[Desert Roses 02] - Across the Years

by Tracie Peterson

  “Well, that’s not a bad idea,” E. J. replied. “After all, you’ll need training to be an architect.”

  “I know, but I don’t want to leave Mama alone. She’s been so brave and strong all these years, but she’s had Grandpa to help her. She’s going to need someone to be with her if I go away.”

  E. J. glanced back to where Ashley sat. Todd Morgan had squatted down to talk with her and still remained. It looked to E. J. as though he were trying to convince Ashley of something as he waved his hands throughout the conversation.

  “I think maybe we’d better head back. It won’t be long till they say the blessing, and I don’t want to miss a chance at your mother’s fried chicken.”

  They walked back in companionable silence. Natalie seemed content in her efforts to walk up and down various rocks, balancing like a ballerina on tiptoes as she jumped from one boulder to another.

  “We’re back, Mama,” Natalie announced, jumping down to land between Todd and her mother.

  “Natalie, be careful,” Ashley warned.

  Todd rose to stand beside E. J., but his gaze was still fixed on Ashley. “So will you come with me?”

  Ashley looked most uncomfortable but finally replied, “It’s difficult to leave my grandfather. Besides, with his impending death, I’m really in no mood for excursions. I’m sure you understand.”

  Morgan looked none too happy with her reply but tipped his hat. “Well, I suppose if that’s the way it is.”

  E. J. watched the man walk away, feeling delighted that Ashley had rejected his advances. The mood surprised him. Todd Morgan had no way of knowing he’d just propositioned E. J.’s wife. Ashley, herself, had no idea she was anything but the widow she believed herself to be. What a tangled web they’d all woven for themselves.

  Plopping down on the rock across from her, E. J. smiled. “I hope we weren’t gone too long.”

  “No, you came back just in time.”

  Ashley removed her brimmed straw hat and let the breeze blow through her dark hair for a few minutes. With her face raised to the clear blue skies and the wind gently rippling her hair, E. J. felt himself falling in love with her all over again. For just a moment he was twenty-one and innocent of war.

  “Let’s gather for the blessing, folks,” Pastor McGuire declared.

  E. J. jumped up and extended his hand to Ashley. She paused momentarily to replace her hat. Fixing it with her long hatpin, she smiled up at E. J. and allowed his help.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, not seeming to mind that E. J. still held her hand.

  Natalie took hold of her mother’s other hand and pulled. “Come on, Mr. Carson wants to be sure to get some of your fried chicken.”

  Ashley beamed him a smile. “If you miss out here, I’ll fry up another batch just for you.”

  E. J. found himself almost praying the china platter would be empty when they reached the table. He wouldn’t mind at all lingering over a private dinner of fried chicken with his beloved wife.

  Pastor McGuire offered the blessing, and soon the crowds were divided into two lines, passing down both sides of the table. By the time E. J. reached Ashley’s platter, all but the tiniest chicken wing had been claimed.

  “Look, Mama, it’s all gone,” Natalie declared. “Now you’ll have to fry up some more chicken for Mr. Carson.”

  E. J. met Ashley’s face. “You don’t have to, but . . .” He grinned and let his expression speak for him.

  “But if I don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it from my daughter,” Ashley replied. “I’ll be happy to fix some for you—in fact, Natalie could bring it over when she visits you at work.”

  “No, Mama, let him come to dinner tomorrow night,” Natalie demanded, pushing matters right along. “Please?”

  Ashley looked from her daughter to E. J. “That’s fine with me.”

  E. J. nodded, finding it impossible to speak. Never in his life had he ever wanted anything more.

  Later that afternoon, as the sun began to set, Pastor McGuire concluded the party with a final sermon. E. J. felt sated and happy, and for the first time since the war, he found himself looking forward to the next day.

  “We’ve had a good day here,” Pastor McGuire announced. “Now the chill of evening is upon us and we need to make our way back while there’s still light to see. But before we go, I just want to say something that’s been burdening my heart. I feel as if the Lord is telling me that someone here needs to hear this message.”

