The Scent of Lilacs

by Ann H. Gabhart

  “Does he know about the baby?” Jocelyn asked.

  “No. It didn’t seem to be something I should burden a young preacher with. Especially one who had enough burdens already of his own.”

  “You mean my mother leaving him?” Jocelyn said.

  “She was a burden before she left.”

  “I don’t remember much about her,” Jocelyn said.

  “Just as well.” Love fished a handkerchief out of a pocket and handed it to the child. “I’d have been better off if I’d been half the country away from my father. Perhaps I could have stopped hating him then, but no, my hate was like a poison that soured everything around me.”

  “How did you get over it?” the child asked.

  “Some griefs are too deep to ever get over, but once I knew I wasn’t going to be able to just sit down and die, I had to find a way to keep living.” Love looked back to where the house had once sat. “There were my rocks. And there was the Bible. Psalms like ‘Give thy strength unto thy servant.’ The Lord picked me up and carried me through the blackest days. And the sun keeps rising. Apple trees keep blooming. Bean seeds keep sprouting. And rocks keep rising to the top of the ground after spring rains.”

  “And you kept cooking and cleaning for your father?” Wesley asked.

  “I did. I didn’t seem to see much other choice till he died. Then, as I said, I tried to burn the house down and start over. I guess it was just as well Little John came by and put the fire out. Nothing else I’d ever done had gone right. Why should that?” Love pushed down on the rock and stood up. Her joints set up a painful complaint, and she wondered how she’d ever ride Wesley’s monster machine back to the house. Another time it might be easier just to sit down and die. If the Lord would only allow it. She looked back at the cave.

  Wes and the child stood up too. They were waiting for her to make the first step back toward home, but she couldn’t. “I always wanted him to have a proper funeral and burial. Do you think we could do that for him?”

  “I don’t see why not if we can find a shovel,” Wesley said.

  “And David to say the words over his grave. He should be home by now. Jocelyn can go fetch him while we get the grave ready. There used to be some shovels in the barn.” She looked at the sky again. “We still have a few hours before dark.”

  “What should I tell Dad, Aunt Love?” the child asked, a frown between her eyes.

  “That you and your dog found the remains of a baby who needs a proper burial,” Love said.

  “But he might think we need to call the sheriff.”

  “I thought once of calling the sheriff, but I couldn’t think what good it would do. I had no proof of wrongdoing. I didn’t even know where the baby’s body lay. It was a hard birth. The poor child might very well have been dead as my father said.”

  “You think your father . . .” The child couldn’t finish the thought as her eyes got wide.

  “I think my father could have done what I feared.” Love thought she should say no more, but she seemed unable to stop talking. “But whatever happened, my father is long past any earthly punishment, and I can’t see how telling the tale can do anyone any good now. But if, after you tell your father what I’ve told you, he decides the sheriff should be told, then so be it. I’m past caring what people think of me.”

  “Your dad will know the right thing to do, Jo,” Wes said. “You go on and fetch him while Lovella and I hunt a shovel.”

  “We’ll bring one in case you can’t find one.”

  “Yes,” Love said, “and bring the wooden box under my bed. I had Mae’s husband make it for me years ago. He never knew what I wanted it for, but all these years it’s been waiting.”

  It was after sundown when they gathered around the hole her father had helped Wes finish digging when they got back to the farm. They’d talked about waiting till the next day, but Aunt Love hadn’t wanted to. She’d said they could pull the car up and shine the lights on the grave site if it got too dark. But it was still light enough to see in spite of the heavy feel to the air as night crept up on them.

  Jocie’s father stood at the top of the small grave with his Bible open in his hands while the wooden box waited beside the small heap of dirt. Wes had crawled back inside the cave with a flashlight to place the baby’s bones on a blanket in the box. Her father had thought to bring the flashlight and the blanket left over from Jocie’s baby days.

