“I can’t say nothin’ about it. I promised Etta I wouldn’t. She’ll talk to you when she’s ready.”
In those first mornings I enjoyed Ben’s company more than I ever realized before. He was a good man and an ambitious, self-educated leader who managed the huge dairy at Hamilton Farms. Time off he spent at home, maintaining a large garden, a henhouse full of chickens and the pretty house he and Etta had inherited from his grandmother.
I wasn’t comfortable with many people, especially men. Ben knew that and was as gentle with me as he would be with a nervous calf. I’d always been grateful to him for his understanding.
One morning Etta came into the kitchen as Ben was leaving for work. “It’s a beautiful day!” Her smile was wobbly but broad. “Sadie, let’s pack a picnic and take a drive over to our favorite meadow.”
“I like that idea.”
While Etta got dressed, I fixed egg salad sandwiches, filled a big jar with sweet tea and wrapped up some of my homemade sugar cookies Etta liked so much. Etta came out of her bedroom and sat down at the kitchen table. A chill went up my spine when I realized she was winded just from the effort of getting dressed.
We loaded up my little Ford and headed out. A few miles north of town a breathtaking meadow grew in the shadow of huge, blue-green mountains. I pulled off a dirt road and drove deep into the swaying grass.
“Where are you going?” squealed Etta.
I laughed.
“I’m driving you up to our Sitting Tree. I don’t feel like walking the whole way today.” Etta had named the broad, umbrella-shaped maple the Sitting Tree the first time I came to picnic with her in Mossy Creek.
Etta began to chuckle.
“Why, Sadie Johnson, I do declare you’ve got a wild side to you, after all. I find it dee-lightful.”
“I don’t know exactly what’s going on,” I said quietly, “but we’re going to have a double dee-lightful day.”
Etta squeezed my hand at the familiar language of our childhood. Only then a double dee-lightful day meant a trip to the candy store and hiding out in my bedroom with a few books.
“Today,” she said now, “my delight will be in having you here with me, bringing back good memories.”
I heard the sadness in her voice and blinked back tears. “Hang on!” I cried. “I’m going to see if I can make it all the way up the hill!”
I gunned the engine. The car rumbled and shook as I drove toward the tree.
Etta clapped. “Hooray! I think we’re going to make it!”
About then, the car’s tires sank into a soft spot left by a summer storm the day before. I rocked the car back and forth, until we were so stuck we knew we’d have to get a tractor to pull us out.
“What will we do now?” asked Etta, chuckling softly.
“We’re going to have our picnic.” I got out of the car, raced around to her side and opened the door. “Come, Madame, a luscious repast of egg salad awaits you.”
Etta laughed and took my arm. I walked her up to the tree and raced back down to the car to collect a blanket and the picnic basket. I glanced at the road, certain someone in the area would discover the car and come to our rescue. We weren’t far from the Bailey Mill community and the Bailey family’s famous Sweet Hope Apple orchards.
Etta sat down on the blanket I spread out beneath the tree and leaned back against its broad trunk. She closed her eyes and let out a tremulous sigh. Tears slid down her cheeks.
I sat down beside her and took her hand. “Please, don’t wait any longer. Tell me what’s wrong.”
She opened her eyes and gazed at me sadly. “I’m dying, Sadie. Way before I want to. The doctors say the cancer has spread too far to be able to help me. I was hopin’ they were wrong but I get weaker each day. Benjamin thinks it’s going to take a while, but, Sadie, it’s happening real fast.”
I gripped her hands tightly, as if I could will my good health into her. I tried to speak, but couldn’t.
“Sadie,” she said gently, “That’s why I asked you to stay the summer. I don’t think I’ll make it to fall.”
I inhaled and tried to control the misery that rose inside me. “I’ll stay,” I said. “As long as you need me to.”
She patted my hand. “It’s for both of us. Ben will need you, too.”
I put my arms around her, willing myself to stay strong for Etta’s sake. Inside, I shook with a grief that tore me to pieces.
