The Splendor of Ordinary Days

by Jeff High

  Estelle was not amused. “Talk all you want, big sister. Tyrell played last year, so this year, I’m playing too.”

  Connie closed her eyes, shaking her head. The two were such an odd and entertaining pair. It was as though matter and antimatter had been born into the same family. Still, there was a secret warmth between them.

  I washed up at the kitchen sink, and we sat down to dinner. Connie, who was the arbiter of all religious matters, said a lengthy prayer that included references to the Ecclesiastes passage regarding a time for everything. I half expected her to say something about there being a time to play volleyball and a time to refrain from playing volleyball. But thankfully, she fell short of that. Amen was said, and I grabbed my fork.

  “So,” Connie began, “how are things at the clinic these days?”

  “Mostly routine,” I responded.

  “By the way, I heard Gene Alley on the radio today, talking like a magpie. Looks like he decided he had tortured Peggy long enough.”

  “Really? So you think all that talking in song titles was some prank of his?”

  Connie shrugged. “With Gene it’s hard to say. That war wound to his head knocked out the last marbles he had.”

  “Speaking of which,” I interjected, “John Harris came by today with a bunch of sketches for the design of the new memorial. He asked the art teacher at the high school to make it an assignment for her summer art class. One of them is really good. We’ll probably use it.”

  “What will it look like?” Connie asked.

  “It’s a statue of a young man returning home from war. He has an elated expression on his face and is holding a large military duffel bag. Since the memorial covers numerous wars and conflicts, he’s dressed in civilian clothes because no one uniform would be accurate. The statue will be on a large square base where the names of those killed in action will be engraved.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” said Connie.

  “Yeah, John is getting some estimates out of Nashville on the cost of doing the statue in bronze. Then the real fun begins.”

  “How so?” inquired Estelle.

  “Raising the money. I kind of dread that part.”

  Estelle flipped her hand at me. “Oh, honey, you’ll do fine at that. Just go chat ’em up a little. Take a few cupcakes along. That’ll help loosen up their checkbooks.”

  I didn’t share Estelle’s confidence. “Luther Whitmore’s on my list. I don’t think a cupcake will do much to persuade him.”

  “I think you’re going to have to try and overlook Luther’s shortcomings,” Connie said in earnest.

  “I don’t think they make a ladder tall enough.”

  Connie ignored my slight. “We’re all God’s children, Doctor, including Luther.”

  “Yeah, well. Luther must be thinking God grades on a curve.”

  Connie tilted her head and gazed at me above her ­gold-­inlay glasses. It was a familiar look of reproach.

  “Okay, Constance Grace, what am I missing here?” I asked.

  She took a drink of her tea before speaking. “People don’t know it, but Luther is probably Watervalley’s most decorated veteran. He served three tours in Vietnam and was wounded multiple times. Apparently, Luther did some pretty courageous things. Claire never told me what. Luther didn’t want it known.”

  “But why?”

  “No idea.” Connie paused briefly. “There’s something else. Claire told me that one of Luther’s injuries . . . Well, how do I say it? One of his injuries left him unable to have children. Claire knew it and didn’t care. She just wanted to be married and happy. Unfortunately, she had to choose between one or the other.”

  I nodded, absorbing all that Connie had said. “I wonder why he hates the Mennonites so much.”

  “No idea on that one either. Like we’ve talked about, Luther and his family used to live out there near the Mennonite community. I got the impression from Claire that Luther played with them when he was a kid. He practically grew up with them.”

  I listened intently. There seemed little more to understand on the matter, and the conversation moved to other topics. Connie and Estelle left around eight, and I talked to Christine briefly on the phone. Around ten that night, I took Rhett out back for a final chance to do his business before bedtime.

  As was my habit, I stared up at the stars and thought about the day, unable to get Luther out of my head. He seemed to have an insatiable appetite for ­self-­destruction, and I wondered if this fatal ­mind-­set had contributed to his valor in Vietnam. It seemed that somewhere along the way, something had happened to Luther to convince him that being alive was a punishment.

