by Diane Noble
Nehemiah had left his laptop on the kitchen table. The battery was running low, so she plugged in the adapter. She did a search for “Garfield, Copper Mill, TN, 1949,” then sat back, her arms folded, as several hits came up, mostly snippets from newspaper articles having to do with the epidemic. She read through them, though she was disappointed that none gave her any new information of value.
With a sigh she walked over to the cupboard to pull out the ingredients to make a coffee cake for Paul and Nehemiah. The recipe was almost as old as she was. It was her mother’s raw apple cake. She’d made this so many times, she hardly had to think about what she was doing, from grating three Granny Smith apples to whisking together the dry ingredients, adding milk, and stirring the mixture into a baking pan. She added her own touch by sprinkling a few tablespoons of grated apples mixed with cinnamon and nutmeg on top.
As soon as the cake was in the oven, Kate went back to the table to study the paintings. She looked through all three but kept going back to Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May. Something bothered her about the print, but she wasn’t sure what it was. She stared at the fingers on one of the figures, then at the toes. Maybe it was her imagination, but the toes on the figure in the foreground seemed shorter than those in the painting at the museum. Or was it her imagination working overtime?
She moved back to the computer and Googled the Tate gallery in London. A page of hits opened, but before Kate could click on the most obvious site, the timer chimed. She went over to the oven, turned off the timer, and pulled the cake from the oven. Cinnamon and nutmeg wafted. As if on cue, Paul stepped into the kitchen dressed and ready for the office, his eyebrows shooting up when he saw the coffee cake.
“I’m getting spoiled,” he said, waggling his brows. “What am I going to do when Nehemiah leaves?”
“Who’s that talkin’ about me leaving?” Nehemiah said from the living room, and after a moment, he hobbled into the kitchen, balancing himself carefully on his crutches.
He greeted Paul and Kate with a smile and gave them an answer to the questions he’d obviously read in their expressions. “No pain to speak of,” he said. “I’m feeling much better. But did I just hear you say you’re ready for me to leave?”
“Not on your life,” Paul said. “Not as long as Kate keeps feeding us both like kings.”
“I’d say you eat pretty well even when we don’t have company.” Kate grinned at her husband. “Maybe too well...at least if you were to ask our cholesterol-conscious offspring.”
Nehemiah sat down at the table and reached over to lean his crutches against the corner wall. “I hope I didn’t disturb you. I was awake for a while during the night,” he said. “So I came in here and surfed some of my favorite Webcam sites until my eyes started closing involuntarily on me.”
“Oh dear,” Kate said. “Have you forgotten what the doctor said about keeping your feet elevated?”
“It was only a short time,” he said. “Though thanks for reminding me. I do get a little carried away sometimes.”
Paul was standing at the counter, cutting the coffee cake into three healthy-sized chunks. “What did you find?” he asked over his shoulder.
“The exterminators again.” Nehemiah paused. “Only this time they had more tools with them. And there were three instead of two.”
Kate’s heart missed a beat. “Three?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t see where they went with their equipment. They were talking with a lot of animation—giving directions, waving their hands as if time was running out for them. One of them was carrying a ladder and had a backpack full of some sort of equipment.” He looked very sad. “I caught a glimpse of his profile as he passed camera number one.”
“Did you recognize him?”
He nodded, and she knew what he was going to say before he answered.
“I think it was James Jenner.”
Kate slumped in her chair. “Oh dear...” Then she exchanged a sorrowful look with Paul as he set the plates of apple cake in front of each place setting and handed out forks and napkins.
Paul sat down and said grace, lifting the Jenner family heavenward, asking for a special measure of God’s comfort to cover them.
After he’d said amen, Nehemiah frowned. “I have to admit that I was so tired, I was drifting in and out. Then the screen started blinking from Montserrat back to the museum at a rate my tired, addled brain couldn’t keep up with. I just hope I’m wrong about James.”
