Abruptly, Joe grinned and raised his hands in defeat. “Your hair looks good,” he said. “I like it short. I admit it.”
“Thanks.”
“But you could have told me in advance that you wanted to do it, right?”
“Right.”
He leaned back, watching her closely. “So what’s the big fuss, right?”
“Right.” Caroline returned the smile, much relieved. But as she carried the furniture polish and the dust cloth to the back-hall cupboard, she knew that neither she nor Joe would forget this conversation. It had burst upon them like a small tornado and had left them both surprised and upset.
In her bedroom, Caroline studied herself in the mirror. It had taken four days to get enough nerve to call the beauty salon, and six more days to get an appointment. In that time she’d changed her mind about the haircut a half-dozen times. During three calls to her mother and Linda she had clamped her lips on the subject, because if she did this she wanted it to be her own decision.
As soon as the appointment was set, she’d written to Eleanor and given the letter to Lillina to send with her own. The reply had come immediately, this time enclosed with a letter to Lillina from her mother. Caroline kept the pale gray sheet open on her dresser where she could look at it often. I hope you’ll like your haircut as much as I like mine. I wish I could see the miniatures you make. My sister says you are very talented.
The telephone rang and Joe answered, sounding subdued. It wasn’t her mother calling; his tone was usually lighter when a call came from Boston. Caroline picked up the tiny rocker she’d assembled the night before and tested each part to make sure the glue was holding. She would paint it a soft blue-gray, she decided.
“Carrie! Telephone.”
She put the rocker on the card table and hurried down the hall. “It’s Mrs. Reston,” Joe said, cocking an eyebrow at her. “She wants to know if you’d like to go to church with them tomorrow.”
“To church?” Caroline picked up the phone and listened while the invitation was repeated. “Unless you’re going to your own church, of course,” Mrs. Reston said. “I wouldn’t want to interfere.”
“No,” Caroline said. “That’s okay.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to church. Her parents never wanted to leave Linda alone on Sunday mornings, and Caroline didn’t like to go by herself.
“That’s fine then, dear,” Mrs. Reston said. “Lillian will be very pleased, I’m sure. I’d call her to the phone, but she’s in her room working and I don’t like to interrupt.”
She must be going over the novel one more time, Caroline thought. Joe would have to stop talking about “your weird friend” when Lillina MacGregor’s name was on the bestseller list and she was interviewed on the Today show in New York.
She would be glad to see Lillina again and show off her haircut. Since the celebration at the Talbott Inn, they’d had only one afternoon together. Lying on a blanket in Caroline’s hideaway behind the toolshed, Lillina had alternated between bursts of excitement and long periods of quiet. She’d talked about her novel, about the new photographs she was taking, and about the modeling career that awaited her in New York. She’d described the way she was going to decorate her new house, and Caroline was pleased that one of the bedrooms was going to look very much like Linda’s. But then, without warning, the sparkle had faded from the slanted brown eyes and the thin face had become strained and remote. She’s probably working so hard, she’s all tired out. Caroline could picture her friend sitting up most of the night, reading her manuscript and making last-minute changes.
“I didn’t know your redheaded buddy was a big churchgoer,” Joe said that evening over Caroline’s latest experiment, pork chops topped with packaged dressing and celery soup. His expression was solemn, his voice teasing.
“I don’t know if she is or not,” Caroline retorted. “We never talked about it. But I’m glad they asked me to go along.” She missed church. And she had a lot of people to pray for. There was Linda, first of all, and her mother and Joe. There was Mr. Jameson, who was becoming more shaky and more unhappy each day. And she wanted to say thank you for good friends like Lillina. She could pray at home, of course, but she looked forward to the service, with lots of people around her, all of them thinking of those who mattered to them most.
The next morning she waited on the front steps until the Restons’ dark green Olds came around the curve and made a U-turn in front of the house. To Caroline’s surprise, Mr. Reston was alone in the front seat and Lillina in back.
“My wife sends her regrets,” Mr. Reston said as Caroline climbed in beside Lillina. “She woke up feeling ill this morning and decided to rest.”