  He had known what to do just the way Wes had said he would. While he’d found the box and got his Bible, he’d sent Tabitha and Jocie out to cut every rose in bloom to take with them. He hadn’t said a thing about the sheriff. At the turnoff he’d pushed the gate open wide enough to drive the car through. He’d straddled the ruts and driven back through the field, slowing to a creep when the bottom of the car scraped against a rock but not stopping. Tabitha had kept her hands on her belly as though she had to steady her baby through the jostles.

  When Wes had handed Aunt Love the box with the baby’s bones in it, she’d cradled it in her lap while tears slid down her cheeks. As she’d whispered the words of the Twenty-third Psalm, the world around them had held its breath. No bird had sung. No dog had barked in the distance. No airplane had passed overhead. Even the breeze had lain still in the branches and the creek had been whisper quiet as it rolled over the rocks downstream. Jocie wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to have heard an angel choir break out into “The Sweet Bye and Bye” or “In the Garden” after that, but instead the silence had followed them up from the creek to Aunt Love’s rock garden where the tiny grave awaited.

  Into the silence her father read some Scriptures before he led them in prayer. Aunt Love had stopped crying, and after they put the box down into the grave, she dropped in the first handful of dirt. When she stepped back from the grave, Tabitha put her arm around her waist, and Jocie took Aunt Love’s hand. She thought maybe she should hug Aunt Love, but she wasn’t the sort of person who invited hugs. Even holding her hand seemed strange. Necessary, but strange.

  When the dirt was all pushed back into the hole and Wes had gently tamped it down, Tabitha and Jocie laid the roses on top of the grave. Aunt Love pointed out a rock chiseled square on the corners. When Jocie’s father and Wes lifted it up, Aunt Love took the hem of her skirt and rubbed the dirt off it until the name Stephen appeared.

  Wes propped the stone up at the end of the tiny grave, and they bent their heads again as David offered one final prayer. “We thank thee, O Lord, for giving us the opportunity to lay this tiny baby’s remains to rest. We know that these many years this child has been in heaven with you, and we praise thee and thank thee for this truth. And now we ask for comfort for this mother’s heart. Honor her grief and grant her peace. Amen.”

  As her father gently turned Aunt Love away from the grave, he promised, “I’ll come back and set the stone properly.”

  Night fell before they reached the car, as if the dark, which had been holding off until they had finished, couldn’t delay another second. Slowly the noises of the night came back. Frogs and whip-poor-wills and katydids. Wes started up his motorcycle, and the noise of his motor seemed wrong, blasphemous almost. At the same time, Jocie wished she could ride with him through the velvety darkness instead of in the car. Still, she didn’t dare ask, but climbed into the backseat beside Tabitha, who had her hands firmly clasped over her rounded tummy even before the car started moving down the rutted road.

  None of them said anything as her father slowly guided the car back toward the road. It was harder picking the best path in the dark, and they all held their breath each time the bottom of the car scraped against a rock. Jocie thought about praying for the oil pan or the muffler, but she didn’t know if she should. Then when they made it out to the paved road, she wanted to ask her father if he’d been praying. But the silence in the car made the words stick in her throat.

  They were almost back to their house before Tabitha broke the silence. “I’ve always liked the name Stephanie. Stephanie Grace. That
’s what I’ll name my little girl when she’s born.”

  Aunt Love didn’t say anything, but after a moment she pulled the edge of her collar up to dab at her eyes.

  Back at the house, Aunt Love washed her hands in the kitchen sink, thanked the family formally as if they’d just come back from a funeral home, picked up Jezebel, and went to her room. Jocie stared at the closed door of Aunt Love’s bedroom for a moment and then looked at her father.

  “Don’t you think you should go talk to her? Pray with her or something?” she asked.

  “I think she wants to be alone,” her father said.

  “But I didn’t tell you the whole story,” Jocie said.

  “She’ll tell me if she wants to,” her father said.

  “But it was worse than what I had time to tell you earlier.”

  Her father put his arms around Jocie. “Then maybe telling you and Wes will give her the peace she needs.”

  “I don’t think I can sleep,” Jocie said.

  Tabitha came over, took one of Jocie’s hands, and put it on her stomach. “Do you feel her moving?”

