Judith couldn’t peel her eyes away from the photos. She wanted to study them and figure out what was going on. Why was Jasmine so unhappy? Why had she married this strange man? But Judith knew these were questions she couldn’t ask.
“Like I said, these photos ain’t much. Jasmine never was one to have her picture took. Most of the time she’d put something over her face. I’m surprised I could even find these, now that I think of it.”
Judith just nodded again, her eyes still pinned to the images. Finally, she reached out with one finger and touched the edge of the camping photo, as if she might absorb some sense of what was going on. “I wish I could’ve seen her again,” she said quietly.
He made a sniffing sound. “Well, Jasmine wasn’t a real social gal, if you know what I mean. She kept mostly to herself. Never called anyone or got together with friends or anything.”
She nodded again. “I see...” But it was a lie. She didn’t see. She didn’t understand any of it—not a single word he was saying. Jasmine, the girl who dreamed of being an actress, didn’t like being photographed? And wasn’t social? Who was this strange woman he was speaking of? And what had he done to her?
The door opened from behind Judith, and Hal quickly scooped up the photos from the counter, holding them in his hand as he nodded to the patron. Apparently, the viewing was over.
“Well, thank you for, uh, showing me these,” she stammered. “It helps a little.”
Then he shoved the photos toward her. “Go ahead and keep “em if you want.”
“Really?” She stared at him in wonder. “Oh, thank you so much. But are you sure? I mean, you said they were all you have—”
“I can probably dig up the negatives if I ever need to look at “em again. Y’all go ahead and take “em. Makes no difference to me.”
“Okay, then.” She quickly backed away, the precious photos in her hands, almost as if she were afraid he’d change his mind. “And thanks so much. I really do appreciate it. You have a good day, Hal.”
He smiled at her. “You too, Judith.”
She walked down the street feeling slightly dazed. How kind of him to let her keep the photos. Maybe she had misjudged him. But as she continued walking toward the other end of town, toward the motel, she wondered why he didn’t want to keep the only photos he had of his recently deceased wife. Sure, they weren’t good shots, but didn’t he want something to remember her by? And what if he couldn’t find the negatives? But then, she wondered, perhaps he didn’t want anything to remind him of Jasmine. Perhaps he simply wanted to forget her altogether.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WITH NO DESIRE TO return to the dingy motel room, Judith slipped the key into the door just the same. She needed a quiet place to sit and think and gather her frazzled thoughts—a place away from curious onlookers. Having left the windows open, the air in the room smelled slightly fresher than before, but the overall affect was still dismal and depressing. Appropriate, she thought.
She went into the bathroom where the light from its window was somewhat better and proceeded to examine the two photos again, this time studying every small detail for some sort of hidden clue, some signal as to what had gone so horribly wrong in Jasmine’s life. The “wedding” photo appeared to be taken in some little commercial wedding chapel—probably Reno as Polly had suggested. Mr. Morrison had on a pale blue western shirt tucked into dark pants, with a cool and controlled smile playing across his thin lips, but his eyes were like ice. Hal wore a frumpy-looking tan sports jacket over a plaid shirt, but at least his smile appeared to be somewhat sincere, as if he were truly glad to be marrying Jasmine. And why shouldn’t he have been? Despite her forlorn expression, Jasmine was still a very pretty woman. She wore her dark hair long, the natural waves cascading over her shoulders. But she had on a dress that Judith felt certain she couldn’t have picked out for herself. For one thing it was yellow, and Jasmine had always hated yellow; she’d said it made her skin look sallow. Besides that, the dress had a wide round neckline, and Jasmine had always shirked from such styles, claiming they made her face look overly plump. Both Mrs. Morrison and Jasmine had always been very fashion conscious about such details. Suddenly, Judith wondered where Mrs. Morrison had been during this wedding. Taking the photo perhaps? She wished she’d thought to ask Hal about her.
She studied Jasmine’s eyes carefully. Surprised again at the familiarity she recognized there. Not so much in their size or shape, but in the expression. Judith had seen that exact same hopeless look before—in her own eyes. And if eyes truly were a window to the soul, then Jasmine, like Judith, had been very troubled just a year ago.
“Oh, Jasmine.” moaned Judith as she tucked the photos safely into her purse, unable to look at them any longer. “What in the world went wrong in your life?” And then she began to pace, running what little information she had over and over through her mind. But mostly she came up with questions. Lots of unanswered questions. She pulled out the envelope containing the obituary and studied the handwriting again. Was it possible that Jasmine’s great-aunt, Lenore Barker, was still living? Why, the old woman must be nearly a hundred by now since she had retired from teaching when the girls were still in grade school. Could she have possibly sent this envelope? And, if so, why anonymously? Judith decided to try to find out.
