When You Call My Name

by Sharon Sala

  “That, too.” He chuckled, and kissed the spot just below her earlobe that he knew made her shiver.

  She turned in his arms and let his next kiss center upon her mouth. It was hard and hungry, and just shy of demanding, and then he groaned, letting go as suddenly as he’d swooped.

  “Glory…darlin’, I almost forgot your bruises. How do you feel?”

  “Like I was run over by a…”

  “Don’t!” His eyes darkened as he pressed a finger over her lips. “Don’t joke. Not to me. I was there, remember?”

  She smiled. Just a little, but just enough to let him know she was all right with the world.

  “The biscuits are getting cold,” she said, and aimed him toward the table. “Sit. I’m just finishing up the eggs.”

  “I should be cooking for you,” he muttered.

  “Lord help us both.” When he smiled, she turned back to the eggs.

  Later, Glory fidgeted as they ate, and Wyatt could tell there was something on her mind. But it wasn’t until they were almost through with the dishes that she started to talk.

  “Wyatt…last night at the restaurant…I nearly died, didn’t I?”

  “Don’t remind me,” he muttered, and set a clean glass in Granny’s little cupboard.

  “Oh…that’s not what I was getting at,” she explained. “What I meant was…if there had been anything left in this life I still wanted to do…it would have been too late.”

  “Hellfire, Glory! This is a real bad discussion right after a good meal.”

  She grinned. “Sorry. What I’m trying to say is…”

  He tossed the dish towel on the cabinet and took her by the arm, careful not to touch the places that hurt.

  “Look, girl! Just say what’s on your mind.”

  She lifted her chin, pinning him with that silver-blue gaze that always made him feel as if he were floating.

  “I need to go see my granny one more time…just in case. Chances are she might not even recognize me, but I don’t want her to think that we forgot about her. Daddy always went at least once a month. It’s past that time now. She’s in a nursing home in Hazard. Will you take me?”

  Wyatt felt the room beginning to spin. It scared the hell out of him, just hearing her admit that she might not live another week as casually as she might have announced she wasn’t going to plant a garden. Unable to keep his distance, he reached out for her, and when she relaxed against him, he shuddered.

  “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. I’ll stand on my damned head in the woods for a week if it will make you happy. But so help me God, if you don’t stop forecasting so much doom and gloom, I’m going to pack you and your stuff and take you home with me to Tennessee. Then we’ll see how far this killer wants to travel to die. I’ve got enough kin there to mount a small army.”

  She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was serious. But it was an impossible suggestion.

  “No, Wyatt! It’s bad enough that you’ve put your life on the line for me. I couldn’t live with myself if any more people were put in danger because of this. I’ll try not to be so negative, but truth is hard to ignore.”

  “The only truth is…your killer is a screwup. He tried to kill you and got your family instead, and then even later your dog. The fact that he was stupid enough to try a third time, and right in front of the chief of police, doesn’t say much for his brains, only his desperation. Desperate men make mistakes, Glory. Remember that!”

  In the face of all she’d lost, what he said shouldn’t have helped, but for some reason, it did. She relaxed in his arms.

  “Okay! I promise! Now let me change my clothes so we can go. And when we go through Larner’s Mill, could we stop at the bakery? Granny loves their gingersnaps.”

  He nodded, and as she left, he retraced his path to the window, looking out into the bright sunlight of a brand-new day, wondering what it would bring.

  As nursing homes went, it wasn’t so bad. Like similar institutions across the country, it offered health care and comfort to people with aging bodies and minds. But the reason for its being was still the same. It was where the old went to die.

  Wyatt caught himself holding his breath as they walked down the hallway. The scent of incontinence, cleaning solvents, and medication was a blend impossible to ignore.

  Somewhere ahead of them, an old man’s cries for help echoed in the hall while other residents roamed at will, scooting along on walkers, thumping with their canes and wheeling the occasional wheelchair.

  And then Glory touched his arm and paused at an open doorway before stepping inside. He followed. It was, after all, why they’d come.