AFTER ETTA TOOK a nap, we had our picnic. Neither of us were hungry, but Etta was determined to make the day as normal as possible.
“Remember the time we decided to try mascara?” she asked. “I got so much on my lashes I could hardly open my eyes.”
I managed a smile. “When I went home, Mrs. Redmond swatted me so hard I couldn’t sit down for supper. She called me a painted whore.” I shook my head. “My foster mother was one mean woman.” With some sense of revenge, I added, “I still paint myself up, as she would say.”
“Never to excess. You always look nice and put together. In fact, you’re beautiful.” She waved her hand, knowing I was about to protest. “I know, I know, you don’t want to hear anything like that . . .” Her expression became very quiet, very serious. “Sadie, while you’re here it’s important for you to get to know some of the people of Mossy Creek.”
I frowned. “Of course, I enjoy meeting your neigh-bors—”
“That’s not quite what I mean.” Etta went right on, as she usually did when she got an idea in her head. “Before long, I won’t be well enough to get out of the house. You’ll need to go to the bakery, the department store and other places in town, to do the errands. That will be a good chance for you to meet people and feel like part of the town.”
“Now, Etta . . .” I began.
“Hush, now,” she said. “You’re not going to deny a dying woman her wish, are you?”
I gazed into her determined eyes and sighed. Etta was going to get her own way come hell or high water.
“All right,” I said. “Somehow I’ll manage to be sociable, instead of a cranky old maid.”
Etta patted me on the shoulder. “It’ll be for the best. You’ll see.”
We heard an engine, and turned to look. A tractor made its way up the dirt road alongside the meadow. The old-man driver stopped near my car. He cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, “Y’all need help?”
I stood. “Sure do! I’m stuck!”
“Go on down and talk to him up close,” said Etta. “I’ll wait here.”
“Better stand back,” the grizzled rescuer shouted as I reached him. He guided the tractor, a metal-wheeled, smoke-puffing monster, toward my car, hooked up a chain, then dragged my car out of the field and onto the road as if he’d done the same for more than a few city folk.
“Thank you for your help,” I said as he cut the engine and climbed down. I held out my hand. “I’m . . .”
“Yes, Miss, I know who you are. Etta Howell’s best friend come for a visit. School teacher, they say.” He laughed at my surprise. “My name’s Mobeley. Curtis Mobeley. I work for the Baileys. Just happened by.”
“Nice to meet you,” I replied tentatively.
“Don’t be surprised I know all about you. In these here parts everybody knows everybody else’s business. By tomorrow they’ll all know how you tried to drive your car up to that tree to carry Miss Etta to a picnic. Gonna be a few jokes about it. But I imagine folks will be impressed by your dedication, too.”
I felt my cheeks growing hot. He shook his head. “Don’t you worry about the talk none. It’s all friendly. Just the way things are in Mossy Creek.”
I thanked him again, made sure everything about my car was still working properly, then headed up the hill to get Etta and our picnic things. The whole time my mind was whirling. How was I going to keep my prom
ise to be sociable when I was heartbroken over Etta’s news and the privacy to grieve was the thing I valued most?
Etta gave me a knowing smile when I relayed the old man’s remarks to her. “Talk is harmless. Everybody likes to keep track of everybody else’s business around here.”
“Then you’re going to tell everyone you’re . . . sick?” I couldn’t make myself say dying.
“Not exactly. Over time, they’ll realize the truth, but for now they will just know I’m feeling poorly. I’ve got to get used to the whole idea, first.”
“Me, too,” I said, and held her hand again.
WHEN BEN CAME home that evening, he glanced from Etta to me. “I told her,” Etta said simply. “She’ll stay for as long as we need her.”
Ben put his arm around me. “Thanks, Sadie. It means a lot. To both of us.”
I blinked rapidly and nodded, too emotional to do or say much. Etta was my best friend, my only friend, and she was dying.
