My Mother's Chamomile

by Susie Finkbeiner

  “Well, I hate that everyone has to work so hard all day, then come over here and take care of me.” The side of her face tensed, her jaw flexing, popping out from her too-thin face. “I feel like a burden.”

  “I haven’t heard one complaint from anybody,” I said. “Just so long as we keep the coffee brewing, everybody seems to be pretty content.”

  “Well, I really appreciate it.”

  She breathed in sharp and wore that twinge between her eyebrows. The way she moved her legs, real slow and stiff, got my heart racing. Her body shook, and she put a hand to her stomach.

  “Gretchen?” I left that washcloth and got myself to her. “What is it? You need some of that medicine?”

  “I’m okay.” She clenched her teeth. “It’s just a jolt.”

  “Let me get you one of your pills. Please, honey.” I started back to the kitchen. “I can’t take seeing you like this anymore.”

  “No,” she panted. “The pain never lasts all that long. It’s almost over now.”

  Relaxing, she sank into the couch cushions. Her teeth chattered so, I worried she’d break through a crown.

  “Honey, the medicine would help with that. The hurt wouldn’t come on so strong.”

  “I’m not myself when I take that stuff. I can’t even keep my eyes open when I’m all drugged up.” Sucking in, she got herself a breath that pushed her chest up. “When I can’t go without them, I’ll let you know. I promise.”

  I got a clean washcloth from the drawer by the sink. Soaked it with the coldest water I could get out of the tap. That freezing water made my fingers stiff.

  “Here.” I made my way to her, feeling the worry in every single muscle. “At least let me cool you off a bit.”

  Her eyes stayed set on the trees outside her window. Wiping at her forehead, I got the edge of the scarf wet, it soaked up some of the moisture.

  “Would you look at the orange leaves on that maple.” Her voice still quivered a bit. “Remember when Cal put that in when it was just a sapling?”

  “I don’t know that I do.” I moved my cloth across her cheeks.

  “He found it in the woods and wanted to transplant it here. Right outside his bedroom window.” Her smile bumped against my hand. “He wanted to watch it grow.”

  “Oh, yes.” Looking where she’d pointed, I refolded the washcloth. “I remember now. That was a good many years ago.”

  “I was so afraid I’d mow over it. Remember how I put the bricks all around it?” Head laying on the back of the couch, she kept on talking. “I love that Don put rocks around it. It’s so pretty. He found the best rocks he could.”

  “How is Donald doing?” I asked, getting up to finish my cleaning. “He seems so tired, honey. Is he getting any sleep at all?”

  “Not much. He’s not eating, either,” she said. “He’s taking this so hard.”

  “I imagine.” My scrubbing cloth had gone dry. I plunged it into the lukewarm dishwater. “Is he talking to you about it at all?”

  “A little.” Her voice sounded so far away and dreamy. “He’s scared, Mom.”

  “I know it, honey.”

  “He doesn’t want to lose the family after I’m gone. He’d be all alone.”

  Since the day I’d met Donald, I had the hardest time feeling like I’d gained a son-in-law. We tried. Maybe not hard enough, though. Part of it might have been a dose of the jealousy poison. Clive and I had filled the spot of family for so long. Gretchen had come to us when she needed help or to talk. We’d been right next to her at the kids’ basketball games or choir concerts. That long without competition had spoiled us. We had to learn all over again how to share her.

  The idea that he valued us as his family had completely slipped my mind. I never would have figured. And that broke my heart.

  “He’ll always be our family,” I said. “You make sure he knows that.”

  “Thank you, Mom.” She smiled with her eyes closed, the glow of sun on her skin. “That puts me at ease.”

  “He loves you, Gretchie. We can’t help but love him for that.” I checked the clock. Lunchtime already. The days sped away from us too quickly. “You ready for a little something to eat?”

  “Not unless you want to see me get sick again,” she said. “I’m even afraid to drink water.”