  She sat by a window, rocking back and forth in an uneven rhythm, as if sometimes forgetting to keep a motion going. Her body was withered and stooped, her snow-white hair as fluffy and sparse as wisps of cotton. The yellow robe she was wearing was old and faded to near-white, but new, fuzzy blue slippers covered her feet. She had no memory of how she’d come by them, only that they kept her warm. Her eyes were fixed on something beyond the clear glass, and her mouth was turned up in a soft, toothless smile…quite lost in happier times and happier days.

  “Granny?”

  At the sound of her name, the rocker stopped, and the smile slid off her face. She turned, staring blankly at the pair in the doorway and frowned.

  “Comp’ny? I got comp’ny?”

  Glory quickly crossed the distance between them to kneel at her side, covering the gnarled, withered hands with her own. The skirt of her only dress puddled around her as she knelt and kissed her granny’s cheek. “Yes, Granny, it’s me, Glory.”

  Wyatt watched while recognition came and went in the old woman’s pale, watery eyes, and then suddenly she smiled, and ran her hand across Glory’s head, fingering the long pale lengths of her hair. In that moment, he saw her as the woman she once had been.

  “Well, Glory girl, it’s been a while! I didn’t think you was ever comin’ to see your granny again. Where’s your pa? I swear, that boy of mine is always late. I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind when he shows up, and that’s a fact.”

  There was a knot in Glory’s throat that threatened to choke her. Twice she faltered before she could speak, and it was only after Wyatt touched her shoulder that she could find the strength to continue.

  “Daddy won’t be coming today, Granny. It’s just me.”

  A frown deepened the furrow of wrinkles across her brow, and then she cackled and slapped her knee.

  “That’s good! That’s good! Us women gotta stick together, don’t we, little girl?”

  Tears shimmered across Glory’s eyes, but the smile on her face was as bright as the sunshine warming Granny’s lap.

  “Yes, ma’am, we sure do.”

  Granny’s attention shifted, as if suddenly realizing that Glory was not alone. She looked up at Wyatt, puckering her mouth as she considered his face, and then waved him toward a nearby chair.

  “Sit down, boy!” she ordered. “You be way too tall to look at from down here.” Then she cackled again, as if delighted with her own wit.

  Wyatt grinned and did as he was told.

  “Who’s he?” Granny asked, as if Wyatt had suddenly gone deaf.

  Glory smiled. “That’s Wyatt Hatfield, Granny. He’s my friend.”

  And then in the blunt, tactless manner of the very old, she looked up at Wyatt and asked, “Are you messin’ with my girl?”

  Glory rolled her eyes at Wyatt, begging him to understand, but it was a silent plea she need never have made.

  “No, ma’am, I would never treat Glory lightly. I care for her very much.”

  Satisfied, Granny Dixon leaned back in her rocker and started to rock. Wyatt handed Glory the box of gingersnaps they’d brought from the bakery in Larner’s Mill.

  “Look, Granny, we brought you gingersnaps.”

  She set the box in Granny’s lap, then patted her on the knee to remind her that she was still here.

  The joy on the old
woman’s face was a delight to see, and when she opened the lid, the scent of molasses and spice filled the air.

  “I do love my gingersnaps,” Granny said. “But I reckon I’ll save ’em till I get me some milk to sop ’em in. I don’t eat so good without my teeth, anymore. Glory girl, you set these by my bed, now, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Glory said, and did as she was told.

  When she returned, she knelt back at her Granny’s knee. It was such an old, familiar place to be, that before Glory realized what she was doing, she found herself leaning forward. When the rocking chair suddenly paused, she exhaled slowly on a shaky sob and laid her head in Granny’s lap, waiting for those long, crippled fingers to stroke through her hair, just as they’d done so many years ago.

