The Shepherd’s Song

by Betsy Duffey

  Her possessions had been “downsized,” too, reduced to the contents of one dresser, a small closet, and one desk. A few pictures lined the top of the dresser: her daughter, Tanya, in cap and gown, graduating from college—Carl with his arm around her, smiling as he always did. She thought they would always have each other. Now she was stuck here in this small room, alone like Little Bunny.

  She turned away from Carl’s picture. She was giving him the silent treatment. It was hard to give the silent treatment to someone who had passed, but if anyone could give the silent treatment, it was Cornelia.

  The cursor on her screen blinked steadily as she thought. She shook her head, then turned back to her computer and continued typing:

  One day Little Bunny decided to see the world.

  Little Bunny stepped out of the cave into the open woods.

  Snip. Snap. A huge hawk swooped down and ate her up!!!

  Cornelia added several more exclamation points. She chuckled at the story, then realized with horror that she had just eliminated her main character in the first paragraph. How could she? Quickly she pushed the delete button. She would never finish a story if she killed off her main character.

  Her heart began beating rapidly in a funny, jumping rhythm, and she felt a slight pain in her chest. She took deep breaths. She did not want to end up in the infirmary. It was even more dreary than her lavender room.

  Cornelia looked at the computer screen and felt guilt at her thoughts and the death of Little Bunny. She turned the computer off and unwrapped two more Hershey’s Kisses. She needed a boost anyway. Her daughter, Tanya, was coming for dinner. She knew what Tanya wanted, and she wasn’t ready to give it. Tanya wanted her to forgive Carl and stop giving him the silent treatment.

  “Hey, Mom, we just landed.” Tanya blew in with a burst of energy and efficiency. She was still in her flight attendant’s uniform. She threw her coat across the bed and sat in one of the two armchairs in the room.

  “Where were you this time?” Cornelia was amazed by her daughter’s travels around the world, every day a different place. How could she and Carl, who had never left Martinsville, have raised this independent young woman?

  “Los Angeles to New York, then a short hop home to Baltimore.” Tanya emptied her pockets of peanuts and biscotti cookies, goodies that her mother loved. “And I brought you something else. I found this in one of the seat pockets in first class, and it looked like something you would like.”

  She handed her mother the folded paper. Cornelia took one look, saw the Bible verse, and pushed the paper across the desk. It was crumpled and old like her, and she didn’t want to look at it.

  Tanya had talked her into moving here—for the social life, she had said. Bingo and cha-cha lessons. Book clubs and movie nights. What would she do with cha-cha lessons? She might cha-cha her hip right out of joint.

  “Have you written anything?” Tanya asked.

  Cornelia didn’t answer.

  “Have you tried out the computer, like I showed you?”

  Tanya had set up the computer last week.

  Cornelia had always wanted to write a children’s book. She had spent her life caring for children. How many books had she read backward with the pictures facing out toward the eager eyes of children? Miss Corn, they called her. Miss Corn could really read a story. She made the characters come to life, each with a different voice and style. How she loved story time. With books she could travel the world without ever leaving her own lavender armchair.

  “Today we are going to Japan,” she would tell the children, pulling out a picture book covered with girls in kimonos. Or, “We are going to the Wild West.” Or Alaska.

  Books were her own personal airline.

  She longed to write her own stories, but when she tried, she just stared at the computer screen and nothing came. Or worse, she killed innocent animals.

  “Nothing yet,” she answered truthfully.

  She had read that writer’s block was simply fear. Maybe that was true. Certainly, the world had seemed safer when Carl was in it. He was her rock and kept her stable. As long as he was with her, she had felt that she could do anything.

  “Ready for dinner?” Tanya asked, checking her hair in the mirror, not noticing her mother’s anger.

  Cornelia glanced into the mirror and shrugged. Another meal in the dining room. Another lonely night ahead. Didn’t matter how she looked. Cornelia took her walker, and they began the slow walk to the dining hall.

