And if they helped him chart his course, Lily Mae was his anchor and Clarence was his first mate overseeing the demolition of Beechwood Manor’s charred remains.
Everyone recognized his status as a wealthy and eligible widower, causing women from a variety of age groups to regret they were no longer available. Within hours of the fire, women began sending lavish and uninhibited sympathy notes attached to their casseroles and cakes and bottles of wine. Personally delivered, of course.
He shared all this with Father Drew as a lighthearted ending to their first counseling session after the fire. The previous hour had been painfully raw as Murphy began to work through his emotions while reliving the cause of Marianne’s death. Both men were ready for a distraction, and they laughed heartily at some of the blatant proposals Murphy was already receiving thinly disguised as condolences.
“May I suggest that perhaps you and Lily Mae work out some sort of plan, out of necessity I suppose? If you see an approaching car with a male caller, then by all means you should answer the door. But, if it is a solitary female guest, married or unmarried, then perhaps it should be Lily Mae who answers your door. I’ve seen her in action a few times, and I have no doubt she could deter anyone with ulterior motives. I’m certain of it.”
“That’s exactly what we’ll do, and I promise you, she will undoubtedly love this plan. If the next few days of visitors go anything like the last few since the fire, I’ll have plenty of stories to report at next week’s session.”
Turns out it was a good plan. Lily Mae delighted in her role, swearing up and down that the man of the house was not at home. “Well I‘ll be sure and let him know you made these chicken and dumplings all by yourself,” or “Oh, I sure will, I’ll tell him just like you told me . . . you were sitting at home making one of these cakes everybody loves when the idea popped in your head that maybe Mr. McGregor would like some all to himself.”
Lily Mae could outfox the foxes. What she said and what she thought were two different things. She wanted to tell them they weren’t fooling anyone, and certainly not Mr. Murphy Egan McGregor. They came traipsing out to the McGregor homestead all dressed up in their cocktail party clothes with their curled hair and polished nails and lipstick to match, making sure they looked beautiful from head to toe. It was all very orchestrated, and Lily Mae was not fooled by a single one of them.
She always ended with “No, I’m not certain where he went or how long he’ll be gone. Probably several hours, at least.” And if they acted like they might just stay and wait it out, she always added “and he might not return till tomorrow, but I sure will tell him you came by.”
About ten days after the fire, Murphy and Lily Mae were organizing leather-bound books in the guesthouse library when they heard a car coming down the tree-lined drive. They both instantly recognized the sleek gray sedan and its well-known driver who considered herself one of Kingston’s elite—obviously only one of her flaws.
“I’ve got this,” said Lily Mae immediately. “You stay right here. I’ve known for a mighty long time this woman has a drought in her soul, and I’d rather you not be a part of what’s about to happen.” Closing the French doors behind her, she added under her breath, “Lord, forgive me my trespasses, but especially this one and forgive me for all these years I’ve been wishing for this moment to come my way.”
Lily Mae sashayed to the front door and stepped out on the porch, blocking the door’s entrance, as she told the woman she needed to take her delivery right back home. It was being refused.
With an incredulous voice, the visitor asked, “You won’t accept it? Is that what you just said?”
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“What on earth do you mean you won’t accept…does he not eat cobbler?”
With a voice lacking all emotion, Lily Mae expounded, “Oh, he likes cobbler all right. Matter of fact, peach is his favorite. And he likes a nice thick crust on top, just like this one, but I’m making the decisions for him today.” Lily Mae paused to make sure her next words were plainly heard, “I’m telling you, we don’t want your cobbler in this house.” Lily Mae’s glare could have peeled paint off a porch.
The woman had not seen this coming, and it took her a second to process it all. Indignant, she stomped her high-heeled foot and screeched, “I have never seen such rude behavior in my entire life!”
Lily Mae cut her off. “I’m not real sure how you did it, but you’ve somehow convinced some people in this town that they should bow down and follow your orders, but in my eyes there’s nothing about you worth listening to. You’re absolutely nothing to me, and I’m not afraid or ashamed to say that aloud.”
The cobbler was still warm in the woman’s hands, but she no longer noticed. Seething with anger, she let loose on Lily Mae. “You’ll wish you had never said that to me. I guarantee you’ll rue this day. Why, you’re nothing but an ugly, rude, old…”
By now Lily Mae was loaded for bear. Stepping further out onto the porch, she was close enough to smell the woman’s hair spray. Pointing her finger in the woman’s face, she said, “You think that’s ugly? Let me just tell you what ugly looks like AND smells like. Ugly smells just like tar. You ever smelt ugly old tar? Take yourself a long way back. I heard tell about a girl so full of meanness and the devil she smeared ugly tar all over a little girl’s rabbit fur muff because she just couldn’t stand to see someone else have something nice. I never have forgotten that story. You remember that, Wanda?” Lily Mae was bellowing by the time she said that repulsive name.
“Oh, for God’s sake, I can’t stand you. You just wait until I let Murphy know how you’ve talked to me.” With a vicious smirk and sweaty palms, she deliberately threw the entire cobbler at Lily Mae and watched the syrupy peaches and crust drip all the way down Lily Mae’s legs to her shoes.