  Jocie couldn’t feel a thing. “Maybe,” she said, because she could tell Tabitha wanted her to feel something.

  “She gets bigger, you’ll feel it for certain. The doctor says she’s supposed to be born somewhere around the first of October. He says I’ll start getting big, really big, in a month.”

  “People will know you’re expecting then,” Jocie said.

  “Does that bother you?” Tabitha asked.

  “No, does it you?”

  Tabitha smiled. “Not at all. I thought it might, but now I just want her here safe where I can hold her and watch her grow. I don’t even care anymore who she looks like.”

  “You keep saying she. How do you know the baby’s going to be a girl?” Jocie asked.

  “I just know.” Tabitha grinned at Jocie. “The same way I knew you were going to be a girl before you were born.”

  Their father frowned. “You remember when Jocie was born?”

  “Well, yeah, Dad, of course. I was almost seven. I sort of felt bad being so excited with DeeDee being so mad about it all. You remember, don’t you, Dad? She didn’t come out of her bedroom for weeks. Months maybe.” Tabitha looked at Jocie. “It didn’t have anything to do with you, Jocie. She hated being pregnant when I came along too. She wouldn’t let anybody see her but Mama Mae for months before either of us were born. DeeDee can’t stand not being skinny. She told me I’d hate it too, but so far it hasn’t bothered me except for needing some bigger clothes.”

  “Mrs. McDermott out at church might have some maternity clothes. Her baby’s not very old. Of course, she’s not very skinny, but I’ll bet she knows somebody your size you could borrow some from,” Jocie said.

  “At church? I don’t know what she’d think.” A worried frown scooted across Tabitha’s face.

  “She’s way too nice to say anything mean, isn’t she, Daddy? I’ve never heard her fuss about anything.”

  “She’s a good woman,” their father agreed.

  “I guess I could go to church this week,” Tabitha said. “Aunt Love’s been after me to go, and maybe if I went it would make her feel better. Think it would mess things up too much for you, Daddy?”

  “Nothing that the Lord can’t take care of, sweetie,” her father said.

  Tabitha laughed. “We know how to keep him busy around here, don’t we?”

  “Maybe we should ask Leigh to come along too so the folks out there won’t know what to talk about first.” Jocie looked up at her father’s face. “I could call her and ask her for you if you want me too.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” her father said without really meeting Jocie’s eyes.

  Jocie grinned. “You’ve already asked her. Gee whiz, things are getting too crazy around here. You should have seen Aunt Love getting on Wes’s motorcycle. I wish I’d had a camera.”

  “People can surprise us,” her father said.

  Jocie’s grin disappeared. “I didn’t mean to make fun.”

  “I know,” her father said. He put one hand on Tabitha’s shoulder and the other on Jocie’s and drew them in a circle. “Come on. Let’s pray for Aunt Love and for ourselves.

  “Dear Lord, forgive us our sins this day and help us to be full of forgiveness toward others. Especially send down your loving-kindness on Aunt Love this night and help her to make peace with her past. Give Tabitha courage and strength and love. Bless Jocie and help her to know to do what’s right. Use me, Lord, in your service and help me know how to help others in their spiritual journeys. Thank thee for the blessings of the day and for the trials that move us closer to the center of thy will. Amen.”

  Once Jocie lay down on the cot out on the porch, her bones ached. She was that tired, but still she couldn’t go to sleep. Too many thoughts were zapping around in her head. She dangled her hand over the edge of the cot to touch Zeb’s head and stared out the windows at the stars. Suddenly one of the stars fell in a flash of light. Seeing a shooting star always made her feel honored, as if God had staged a show just for her. “O the mighty works of thy heavens,” she whispered. Aunt Love said something like that whenever they were outside at night. Psalm something.

  Would Aunt Love get up in the morning and burn the biscuits and quote Scripture to Jocie the same as every other morning? And what would Jocie say if she did? Or if she didn’t. She thought about getting up and going to ask her father, but he was going to be different too. Asking Leigh to church. Maybe to get married next. Then Tabitha going to church—tummy poking out and painted rose and all. Sunday was sure to be interesting.