  Suddenly, Wyatt found himself watching through tears and feeling the isolation that Glory must be feeling. Here she was, the last of her line, caught in a hell not of her making and seeking comfort from a woman who was fighting a losing battle with reality. He had the strongest urge to take both women in his arms and hold them, but reason told him to refrain. Here he was the onlooker. He didn’t belong in their world.

  Long silent minutes passed while Granny Dixon combed her fingers through the silken lengths of Glory’s hair, soothing old fears, calming new pain. And then in the quiet, Granny paused and tilted Glory’s face. She looked long and hard, then leaned closer, peering at the tearstained gaze in her granddaughter’s eyes. Knuckles swollen and locked with age stroked the soft skin on Glory’s cheek, brushing lightly against the halo the sun had made on Glory’s hair.

  “Such a pretty little thing…Granny’s little Morning Glory. You been havin’ them visions again, ain’t you, girl?”

  Glory nodded, unable to speak of the horrors she’d recently survived, unwilling to tell this woman that her only son was dead.

  “It’ll be all right,” Granny said. “You jest got to remember that it’s God’s gift to you, girl. It ain’t no burden that you got to bear…it’s a gift. Use it as such.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Glory said, and when she heard Wyatt’s feet shuffle behind her, she knew he was struggling with his own brand of pain.

  Then the old woman’s attention shifted, and once again, Wyatt found himself being grilled on the spot.

  “You know ’bout Glory’s gift, don’t you, boy?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that I do,” Wyatt said. “It’s because of her that I’m still alive. She saved my life.”

  Granny beamed, and the sunlight caught and danced in her eyes, giving them life where vacancy had just been. She clapped her hands and then patted Glory on the shoulder.

  “That’s my girl! You see what I’m a’tellin’ you, Glory? You did good with your gift, and it brought you a man. That’s good fortune!”

  “But Granny, he’s not actually my—”

  Wyatt interrupted, unwilling to hear Glory put the tenuous part of the relationship into words.

  “I consider myself the fortunate one, Mrs. Dixon.”

  “That’s good. That’s good. You got yourself a man who has the good sense to know which side his bread is done buttered on.”

  When Glory blushed, Wyatt laughed, which only pleased her granny more.

  “You understand your responsibilities of lovin’ a woman as special as my Glory, don’t you?”

  Wyatt nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I believe that I do.”

  “Sometimes she’ll ask things of you that you’ll find hard to ’cept. Sometimes she’ll know things you don’t want to hear. But she’ll be true to you all your life and that’s a fact.”

  “Granny, he doesn’t want to hear all about…”

  Wyatt leaned forward. His brown eyes darkened, his expression grew solemn.

  “Yes I do, Morning Glory, yes, I do.”

  Glory held her breath as joy slowly filled her heart. She hoped he’d meant what he said, and then suddenly turned away, unwilling to look just in case he did not.

  One hour turned into two as Granny Dixon regaled them with stories from Glory’s childhood as well as old times before she’d ever been born. And while Wyatt listened, absorbing the love that had spanned all the years, bonding these women in a way no family name could have done, he knew that he’d finally found what had been missing in his own life.

  Love.

  The love that comes with knowing another as well as you know your own heart. The quiet, certain love that is there when all else has failed. The passionate, binding love that can lift a man up, and keep him afloat all his life.

  Before Glory, Wyatt had been running…always on the move…afraid of sinking before he had lived. Now the answer to his own brand of pain was sitting at his feet, and unless they caught the man who was trying to kill her, he could lose it…and her…before they were his. He believed that she loved him. He knew that he loved her. The uncertainty lay in keeping her alive.

  And finally, when Granny’s head began to nod, Glory motioned that it was time to go. As they stood, Granny reached out and caught Wyatt’s hand.

  “You’ll bring my little Morning Glory back, won’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I sure will.”

  Granny’s mouth squinched in what might be called a flirtatious smile, although it was hard to tell with so much vacancy between her lips. “Since you’re gonna be in the family, I reckon you could be callin’ me by my given name.”

  Wyatt grinned. “I’d be honored. And what would that be?” he asked.

