Rueful Death

by Susan Wittig Albert

  But between then and now, I had met McQuaid, I had lived with him and learned that sustainable love doesn't grow out of superheated physical passion, but out of simply holding hands and holding on, day in and day out. I'd learned that "good" really is enough, not because you're settling for something less, but because "fantastic" and "incredible" burn you out emotionally, just as life in the fast lane burns you out physically. And I thought now of McQuaid and Brian and Howard Cosell and Khat and was suddenly swept by a wave of affection for our ordinary, unromantic life, with its heaps of wet towels and clutter of dirty socks, its lizards in the closet and dead toads in the refrigerator. Our undeniably ordinary, utterly unromantic, inexplicably good life.

  Tom put his hand over mine. "You can't deny that you're physically attracted to me."

  We were into truth tonight. "You're right," I said. "I am attracted to you, Tom. Very much."

  "Aha!" He was triumphant. "Well, now that we've established that, the rest is-"

  He was interrupted by the cowgirl with the coffee, and then by another cowgirl who took away the plates, and then

  by a couple of his customers, who'd just unloaded a truck of Beefmaster steers at the sale barn down the road and wanted to brag to their banker about the good deal they'd wangled. By the time they'd moved on, Tom Senior was back at the table. We talked for a few minutes, then I glanced at my watch and drained my coffee cup.

  "It's getting late," I said. I looked at Tom. "I'll see you at the board meeting tomorrow."

  Tom Senior frowned. "The foundation board? Those meetings are closed, except on the invitation of a-''

  "Sadie asked me to come," I said.

  The old man's face grew red and he half-rose. "Sadie Marsh? What the hell does she want you there for?"

  Tom put a hand on his father's arm. "Take it easy," he said.

  "I want to know what Sadie's got up her sleeve," the old man said, his voice rising. "What's that woman up to, anyway?" He glared at Tom, his breath coming harder. "You find out, boy. It's your bidness to know what's comin' down. You can't afford to be blindsided by nobody, not even Sadie. Especially not Sadie."

  "Whatever it is," Tom said firmly, "I'll take care of it." He put his hand on the old man's shoulder. ''Simmer down, Pop. You know what Doc Townsend said about getting excited."

  "Screw Doc Townsend," the old man spat out. He sank back in his chair. "Son of a bitch can't pour piss out of a boot with the heel up."

  Tom's laugh was unconvincing. "Anyway, I think I know what Sadie's got up her sleeve. I'll handle it"

  I glanced at him. Was that the truth? Did he know about the deed restrictions? Maybe he knew about the envelope too. Or was he telling a lie designed to quiet his father?

  "Well, you're gonna have your hands full," the old man muttered, subsiding. He seemed to have forgotten me. "Sadie's got ten-pound brass balls and a mouth like an Arkan-

  sas hog caller. I'll come to that meeting tomorrow and settle her hash. If I don't, she'll-"

  "I said I'll take care of Sadie, Dad," Tom said sharply.

  "And I said I'll be there." His father's mouth was set into a stubborn line. "I'm gettin' out of your way fast as I can, boy. Don't push."

  I shrugged into my coat, embarrassed by the exchange. I gave the old man my hand and a smile. "Perhaps I'll see you again before I go back to Pecan Springs, Mr. Rowan."

  With an effort, Tom Senior remembered his manners. "You comin' over to our place for a nightcap?"

  I shook my head. "I don't want to keep Mother Winifred's truck out too late. She might worry about it."

  Tom stood up. "I'd worry, too, if I were her. That old truck is practically an antique-worth as much dead as alive. I'll walk you out to the lot and make sure it starts."

  As I said good night to Tom Senior, he pressed my hand between his dry, cool ones. "You mind what I say now, China. We'll be lookin' for you back here soon as you get things wound up in Pecan Springs."

  I murmured something and pulled my hand away.

  "You've got to give it to Dad," Tom said, holding the door open for me. "He just won't give up. Doc Townsend has told him to turn the business over to me. If he's got any energy, he's supposed to concentrate it on stuff like the Knights of Columbus-and stay out of the bank."

