My Mother's Chamomile

by Susie Finkbeiner

  Creaking, the back door opened.

  “I think we got company,” I whispered.

  “Just me,” Gretchen called.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” Clive kept his eyes on my face.

  When Gretchen got herself up to the kitchen, she smiled at Clive and me. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “Nah.” Clive patted my hand. “We lock the door if there’s ever anything that could be interrupted.”

  “Clive Daniel,” I screamed, slapping my hands against my cheeks. I was sure they’d turned a pink shade of embarrassed.

  “You want something to eat, Gretchie?” Clive asked, still chuckling.

  “I’m fine, Dad.” She sat across from her daddy. “Don just made me eat some soup.”

  “Isn’t your stomach feeling better yet?” I took a step away from Clive.

  She didn’t answer me. Instead, she knocked a couple crumbs off the table and into the palm of her hand.

  “It’s been going on for a long time. Too long.” Crossing my arms, I watched her dump the crumbs onto a napkin. “Didn’t the doctor give you anything for it?”

  “Don’t worry, Mom.” She reached a hand across the table and touched Clive’s arm. “How are you holding up, Dad?”

  “I’m all right, I suppose.” Leaning back in his chair, Clive rubbed his bare scalp with both hands. “What I’m really dreading is catching up with Old Buster in the morning.”

  “He’s doing the funeral?” Gretchen asked.

  “That’s what I’ve got to find out.” Clive shook his head. “That man is all right at the funerals for elderly folks. As good as I can expect, at least. But I’ve seen him cross a couple lines when it came to younger people’s funerals.”

  “I think he’s just gotten worse the older he gets.” Shaking my head, I let the grumbly complaint loose. “He’s just full up with judgment for anything that moves in a way he doesn’t care for.”

  “Honey, if he does the funeral, I’ll make it clear as crystal that he’s to mind his manners.” Clive looked at his knuckles. “He gets me all riled up.”

  “That’s only because you’re so tired, honey. Why don’t you head on in to bed?” I asked. “A good night’s sleep will do you a lot of good.”

  “I don’t mind if I do.” He scooted his chair away from the table. When he got up, he didn’t stand quite as tall as usual. Shoulders rolled over and head hung low, he moved himself around the table to give Gretchen a smooch on the forehead.

  “Sleep tight, Dad.” She patted his arm.

  “I intend to.” Clive took a step over to give me a peck. His embrace startled and pleased me. His lips brushed against my earlobe. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too, Clive.”

  “If you want to move, I’m all for it, darling.” He pulled away from me and on to our bedroom.

  Only a minute or two after he left, his snores started up, rumbling through the door.

  “What a heavy day for him,” I said.

  “I can tell.” Gretchen wet a washcloth. “How about you?”

  “Well, God’s been kind to me. He’s kept me on my feet.” I joined her at the sink and drew hot water over the dishes. The dish soap made a tired sputter when I squeezed it.

  “Make sure you get a good night’s sleep tonight, Mom.” She took to scrubbing at the table. “Do you have enough chamomile tea?”

  “I sure do, honey.” The water heated my hands, relaxing my fingers, making them feel lazy. Running a dishcloth over a plate, water sloshed up on my shirt. “I hate to complain, but I am tired of handwashing dishes.”

  “Why don’t you have Dad put in a dishwasher?” Gretchen asked. “Over fifty years of washing by hand is plenty.”

  “More like sixty.” I wiped my brow with the back of my wrist, wondering how I got to be old enough to do anything for sixty years. “Seems like I’ve done dishes every blessed day of my life.”

  I sprayed water out of the faucet, rinsing a plate I’d washed so many times, the paint had started to wear off. I thought about washing at Aunt Gertie’s house. I’d learned most of my housekeeping there, with a faucet that barely trickled out. Oh, how greasy the water’d get from the lard she cooked with. She wouldn’t allow me to change the water for fresh, but I had to get those dishes spotless and sparkling. And, heavens, if a dish got chipped, it came out of my hide, no matter who’d dropped it.

