Earthly Vows

by Patricia Hickman

  The air was dank, steaming under the cloud barrier that turned the sky black, erasing the moon and stars, like Sanford’s ink washing every point of light from heaven. A brown thrasher fluttered suddenly, bursting out of the foliage of an olive tree. Drops rained off the leaves, gold dripping under the lanterns. The stone pavement was shining and black, everything damp. A pondlike vapor hung over the terrace, but it couldn’t have rained that much. A gardener had been out and watered it. Water hoses were wound up like snakes and put against the wall. The raised gardens were framed all around with wood, a tangle of mountain sumac and primrose petals dripping over the potent boxed soil.

  Fern was where Donna said she might be. She stood near the rooftop balustrade, looking down on Oklahoma City. Her fingers lightly gripped the barrier. Jeb walked around the tree that blocked his view of her. Now she was in full sight. The rhinestone hairpins in the back of her hair flickered like a cat’s eyes.

  Walton leaned against the railing near her. She kept looking away and he was talking to her in a low voice. “I was surprised to hear you were coming,” he said.

  Jeb slid his hands into his pockets and stepped sideways behind the tree.

  “Who said I was coming?”

  “Marion’s daughter, Sybil, told Anna,” said Walton. “She didn’t know who you were, though. Did you know Sybil? It’s been so long. At any rate, since college, Sybil’s still my wife’s best friend. They sit out on the patio all morning, gabbing and drinking coffee. I’m glad for Anna she still has Sybil.”

  Fern kept looking down at the street below. “I knew I shouldn’t have come.” She fumbled with something at her wrist. Walton reached and with both hands adjusted whatever bauble it was she fiddled with around her wrist. “Was I that bad, Fern?” he asked.

  “We were all bad, Walton. That’s the way things were back then.”

  The Oklahoma senator gripped the railing and his hand rested near the hand that bore Jeb’s engagement ring. “Fern Coulter’s marrying a preacher. I couldn’t believe it when Marion introduced him. I guess you’ll have to be good now. Abigail must be pleased, she never could keep a good leash on you.”

  “Hush, Walton.”

  The door opened behind Jeb. The necking couple took their party inside. The woman laughed, a loud, rolling flutter of laughter that echoed across the terrace. Fern turned and then froze. She moved away from the railing. “Jeb, is that you?”

  Jeb came from behind the tree. “I was worried. I came looking for you.”

  “Evening, Reverend,” said Walton.

  She stared at him after he stepped out from behind the tree. “You should have said something. Told me you were here.”

  Jeb looked first at Fern and then Walton.

  “Jeb, this is Senator Walton Baer,” said Fern.

  “We’ve met. Our host and hostess are probably wondering what happened to us.” Jeb held out his hand. She sighed and then accepted his hand. Her fingers trembled slightly and then clasped his. Her husky grip was gone, but she followed him. Her palm was clammy. She kept her eyes to the pavement all the way across the terrace and then even as they walked down the hallway and into the Venetian Room.

  She knelt and brushed away a soggy leaf from the hem of her gown. A trace of brown stained the hem. She sighed and then straightened upright.

  Walton followed them. “No need to spoil a good party,” he said. He slipped on his jacket. “I’m not hungry anyway. I hope we meet again, Reverend. See you, Fern.” He turned and left.

  “I’m getting a headache, Jeb. Can we leave?”

  Donna spotted them. Her face brightened. She rested against her chair back to allow one of the waiters to fill her soup bowl. “They’re bringing your food,” she mouthed.

  “Donna’s already ordered for us. We ought to go in,” said Jeb.

  One by one, each dinner guest turned his or her face from the table and looked at Fern, a set of curious eyes connecting back to Jeb, and then turning back to whisper.

  “You going to tell me who Walton is?”

  She lifted her face. “I knew him once.”

  “Where’s his wife?”

  “He didn’t say.” She took a breath. “He followed me, Jeb. I went outside to be alone. Don’t make it something else.”

