“Thanks, Reverend. I appreciate your help,” Tucker said sincerely.
“No thanks necessary. You know that, Tucker.” The reverend smiled. “Now about this sink . . . I don’t know much about this stuff but what about this piece? Doesn’t it go somewhere?”
He held up a thin metal washer, and Tucker groaned. “I forgot to put it back on. Now I’m going to have to take apart the whole thing and start over.”
Reverend Ben looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I distracted you with all my questions.”
“My fault,” Tucker said. “I should have known it was missing. Carl would have. He would have had this fixed by now.”
The reverend smiled. “Then let’s hope he agrees to take the job.”
CHAPTER TEN
ON SUNDAY, AFTER THE SERVICE, REVEREND BEN WENT TO HIS OFFICE where Carolyn waited. A fresh, cool breeze filtered through the open window, ruffling his papers and nearly blowing them away. It was the first truly mild day the town had seen in many months, but for once the promise of spring did nothing to lift his spirits. Wordlessly, Carolyn helped him remove his vestments, then they walked out together to their car and headed for the orchard.
They drove out of town and along the Beach Road, the radio tuned to the classical station. Neither spoke for a long time.
“I might have to stay awhile. Sophie sounded as if he was very bad.”
“I understand. I’ll have Mark come pick me up later. I’ll leave you the car.”
“All right. I guess that would be best.”
Carolyn sat with her gloved hands clutching her purse on her lap. It was good of her to come today, he thought. She knew that this visit was hard for him. Visits like this always were, but this one especially. He was sure that when she married him, she had no idea of what it would be like to be a minister’s wife: the tedious hours of bake sales and the Christmas Fair committee spliced between life’s most intense moments. Yet Carolyn seemed to sail through it all so smoothly. She kept him balanced and sane. She’d never know how much.
The Potter house was filled with people, food, and flowers, all the trappings of one of their famous parties, framed within a mournful, somber atmosphere. The living room was crowded with relatives. Ben recognized some of the grandchildren and Sophie’s brother, Fred, who lived down in Florida.
Sophie’s daughter Una came to greet them and take their coats. Ben and Carolyn embraced her, and he could see that her eyes were puffy from crying. Una led them to Gus, who lay in a hospital bed in the guest room on the first floor. Sophie sat by his side and held his hand. With her back to the door, she didn’t even notice that Ben and Carolyn were there.
The smell of sickness filled the room. For a moment Ben felt as if he couldn’t breathe. He stepped closer to the bed. Gus’s eyes were closed. Ben wondered if Gus had already lost consciousness.
Sophie’s daughter Evelyn and her son, Bart, stood on the other side of the bed. Evelyn walked up to him and took his hand. “Thank you for coming, Reverend.”
“Evelyn, how are you holding up?”
“I’m managing. The waiting is so hard. It’s very hard on Mom,” she said, glancing at Sophie.
“Yes, of course. This is the most difficult time of all.” It was true. Ben remembered when his own mother was dying, watching her cling to the last threads of life. He had been torn between desperate hopes that she would live just a little longer and equally desperate prayers for her painless release into the Lord’s loving embrace.
“He goes in and out,” Evelyn said. “The doctor said it would be like this. He’s not in any pain, though, thank God.”
“That is a blessing,” Carolyn agreed.
Sophie turned her head, finally noticing Ben and Carolyn. Wordlessly, she held out her hand, and Ben stepped forward. He clasped her hand and then bent to kiss her cheek. Her skin was dry and papery, her stare, glassy.
“He can hear you if you talk to him,” she said quietly. “I’m sure he can. He opens his eyes from time to time.”
Ben nodded. There was nothing to say. He swallowed hard and glanced at Gus. His skin, which once glowed with health and vitality, was yellow and sickly, his face and limbs bloated.
He took Gus’s swollen hand and sat at the edge of the bed. “Gus, it’s Reverend Ben. Can you hear me?”
He didn’t think Gus had heard at first. Then he saw the sick man’s head move against the pillow. Gus’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, and he stared up at Ben. “Reverend . . . good. I think I’m ready. . . . Will you send me off?”
“He wants to receive the sacrament,” Evelyn said. “Can you do that for him?”