  “Maybe you’ll get a dishwasher for Christmas.” Gretchen’s voice pulled me from the memory.

  “That would be a treat.” But really, I hoped to be in an apartment down the hall from Rosetta by then. If only I could pack Gretchen up and move her with me. “Really, I’ve got no right to whine and moan like this. At least I have dishes and a sink to wash them in.”

  “I’ll finish up.” Gretchen took the dishrag from my hand and nudged me with her hip. “You sit down and talk to me.”

  “You won’t hear me argue against that.” Using a dish towel, I dried my hands before sitting at the table. My eyes got heavy right away. My head, too.

  “I didn’t want to tell you this in front of Dad,” she said. “I don’t want him getting worried right now.”

  “What is it?” The tired went right out of my eyes and head. Worry took its place.

  “My doctor ran some tests.” She kept her back turned toward me. Must have made it easier for her to do the telling that way.

  “What kind of tests?”

  “Well, a couple of blood draws. Then they did a scan and ultrasound.”

  “You aren’t pregnant, are you?”

  She looked over her shoulder. “I hope not.”

  “Then, did the doctor have some kind of idea what’s the matter?” I felt my forehead wrinkle in concern.

  “She has a few thoughts.” She rinsed a handful of silverware. “She wants to discuss the results tomorrow.”

  “She couldn’t talk about it over the telephone?” From what I knew, they only called folks into the office for bad news. My stomach tightened, forcing burning bile up my throat.

  “I don’t know.” She sprayed water into a pot, swishing away the suds.

  All the possibilities stabbed in my mind. The thoughts came so fast, they made me all kinds of dizzy.

  “Would you like a little company for your appointment?” I tried to cover the panicky shrill in my voice. “Maybe we could get a bite to eat afterward. If you’re up to it.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing big.” The way her the words thinned, I doubted she believed them.

  “Gretchen, you don’t think this is just a bad case of the flu, do you?” Tingling pinpricks of anxiety dotted up and down my arms and limbs. “You think it’s more, don’t you?”

  “I’d like to have you with me.” She slid a plate into the strainer. “How about I make you a cup of tea?”

  “Would you rather have Donald go?”

  “He doesn’t know yet.” Water gurgled its way down the drain when she pulled the stopper. “He’d just worry.”

  “He’s your husband, Gretchen.”

  “I know. I’m used to doing this stuff on my own.” She turned, leaning back against the counter and wiping her hands dry. “Sometimes I just don’t feel like putting another burden on him.”

  “Are you sure, honey?”

  “Yes. Pretty sure.” She gave me a smile I knew was meant to make me feel better. It didn’t work. “Now. How about that tea?”

  She moved about my kitchen like a whirl of wind. In no time, I had a cup of fairy tea steeping right in front of me. She’d even remembered the drizzle of honey I liked.

  “Thank you, sweet girl.” Pushing my fingers against the smooth mug, the heat was almost more than I could bear.

  “I better get home.” Her hand on my shoulder felt heavy. “I’ll swing over to get you in the morning. Probably right around nine.”

  She grimaced and touched her side.

  “Honey?” I stood, getting breathless myself. The mug of tea tipped over. The doggone thing spilled on my foot. Thank goodness
I still had my shoes on.

  “Are you okay?” She grabbed the towel from off my counter. Stooping, she sopped up the spill on my foot. “Did it burn you?”

  “No.” Tears brimmed over, spilling from my eyes. “It’s all right.”

  “How about I get you another cup?” She didn’t wait for my answer before setting about to make more.

  After she left, I got up and carried the mug of tea with me to the window. I watched her walk past the garden. Dusky evening let off just enough light for me to see her as she stopped to snap off a handful of chamomile, bringing it to her nose and breathing it in.

  Hand to my stomach, I felt a longing for her. It thudded in my gut. Of all the babies I’d carried, she was the only one that made it into my arms. Since her first breath, I’d lived my life for her. Keeping her housed and fed and happy.

  I couldn’t do much about keeping her healthy. Not anymore, at least.

  I feared losing her more than anything else.