  “Oh, honey.” I fished my washcloth out of the sink full of water. “Can’t they give you something for that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Just as soon as I pulled the plug to let the water out of the sink, somebody knocked on the screen door. I tried to spy out the kitchen window to see who it was. But all I saw was a bandana hanging out the seat of somebody’s faded jeans.

  “Now, who could that be?” I asked, more to myself than anything.

  A crisp breeze snuck in past me when I opened up the wood door. Jay Bunker stood on the porch, his old, bent ball cap held in his cracked and calloused hands.

  “Hi, there,” I said, pushing the storm door open. “Come in, Jay.”

  “Ms. Eliot, I best not come in.” He nodded down at his boots, blushing a little. “I’m all kinds of dirty from being in the barn this morning.”

  “I can see that,” I said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Well, ma’am, the wife and me been trying to think how we could help out with Gretchen. Her being sick and all, we figured you folks might need a little help with something.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Well, ma’am, I was driving by the other day and noticed the lawn here could use a little mowing. Maybe even some leaves picked up.” Shuffling his weight, his boots scuffed on the porch. “I thought I’d give it a once over on my riding mower.”

  “That’s awfully nice of you, Jay.”

  “I rode that mower here. It’s over by the road there.” His eyes met mine for a moment. “And, Ms. Eliot, I’m not expecting to take your money for doing it, neither. I’ll do this yard and by the funeral home. It won’t take me but half an hour.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Jay,” I said.

  “Mom,” Gretchen called from the couch. “Will you please tell Mr. Bunker that I’d love for him to do the last mow of the year? It would be an honor.”

  “I guess Gretchen says yes.” I sighed.

  “I heard her.” When Jay smiled, a trickle of tobacco juice edged up his mouth.

  “Thank you, Jay.”

  He hopped off the porch and pulled the hat back on his head, shifting it till it fit just right. Turning his head, he nodded once before climbing onto his riding mower. It started up with a grumble and a grunt. Then turned to humming as he rode it up and down the yard.

  Closing the door, I turned to Gretchen. “I know what you’re going to say.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “I need to let people help us.”

  Gretchen’s best twinkle gleamed up from her eyes. “It’s what he can do, Mom.”

  “I know it, honey. I know.”

  “Mom, could you please make me a hot cup of tea?” she asked. “I think it would feel good to sip. Or maybe just in my hand.”

  “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

  I made up a couple mugs of chamomile tea, letting the apple smelling steam fill my nose. And I watched Jay as he rode around on his mower, a big grin on his face.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Evelyn

  Will stood on the step behind me. I looked at him over my shoulder, making sure he still had color in his cheeks.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I’m fine,” he answered, grabbing hold of the porch railing.

  “The body won’t be embalmed, you know.”

  “Yup. You told me. I know what to expect.”

  “Then you have to promise if you’re going to pass out, you’ll make your way outside. Right?”

  I knocked on the cold glass of the storm door, hoping someone inside would hear me. A light flickered on in the kitchen. A second later, Darrell Ea
mes pulled the door open.

  His eyes fixed on the railing. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Of course.” I took a step up and into the house. “You know Pastor Will.”

  “Yes. I’m glad you could come.” They shook hands. “Yvonne said she’d feel better if a minister was here. She wants you to say a prayer or something. Maybe a benediction. I don’t know what she wants. She’ll tell you.”

  “I’m so sorry, Darrell,” Will said. “You just let me know what you need. I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

  “Thank you.” Darrell turned around, staring at the empty entryway as if he didn’t recognize it. “Did you need to bring anything in with you?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “I’ll get everything in a few minutes.”

  Will closed the door behind him. I waited for Darrell, not wanting to rush him. Rubbing his forehead with shaky fingertips, he seemed at a loss. Through the kitchen, I heard quiet sounds that came, I guessed, from the living room. Yvonne’s muffled voice.

  “Tell them to come on in here,” she called.

  “Well.” Darrell motioned for us to follow him through the kitchen.