  Satisfying my curiosity would have to wait.

  CHAPTER 19

  Every Dog Has His Day

  Friday I was up at sunrise and went for a run, putting Rhett on his leash to make him trot along.

  “Come on, fellow. We need to get you trimmed up for your big introduction to the new neighbor. Girls want a guy to be a little buff. You can’t get by on your charm alone.”

  I was confident he understood every word of my advice by the way he eagerly wagged his tail. But as soon as we passed the Fox house and headed down Fleming Street, he was straining at the leash to go back. I mildly admonished him about getting in shape, injecting as much guilt into the conversation as possible. He responded by turning his back toward me and sitting down. A few tugs on the leash brought him around to my way of thinking.

  Reluctantly, he consented, and we began the mile run out to Watervalley Lake. We soon passed the last of the ­tree-­shaded streets and moved into the open countryside. A warm, drowsy breeze ruffled the blades of corn in the adjacent fields, and the morning air was filled with the fragrant aroma of late honeysuckle.

  Given the discord that had overshadowed the town the past couple of weeks, it was good to be reminded of the pervading tranquillity and lulling tempo of rural life. A light dew covered the nearby field grass, birds chirped in the tall trees, and a soft, misty fog hung motionless over distant pastures. It seemed that by small degrees I was beginning to understand Christine’s love of this wide valley.

  Normally, Rhett and I would have the lake to ourselves at such an early hour, but this morning as we neared the bandstand, I saw Karen Davidson standing in the grass by the water’s edge, dressed in running gear.

  I called out as we approached. “Hey, Karen. Good morning.”

  She waved and headed in our direction. “Hi, Luke. Good to see you again. Who is this fellow?”

  I had been practically dragging Rhett the last hundred yards and saw no danger in letting go of his leash, thinking he would immediately faint into a big ball of panting fur. Instead, he shot up from his near collapse and bolted toward Karen, leaping into the air and knocking her to the grass, treating her like a giant lollipop.

  Karen exploded with laughter and was immediately on her knees, affectionately rubbing behind his ears. She had to hold him at bay to prevent him from crawling all over her.

  “Rhett! Rhett! Back off now! Karen, I am so sorry!”

  Still bursting with laughter, she held up her hand. “It’s okay, Luke. He’s fine. He’s fine.”

  “I don’t know what got into him. Again, I am so sorry.”

  Karen continued to briskly rub Rhett’s head and talk to him entreatingly, regarding him with a face of irreproachable devotion, as if he glowed. Eventually she stood and held her hand flat toward him, speaking in a low, instructive voice. “Stay. Now stay.”

  Rhett immediately assumed an obedient seated position and stared at her with spellbound attention, rocking lightly in rhythm with his incessant panting.

  “Okay,” I said, “that was just amazing. I’d have to promise him a T-bone to do that for me.”

  Karen was practically jubilant, and her mood was contagious. She shrugged and spoke modestly. “I can’t explain
it really. It’s always been that way with dogs and me. They just go nuts when they see me. It’s, I don’t know, a weird kind of gift.”

  “So you are used to this kind of reaction?”

  “Yeah, with cats too sometimes.”

  “Well, for your sake, I hope the gift doesn’t extend to cows and horses.”

  She half grinned, giving me a ­wide-­eyed expression. “Fortunately, they’re not quite so exuberant. But they do respond to me pretty uniquely.”

  “How so?”

  “Hard to say, honestly. Animals are just really calm around me. Somehow I can tell what they’re thinking. And sometimes I sense that they can read my mind too.”

  I stood dumbfounded, thoroughly intrigued. “That’s just fascinating. Half the time I can’t read my own mind.”

  She laughed and added rather shyly, “Yeah. It’s just not the kind of thing you can put on your business card.” She held up her hands with her thumbs extended, much like a movie director would do to frame a scene. “Karen Davidson, Psychic Vet.”