  That old familiar worry.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Evelyn

  Cal and I left the funeral home at the same time. I followed behind him, hoping that his bright tail lights would keep me awake. The last thing I needed was to hit another deer. I’d just gotten my car back from the shop.

  The day had seemed to go on forever. By the end of the evening, long after we’d sent Granddad upstairs, Cal and I reached the end of our abilities. And at the last of our emotional strength, too.

  A hot shower, soft bed, and dark chocolate sounded pretty good to me. I didn’t care in what order they came. The image of the girls’ missing faces wouldn’t get out of my head. Not that I expected chocolate to do the trick. But any distraction would help.

  Right before we reached the curve in the road in front of the Bunker farm, Cal slowed, his break lights blaring red. I realized we’d driven right toward where the accident had happened. I wondered if he’d forgotten that Randy had closed the road. When he turned into the yard of the old farmhouse, I figured we’d have to turn around and detour.

  Pulling in behind him, I saw the yard full of cars. Twenty or more lined up, parked right on the grass. Jay Bunker pointed to a spot by his mailbox, nodding to let me know he wanted me to park there.

  Cal got out of his car, pulling his jacket back on, regardless of the sticky hot evening. He tightened his tie. Always on duty.

  Jay met us at the base of the driveway and put his hand out for Cal to shake.

  “How you holding up?” Jay asked, his lip full of chewing tobacco.

  “We’re fine, thanks,” Cal said. “Tough day.”

  “My wife’s real tore up about this.” Jay took off his cap and wiped his head with a faded blue bandana. “I didn’t let her see them girls or nothing. But she’s just beside herself anyhow. Said we should’a cut down that blasted tree years ago.”

  “You can’t let her feel guilty.” Cal put his hands on his hips, pushing his jacket open. “It’s not her fault.”

  “Least we could do was let these folks pay vigil tonight.” The hat back on his head, he nodded across the street toward the ruined tree. “The wife’s been pouring lemonade for them all night. She made probably seven jugs of the stuff.”

  “That’s good of her,” Cal said.

  “It’s what she can do.”

  Around the accident site, a semi-circle of people had formed. Flickering candlelight glowed on their faces, catching their tears and making them sparkle. Teens huddled together, parents behind them, shifting their feet uncomfortably.

  “The crash darn near shook the house.” Jay pointed at the tree with his middle finger. “That tree hardly budged an inch. But it made the loudest noise I ever heard. Woke us both up, my wife and me.”

  Turning from us, he spit on the grass.

  “I run out to see what happened.” He adjusted the tobacco in his lip with his fingertips. “Could barely tell it was a car at all. I yelled for her to call for help. Then I got into the ditch to see what I could do.”

  Using the bandana, he scrubbed the back of his neck.

  “Never seen nothing like it.” Spitting again, he got a small dribble on his boot. “I tried to get the door open to pull them out. Didn’t know if the darn thing was going to catch on fire, you know. It steamed so out the hood. But I couldn’t get the door open. It wouldn’t give way. The glass was all busted out one of the side windows. I reached in and touched one of them girls.” He rubbed his hands together, like he tried to wipe them clean. “Her skin was still warm.”

  He cussed under his breath.

  “I hope you don’t mind my French,” he said, looking at me. “It’s just the worst thing I ever seen.”

  Headlights moved across us as another car pulled in. Jay stepped away to find a parking spot.

  Cal and I stepped through damp grass to get to the back of the semi-circle. Someone had set up two crosses at the bottom of the tree. Pinned to the splintered bark, pictures of the girls caught the occasional beam of headlights or flicker of candle. I hadn’t even thought about what their faces had looked like before. I’d only seen them after. Looking from photo to photo, I tried to pull those images in to displace what I’d seen on the embalming table.

  A few parents held on to their kids. Arms wrapped around from behind, holding their shoulders. I wondered if they begged God to spare them that kind of tragedy.

  Death had stepped too close to each of them through Shelly and Josie. They’d think about how they would stop squandering their lives. Make a list of all the adventures they’d have before they died. Think of all the people who needed to hear “I love you” a little more often.