  Of course, if the Mt. Pleasant folk voted them out, they wouldn’t have to deal with the sacks of cabbage and zucchini anymore, although Jocie was beginning to like zucchini bread.

  And she could stop worrying about being nice to Ronnie Martin. She’d been struggling with that a little more each week anyway.

  Paulette Riley had told her last week she should just go ahead and punch Ronnie in the nose and get it over with. She and Paulette had both helped with the babies during Bible school, and Jocie had found out Paulette was just as worried about starting high school as she was.

  Of course, with everything else that had happened, starting high school wasn’t all that big a problem. Thousands of people started high school every year. And as Paulette liked to say, it was rarely ever fatal. Of course, Paulette had a mother who had already noticed her need for the proper undergarments.

  Jocie pushed that worry out of her head. She still had over a month before school started, and bras just didn’t seem that important tonight. Not when Aunt Love’s words kept echoing in her head. About her father and the baby. And trying to burn down the house. Jocie wouldn’t be making any more jokes about the house burning down because Aunt Love forgot the bacon.

  Jocie shifted on the cot to try to get more comfortable. She shut her eyes on the stars and tried to think of nothing, but crazy thoughts kept shooting through her mind. Her mother had hated being in the family way. But why had her father frowned when Tabitha talked about it? Maybe if she asked, Tabitha would tell her more. Maybe she could go ask her right now. Shake her awake and say, “Tell me about when I was born. Did it make everybody happy?” Everybody always seemed to be happy when a new baby was born in the church. Had her father laughed?

  And who picked her name—Jocelyn Ruth? Jocelyn wasn’t in the Bible. It sounded like a Bible name, but a Sunday school teacher had checked for her years ago in this big book where every word in the Bible was written down. She’d shown Jocie how it went right from Jobab to Job’s to Jochebed.

  Jocie had felt lucky at the time that she hadn’t been named Jochebed. But at the same time she figured her daddy would have picked a Bible name, so her mother must have named her. For some reason, she’d been afraid to ask her father. Just like she had always been afraid to ask him much about her mother. He always looked so sad whenever her mother was mentioned. Not just for h
imself, but for her too. But now if he was going to start noticing Leigh, things would be different.

  Things would be different all right. But different good or different bad? In the house she heard the clock strike twelve. Tomorrow already. Maybe if she said a prayer, the Lord would settle her thoughts down and she could go to sleep.

  Dear Lord, I’m not praying a stepmother prayer. I’m going to leave that up to Daddy. But I do thank you that Daddy is my father. Help me be the kind of daughter he can be proud of. Bless Aunt Love and forgive me for the times I’ve been mean to her. And thank you for letting me see the shooting star. Now help me to quit thinking so much so I can go to sleep. Amen.

  She opened her eyes and looked at the stars again. She started counting in the top left corner of the window frame. She was asleep before she got to fifty. She dreamed about babies.

  Jocie didn’t know who was the most nervous Sunday morning—Tabitha or Leigh. Or maybe Jocie herself, since she was nervous for both of them. Even her father seemed half undone when they got to Mt. Pleasant and saw Leigh’s car parked across the way. He jerked the car to a stop a cat’s whisker away from the concrete retaining wall at the edge of the parking area and muttered something about the brakes needing work. He ran his hand through his hair and straightened his tie before he climbed out of the car.

  Leigh was still sitting in her car in the parking area across the road as if she hadn’t worked up the courage to climb out and join the folk chatting in the churchyard. A few of them were shooting curious glances toward her car, but they were politely waiting for Leigh to get out before descending on her to welcome her to Mt. Pleasant.

  Jocie’s father helped Aunt Love out of the car and gave Tabitha’s shoulder a little squeeze. Then he smoothed down his tie one more time, tucked his Bible under his arm, and marched straight across to Leigh’s car. When she saw him coming, Leigh climbed out of the car and started toward him, but her full yellow skirt had caught in the car door and she almost fell. David reached out a hand to steady her. For a moment Leigh looked mortified, but then she laughed. Jocie’s father laughed too as he opened the car door to free her skirt.