by Janet Cooper
He released her, stood up, walked back to his desk chair and sat down. With her father, these actions portrayed his need to share something possibly unpleasant. Shifting on the cushioned window seat, Taylor pulled her legs up, sat Indian-style, waiting apprehensively.
“Let’s talk about what I, the practical man, do know. Mary is handling the funeral arrangements.” He stopped, took out his handkerchief, blew his nose and returned it to his pocket, “The hospital called. Your mother wasn’t drunk when she hit that girl.” He blew his nose again, harder. “Forgive me, Taylor, but I assumed she was.”
She flew off the seat, going to him. He placed his arms around her waist and sobbed. “Dad, I did, too.”
Once again, they comforted each other. Finally, her father slid his hands from her waist, grasped hers with his, and stared at her intently. “Taylor, please listen. We have guests in the house. They came to help celebrate your wedding.”
She fought back the lump filling her throat.
“They expected to stay until tomorrow at the latest. They can’t stay indefinitely. They have their own lives to live and their own jobs to do. We must let them get on. We must let them go.”
“But, Daddy, I’m sure that later this afternoon, someone will find Rod. We can still have the wedding. ”
“Taylor,” he interrupted, his voice gentle, but firm. “We have no idea when we’ll find Rod. His boat could have floated down the Broad toward the Atlantic. He could be anywhere. The bridal party can’t just wait for his discovery. They have lives to lead, families to care for, jobs to return to.” He repeated emphasizing each word. “We must be fair to them.”
She started to speak, but her father continued. “Dearest daughter, we will discover what happened, but our guests must be allowed to go home.”
Pulling away, she battled her anger, her fear, and the truth. What should have been the happiest time of her life had become the blackest portion.
“Something else you must consider.” He stood as he spoke. “If Rod hasn’t been found alive by this time …” He left the rest unsaid.
Crossing her arms in front of her waist, she vehemently shook her head. “No, no! He can’t be gone. I would feel it in my heart.” She touched her breast. “I don’t.” She held her arms. “When two people love each other, they are connected. I can’t accept he’s gone.”
As if exhausted, her father rested his hands on the top of the desk. “I didn’t know about your mother’s injury. I didn’t know she wasn’t drunk. Does that mean that I didn’t love her?” His hurt showed in his tone of voice.
“Oh, Daddy, of course not. I didn’t mean …” Why had she insisted? He’s told her he didn’t feel the separation. She hugged him awkwardly, his right shoulder touching her chest.
He pushed off the desk top, breaking her hold, and straightened his shoulders. He looked down at his daughter, the love and care beamed from his eyes. “In a novel or on TV the people experience psychic revelations. Honestly, I don’t know what’s true. Perhaps if we could be tied psychically to our love ones, it might help when tragedy hits one or the other. Maybe it wouldn’t. As I’ve said before, I had no idea about your mother.
“Wondering about this spiritual connection, you really should talk to Mary. For now, we must continue discussing our guests,” his tone turned practical. “Please sit down.” His voice gentle and kind covered the iron core of his being.
She resumed her seat in the window.
“We will gather everyone together in the living room and tell them our decision.”
“Can’t we wait until this evening?” she pleaded.
“No. Some of our guests drove. They might like to get home tonight. Others might have reservations on an evening plane. They still have time to catch it. If they’ve changed their flights, they can get an early plane tomorrow. All of them have helped. They’ve done their share. We can help them by letting go.”
For a few moments, neither spoke.
Then she nodded and stood. “I’ll wash my face, before I round up everyone.” She stared at him. “I love you, Daddy. I always will.”
“You are my princess, my darling little girl.” He kissed her forehead.
She sniffed. “If I don’t leave this minute, I’ll start bawling again.” She pulled away.
Before she turned the knob, he said, “Ask Mary, if you think she can help resolve your dilemma.”
