Earthly Vows

by Patricia Hickman

  “Gracie, it’s you. Hard to believe it,” said Jeb. He was hard-pressed to find a place for him to sit. Crates were stacked in the parlor, for the churchmen would come by later to load his belongings into his truck.

  “How about the front porch?” asked Gracie. “I’ve missed it.”

  Jeb let him lead the way. Gracie lost half of his weight getting well. His stomach was flatter and his face looked lean, pink, his eyes clear and lucid. He left Nazareth straight from the hospital after a two-week stint that nearly killed him. Gracie rocked briskly and carried on about the Cincinnati doctors, how they goaded and prodded. “I believe I got well to spite them,” he said. His brother Geoffrey had done well for himself and looked out for all of them. “The girls were happy to see their cousins. They’ll write one another, I imagine, keep in touch. It’s good we went back, Jeb.”

  “Your letter surprised me,” said Jeb.

  “I hope you didn’t feel pushed away from the litter, so to speak. My old college friend Jon Flauvert and I had been corresponding. When he heard I was feeling my oats again, he wanted to put my name in the hat for that city church. I thought about it a good five minutes. But I’m an old warhorse. Best to stable me out in the country where I’ll do less harm. That’s when I thought of you. Not many men would rebound like you did, from jail to the pulpit. But how would it be, I thought, if you finally got a new start where you weren’t always trying to prove yourself?” He stopped his rocker. “I wasn’t manipulating you, though.”

  “Of course not.” Jeb grinned.

  “Fern’s got to be happy,” said Gracie.

  Jeb nodded.

  “She was always too smart for Nazareth. Only woman I ever knew who read Pascal for recreation. Girl like her will keep you on your toes.”

  Jeb had not yet seen her this morning. She packed and crated for the last three weeks, selling off her furniture to the churchwomen. This morning she was saying goodbye to her students. “She had her reservations. I can’t lie,” said Jeb.

  “I remember when she came to this town. She showed up at church in bright blue, wearing one of those hats she wears. Drove the women crazy with worry. She was too pretty. But smart, as I said. Wasn’t long until she was making friends. Had one of the women make her up a few plain dresses. The women took to her after that.”

  “I must say, when she goes home, she dresses for Fern, no one else.” All glitter and high heels, he thought, but she deserved a few secrets.

  “She was a surprise, how a woman with her culture would tolerate the petty jealousies of a small town. It says a lot about her character.”

  Jeb remembered her standing out on the rooftop garden over Oklahoma City, the lavender beads on that dress. That sorry Walton could not take his eyes off her.

  “I didn’t cause trouble between the two of you, did I?” asked Gracie.

  “Not a bit. Geoffrey and Dolly helping you move?”

  “Not this go-round. He hired a man with a truck. Should arrive sometime tonight.”

  “Will and Freda have arranged to have your things moved in after they get us all moved out. I’m going to miss him.” Freda kept cooking for Jeb and the kids until he made her stop. “They’re good people. Stuck by me when no one else would.”

  “I’ve missed him myself. Now have I counted wrong, or are you shy a child? Where’s your oldest charge, Angel?”

  “Oklahoma. She finally found her sister.”

  “I’ll bet she’s grateful.”

  “I’m going to go and check in on her. Ida May’s pining for her. I sent her a letter telling her that we’re on our way. She has no idea, none at all.”

  “I can see God putting this all together,” said Gracie.

  “That’s what I told Fern.” Jeb was pleased Gracie agreed with him.

  Fern pulled into the dirt circle behind Gracie’s car. She lit up at the sight of Gracie. “I don’t have room in my car for one more thing. We’ll have to tie Willie and Ida May to the hood. You are a sight for sore eyes, Reverend Gracie,” she gushed.

  Gracie pushed up out of the rocker. Fern met him on the porch. She hugged his neck twice and kept saying, “You look better than all of us.” Her eyes were moist.

  “I know it was hard saying good-bye,” Jeb said to her. “She means a lot to the students.”

  “Don’t I know it. I imagined the town lynching me upon my arrival. Not only are they losing a minister, but a star schoolteacher.”