Lillina looked as if she should have stayed in bed, too. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she was very pale. She smiled wanly and said, “I love your hair, dear.” For the rest of the trip she stared out the window, leaving Caroline to discuss the weather with Mr. Reston.
The church was a small white building with a steeple, on the outskirts of town. In winter, with a carpet of snow around it, it would look like a Christmas card, but now the country road was lined with cars, and clusters of people stood on the lawn, chatting and enjoying the sun. A bulletin board announced a special guest speaker for the morning service: Dwight Lloyd Boynton. Caroline said the name over to herself, liking the sound of it.
Inside, folding chairs had been set up along the center aisle and in the space behind the pews. Mr. Reston gestured toward a pew near the back, but Lillina didn’t seem to notice. She glided toward the front in her white blouse and white linen skirt, and Caroline and Mr. Reston trotted obediently behind her.
As soon as they were seated, Caroline took a pencil from a little rack fastened to the back of the pew ahead and wrote Lillina a note on an envelope meant for an offering. “Don’t you like my hair?” She underlined “like” three times.
Lillina took the pencil and scribbled a reply. “I think it’s marvelous.” She underlined “marvelous” four times, then added, “Had a headache this morning. Better now. Tiny misunderstanding with Aunt Louise. Something unusual is going to happen today—can you feel it?” She underlined “unusual” five times.
“I just feel hot,” Caroline wrote back. But she was much relieved. She had felt kind of, well, pretty, this morning, and Lillina’s indifference had been a dash of cold water to her spirits.
The church was not at all like the big stone building where Caroline had been baptized and where she’d gone to Sunday school until she was nine. There were no candles, no stained glass, no carpeting on the floor. Sun blazed through the clear windows and a ceiling fan whirled noisily overhead. An upright piano stood against one wall, and two straight-backed chairs waited behind the simple altar. But in spite of the plainness, or perhaps because of it, Caroline felt comfortable here. She was very glad she’d accepted the Restons’ invitation.
The little auditorium filled quickly. Soon a heavy blond woman entered through a side door and sat down at the piano. She stretched her fingers over the keys and began to play. Caroline recognized the melody—an old hymn she’d always enjoyed—but she’d never heard it played this way before. The pudgy hands raced up and down the keyboard, letting the tune find its way through a cascade of tinkling notes. When the hymn ended, another one, just as familiar, began. Caroline was so entranced that she didn’t notice when the minister and the guest speaker came in and sat down in the chairs behind the altar.
Lillina’s sharp elbow dug into her ribs. “He’s handsome!” she whispered. “Look!”
She was staring at the guest speaker, not at the minister, whose thin red face was beaded with sweat above his heavy robe. Dwight Lloyd Boynton didn’t look hot at all. He wore a white suit and a deep blue tie. His blond hair fell in waves nearly to his shoulders, and he had pale blue eyes framed by thick lashes. He looked about eighteen.
“He’s like an angel,” Lillina whispered.
Caroline agreed, though she thought it was a little disloya
l of Lillina even to notice another man’s appearance when she had a wonderful husband of her own.
The minister led an opening prayer and then read a long passage from the Bible. Caroline prayed hard for the people on her mental list. The pianist began another hymn, played in the same rippling style, and the congregation sang vigorously. Then the guest speaker moved to the pulpit.
“Good morning, sinners.” Dwight Lloyd Boynton had a kindly, almost teasing smile that took most of the sting from his greeting. “I’ve come with good news for every one of you.”
Caroline listened intently. She didn’t like being called a sinner, but as he talked she began to feel that he was speaking directly to her. Everybody made mistakes, he said. Everyone got mixed up about what God wanted him or her to do. The good news was that it was never too late to change. You could envy your beautiful sister, and God would help you to stop. You could be angry with your parents, and if you really wanted God’s help, you had it. You could feel invisible, and God would help you become a real person. Dwight Lloyd Boynton didn’t give those particular examples, but Caroline knew what kinds of sins he was talking about.