* ~ *
While talking to their house guests, Larry appeared in the archway. “Sorry, Doc, I rang the bell, but …”
“That’s not important. What news?” Martin asked.
“Not good,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s a severe thunderstorm, with high winds expected tonight, coming from the west. We’re calling in all the boats.”
Everyone groaned.
Taylor grabbed her father’s hand, holding tight.
“Tomorrow, our DNR guides will finish up their search. ‘Course, for the next few days, they’ll keep a sharp look-out for, anything.” He cleared his throat. “The Coast Guard and the police helicopters will return to their bases tonight. Tomorrow, they’ll check the area once more and then, they must return to their normal schedules. I’m sorry.”
Although her father had said as much earlier, hearing the words slashed her heart.
Another moan filled the room.
“I’m really sorry,” he repeated as he walked to Taylor, took her other hand, giving it a pat. “I’ll spend as much time as possible, checking every lead coming in for as long as feasible.” He stared into her eyes. “Taylor, I hate having to say this, but the Lowcountry’s a tough place for a man alone. You and your dad understand that.”
“We do,” her father said, interrupted.
Larry briefly shifted his attention from Taylor to her dad. “Remember, please, if he’s alive, we will find him.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze.
After he left the house, the sound of crying and stifled groans reverberated throughout the living room.
“What did the DNR guy mean about the Lowcountry being a tough place?” Tim asked.
Taylor breathed deeply trying to find the strength to tell him. At the same time, her father cleared his throat as if attempting to find the right words.
Before either could speak, Miss Mary, in a firm voice, said, “For all the beauty of the Lowcountry, she has another face that occasionally shows, the dark side. Our swift tides clean the water, but in a boat, without a motor or a paddle, the strength of the river can carry people and their skiffs out to the ocean. The approaching thunderstorm and the direction it’s moving will add power to an already strong surge. Then add the spring tides that we’re experiencing now to the mix.”
A few of the guests nodded. Others expressions remained confused.
“What’s a ‘spring tide?’ asked Tim.
“When we have a full moon, our tides can reach eleven feet as opposed to their normal eight or nine. This adds tremendous strength to the river. More water flows in and must flush out in the same period of time.” She waited as if expecting a question, when no one spoke, she continued, “The water ultimately pushes boats toward the ocean. Surviving in the broad expanse of the Atlantic is difficult, extremely so, under the best of circumstances. Augmenting the river with rain, wind, thunder and lightning increases the problem.”
Taylor watched as she shifted her gaze from one face to another then stopped.
“But possible,” Tim said, as if saying would make it happen.
Mary’s face filled with sadness. “Yes, but with the storm and after two days …”
Silence filled the room. At last, they understood.
*~*
By ten o’clock the next morning, everyone had gone. Some had offered to say for her mother’s funeral, which would be on Tuesday, but she and her father urged them to go. At the front steps of the house, she and her father had waved good-bye to the last guests. Now, Taylor viewed the empty driveway, numbness enveloping her body. Her father voice interrupted her unhappines
s and sadness.
“If you need me, I’ll be in my office.” He kissed the side of her brow and left.
She had stared at his retreating figure and almost called, offering him her help. But, she sensed his need to be alone. Her father, basically an introvert, required time undisturbed by anyone. For the past few days, he’d been denied his quiet. She thought about visiting Miss Mary, but remembered that she and the part-time staff that had taken care of everyone’s requests for the last few days had their hands full cleaning up the house and the cottage.
The lethargic mood threatened to destroy her. Driving the negative attitude aside, she walked down the steps and followed the right side of the curved driveway only stopping at the brick pillars that marked the path to her home. While she strolled, ideas and plans for her day raced through her mind. She rejected them. She should go to the barn, but she couldn’t make herself. Jean and the newest groom, Cindy, would handle everything. Taylor had arranged the schedule when she’d expected to be gone. Maybe, she’d go and muck out a few stalls this afternoon.