  I bent into the cold, clean wind, letting it wash through me. "It's tough," I said. "For both of you."

  He put his arm around my shoulders. "Let's not talk about that. As I recall, when we were interrupted you were in the middle of telling me that you lust for my body."

  We reached the old green Dodge. "Something like that," I said. I opened my purse, found the truck key, and put it into the door.

  "Wait," he commanded. He pulled me close against him and kissed me, gently at first, then with a mounting passion

  that reverberated in my bones and blood. I felt myself responding, the warmth pulsing through me.

  ' 'You make me feel like a kid in love for the first time, China," he whispered huskily, touching my face, my hair. He tipped my head back, his eyes fastened on mine.' 'Come home with me. Let me make love to you."

  Somebody opened the door of the barbecue joint and an old Elvis song-"Love Me Tender"-floated out. Somebody else was laughing, light and high. A car door slammed, a dog barked. Above us, far away, the stars looked down, amused.

  I started to speak, but he laid his finger on my mouth, silencing me. "I know. You're living with the guy, you've got commitments. But he's there and you're here. You're a free woman, China. You can do what you choose. Come home with me."

  A free woman. Freedom. That was what I'd wanted, wasn't it? That was why I'd taken time off, come out here. I wanted to make new choices, open my life to new directions. The passion was pulling me to Tom. All I had to do was say yes.

  "No," I said. I pulled away.

  He frowned. "Don't tell me you don't want me. I just kissed you, remember? Your body said yes. So don't he. Don't make it hard on yourself. Okay?"

  I wasn't lying, to myself or to him. I did want him. Standing in the parking lot under the flashing neon sign, Elvis's voice like liquid passion, it was easy to want this man, easy to say yes. It was a great deal harder to want what I already had. McQuaid and Brian, the house, the shop. Yes, even the shop, damn it.

  "Let's call it a night, shall we?" I opened the door and climbed into the truck.

  He stood up straight. "Just say no, huh?" His laugh was light, but it had a bitter undertone. "Too risky? Big moral dilemma?"

  "Morality doesn't have anything to do with it," I said.

  "I'm just figuring out what I want." I stuck the key in the ignition.

  "What you want is me," he said firmly. "Listen, China, there's no reason we can't. We're not strangers. We're both free." He spaced the words for emphasis. "You're your own woman, totally independent. You don't owe anybody anything."

  He was right. I didn't owe anything to anybody. Except myself.

  I had my hand on the key. "That's why it's no."

  His sigh was raw, heavy. He put a hand on the open door handle. "Don't run away, China. I've never really stopped loving you. Who's to know if we please ourselves tonight?"

  Are all protestations of love and lust, however heartfelt, doomed to sound like dialogue from an old movie? "I really have to go now," I said. I pulled the door shut and turned the key.

  The engine turned over, coughed regretfully, and died. I pumped the gas pedal a couple of times and cranked it again.

  Another cough, almost a hiccup.

  The third time, it didn't even burp.

  "I am not believing this," I muttered. Tom had stepped back and was watching me, hands in his coat pockets, an unreadable expression on his face. After a long, embarrassing moment, I rolled down the window. "You don't happen to have a pair of jumper cables, do you?" I asked in a small voice.

  He eyed me for a moment, calculating, not in any hurry to answer. "What's it worth to you?" he asked finally.

  I stared at him. Damn it, he was seriousl
I picked up my purse. "I'll call the garage."

  He looked at me a moment longer. And then said, explosively, "Oh, shit."

  It took ten minutes to dig the cables out of his car, hook them up, and start the truck-neither of us saying more

  than the necessary put this here and turn it over when I tell you. When we were finished and die truck was running again, he came around to the door.

  "Listen, China, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to bargain. I was just-"

  "Thanks for the jump," I said. "I've got to go now."

  His mouth quirked. "Yeah, well, at least we had Paris." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "That's something."

  I raised my hand, fighting the almost irresistible temptation to say, "Here's lookin' at you, kid." I shifted into first gear and drove off.

  I stopped at the first phone booth, left the truck running and hopped out, and called McQuaid. I was eager to hear his voice, feel connected again. But it was Brian who answered the phone.