  “Hey, Miss June,” Tanya called to June Banks.

  “I don’t know why you aren’t friends with June,” Tanya said. “She seems so sweet, always taking those prayer requests.”

  June waved back gamely from her post at the end of the hall, where she monitored the weekly gossip.

  “Prayer requests? Or gossip opportunities?” Cornelia asked with a snort.

  “Hey, Dr. Frank.” Tanya waved at a man sitting in front of his room in a wheelchair.

  “What about Frank? He has cute, twinkly eyes. He was a dentist. He’s sweet.”

  “Sweet like a toothache,” Cornelia said. “Last Tuesday morning everyone woke up with their dentures missing. Turned out Dr. Frank thought he was back at work and collected them all. Every last one. I’ll keep my dentures safe, if you please.”

  Tanya laughed. “Okay. But there must be someone here you could like.”

  They picked up their trays and made their selections, chicken à la king over toast points.

  They settled in at the table when Tanya began.

  “Mom, I think you should go to the cemetery with me tomorrow.”

  “When did you get so bossy? I’m not of a mind to go. I’m still giving Carl the silent treatment.”

  “Mom, Daddy’s dead,” Tanya said. “You can’t give the silent treatment to someone who is dead.”

  “Hmph. It does take some of the fun out of it.”

  “Maybe it’s time to forgive him. He always hated the silent treatment.”

  Cornelia didn’t answer. Carl did hate the silent treatment.

  She remembered how he would beg her, “Corn, please. Not the silent treatment; anything but the silent treatment.” All the while his crinkly eyes would be smiling, making her even madder.

  “Here, Corn,” he would say. “Just go ahead and hit me right here.” He would point to his chin. “Just talk to me.”

  Cornelia started to smile thinking about it but caught herself. She turned her attention to the food and stopped the conversation.

  “Okay, Mom,” Tanya said as she hugged her goodbye. “Call me if you change your mind.”

  Cornelia hugged Tanya tight, hating to see her go, hating to be left alone—alone with Little Bunny in her lavender cave.

  After Tanya left, Cornelia turned on her computer. She pulled the keyboard toward her and began.

  Little Bunny lived all alone in a lavender cave in the dark woods.

  She was off to a good start this time. She thought about dinner and Tanya’s urging her to see Carl. Why wouldn’t people—Tanya, to be exact—just let her be?

  She had always been known as a kind person, so different from the woman who gave her dead husband the silent treatment and murdered helpless bunnies in her imagination.

  Cornelia turned to the document and typed.

  Little Bunny peeped out.

  She thought of all the possibilities for Little Bunny. There was a time in her life when anything seemed possible.

  She thought of an eagle swooping down to devour Little Bunny. She thought of the dangers of raging streams that could sweep her away, of storms and lightning that could harm her.

  She looked down at her hands, which were clasped in tight fists, like a boxer ready to punch. She turned to look out the window, her hands still clenched. Her heart had started its strange rhythm after the second ending of Little Bunny’s life, but now it settled to a calmer, more steady pattern. She took a deep breath.

  “I want to forgive you, Carl,” she said to his picture,
“but I can’t.”

  “Please don’t give me the silent treatment” His crinkly eyes looked out from the picture, bringing the words to mind.

  She turned the picture to the wall. “I miss you,” she said softly.

  She picked up the paper that Tanya had found on the airplane. The loneliness of the room was closing in. At least the paper was something different. She unfolded it. It was an old psalm, one she had memorized as a child. She focused on the end—Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. Was that true?

  No, it was not true. It had been true in the early years. Goodness and mercy were woven into her life, like the stitching in a quilt she made for Tanya—but the stitching had begun to unravel. First Tanya left, heading out to the community college, then the job at the airlines, and the move to the city.