  E. J. shifted and stretched his legs out in front of him. Seated there on the banks of Clear Creek, he waited for the pastor to continue.

  “We often do things in life because they are thrust upon us to do,” the pastor continued. “We find ourselves feeling compromised in our beliefs and dreams. Sometimes this comes when we least expect it. Maybe through the death of someone we love. Maybe through an event that changes our lives forever.

  “In times like these, God seems so distant and far removed. We convince ourselves that He’s gone away because of something we’ve done or said. I just want you to know today that God doesn’t leave. He’s not the leaving kind. He’s steadfast. The Word tells us that God is faithful, and because He’s faithful, we can rest assured that He will never leave us.”

  E. J. found himself longing to hear more. The words burned in his heart like a tiny spark of hope.

  “Now, that isn’t to say that we won’t walk away or choose to ignore God. It isn’t saying that circumstances won’t come up to deceive us and make us believe God has turned from us, that He doesn’t care. But God’s love and forgiveness are real and permanent. If you seek Him, He will be found.

  “You might say, ‘But, Pastor McGuire, I’ve done things in the past. Things that weren’t pleasing to God.’ And I’m here to tell you that I’ve been guilty of the same. Many of you have heard about my younger, wilder days. I’m not proud of the man I was back then, but with God’s help, I’ve become a new creation.”

  E. J.’s discomfort grew. The pastor’s words dug in deep. Still, E. J. couldn’t imagine that Pastor McGuire had all that much to be ashamed of in his past. Maybe he’d been given to drink or to gambling. Maybe he was a womanizer or a con man; either way, it couldn’t be as bad as what E. J. had done. He could see the faces of the men he’d killed. The looks of shock, the stunned disbelief that they were dying.

  Reliving the nightmare, E. J. tried to draw a good breath but found it almost impossible. The shadows of evening began to play tricks with his mind as he looked out across the desert.

  “God knows your heart and He understands your pain. He’s offering you forgiveness today. But you have to be willing to take it. Don’t let the hurts of the past keep you from coming into right accord with the Almighty. If you’ve put up a fence between you and God, now’s the time to take it down. Now’s the time to reach out and accept forgiveness.”

  Someone began singing in a clear baritone voice, and soon the entire gathering joined in—except for E. J. and Ashley. E. J. looked at Ashley, wondering if the words had disturbed her as much as they had him. Her face was a mask of indifference, however. There was no reading the emotion there, because there frankly didn’t appear to be even the tiniest thread of feeling.

  It dawned on E. J. then that this was how she had survived the years since his disappearance. She had carefully put aside her feelings, hidden them away so that she wouldn’t have to deal with even the smallest, most insignificant emotion. She was like a beautiful china doll. Cold and hard and forever fixed in time with a painted smile and empty heart.

  When he’d seen her on the street crying, that had been the exception. Her feelings had caught up with her, overwhelming her and demanding attention. She probably would never have allowed anyone to see her like that if she’d had a choice.

  Still, he reminded himself, there was Natalie. Natalie meant the world to her mother and he could easily see this. But even there, it seemed that Ashley held back a part of herself. Almost suggesting that if Ashley loved
Natalie too completely, she might also lose her—as she had lost her beloved Ethan.

  Even thinking of his name caused E. J. pain. A part of him wanted to be Ethan Reynolds again. Ethan—the man Ashley loved. Ethan—father to Natalie. Ethan—the promising young architect who would change the world with the beauty he’d design.

  But with that name and that man, he also had to remember he was Ethan—war hero. Ethan—the killer of young men who had thrown down their weapons and begged for life.

  How in the world could there be forgiveness for that?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ashley rose that Monday morning with a great deal on her mind. After seeing Natalie off to school, she bathed Grandpa and tried to encourage him to eat a bit of hot cereal.

  “You have to eat,” she said, doing up the buttons of his sweater. During the day he liked to wear his regular clothes, even though he seldom left his bed.

  “I have no appetite, child,” he said softly.

