' she said. ‘Thank you, thank you,
thank you
.'

She had waked up knowing exactly what it would be, as if the idea had created itself in her dreams. She had hoped to give him a yellow Lab puppy or maybe a Golden, but hadn't been focused enough to make this happen. Which was good, because there was too much going on right now for a puppy.

This new idea meant that nobody would be allowed in her room until after the wedding, especially Dooley. She had the old key in a jar on the bookshelf. She would lock the door every day and wear the key around her neck on a chain with the cross he gave her the year of the great Christmas snow.

She sat up and blinked, dazzled. For some reason, this idea was her first truly deep connection to the huge change in their lives. The thought of making his gift also made it all real; she couldn't wait to begin.

But she couldn't begin today. Lily was dropping by at seven-thirty this morning on her way to Wesley and had something ‘important' to discuss.

‘Is it about the wedding?' she had asked when Lily called last night.

‘Honey, everything's about th' weddin'.'

Later Olivia would drive out with lunch, and she and Olivia and Cynthia and Marge would make bow ties for the dogs. Then they'd drive up to see Clarence and Agnes at Holy Trinity and talk about the lovely gift Clarence would carve for every guest.

Tomorrow was her day for food shopping in Wesley. What she needed to pick up was only a block away from the grocery store. When she got home, she would carry in the shopping, then carry everything else up the back stair to her studio.

She ran into the small room with the door on which she had hand-lettered
Poudre
, and brushed her hair and applied blusher and lip balm, then wriggled into her oldest jeans and threw on a shirt and sweater and slipped into her sneakers.

She took the Dooley book from the shelf, opened it hurriedly, and wrote:

Woke up and there it was~ everything I needed to know about D's wedding present!

She added what Father Tim liked to say.

Deo gratias!

She was so excited she could throw up.

She ran downstairs, smelling the coffee. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes . . .

‘Do you know how much work a potluck for fifty people will be?'

Lily looked totally serious.

‘I've been to lots of potlucks,' said Lace.

‘But have you ever done one?'

‘Never.'

‘Me, either,' said Cynthia, who could feel a tempest brewing in the household teapot.

‘I've been workin' here regular ever since you an' Father Tim hired me nearly seven years ago, an' now y'all an' th' Owenses are like family. So let me just tell you. You think a potluck weddin' will be the easiest thing you ever did in your life, right?'

‘Well, yes,' said Lace.

‘But you will be deeply disappointed, trust me. Lord knows, I have tried to keep my trap shut about it, but I cannot hold it in another minute.'

‘Go for it,' said Cynthia.

‘Work, work, and more work is the underbelly of th' whole potluck scheme. If you don't have organized help, you will be dead th' next day or wishin' you were. How many platters and bowls and pots and plastic containers will roll in
here? How many will not have a lid or a top or any ID whatsoever on the bottom?'

There was no known answer to this.

‘How many will ask for leftovers to take home? Wait till you see how many!

‘How many rolls of foil and Saran Wrap will you go through while people stand there tappin' their foot? How many will be ticked off that nobody ate what they brought, and how many will be pouty that people didn't leave anything for them to take home?'

‘Clearly we don't know,' said Cynthia.

‘Plus if there's nothin' left of what they brought, they will want their platter, pot, pan, bowl, or plate back
washed
, and that's not to mention th' rented dinner dishes.

‘Rented dishes is not th' same as throwin' paper plates in a smelly garbage can an' settin' it on th' truck to be hauled off to parts unknown. You will be scrapin' an' washin' dishes till the cows come home from Mink's place—which, trust me, will be a long time, since Mink also has a bull that's pretty cute.

‘Plus, who'll be carryin' th' dirty dishes all th' way from th' barn to th' kitchen sink? Per head, that's two glasses, a cup, a saucer, a dinner plate, an' a salad plate. Times fifty.

‘
Plu
s there's all th' glasses people will be drinkin' out of before an' after dinner. They'll be up in your barn loft an' down in th' stalls an' lyin' out in your grass . . .'