  “Right. I see. Not the kind of thing the boys at the Co-op are going to readily warm up to.”

  She scrunched her mouth into a tight grimace and nodded. I was beginning to understand her dilemma.

  “Well, you’ve certainly made a believer out of me,” I said.

  “Yeah, one person down. One whole town to go.”

  “So, is that why you didn’t want to give Luther an interview? Thought you might say something he’d take the wrong way?”

  Karen smirked. “I didn’t give Luther an interview because, quite frankly, he’s creepy. And yeah, I have a bad habit of saying things the wrong way.” She paused and looked down, her voice tinged with embarrassment. “But I guess you already figured that out after that fiasco in your office. I hope that didn’t cause a problem?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  She patted Rhett on the head and spoke with resolve. “But I’m good with animals, really good. If the farmers just give me a chance, I think I’ll be okay.”

  “So, the grand opening of the new and improved clinic is in a couple of Saturdays, right? July fifth?”

  “Yeah, the Sweetlife Bakery is going to cater a bunch of treats for both people and pets. Hopefully, we’ll get a good crowd.”

  “Ah, so you’ve met the two sisters?”

  “Sure have. They’re certainly a pair.”

  “Know them well,” I responded. “Anyway, I hope the grand opening is a big success.”

  “Thanks. Me too.”

  I detected genuine worry in her voice. She spoke again, noticeably changing the subject.

  “So, are you trying to get Rhett in leaner shape?” All during our conversation, Rhett had remained frozen like a statue from the Jedi mind trick Karen had performed on him.

  “Yeah, I told him if he didn’t slim down some, I’d have to cut off his cigarette money.”

  She rubbed his ears playfully, then stopped abruptly. She was looking closely at Rhett’s face. “Is there something going on with his right eye?”

  “I’m glad you asked,” I said. “I’ve noticed lately that it seems cloudy.”

  She bent down and held Rhett’s head, gently pulling back the skin around his eye. “Hmm,” she whispered softly. “I might need to take a look at this back at the clinic.”

  “What do you think it could be?”

  “Hard to know for sure without a scope. Might be as simple as cataracts or as serious as a tumor.”

  “Treatment?”

  “Depends. If it is tumor related, sometimes it’s just best to take the eye out, before it metastasizes.” She looked around toward Rhett’s male parts, noting that everything was present and accounted for. “Might not be a bad idea to get him neutered too.”

  I winced at this thought. Rhett made no reaction whatsoever, proving that Karen truly had him under a spell. His perfect understanding of English would normally have him snarling at such a suggestion.

  Karen read the look on my face. “It’s actually healthier for them,” she added.

  “Karen, I’m sure you’re right. But I don’t know. For some reason, whenever I picture Rhett, I see him with testicles. So we’ll leave the accessories alone for now.”

  “Sure. Just a thought.”

  It was time to head back. I reached over, grabbed his leash off the ground, and whispered to Rhett, “You owe me ­big-­time.”

  We walked together to the road.

  “Heading back toward town?” I inquired.

  “No, I’m going farther out. I like to get in eight or nine miles each morning. But I usually stop and look at the lake for a few minutes. There’s something about staring at water that’s kind of transcendent.”

  I nodded politely, all the while thinking to myself, Eight or nine miles, jeez Louise. It was yet another reason to be impressed with the otherwise plain and oddly gifted Karen Davidson. “Eight or nine miles, huh. That’s not bad. Normally, you know, I do a half marathon before breakfast, but hey.” I paused and made a ­long-­suffering gesture toward Rhett. “We’re a team, and you can only go as fast as the slowest member.”

  Karen laughed at my teasing bravado. “Thanks, Luke. It was good talking to you this morning. Bring Rhett by the clinic any­­time.”

  She trotted off toward the open countryside, and Rhett and I started toward town, although he kept looking back to catch a glimpse of her.

