“Yes, of course, I’m fine,” Lynn said lightly and easily, wanting to allay Leonard’s obvious concern.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize…” He gestured back toward the movie theater. “I had no idea what the film was about.”
“It’s all right, Leonard,” she tried to assure him. They had driven to Greenville on this Saturday night to see a movie, as they’d taken to doing fairly frequently during the past year. Leonard had seen in the newspaper last Sunday that Random Harvest would be playing this weekend at the Bijou. It had been released a few years ago and starred Ronald Coleman and Greer Garson, an actor and actress whose work Lynn really enjoyed. Since neither she nor Leonard had ever seen the movie, they’d decided to make the trip for it.
Today, Lynn had put in a Saturday shift at the mill, and Leonard had seen a number of patients, including Audie Glaston, recently diagnosed with epilepsy, and Millie Denton’s—Millie Warnick’s—new baby girl, Olivia. After Lynn and Leonard finished their work, they’d shared a late afternoon supper at her house and then made the ninety-minute drive to Greenville. With each trip into the city, it seemed to take less and less time, with more and more of the roads between there and Hayden getting paved.
Now, standing outside the theater after seeing the movie, Leonard said again, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Lynn told him. “It was great.”
Leonard nodded, but the look on his face didn’t change. “I know, but…”
He didn’t finish. Lynn thought she understood his concern. Random Harvest traced the life of a World War I soldier who returns shell-shocked to the civilian world with his speech impaired and his memory gone. After walking out of a medical institution, he befriends a music-hall singer, and the two eventually fall in love and marry. But a traffic accident restores the soldier’s old memories and blots out his newer ones, and no longer even recalling his new wife, he returns to his life from before the war. Although hardly a parallel for Lynn’s own story, it involved a woman loving and marrying a soldier who she then loses. A beautiful, romantic tale, by turns bitter and sweet, it had brought tears to her eyes more than once.
But not because of Phil.
At the beginning of the movie, when Lynn had discovered the main character to be a soldier, she had thought of her husband—and of the war too, which still raged across Europe and throughout the Pacific. Two years after Phil’s death, and four after he’d enlisted in the army, she still missed him, though she often tried not to do so. That had been the case this evening. As she’d sat in the darkened theater with Leonard, she’d consciously put her recollections aside and concentrated instead on the story unfolding on the screen. Although she’d cried a lot through the final reel, she’d ended up loving the movie.
“Leonard, really, I’m fine,” she insisted. “C’mon. Let’s go to Peggy Jo’s.” Many times after she and Leonard had been to the Bijou, the two would head over to Peggy Jo’s Diner for coffee and a slice of pie.
“Are you sure?” Leonard said, apparently unconvinced because of her tears.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Lynn said, reaching forward and giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m also sure that I want a piece of peach cobbler.”
Finally, that seemed to cheer Leonard. “Now you’re talking my language,” he said. They left his car parked across from the theater and walked the three blocks to the diner. Inside, they sat down at a booth and placed their orders with Margie, an older waitress they’d gotten to know during their many trips there.
As they waited for their coffee and cobbler, they talked about Millie Warnick and her new baby, which led them to the subject of her husband. Doug Warnick had taken over the Seed and Feed a year and a half ago, after Gregg Anderson had passed on at the age of seventy. Mr. Anderson had left his store to his only son, Michael, who had then sold it to his brother-in-law, Doug. In almost no time after he’d moved to Hayden from nearby Plattston, Doug had hit it off with Millie Denton, and the two had soon wed. Last month, they’d had their first baby.
After Margie had brought their coffee and pie to the table, Lynn returned to the topic of the Seed and Feed. There had been something she’d wanted to talk about with Leonard for a very long time, but she’d never found a way of bringing it up. “I heard Doug hired a new feller,” she said.
“That’s right,” Leonard said as he poured sugar into his mug. “His name’s Whitney Williams.”
