“Well . . . I don’t know. Maybe in a week or so.”
“This Sunday! It has to be this Sunday.”
“I don’t—”
“It would be perfect. We’ve all heard her in Sunday school. She winds up and chirps like a canary!”
“Yeah,” Nora said, laughing. “I’ve heard her, too. Just the way she winds up in the Chuck E. Cheese’s sky tube.” Then, “But in front of people, everybody sitting in rows looking at her, I don’t know.”
“She sings Jesus Loves Me. Only she takes out ‘me’ and sings ‘Tansy’ instead. ‘Jesus loves Tansy, this I know.’You’ve got to talk to her and see if she’ll do it. There won’t be a dry eye in the house.”
Nora tucked the phone beneath her chin and rummaged through the junk drawer. She’d been hunting for her tape measure when Frieda had called. Ben had borrowed it out of her sewing and he hadn’t put it back. She said with a slight furrow on her forehead, “Couldn’t somebody else do it? I don’t understand.”
“Oh, that’s just the precious thing about you,” Frieda said. “You haven’t given yourself any credit. Look at the sacrifice you and Ben made.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Everybody in town talks about it, honey. We all know Tess Crabtree. We all know that she probably wanted to have an abortion and you wouldn’t let her. Look at the way she ran back to Dallas the minute she could, leaving you with all the responsibility.”
Nora thought, Abortion. Abortion. Some people could really fling that word around.
“She didn’t even have the strength to sign that baby over for adoption.”
“That baby,” Nora said defensively, “is Tansy. Please, Frieda. Don’t criticize Tess or talk about her decisions to anyone.”
“If not for you and Ben, Nora, Tansy Aster would be another statistic. Please think about this, Nora. Nothing need ever be said. But so many people just know.”
Nora turned toward the wall. “I’ll talk to Ben about it. I can’t promise anything.”
But when Nora hung up the phone and turned around again, Tansy was standing there with the tape measure in her hand. “I measured my doll’s neck, Nana. It’s five inches around.”
“So you’re the one who borrowed that.”
“Yep.”
“Come over here, little kid.” Tansy came skipping to her immediately. Nora hugged her even as she said the words. “Let me . . . give you a . . . big . . . tight . . . hug.”
Tansy hugged her back and asked, “What did Mrs. Storm want, Nana?”
“How do you know that was Mrs. Storm?”
“I heard you talking to her.”
“Oh.” This could be the most frightening thing of all about children. It seemed like they could figure everything out.
“Did she say something about me?”
“Yes.”
The little girl’s cheek, as soft as a rose petal, warm against Nora’s neck. “Does she want me to do something?”
“Well, yes. She does.”
“What, Nana? What?”
“You know how you love to sing Jesus Loves Me? Mrs. Storm wanted to know if you would sing for the service this week. The way you sing it in Sunday school, when you put your own name in. Jesus Loves Tansy.” That cheek against Nora’s skin felt so alive, so warm and soft and real. How had Nora ever gotten so lucky, that her life would seem this blessed, that she would have this second chance? “I told her you might not want to do it, though. It would be okay if you didn’t.”
The cheek pressed against Nora’s neck was replaced by a cool, spidery little hand on Nora’s face. With her small hand, Tansy turned Nora’s head and made her nana look at her. “I would sing,” the little girl said. “I’m big enough to sing. I would like to sing.”
“You would?”
“Tell Mrs. Storm that, Nana.”
Nora nodded, not knowing exactly what to say. She buried her lips in her granddaughter’s hair.
WHEN NORA PEEKED OUT of the master bathroom on Sunday morning, she saw Ben buttoning his one dress shirt clear up to his chin. She stood with her hip resting lightly against the bathroom sink, her mascara tube in the other hand, and watched while he tucked his shirt hem carefully around the circumference of his waist, tightened his belt a notch, and fumbled with his tie. Ben only dressed this way for the Texas Highway Department Christmas party, nothing else. And this was June.
