Ten Thousand Charms (35 page)

“What's on her face?” John William asked, running his knuckle along Kate's soft cheek that was covered with some sort of sticky substance.

“I was stirring molasses into my tea, and she reached for the spoon. I let her lick it. Oh, God," she brought her hands up to her face, “do you think that's what's made her sick?”

John William studied his daughter's face, and then recoiled at what he saw. There were at least five of them that he could see— tiny mounds swelling, each with a nearly invisible prick in its center: one at the corner of her eye, one near an ear, one at the corner of her upper lip, two on her neck. Clutching Kate's gasping body close to him, he strode to the wooden overhang over the front door. One glance up confirmed his suspicions.

Wasps. The nest wasn't large enough to have attracted attention before; it was fairly small and tucked away Maureen had followed him and stood now beside him, her hands still clasped to her mouth in disbelief. “Oh, John. 1 didn't know”

He caught one of Kate's tiny hands between his thumb and forefinger and brought it to his lips, just as he had that cold rainy morning she was born. And, just as he had that morning, he worried she wouldn't live through the day. Each tiny breath grew shorter and shallower, and he longed to fill her with every breath he would take for the rest of his life if doing so would bring back her little smile. As it was, her face held an expressioh of faint surprise—wide-eyed and openmouthed—and the only sound was the tiny squeak that accompanied each labored gasp.

“Ah, Katherine,” he whispered, hugging her close, “my beautiful, beautiful girl.” He closed his eyes, blocked out her desperate gaze, and prayed, “Lord, God my Father, don't take her from me. Father, you can heal her. Sweet Jesus, I beg you.

He fell to his knees. Behind the veil of his closed eyes he saw her healthy and whole, newly born, nestled in her mother's arms. He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Gloria begging him for a chance to hold her, but the mother in his vision had long black hair tied with a scrap of blue cloth and a thin, gaunt face.

After a time, and God alone knew how long, the faint spasms of Kate's breathing ceased and she became perfectly still, her eyes still open and staring.

John William lifted his face to heaven. “God, give me the strength to get through this.” He covered Kate's face with his palm, and when his hand was lifted her eyes were closed.

“Gloria?” he said, looking up and around for the first time.

“She's gone inside,” Maureen said. She was still standing on the porch. “Is Kate…?”

“She's safe now. She's with her mother.”

loria had never visited the low swelling hill along the southern edge of the Brewster's property, but she had seen Maureen up there often enough, kneeling beside the simple headstone that marked the grave of her husband. A, small picket fence formed the perimeter of the grave itself.

Two days after Kates death, a small crowd gathered at the newly turned earth. A tiny white coffin sat beside the open grave, its lid covered in a layer of roses from Josephine Logan's garden. The entire Logan family was there, each child scrubbed to perfection, their parents apologetic for their obvious health. Big Phil stood with a protective hand holding his wife close to his side. Adele Fuller was resplendent in a sweeping black crepe de chine dress; the veil suspended from her smart black velvet bonnet divided her perfect face into a series of diamonds. Reverend Fuller clutched his worn black Bible in one hand and with the other took Maureen's arm in a comforting gesture.

John William stood apart from the crowd, his arms hanging straight down at his side. His face was covered with a three days’ beard, his hair loose and lank, every inch the image of a man mad with grief.

All of this Gloria witnessed from the front porch of Maureen's home. She hadn't exchanged a single word with John William since their conversation in the tiny cabin. Baby Kate's body was laid out in Maureen's parlor while funeral arrangements were made, and during that time, Gloria barely left the room she shared with Maureen. John William hadn't stepped a foot inside the house. He'd been sleeping in the barn, washing at
the pump, and as far as either of the two women could tell, not eating at all.

Gloria held Danny close to her side, bouncing him gently He cooed and grasped at the loose tufts of hair that escaped the twist at the nape of her neck. She wore the dark brown skirt Mae made for her back in Silver Peak and a brown blouse sprigged with deep red poppies. As she dressed this morning, she had bemoaned the fact that she had no proper black dress to wear, although Maureen assured her that the brown would be fine. Now, though, she couldn't help notice the outline of Adele Fuller's perfect figure creating a stark silhouette against the autumn foliage and could only hope that her own outfit would help her blend in and disappear.

John William looked up and their eyes met across the yard. He gave a barely discernible turn of his head, nodding toward the small crowd, and looked back at Gloria, clearly a directive for her to join them. But Gloria clutched Danny closer and held her ground. John William raised a single eyebrow, but still she did not move. Finally, he squared his shoulders, appeared to excuse himself to those standing around him, and made his way across the yard. He walked slowly and purposefully, and when he reached the porch he placed one foot on the bottom step, grasped the rail, and leaned in to speak quietly.

“You comin?”

“I've never been to a funeral before.”

“Not your mother's?”

“No.”

“You didn't go to your mother's funeral?”

“I woke up. She was dead. I left. I don't know if she had a funeral.”

She unwound a clump of curls from Danny's soggy fist and gave him a corner of her shawl to clutch.

“Well, this is different, Gloria. This is Kate, our baby girl.”

“She was your baby girl, John. And like you said, she's safe now. With her mother. She doesn't need me anymore, does she?”