  A stack of dishes, three of them, sat on the countertop. A box of crackers, opened, stood next to them. A half full coffee cup beside that.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Darrell whispered. “We never would have left it like this. But we were in the middle of getting a little snack when he…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  “He’s right in here.”

  Darrell led us into the living room. The light from a table lamp warmed the space with dim light. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust.

  Yvonne stood at the end of the hospital bed, a bath towel draped across her arm. She kept her eyes on the bed.

  Esther sat on the edge, by Justin’s hip. A small, plastic basin rested in her lap. She moved a washcloth over the skin of Justin’s hands, wiping so gently, as if she didn’t want to hurt or wake him.

  “He had a rough time of it,” Darrell said. “I didn’t know it would be so bad. And fast.”

  Water dripped from the washcloth as Esther pulled it up, freshened by the clean water. She wrung it, extra drops splashing back into the basin. Dabbing lightly around his eyes and nose, she moved the cloth along the face that had already lost color. Next, she cleansed his neck, then his arms. Pointing with my eyes, Will and I took a step back. They needed privacy in that moment.

  “We thought he was getting better,” Darrell said. “He even got up and took a walk today.”

  Esther lifted the basin from her lap and stood, carrying it to the end of the bed. Yvonne didn’t move, she just continued looking down at her son. Esther pulled the sheet off Justin’s feet with one hand and held the basin with the other. As she moved, a small splash of water spilled, wetting her hands. She didn’t wipe it away.

  “I’ll hold that,” Yvonne said, taking the basin, holding it while Esther washed Justin’s feet.

  Esther lowered the washcloth into the water, careful to keep it from sloshing. It expanded in the water, sinking after she let it go. Pulling the bath towel off Yvonne’s arm, she used it to dry Justin’s skin from his head to his feet. Then she covered him with a clean sheet.

  “I don’t want you to cover his face,” Yvonne said. “Not yet.”

  Esther tucked the fabric under Justin’s chin.

  Yvonne lowered the basin to an end table and wiped her hands on the sides of her pants, leaving wet marks on her hips. She stepped around Esther and to the side of Justin’s bed. Drawing near to his face, she kissed his forehead.

  “Did you want to say a quick prayer?” Darrell asked, reaching for Will. “Just a few words, if that’s okay with you.”

  Will took a step forward, lowering his head. His hands shook as he joined them together.

  Darrell and Yvonne both bowed their heads, too. Esther, though, kept her eyes open, fixed on Justin’s face.

  “God, we have some badly broken hearts in this home tonight. I’m not asking You to take the hurt away, because that doesn’t seem right. Justin deserves to be mourned. His absence should be felt. But I do ask that, somehow, this family will feel Your love and be wrapped in peace that can only come from You. Amen.”

  Darrell made the sign of the cross over his heart. Yvonne didn’t open her eyes for another minute or so. When she finally did, she turned to me.

  “I think we’re ready,” she said.

  I touched Will’s arm. “Will you give me a hand?”

  He followed me to the hearse. When I opened the back door, the light inside glowed bright against the dark night. Pulling out the gurney, the pedals clicked into place.

  “What can I do?” Will asked.

  “Right now, nothing.” I pushed the door of the hearse so that it didn’t latch all the way. “They need a few minutes. We don’t need to be in there for it. It’s good for them to have a minute of privacy.”

  Will stood at the opposite end of the gurney from me.

  “By the way,” I said. “That was a good prayer. Just right.”

  “Thanks.” He let out a sigh. “I think I’m getting used to this a little. It doesn’t freak me out as much anymore.”

  “That’s good.” I glanced in the window. “We should give them another minute or two.”

  “Ev, you’re really good at this,” he said. “Especially with the families.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I mean it.” He crossed his arms, shivering. “It’s a gift. Not everybody can do this.”

  I grabbed the gurney, pushing it toward the house. Will moved around to the other side, lending me a hand.