  “Lynch you? Never,” said Fern. “The whole town is excited to have you back in the pulpit. I’ll have to warn you a couple of widows have set their caps.”

  Gracie looked good. Jeb couldn’t take his eyes off him. He had taken him in like a stray and taught him how to love. Then along came a first-rate pulpit post and Gracie passed it off to him. “I’ll never be able to repay you for all you’ve done.”

  “Too early for swan songs, Jeb. You and your fine lady have to take me into town for one of those chocolate malteds. Fidel’s, right? Ever since you got me my first one, I’ve thought about nothing else since.”

  “We’d best take two cars then. We’ll have to take the kids,” said Fern. She escorted Gracie out to his car.

  Jeb whistled for Willie. The kids assembled out front and Fern lined them all out as she always did. She would make a fine minister’s wife.

  Mrs. Abercrombie said she wanted all of the handkerchiefs washed, dried out on the grass, and ironed. Angel was to scrub six in one tub and she would wash another half dozen in the other. The lye made them clean, the grass took out stains.

  Angel swiped each one with the bar soap, scrubbed the fabric against the washboard, and then plunged them into the tub of water. One stained as red as the lipstick she wore that morning was stubborn as blood to get out. When she examined it, Mrs. Abercrombie cut her eyes away. Angel swiped it a second time and scrubbed it doubly hard against the washboard. “Any mail come for me?” she asked.

  “You asked me that yesterday,” said Mrs. Abercrombie, a little edgier than she said it the day before.

  Jeb had been so busy, she thought, what with getting married soon. Fern would be changing the furniture around. They had not had a second to think about a letter. Still, Jeb knew her address, knew that Claudia would spend every penny on food or cigarettes, leaving nothing behind to post a letter.

  “Can’t you phone your family?”

  Mrs. Abercrombie knew Claudia had no phone. Angel plunged another handkerchief into the lye water. Jeb had not written, though, and that was saying that he was glad to be shed of her. It was Fern that was at the end of it all, but she mostly blamed Jeb. He would have to be blind not to notice that Claudia could not hold her own. He was going to stop it, she thought, that morning before the bus came. He had the look she waited for, troubled. He took her aside. That was when her heart leaped clear into her throat. That was when she expected him to tell her that he wouldn’t let her leave. He gave her money instead. Claudia could not hold her own. What was in his mind? She would never be able to take in Willie and Ida May. Now she was trapped in Norman, not going to school, watching Claudia throw herself at Edwin Abercrombie.

  “You can use my telephone, girl. One call, not more than a minute. You’ve earned enough for a telephone call.”

  Angel stared at her, her hands soaking in the lye water.

  “You got a telephone number or don’t you?”

  “I do, ma’am,” said Angel. “I’ll go and fetch it.” She told John and Thorne to play nice on Mrs. Abercrombie’s back porch. The number was in her pocketbook, Fern’s number on one side, Nash’s on the other. Things were not well, she would tell Miss Coulter. Jeb needed to come for her. But what was Fern expecting, for her to be adult about Claudia? To make herself useful. Even Fern agreed, though, that she ought to be in school. That was what she would say first, spill that one out and see what Fern said. Only Fern would be at school and not home.

  Mrs. Abercrombie wrung out a handkerchief, spread it out on the grass.

  “I got th
e number,” said Angel.

  “You know how to place a call, girl?” she asked.

  “I do, ma’am. I’ll only take a minute. Save those handkerchiefs out and I’ll finish them as you want, ma’am.” Angel took the number inside. Jeb mentioned Will Honeysack. Will and Freda worked every day at the store. Fern had not written down that number, but she almost knew it. Angel picked up the receiver and said to the operator, “I need to speak to Will Honeysack in Nazareth, Arkansas, at Honeysack’s General Store. His number begins two, four, three, and can you get me the rest?”

  The operator said she would give it a try. She returned, having found the number, and made the connection for Angel. The phone rang once, twice, a third and a fourth. Finally a young man answered, “Honeysack’s General!”