  Then Carl left her. Not his body, but his mind. She was so afraid when Carl began to wander away. She still remembered the fear she’d felt the first time she had found him missing. It seemed impossible that he could have left without her knowing. She had run to each room, looking, searching, trying to find him, trying to think with his brain where he could have gone. But that was the problem; his brain was no longer there. He was silent.

  The police had come quickly when she’d called. Neighbors had gathered at the edges of their yards to look and see what was going on. Later, Carl was found wandering up the interstate in his bathrobe and slippers. That was the beginning of the end, as she saw it now.

  It was the beginning of the journey that would lead her to Happy Acres and lead him to the memory unit. She was surprised at how happy he was as soon as he was confined, how content he was with the smallness of his world, the smallness of a single room. But she had not been ready for the smallness. She had not been ready to see her world shrink, and shrink to this lavender cocoon. It wasn’t fair.

  She looked at the paper with the psalm again. It was well worn. Someone had carried it around a long time. And it was covered with stains. A little coffee on the edge, a smudge of green, a bit of red lipstick, and oil, too. Her creative mind began to imagine who might have caused those stains and what their lives were like. They were probably ordinary people, just like her. Cornelia looked more carefully at the pictures on her dresser. What a full and wonderful life she had experienced.

  “What happened, Carl?” she said to the back of his picture. “Why did you leave me?”

  She remembered the first words Carl had said to her, long ago after a school pep rally. “May I walk you home?” It seemed old-fashioned now, but it was so romantic at the time. She could still see him in his jeans and button-down shirt—hair cut short and always combed back, his coffee-brown face and deep-brown eyes framed by his wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Oh, Carl,” she said. “I wish you could see me home.”

  Memories came back, good memories. Camping with Carl and Tanya in Cloudland Canyon, the rain dripping into the tent and the laughter and squeals as they dodged the raindrops. Their big backyard barbecues with friends and neighbors and church family, Carl always at the grill, spatula in hand, wearing his silly chef hat that embarrassed her.

  Goodness and mercy described her life up to this point. Life had been so good, so perfect. Going forward would be different.

  She looked down at the paper.

  The big question, she realized, was could she trust God with her future? She felt as helpless as Little Bunny.

  “Goodness and mercy shall follow me,” she read, and the words follow me stood out. For something to follow you, you had to be moving. God had given her Carl to walk with her through life. Now she needed to keep walking. She felt God saying, “May I walk you home?”

  “Can I trust you, God?” she asked. “Can you be my rock?”

  Other memories came back now. She had thought of her life with Carl as perfect, but it wasn’t without trouble. There they were in the emergency room, holding Tanya as a baby, fever raging. Carl was praying. Later, the fever had turned. And there she was, sitting in the doctor’s office, holding Carl’s hand for her first bout with breast cancer. God’s goodness and mercy had come every day as she and Carl had dealt with each frightening appointment in prayer.

  There was goodness and mercy again when Carl lost his job at the factory. And yet again when they were down to their last can of food. They had walked through it all together. They had walked through it all with God.

  She picked up Carl’s picture and turned it around. The most painful memories returned—Carl looking at her with his blank eyes, silent.

  “Why?” she said, weeping. Her tears fell on the glass of Carl’s face and dropped down on the psalm in her lap. “Why did you give me the silent treatment?”

  There. There it was. Worse than anything, anything that could possibly happen to her. Carl had forgotten her.

  “God, please don’t forget me, too,” she said through the tears. “Please don’t give me the silent treatment.”

  Her breath let out. Her heart slowed its rhythm. She held the picture tenderly, looking into the loving eyes of her husband. She placed him in his spot on the dresser. She sat with the psalm and realized that God was speaking to her through the words on the crumpled paper. God promised her goodness and mercy all the days of her life. As she held the psalm, the anger drained from her mind, replaced by gratitude. God had not forgotten her. God was not giving her the silent treatment.

  “Thank you, God,” she said. “Thank you, Carl.”

  In the stillness of the lavender room she felt God’s presence.