“Be joyous!” he commanded. Caroline felt her heart lift. She could change; she had already changed a lot. It had been weeks since she’d had to look into a mirror to make sure she was really there.
But when the speaker invited the congregation to come to the altar to receive his special blessing, Caroline shrank back in the pew. She was joyous, but it was a private feeling; she didn’t want to get up in front of all those people. If Eleanor were here, she probably wouldn’t do it either. They were people who kept their big, important feelings to themselves. God would have to understand that, the way He understood everything else.
There was a stirring at her side, and Lillina stood up. She looked as if she were in a trance.
“I’m going,” she whispered. She brushed past Caroline and stepped into the aisle.
Caroline glanced at Mr. Reston. There was a smile on his round face, and he was watching Lillina proudly. Maybe that was why they were in church this morning, Caroline thought suddenly. Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Reston worried about Lillina because she was so different from the people who lived in Grand River, and they hoped that going to church with them would make her more like other girls they knew.
If that was it, Caroline decided, they were going to be disappointed. Lillina glowed like a slim white candle among the people clustered at the altar. She was taller than the women and most of the men, and she stood with her head thrown back dramatically, so the gleaming red hair fell nearly to her waist. Dwight Lloyd Boynton went from one person to another, putting his hand on each head and murmuring a blessing, but he kept glancing, uneasily, at Lillina. Finally she was the only person left at the altar; the others had received their blessing and returned to their pews. He put out a cautious hand toward Lillina, as if he wondered what might happen next. Caroline held her breath.
When his hand touched her head, Lillina dropped gracefully to her knees, startling him and everyone in the congregation. She knelt there like a statue, until Dwight Lloyd Boynton grasped her folded hands and lifted her to her feet. “Go with the Lord’s blessing,” he said, and cleared his throat. Someone giggled. People moved restlessly in their seats.
White skirt flaring around her, Lillina turned to the congregation and smiled radiantly. Caroline’s face burned. She tried to hang on to her happy feelings (Be joyous!), but a wave of irritation threatened to spoil everything. Why did Lillina have to put on her Miss America act here? Why make a dramatic scene in church?
The minister stood up to pray once more, and there was a final hymn while the offering plate was passed. Then the congregation filed from the church. A fresh breeze lifted Caroline’s new bangs as she stepped outside, but she was too annoyed to enjoy it. She stood stonily at Lillina’s side, while Mr. Reston greeted friends and stopped to chat with the minister.
“How could you do that?” she demanded finally. “It was so corny, Lillina!”
Lillina looked at her in astonishment. “Do what? I’ve been blessed, Caroline. I’ve been forgiven for my sins.”
“Well, you didn’t have to put on a show,” Caroline snapped. “You wanted to impress Dwight Lloyd Boynton, that’s all. You shouldn’t act in church.”
Lillina looked genuinely hurt. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “I just did what felt right. I mean, I’ve made mistakes like everyone else, and I wanted to be forgiven, and now I am.”
Caroline took a deep breath. “You weren’t just acting? You really weren’t?”
“Of course not.” Lillina put a hand over her heart and looked ready to get down on her knees again. “It was a marvelous feeling, Caroline. I feel so much better now. You should have gone to the altar, too.” She paused, and took Caroline’s silence as an apology. “I forgive you, dear,” she said gently. “You just didn’t understand.”
It was true. Caroline realized she didn’t understand Lillina any better than the Restons did. She was—different. But it was impossible to stay angry with her for very long. When Mr. Reston bustled up and said wasn’t it a fine service, Caroline said yes, it was. She was glad he would have a good report to take home to Mrs. Reston. And she would be joyous herself, a better person, too, with God’s help. Dwight Lloyd Boynton had given her a lot to think about.
“I would have gone to the altar even if he wasn’t handsome,” Lillina whispered on the way home. “Actually, I much prefer distinguished-looking older men, like Frederick.”
Caroline was glad to hear it. It was several days later before she began to guess what, exactly, the mistakes were for which Lillina wanted forgiveness.
