The Splendor of Ordinary Days

by Jeff High

I let his question go unanswered, and Luther seemed to disappear back into his memories. “So, our emotions overcame us and we made love. We made love on a makeshift bed of burlap bags. At first we were both hesitant, unsure. Then one thing just led to another.”

  I let his words settle. “And the fire?”

  Luther made a despondent shrug. “Eli must have found out what had happened. If he confronted her, Ellie wouldn’t have lied about it. All I can figure is that in his anger, he came sometime later that night and set the house on fire. He had been my best friend and was going to be my brother-in-law. I’m sure he felt betrayed. I’m sure he blamed me, and I guess he should have. We haven’t talked since.”

  Luther folded his arms and tilted his head to the side. He seemed oddly relieved to have finally told his story. “So when I came back, I fenced in Moon Lake. I wanted to close up the past, shut out all the memories. Shut out my shame.”

  “Your shame?”

  Oddly, Luther grinned. “You probably won’t understand this, Bradford. It seems the world has changed. But back then, Ellie and I had some deeply held beliefs . . . beliefs that in our desperation, we threw aside that night. We were young, foolishly trying to live inside some idealistic bubble. Our passion overcame our convictions. I blamed myself.”

  “Luther, why? You said it yourself. You were young. This was decades ago. Why bottle it up all these years?”

  “I’ve never told anyone about why I fenced in Moon Lake or any of this because that would lead to questions. And one question would lead to another, and the last thing I was ever going to let happen was for anything to dishonor Ellie’s memory.”

  I nodded my understanding. “So when you quoted Milton the other day, were you talking about her?”

  “She told me she would pray for me every day. Pray for my safe return. Whatever courage or valor I displayed in Vietnam was because of her. Because I knew her prayers were protecting me. She was so much better than me. She was the brave one, the valiant one. That’s how she served.”

  He looked up at me. “How did you figure this out? How did you know about Ellie and me?”

  I thought about his question for a moment and then sat in the wooden chair across from his desk. “Because you told me.”

  “That’s not true. I never spoke of it.”

  “Not all in one conversation, but in small pieces along the way . . . things you said.”

  “Such as?”

  I waited before replying, contemplating all the things I knew and what I was willing to disclose. “In one of our conversations about Moon Lake, Luther, you said you had fenced in Eden. You’re well versed in scripture, so that told me you saw something in your past as a fall from grace. Then the other night when you talked about chivalry and making stupid mistakes, about how in youth there is no life beyond the moment, an odd thought occurred to me. As much as you seem to loathe the Mennonites, you eulogized Ellie Yoder.”

  Luther nodded, but he was pensive, regarding me skeptically. “And you figured this out from that?”

  I crossed my arms, deliberating. After several moments, I looked up at Luther and resolved to tell him what I had learned.

  “There’s more.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I went to Nashville this morning to check on some records for the memorial project. While I was there, I looked up Ellie’s death certificate. Being a doctor gives you certain privileges in regard to the Office of Vital Records, so I made a copy.” I retrieved the paper from my coat pocket and handed it to him.

  “Ellie didn’t die of pneumonia. She died of eclampsia. It’s a complication of pregnancy.”

  Luther’s face lost all its color. “What are you saying?”

  “It looks like you weren’t the only one who didn’t want to dishonor her name. As it’s been told to me, Ellie went to live with Eli and his wife, Letta, shortly after he took his noncombat assignment. Apparently his service started right after you left for boot camp.”

  Luther nodded, affirming my assertion.

  “A couple of months after you left, Ellie must have realized she was pregnant and somehow let Eli know. My guess is the Mennonites can be a pretty strict bunch, and Ellie was certain to be disgraced. But apparently Eli loved his sister more than he hated her transgression. I’m guessing the three of them worked out a plan claiming that Letta was pregnant. Since Eli and Letta would be gone from the Mennonite community for nearly two years with no family nearby, no one questioned Ellie’s going to live with them and helping out. Then again, maybe everyone knew, and this was how the situation was worked out. But that seems far less likely.”