  “Okay,” I said. “The steps are pretty steep, so let me go up first. Then, when we’re coming out, I’ll need you to go down first. Got it?”

  “I think so.”

  We made our way back into the house, through the kitchen, and into the living room. Yvonne sat on the edge of the bed where Esther had been before, her hands folded in her lap. Darrell stood on the other side, gazing into the face of his son.

  “I have to call his brothers,” Darrell said. “We didn’t know he would go tonight. I would have called them yesterday. If I’d known, I would have gotten them here. They should have been with Justin.”

  “I’m glad they weren’t, Darrell,” Yvonne said. “It would have been too hard. This was no family reunion.”

  She stood, her body stiff and slow. Her hands rested on the fronts of her thighs.

  “If it’s okay with you, Darrell, I’m going to leave the room now.” She walked around the end of the bed. “I can’t watch them take him.”

  The click of her shoes on the kitchen floor quieted as she moved farther from the living room.

  Darrell touched his son’s shoulder with fingertips before following the path of his wife.

  Stepping forward, Esther took the top of the sheet in her hands, pulling it up over Justin’s face. Lingering there, hovering over him, her eyes closed, she breathed in through her mouth.

  Standing upright, she made eye contact with me. I hadn’t noticed before how beautiful her brown eyes were. I imagined how pretty they were when she smiled. For sure, Justin had teased many smiles from her. I wondered if she’d ever find a reason to laugh the same way she had when he joked with her.

  Most likely, she would. Over time, her heart would heal. Humans had a way of bouncing back from loss that alarmed me.

  “Okay,” she said. “You can take him.”

  She watched, hand over her mouth, as Will and I lifted Justin’s body onto the gurney. Holding the door as we wheeled him out, she thanked us for being so careful with him. She stood in the driveway, watching us, arms hugged around her body, as we pulled away.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Olga

  Aunt Gertie never left a blessed thing in her garden at the end of a growing season. Not even a stray stem got overlooked by her eagle eye. She’d point at it with her crooked finger and tell me to pull it. Harvesting
with Aunt Gertie wore me out.

  She didn’t grow a single plant in that garden we couldn’t eat. Only practical, edible things. Veggies to be canned and freeze dried. She’d work zucchini into just about anything. And the stewing of tomatoes. More than any human could take. It took me years before I could even think about a peeled, squishy veggie again.

  I supposed I loved keeping a flower garden because it was anything but practical. As far away from useful as I could get. It seemed such a luxury to sit among the blooms, delighting as they blossomed for no other purpose than to be beautiful. The older I got, though, the more necessary that garden became.

  This year, I didn’t get out into the garden until late in the fall. I waited all the way until the end of October. I’d never had to put it to bed all by myself before. Even as a little thing, Gretchie had helped me in her own way. Being out in those rows all by myself made me feel lonesome something awful.

  She’d offered to come out with me, but I couldn’t see that. She would have just gotten all out of breath and tired. That was, if she’d even got to the path without needing to turn around for a rest. The pain in her gut came in waves more frequently than before. I’d have hated for that to happen out in the garden.

  Old leather work gloves covered my hands, and Clive’s canvas jacket warmed my arms. I’d had to roll the sleeves up to my wrists. That soil, hard from the cold air under my feet…I couldn’t get myself to do a thing but stare. Clumps of chamomile stems slumped onto the ground, all brown and withered. I just could not bring myself to touch any of it.

  “Maybe I’ll just let this garden go now.” My words puffed out of me. “It’s been so many years of work. It served me well. It’s okay for me to be done with it.”

  Making my way to the old bench at the edge of the plot, I sat. Cold through my slacks, it still felt nice to take a load off for at least a few minutes. Soon, I wouldn’t have that lavish pleasure. The snow would fall too thick for me to even think about sitting outside.

  Overlooking the garden, I realized that putting it down for the year felt too much like giving up on Gretchen. I just did not have it in me. I allowed a whole bunch of tears loose that must have come right out of my soul, the way they burned on their way out.