Welcome the Little Children

by Lynda McDaniel

  To make things look more suspicious, she went back to where she’d stashed the old suitcase and messed with the slope—breaking some branches, rolling a log down the steep bank, and tossing a few pieces of clothing from the suitcase. She had enough daylight left to make her way along the creek bank to the Blue Ridge Parkway, where she caught a ride with a couple heading to Lynchburg, Virginia. From there, she took the early-morning train to D.C. “After that, things just fell into place. My cousin helped me at first, and then …”

  I interrupted her reminiscing. “I’m glad you mentioned buying new things. I have a plan that lets you buy all kinds of stuff.”

  When I finished explaining, she just nodded. “I need time to think this over.”

  “You still don’t get it, do you? There’s nothing to think over. This is happening—or else.” I reminded her of the photos.

  “Okay, I should have said I need to make this work without Clifford knowing. Give me a month.”

  I glanced over at the crystal scotch bottle—almost empty, and I doubted she’d remember what she’d promised. But I wouldn’t forget. “Okay, one month,” I said. “Besides, I’ll be busy with a wedding. You know, when people actually love one another.”

  43

  Abit

  I’d carried the dread around with me for more than a week. I’d been so happy that Fiona and I were back together, I hadn’t mentioned anything troubling—like about having kids. But I couldn’t get married with something like that hanging over us. I finally got up the nerve.

  “Do you still want to have children, Fiona?” My heart was thundering.

  “Of course I do, Rabbit.”

  I felt like she’d punch me in the gut. “Why’d you come back, then? You know how I feel.”

  “Yeah, I do.” She paused, like she was thinking of the right thing to say. “I decided I’d rather have a life with you without kids that a life without you.”

  I didn’t know what to say. How do you thank someone for giving up a dream?

  After that, we started planning the wedding and figuring out who to invite. I was surprised how long that list grew; I never imagined I’d have that many people who might come. Or for that matter, that anyone would want to stand next to me in a wedding—let alone someone like Fiona.

  Mama acted all prudish at first. I knew she was thinking about time or something along those lines. She’d told me she knew we’d been sleeping together, in a way that made it sound all ugly-like. But oncet she got over that kind of foolishness, she dove into planning the food and all.

  Fiona was a ferocious list maker; she took a full inventory of our furnishings and other stuff. Then she told me which things of mine she just couldn’t bear to live with. Fine by me. They didn’t mean a thing to me. Just something to sit on or sleep on. She also made what she called a “short list” of things she’d like me to make in the woodshop, including a hoosier with carvings along the top. I musta sighed, because she added that I didn’t have to make them before we moved in. I chose to think she was kidding.

  When it came to things she had that I couldn’t live with, I thought about the table I’d made for her that Dr. Gerald Navarro ordered. I didn’t want to get rid of it, but it sure had bad memories. Then I remembered the initials I’d carved underneath, and I felt that was a kind of blessing, making that table ours all along.

  I had one other thing I needed to mention: garden gnomes. We hadn’t even moved in yet, but she’d already bought a dozen or more of them things to put all round the garden. I guessed it was an Irish thing. Trouble was, I didn’t trust myself not to run over them with the lawnmower oncet we moved in. Later on, though, I looked at it another way: If gnomes were the biggest sore spot for me, things were going good.

  Eventually, we got rid of a lot of stuff, but it still took a bunch of trips in Shiloh’s truck to get our belongings out to the new place. One evening, we went out after Fiona got off work. As I drove, we both commented on how pretty the sky looked—big pink clouds catching the sun’s long rays. But then, in the blink of an eye, like someone flipped a light switch, they turned gray; it was coming up dark fast.

  As we crested a small hill along the road to our house, I could just make out some people digging in the yard. “Hey, what’s goin’ on here?” I asked when I got outta the truck. Millie almost never made a peep, but she barked at them.