“Of course. I’ve brought everything.” Ben swallowed hard.
He stroked Gus’s hand. Gus had already closed his eyes, but Ben could see a peaceful expression on his face, and he knew Gus had heard him.
A short time later, Ben completed celebrating the sacrament at Gus’s bedside. Sophie, her children, and a few of her grandchildren circled the bed, and Una led the group in a prayer. With their heads bowed and hands clasped, it seemed to Ben for a moment that they composed a circle of living, vibrating love, their final gift to Gus, a parting embrace as he journeyed on.
Ben felt witness to something awesome and powerful. This is what life is all about, he thought. What love is all about. Forget the hearts and flowers. It’s a mighty force, frightening in its power.
Of all Gus had experienced in his long life, above all, he was loved, Ben thought. And that was saying a great deal.
Carolyn left a short time later. Ben sat with Sophie in the room while others came in and out over the long hours. The afternoon faded black into night, and the night then crept along slowly.
Ben found himself dozing in a chair. Someone had tossed an afghan over him, Sophie probably. He sat up, feeling cramped and sore. He checked his watch. A little past five in the morning. The room was shadowy, the day’s first light mingled with the glow of a small lamp by Gus’s bed. Sophie still sat in her chair, holding Gus’s hand, as focused and alert as when Ben had arrived that afternoon.
“Any change?” he asked, resting his hand on her shoulder.
“Yes . . . I think he’s really going now.” She rose and sat on the edge of the bed, then leaned toward Gus and placed her arm around his shoulders. “I’m here, Gus. I’m right here with you. Don’t be afraid. Just let go now, darling,” she whispered.
Gus didn’t respond. Ben felt his breath catch. Was he already gone?
Then he saw Gus’s hand stir, reaching to touch Sophie. She bowed her head to his chest, and his fingers found her hair. She was crying now, silent tears that fell from her eyes and dropped onto Gus.
Seconds later, Gus’s hand fell limp and lifeless on his chest. Ben saw it and realized what had happened. No matter how many sick rooms he attended, no matter how many times he witnessed a person’s passing, it was always so startling to him, the way the spirit of life leaves the body. When it finally happens, it’s in the blink of an eye, as if someone had simply blown out a match.
Sophie seemed to stop breathing, too. For a minute everything in the room seemed to freeze. Then she released a long, keening wail that echoed through the house to the silent trees outside the window, to the very corners of the world beyond.
She collapsed in a heap on her husband as her children rushed to her side. She clung to his body for a moment, then with resignation, bowed her head and kissed his cheek before allowing her daughters and son to help her to her feet.
“It’s over, Mother. Dad is gone.” Una sobbed, embracing Sophie.
“Yes, he’s gone from us,” Sophie managed between tears. “But I know he’s at peace. He’s with the angels now.”
THE WEEKEND PASSED, AND TUCKER NEVER QUITE GOT AROUND TO TELLING Carl about the handyman job at the church. He wondered if he should tell Fran about it first, but he knew what her reaction would be: Why make it so easy for Carl to settle in? Wasn’t the plan for him to go?
The truth was, Tucker felt the same w
ay. He hadn’t quite realized it when he was talking to Reverend Ben. But in the days since, he hadn’t told Carl about the job because he wasn’t sure he wanted Carl to stay. Carl had gotten a good report from the doctor on Friday. In a week or two, he would be well enough to travel. Considering all the upset he’d caused so far, did it really make sense for him to stay?
On Monday morning, Tucker dressed and went off to work, the guilty secret heavy inside him. He went on patrol, cruising around the village and mulling over the problem all morning. When it was time for his lunch break, he decided to stop at home. Maybe with no one else in the house, he’d find the courage to talk to Carl. There was always the chance Carl didn’t even want the job, that he was set on moving on. Tucker tried to focus on that possibility. He felt bound by his talk with the reverend to say something though. It just didn’t seem right not to let Carl know.
He let himself in through the side door and heard Carl in the kitchen. His brother looked startled to see him. Guilty even, though when Tucker checked to see what Carl was up to, he was only making sandwiches on the countertop.
