The Convent Rose (The Roses) (18 page)

Across the aisle, Rusty Niles smirked at his friend as they hit the kneelers yet again, Noreen and Jesse in perfect unison with him, and little Katie stashed in a nursery somewhere. Bodey closed his eyes. He had only one thing to pray for, that Eve would accept his second proposal, so he concentrated on that goal during the quiet times when he wasn't required to mumble along with some hymn or recite a creed.

Time and prayer, the old nuns had told him. They continued to repeat this advice at the café’s Sunday buffet where he took them each week at Eve’s insistence. This should have been awkward on the Sundays Eve worked the tables, but not really. The Sisters, at least Sr. Nessy, could talk horses. Both had charming stories to relate about Eve’s time at the Academy, and some not-so-charming things to tell about her family, though this news to Bodey was never said in an ugly way.

More like, “Eve’s father doted on her, of course, not a good thing for a young woman. At least, her mother had enough wisdom to place Eve here where she could develop some character regardless of family circumstances. But, Eve’s mother wasn’t so much wise as non-maternal, not a nurturer, willing to leave her daughter’s upbringing to others.”

“Too busy nurturing her resentments against the father, I’d say.” Sr. Inez put it bluntly.

“You shouldn’t say, Sister. I’ve often wondered about the father, though. Did he really die at sea? No, no, he loved Eve too much to desert her.” Sr. Helen raised a bite of pecan pie to her lips on a trembling fork. Lent had passed, and Easter come and gone during Bodey’s stay in Texas.

The Sisters, Bodey realized, made up Eve’s family now, much as if they were two beloved maiden aunts. He treated them kindly and learned all he could to understand Eve. His own now confirmed daddy approved of Bodey’s choice for a wife, too, once he had been pried from the bull-raising business and coaxed for a visit.

Watching Bodey work with Miss Fancy Pants, the woman, not the horse, Patrick said, “You can see she’s quality. She has an inborn gentleness and style.”

When Eve called them to come in for a dinner she had put together from Bodey’s meager groceries, Pat waved her way and added, “That’s quality, too, son. Good choice.”

The recessional blared on the organ and jolted Bodey from his reverie. He stood and followed Eve out into the May sunshine. The temperature stood in the mid-eighties, and he thought Eve might enjoy a swim after her shift at the café. He could rub down her white skin with lotion and…

“Bodey, would you help Sr. Helen to my car? I want to tell Amanda and Hardy we’ll be coming to their renewal ceremony next week. I won’t be long.” Eve hurried off to catch the couple who walked arm-in-arm followed by all four children, eighteen, sixteen, fourteen, and twelve, son, daughter, son, daughter.

Bodey put on the white Stetson that had been taking up a place on the pew and flipped a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. He offered an arm to Sr. Helen and watched Eve speak to Hardy. Red Courville gave not one hint that he had ever hit on his woman. Red smiled and drew his wife closer.

Rusty, his arms holding copper-curled Katie, sidled up to Bodey. Clearly, he was cracking up at seeing the great Bodey Landrum with two elderly nuns on his arms instead of a couple of rodeo buckle bunnies. Their creeping procession halted when the Sisters indicated they wanted to speak to Noreen. Young Jesse, bored, bolted off to play in a nearby fountain despite his mother’s shouted warning not to get wet.

“My, my, my, six weeks straight attendance at Mass. You gonna keep that up after you marry Eve?” Russ chafed. “Course, you’ll have to set a good example for the dozen kids Eve wants.”

“I don’t know about Mass. I’m not sure Eve will have me. She stays over some nights, but sitting next to her in church is about as much of her company as I get, otherwise. She has her ridin’ lessons, her art classes, her commissions to work on, and her waitressing. I keep sayin’ she should move in with me, save her rent, and give up the job at the Rainbow Café, but I honestly think she’s worried about what the nuns might say. And who said anything about a dozen kids? I’d like some, sure, but a dozen?” Bodey shook his head.

“Here, get some practice.”

Rusty handed over Katie, whose fingers were a sticky red from some I’ve-been-good-in-Sunday-school treat. She went right for Bodey’s hat. He whipped it off and held it down near the ground with his free hand. Katie protested with a wail.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t torment Bodey with the baby, Russ. You know he isn’t used to children,” Noreen fussed, breaking off her conversation with the nuns. “Go get your son out of that fountain.”