  Addie Compton stood off to the side while what looked like a coupla grandsons were digging deep holes in the yard. They’d taken a lot more than dahlias—including a big lilac bush and at least a dozen rose bushes. The yard wasn’t safe to walk in with all them holes.

  “You said we could take some,” she fired back.

  “Yeah, some dahlias. Not all this.” A noise at the side of the house made me look over thataway, where yet another grandson was loading his truck with the firewood she’d promised us. Cold mornings weren’t that far off, and I’d looked forward to having a ready supply. “And just where are you goin’ with that wood?” I asked.

  “Home,” he said, as if that cleared everything up.

  “Well, I think you need to run along. Take your flowers but leave the wood.” I looked to Addie and said, “You promised that. Said it was a housewarming present because we’d been so nice to work with.”

  There was a tense standoff, but finally she nodded, and the grandson threw a few pieces of wood back on the pile. They loaded Granny in the backseat, strapped down the trunk lid to hold in all the plants, and roared down the driveway. Halfway down, Granny stuck her head and arm outta the back window, clutching a piece of firewood. “I hope you’uns burn up with that wood!”

  I had to console Fiona. She was awfully superstitious, what with all them Irish curses running round in her head. I assured her we’d be happy there. But we rode home quiet-like. I had to admit Mrs. Compton’s curse sent a chill down my back, too.

  When we got back to my place, that seemed like the least of our worries.

  44

  Della

  I had just hung up the phone after a busy day of calls and interviews when I heard Alex step into my office. I was about to ask him how his day had gone when I noticed how pale he looked. “Della, the doctor says I need another treatment.” Not what for or why. Treatment said it all. “I’m so sorry this comes right at the wedding.”

  I hugged him and whispered, “Not right at. You’ve got a couple of weeks yet, and as strong as you are, you’ll be fine.”

  Only he wasn’t. He had a bad reaction to the radiation and needed to stay in D.C.

  I couldn’t sleep, trying to figure out the right thing to do about the wedding. He’s still my husband, in my eyes, and the only man I’ve ever loved. No divorce decree could sever that tie. But I couldn’t pretend that wedding didn’t mean the world to me. Abit is our boy. I tossed and turned until I finally convinced myself to let it go. I’d know in the morning what to do.

  I could tell Abit was disappointed we couldn’t come to the wedding, but he asked all the right things about Alex and acted as though he understood, which on one level I knew he did. Then I called Mildred and Cleva, who agreed to fill in for me. We’d already planned the menu, and I told them I’d pay for anything they couldn’t make in time.

  Earlier, we’d arranged to hold the wedding in the meadow behind the store. At first, getting married in a meadow—rather than a church—conjured Fiona’s Irish Catholic guilt, but Abit won out. He wasn’t so lucky with Mildred when he told her the Episcopal priest, Father Max, would conduct the service. Apparently she had a most unchristian-like fit and demanded her fire-and-brimstone preacher, Corky Cochran, officiate. No doubt the guy meant bad memories for Abit, but Mildred prevailed. Things evened up when she lost her argument against dancing. No way would Abit stand still for that.

  Over the next week, we burned up the phone lines with details like how to get the string lights in the trees out back and when to hire Duane to mow the meadow and put down some pallets and plywood to make a dance floor. After a dozen phone call
s, I felt satisfied the wedding could go on without me.

  Once I’d made my decision, I poured myself into my work. At that point, I didn’t care much about who won in District 18 in Virginia or District 12 in Maryland, but it took my mind off things. And I fielded a slew of phone calls from Wedding Central. Abit: Was he supposed to get a gift for Fiona? Cleva: How many bratwursts did she need to order? Mary Lou: Would Abit mind if she brought a guest?

  Even though I’d made my peace with what had to be, my sorrow ran deep, showing up in troubled dreams. All kinds of weird scenes and consequences that kept me awake in the darkest part of the night.