A great many sandwiches, actually. It looked like half the contents of the refrigerator had been emptied out—packages of lunch meats, cheese, pickles, and other condiments. About twenty slices of bread were lined up. Some were covered with cold cuts, others with peanut butter, while another stack of bread slices stood waiting on the side.
Tucker was just grateful Fran never came home at this time. “What’s going on?” he asked, keeping his voice casual. “Are you opening up a restaurant in here or something?”
Carl forced a smile but didn’t look up from his task. “Nope. These are all for me. I’m going on sort of a picnic.”
Tucker got it now. Carl was getting ready to leave. Right away, too. He felt a funny shock ripple through his body, as if he’d just been cut free from a tangled line.
Carl was leaving by his own choice. There wouldn’t be any angry scenes or confrontations. No drawn-out stay. No more arguments with Fran. It looked as though he wasn’t even going to say good-bye. To his surprise, Tucker realized he was hurt by that.
“You’re leaving?” Tucker asked bluntly.
“That’s right.” Carl began slapping bread slices on the open-faced sandwiches, as if working on an assembly line.
“Weren’t you even going to say good-bye?”
Carl glanced at him. “I was going to leave a note.”
Right, about three or four words long, Tucker guessed. Carl never was a big one for letter writing.
He picked up the corner of a piece of bread and peeked underneath. “Can I have one of these?”
“Help yourself; they’re your cold cuts.” Carl gave a short laugh and shook his head.
Tucker took the sandwich and put it on a plate, then sat down at the table. “Why are you leaving? Because of what happened in the diner with Charlie Bates? I don’t know how I stayed friends with him for so long. He’s a troublemaker and a fool.”
“I won’t argue with that. But that’s not why. I told you from the start I wasn’t going to stay long.”
“The doctor says you need more time to recover. At least a week more. I was right there when he told you.”
“What does he know? I’ve been in worse shape than this and gotten along just fine, believe me.”
Tucker did believe him. That was half the problem. He chewed on his sandwich, suddenly feeling reluctant to see Carl go.
“There’s a lot of mustard on this,” he muttered. “What do you use, half a bottle per sandwich?”
“Mustard’s the best thing. Soaks into the bread. Ketchup and relish, too. Keeps it from getting too stale. You can’t use mayonnaise. It can kill you, sitting there a day or two.”
Tucker’s stomach recoiled at the thought. Carl was planning on carrying this food around for a long time, he realized, a frighteningly long time.
“You can’t go yet,” he told Carl. “Fran is finally getting used to having you around. She told me this morning she was going to make meatloaf tonight, and she knows how I hate it. ‘Your brother likes my meatloaf,’ she said to me.”
“She didn’t say that. You’re making it up.” Carl pulled off a piece of plastic wrap and folded it around a sandwich.
“She did, too. My right hand to God.” Tucker sat up, raising his hand.
“You’re swearing now, see? My bad influence is rubbing off on you. I’ve got to go.”
“Look,” Tucker said, “I understand if you’re tired of sitting around this place. You can get out a little now. Get a change of scenery.”
“Right. And have some guy like Charlie try to push me around just to prove what an upstanding citizen he is? No, thanks. People in this town have short tempers and long memories, Tucker. Too many of them can’t forget my past. I don’t even know why I came back in the first place. And not to see you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he added gruffly over his shoulder.
“I wasn’t thinking that.” But now Tucker wondered about it. Carl is such a twisted soul. Maybe he did come back to see me.
“People like to gossip in this town,” Tucker reminded him. “Before you know it, you’ll be old news. They’ll be on to something else.”
Carl didn’t look at him. He didn’t even seem to be listening as he sorted the wrapped sandwiches, packing them into large plastic bags.
“Why give in to jerks like Charlie Bates? Why let him win? That’s not the Carl I know,” Tucker goaded him.
Carl turned to face him. “You hit the nail on the head right there, Tucker. We haven’t seen each other in over twenty years. You don’t know me anymore and I don’t know you.”
“Of course we know each other,” Tucker protested. “Neither one of us has changed that much—except maybe we’ve both gotten more stubborn.”