With the search for Rod called off, looking for him alone on a twenty mile river, plus the rivulets and the streams, made no sense. Mr. Larry promised to notify them with any news.
A terrible thought invaded her, one she’d previously successfully pushed aside. What Mr. Larry hadn’t said because he wished to spare her additional pain, the body might wash up within a week or two, anywhere. Nor did he say that occasionally they never found the person. She lived in the Lowcountry all her life and understood the risk the rivers presented to boaters and swimmers.
She shivered and leaned against the ivy covered brick pillar, biting her lower lip and containing the tears. Gazing at the sky, she fixed her attention on the scattered clouds as they changed shaped. Suddenly, an alligator loomed in the sky instead of fluffy, white nothings.
She shut down the vicious scene. Hope, she must not give up hope. She offered a prayer for Rod’s safety, prayers and hope being her only refuge. No, she’d forgotten Miss Mary. Yesterday, Taylor had decided to ask for help from her. Perhaps, she’d finished her chores or could take a break for a while. Taylor pushed off the pillar and strode to the house.
As she entered her home, the phone rang; Taylor considered letting the voice mail answer. However, she feared her father would pick-up. He had enough on his plates. “Hello.”
“Is this Taylor Harris?” a harsh, gruff voice asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Ms. Ella Mae Lee.” Taylor blinked, clearing her head.
The caller continued, “Someone by the name of Jeff Benjamin called me yesterday.”
The dots connected, Ella Mae Lee, the mother of the injured girl. Taylor gave the conversation her full attention and hoped she hadn’t missed anything important.
“… He told me not to call back until after the funeral. Your mother’s funeral is tomorrow but I want answers today!”
Taylor eased the phone away from her ear before the woman’s voice broke her ear drum. “Answers about what?”
“How dare you ask that! Your mother ruined my daughter’s life. Your family will pay. I’ve checked. Your father’s a chiropractor with a large practice And he owns a two thousand acre plantation.”
Which my grandfather bought, Taylor considered adding. Instead she brought herself back and listened intently so she could hear everything the woman said.
“… horses.”
“Excuse me. What about the horses?”
“You have horses, a lot of horses. You can’t have horses and a barn unless you have a lot of money,” the woman snapped.
“I run a stable. Most of the horses board here.”
As if she hadn’t spoken, Ms. Lee rampaged on. “Your family has plenty. I want some for my pain and suffering.” By the time she finished she was screaming.
“Please stop shouting at me.” Taylor managed a civil tone. Inside, her head almost exploded with anger. “Don’t you mean your daughter’s pain and suffering?” Taylor challenged her as the control slipped.
“Of course, but I’m suffering, too. I’ve spend years of my time and a lot of money to get my daughter trained as a gymnast. I pinched pennies and went without so that she could have lessons and classes.” The volume and the tone blasted. “Your mother destroyed everything. She’s to blame! Your family owes me!”
“Ms. Lee, please. My mother’s funeral is tomorrow. I promise you I or someone representing the family will call you.” Taylor tried to control her rising temper by digging the fingers of her left hand into her palm.
“If no one calls, I’ll call my lawyer. I know my rights” Ms. Lee marshaled her words.
“I’m sure you do. Good-bye, Ms. Lee.” Taylor hung up the phone, before she cursed the woman.
As she thought back on the conversation, guilt flowed through Taylor. She’d been as angry as Ms. Lee was, but Taylor directed hers to her own mother. She’d accused her mother of being drunk, without any facts, evidence or doubts. Since that had been her mother’s solution to every problem for as long as Taylor could remember, she’d blamed her mother. Remembering her conclusion made her queasy and slightly sick at her stomach. Oh, you of little faith. This Bible verse blanked out any other thought. Initially, learning her mother was sober had tweaked Taylor’s conscious. The conversation with Ms. Lee stabbed her with pain. Why hadn’t she had faith? Her father and Miss Mary told her that her mother had joined AA, told her of her mother’s success. Yet, when Taylor heard about the accident, she tried and convicted Julia Ann without proof. Julia Ann. Taylor didn’t even like to recall her as her mother.