Ben must have caught her reflection in the dresser mirror. His hands stopped wresting with his tie and he turned and winked at her. Winked. “Hey there,” he said, grinning. “What do you think?”
“I think you might need a little help with that tie.”
“You may be right,” he agreed. “You know I’ve never been very good at this sort of thing.” He dropped his arms to his sides and stood waiting for her like an eight-year-old.
When she crossed the room, she could smell the aftershave on him. “Whew,” she said, taking her hand and fanning her nostrils. “That’s some powerful stuff.”
“Don’t you like it?”
“Well, of course I do.”
When she loosened the knot and threaded the tie through its own loop, her knuckles brushed the underside of his chin. His skin was as smooth as Tansy’s. He had shaved.
“What’s the occasion, Ben? I don’t understand.”
“Well,” he said, beaming down at her. “I thought I’d go to church with you this morning.”
Her hands froze against his shirtfront.
“You remember, don’t you?” he asked. “You’ve been inviting me for a while.”
“Well,” she said, running the tie up to the hollow of his throat with a slight smile. “I guess I do remember.”
“I wouldn’t want to miss the musical performance of the youngest Crabtree family member.”
Twenty years. That’s how long it had been. That’s how long she’d been asking Ben to go with her and he’d been telling her no. Twenty years.
“I’d be happy to have you there with me, Ben.”
From that moment on Nora’s body started zinging like a live electrical wire. Nora was so excited, it took all of her concentration just to brush Tansy’s curls and fasten her butterfly hairclips. It took extreme focus just to close the clasp on her Hamilton watch and to apply her lipstick between the lines. Ben was going to church with them!
Oh, Father. Help Ben to see You. Help Ben to feel everyone’s love.
By the time Ben parked the Lumina at Milton Hubbs’s Kick-A-Tire Trade-In’s, Nora almost couldn’t breathe. It seemed too much joy to carry, this thought of Ben sitting next to her in the pew at Butlers Bend Baptist. The thought of Tansy standing in front of the church singing.
Oh, Father. This is a miracle that he’s here. And You’ve done it because of our little girl!
The Crabtree family walked toward the front door arm in arm, three abreast, Tansy’s curls bouncing against the zipper of her dress, Ben’s tie slightly askew, Nora’s eyes as bright and shiny with anticipation. When Harold Ruckmann met them in the foyer with a church bulletin, he looked Ben all the way up and all the way down again. “Sure do like those shoes, Ben,” he said, extending his arm for a vigorous handshake. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen you wear those before.”
“Let’s sit over here,” Nora said, directing him by the elbow to her favorite pew, the very spot she’d been sitting the day that the window over Pete Franklin’s head had begun to glow.
While Tansy scooted over close to them, Nora opened the bulletin and explained it to Ben. She pointed out the places on the bulletin where they would stand up and the places where they would sit down. She pointed out the places where they would pray aloud and the places they would be silent. She pointed out the place where Tansy would sing.
Pete Franklin began announcements and Nora had a difficult time listening. When the visitor registry was passed down the row, Nora made certain Ben signed his name. When Pete read the Scripture aloud from Exodus, Nora propped her thick Bible on Ben’s knee between th
em and trailed her finger along so Ben could follow every phrase. When the choir director gestured for the congregation to rise, Nora turned to Hymn #10, How Great Thou Art, and held the hymnal in front of Ben’s nose so he could sing every word. Nora was so excited, she couldn’t help herself.
Ever since the moment they had stepped out of the car and crossed the Kick-A-Tire parking lot, Nora had been so exhilarated by Ben’s presence that she never even noticed the small glittering white crosses that encircled the flowerbeds and surrounded the trees and bordered the front walk.
Then Pete Franklin gestured and Tansy walked to the front of the sanctuary.
Frieda had planned the entire event, and Frieda was very good at organizing children’s programs. Pete knelt on the altar steps and picked up his guitar. He sat, patted the step beside him for Tansy Aster to sit, too, and strummed an introductory chord on his Ibanez.
