Ten Thousand Charms (36 page)

And now everyone thought she was going to take solace in the idea of being reunited with Kate in heaven? She wasn't sure if heaven even existed, and if it did, it was a place where she surely wouldn't be welcome. Besides, what comfort could be there? Suppose she did find her way to heaven only to stumble across the little girl, happily gurgling in the lap of the cold, dismissive woman who gave birth to her. The thought of it was bitterly amusing, so much so that Gloria must have emitted a short laugh or snort, because the next thing she knew John William was squeezing her hand mercilessly hard, and when she opened her eyes to look at him, he was scowling.

When it was time to lower the tiny coffin into the ground, John William handed Danny over to Gloria and joined Big Phil, David Logan, and Reverend Fuller to take an end of one of the ropes looped around the casket. Adele Fuller moved to the foot of the grave and, clasping her hands demurely in front of her, began to sing:

“God is love; his mercy brightens
All the path in which we rove;
Bliss he wakes and woe he lightens:
God is wisdom, God is love.”

Hand over hand the four men lowered the casket into the open grave. One by one, those in attendance picked up a handful of the moist earth and dropped it in. Gloria heard each grain hit the wood and, unable to bear it, turned her ear to Adele's voice.

“E'en the hour that darkest seemeth
Will his changeless goodness prove;
Thro’ the gloom his brightness streameth:
God is wisdom, God is love.”

As the final note was carried away with the autumn wind, John William cleared his throat and said, “Thank you all for comin'. We'd like to invite you all to stay to dinner.”

“Yes, please,” Maureen said. “You all have been so generous. Please stay.”

The women began to make their way back to the house to set out the food they had brought; the men, including John William and Reverend Fuller, stayed behind to fill the grave and place the marker—a simple wooden cross—at its head. Gloria lagged behind. Perhaps Danny's impending nap time would be an excuse from setting up platters of meat and slicing bread. She could quietly go into her room to nurse him and put him down.

“Katherine Celestia MacGregan.” Big Phil read the inscription with a bit of a chuckle. “That's a big name for a little girl.”

“Yeah," John William said, his voice equally amused, “that's what her mother said.”

Gloria stopped midstep and turned on her heel. “No she didn't,” she said, barely unclenching her teeth.

All four men stopped and stared at her, David Logan holding the shovel aloft.

“Her mother was dead before that child had a name. I was the one who said she had a big name for a little girl. Remember? It was cold and it was raining and she was starving and you came to me?”

“Gloria, please.” John William walked to her and put his hand on her arm, but Gloria shrugged him off violently

“Don't touch me. You have no claim to touch me. You have no claim on me at all.”

Danny was jolted from his dozing reverie and let out a halfhearted wail at Gloria's raised voice.

“Phil, would you take Danny inside?” John William said over his shoulder.

“Sure thing,” Phil said, his voice full of relief. “Why don't you come with me, Logan?”

“Right behind you.” David Logan dropped the shovel and
fairly trotted behind Big Phil as the two men made their way back to the house.

Once Danny was out of Glorias arms, John William grasped her elbow and no amount of flinching or twisting on her part could release his grip.

“Shame on you,” he hissed into her ear after pulling her close.

“Let me go!”

He jerked her arm again. “What are you thinkin’ makin’ such noise?”

“I said let me go!” Gloria brought her free hand up, but he easily caught her wrist.

“Woman, if you ever raise your hand to me again I'll—”

The gentle sound of Reverend Fuller, clearing his throat brought them both to an uncomfortable silence, and they turned to face him, their hands still clasped together. Reverend Fuller stood calmly, looking first to one and then the other, and after a time the pounding in Gloria's heart and her head soothed as she looked down and stared hotly at their entwined fingers.

“We was," John William shuffled his feet like a child caught in a lie, “we was goin’ to talk to you on Sunday To see about get-tin’ married. You see, my wife, Kates mother, she died and—”

Reverend Fuller held up his hand, and John William lapsed back into silence.

“This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion.” Reverend Fuller's voice rang with authority, and the Bible he grasped only added to the weight of his words.

“I just didn't want you thinkin'—”

“Please, Mr. MacGregan. Let us remember the reason we are all gathered here today. Let us respect the solemnity of the occasion.”

With that, he brushed past them and walked back to the house. Once alone, John William dropped Gloria's hands and raked his hair off his face in the gesture of frustration and despair Gloria had grown so familiar with.

“John, I'm sorry,” Gloria said. “It just seemed that these past days you've forgotten I'm here. That I was ever here.”

A bitter laugh escaped John Williams lips, a sound chilling to Gloria's heart.

“Forget you?” he said. “I doubt there's a man out there who could ever forget you.”

“Stop it.”

“Do you know why King Davids son died? Ah, look who I'm askin'. Of course you don't.”

“I know a little,” Gloria said.

“David lusted after Bathsheba. Desired her. So much that he forgot the kind of man God wanted him to be.”

A sudden burst of wind brought a smattering of autumn leaves to rest along the hem of Gloria's skirt. She folded her arms tight against her chest and bent her head against the chill.

“God took his child away” John William brought a finger to Gloria's chin and forced her to look up at him. “To punish him. Because he lusted for this woman. Because he murdered her husband.”