Taylor craved an outlet, to escape and not think, and to be out of the house. She dashed up the stairs to her room, threw off her good shorts and cotton blouse and grabbed her jeans and tee shirt. Instead of talking to Miss Mary, Taylor chose work. Mucking out a few stalls would burn up her energy, maybe cool her anger, and perhaps let the guilt ease. Running down the steps, dashing out the front door, she headed toward what she considered her ‘safe haven’.
Even as a small child, being around horses and/or at the stables had filled her soul with peace. Jean Wolffe, her partner in the Harmony Riding Academy, ran the day-to-day operation, while Taylor handled the PR, the advertising, finances, and helped teach. Their combined talents made the school a success. Anything connected with horses, they did. Jean, a classmate of her parents and Mary, had graduated from the local technical college with a degree in horse management, while Taylor’s degrees lay in managing the business. Before partnering with Taylor, Jean had run a small facility until the owner of the land decided to sell the property to a company about a year ago, Rod’s investment and development company.
In fact, the only disagreement during their partnership centered around Rod. Jean’s dislike of him was so intense that she’d refused to attend the wedding.
For almost a week after declining the invitation, her friendship with Jean and the business stood on very shaky ground. Finally, they settled their problems by agreeing that Rod would stay away from the stables, unless absolutely necessary. This wouldn’t prove a hardship because of his antitheist to horses and anything connected with riding.
These thoughts pointed Taylor to another problem. If Rod didn’t return, what would happen to his company and the people who had invested with him? He’d run a one-man operation or almost, telling Taylor keeping money flowing honestly mandated the boss oversaw everything. Whom could she ask about this? Then she remembered. Jeff. He taught investment counseling and real estate development management. She could call the family’s lawyer, but why bother him? He certainly hadn’t specialized in either.
Upon reaching the barn, she surveyed the area, looking for her partner. The white stable with its U shaped entrance and small door above the larger opening, where the barn stored the hay, greeted her, as did the quiet. She took a deep breath and the familiar smells of horses, feed, liniments, even manure caused her to smile, slightly. Walking through the ten-foot-wide opening, she
began calling, “Jean?” Upon reaching the end which faced the pastures, she briefly glanced at the trio of horses gathered in the nearest fenced in areas. Rocky, her first dressage horse, neighed as he ambled close to her. She strolled over to the fence and gave him a pat. He rubbed his nose against her shirt while she rubbed the far side of his large head with her hand. They communicated silently, and she shared her concerns and fears while he listened quietly. “Thanks for being here, Rocky.” She gave him a final pat before continuing down the left side of the barn, checking each stall as she did, calling Jean’s name. Not seeing anyone, she retraced her steps and repeated this procedure on the right wing, still, nothing.
Deciding not to keep searching for her friend and aware the remaining horses would be out in the various pastures at this time of day, she grabbed a rake and a bucket, proceeding to the nearest un-swept stall. Currently, the stable held twenty horses, three-quarters of them boarders. Of the remaining five, two enjoyed their twilight years eating and occasionally taking a small child for a ride. The others were reserved for the Horseback Heroes program, which allowed handicapped children and adults to learn to ride. The volunteers, who manned the activity, and the riders, who participated, didn’t start to arrive until after school.
After spending over an hour working, she heard a familiar whistle. Jean, she thought. Stepping out from the almost completed stall, she whistled back. Her friend strode forward, as Taylor dropped the rake. They hugged one another briefly.
“I’m so sorry,” Jean said, stepping back a foot or so. “Is there any news?”
“None.”
“I’ve kept current regarding the search via Mary.”
Good, I won’t have to explain. “I’m not giving up. He’ll come back.”
Taylor asked a few questions about the barn and the horses, before saying, “Will we see you at the funeral?”