  “Are you telling me that Ellie and I had a child?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I think Jacob Yoder is your son. At least, I’m pretty sure.”

  “Based on what?”

  “Genetics, Luther. Eli is ­color-­blind. I recently learned that Jacob is too. But color blindness is a ­sex-­linked trait; it comes from the mother, not the father. That means Letta would have to be ­color-­blind. Several months back, Letta instructed her grandson to go find a green and red quilt to give to me as payment for a house call. She’s not ­color-­blind, but I’m guessing that Ellie was.”

  Luther slowly nodded. “Yes, she was.”

  “There’s more. Jacob and his wife, Hannah, have a daughter who is eighteen. She’s very striking. But unlike her parents, she’s also very tall. I’ve seen her on only a few occasions, and each time I kept thinking she reminded me of someone. And then today, when all this started falling into place, it hit me. She is the spitting image of your mother from her debutante picture. She’s tall and willowy with an almost haunting beauty about her.”

  Luther leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on his knees, and sat ­gape-­jawed in a mixture of astonishment and trepidation. “Are you certain about all this?”

  “Not one hundred percent. Some of this is speculation. But for me, it all adds up.”

  After what seemed an eternity, he looked at me with a face that was searching, reflective, and oddly, serene.

  “Bradford, I have a son?”

  “So it would seem.”

  We sat in silence for another moment. There was little more to say, so I began to stand and make my departure. “Well, Luther. I’ll uh . . . I’ll let you get back to your day. And not to worry. I see no reason to breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  Luther offered an indebted nod. Then, uncharacteristically, he rose from his chair, walked around his desk, and extended his hand. “Thank you. Thank you for coming and telling me this.” He looked down for a moment, his face penitent. “For some reason, Luke Bradford, you’ve been a friend, and I’m grateful.”

  “Sure. Just thought you’d want to know.”

  I turned to leave, but Luther stopped me. He stood for a moment, struggling to find the words. He seemed to have lost all of his haughty demeanor and spoke in a voice of complete contrition. “I’d like to ask you a favor.”

  CHAPTER 40

  A Tenuous Gathering

  The following day, Thursday, the clinic was remarkably busy. Since I was going to be out of the office Friday, two days of patients were being crammed into one. Late that afternoon, Nancy Orman caught me in the hallway as I exited an exam room.

  “Dr. Bradford, the Yoders are here.”

  “How many of them came?”

  “Jacob and his father.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll take it from here.” I’d told Nancy that I wanted to speak to Eli Yoder before they were shown to an exam room.

  I took a deep breath, focused, and walked to the waiting area, where I found Jacob and Eli.

  “Good afternoon,” I said to both of them. I turned my attention to Eli. “Mr. Yoder, before we get started, I wonder if I might speak to you privately in my office.”

  He looked at me and then quickly to Jacob, who
gave him a subtle nod. Eli rose slowly, regarding me warily. I extended my hand to guide him in the proper direction. He moved vigorously for a man of his years and once we were inside my office, I asked him to have a seat on the couch, where the quilt his family had given me was neatly folded on the cushion beside him. I pulled up a chair and sat across from him.

  “Thank you, Mr. Yoder. I brought you here to ask you a question.”

  I was doing my best to stifle the timidity bouncing around in my throat. Conversely, Eli seemed perfectly relaxed, assessing me casually. He nodded his understanding.

  “Can you tell me the colors of that quilt beside you?”

  His eyes tightened and to my surprise, ever so subtly the corners of his mouth turned upward, revealing a buried amusement that was far removed from his customary stern countenance. “We both know, Dr. Bradford, that I am unable to see certain colors. What is your real question?”

  His calm delivery coupled with his quick intuition threw me. I laughed. “Okay, fair enough.” I studied him for a moment, rethinking my approach.

  “Here’s the thing. Jacob has the same condition. It’s more commonly known as color blindness.”