“I'd like you there, Gloria, to be with me.”

He held out his hand. How easily she'd taken it the last time it was offered to her as they left the little cabin that was to be their home. It seemed impossible, now, to think of a life together.

“Nnn-dah! Nnn-dah!” Danny said, reaching both arms for John William. Gloria held him tighter, but his little arms continued to flail. Soon two massive hands were reaching for her son, and before she knew it, John William lifted the boy high above his head, jostling him until the giggles drew the attention from the people across the yard, then drew him close.

“Ah, Danny,” he whispered. Without another word, he turned and began to make his way toward the little crowd gathered at the grave. He left her alone, just as he had that afternoon at the creek's edge, walking away and not looking back. And, just as she had that afternoon, Gloria followed, alone, just steps behind him.

Reverend Fuller's face seemed softer today than it was on those Sunday mornings behind his pulpit. His Bible lay loosely open in his hand, and the same breeze that rustled the pages picked up his words and carried them effortlessly to each person gathered.

“When the child King David fathered with Bathsheba fell ill, David went into a period of mourning,” Reverend Fuller said after a short opening prayer. “He shut himself off from the rest of his household, not eating, not sleeping. He was in such a state of mind that the servants of the house were afraid to tell him when, after seven days, the child did die. They thought the news of the child's death would be too much for him to bear.

“But, in fact, the opposite happened. When they went in to him, he asked, ‘Is the child dead?’ and they answered, ‘He is dead.’ And something amazing happened.” Reverend Fuller turned his full attention to his Bible and read, “Then David arose from the earth, and washed, and anointed himself, and changed his apparel, and came into the house of the Lord, and worshipped: Then he came to his own house; and when he required, they set bread before him, and he did eat.'

“Of course, his servants were amazed. They couldn't understand how he could be so grieved when the child was ill, yet fully composed after the child died. But listen to what David said.”

Gloria was standing on the other side of John William, and she leaned forward, drawn into this story as- she found herself drawn to every story she'd ever heard from this book. She stole a quick look at Maureen, who stood just across from her on the other side of the open grave, and the woman sent over a quick smile.

“David said,” continued the reverend, “'While the child was yet alive, I fasted and wept: for I said, Who can tell whether God will be gracious to me, that the child may live? But now he is dead, wherefore should I fast? Can 1 bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.'” He kept his finger in the book to mark the page, and looked up. “Children are, indeed, a gift to us by the graciousness of God.”

At this, Gloria once again looked up to catch Maureen's eye, but the older woman's face was bent low to the ground.

“I only saw the child a few times,” Reverend Fuller continued, “but she was, I'm sure, a gift treasured by all who loved her. And though her death was sudden and tragic, let us turn our hearts to the joy she gave while she was alive. What a blessing it was that these parents had no knowledge that the last days they spent with their daughter were to be the last days she would spend on earth. What a tragedy to spend the last days together in mourning rather than simply in loving and caring for the child.”

Gloria sensed John William nodding his head. She glanced over and saw that Danny's head was resting against John William's strong shoulder. She reached out a hand and touched the little boy's soft cheek and was rewarded with a slight lazy smile from his soft parted lips. As she drew her hand away, John William caught it with his own. Her first instinct was to jerk it away, but she allowed his fingers to close around her clenched fist and returned her attention to the reverend, who was speaking directly to her and John William.

“Parents, do not believe that King David's actions meant that he wasn't deeply grieved at the passing of his son. But know that no amount of sadness or gestures of mourning will ever bring your daughter back to you. Rather, rejoice in the fact that you will be reunited with her someday. For, as David said, ‘I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.’

“Christ tells us in Matthew 6:20 to lay up our treasures in heaven, ‘where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.’ Kate is a treasure now in heaven. She will never be sick. She will never be sad. She will never suffer disappointment or pain.”

All around her, Gloria heard whispers of “Amen” and saw Maureen and Josephine Logan nodding and smiling. Big Phil and his wife exchanged a smile. Their seeming peace nearly drove her mad.

I could have kept her from sadness! I could have kept her from
disappointment and pain. Why wasn't I enough?

“But most of all,” Reverend Fuller said, “she is a part of the treasure stored expressly for you in heaven. For it is there that, by the grace of Jesus Christ, you will be reunited with your little girl. In the meantime, you have each other and,” he reached out to lightly stroke Danny's arm, “you are blessed with this little one here. Let him be a comfort to you at this time.

“Finally, the Scripture says that David went to his wife and comforted her. So should you two turn to each other at this time and comfort one another. Let us pray”

Gloria bowed her head and closed her eyes with the others, but she didn't hear a single word of the prayer. Instead her head reeled with the words he'd just spoken. Her stomach churned with the dishonesty and deceit of the family she and John William presented to their community, even more so with the comfort these people offered to her as the mother of this deceased child. She hadn't shed a single tear, a fact that caused Josephine Logan to hold her close and say, “You poor, poor dear. It's such a shock.” In fact, all afternoon as their neighbors arrived, her stony front
was met with gushing platitudes by all the women, and a sense of relief by the men who were obviously more comfortable with a silent grieving mother than a hysterical one.