  A few days later, I was drinking coffee in a losing battle with boredom as I transcribed an interview with a senator who was behind in the polls. When I put the mug down on my desk, I noticed Alex standing in the doorway. He was dressed and freshly shaved. A good sign from someone who hated his razor. “Babe, if you’ll drive, I’m up for riding along.”

  A rush of feelings swept over me. Mostly relief that Alex felt better (at least I hoped he did and wasn’t faking it for me). And relief that, well, that was obvious.

  The next day, I finished loading Alex’s Mercedes around Jake, who’d already been in there for a good hour while we packed. We headed south, and when we crossed the Virginia/North Carolina line, Alex let out an uncharacteristic whoop. It sounded so good, I joined him.

  45

  Abit

  Della beep-beep-beeped her horn and jumped out as soon as them Merc tires stopped turning. Millie and I flew down the steps to the store. We musta been a sight, all hugging and laughing and carrying on.

  We had three days before our wedding day, and they were full up with chores. Alex brought some of his baking pans and set up in Della’s kitchen. I couldn’t imagine what all still needed doing; Mama had already filled her freezer and fridge with food she could make ahead. But she’d invited Alex over to the house for a meeting, and they musta put their heads together about who was baking what.

  The next day, I went to the store to talk with Della about a few things before I headed upstairs to check on Alex. I felt a jolt of fear when I saw how pasty his complexion had turned. Then I had to laugh; it was just flour on his face. I brushed it off with a towel and started in on what I wanted to tell him.

  Once again, I needed to explain why Nigel was my best man. I didn’t know why this kinda thing got my gut in such a knot, but I wanted Alex to know that he’d always been—and would likely always be—my best man, so to speak. “Della told me about you slipping and calling me your boy, and I want you to know you can call me that anytime you want.”

  We both hemmed and hawed a while, clearing our throats and all. Finally, he changed the subject. “Abit, I know you don’t go in for all the wedding shenanigans like bachelor parties and such, but I’d like to take you to lunch today as a sort of pre-wedding special occasion.”

  “I was just wondering what I’d have for my dinner.”

  We headed up the Blue Ridge Parkway to the Inn at Jonas Mountain, like we’d done all those year ago. I recalled that being one of the best times in my life.

  I drove this time. I was sorry Alex didn’t feel up to it, but I loved driving his new Merc. Well, new compared to mine. It was a little quieter (though that diesel engine still rattled), and the leather seats didn’t look like old catcher’s mitts. As we headed up the Parkway, we talked about this and that for a while. During a quiet spell, I started thinking how marriage was a marker of sorts. Life before and life after. Della and Alex were an important part of my life before. And I knew they’d always be in my life, at least I hoped so, but it would be different from then on. Even so, part of me wished Alex could just keep on buying me new clothes and taking me to Mystery Mountain, like he did when I was a kid.

  At the restaurant, we lucked out and got a table next to one of the big plate glass windows. Alex sighed real big as he looked out at a view that drew thoughts away from anything else. When we got round to studying the menu, Alex couldn’t believe I remembered what we’d ordered that first time we came there. “You got steak, and I got a burger,” I said. “I think we should do the same.”

  He laughed. “Now that you mention it, I do remember that evening, and I believe you only ordered that burger because it was the cheapest thing on the menu. And you kept staring at my steak.” Oh, man, he had me there; I could feel the red crawling up my neck. “So let’s both get a steak and a beer. You couldn’t do that last time. Besides, this isn’t just about the past—it’s also about our future together.”

  That got me kinda choked up, and while I was kinda blinking, Alex said, “Hey, that’s okay. I cried before my wedding, too. And I cried after my divorce. So mind your ways so you don’t ever have to do that.”

  Alex was good like that, making you feel comfortable with yourself. We went on to have a fine meal together. It even felt okay to ask about his health.

  “Oh, I had a few follow-up treatments, which I hope worked.” I knew I had a worried look on my face. “You know, Abit, I’m at an age when I can accept I won’t live forever. I’ve spent my life trying to be in control, even thinking I was in control. And it’s an illusion. I’ve made my peace with that, for the most part. And besides, I’m going to be fine.”