‘Good grief,' said Cynthia. ‘The people?'

‘Th' glasses. And who'll put th' rentals back in their crates
for th' rental people on Monday? Th' plates, th' silverware, th' dirty napkins, th' tablecloths—I could go on.

‘So, please, do
not
try to do this by yourself. I can get all my sisters out here and none of th' family will have to lift a finger. As hard as y'all have worked, nobody needs to lift a finger the day of this weddin', okay? Th' Flower Girls are ready to give you th'
break you deserve
.'

Lily sat back in the chair, satisfied. ‘So tell me that that's not music to your ears!'

They hesitated a moment, somewhat stunned, then burst into spontaneous applause.

He heard most of Lily's sermon, with which he agreed wholeheartedly, but kept his head down. He poured a cup of coffee and checked today's corkboard pronouncements, these in Lace's quirky hand-lettering.

5 days till graduation!

6 days till Choo-Choo!

7 days till Home Eucharist!

8 days till grand opening!

FYI May 10 is Mother's Day

He was exhausted from reading the timeline. He declined to read the work list; he knew what had to be done.

Willie looked mournful. ‘We'll be mowin' twice a week. I ain't never mowed twice a week.'

‘Saturday an' Thursday is th' way I see that goin',' said Harley, who was known in Mitford for his lawn services.

As for his own observations, he quoted Uncle Billy from days of yore. ‘There'll be no rest for th' wicked an' th' righteous don't need none.'

The lawn improvement was his wife's idea. ‘Just this once,' she said, eager to finance the operation, gladly approved by Lace, as part of their wedding gift. He had pulled off the same deal on their lawn in Mitford; he was an old hand, he knew this stuff. Thus all supplies had been picked up at the co-op and starting today the three of them would initiate the program.

First they would use an organic spray on the weeds, which unfortunately amounted to the greater portion of the lawn, followed by spreading a load of composted material over the entire area.

This material would be raked in and seeded with a mixture of fescue, bluegrass, and annual rye. Then they would lime and fertilize and lightly straw the whole caboodle.

‘Lord help,' said Harley, who offered his customers Mow and Blow only.

Willie was speechless.

As for moisture, they would have to keep their eye on it.
He pressed ahead with his tutorial. ‘Comfortably damp but not too wet is what we'll be looking for.'

‘This is a
farm
,' said Willie. ‘Dogs pee an' kill th' grass. Chickens scratch around an' make dust bowls. Vehicles keep th' corncrib area half ruint. You can't have a town yard in th' country.'

As instigator of this project, he didn't include the astonishing news that there would be no more mowing grass down to the nub. Nossir, no more blade on grade. Three to four weeks from today, they would merely be taking the tips off, and by June fourteenth they would have a lawn ready for a magazine cover. A lot of work, to be sure, but all this run-up labor to the big day was suddenly the most fun he had enjoyed in a long time.

Okay, so everybody was a bit frayed, but everybody was also wired. There was joy in the air; you could sniff it as plain as new-cut hay.

She ran to the clinic with Truman following and talked briefly with Hal, Blake, and Amanda, their receptionist, scrub nurse, and all-around helper. Was there anything she could do? They were covered, but check back after lunch, if possible; two goats were coming in as well as the three Dalmatians from the Brewster farm.

Goats again! Though Dooley would be running a
small-animal practice, he had recently relaxed that policy. ‘We'll take anything that can get through the door,' he said. A horse couldn't really make it through the door, nor a cow, but sheep and goats, yes, and maybe even a llama if it ducked its head.

Four people in the waiting room—two with mournful hounds on leashes, one with a kitten in a carrier, and Lucy Bowman with her pig named Homer.

Homer was wise and thoughtful; she had known him for years. Homer sat on the bench next to Lucy, a proper good pig. She knelt by the bench and gave him a scratch behind the ears. She hated that Homer's eyes were cloudy now; she loved this pig.