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  “Well, that’s the problem. Unless I’m mistaken, Letta is not ­color-­blind, and that trait is passed through the mother . . . which leads me to believe that Jacob is not your biological son.”

  Eli stiffened. He drew in a long breath and cautiously chose his next words. “You seem quite certain, Dr. Bradford. Why is that?”

  He had carefully avoided confirming my assertion. It was time to press the real agenda.

  “Eli, I know that your sister Ellie died after complications of childbirth. I read her death certificate, which I found in the state archives. I’m also pretty sure that Jacob doesn’t know that Ellie was his biological mother.”

  A long silence ensued as Eli looked to the side, his lips pressed firmly together. In time, he nodded in resignation and turned to me. “So, why is this important to you, Dr. Bradford? Do you intend to tell Jacob?”

  I held up my hands. “No, no, not at all. I have neither a right nor a responsibility to do that.”

  “Then why are you asking?”

  I was less sure of my response. “Because I’m a doctor. Because my job is to heal wounds.”

  “I don’t think I understand.”

  “I need to ask you a favor, Eli. One other person knows the truth about ­Jacob—­his father, Luther Whitmore. I told him yesterday. He doesn’t want to cause any trouble, but he would like to meet with you. He didn’t think you would talk to him, and I agreed to try to smooth the way for you to get together.”

  “And when does he want to meet?”

  I shrugged. “Now, if possible. He can be here in a couple of minutes.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “Perhaps it is time.”

  Luther had been waiting on my call and was soon at the clinic’s back door. He didn’t seem nervous, but I sure as heck was. We went to my office, where Eli was waiting.

  Awkwardly, I endeavored to make introductions. “Mr. Yoder, I believe you are acquainted with Mr. Whitmore. I understand you two knew each other years ago?”

  The two men stared at each other for the longest time, not with faces of anger or bitter assessment, but rather with a ­long-­endured sadness.

  “You look well, Eli.”

  “As do you.”

  “Not true. The years have taken their toll. You never were able to tell a lie.”

  A glint of amusement passed between the two of them, followed by another long silence.

  Eli spoke calmly. “So, what is it you want?”

  “I just wanted to say thank you, Eli. Thank you for protecting Ellie. Thank you for loving her despite . . .” He paused for a moment, weighing his words. “Despite our failure and our foolishness. And most of all, I want to thank you for raising our son. For loving him and for teaching him your ways and your beliefs. From what little I know of him, he’s a very good man, a good husband, and a good father. He’s that because of you and Letta.”

  Eli nodded his understanding.

  As he spoke again, the poise Luther had so readily displayed moments ago began to falter. “You need to know, Eli. I have no intentions of saying anything. Not to Jacob, not to anyone. If he is told differently, then eventually everything will come out. You’ve taken great pains to keep Ellie’s memory untarnished. All the kindness, all the light, and all the love that was in her shouldn’t be tainted by one foolish act on my part. I should have loved her more wisely.”

  Luther’s face tightened, and his chin began to quiver. He was fighting to keep his composure. “Just promise me, Eli. Just promise me that you’ve told Jacob how incredible, how wonderful, how beautiful, his aunt Ellie was. How she brought joy and splendor to the ordinary day.” He looked at Eli humbly. “That’s all I ask.”

  Luther’s attempts to hold back tears had failed him, and a half century of pain and regret welled up in his eyes.

  Eli looked down, seemingly unable to look at Luther. Now he seemed racked with woe, frail, and ­grief-­stricken. After what seemed an eternity, he said, “I didn’t start the fire.”

  Luther caught his breath. “Then who did?”

  “Ellie did. After you left. She did it to punish herself for not being stronger. She never blamed you. Even months later, in her last hours, she never blamed you.”

  Eli paused and half sat, half collapsed into a nearby armchair. “After the baby was born, she kept insisting she was fine, stubbornly refusing to go to the hospital. Finally, I no longer believed her, and I ran as fast as I could to the nearest house so they could call for an emergency vehicle. But I was too late. By the time they arrived, she had already passed away. I blame myself.”