The summer days heated up as Etta’s time on earth ebbed. Every evening, the three of us would sit on the front porch, rocking back and forth in rhythm, letting the breezes cool us off. As often as they’d let me, I left Etta and Ben on the porch to talk in private. But more often than not, Etta would call me back, saying we were a family now and families should stick together during times like this.
I never asked Ben how he felt about such a statement, but he didn’t seem to object when I returned to the porch.
We talked about our childhoods during those long summer evenings. As mortality becomes a reality, some people flee to the past. It was easier for Etta to do that than it was for either Ben or me.
“I remember the first time I met you,” she said softly, one evening. “Your hair was so curly. I can’t remember what you wore. Just the way you smiled at me, as if you wanted me to like you. I knew then we’d be best friends.”
Etta had a knack for making people feel comfortable about themselves. She seemed to thrive on bringing out the best in the folks around her—and bringing them together. Around her, Ben never stuttered and as the summer went on, he grew that comfortable with me, too.
During the hot afternoons in late August, Etta napped on the couch in the living room. If I tiptoed through the room in an effort to be quiet, she invariably roused herself.
“Don’t you go getting quiet on me. I want to hear life around me.” When I banged a pot or two in the kitchen on purpose, she laughed.
Mornings often found me in town, getting groceries and doing other errands. Just as Curtis Mobeley had warned me, people I didn’t even know greeted me by name and asked after Etta. The awkwardness I felt at being so exposed to curious strangers began to fade. I could tell that, more often than not, their questions were asked out of caring. Sometimes blatant curiosity coated the words. Then I was careful what I said, skirting the issue of Etta’s dying until she was ready for the word to be out.
Late one afternoon, Etta asked Ben to help her to the porch. “There’s something I need to talk over with you,” she said to him.
This time I knew I should give them privacy. I got into my car, drove into town and parked. Slowly, I walked up one side of the street and down the other. The shops were laid out in an orderly, comforting fashion. I knew the names of the owners. They knew my favorite purchases. A bittersweet sense of satisfaction washed over me. Mossy Creek had become home for me.
When I got back to the house, Ben and Etta were waiting in the living room. “I want all three of us to go visit the Sitting Tree,” Etta said. “Right now.”
I stared at her. “Are you sure? You’re not too tired?”
“It’s what I want,” said Etta, leaving no doubt in my mind that if she wanted it, it was going to happen.
Ben, his eyes tear-stained, carefully lifted Etta in his arms. Not a word was said as Ben drove us to the meadow. A glorious red-and-gold sunset colored the mountain rims. Ben gingerly lifted Etta in his arms, again, and carried her up the hill to the tree. I raced ahead, carrying a blanket and a soft pillow for Etta’s head. Ben lowered her to the blanket and fixed the pillow against the tree trunk so she could lean back comfortably. “I’ll be back in a while,” he announced suddenly.
Before I knew what to say he descended the hill, one strong stride after another.
Etta touched my hand. “He’s a good man, Sadie. The best anyone could want. He doesn’t talk much to strangers. He’s shy with women, because of his stutter. But I know you like him, and he likes you, too. Remember when I told you I had a plan? Well, I feel convinced it’s going to work out, now. You are comfortable here in Mossy Creek, with Ben, aren’t you? You do love it . . . here?”
I nodded, but tried not to think of where this conversation was going. She smiled. “I can’t leave my Ben unless I know he’ll be all right. You know how he is, how much he needs someone to care for him . . . to love him.”
She cried. Her tears were matched by my own. I swiped at my cheeks with a fist. “I wish things were different,” I managed to say. “I would trade places with you if I could. I would die for you, Etta.”
She squeezed my hand. “That’s not what I want you to do, Sadie. I want you to live for me. And love for me. I want you to stay here and take care of Ben after I’m gone.”
The pounding of my heart echoed in my ears. Surely I hadn’t heard right. Me, an old maid and Ben?