  "Dad's playing poker with Sheriff Blackwell," he said. "Hey, China, you done good." He sounded excited. "Real good."

  I frowned. "I did good?" I asked cautiously. "What did I do?"

  "You know. You guys really know how to pray. Maybe it's because everybody out there is so holy."

  "I'm not so sure about that," I said. Arson, poison-pen letters, questionable deaths, a political takeover… "Excuse me, Brian, but I think I missed something. What are we talking about?"

  He giggled, elated. "You mean, you didn't hear yet? The Cowboys beat the Packers yesterday. Coach said on TV it was the answer to a prayer. I figure it had to be yours."

  "Credit where credit is due," I said. "Listen, tell your dad I called, okay? Tell him I'm having a great time and I wish he was here." And at that moment, it was true, definitely true. I wished McQuaid were here, wrapping me in his arms, holding me tight, nuzzling me.

  "Yeah," Brian said, "you wish he was there. Anything else?"

  I hesitated. "Tell him I love him. Lots and lots. Tons."

  "Mush," he said with eleven-year-old disgust.

  "'And I love you too," I said, feeling generous. "And Howard Cosell and Khat and-" I stopped. Not Einstein. I had to draw the line somewhere.

  "Thanks," he said, grudgingly grateful. "Me too. Say, China, will you ask those nuns to keep praying? Next week it's the 'Niners."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Conscience, anticipating time, Already rues the enacted crime.

  Sir Walter Scott Rokeby

  It was my alarm clock, not the fire bell, that jarred me out of a sound sleep at first light the next morning. I got up, pulled on my sweats, and took a brisk walk along the river. I surprised a white-tailed doe drinking at the water's edge and startled a great blue heron, statuesque in a quiet pool, waiting for a silver minnow to dart out from under a rock. He lifted heavily into flight, flapped across the river, and dropped into another pool, where he fixed a suspicious eye on me. The wind had swung back around to the southwest again, and it was warming up. It was going to be a cool, crisp day, one of Texas's January jewels.

  Back at Jeremiah, I grabbed a quick shower, brushed my teeth, and combed my hair, feeling virtuous for having fended off temptation the night before. I pulled on cords and a sweater and set off for breakfast, ready for whatever fireworks Sadie Marsh might launch at the board meeting.

  As I passed the green Dodge truck in the parking lot on the way to the refectory, I patted it affectionately. Given its performance in the Lone Star parking lot last night, I'd been a little worried about the twelve-mile drive from Carr to the monastery. I hadn't relished the idea of getting stranded and having to hitch a ride to St. T's from some

  colorful local character on his way home after a hard night's drinking.

  But the truck behaved and the only person 1 met was hardly colorful. At the turnoff to the monastery, I encountered a Honda. It came from the opposite direction, made a sharp left in front of me, and stopped at the gate. Somebody-it was too dark to see who-got out hurriedly, retrieved the key and opened the gate, then drove through, leaving it open. I drove through, closed it, then drove fast to catch up, curious to know which of the nuns was out at this late hour. I pulled into the lot behind Sophia just as the driver, dressed in dark slacks and a dark jacket, got out.

  "Sister Olivia!" I said, surprised. "I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow."

  She recognized me and stiffened. "My plans changed," she said, taking a small suitcase from the backseat

  I thought of my list of questions-Mother Hilaria's hot plate, Father Steven's scar, the letters. "Now that you're back, I'd like to make a time to talk. It really is important that I ask you about-"

  She slammed the car door and locked it. "No," she said. She came around the car and the light fell on her. Her face was a white mask, her eyes two dark smudges.

  "I don't mean that we have to talk right now," I persisted. "How about after breakfast tomorrow?"

  "No," she said again. Her voice was rising, frantic, half-hysterical. "I have nothing to say to you. Nothing at all, do you hear?" She pushed past me into the dark. I could hear the staccato tattoo of her heels on the cement sidewalk.

  "Good morning," Maggie said cheerfully, interrupting my thoughts as I came around the truck. "It's a pretty day, isn't it?" She gave me a quick glance. "How'd it go last night?"