Murphy emerged just in time to observe Wanda’s deliberate intentions of bringing harm to Lily Mae. They watched in tandem as she left tire marks on the circular drive.
Beaming, Lily Mae couldn’t resist. “Guess you can tell I’ve been saving that one up for a very long time, but it sure did feel mighty good. These clothes and this porch can be washed off and they’ll be good as new. And I’ll probably sleep better tonight than I have in years because I’ve been wondering for a couple of decades now just how the Lord intended me to get square with that woman, and today He opened that door and now it’s done.”
They both laughed long and hard with the kind of laughter that cleanses. A sense of lightheartedness seemed to fill the air even after the sound of their laughter subsided.
The food parade lasted a good eight weeks. The avalanche of written correspondence lasted even longer. Emulating his father, Murphy had always checked his post office box daily. But soon after the fire, Postmaster Haynie suggested he might need to check it a couple of times each day until, as he put it, “the newness of the fire wears off.”
Lily Mae tried to describe it all to Katherine. “There are hundreds of cards and letters. Most are from old friends and relatives, some are business acquaintances, and some are from people I’ve read about in Life magazine. Important folks, most of them. Famous people. People in politics and Hollywood and sports and even some writers. To Murphy, they’re just people, but I know they’re the kind of folks the rest of us would call famous.”
And Lily Mae was right. Often those she categorized as prominent sent long commiserative notes reminiscing about the events they attended at Beechwood Manor over the years, encouraging him to rebuild the house and make her as majestic as she once was.
More than a few cards came from conniving single women cleverly disguising their ulterior motives with words of condolence. Murphy read a few aloud to Lily Mae one afternoon, and the two of them laughed so loud Baxter got up and moved into another room, which only made them laugh louder.
Murphy,
I stay up late every night just wor
rying about you. I’d be happy to open a bottle of wine if you ever need to come by and visit and let your heart out. Please call.
Or another
Murphy,
Sometimes all a friend can do is listen – I’m here for you, day or night, around the clock. Nothing would mean more than for me to wrap my arms around you and let you relieve some of your pain. I just know Marianne would want me to help you get through these tough times.
The only decent sympathy card from a single woman came from Katherine. She sent a very simple card.
Murphy,
I’m so sorry for all your pain. I hope you will take time to fi nd yourself again. Be still and listen. I know God will direct your path.
Fondly,
Katherine
Murphy was touched by her unpretentious sincerity, and it affirmed what he already knew. She was the most intriguing woman he had ever known. He kept her card on top of the stack of those he intended to keep, the ones he would rely on for comfort during the dark days ahead.
Lily Mae noticed Katherine’s card began to look as though it had been handled and read multiple times which prompted Lily Mae to offer some insight to Murphy, the kind she thought he needed to figure out his new direction. “Couldn’t help but notice my Katherine’s note to you, Murphy. She knows exactly how to say what she thinks. She’s always been smart that way.”
Murphy looked up over the top of the morning paper and smiled at Lily Mae. “In some ways I feel like I know her well enough to read her thoughts before she says them, and other times I’m bewildered by what she says and does.”
“What exactly about her do you find bewildering?” Lily Mae’s back was to him as she was working on the breakfast dishes, but he could hear the smile in her voice just the same.
“For starters, I’ve always wondered why she never married. I know for certain it hasn’t been for lack of choices.”
Lily Mae turned and looked him straight on. “She fell in love once. Happened in nursing school while he was in med school. I liked him a lot, but I had a funny nag that ate at me. Something about him I couldn’t quite figure out. Turns out I didn’t have to say anything to her about it because the romance ended about the time she was finishing nursing school. She moved back to Kingston and told us, me and Doc, to never mention his name in her presence again. The closest she ever got to explaining it was when she said, ‘I gave him everything I had in my heart. Turns out it wasn’t enough.’ So, to answer your question, I guess she just never had the courage to try again. You know this firsthand, I know, but love gone wrong can just about kill you. Takes an awful lot of courage to decide you’re willing to risk it all again.”
Murphy sat silently for quite some time, contemplating what he had just learned. “What about you, Lily Mae? Why did you never remarry? Didn’t you tell me you became a widow at age twenty-four?”
Lily Mae studied the slight breeze blowing through the limbs right outside the kitchen window. Much softer than usual, she answered, “Why did I never remarry? That’s easy. Never wanted to venture out to see if there was another man out there as good as my Robert. Not many people, male or female, as good as he was. He treated me the way God wanted a man to treat a woman. When you’ve been treated that way, you know deep down there’s no way you’ll find another that good, so you just don’t try.”
Neither spoke for quite a while. Each was caught up in a different world. Lily Mae was remembering her Robert and all the hopes and dreams they had as newlyweds those many decades ago, and Murphy was caught up in his own thoughts—not of Marianne, but of the young nurse whose heart was broken because she wasn’t enough for someone.