“You met him then?” Lynn asked. She’d hoped that he had.
“Yesterday,” he said, picking up a spoon and stirring his coffee. “He’s about Doug’s age, twenty-five or so. He seemed like a nice man.”
“Where did he come from?” Lynn asked, knowing no Williams family in Hayden.
“Doug knew him over in Plattston,” Leonard said. “I guess after Olivia was born, Doug decided he wanted some help in the store so he could spend more time at home.”
Lynn listened, interested in the details of the Seed and Feed’s new worker, but asking about them first only because she hadn’t wanted to lurch gracelessly into the issue she really wanted to discuss. “I…I heard Mister Williams is colored,” she said, and then thought, Oh yeah, that was graceful.
Leonard’s hand stopped halfway to his mouth, and he returned a forkful of pie back to his plate. She could see the muscles of his face tense. “Whitney’s skin is dark brown, yes,” he said.
Lynn felt embarrassed, and she peered down at her own plate. She stabbed idly at the cobbler and forged ahead. “You don’t talk about coloreds the way other people do,” she said.
“No,” Leonard agreed. “I don’t suppose I do.”
She forced herself to look up at him, meeting his gaze across the table. “You know the time when…”
“Yup,” Leonard said, even though she hadn’t finished her thought. That marked nothing new for them, though. For years, they’d had a good idea of what the other was thinking, in tune probably because they’d spent so much time together.
“The time when you and Phil had that awful argument,” Lynn said, wanting to make sure they were talking about the same thing.
“Yup,” Leonard said again, his features softening. “I felt bad about that. I told Phil that. He apologized to me too.”
“I know,” Lynn said. Phil had told her about the conversation, and its results had been very noticeable, helping to renew the friendship between the two men.
“It was just terribly troubling to see Benny—or anybody—mistreated like that,” Leonard said. “And even more so when a friend of mine supported that behavior.”
“I know,” Lynn said. “You know, I remember something you said the night you and Phil argued. I asked about the colored man’s name, and you told me ‘the man’ was named Benny. It seemed like you specifically left out the word colored.”
“I’m sure I did leave it out,” Leonard said. “There wasn’t any good reason to use it.”
“I’ve thought about that a lot over the years,” Lynn said.
“Really?” Leonard said, clearly surprised. The incident with Bo Bartell and Billy Fuster and the others, and the argument between Leonard and Phil that had followed, had happened probably ten years ago.
“Yeah,” Lynn said. “I felt bad about what happened.”
“I know you did,” Leonard said. “When I drove up that day and saw what was going on, and saw you out there, I just assumed you were trying to stop it from happening. After I took Benny back to my house, he told me that you did, so I know you felt bad about it.”
“No,” Lynn said. “I mean, yes, I felt bad about those boys beating that man—Benny—but that’s not what I meant.” She looked down again, and as she attempted to figure out how to say what she wanted to say, she pushed the side of her fork through her pie, then scooped the piece of cobbler up and into her mouth. Once she’d swallowed it, she gazed back over at Leonard and continued. “I felt bad because…because even though I knew it was wrong for those boys to do what they did, I also…” She hesitate
d, ashamed to make the admission. “I also agreed with Phil. If Benny would’ve just walked around the town like Bo wanted him to, everything would’ve been all right.”
Leonard regarded her silently for a few seconds, and she could see the disappointment in his eyes. At last, he said, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“I don’t think that anymore,” Lynn rushed to say. “But back then, what made me feel bad was that I thought something was wrong, but I also understood it. I didn’t want that man to get beaten, but I knew why he did. But you obviously didn’t. You thought it was wrong, and that’s all there was to it.”
“I still think that,” Leonard said.
“I know,” Lynn said. “So I kept thinking about what you said, and how you didn’t ever refer to Benny as colored. And I kept asking myself why.”
Leonard set his fork down on his plate. “Because it didn’t matter,” he said. “It would’ve been like me saying ‘the right-handed man.’It was a distinction that didn’t matter. Worse, it was a distinction that serves to separate people and allow them to hate more easily.”