Taking Katie back, Rusty whispered, “Walk along. It seems Cousin Renee told her mama over the phone that Eve scared off that artist fellow by telling him she wanted nothing less than marriage and a big family, a dozen kids at least. Renee, on the other hand, has found her calling in being Evan’s muse. I think that means she’s posing nekkid for him. She sold a few of her own pictures, too. There’s a huge market for male nudes in San Francisco, evidently.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Bodey answered. “Eve never mentioned wanting children, let alone how many, just that I should get used to going to church and being nice to nuns.” He frowned. “Why would she tell Evan and not me?”

“Who knows?” Rusty pulled his son up by the collar of a white church-going shirt wet to the elbows. The knees of the boy’s khaki pants were stained a mossy green. “Your mom doesn’t want you swimming in front of the church, boy. Maybe Uncle Bodey will invite you over to use his pool this afternoon. It’s hot enough.”

“You’re welcome to come, Jesse, all of you. Eve won’t be free till around three. Maybe she could bring some ribs over, or I’ll throw some steaks on the grill.”

“Sounds good, buddy. We’ll come over around two. Noreen will bring some sides, beans or something.” With the group reassembled, the Niles family moved toward their SUV.

“Bye-bye, Unc Bodey.” Katie, red curls bobbing, waved over her daddy’s shoulder.

Troubled, Bodey helped the nuns into Eve’s Toyota and rode shotgun to the Café. As usual, he helped the Sisters with their plates while Eve hurried to the back to slip into her waitressing clothes. Settled at a table, Bodey, scowling, pushed his corn
maque
choux
into his smothered potatoes and stirred them together. He took a bite and put down his fork.

“Sisters, do you think Eve wants to have a family some day?”

“Certainly. I don’t think she’ll ever join our order now,” Sr. Inez answered.

Bodey had the grace to look embarrassed, but he wasn’t easily put off. “She ever say anything about wantin’ a dozen kids?”

The nuns appeared startled. “Eve is getting a bit old to try for that many children, but whatever the Lord sends,” Sr. Helen said carefully.

“Why wouldn’t she tell me somethin’ like that?”

“Time and prayer, Bodey.” Sr. Inez flew back to that old advice like a crow to a corn crib. It seemed other little birdies released into the wild were coming home to roost, too.

“But how much time and how much prayer?” Bodey asked.

“Lord knows,” said Sr. Helen.

Chapter Fourteen

The week before the Courville’s renewal ceremony, Eve had an opening at a gallery in Dallas. Bodey felt he had been of some use to her there. For one thing, he’d gone over all her prices and doubled them.

“Honey, if you don’t do this, you won’t have nothin’ left once the gallery takes its thirty percent of any sales,” he advised. He had a head for business. Eve, like many artists, did not. Not that he’d ever say those words aloud, but he did point out her notecards should be ten dollars a pack, not five, especially in Dallas where things weren’t valued unless overpriced.

Now, he was doing his best for her at the reception by standing near his portrait, which had been arrestingly hung on a short wall space between icons of the angels, Michael and Gabriel. He supposed the colors complemented his picture because he sure wasn’t anyone’s guardian angel. Bodey took a sip of the sour white wine, crunched his Havarti cheese and water crackers, and waited for someone to notice him. Finally, the arts reporter saw the resemblance and had her photographer take a snapshot. Bodey supplied her with a quote. “I plan to buy this likeness of myself. It will be my second Eve Burns. She is highly collectible, and this ole cowboy will fit in just right with my holdings in western art.”

His art buyer spouted stuff like this when he wanted Bodey to make a purchase. Regardless, Bodey turned down the things he thought were butt ugly or totally incomprehensible. After that, he got one of the gallery attendants to red dot his portrait and went forth to mingle.

Eve framed the doorway to the larger display space with two of her big icons, one of the Virgin and Child and another of St. Paul, but once inside, Eve’s landscapes filled the walls with the Texas oak tree mural dominating the rear of the room. The mural, appropriately labeled
The Glory of Texas
, belonged to the collection of Mr. and Mrs. Frances “Frank” Huntington the label noted. Mrs. Got Rocks stood nearby to interpret her commission to anyone who couldn’t figure out the scenes of Texas, past and present, and to inform everyone her mural had larger dimensions than the one in Lafayette, as it should be. Eve posed in her borrowed black dress with her patron for the society page photographer.

Bored beyond calculation, Bodey wandered toward the exit. He thought he’d seen a good barbecue place down the block when they arrived. Instead, he bumped into a cluster of women entering dressed in their Sunday best as opposed to artsy black or Texas rich couture. The small white-haired woman in the center of the group scanned the gathering of drifting art lovers.