Once again, she left her little car behind, looking foreign and out of place, parked in front of the seedy motel. But she felt determined to experience this town as she had during most of her childhood. And that was at a leisurely pace, and on foot. She walked toward the old grade school, noticing that little in this neighborhood had changed. Shabbier perhaps, but mostly the same, except for the number of vacant houses. She walked past the house where her good friend Eli Paxton had once lived. It too was vacant and looked as though it had been for some time. Overgrown with weeds and brush, the paint was falling off in large chunks. How sad, she thought, remembering how Mr. Paxton had always kept everything on their property in “shipshape condition” as he would proudly say, having actually served during World War II in the navy. She glanced up to notice the old rusty basketball hoop still in place over the small separate garage. It appeared that sometime over the years, someone had replaced the old rickety wooden garage doors with a newer metal one—an improvement of sorts.
She continued on, noticing how some homes had the outward signs of children; strewn about—bikes and swing sets and the like—but at the same time the neighborhood seemed oddly quiet compared to how it had been back when she and Jasmine were young. Back then, this neighborhood teemed with kids of all ages, yelling and playing and cutting up during their summer vacation. But she knew this quietness wasn’t something only found in Cedar Crest. Silent neighborhoods like this probably lurked all around the country these days, with kids parked like zombies in front of the electronic baby-sitters found in TVs and VCRs and computers. Yes, things had definitely changed since the times when she and Jasmine had roamed the town’s streets like vagabonds, always on the lookout for some new adventure.
Soon she came to the little rental house where she and her mother had lived for more than ten years. Painted turquoise green now, and in need of a fresh coat, the house looked even smaller than she remembered. And the covered front porch where she used to play on rainy days, where she’d parked her bike, was unbelievably tiny. The weed-infested lawn needed mowing, and the peony bushes no longer grew prolifically along the footpath. She remembered how much she had loved the cheerful peonies as a child, often cutting large bouquets which she’d place on the tiny plastic-topped kitchen table to surprise her mother after a hard day’s work. She smiled to herself. She and her mother had been happy in this little house—just the two of them. And as a child, it was only when watching a family sitcom like The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet or Father Knows Best, or when a thoughtless grown-up might mention “how sad that she came from a broken home...” that she actually realized her home life was different from most. But during those early years the absence of
her father hadn’t worried her too much.
Suddenly she noticed movement behind the front room curtain, and she felt slightly conspicuous standing motion-lessly and staring at the house for so long. How long had she stared? Hopefully she hadn’t upset anyone in there. She quickly turned away and moved on toward the grade school, just a few blocks north. The grade school looked exactly the same except that all the laurel bushes that had grown like a hedge along the brick walls had been removed. Probably for security reasons—they had always made such good hiding places. She walked across the blacktopped playground, remembering how she and Jasmine loved to stop at the swings on a warm summer day. They’d sit and swing slowly back and forth, visiting and planning their next escapade. Even after they entered junior high they’d still sneak back onto the old elementary playground and reminisce about their “good ol’ grade school days.” But the playground, like the neighborhood, was vacant of children today. Too bad. It seemed so much had been lost over the years.
She spotted the small house that Lenore Barker used to live in. She and Jasmine had always called it the gingerbread house because it had zigzag trim along its steeply pitched roof line. To her pleased surprise, it was still painted a soft shade of brown, just the color of cocoa, and the gingerbread trim was still a clean, crisp white. And as Judith drew closer, she noticed the. flower beds were still well tended, filled with pansies, mums, zinnias, and all those old-fashioned flowers that dear “Aunt Lenore” had so loved.
Judith remembered the day when the older woman had invited her to call her “Aunt Lenore.” It was the summer after she had retired from teaching high school English, and the girls had been invited for afternoon tea. And as she passed a delicate plate of spice cookies to Judith, she had said, “Judith dear, you’re so much like a part of Jasmine’s family that I think you should also call me Aunt Lenore, if you’d like.” Of course, Judith had been honored, and from that day on she’d always called her by that familiar name. And for some time she’d kept a thin strand of contact, exchanging Christmas cards, an occasional birthday card. But not in the past several years. For all she knew, the old woman could be dead and buried. She hoped not.
So she stood on the sidewalk out in front of the house and tried to convince herself that Aunt Lenore might still possibly live there. Or if not, at least someone who had known her then. A relative perhaps, because this little cottage-style house just looked too much the same—as if one could still feel Aunt Lenore’s presence close by. Even so, Judith hesitated before walking up the little brick path to ring the doorbell. She felt unwilling to discover she was wrong.
After a short wait, the door slowly opened, and there stood a tiny, fragile-looking woman wearing an old-fashioned housedress in soft shades of lilac and blue. Her hair stood out from her head in fluffy white wisps, giving her an almost otherworldly look.
“Lenore Barker?” asked Judith, speaking loudly just in case the woman was hard of hearing.
The old woman nodded, a curious expression passing over her brow.
Judith felt tears unexplainably welling in her eyes. “Is that really you? Do you remember me? I’m Judith. Jasmine’s old friend.”
Aunt Lenore slowly smiled. “Why, Judith McPhearson,” she said clearly as she reached for her hand. “Of course I remember you. Come on in, dear. What a pleasure to see you again.”
Judith gently grasped the tiny, wrinkled hand and smiled. “It’s so good to see you, Aunt Lenore. You look absolutely wonderful.”
“Oh, pish posh,” she said, waving her free hand. “I’m old and wrinkled and not good for much of anything these days.”