“I figured that out,” Lynn said. “Because you said something else that night you and Phil argued. You said there was more difference between all the white folks in town than between Phil and Benny. Since you’re a doctor, I thought you probably knew what you were talking about, but even if you didn’t, I realized that what you said was true in the eyes of God. People are people, and we’re all God’s children. It doesn’t matter what they look like, only how they treat other people.”
Leonard smiled and nodded. “That’s right,” he said.
“So, I just wanted to tell you that,” Lynn said. “It’s been weighing on me for a long time.”
“It has?” Leonard asked as he retrieved his fork and cut off another mouthful of pie from his plate.
“Yup,” Lynn said. “I thought about it for a while, until I figured it all out. I didn’t think you knew that I kind of agreed with Phil back then, but I wanted to tell you. I’m not sure why.” Except, she realized, maybe she did know why she’d wanted to share this with Leonard. She simply didn’t want to keep anything from him because of—
Because of the way I feel about him.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m glad you did. You’re a good woman, Lynn.”
She could feel the warm rush of blood to her face and knew that she’d turned bright red. Self-conscious, she looked down at her plate again. “I think you’re a good man, Leonard.” She reached across the table and rested her hand atop his, then looked up at him. She felt something like an electric charge run through her body when she saw his blue eyes gazing back at her.
They sat that way for a few moments, quietly, comfortably, and then Leonard pulled his hand away and reached for his coffee. For the rest of the conversation, they didn’t talk about anything nearly as serious as they just had. They discussed Random Harvest, and then other great films that its two stars had done previously: Lost Horizon with Ronald Coleman, and Madame Curie, Mrs. Miniver, and Goodbye, Mr. Chips with Greer Garson. They spoke about books, Leonard’s practice, life at the mill, and the cotton harvest just past. It was, Lynn thought when she lay down to sleep later that night, a wonderful evening.
But then she always had a wonderful time with Leonard.
McCoy rumbled from Upper Piedmont Highway onto Merrysville Road, following the beams of his headlights through the night. On the seat beside him, Lynn lay slumped against the door, asleep on their hour and a half ride from Greenville, now almost complete. When they’d left the diner tonight, she’d claimed not to be tired, but had drifted off shortly after they’d reached US 123.
Tired himself—exhausted, actually—McCoy looked forward to climbing into bed as soon as he dropped Lynn off at her house and then made his own way home. He’d seen eleven patients today, including five children whom over the past week or so he’d diagnosed with strep throat. Fortunately, penicillin had at last become widely available and he’d used it to treat the bacterial infection. All of the children seemed to be recovering well.
But McCoy’s long workday provided only a minor reason for his current fatigue, as did the long drives to and from Greenville. More than anything, the emotional nature of the evening had taken its toll on him. For two hours, he’d sat in the Bijou Theater, bathed in the flickering light of Random Harvest and dreading the impact of the film on Lynn. Even before that, the newsreel shown on the big screen had reported recent events of the war: after four attempts, the Germans had finally captured Leningrad, and Japan had now taken control of all Australian ports and cities. McCoy had expected the wartime updates, though, and knew that Lynn had too. He’d believed that she could get through the brief recap and then enjoy the film.
But as Random Harvest had opened on the military wing of an asylum, and on an amnesiac soldier suffering from the post-traumatic stress of war, McCoy had cringed. Phil’s experience had been different, of course, and much worse, but McCoy worried that the tale unfolding in the darkened theater would cause Lynn to relive the pain of losing her husband. He’d considered asking her if she wanted to leave, but had chosen not to broach the subject without seeing any signs of her distress. In the end, he’d sat there with her, periodically observing her in the dim light and trying to assess her emotional state.