“Grandma, you came!” Bodey lifted the little lady off her feet and twirled her around.

Blue eyes sparkling, the elderly woman regained her balance and pecked Bodey’s cheek. “We would have been here sooner, but traffic was terrible, and no parking to be found at all. We had to walk from a lot four blocks away. Now, let me meet this Eve you are so fond of.” Elsie O’Shea made it clear from the start that art was not her purpose for going to so much trouble, though she did pause to admire the icons and Bodey’s portrait.

“Eve.” Bodey separated her neatly from a conversation with a man who reminded him too much of Hardy Courville like a cowboy on a good cutting horse. “I’d like you to meet my grandma, Elsie O’Shea, my Aunt Bridget Cochran, and her daughters Shannon and Chloe.”

“I’m so pleased that you came.” Eve pressed the arthritic hand of Elsie O’Shea gently as she would those of the elderly nuns.

“You painted all these holy pictures, did you? And Bodey half-naked,” Grandma O’Shea asked.

“Or half-clothed as the case may be. Guilty, but you should have seen the other artist’s interpretation of your grandson.” Eve laughed and let her eyes rove toward Bodey.

“Pick out your favorite. I want you to have one of Eve’s paintings,” Bodey insisted.

“We hardly met, and he wanted to be buying me a new car and a house, but I said I was happy in my little apartment, and it’s rare that I drive anymore. Still, a holy picture would be a fine thing to have. Those angels are mighty handsome fellows. What do you think, Bridget? Gabriel or Michael?”

“Both,” said Bodey.

“I’ll give you a special price,” Eve replied.

“No special prices, I keep tellin’ you. I see the big Virgin sold and some of your small landscapes.”

“Yes, evidently someone has been passing the word that I am highly collectible.”

“That so?” Bodey preened. “Glad to hear the gallery workers are doing their jobs. You ladies want something to eat? All they got here is cheese, grapes, and a wine they must have bought at a convenience store, but I’ll take y’all for barbecue when this shindig is over.”

Bridget and her girls moved toward the meager refreshment table. Mrs. O’Shea would not to be lured away by drink and crackers.

“So, you come from Rainbow, Louisiana, the town where miracles happen?”

“I’ve lived there for the past ten years and graduated from the Academy. As for miracles, I can’t say I’ve seen any.”

“Oh, but you have. Bodey moved to Rainbow, and in a few months he found the father he’s been looking for these many years. That was surely a miracle for my Patrick. I feared he might kill himself after his accident, he got so low. I kept saying, you might never know what good things life will bring you if you aren’t around to see. Later, he thought that was getting the education he ran away from and having a job he loves, but all along Bodey waited for him.”

“I suppose you could see a divine hand in that,” Eve said neutrally.

“And then, consider my best friend, Maydell Folse. She went to Rainbow on a retreat, her arthritis so bad she couldn’t kneel in prayer and beseeched the Blessed Mother Leontine to give her some relief. The next week the FDA approved a new drug that gave her back almost her full range of motion. Miracles, my dear, aren’t always announced by apparitions or angels. Sometimes, it’s the FDA.”

Eve swallowed a chuckle along with a sip of cheap wine. “Who am I to say it’s not?” she replied. When the gallery owner towed her away to meet a potential client, Eve gratefully fled her tiny interrogator.

Elsie O’Shea eyed the short, black dress and loose blonde hair as Eve swayed away. “Not after your money, now, is she, Bodey?”

“I keep offerin’ it to her, but she keeps pushing it back—like some other woman I know who turned down a new car and a nicer place to live.”

Holding little plastic plates of fruit and cheese, his new female relatives regrouped around Bodey. “What do y’all think of my girl?” he asked them.

“Gorgeous,” answered Chloe. “I wish I had hair like that and legs so long.”

“Love her dress,” said Shannon.

“Very talented,” replied Aunt Bridget.

“But is she a good Catholic girl, Bodey?” Grandma Elsie asked. “She doesn’t seem to believe in miracles.”

“Well, she drags me to Mass every Sunday, Grandma.”

“That’s good, then. She cares for your soul, and probably your body, too, judging by that picture, but she seems a bit fancy to make a ranch wife. I loved my husband and followed him where he needed to be, but once he was gone, I couldn’t wait to get back to the city, and I came from much humbler stock than her.”