  "How'd it go?" I repeated, still wondering why Sister Olivia had been so anxious to escape from me. She had been almost running.

  The corners of her mouth twitched. ' 'You know. Your date. With Tom."

  "Oh, that." I grinned. "It was okay."

  She held the door open as we went inside Sophia. "What? No champagne and roses?" Her mouth twitched. "No propositions?"

  "There was a proposition," I said offhandedly. "I just said no."

  The twitch became a smile. ' 'You see? Never underestimate the power of prayer."

  "Oh, so that was it," I said. We went into the refectory, and I sniffed appreciatively. Fresh cinnamon rolls this morning. Ah, yes.

  There was ample time between breakfast and the board meeting to talk to Olivia and get straight on what she knew about the letters and the fires. But even though I waited until the last sister had come through the refectory door, Olivia didn't show up. She wasn't in the office in Sophia, either, or in the chapel, in her room, or with Regina in the infirmary. And Mother Winifred, who was doing some paperwork at the desk in her cottage, couldn't suggest where else I might look.

  "I didn't even know she'd returned from the mother-house," she said, sounding slightly miffed. "In the old days, nobody went anywhere or came back from anywhere without asking Mother's permission." She straightened a sheaf of papers and stuck them into a file folder. "But Olivia is a law unto herself, and I'm a very lame duck. Reverend Mother General will probably call today and tell me when to schedule the election." She put the papers into a drawer and looked at the clock on the wall. "It's almost time for me to be off to the board meeting."

  "I'll be there too," I said. "I saw Sadie yesterday and she asked me to come. She wants legal counsel, I gather."

  From the look on her face, Mother was not pleased. "I love Sadie dearly," she said with irritation, "but she has the capacity to do the order a great harm. We've got enough

  difficulty on our hands without her stirring up trouble."

  There wasn't anything I could say to that, but I did have a question. "Before we go to the meeting, there's something else I want to ask you about," I said. "I gather that a number of the sisters here did their novitiate together under Perpetua. Ramona mentioned that Olivia and Regina knew one another even then."

  "And Ruth, as well," Mother said. She took a navy sweater off a peg on the wall and pulled it on. "I was at the motherhouse when that class came through, and I remember the three of them. Regina and Ruth were good friends, always getting into some sort of mischief. Olivia felt she had to stand up for them. She showed quite a bit of leadership capability, even in the novitiate."
<
br />   "She stood up for them?"

  "Oh, yes. You wouldn't know it to look at either of them now, because they've both settled down and become quite serious. But Ruth and Regina were once quite fun-loving. Mischievous, really. They enjoyed little pranks." She smiled. "One or two of their practical jokes got them into trouble with Perpetua, as I recall."

  "I see," I said, thinking that I was beginning to see a great deal. "Do you think Olivia would talk to me about some of those pranks?"

  "I don't see why not," Mother said. She stepped in front of a mirror on the wall and ran a comb through her white hair. "Or you could ask Ruth or Regina directly. But why do you want to know about all that old business?"

  I wanted to know because I was beginning to make some connections between what had happened at the novitiate twenty years before and what was happening here now. But I wasn't comfortable sharing my thoughts with Mother Winifred until I had talked with Olivia and sorted it out some more-especially after having been so wrong only yesterday.

  I glanced at my watch. "If we're not going to be late to

  that meeting, we'd better go. Shall we walk to Sophia together?"

  The board meeting was held in a long, narrow room adjacent to the monastery office. It was high-ceilinged, wood-paneled, and bare of decoration, except for a painted statue of Mary in one corner, a heavy dictionary on a wooden stand in another, and a pendulum clock on the wall. Its hands showed nine fifty-five.

  Three of the board members were already in the room when we got there. Tom got up from the head of the table, where he was sorting through a stack of papers, and came to greet us. He was wearing a suit and tie, and he looked tired, as if he hadn't slept very much. He shook Mother's hand and gave me a quick nod. His eyes slid away. I thought I understood. He was embarrassed about last night.

  "Is your dad here?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "Something came up at the last minute and he couldn't make it."

  Mother Winifred tugged at his sleeve. "May I have a word with you, Tom?"