“For pity’s sake . . . what difference does it make?” Carl’s hands trembled as he jammed the last of the sandwiches into a bag. “Why do you want me here? What’s in it for you? Your wife isn’t happy about it. Neither are your neighbors. I just don’t get it, Tucker. You ought to be offering me a ride to the bus station, not dredging up reasons for me to stay.”
“I’ll take you to the bus station, if that’s what you really want,” Tucker said slowly. “I just don’t want to see you forced out. That’s not right. It’s not fair.”
“Oh, no. Here we go again.” Carl looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “I’ll tell you something, sonny. The word ‘fair’ isn’t in my dictionary. I don’t worry about fair and not fair. I’d go a little crazy if I did.”
Tucker sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. He felt the heavy knot of his secret lodged at the bottom of his throat.
“Would you stay if you had a job?”
“A job?” Carl laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Who would hire me?”
“There’s a job at the church. A groundskeeper/handyman kind of thing. Reverend Ben says it’s yours for the asking.”
Carl stared at him, then turned slowly back to the counter where he started to clean up the mess he had made.
“When were you going to tell me about this? After I left?”
Tucker felt his face get hot. Carl was sharp, sharper than he liked to let on. “I’m telling you now, aren’t I? This might work out for you. You were always good with your hands.”
“I’ve had jobs like that. Plenty of them,” Carl said gruffly. “No question I can do it.”
Tucker wondered if he had insulted Carl. His brother used to have such grandiose ideas about himself. This job probably sounded too lowly to him. Well, it was, Tucker thought sadly. It was also as good an offer as he might get.
“It’s kind of hard to imagine me going off to church every day,” Carl said wryly. “But I wouldn’t mind working for the reverend. He’s not so bad—when he lays off the God talk.”
Tucker was about to reply but held his tongue, waiting to see what Carl would decide.
“I don’t know. People might not like it.
They might cause more trouble for you,” Carl added.
“I’m not afraid of that.” Suddenly, Tucker really wasn’t afraid. He recalled what the reverend had told him, and he felt himself on solid ground. “I wouldn’t have told you about the job if I didn’t want you to take it.”
That was true, too, he realized. He had been waffling about this for days, but now that he finally put it on the table for Carl, he knew he had done the right thing. This job could change Carl’s life. He would have steady work and be near family. He would be far less likely to slip back into the life of a homeless drifter.
Carl turned from the sink and looked at him. “I guess I could talk to the reverend about it, see what he says. If it doesn’t pan out, I’ll leave tomorrow. Or the next day.”
“Sure, you go talk to him. You know the reverend. He’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, he’s all right.” Carl dried his hands on a paper towel, then tossed it in the trash. “You’re not so bad, either, come to think of it. I give you a hard time, but you turned out all right, Tucker. You’re a stand-up guy.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ON TUESDAY MORNING THE CHURCH WAS PACKED WITH MOURNERS. Everyone in town seemed to have put their jobs and other responsibilities on hold in order to pay their last respects to Gus Potter.
Surrounded by her family, Sophie sat in the first pew, looking exhausted and bereft. Ben’s heart went out to her. He had discussed the service with the Potters over the weekend, and they had chosen the hymns and Scriptures and designated readers from their circle of friends and relations. Gus had requested a favorite hymn, “I’ve Got Peace like a River,” and Ben found his eyes filling with tears as the choir sang the familiar verses.
Finally, it was time to give the eulogy. Ben slowly approached the pulpit. The congregation sat in silent, sad attention. The task before him—to capture some sense of Gus’s long virtuous life and somehow ease their sorrow—felt suddenly insurmountable. He glanced down at his notes and took a sip of water, then began.
“Dear friends, we are gathered this morning to celebrate the passing of Gus Potter. Yes, I said ‘celebrate,’ not ‘mourn.’ ” He paused and held Sophie’s gaze for a long moment. “For those of you who believe the promise of almighty Jesus, our Lord and Savior, for those who have taken Him into your hearts as I know Gus Potter did, there really is no death. For true Christians, our earthly end is an illusion. It is a time to rejoice, not to weep, because at that moment that seems like defeat, an ebbing away of life, we are really victorious, delivered into life everlasting and God’s abundant love and care.
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