  Sadly, though, a week or a month would pass and they’d forget that life was so easily lost. The people who truly valued life were those who paid attention to how close we all stood to death.

  I scanned the group, trying to read the language of crying, swollen eyes, and sorrow-weary bodies.

  One face stood out.

  “Who’s that?” Cal asked, seeing the same guy I did.

  “That’s Will Todd. The new youth minister,” I whispered.

  “Right. I forgot all about him.” Cal raised his eyebrows at me. “Your boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.” The last thing I needed was for Cal to start his teasing.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Will noticed us staring at him. When I locked eyes with him for a second, I had to look away. I’d never been so thankful for the dark. It covered my blushing cheeks.

  “He’s coming over here.” Cal elbowed me. “We should step back a little.”

  Will’s sandaled feet crunched across the dirt road. He followed us back, closer to the cars so we wouldn’t disturb the vigil.

  “Hey,” he said to me. “Good to see you.”

  “Yeah. You, too.” I joined my hands in front of me.

  Cal cleared his throat, not to be overlooked. “I’m Cal Russell.”

  “Right.” Will took Cal’s hand. “I’m Will.”

  “Good to meet you finally.” Cal nodded at me. “My sister’s told me a little about you.”

  “Hopefully, only good things.” Crossing his arms, Will shifted his weight to one foot. “So you guys are funeral directors, right?”

  “We’ll be the last ones to let you down.” Cal smirked.

  “That’s bad.” Will shook his head. “Anyway, I’m doing the funeral for the girls. I need to talk to you about how everything’s going to work.”

  “You’re doing the service?” Cal asked.

  “Barton had a few other things to do.” He shrugged. “I think he wasn’t completely comfortable with doing it himself.”

  Cal and I shared a glance and grinned. No one called Old Buster by his first name. We joked that his wife wasn’t even allowed to call him that. Everybody called him Reverend Thaddeus to his face and Old Buster as soon as he turned around.

  “You should stop over at the funeral home tomorrow and meet our grandfather. He can fill you in on all the details
.” Cal crossed his arms. “You know where it is, right?”

  “Yeah. Barton’s driven me all around. I think he’s taken me to the bakery about twenty times in the last two weeks.”

  “The man likes his bagels,” Cal said. “I’m glad Barton’s taking good care of you.”

  I caught Will eyeing me. He looked away quickly. “So I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” Cal said. “Ev can show you around. Seeing that you already know each other.”

  “I’d like that.” Will glanced over his shoulder. “It’s nice to meet you, Cal. I’d better get back over there.”

  I watched him rejoin the semi-circle. He stood off to one side, waiting just in case anyone needed him. Old Buster would have demanded everyone’s attention. Wanted to deliver a sermon. He would have asked his angel singer or the guitar man to lead the group in repetitive songs to up the emotional buy-in. Then he’d offer an altar call. A time of decision or rededication.

  Instead, Will waited on them, not asking a single thing from them.

  “I know he’s cute.” Cal tapped me on the shoulder. “But we’d better get going.”

  I only had to take a few steps to get to my car. Cal stood next to me.

  “He seems like a good guy, by the way,” he said.

  “I think he’s pretty nice.” I opened my car door. “But he never called for a second date.”

  “Did you call him?”

  “Well, no.”

  “You might want to think about that one.” He winked at me. “Hey, your hair looks nice. Grace said she was glad to meet you.”

  “I like her.” I sat down in my seat. “And I’m getting used to the hair.”

  “It sure caught Will’s attention.” He winked at me again. Him and his winking. “Sleep tight. Sweet dreams.”

  Cal waited for me to get my car started before he left his spot. Jay Bunker waved his hand at me as I drove away.

  That poor man. I doubted he would have sweet dreams for a long while after what he’d seen that day.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Olga

  The mother of the girls had called late into the night. Clive didn’t even flinch when the telephone rang. The poor man just kept sawing away at logs, as tuckered out as could be. I, on the other hand, hadn’t gotten so much as a wink of sleep. Too much pulled at my mind for me to put two dozes together.