  Angel asked him his name. He was Alfred, a boy who graduated last year from Stanton School. “I need Will or Freda,” said Angel.

  “Won’t get them today,” said Alfred. “They’ve gone off to help their new preacher move in.”

  Angel could not swallow. “Why did they get a new preacher?” she asked.

  “The old one quit, I reckon,” he said.

  Angel figured he was confused. “Do you know where he is? I mean, the other preacher? This is important.” He was irritating, not knowledgeable at all like Will’s old employee, Val.

  “Can’t say as I know. Today’s my first day.”

  Mrs. Abercrombie yelled outside that the minute was about up.

  Angel slammed down the receiver. “I didn’t get an answer,” Angel said through the door. “All right if I try another number?”

  She muttered loudly enough that Angel felt she could take it as a yes. She picked up the receiver and read the number to the operator off the back of the card. A click and then the first ring. There were seven rings and Mrs. Abercrombie was yelling again. Angel was about to return the receiver to the hook when she heard a voice. She leaned into the mouthpiece and said, “Is someone there?”

  “Bill Foster. Who is this?”

  “I’m Angel. Nash asked me to call. Is this the right number?”

  There was some muttering in the background. Finally a familiar voice came through the earpiece. “Angel Welby from Arkansas?”

  Angel breathed in deeply. “Oklahoma, I’m in Oklahoma now.”

  “You sound good, girlie. How’s that sister treating you in …Norman, is it?”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “Not so bad.”

  “Hey, you all right?”

  A sob slipped out.

  “I’m one hour from Norman. You need a ride out?”

  “I don’t know, that is—”

  Mrs. Abercrombie was coming up onto the porch.

  “I have to go.”

  “Give me your number. Let me check on you, you don’t sound so good,” said Nash. “Mrs. Abercrombie, what is your number?” Angel said it plainly, facing her as she came through the door. “Franklin, one, oh, two, nine, nine. Is that your family?” Angel forced a smile. She nodded. “I heard,” said Nash. “I’ll call you back tomorrow.” Angel placed the receiver back on the hook. “How nice you got in touch. Now you won’t be so troubled,” said Mrs. Abercrombie.

  “I don’t think I can let you go, Jeb,” said Will. “I can’t get it all straight in my head that this is the right thing. But I trust you.” Freda waited in the car, not able, she said, to say good-bye.

  The truck was pulling in with the Gracies’ belongings.

  Fern was inside saying good-bye to Gracie and the girls.

  “Gracie did all this, you know,” said Jeb. “Not because he wanted Church in the Dell for himself.”

  Will knew the same as he did. “He was thinking of you.”

  Fern came out of the parsonage. She kept patting Philemon and telling him how good he looked. “I guess we’re ready. Josie gave me some cookies for Willie and Ida May for the road.”

  “Fern, how about a kiss for an old man?” asked Will.

  “Don’t you make me cry,” said Fern. She kissed his cheek and waved out at Freda.

  “You can’t get married without us, you know that,” said Will.

  “Of course, you’ll come, you’ll come,” said Jeb.

  “Philemon says he’ll officiate at the wedding, Jeb. I asked him and he said he’d not miss it.”

  Jeb put his arms around Will. Fern kept putting her handkerchief to her face. Jeb could not muster the word “good-bye.”

  “See you in December then?” Jeb said.

  Will would not let go.

  12

  ASET OF WHEELS FOR US,” HE SAID. HE WAS holding up a set of car keys. Henry gave it to him. It was an old car that had belonged to Henry’s father; the car had sat out in his garage since his father died. “They must have seen your old truck.” Fern laughed.

  Jeb ushered Fern from her car, his hand at her back, taking measured steps on the faintly green grass to give her the full breadth of the place. She carried a box of kitchen gadgets, she said, from Abigail’s, and had dropped in at the grocer’s to boot. The least she could do was cook him a decent meal. She kept her other things at Abigail’s house, where she planned to stay until the wedding. His gear he stowed in the bedroom: a desk for studying, his suits, one brown, one black, the one Myrna fixed up from Fern’s daddy’s closet; the sofa. But the rest of the house was stark and echoing Fern’s absence. “Are you happy at your mother’s place?” he asked.