It was exactly six months to the day of the fire that Murphy received two invitations to the Winter Escape, the biggest soiree of the year at the Kingston Country Club. He turned both down with kind and respectful notes explaining he’d already planned a fishing trip out of state. Then the profusion of invites to the other six or seven spring and summer traditional social events around Kingston began to arrive. They were not the least bit tempting to Murphy. He found it all quite annoying. Plus, he knew nothing would instigate gossip quicker than being seen around town with a lady on his arm. He found the idea of a social gathering exhausting and wanted no part of it.
But people just couldn’t stand to see him alone. In their eyes, it didn’t seem healthy. What they didn’t know was Murphy was enjoying his quiet life free from all the pain that came with living alongside someone with an addiction. And he stayed busy. He was free to do as he pleased. He could stay up till four in the morning reading a novel, and it would bother no one. He could eat leftover fried chicken for breakfast, sitting on the back porch in nothing but his boots and long johns, and no one would scold him. It was an intoxicating freedom, and he felt privileged to receive it. He vowed he would never take it for granted.
And so about ten months after the fire, over lunch on the back porch, he shared something with Lily Mae and told her she was the first to hear the news. “I’ve been encouraged by a lot of old family friends from around the country and from almost the entire town of Kingston to rebuild Beechwood Manor. It’s been a real struggle to figure out the right thing to do.”
“I’ve watched you walk the boundaries of the old place time and time again, and I knew you were wrestling with it. Knew it was hard for you to study those ruins. Sorrow sought you out and tried to latch on.” She let her voice trail a bit and then continued, “When something’s belonged to your blood kin that long, it’d be hard to part with, but I guess you already know that.”
Looking out over the lake, Murphy nodded and continued, “If I choose not to rebuild, I’m erasing off the face of the earth the grand place that housed my family for generations. It was a majestic place, and she hosted some wondrous events in her day. I thought the decision would come easier to me when they bulldozed the charred skeleton of the house, but I can still see her footprint and in my mind she’s standing tall and proud, the only way I’ve ever known her.”
Simultaneously, they looked toward the former site of the majestic manor, silently imagining her standing in all her glory.
Then Murphy continued, “But the world’s a different place now, and I guess I’m not the kind of McGregor who needs such a place to entertain. I won’t have any descendants who’ll fill the house with noise and laughter and conversation, so I think I’m just going to stay right here, in the guesthouse, for the rest of my days.” And then he turned and focused on Lily Mae before finishing. He needed to see the wisdom in her eyes when he asked, “Am I doing the right thing, Lily Mae?”
Her nod indicated she thought he’d chosen wisely. “I believe you are. I don’t see you building it back just to live in it alone. And the town of Kingston’s already on the map, it doesn’t need you to create something to prove what your people have done for this town. I believe this beautiful, peaceful house you’re in right now is a healthy spot for you. It’s plenty big, and Lord knows the way it sits looking right over the lake seems like it was meant for you to live here. The woodwork and rock in this house are a craftsman’s masterpiece, and this house is more you than the marble and the crystal and the flocked wallpaper in the big house, even though she was the most magnificent thing I’d ever seen in my entire life. A few of those chandeliers were larger than the room I was born in.” She paused and let those words sink in because she knew she had one more thing to say, and she wanted him ready to take it in. “My only advice is for you to stop calling this house the guesthouse because you’re not the guest. You’re the man of the house now, but I guess you’ve lived your whole life calling your house by a name so I think it’s only right you think hard on it and give this place a name of its own.”
Later, returning from a long walk across part of the lower south quadrant he announced he had decided on a name. “Cross Creek seems to fit this place for me.
”
“Cross Creek.” Lily Mae liked the way it sounded when she heard her own voice say it aloud. “I like it. What’s it mean?”
Nostalgia swept over him like early morning fog on a pond. “Well, part of it refers to the spring creek that feeds into the lake. I spent countless hours in that big creek when I was young. I tossed around the idea of calling it the Creek House, but I thought more on it. The McGregors would never have owned this land if Donovan McGregor had not crossed the ocean to come to America, and some of the beech trees from this land became track ties that allowed the railroad to cross from one end of the country to the other. I’ve always thought of this as hallowed ground which makes me think of a cross. So, there it is. Cross Creek.”
A hush swept through the trees, acknowledging his wisdom.
Romance
It was the day love laid its branches of hope and tenderness on the ground, and they crossed right over. Of all places, it started in the cemetery.
It had been one of those nights when Murphy suddenly found himself wide-awake at a quarter till three. He woke rested and energized. The trouble was, most people wouldn’t start their day for another two or three hours, so he did what he’d always done. He got up anyway. The day was his, and he could do with it as he pleased. It had been twenty-two months since the fire. If he had learned anything, it was to not let a single day be lost to melancholy.
This Saturday promised to be one of those grand late March spring days where anything and everything with life would respond to the glory of the day. Miss Nina, his octogenarian neighbor and dear friend, brought him a propagated gardenia seedling a few weeks back—an old-fashioned Belmont variety. Gardenias were his mother’s favorite, and while Beechwood had more than twenty varieties scattered throughout the lawns, he intended this one to grow its roots deep into the soil next to his mother’s grave.
Letters on the Table Page 7