  Granny thought and then frowned. “Why, I should be knowin’ my own name, now, shouldn’t I?” And then a smile spread wide. “Faith! I’m called Faith.” She shook her finger in Wyatt’s face. “And you’ll be needin’ a whole lot of faith to love a woman as special as my Glory.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I suppose that I will.”

  “Maybe you’d be inclined to name your firstborn girl after me? I’d be pleased to know that my name lived on after I’m gone.”

  Moved by her innocence, Wyatt knelt, and took the old woman’s hands in his own.

  “I’m honored, Faith Dixon. And you have my word that it will be done.”

  Pleased that she’d covered all the bases with her granddaughter’s new beau, Granny closed her eyes. Moments later, she began to rock, forgetting that they were even still there.

  Wyatt slipped an arm around Glory’s shoulder.

  “Are you ready?”

  Glory looked up, her eyes filled with tears, her lips trembling with the weight of unvoiced love for this man who held her.

  “Yes, please.”

  She took Wyatt’s hand, and let him lead her out of this place. When they were in the parking lot, she knew there was one more place she needed to go.

  “Since we’re in Hazard, I suppose I should go by the lawyer’s office. Daddy always said if anything ever happened to him, that J.C. and I were to come here, that Mr. Honeywell would know what to do.”

  “Then we will,” Wyatt promised. “You direct, I’ll drive.”

  A short time later, they were sitting in the office of Elias Honeywell, the senior partner of Honeywell and Honeywell. He was still in shock at what he’d been told. His little round face was twisted with concern.

  “Miss Dixon, I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said. “But you needn’t worry about your position. Your father was a farseeing man. Not only did he leave a will, but there is a sizable insurance policy, of which you are the sole beneficiary.”

  Glory had known of the will, but had had no idea her father had indulged in life insurance. Their life had been simple. Money had never been easy to come by. That he’d used it for a future he would not participate in surprised her.

  “I had no idea,” she said.

  Elias Honeywell nodded solemnly. “Your father wanted it that way. He was concerned about your welfare after he passed on. I believe I recall him saying something to the effect that his daughter had more to bear than most, and he wanted to make sure you would not suffer unduly.”

  “Oh, my.” It was all Glory c
ould say without breaking into tears. Even in death, her father was still taking care of her.

  Wyatt could see that Glory was not in any shape to question him. In spite of his reticence to interfere, he thought it best to ask now, rather than after they were gone.

  “Mr. Honeywell, what will you need from Glory to proceed with the probate and claims?”

  The little lawyer frowned, then shuffled through the file on his desk. “Why, I believe I have nearly everything I need,” he said. “Except…” He hesitated, hating to bring it up. “We will need death certificates for her father as well as her brother before I can apply for the life insurance on her behalf. I have her address. If I need anything more, I will be in touch.”

  Glory rose with more composure than she felt. Had it not been for Wyatt Hatfield’s presence, she would have run screaming to the car. The darkness within her mind kept spreading. She kept thinking this was all a bad dream, and that most any time she would wake, and it would all be over.

  But reality was a rude reminder, and when they exited the office to resume the trip home, the only thing that kept her sane was remembering the promise Wyatt made to Granny. The fact that he’d made such a claim of the heart to a woman who would never remember he’d said it, didn’t matter to Glory. At least not now. He’d said she was his girl. He’d promised Granny that he would take care of her forever. Glory needed to believe that he meant every word that he’d said.

  Long after they were back on Highway 421, driving south toward Pine Mountain and Larner’s Mill, which nestled at its base, Glory still had no words for what Wyatt had given her this day. It wasn’t until later when he stopped for gas that she managed to say what was in her heart.

  “Wyatt?”

  “What, darlin’?” he said absently, as he unbuckled his seat belt to get out.

  “I will never forget what you said to Granny today. No matter what you really thought, you made an old woman happy.”

  He paused, halfway out of the car seat, and looked back at her. “What about you, Morning Glory? Did it make you happy, too?”