  I liked Karen. She was kind and unassuming. But I also feared that her shy manner might make it difficult for her to find a foothold in Watervalley, especially given that she was a female in a profession that for generations the local farmers had known as a male occupation. It wasn’t that the people here were ungenerous or mean. They were actually quite the opposite. But I also knew they had a tendency to give newcomers a respectful distance, and ­age-­old frames of reference were sometimes slow to change. It was not a ­mind-­set born out of chauvinism or bigotry, but rather one that was historically cautious toward the new and different. By word of mouth she had won some favorable acclaim for what she had done for Toy McAnders at the ballpark. I hoped that would be a springboard for a broader acceptance. But there were no guarantees.

  After arriving home, and I showered, dressed, and got ready for the day. I fed Rhett, took him outside for one last bathroom break, and brought him back in, closing the rear porch door behind me.

  Or so I thought.

  Shortly after eleven, I received a phone call from Louise Fox, my ­next-­door neighbor.

  “Dr. Bradford, can you by chance break away and come home for a few minutes? We have . . .” She paused for a second. “Well, we have something of a situation here.”

  “Louise, is everything okay? Is Will hurt?”

  “No, Will’s fine. He’s with some friends at the library.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “Well, it’s Rhett. He seems to have gotten out, and . . . I think I could explain it better if you were here. Can you come?”

  “Um, sure. I’ll be there in five minutes.” I had no idea what Louise could be referring to, but it didn’t matter. If Rhett had gotten out, I needed to go and put him back in the house. I told Nancy I would return shortly and drove quickly to Fleming Street, thinking I would find Louise’s garbage cans tumbled over and Rhett wallowing in scattered trash. When I arrived, she was waiting for me in my driveway.

  Louise normally had a sweet and pleasant face framed in a frail, accommodating smile. But this morning, her outlook was clearly laced with worry. I parked the car and approached her.

  “Hey, Louise. Is everything okay? Which direction did Rhett go?”

  “Everything’s fine. At least now it is. Rhett’s in my backyard, inside the fence.”

  “Oh, well, thanks for penning him up till I could get here. No telling where that rascal would have run off to. I must not have
properly closed the back door this morning.”

  “Well, um, actually, I didn’t put him in there.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No, he got in there himself. Apparently, he jumped the picket fence.”

  “He did? Seriously? That’s amazing. Rhett has trouble stepping over my shoes. Was Maggie back there?”

  “Yes, she was,” Louise said pointedly, her voice assuming a sterner tone.

  “Hmm, I guess he was looking for a little company.”

  “Well, I can tell you, he found something more than a little company.”

  “Louise, I don’t understand.”

  She exhaled and spoke with both apology and exasperation. “It’s like this. Before I left this morning, I put Maggie outside so she could get some exercise. I got here about fifteen minutes ago because I needed to run home from the bakery for something I forgot. When I passed through the kitchen, I saw the two of them in the backyard, all locked up, doing, you know, it.”

  I was dumbfounded. “It?”

  She looked down, apparently too embarrassed to make eye contact. “Yes, it!”

  “You mean, as in it, it?”

  After a quick glance, Louise again averted her eyes. “Yes, it, it.”

  I stood in openmouthed astonishment. “But how can that be? Will said that Maggie had been fixed.”

  “That’s what we were told, so I don’t understand it either.” Louise nodded. She was openly upset and struggling with a mixture of concern and aggravation.

  “Louise, I’­m—­I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I’m totally embarrassed by the whole affair.”

  Louise dropped her chin and glared at me.

  “Oh, sorry. Maybe ‘affair’ wasn’t the best choice of words.”

  She looked at me silently for another moment. Then her severe expression suddenly erupted into a muted laugh. She flipped her hand in an air of resignation. “Oh good heavens, Dr. Bradford, this isn’t your fault. If Maggie’s not really fixed, I can’t blame Rhett for wanting to make her acquaintance.”

  “Listen, I’ll be glad to pay for Dr. Davidson to check her out.”