AFTER BREAKFAST, Nehemiah retired to the living room, and after Paul and Kate cleared the table, Kate returned to the Internet search she’d begun earlier. Paul rinsed the dishes and then gave Kate a kiss before leaving for his morning at the church office.
Kate clicked the link for the Tate gallery in London and then waited in anticipation for the site to appear. A few seconds later, it came up, in all its glory...and so very British.
Then she blinked in surprise. The Tate was actually four large galleries in four different locations, with different names: Tate Britain, Tate Modern, Tate Liverpool, Tate St. Ives. She clicked on each, only to find listings of events, exhibits, histories, symposia, courses, and workshops. Some of the instructors were listed, but obviously not all.
She did a search within each site for Dr. Celine Diamante, and came up empty. It could mean something. But most likely it meant nothing, although Kate still had her suspicions about the woman.
THE PHONE RANG as Kate was heading to the bedroom to change clothes.
“I need help,” Renee said without preamble.
“What’s wrong?”
“The ladies in the Bee Attitudes are calling me at all hours asking questions about whether this or that thing that they’ve heard is gossip.” She sounded genuinely perplexed. “Now I’m hearing more gossip than I’ve ever heard before. I don’t know what to do. I told them I would be available for counsel, but I never expected to get bombarded with more information than I can handle.” She laughed. “And you know me, I’ve always loved being the first to know everything...and sorry to say, the first to tell someone else.”
“Maybe you should tell the ladies how you feel,” Kate suggested. “Be honest about how hard you’re trying to get this gossip thing under control. I would think they’d all feel the same way and be understanding.”
“Well, that’s why I called.”
“To ask how to handle the calls?” She was flattered. Renee rarely asked anyone for counsel.
“No. Well, yes. Actually, I gave advice without thinking it through first. What I told one of the Bees to do is, well, just awful.” She paused. “I’m afraid I’ve really put a bee in her bonnet, so to speak.”
“It can’t be that bad. What did you tell her?”
“If she can’t quit gossiping, she should just quit talking.”
Kate swallowed a smile. “Oh dear. Really?”
“Really.”
“Do you think she’ll do it? Quit talking, I mean?”
“I don’t know, but I’m afraid it may be catching. If so, we’ll all soon find out.” She fell silent for a moment in a very unlike-Renee kind of way. “It was actually Mama’s idea, but she said it in jest. We’d been laughing about telling the ladies that instead of kicking them out of the club, if they were caught saying something negative about someone, they’d just have to quit talking for a period of time—depending on the seriousness of the offense, of course.”
“Of course,” Kate said, stifling a giggle.
“Then around ten forty-eight last night, I had a call. I won’t tell you who, but she passed on a rumor that she thought might be true, asking me what she should do. She called right at the end of Law and Order, and I was not a happy Bee, believe me.”
“I imagine not.” Law and Order was Renee’s favorite TV program. She’d seen the reruns so many times, she had the lines down pat.
“So I just said to this Bee, ‘All righty, then, I’ll tell you what to do. If you can’t keep such information under your Bee Attitude cap, you’ll ju
st have to stop talking.’”
“What did she say to that?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing, as in she hung up on you? Or nothing as in she took your advice to heart?”
“The latter, I’m afraid,” Renee said. “She didn’t hang up mad or anything. I could hear her breathing. I said a few more things. I think I even said I didn’t really mean that she couldn’t talk. But still, all I heard was breathing.”
“Well, one good thing,” Kate said, trying to cheer her up, “is that if she won’t talk, she can’t spread the word to others.”
“I thought of that. Then Mama, who thinks this is all very funny, said this morning that the Bee in question could always wear a sign or send out postcards to get the word out for all the others to say something pleasant and positive or to not say anything at all. She thinks it’s a grand idea, and even said she might send out the postcards herself.”