Chapter 13
“Want to take in a movie tonight, Carrie? You ought to show off the new haircut.” They were in the kitchen having breakfast.
Ever since their talk Saturday morning, Joe had been treating Caroline as if she were a Delicate Person. Almost the way he treated Linda! He smiled each time their eyes met, and he made conversation at breakfast and dinner, even when he was tired and she knew he would rather be quiet.
“Sure,” she said, enjoying the pampering. “We can eat early.”
“Want me to do hamburgers on the grill?”
Caroline blinked. Joe always said a charcoal fire was more trouble than it was worth. “That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll fry them on the stove—and I’ll fix some baked beans.”
Joe took a last sip from his coffee mug and pushed back his chair. “You’ll be over at Jameson’s today, huh?”
She nodded. Not only was she going to help Mr. Jameson; she intended to make him smile again. She was sure she could do more to make his life pleasant, and she had promised God and Dwight Lloyd Boynton that she was going to do it.
When she opened Mr. Jameson’s front door later that morning, the house was so quiet that she entered on tiptoe. Usually the television set was on, but today the only sound was the tick-tick of the clock next to the front door.
“Mr. Jameson?” Her voice sounded very loud.
“In here.”
She ran down the hall to the bedroom. Mr. Jameson lay face down on the floor between the bed and the dresser. When she knelt beside him, he struck the floor with a bony fist. “Get me up!” he commanded. “Make yourself useful, girl.”
Caroline took a shaky breath and considered what seemed like an impossible order. Mr. Jameson was thin, but he was tall and big-boned. She planted a foot on either side of his chest and grasped his shoulders. Without much hope, she tried to lift him.
“Not like that,” the old man snarled. “You ain’t goin’ to be able to do it by yourself. Tell me when you’re ready to lift, and I’ll help.”
She got in position for another try. Mr. Jameson rocked back and forth until his arms were under him.
“Now!” She gave a mighty tug. Mr. Jameson managed a one-sided pushup that lifted him off the floor and tipped him over on his side.
“It’s no use,” Caroline gasped.
“I’ll go out and find somebody to help us. Maybe Mrs. Kramer—”
“NO!” His face turned a deep red, and he thumped the floor again. “I don’t want any busybodies in here mindin’ my business. Why are you such a quitter?”
“I wasn’t quitting!” Caroline exclaimed, beginning to get angry in spite of her concern. “I just don’t see how—”
“I don’t want anybody else,” Mr. Jameson insisted. He rested one arm on the edge of the bed. “Now, when I say so, you push from behind. It’ll work if you just make up your mind to do it.”
Caroline bit her lip. She got behind Mr. Jameson, and when he said “Now!” she pushed up and forward with all her might. He rocked onto his knees and leaned on the bed as if he were saying his prayers.
“Again!” he roared. This time he staggered to his feet and bent over the bed, breathing heavily. Caroline ran into the living room to get the walker. When she returned, he was sitting on the bed.
“What’s that for?” he demanded. “Take it away.”
“But that’s why you fell down,” Caroline protested. “You need the walker. Doesn’t the visiting nurse tell you to use it?”
Mr. Jameson snorted. “I use it when she’s here—darn fool makes such a fuss, I have to. But I don’t have to now!”
“You should.” Caroline forced herself to meet the old man’s glare. He looked ready to explode.
“You go home,” he growled. “I don’t want any more help today. You done enough.”
Caroline stared at him. “But your lunch,” she protested. “And you said we were going to write to Jean again.…”
“Go on home, I tell you. Don’t want any lunch. Don’t feel like writin’ a letter either.”
It was no use. The fall had ended any chance of cheering him up today. He hated being helpless, and Caroline thought he probably hated her, too, for having seen him that way.
What could she do to help? First she would have to tell Joe what had happened. Maybe she could even write to Mr. Jameson’s niece and tell her that her uncle wouldn’t use his walker and was in constant danger of falling.
The Summer of Mrs. MacGregor Page 8