  “Do you want to be alone now?” He let go of her arm.

  “This isn’t right, what you’re doing.”

  “What am I supposed to think, Fern? A man I don’t know shows up and ends up out in some garden with my fiancée. You think I’m an idiot?”

  “I know you’re not, Jeb. But I told you I didn’t want to come, didn’t I?”

  “So you knew this Walton would be here?”

  “You’re not listening, so what difference does it make?”

  “Why’d he come alone?”

  “I think he came to see me.” She waved to acknowledge Donna. “We never brought things to a proper close. I think he wanted to make sure I was all right. Everyone’s looking at us. Can we stop talking about it?” Marion waved at Jeb. Jeb cupped Fern’s elbow with one hand, and clasped her wrist with the other. He steered her back toward the dinner party. Marion had commented about Walton finishing law school when Fern and Donna were in college. But she had never mentioned him before. “I hope we can return to the party and at least be civil.”

  Fern smiled at the hostess, but she didn’t comment any further. “I wish you would say something, Fern,” said Jeb. “I told you I didn’t want to come.”

  Marion was talkative, telling Jeb that while he and Fern were out for their walk, Donna started a rumor about them. “She says you’re getting married this week, is that right?”

  “Tuesday, most likely in Abigail’s church. A simple ceremony,” said Jeb. But he said it without looking at Fern.

  “I’m surprised Abigail isn’t throwing you-all a big wedding. I’ll bet she had no say in this,” said Marion.

  “She didn’t at all,” said Donna. “I think I was the instigator and Mother never lets that happen. I’ll be surprised if she lets them up and get married without a big to-do.”

  Jeb tried to keep from looking at Walton’s empty chair. His bowl was cleared by the wait staff.

  “Let me see your ring, Fern.” Marion extended her hand to Fern, who was seated next to her. The rock on Marion’s hand could sink the table.

  Fern held her hand up to Marion. Her tone was staid when she said, “It’s very old. Jeb’s mother left it to him.”

  “I’ve never seen diamonds in that sort of arrangement. It’s a fine ring and the plainness of it is what I like best,” Marion said to the entire party.

  “I propose a toast,” said one of the men.

  “If it’s all right with the preacher,” said Henry Oakley.

  Several of the men said, “Hear! Hear!”

  Donna elbowed Fern until she lifted her water glass.

  Jeb touched his glass to Fern’s. There were shadows under her eyes. She was breathing heavier than usual, her chest rising and then sinking. As she lowered her glass, Marion began bending her ear again, wanting to know about her trousseau.

  Henry touched Jeb’s arm. “How about we get down to business, Reverend? Marion and I have been friends for years with Jon and Rachel Flauvert. They’ve traveled all over, you name it, Mexico, Peru, what have you. I think they’ve been to China or some such. We lost our last pastor to some big church outfit in New York. Jon Flauvert knows everyone, so when I was asked on behalf of First Community here in Oklahoma City to find a new minister, I knew he was the man to see about it.”

  Jeb listened to Henry talk about the founding of First Community and then told him, “Dr. Flauvert asked me to speak on Sunday. But it’s happening kind of fast. I still have a lot of ties back in Nazareth.”

  “Understood. But we like what we’ve heard about you, so we hope you’ll give us a look and we’ll give you and your bride a look and see what happens.”

  “Tell us, Fern, what you think of coming here, of your husband taking the p
ulpit of a city church?” asked Marion.

  Fern turned to look toward the restaurant entrance. Donna whispered something to her. She said, “I’m not sure.”

  “She hasn’t had a minute to think about it, I’m sure,” said Henry.

  “I’ve made a life for myself in Nazareth. The people are good.” The whole time Fern talked, she shifted her gaze from Marion and then back to Henry, avoiding Jeb’s eyes. “Most, I’d say, are good.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “The last thing I remembered saying about Nazareth was to Jeb before we left town. I wondered if we would live there the rest of our lives,” she said.