  “I know, but you’re wasting away. You need the nourishment.” She picked up the cereal from the tray and extended it toward him. “It’s really quite good, and I’ve put a dollop of brown sugar on it, just the way you like.”

  “I’m sure it’s delicious, but there’s no stopping this kind of wasting,” Grandpa replied. “What I would like, however, is another pillow. Have you one?”

  “Of course. I’ll . . .” A knock at the front door interrupted her, and Ashley put aside the bowl of cereal. “I can’t imagine who that might be.” She grabbed a pillow from the closet and worked to position Grandpa comfortably before going to see who had come to call.

  To her surprise she found a young Mexican man on her doorstep. “I have a telegram for Mr. Whitman.”

  Ashley gasped and nodded. “I’ll take it.” She grasped the envelope, then started to close the door. “Oh, wait.” She went to the living room and found her pocketbook. Taking a dime from it, she rushed back to the door. “Here. Take this.”

  The young man’s eyes lit up at the extravagant tip. “Muchas gracias.” He tipped his cap to her and pocketed the coin as if it were a great treasure.

  Ashley quickly forgot the man and closed the door to read the telegram. It was from her aunt Lavelle.

  FATHER STOP COMING IMMEDIATELY STOP CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU STOP LOVE LAVELLE

  The notification was so very brief, but even so, Ashley felt encouraged by the words. Her aunt Lavelle was coming and she loved her father. Surely those were good signs.

  Ashley returned to the bedroom. “Grandpa, it’s a telegram from Aunt Lavelle.”

  The old man perked up a bit at this. “What does she say?”

  “She’s coming,” Ashley replied. “She’s coming right away and she says she can’t wait to see you.” She handed him the telegram, not entirely sure he could read it. “She signed it, ‘Love Lavelle.’ ”

  He clutched the paper to his chest. A tear escaped his eye, trickling down his cheek and onto the pillow. “Thank you, Lord,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

  “I thought it very good news,” Ashley said, trying hard not to grow weepy herself.

  “Yes, indeed. She was no doubt stunned to hear from us after all this time,” Russell said, looking again to the telegram.

  Ashley felt a wave of guilt wash over her. “I’m sorry that I made you promise not to let them know where we were. It was wrong of me, but I was so hurt.”

  “I know that,” he answered. “It’s behind us now.”

  For several moments neither one spoke; then he turned to Ashley. “And what of your mother? Has she sent word?”

  Ashley stiffened. “No. There’s been no word from her.” She was afraid he might see her relief in that fact, so she turned and busied herself by straightening his bedcovers. He would never understand how much she dreaded seeing her mother.

  “She’ll come. I know she will.”

  “Please don’t get your hopes up, Grandpa. She had little use for either one of us.”

  “But neither did Lavelle,” Grandpa replied. “And now she’s coming.”

  Ashley nodded and picked up the tray with the bowl of cereal. “I know, Grandpa. I know. We have to have hope that Mother will understand the importance and put aside her differences from the past.” But can I put aside our differences? Can I welcome her here after all this time?

  ****

  Mrs. Breck came around noon to sit with Grandpa while Ashley went to shop for that evening’s supper. She needed to buy another chicken to fry, and as a last thought, she decided to also make a cobbler.

  In spite of her nerves about having E. J. Carson to dinner, Ashley actually found herself looking forward to the evening. E. J. had been very kind to her that day when she’d cried. He didn’t make her feel as though she were silly for her tears. She remembered a time long ago when one of the neighbor men had caught her crying as she tended her garden. He had chided her to buck up and be strong, telling her that only silly females were given to fits of tears. Ashley had never forgotten the rebuke. She had worked hard to keep her emotions under control, and that day with E. J. Carson had been the first public display of emotion since being taken to task. E. J. had been compassionate and kind, listening as well as speaking. He didn’t seem to mind her crying, and when they’d parted company he hadn’t left her with quaint platitudes. That meant a lot to Ashley.