  He looked up at Luther. “You are not the only one with regrets. It seems we both should have been stronger and wiser.”

  Eli stood and faced Luther, searching his eyes. “Perhaps after ­forty-­five years it is time Jacob knew the truth. Maybe it is time he met his real father.”

  Luther held up his hand. “No. No, Eli. You are his real father. And you always will be.” Luther had regained control of himself. “One day, you and I will have to stand before our Maker and atone for our sins of omission. At least in that moment, we’ll know that this time we were strong for Ellie’s sake.”

  Eli absorbed Luther’s words. “Perhaps you are right. Jacob is the best of us, Luther, your family and mine. Perhaps nothing is to be gained by burdening him with our mistakes.”

  “What about Letta, Eli?”

  “Letta is a good woman,” Eli said. “But, of course, you would know that from the old days. She was never able to have children and has seen Jacob as God’s gift to her. She is at peace with all that has happened.”

  That being said, both men nodded to each other. It seemed an air of completion now washed over the conversation, and we all stood, silent and reflective. But Luther had one final request.

  “Eli, do you suppose there is any chance I might meet him, and see his children?”

  Eli thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, there is. Jacob’s daughter, Rebecca, is getting married in two weeks.” He shook his head, mildly amused. “Rebecca looks like your mother, Luther. She is an exact replica. I even called her Evangeline once in front of everyone. Letta nearly fainted.” The two men shared an amused smile.

  “Anyway,” Eli continued, “Dr. Bradford is invited. Come with him as his guest.”

  It took a few seconds before I realized what Eli had said. “Oh, well, okay. I guess we’ll be there.”

  Once again, the three of us stood silently. Then slowly, Luther held out his hand. Eli looked at it for a moment and then extended his. The two men shook, regarding each other with a quiet respect. And yet there was something else too.
It was something in their eyes; perhaps a momentary spark, a subtle communication that only they understood. And in that moment, it seemed they were boys again, sharing the unspoken language of mischievous youth.

  I led Eli to an exam room and checked his vision. It wasn’t as bad as I had expected, but cataract surgery was still likely in his future. Afterward, I escorted him to the waiting room, where Jacob invited me to Rebecca’s wedding, completely unaware of the conversation that had transpired minutes earlier. I asked if I could bring a friend. He agreed, they left, and I returned to my office, where Luther had waited to talk to me.

  I took a seat behind my desk, delighted with the turn of events. Luther sat quietly in one of the wingback chairs. He allowed me a brief moment of smug but polite triumph before speaking. “I, um, I’m indebted to you, Doctor. Tremendously.”

  I nodded. Having Luther in my debt was such a splendid feeling, it was difficult to suppress the erupting smirk that so desperately wanted to emerge. But I managed. Luther continued.

  “I’ve got a lot to think about, a lot of past mistakes to atone for. But, like I said, I owe you, Luke.”

  “Luther, you can start by keeping your eye appointments. I’m sure I’ll think of something else along the way. But we’ll start there.”

  I stood and we shook hands. But as I walked him to the door, he had a question for me.

  “Bradford. I’m curious about something. How did you ever connect me with the cottage ruins on Mercy Creek Road?”

  “The daisies.”

  “The daisies?”

  “Yeah, from last May. I saw you walk out of the flower shop with a bouquet of daisies. Later that day, I saw daisies on the hearth at the ruins.”

  “Really? There were daisies on the hearth?”

  “Well, yeah. Didn’t you put them there?”

  “Daisies were, in fact, Ellie’s favorite flower. However, not to burst your bubble, but I buy daisies every May ­twenty-­seventh to put on my mother’s grave. It was the day she died. I haven’t been out to Mercy Creek Road in thirty years.”

  Soon afterward, Luther departed, leaving me with many questions still unanswered.