Chapter Seventeen
Kate tossed and turned that night. Her brain seemed unable to rest even though her body was too tired to flip over and plump her pillow one more time. She strained to prop herself up with her elbows and check the bedside clock: 2:13 AM. With a deep sigh, she dropped back onto the pillow again and closed her eyes.
As she began to drift off, dreamlike images floated into her drowsy brain: monks at Montserrat monastery in Spain passed through iron gates that led into the Waterhouse paintings. First they passed the pretty maidens without a glance in Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May and headed straight into the thick forest in the painting’s background. They seemed to be swallowed up in the dark stands of trees, and Kate hurried to catch up with them.
Suddenly, before her rose the treacherous and rocky beachhead of The Tempest. A high-masted sailing ship had run aground. Cries for help were heard above the howling winds and pounding surf. The monks waded in, seeming to give no thought for their own safety, Kate thought. Waves washed over them, and still they continued to lift one sailor after another out of the sea. When they’d finished, they moved along the shoreline cheerfully, as if in a hurry to meet someone special.
After a bit of searching, they found a path leading back into the forest, and she followed along behind. Suddenly they stepped into bright sunlight. The Victorian Museum was ahead of them, though she didn’t see the rest of Copper Mill. Only the museum. They let themselves through the picket gate in front and moved around the side of the house to the English garden in back. But it wasn’t the garden she expected. It was the courtyard in Waterhouse’s The Enchanted Garden, and it was filled with Kate’s friends from Copper Mill.
Over at the far side of the courtyard, standing all by himself, was the hermit with the vivid blue eyes and long gray ponytail. He wore tattered jeans, a denim jacket, and a camo slouch hat. Though he wasn’t dressed like a monk, he fell in with them as they processed back around the side of the house and through the front door of the museum.
She tried to catch up with him, but he was too quick for her. She had questions to ask him, but she couldn’t remember what they were. She ran into the house, looked frantically around—in the parlor, under the dining table, up the stairs, and in a room filled with mannequins.
Only they weren’t mannequins. They were singing softly and moving about the room holding candles, and they were dressed in hooded robes that were straight out of another century. They filed past her, down the stairs, and into the parlor.
There, at the end of the line, was the hermit, singing with them, softly, beautifully. He, too, carried a candle and had his head bowed. She followed the hermit down the stairs, trying to get his attention. She felt he knew something she was desperate to discover. But as she drew closer, he seemed to look right through her as if she weren’t there. It came to her that if she sang, maybe he could hear her...
Kate felt a touch on her arm and woke with a start.
“You were dreaming,” Paul murmured sleepily. “But it must have been pleasant. You were singing.”
The imagery came back to her in an instant. Monks walking into oil paintings, becoming active parts of scenes? She smiled at the thought, congratulated her imagination for being so creative, and turned over. This time it seemed that even her brain was too tired to protest. She fell into a deep and restful sleep.
KATE WAS STILL PONDERING the dream when she woke at five o’clock and padded to the kitchen to grind the coffee beans. While the coffee brewed, she went into the living room and sat in her rocker, her Bible in her lap.
She opened her Bible to Psalm 143 and began to read. She paused when she reached verse eight and read it twice:
Cause me to hear Your lovingkindness in the morning,
For in You do I trust;
Cause me to know the way in which I should walk,
For I lift up my soul to You.
She bowed her head, asking that God’s loving-kindness would fill her heart and that he would guide her through each step of the day that lay ahead. She meditated for a few moments on the image of lifting her heart to the Lord in complete trust.
Her eyes fell on verse ten, and she whispered it as if a prayer: “Teach me to do Your will, for You are my God. Your Spirit is good. Lead me in the land of uprightness.”
After a few minutes of letting the words soak into her soul, she went into the kitchen to pour herself a mug of steaming coffee, thinking about how her spirit had been lifted with the words of encouragement and hope from the psalmist. She supposed other people had pleasing habits that launched them into the day’s activities, but she couldn’t think of any better for her: the fragrance of fresh coffee, the friendly chortle of the coffeemaker, the creak of her old rocking chair, and her Bible open on her lap.