Afterward, he learned his fears had been unfounded. Lynn had wept during the film, particularly during its closing minutes, but she claimed that had been as a result of the story and the performances and not because of any feelings related to Phil. McCoy had been doubtful, but they’d then had pie and coffee at Peggy Jo’s, even discussing the film at one point, and Lynn had shown no indications at all of any sadness or upset.
Now, as they rolled through the night along Merrysville Road, McCoy thought about Lynn and how she had handled the last four years of her life. She and Phil had been married for twenty-one years when he had enlisted in the army, and for twenty-three years by the time she’d received word that he’d been killed in battle at Portmagee. Among humans, McCoy knew, the loss of a spouse ranked as the greatest emotional burden to bear, the effects even more devastating than the death of a child. Of even greater concern, a man or a woman who lost their partner, particularly after a relationship of significant duration, frequently faced complications to their own health, the psychological toll translating into physiological problems.
Lynn, though, appeared well these days. Since McCoy had first met the Dickinsons all those years ago, he’d spent a great deal of time with them—other than during the period when he and Phil had argued about Benny—and since Phil had gone off, first to Fort Jackson, and later to the European theater of operations, McCoy had spent an even higher percentage of his time with Lynn. More than anything, that had allowed him to discover the depth of Lynn’s strength, something reconfirmed by her reaction to the film they’d seen tonight.
Not that she didn’t still miss Phil, and not that she hadn’t mourned him. But immediately after Phil had enlisted, McCoy had watched her pick herself up and continue on with her life, and after he’d died, she’d seemed to redouble those efforts. Where it would have been understandable for her to languish in depression, to withdraw from the community and even from her friendships, she had done none of those things. And where she might have chosen to rely on other people, attempting to fill the void left in her life by the absence of her husband, she hadn’t done that either.
In 1946, the year Phil had died, the people in Hayden had rallied to her side and helped her complete her cotton harvest. Last year and this, though, she’d simply hired more itinerant workers and had thereby done the job herself, even as she’d continued putting in hours at the mill. She’d continued seeing her friends, McCoy included, and seemed intent on making the most of what some might term a tragic life. Her father had drowned in a logging accident when she’d been just thirteen years old, and her mother, to whom Lynn had been very close, had died fifteen years later after a protracted and painful illness. With Phil
’s death, she had now lost the three most important people in her life. And yet she not only persevered, but actually seemed to flourish.
As McCoy slowed and turned the car north onto Church Street, he recalled how easy it had once been for him to regard the people of the twentieth century from something of an elitist viewpoint. Seeing the lack of advancement not only in technology, but in society itself, he’d often expected a shortage of fortitude in individuals. But working in a mission for the downtrodden in New York, and then in a primitive medical environment in Hayden, he’d witnessed the difficult circumstances people had endured through the 1930s and the Great Depression, and now through the 1940s and World War II. Many had shown strength in forging ahead through their lives, but even so, Lynn stood out as exceptional.
Her religious faith had provided her with great solace, he knew, and yet she also managed to apply it selflessly. McCoy had been startled by her admission tonight of the racist attitudes she’d harbored, but he’d found the description of the fight she’d waged against her own beliefs quite compelling. In his own experience, McCoy had often seen both individuals and institutions employ their faith for nothing more than their own self-interests, often hypocritically acting in contravention of their own professed principles. Lynn, on the other hand, married her actions to her beliefs. When she’d come to understand the discrepancy between her prejudices and her Christian tenets—love, kindness, tolerance, acceptance—she’d sought not to find some justification for her bigotry, but to modify her own outlook. McCoy understood that she had been taught as a child to believe in the inferiority of people of who didn’t look just like she did, and that she had been able to overcome that as an adult, he found remarkable.
On top of that, Lynn hadn’t had to divulge to him the intolerance she’d once felt. She certainly knew McCoy’s feelings about racism, and she needn’t have risked his opinion of her by confessing to her own discriminatory beliefs, even if she had now overcome them. The more he got to know her, the more he respected and loved her.
Crucible: McCoy Page 58