“But I… what will people say? What does Ben say?”
“He doesn’t want to talk about it,” said Etta. “I’ve made him promise to say nothing to you until you want to talk about it.”
“It seems so cold, so callous.”
“Do you love him? Be honest with me, Sadie.”
After a long moment, I put my head on her shoulder. “Yes, I do.”
Etta lifted my chin and gave me a beautiful smile. “Good. Don’t you see? That makes me happy—the two people I love most in all the world, helping each other, loving each other. Because I believe Ben will love you back after I’m gone, Sadie.”
We turned and watched Ben climb the hill. Shock coiled through me at the impact of Etta’s words. I averted my gaze when Ben glanced my way, then turned to Etta.
“Ready to go, sweetheart?”
“I am now,” said Etta.
NEITHER BEN NOR I said a word about that afternoon as Etta’s final days came to a close. Her funeral was just as sweet and sad and open as she would have wanted. Everyone in town showed up for the service. Wildflowers filled the church and reminded me of the first day of my visit that summer. Etta Jones Howell, my best friend, had died and left me a legacy and a husband.
I MOVED OUT OF Etta’s home and took a room at the Hamilton Inn. People in Mossy Creek would have nothing bad to say about either Ben or me, I vowed. Besides, I wanted to give Ben time to make his own decision about any future with me. Etta, bless her heart, had a plan, but I needed to know Ben had one of his own.
I got a job teaching third grade at Mossy Creek Elementary. Parents in town were delighted to have someone from the big city of Atlanta teaching at their school. Big Miss Ida Hamilton—grandmother of our future mayor, Ida Walker—introduced me at a school board meeting as “a fine young woman who has Etta’s blessing.” It made me smile to think those Creekites thought I knew something they didn’t. The truth was, they were the ones teaching me a thing or two. Like trusting others, joining in various activities and feeling comfortable about myself at last. It would have pleased Etta no end.
As the weeks went by I began to wonder if Etta’s plan for Ben and me was nothing more than her own whimsical idea. Ben arrived at the inn promptly at six o’clock every Saturday evening for our weekly “meeting.” We didn’t call it a date. We often ate at the inn then strolled awkwardly around the square, catching up on each other’s activities. In the beginning we talked of Etta a lot. But as time passed the conversation turned more
and more to my stories from school and Ben’s stories from the Hamilton dairy farm.
One spring evening, when the setting sun glowed orange and the smell of new green grass tickled my nose, Ben met me on the inn’s front verandah carrying a small bouquet of flowers.
“Why, Ben! How lovely,” I said as he handed them to me with a smile.
“Like you,” he answered. Then, after a long, somber moment when his throat worked and I put a hand to my heart, he added, “Now, I think we need to go ahead with this plan of Etta’s . . .”
I cried and nodded and smiled. He threw his arms around me, hugging me tightly while a small crowd of guests and locals peered at us from the windows of the inn’s parlor. They burst into applause.
MY TEENAGED granddaughter looked up at me from her perch on the front steps of the porch where Etta, Ben and I had rocked many years before. Her lips spread in a knowing grin.
“And so that’s why you named Mother Etta.”
I smiled. “Yes. And to keep the name going, she changed it just a little and named you Lor-etta. Loretta. I’ve always felt it was a gift to all of us that she did so.” I checked my watch and rose on legs that felt their age. It was hard to believe so many years had fled, leaving me an old woman closer to eighty than I cared to think about. “It’s time to go. I don’t want to keep him waiting. We do this every year, as the afternoon draws to a close.”
“I’ll get the blanket,” Loretta said.
I slowly made my way down the porch steps and Loretta helped me into her SUV. She took me out of town and up into the mountains to the meadow. I began to chuckle as I remembered the time I drove my 1940s blue Ford with Etta into the meadow and we got stuck. Etta, I thought, cars are made to go anywhere in Mossy Creek, nowadays.
Summer in Mossy Creek Page 9