And that was all just preparation for the best part: spending time alone with her Lord. It was her divine appointment, and she wouldn’t miss it for the world.
She returned to the living room as the hymn Nehemiah sang at the end of his sermon came back to her—“O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder consider all the worlds Thy hands have made, I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder, Thy pow’r throughout the universe displayed. Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee...how great Thou art, how great Thou art...”
Kate sat down again in the rocker and sipped her coffee, the song still playing in her heart.
Singing!
Bits and snatches of her dream came back to her; especially vivid were the moments right before Paul woke her, when she’d tried to sing to get the attention of the hermit with the piercing blue eyes.
She smiled and took another sip of coffee. From the guest room, she heard some stirring as Nehemiah got up and headed into the bathroom. He apparently didn’t believe in sitting around in his pajamas and robe for that first cup of coffee. Ever since he’d been staying with them, he’d showered, shaved, and was dressed for the day by the time he made his appearance.
The sound of the shower carried toward her, and she settled back in her chair, thinking about the hermit. Her dream was becoming more shadowy as the morning progressed, but she remembered thinking that the hermit knew something she needed to find out. Something important.
That’s why she’d been trying to get his attention. She remembered the look exchanged between Davis Carr and Brother John at the grand opening. She suspected they must have some sort of history. Each was acutely aware of the other.
She sipped her coffee as she compared the image of the dream-version hermit with Brother John, whom she’d seen by the lamppost in front of the Victorian. They’d worn similar clothing, though that part of her dream was obscure. But she remembered clearly the vivid blue eyes and leathery skin.
But why had the hermit, in her dream, become part of the group of singing monks from Montserrat, Spain? Then she laughed. It was probably because he was referred to as Brother John. Monks also called themselves Brother this and that. Her mind had simply woven the two ideas together.
From what Livvy had told her, Brother John was an oddity in town, and many people thought he was a bi
t crazy. If that was the case, how did Davis Carr know him? She checked the time as she returned to the kitchen. It was almost seven.
And Caroline. She’d also known the hermit and seemed pleased to see him that day, which gave Kate an idea. She punched in Renee’s number. Caroline answered on the second ring. The older woman would probably know the answer to her question, so Kate didn’t even ask for Renee.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, Kate asked about Brother John. “He was standing near your lamppost at the grand opening. He seemed to know you. Can you tell me anything about him?”
There was a long pause. Kate could hear Kisses yipping in the background. “I can’t really say anything except...” The receiver rattled as Caroline put it on a nearby table or countertop. Next, Kate heard what she thought might be the snap of a rubber band, and then Caroline said, “I know who he is, but I can’t say anything more.”
“Mama, who are you talking to so early in the morning?” drifted into the receiver from someplace in the background.
“It’s Kate Hanlon,” Caroline said. “She wants to know about Brother John.”
“Then tell her.”
“I can’t, but you can if you want.”
“Mama, just tell Kate what you know about him.”
There was more barking, a clatter of the receiver again, and then Renee said, “Kate?”
“Hi, Renee.”
“Mama knew Brother John a long time ago, but she doesn’t feel comfortable talking about him.”
“And you, do you know anything?”
Renee sighed. “No, but I’ll work on Mama. And I also wanted to mention to you that I’m torn between interfering with our commitment to the Bee Attitudes and my commitment to helping with the museum caper.”
“That’s fine, Renee. I know you’ll help when you can.”
“Yes, well, the Bee Attitudes seem to be consuming all my time at the moment. Why, just yesterday, I—” Renee’s voice broke off.
Kate heard the snap of a rubber band, and then the click of Renee hanging up the phone. Kate stared at the receiver for a moment, not knowing whether to laugh or be annoyed. She chose the former and chuckled as she put the phone back in its cradle.