  E. J. Carson would be a good change of pace. Grandpa had been a poor conversationalist of late. He wanted only to talk of his will and death. Ashley couldn’t abide either one, so she always sought to change the topic. Then Grandpa would find a way back to it, or he’d bring up her mother and Aunt Lavelle, and that was even worse than talking of his impending departure. Ashley had come to realize at the picnic how much she longed for adult conversation. She’d not seen how she’d filled her loneliness by talking to customers at the Harvey House. Those conversations had been light-hearted and, in many ways, of no consequence. Now, however, she could see that they filled a need in her life.

  The customers there kept her apprised of the world outside of Winslow. Passing salesmen would tell her of scandals in big cities far away, while well-dressed women accompanying equally stylish men would offer her some insight into the world of fashion. Sometimes the people didn’t really talk to her as much as to each other, but Ashley took part as a listening bystander. How strange that it should have meant so much to her, and she’d never even known until now.

  Of course, it wasn’t Grandpa’s fault, but Ashley could already tell his death was going to leave her more lonely than she’d ever imagined. The old man had been her mainstay—her focus along with Natalie. Those two people meant more to her than anyone else in the world, and now she was losing one of them.

  “But I’ll lose Natalie one day too,” she murmured as she walked to the store. She felt a band tighten around her heart. The world seemed to be closing in on her. Maybe it was better not to love so deeply, she thought. Maybe it was better to cut those feelings off before you lost them to other things. Grandpa would die and his love would be taken from her, but maybe it would hurt less if Ashley buffeted her heart against the loss. Maybe she should reinforce her heart with stronger stuff than the love she felt for Grandpa. But what was stronger than love?

  Moving up and down the aisles of the small grocery store, Ashley was amazed at the number of people who stopped to ask her about Grandpa.

  “How is Russell?” one old woman questioned.

  “He’s very weak,” Ashley told her, then smiled and added, “but very stubborn. He still insists on playing his weekly checkers with Pastor McGuire.”

  The old woman smiled. “Your grandfather is a good man. It’ll be hard to see him go, but then again, I don’t suppose I shall be here all that much longer myself.”

  Ashley didn’t know what to say. The woman’s casual reference to her own passing made Ashley uneasy.

  She picked up the things she needed, sharing snippets of conversation with each one who engaged her. Always they asked about Grandpa.
They knew him well and loved him. It gradually began to dawn on Ashley, however, that she had never really bothered to formulate any relationships with these folks. She knew the people around her from having seen them on nearly a daily basis. Some had come to the Harvey House where she worked, while others were the storeowners she did business with. Still, beyond knowing their names and occupations, Ashley really didn’t know these people at all.

  Somehow she had lived her life disjointed from her surroundings. Somehow she had isolated herself in the midst of her community. Like most small towns, there were some people who were only too happy to give detailed accounts of everyone and everything, but Ashley had always turned these people away. Now she almost wished she hadn’t.

  In the past, Grandpa always told me about people, she mused. I didn’t have to get to know them for myself. She knew about Mr. and Mrs. Willis’s business problems and their son who was training to be a doctor. She had heard accounts of Mrs. Moore’s arthritis and Mrs. Morgan’s bouts with various blood disorders. Why, Ashley even knew about building projects and plans for the town’s expansion because of the things Grandpa had shared.

  When he’s gone, she thought, I’ll have to make the effort to get to know people better.

  It wouldn’t just be an issue of loneliness that she could fill through her job at the Harvey House. And it wouldn’t be just a matter of knowing what was going on in the community and in the lives of those whom she’d known for so many years.

  I won’t be able to rely on Grandpa to help me fit in—to have a place in this town. I won’t be able to live vicariously through him anymore. This thought, coupled with her earlier musings of how she could keep from being lonely, made Ashley feel tired and discouraged. How could I have lived to this age and not even realize that I’m not really living at all, but merely existing?

  Struggling with the grocery sack as she made her way home, Ashley pushed the thoughts aside and tried to regain a more positive spirit. She thought of her aunt’s impending arrival. She hoped the things she’d picked up for meals would be pleasing to the woman. Ashley had become a pretty fair cook over the years, but that didn’t mean it would satisfy her aunt’s particular tastes. Whatever those tastes might be.