  I reached down and brought out something I’d snuck into the restaurant. I handed him a box, which I’d wrapped in some comics from the newspaper. “I’d planned to wrap it nicer, but our lunch together came up too fast,” I said. “It’s just something for when you come to Laurel Falls. I figured you don’t wear these much in D.C., but maybe you could use anothern for when you come to Laurel Falls. Remember how you bought me all those clothes that weren’t denim and flannel? It seemed fitting to turn the tables. And to be honest, in the hopes you can spend more time down here.”

  He looked at the box like it was filled with gold, and I swear he was about to clutch it to his chest. Then he opened it and pulled out the flannel shirt. After a moment he said, “Thanks Abit. I love it. It’s just that I’m supposed to be buying the groom presents.”

  “Yeah, but you always have. Besides, it’s only a shirt, and you’ve bought me whole wardrobes. I just wanted to say thanks for all that.”

  Then he did something so unlike himself. He put his new shirt on over his other shirt, right there in the restaurant. He buttoned it up and with his hands tried to iron down the creases that went up and down it from being folded in the package. Finally, he patted his chest, like he was giving full approval of my choice. We laughed when people started looking funny at us, and we carried those good feelings all the way back down the mountain.

  46

  Abit

  I still had loads of things to get straight before the wedding. Nigel was coming in on the train in the middle of the night, and I’d offered to pick him up. My other guests, besides Mama and Daddy, were just Della, Alex, Cleva, Duane, and Mary Lou, and they all knew what to do.

  It was Fiona’s family I was fretting over. Her Auntie Chloe had already come down from Galax, and she wasn’t any trouble. But Fiona’s father, Quinn O’Donnell, and her sister, Elodie, had flown in from Ireland by way of New York and Asheville. Fiona had driven down there to fetch them. They’d all be staying in her apartment, thank heavens. I wanted to be a good host, but I wasn’t clear on how to treat them yet. Or how they’d take to me. I reckoned that was what was really bothering me.

  When they drove up, at first I thought Fiona had let her father drive because I saw Fiona get out of the passenger side. That seemed strange. Then I took a closer look. Sure enough, it was the same red hair and freckles, but this person was about six years younger. Had to be Elodie. Next I noticed a white-headed feller struggling out of the backseat, where he’d been lying down. When he got straightened up, I sensed Mr. O’Donnell had lived a life on the rough side, though not one with a shortage of food. Fiona and I both coulda fit in a pair of his pants. But he had a jolly way about him and gave me a bear hug right off the bat.

  The
re was one more guest on my list, at least Mama thought so. Little Andy. (I was still having trouble calling him Andrew.) When we first started planning the wedding, Mama told me she not only wanted me to invite him but she wanted him in the wedding.

  “What?” I asked, “and stand in as my best boy?” She told me there was no call for that kinda lip. “Well, he’s not my little brother,” I said and headed out to my woodshop to get away from her and her crazy notions.

  Come to find out, she’d invited him anyway. “Well, that’s fine Mama,” I told her one evening when all the wedding commotion was bearing down on me. “He can come and eat cake—in fact, I’d like to push his little weaselly face right into the wedding cake—but he’s not going to be in the wedding.”

  That set her off crying. I went out to my woodshop again, that time to finish packing up my tools and all, getting ready for the move to my own place. I fumed about why I wasn’t enough, not even on my wedding day. She just had to have Andrew there. I went on like that for a while, throwing sandpaper and small stuff into boxes, when, as if the hand of Jesus reached down and rested on my shoulder, I felt done with that. I’d held that grudge long enough. I recalled how I used to mentor that kid; I even liked him. It wasn’t his fault Mama seemed to latch on to him in ways she never could with me. And I liked his spunk in changing his name and all. So Andrew was coming on Friday before the wedding and staying all weekend in my old room. And he didn’t need to worry about eating his wedding cake any way but with a fork.