“What does that have to do with all of this?” Gloria said, gesturing toward Kate's open grave.

John William turned his back to her, casting her into shadow Gloria felt a tightening in her throat when she saw the defeated stoop of his shoulders; the same man who once frightened her with his physical power now appeared utterly crushed.

“Reverend Fuller talkin’ about our last days with Kate,” he said without turning around. “Her last hours.”

His shoulders convulsed once, twice, and then he turned to face her. Gloria braced herself for the sight of tears on his scarred face, but nothing could prepare her for the twisted expression she encountered, and the bitterness in his next words made her flinch.

“How do I forgive myself for where I was, what 1 was doin’ while my baby girl was…”

“What's to forgive, John? How could you possibly have known?”

“But if I hadn't been there with you—”

“You'd have been out in the field. Or in the barn. Or to Centerville.”

“But I wasn't any of those places, was 1?” John William turned again and took a few steps farther away. He flung his head back to face heaven straight on as he shouted, fist in the air, “I was with her! Lustin’ after this woman after tryin’ so hard—”

“How dare you!” Gloria said, grabbing his upraised arm and forcing it back down to his side. “After all you've told me about God and his forgiveness? Is this God who is supposed to love me the same God that would kill a child? Out of spite? To teach you a lesson?”

“That's not what I'm sayin'.”

“You think this is my fault?”

“If you had been here—”

“What? What could I have done?”

An endless moment passed as she waited for him to answer. She thought about that summer afternoon on the shores of the Umatilla River when she fought off the swarm of bees. Would Kate have died there, on that afternoon, if a bee had found its way through Gloria's defenses? If she had, would Gloria be here now? Would she have been a part of this home?

The late afternoon sun crept behind the small grove of trees, casting shadows across the little white grave marker. The smaller branches waved in the ever-present breeze, creating a pattern of. motion across the little girl's name—Katherine Celestia MacGregan—one moment in sunshine, the next in shadow

Still Gloria held onto his arm, until his coiled muscles relaxed and she was drawn into an embrace, his arms encasing her utterly. “I suppose this changes everything,” she said, her face pressed against the rough texture of his woolen shirt. She felt his cheek come to rest on the top of her head, felt his lips move against her hair.

“Not so. If anythin', Danny's more precious to me than ever.” He dislodged her from their embrace and held her at arm's length, oblivious to the large, cold stone he had just lodged somewhere
inside her. “God blessed David with another child. Danny's the blessin’ given to me.”

“What about me, John? What about Sunday and Reverend Fuller?”

“I don't know,” he said. “I've got to finish some threshin'. Get a load of wheat into Centerville. 1 planned to be there and back by Sunday but now…”

“Are you saying not this Sunday? Or ever?”

“I don't know.” He wouldn't look at her.

When they walked into Maureen's parlor, the only sound was Danny's insistent cry Gloria made her way past the curious stares of her new neighbors and collected her son to take him into the bedroom to nurse. Nobody said a single word until she was well out of the room, and then all she heard was Adele Fuller's honey-sweet voice offering John William a piece of her famous chocolate cake.

ohn William worked one finger through the twine and unbound the sheaf, sending hundreds of stalks to fan around his feet. He stood on the canvas tarp, unbinding one after another, until the surface of the tarp was covered with about ten inches of ripe wheat. The afternoon was cool and dry with just enough of a breeze to enable him to sift the grain.

The flail he used was yet another example of Ed's extraordinary handiwork. Two and a half inches in diameter, and honed to perfection, the flail rested easily in his hands, the two sections of it connected with a leather strap. He held the handle in his hand and paced the circumference of the wheat, trying to gauge the direction of the wind and decide just where to begin. A movement caught the corner of his eye. In the distance, Gloria and Maureen were heading out to the old cabin, Maureen pushing her little handcart and Gloria following with a broom. He hadn't seen Gloria since their conversation at Kate's graveside. She'd taken Danny into the bedroom and refused to come out again, even after the guests had departed.

This morning as he awoke from a chilly and uncomfortable sleep on his bedroll in the barn, Maureen was standing over him with a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of breakfast that included slices of the ham David and Josephine Logan had brought.

“We're going out to the cabin today, Gloria and me,” she said. “Going to get the place cleaned up. There's no use you sleeping in a barn when there's a perfectly good home just waiting.”

“You don't need to bother with the cleanin',” he told her. How
could he tell her that the layers of dust weren't the reason for his choice. He had actually walked back there the night Kate died, bedroll and blanket in hand, but the memories of those brief moments with Gloria brought home that the barn was where he belonged.

“Suit yourself,” Maureen said, stooping to put the plate of food by his side. “But eat up and get your strength. I want you to thresh enough of that wheat to get me some straw to stuff a tick. There's going to be a nice clean home with a good fresh bed for somebody”

Now he stood straight, watching them—watching Gloria— wondering if she would turn around and offer a smile, a wave, any acknowledgment. But even though she was well within earshot, he didn't call out.

“Wheat's not going to thresh itself, you know.”

The voice of Big Phil came from just behind him. The greeting was accompanied by a hearty clap on John William's shoulder, and then the big man sat on the ground and reclined against the barn wall.