Tansy’s voice rose, as clear and sharp as the glint of early sun on ice. It was so strong in its innocence that it could be heard over the rustlings of checkbooks and pens, over Fran Coover’s nagging cough, and over the pencil-scribbling of Lance Buxton’s youngest son. By the second time through, however, even those sounds had fallen away. No one moved except for the pastor strumming his guitar, and Ben.
Ben reached across the hymnal Nora kept propped on his knee and squeezed her hand.
His one motion, his fingers clasping hers, brought Nora back to herself. She cupped her other hand over his, leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling gratitude at the way her head fit beneath the crook of Ben’s chin. Tansy finished her song to the sound of murmured appreciation and the nodding of heads. “I love Jesus!” she shouted, standing on tiptoe and waving at everyone. Pete Franklin shook her hand to thank her. When Nora surveyed Ben’s face, she was staggered by the pride she saw there. Just seeing Ben’s reaction, Scripture came to Nora’s mind.
My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
Ben let go Nora’s hand so he could bundle Tansy in his arms. “You did great,” he whispered, planting a kiss on her nose.
“Thanks, Grandpa,” she whispered back as Nora led her off to her class.
DURING HER JITTERY EXCITEMENT about Ben attending services today, Nora had stopped once or twice to wonder this: On which topic would Pete Franklin choose to preach?
She was certain that it would be something to move Ben deeply, something to stir his heart to ask Jesus Christ into his life, something he would find thought provoking.
But Pete had pursued the Scripture from Exodus 1:15-17, about how Pharaoh commanded Hebrew midwives to kill all male Hebrew babies. This entire subject made Nora squirm. Then Pete began talking about the white crosses in the yard. “I know all of you saw them as you walked in,” he said.
Well, no, Nora thought. Actually we didn’t. Oh, Pete. Ben is here! Talk about something that will make him want to come back.
“Each one of these crosses is a child who has been lost in Gilford County,” Pete said. “This many in the past thirty years. Right here where we live.”
For that one moment, the words Pete spoke, the crosses outside, did not seem to have anything personal to do with Nora. She decided that anyone who saw them lined up out there, like headstones in a cemetery, would be uncomfortable.
All the babies lost in Gilford County over the past thirty years.
The sermon dragged on as the joy that Nora had experienced at having Ben at her side withered away. Ben had just come to hear Tansy sing, anyway. After this, she doubted he would ever come again.
When they stepped out after the service with Tansy skipping and tugging on one arm and Ben checking her watch on the other, they encountered the expanse of small crosses. Nora tried not to stop and stare. But she did, anyway. How on earth had she missed these things?
And then, like an enemy stalking, the thought came.
I wonder which one is mine.
“Nana,” Tansy was saying. “Can we go to Chicken Stack today?”
“No,” she said absently. “Grandpa will want to go home.”
“In fact,” Ben added, “I’m going to run on out and turn the car on. Get the air conditioner running for our famous singer here. You two can catch up.”
Leaving church on Sunday mornings, though, was not a catch-up situation. Especially when you were trying to get away with a very happy young lady who had performed the special music. “Good job, young lady!” everyone said, stopping them. “You have got to do that again sometime.” “How did you get brave enough to do something like that? I could never do it.”
And Tansy’s small, clear-as-a-bell voice: “Jesus helped me. That’s how.”
When Nora searched to find Ben, she saw that Milton Hubbs had cornered him at their parking spot. She sighed. Years had gone by, and Milton was still after their Lumina. She watched as Ben shrugged noncommittally and directed Milton to the lever near the front grille. The engine was running and Ben had given him permission to peek under the hood.
Oh, Ben. No used-car salesmen today. Help me get out of here. Let’s just go. Please.
“Well,” Jane Ruckmann said beside her. “What do you think? I went into the church office and ordered a tape. That sermon was so good I wanted to listen to it again.”
What do I think? I think the church shouldn’t have these crosses here.
“I’m hoping Tansy’s song got recorded, too. Did you know that it costs two dollars to purchase a tape? If you want to borrow mine when I get it, you can hear it again, too.”