  “Is that what you want?” asked Marion.

  “She said it didn’t matter as long as she was with me,” said Jeb.

  Fern finally looked at him. “I don’t think I said that.” She was smiling for everyone, but there was that irritating tension between them.

  Henry laughed and a couple of women leaned forward, elbows on the table.

  The entree arrived and the soup bowls were removed. Donna had ordered a steak for Jeb. He thanked her for that. The waiter filled Jeb’s glass again. The jazz singer was taking a break, so the band struck up a soft melody. The lights were dimmed so much that all members of the dinner party had a blue cast to their skin. The smoky haze made a halo around Fern’s blond hair. She mostly listened to Marion gabbing, communicating by an occasional nod of the head. Donna kept looking at Fern and then Jeb. Her fingers nervously tapped the table.

  Jeb closed his eyes when he chewed the first bite of steak. It was a perfect cut, fork tender. He had not dined on steak since the time before he and his brother, Charlie, went to work for a man named Leon Hampton in Texarkana. Maybe it had been longer. He could taste the rareness of it, the tender pink juice flowing into his mouth. The fluid music lulled him into a relaxed state.

  The woman sitting next to him wore a spangled shawl, the border threads dripping over her fingertips whenever she reached for her glass. Her husband invited her to get up and dance a slow one. Another couple got up from the table and then a young man walked all the way across the room and invited Donna to dance.

  “Looks like we’re the only old fogies left to hold down the fort,” said Henry.

  “Henry, why don’t you ask Miss Coulter to dance?” asked Marion.

  Fern glanced at Jeb. She didn’t wait for his nod of approval, but got up and met Henry on the floor.

  Marion turned around in her chair to watch them gliding around the floor. Then she faced Jeb and said, “That Fern is a pistol, sharp, sharp, I’m telling you. She’ll be an interesting one to watch. Not your typical preacher’s wife.”

  “Fern’s a good woman,” said Jeb.

  “She’s got eyes for you, I’ll say that. The whole time we talked, she never took her eyes off you.”

  Jeb slid his glass across the table to the waiter, who filled it again.

  “You like our little city, Reverend?”

  He did not have to keep Marion occupied. As soon as she asked him something else, her eyes would fall on another of her friends and she would shout down the table, engaged in a new story.

  Fern twirled under Henry’s arm, an old dance step, but she had it right. It was not his first time to watch Fern dance. Henry snapped her out at arm’s length and she laughed. Jeb finally looked back at Marion. “I like the city fine, Mrs. Oakley.” He hadn’t known until now that he did like Oklahoma City. “Folks don’t seem quite as desperate here as back home in Nazareth. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a Depression on.”

  Marion laughed. “Waiter, how about a slice of key lime pie for the minister?”

  Jeb saw that she was waiting for his approval. “Sure, I’d like that,” he said.

  The waiter served him and then Marion said, “There’s desperate people here too, just like around the rest of the country. Migrants mostly. They’ve camped in tent cities around our city limits.”

  “We saw them.”

  “Folks around here don’t like it. They call them freeloaders. I don’t know how I feel about that. I guess you being a minister and all you have some things to say about that.”

  “I preach all the time. I’d rather hear what you have to say.”

  “You are a smart man, aren’t you? Henry and I once knew hard times. We weren’t raised with a silver spoon like the rest of this bunch. Both of us worked to put him through law school. Our first home was an upstairs room in a boardinghouse. We didn’t have two nickels to rub together. So I downright hurt for those families.”

  The dance ended. Fern and Donna met in the center of the floor and then turned away from the Oakleys’ table to go and freshen up. Henry sat down on the other side of Jeb and explained how the church committee voted in a new minister. His coffee cup was refilled. Jeb took a sip and then pushed it aside.

  Henry asked, “Has anyone seen Senator Baer?”

  “He’s gone home to be with his wife,” said Jeb.