  “Okay, God,” she said. “I hear you.”

  In the lavender room she was not alone.

  “Okay, God,” she said finally. “You may walk me home.”

  Cornelia took a deep breath and blew it out. She looked at the blinking cursor. “You are one tough Little Bunny,” she said to the screen, and she began to type.

  Little Bunny stepped out of the safety of the cave.

  That felt right. Felt big. She didn’t know what would happen next in her life, but she knew that God would be with her. When she turned off the computer, her own reflection looked back. She touched her wrinkled skin and patted her gray hair.

  “You are one tough Bunny,” she repeated to her reflection.

  “Okay, Carl,” she said to his picture. “The silent treatment is over.”

  She picked up the psalm and thought about what she could do with it.

  Like me, she thought, old and worn, and even a few stains, but not done yet. God is not finished with me.

  “Goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,” she read. “All the days.”

  She would not act like her life was over just because it was different. She picked up the phone and called Tanya.

  “I’m ready. I want to go see Carl tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Mom. I’ll pick you up at ten.”

  * * *

  CORNELIA SAT WAITING in the hall chair, hands folded, coat buttoned, Carl’s favorite of her hats proudly atop her head.

  Dr. Frank rolled by.

  “How’re your teeth doing?” Cornelia asked.

  Dr. Frank looked thoughtful. “They will be ready next Tuesday.”

  Cornelia smiled, and Dr. Frank smiled back. June waved from down the hall.

  “Going out?” she pumped for information.

  Cornelia smiled again. Her smile muscles were getting a workout.

  “Yes. Going to see my husband.”

  June looked surprised. Cornelia chuckled. That will give her something for the prayer list.

  Tanya came in and hugged her mother. “You look great.”

  They walked slowly toward the door and into the bright morning outside. A little anxiety washed over Cornelia. “All the days,” she whispered, and she stepped outside.

  It was a short drive to the cemetery, then a short walk to Carl’s gravesite. Cornelia ran her fingers over the name carved in the tombstone.

  “I’m sorry, Carl. I love you.”

&n
bsp; Cornelia placed flowers in front of the tombstone, then she set the psalm beside the flowers.

  “Thank you, Carl. For all the good times. Sixty-three years of marriage. How blessed we were. God was faithful for all those years. Why would I doubt Him now?”

  Tanya took her hand, and they stood in silence, enjoying the moment.

  As they walked slowly back to the car a gentle breeze began to blow.

  Back in her room Cornelia turned on the computer. Gone were the feelings of anger and bitterness. She wrote:

  Little Bunny lived all alone in a cave in the woods. One day Little Bunny decided to see the world. As she stepped from the darkness into the brightness of the green forest, she began to walk and became a red fox. Her fox legs began to run, and the strides became great leaps. As she took a soaring leap, she became a deer, running along the paths, gliding over fallen logs and branches. She jumped to clear a large boulder, and in midair she became an eagle. She soared higher and higher, becoming a small speck on the horizon, gliding continually upward toward the light. The light was waiting to welcome her.

  This time Cornelia did not hit delete; she hit save.

  In her younger years God was good and God was merciful. Everything was different now, but God was still good and God was still merciful. In fact, his goodness and mercy would follow her all the days of her life. The smallness of her world was only temporary. A huge world with God was waiting for her. And one day He would walk her home, and when he did, Carl would be waiting.

  ALARMS WENT OFF on the monitors in ICU room four.

  After six weeks of slow but sure progress, Kate McConnell was in trouble. Five minutes ago everything had been normal. Dr. Belding had made rounds, and the nurses were back at the nurses’ station, chatting about their evening plans. Kate’s husband and son had just left for a cup of coffee.

  Two nurses rushed in and checked the readings on the machines.

  “BP: sixty over forty,” one said. She began pushing aside unnecessary equipment. “Call a code blue.”

  Dr. Belding was finishing his rounds in the ICU when he heard the call.