I think it isn’t our place to display something that condemnsthis way.
“What’s wrong?” Jane asked. “You aren’t talking.”
“I-I just—” Nora shrugged. “I don’t know. My mind is somewhere else, I guess.”
“Where is your mind?”
“I was thinking that, if I didn’t know the Lord and I saw these crosses, if I had an abortion, I would think somebody was trying to make me feel guilty.”
“These crosses are a tribute,” Jane explained. “Not something inflammatory. It isn’t to make anybody feel bad. It’s just in memory.”
“That’s how you see it?”
“Yes.”
Nora said carefully, “It doesn’t feel like a tribute to me.”
In the Kick-A-Tire lot, the only part of Ben and Milton Hubbs she could see was their hindquarters. With the hood up, they looked like two circus performers with their heads stuck inside the gaping jaws of a lion. She imagined them jiggling hoses, checking the carburetor.
What if a woman had an abortion and she didn’t know about the forgiveness and love of the Lord? What if she chose this Sunday to visit our church? A woman like that wouldn’t make it to the front door.
Frieda came running up to them. “Tansy, honey. You did so well singing today! Thank you! I hope you’ll do this often.”
What happens if those crosses chase her away? If she thinks those crosses are our way of pointing fingers at her?
Across the way, the two men had slammed the Lumina hood shut. Milton Hubbs had climbed into the front seat and Ben was leaning over his shoulder, pointing toward the odometer. You certainly couldn’t tell by watching which man was the used-car salesman and which was the imposter. Nora wanted to yank up the next cross that she passed. It would be so satisfying, pulling that thing out like any shallow-rooted weed and then driving away. But, of course, she didn’t dare.
Speaking of driving away, the Lumina was backing out! Good heavens, it looked like Ben was letting Milton Hubbs take it for a test drive.
“Ben,” she cried. “Wait!” Then, to Jane, “We really have to go. I’m sorry.” Then to Tansy. “Hurry. Grandpa’s leaving without us.”
As Nora scooped Tansy up in her arms (Ah, this girl was getting heavy!) and began to run, she told herself that she’d responded strongly to this
because she was being righteous for someone else. She did not think that her response had anything to do with herself. She did not think: What if that woman had been me?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
On most Sunday afternoons in July, the neighbors along Joplin and Meriweather Streets enjoyed their summer yards. At this very moment, an airplane was drawing a white-fluff contrail in a robin’s-egg-blue sky. Sam Ellison was outdoors pruning his redbud tree next door and, on the other side, Judy Larson was laying out paving stones, matching edges like a jigsaw puzzle.
Ben Crabtree did not opt to spend his afternoon outside. Instead, Nora found him on his hands and knees in the corner of their bedroom, rifling through the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. “What are you looking for?” she asked.
He rocked back on his haunches. “You don’t happen to remember where we put the title to the Lumina, do you?”
“Oh, gee. Let me think. I can probably remember.”
“I thought I kept the car papers in this folder. But that one isn’t here.”
Then it hit her. “Why are you looking for the Lumina title, Ben?”
“Hm-mmm,” he said offhandedly, as if he wasn’t certain she would approve. “I’m thinking about trading it in.”
“To Milton Hubbs?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Ben.”
“That guy knows a good car when he sees one,” Ben said. “He told me he’s had his eye on it for a long time.”
“He’s had his eye on that car for years, Ben. But it’s mine. Don’t you think you ought to talk to me about this?”
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s the deal. That Lumina has 140,000 miles. If I wait too much longer, it isn’t going to be worth nearly as much as it’s worth today.”
“Since the car is in my name, I think it’s fair that I should be a part of the process.”
“Hubbs has a Trailblazer I’d like you to look at. It’s got low miles and he’s offered me a good trade-in. Since we’re driving children around with no end in sight, an SUV might be helpful.”
Yes, an SUV might be helpful. But still, she didn’t like being left out of the decision.
If I Had You Page 16