  One of Marion’s friends seated herself on the other side of Jeb. She was out of breath from dancing. “Anna’s not gotten out much since she fell ill.”

  “The senator’s wife is sick?” asked Marion.

  “She’s not expected to live. You knew that, didn’t you?”

  Fern leaned against Jeb in the elevator.

  Donna reached for her purse.

  “Donna, don’t light up another of those things. You smell like the Devil,” said Fern.

  He had not seen Fern so harsh with her sister before.

  Donna’s hand froze inside her purse. She withdrew it and then leaned against the back of the elevator. “For a minute, I thought Abigail had gotten in this elevator.”

  Jeb held Fern’s hand. Her skin was cold. She stared up at the elevator dial over the door. A silver bracelet jingled out of her sleeve, exposing small gem droplets, emeralds and sapphires hanging from the bracelet.

  She drew that hand up into her shawl.

  “That’s a nice piece of jewelry. Is that your mother’s?” asked Jeb.

  Donna leaned forward and lifted Fern’s shawl. She looked at Fern and said, “That’s the bracelet Daddy bought you one year. Wasn’t it a birthday gift when we were in college? I thought you’d lost it.”

  Fern touched the gems. “So did I.” She and Donna exchanged glances.

  Jeb said, “Did you find it at your mother’s place?”

  Fern let out a breath. She closed her eyes and the elevator doorbell sounded.

  “Here’s our floor,” said Donna.

  Jeb walked them both to their room. Fern unlocked the door. Before she could open it fully, Jeb placed his hand atop hers, on the doorknob.

  “I’m tired,” said Fern.

  “I think you’re right about something.” Jeb opened the hotel room door all the way.

  Fern looked at him.

  “We should have stayed back in Ardmore.”

  “We all need rest,” said Donna. She put her arm around Fern’s back and they disappeared into the room.

  It was just as well. The more talking he did, the more Fern retreated.

  He remembered the first time he saw her. She wore linen. He caught trout in the stream behind Church in the Dell. The water rushed around his boots as he messed with a trotline and then looked up to see a being of light, her heels planted in the grass. It seemed it was morning and the sun was up and shining across her face. She was sure of herself.

  Before she disappeared into the hotel room, her shoulders were stooped and she looked as though she had lost bits of herself along the highway between Arkansas and Oklahoma.

  Jeb knocked on her door. Donna answered and he said, “I need Fern.”

  The room was quiet behind Donna. Finally Fern appeared.

  “You forgot to say good night,” said Jeb.

  Fern stepped out into the hallway. The color on her cheeks had rivulets of white.

  “I love you, Fern.” He held her.

  “I don’t know why.” She was crying.
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  He kissed her. When he drew back to look at her, he tasted salt and lipstick.

  Donna closed the door behind her.

  “I’ll take you home right now, Fern, if that’s what you want.”

  She wiped her eyes with the lapel of her robe. “Jeb, it’s your turn to do what you want. I’m not telling you what to do.”

  “I’m not going to wreck us, Fern,” said Jeb.

  “You’re not, you’re not. Don’t be this way. I’ll get some rest. Tomorrow I’ll be different. You study for Sunday. We’ll do this, Jeb. I never thought I’d see you behind a city pulpit. But I should have, I should have known. I’m proud as can be. Shame on me for not saying so sooner.” She kissed him again, her lips warm and swollen from crying. She slid her tongue between his lips and pressed herself against him.

  “Come with me, to my place,” he said. He held her face in his hands.

  She pressed against him and his back went against the wall. She kissed him again. Then she let go of him, brought her hands to her face, and laughed. “You’ll never finish that sermon with me around.” She walked back to her door and knocked for her sister.

  Donna opened the door. Her hair was tied up in rags. “May I help you?”

  Fern took the door handle and said her good-nights. Behind the door, Donna muttered, “You look miserable.” The door closed. The sound of the lock clicking into place told Jeb that the night was ended. He waited until he heard Fern and Donna laugh from inside the room.