With quick little steps, she led Judith directly into the sunlit kitchen. “Now you sit right here. Let me put the kettle on, and I’ll make us some tea. Then I’ll sit down and have a good, long look at you.”
“Everything seems exactly the same in here,” said Judith as she gazed around the cheerful room in wonder, her eyes resting for a moment on the old knickknack shelf that still held a prized collection of unique salt and pepper shakers. “It’s just as I remember it.”
“Yes, I am rather set in my old-fashioned ways.” Aunt Lenore carefully made her way to the table with a teapot.
Judith started to rise. “Let me help you—”
“No, no, you just sit tight. I may be old, but I need to keep moving. Otherwise I won’t be good for much of anything. I still grow my little vegetable garden out back, do all my own yard work, cook and clean, and do my own shopping too.” With a slightly trembling hand, she placed a plate of sliced banana bread on the table, then went back to the cupboard for teacups.
Finally, she sat down across the table, and folding her hands, looked directly at Judith. “You may pour now, Judith.”
Judith smiled and poured them both a cup of steaming amber tea. “This is a real treat for me.”
Aunt Lenore sipped her tea, her eyes still fixed on her guest. “A treat for me too, dear. But have you been unwell, Judith?”
She set down her cup and shook her head. “No, not exactly. Not in the physical sense anyway. But—”
“Troubled in your soul?”
Judith nodded. “Yes, that would pretty much describe it.”
Aunt Lenore shook her head. “You and Jasmine, both so much alike, even after all these years...to think you were both troubled in the soul.”
“I’m so sorry about Jasmine, Aunt Lenore. That’s why I came back to Cedar Crest. I only just heard the news yesterday—such a shock.”
“Nearly broke my heart.” She set the cup back in her saucer with a loud clink. “Such a horrible, horrible waste. A pitiful, pitiful waste. Why, it pains me right here in my heart to even think about it now.”
“I know. I still can’t quite believe it myself.” Although Judith felt eager to ask more questions, she recognized pure agony etched onto the old woman’s face. It seemed a clear warning to change the subject, at least for the time being.
Aunt Lenore looked back up at Judith with curiosity. “But tell me, child, why is it that you’re troubled in your soul? What has befallen you?”
Judith quickly explained about first losing her only son and then more recently her husband. “I continued teaching after Peter died, and then I taught summer school, and went into the next year...but by the end of this school year I just couldn’t go on. I declined teaching summer school, and, to tell the truth, I just sort of fell completely apart.”
“Well, that’s because you never allowed yourself enough time to properly grieve for your husband. The heart can’t heal unless it’s permitted to cry and suffer and to carry on for a little.”
Judith nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“But perhaps you’re on a better path now.”
“I hope so.”
“And so, you became a teacher?” Aunt Lenore smiled.
“Yes, I had some very good role models as a child.”
“Thank you. And how is your mother doing?”
“She’s fine. Retired, of course. She married again, a few years ago, and she seems happy. They live over at the coast, in my grandmother’s old house. George just had bypass surgery last winter, but he appears to be doing okay, and my mom still keeps herself busy with volunteering and whatnot. Right now they’re off on a cruise.”
“Good for them. Activity keeps a body young. Do you still do your art, Judith? I always thought you had the potential of greatness in you.”
Judith laughed. “That’s sweet of you, but I think it was only a hobby sort of interest. And I haven’t done a thing in years.”
“That’s a shame. Gifts like that weren’t meant to be wasted.”
“Unfortunately, there’s been a lot of waste in my life, Aunt Lenore.”
She looked Judith right in the eye, then spoke with conviction. “Judith, with God, nothing is ever wasted.”
Judith considered this for a moment, but couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around the vastness of it. Perhaps it was time to change the subject. “Aunt Lenore?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Was it you who sent me the obituary clipping?”
“Why, yes, of course. Didn’t you get my note along with it?”
“Note?”
The old woman frowned. “Yes, telling you about the death and all. Good grief, I was just so upset around that time, do you suppose I forgot to slip the note in?”
Judith smiled. “I’ll bet that’s what happened. And then there was no return address on the envelope, so it was all rather mysterious.”
“Oh, goodness gracious, and to think I used to teach English. All I can say is that I was very upset at the time and not thinking clearly.”
“Maybe it was a good thing.” Judith considered how the curious envelope and contents had derailed her possible suicide attempt, and then how it had compelled her to return to Cedar Crest. “I was so shook up by the news that I decided to drive over and find out what had happened for myself.”
Aunt Lenore’s face grew cloudy. “And have you been able to do so?”
“Not really. To be honest, if anything I feel more confused than ever.”
“You aren’t alone.” She stood and began carrying the empty dishes to the sink.
Judith rose to help. “I met Hal Emery.”
“What did you think of him?”
“Well, he wasn’t exactly what I’d expected.”
Aunt Lenore made a “humph” sound and began running hot water into a plastic dish tub. “There was certainly no love lost in that marriage.”
“Why did Jasmine marry him?”
“Why do you think?” Aunt Lenore handed her a tea towel and a plate to dry.
“I have no idea.”
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