  “For now. I shouldn’t mind the drive to church on Sundays. Give me time to think along the way,” she said. “You’ve a good-size yard. Lots of trees, like the old place. But different.”

  “Better though, I think.” Except for the fact it had no creek out back. Willie mourned over it. But he made his bed in a storage room away from Ida May. “I thought you’d like to know the last minister’s wife had gardens.” He imagined Fern would garden. “Lots of places for flowers. Twice the room. And a few ladies from the church brought a small bed each for Willie and Ida May. Gives them a place to sleep for now.” The neighborhood was blocks from the church too, a sleepy street of bungalows, yellow, white, blue, and green.

  She barely glanced at the gardens. “Have you decided yet when they should join Angel and Claudia? Has either of them said?”

  “Ida May, of course, wants Angel to come home, that is, to live here. She was too young to remember Claudia. We’ll pay a visit come Friday to Norman. I said that in my letter to Angel, I’m pretty certain. She ought to be expecting us. After a couple of visits with their sister, I expect Willie and Ida May will want to stay. Family is family. Since you have time on your hands, I thought we all should go this first go-round.”

  “Mother wouldn’t have it any other way than that I would be teaching in Ardmore. You know how fast she gets in my business. It’s not a permanent job, but the school’s not far from the house. One of their teachers has gone home to have a baby.” She pulled her sweater closed to guard against the brisk air. “I told them I’d do it.”

  Fern had talked, hadn’t she, of finally having some time to do as she pleased. Of course she never had to work, no more than Donna. “Take off Friday then to be with me. You know I’m not as good around Angel as you are. And Claudia is a real piece of work. I lose patience.”

  “You’ll do fine. I’ve promised already, Jeb. They’re expecting me. Can’t leave a new mother in limbo,” she said. There was that air that he knew so well, that way she had of making known her will and wishes. It was all set then. Fern had a teaching position in Ardmore. She always did as she pleased.

  “Good enough, good enough,” he said.

  “You’re annoyed,” she said.

  “Not in the least.”

  “Disappointed.”

  “You surprise me, is all.”

  “I can’t sit around the house all day. You know I can only take my mother in small doses. It’s best I stay busy,” she said. She did not sound put out or irritated. He would try and give back in return. Today was Monday. “When do you start?” he asked.
<
br />   “Not until Thursday.”

  Ida May yelled from the front landing. “Miss Coulter, come see my room. Angel is going to love it.”

  “Be right there,” said Fern. She carried the kitchen bric-a-brac through the front door. It was all she brought this go-round, nothing else of her own. She was pleasant about the distance between them, but she had always been levelheaded. It was good they had time to plan the wedding, talk out things that they had not had the time to work out in Nazareth. Jeb knew it was idiotic to trouble over small things like Fern taking a teaching job in Ardmore. She wasn’t a married woman yet. What was a teacher to do but teach? They had plenty of time to shake out the particulars of making decisions together.

  “So he would stay up nights, I’d read to him and he would memorize Scriptures,” said Angel. “He couldn’t read a lick when I met him. A real outlaw.”

  “You’re making this up,” said Mrs. Abercrombie, “but I like it, I do!”

  “It’s not made up,” said Angel.

  “And what’d you say his name was?” asked Mrs. Abercrombie. She was crocheting.

  “Jeb Nubey.” Angel kept her threads straight and spooling out of her bag.

  Mrs. Abercrombie laughed. “So the two of you pulled the wool over a whole town, making them think this Jeb was a real preacher.”

  Angel remembered. “I was trying to feed my brother, Willie, and my sister Ida May is all, ma’am. I wouldn’t do that again. Jeb, he is a real preacher now.”

  “Mended his ways, did he?”

  “He did, ma’am.”

  “So he’s looked out for you all along, all this time, since your momma got put in the nervous hospital?”

  “Like a daddy to me and my brother and sister. Him and his fiancée, Fern. She’s a teacher.”

  “Why’d they send you here?”