More Things In Heaven and Earth

by Jeff High

  “So, Doctor, expecting a busy day at the clinic?”

  “Not really. No appointments are set up. The staff is coming in to exchange gifts and enjoy a little Christmas Eve brunch. Should be out by noon. What are you all about today?”

  “I’ll be down at All Saints Episcopal Church, right next to the clinic, finishing the decorations for tonight’s service.”

  This comment resurrected my memory of the conversation with John Harris. “Oh, yeah, speaking of that. I talked to John yesterday about coming tonight. It didn’t go well. I didn’t mention that he was to be honored, because candidly the conversation never got that far. But, well, sorry. I tried. I really did.”

  Connie pursed her lips and nodded. “God made him just like he made you and me. If he doesn’t see it that way, that’s his affair.”

  “Yeah, it’s a sad business. And, unfortunately, it got a little heated. I spoke to him pretty harshly. Don’t think he took it well. I may have botched up any chance of a reconciliation with one of my few friends in this town, all in one short conversation.” I actually laughed.

  “And this is funny because . . . ?”

  “Look, Connie. You may be one of the most amazing people I have ever met. Knowing you has been a real treat, but, beyond that, for me Watervalley has been pretty much a mixed blessing. This falling-out with John is the coup de grâce, the final straw. There’s a better fit for me elsewhere, I’m sure. Meanwhile, Watervalley will get along just fine without me.”

  I didn’t let on, but even as I said the words I found them hard to believe myself. I was still deeply torn about leaving.

  I expected a lecture. Instead, Connie smiled at me with adoring eyes. “I know your head wants to leave Watervalley, Luke, but I’m not so sure your heart does. Distant pastures always have a glow, but you’re needed here and you know it. Give it some time.”

  I smiled. “I don’t blame you for trying, Connie. I’m even a little flattered. But we’ll see.”

  She rose from the table and began to clear the dishes. “Doctor, the service starts at seven tonight. I assume I’ll be seeing you there.”

  I hesitated and exhaled deeply. “Sure, a promise is a promise.”

  I showered, dressed, and drove over to the clinic. The staff had brought plate after plate of snacks and cakes and baked goods. Mayor Hickman and Fire Chief Caswell stopped by, bringing fruitcakes and holiday greetings. Only a couple of patients showed up. Both had simple colds, for which I prescribed some medications and gave the usual advice of getting rest and drinking plenty of fluids.

  The morning was festive and lighthearted. Gifts were exchanged and the staff spent a little time roasting me about favorite moments from the past half year. I took it all well and felt somewhat guilty, knowing that I was already planning my departure. They were good people. I had shared both joyful and desperate hours with them. I would miss them.

  By one that afternoon all the staff had left. I locked the doors of the clinic and drove home. The afternoon was gray and cold. The morning’s fog lingered. Even still, the mood of Christmas was in the air. I came through the front door, took off my coat, and stood in the entrance hall. Having come from all the laughter and life of the clinic gathering, home now seemed lonely and empty except for Rhett’s cheerful face and wagging tail.

  In the previous week I had made several phone calls to some old contacts in Nashville, who assured me there was plenty of emergency room work I could pick up if I decided to move there. Meanwhile, I had received a couple of invitations for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day gatherings from various Watervalley acquaintances, but I had refused them all. Having made the decision in the previous week to leave after the first of the year, it seemed really bad form to do anything but retreat from my connections to the people I had come to know. But now that the day was upon me, I was having regrets. Once again, I had imprudently been the author of my own loneliness. I needed to put this mix of emotions behind me. I needed to get busy with the task of wrapping up my life in Watervalley.

  I moved from room to room, unsure of what to do with myself. I decided to gather a few boxes and began to pack some of the books on the shelves in the upstairs office. I examined piles of old magazines, throwing most of them away. I filled a few boxes and then came across a small leather-bound book of poems by the Romantic poets that my aunt had given me, a present celebrating my acceptance to med school. I remembered thinking at the time what an odd gift it was; poetry and the science career I was about to embark on seemed a universe apart. They still did.

  Aunt Grace had written an inscription to me in her refined, elegant hand. I opened the front cover and read the words slowly out loud. I could almost hear her strong, tender voice.

  Dear Luke,

  Wherever you go you will find broken people in your path. Medical school will teach you how to mend their bodies. But never forget simple acts of kindness and the beauty and power of words. Words can give them hope and joy and courage. With words you can mend their hearts. A simple kindness, a simple word, is like a single drop of water. Gathered over a lifetime, they form an ocean of healing.

  Love always, Aunt Grace

  For some moments I thought of her and the incredible dichotomy she represented, with her sometimes detached and indifferent manner yet her ability to love unconditionally. The inscription was seven simple sentences, yet they embodied who she was and what she wanted me to be: a man capable of using my head without forgetting to bring along my heart. Though they’d never met, she and Connie seemed to be in collaboration. I closed the book and placed it in the packing box. The house was quiet save for the whisperings of voices from long ago.

  Nightfall came. I fed Rhett dinner, then made a sandwich and stepped out onto the back porch and was met with an overcast sky. A light misty rain had fallen earlier, but now the temperature was dropping, and any new moisture would surely turn to snow. I thought about the Christmas Eve service and was torn. I knew I should go. I even wanted to go. I did not want the stares, the furtive glances, the myriad reminders that I had kept myself a stranger, an outsider. But even now, the powerful story of Christmas kept me devout, and I had made a promise. I thought of my aunt’s words. I knew I would go despite the awkwardness. My heart would simply have to follow.

  Around half past six I noticed large flakes falling on the front lawn, illuminated by the porch light. I stepped out the front door and for a short moment watched in wonder at the transformation of Fleming Street into a world of hushed splendor. As seven o’clock approached, my stomach churned. I deeply wanted to avoid this last reminder of my solitude. I decided to go late. The service would last at least an hour, and it was only a ten-minute walk. So at the stroke of the hour I made my way up the stairs to find my hiking boots.

  I was lacing them up when I heard a pounding on the front door. It startled me. It had to be some emergency. A dozen panicked thoughts raced through my head. Tumbling down the stairs and into the front hall, I yelled loudly, “Hold on—I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  I swung open the door, and standing before me with a broad and mischievous grin was none other than John Harris.

  “Evening, Doc. Nice place.”

  “John?”

  “In the flesh. What? You look surprised?”

  “That would be because I am. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I understand. I didn’t expect to see myself here either. But here I am. So, we doing this nod to God or not?”

  I shrugged. “Well, sure.”

  “Come on, then. Hop in the truck. We’re already late.”

  Dumbstruck, I grabbed my coat, closed the door behind me, and nearly skipped to John’s idling truck. I was flush with excitement, speechless. By the time the truck had made the first turn onto Church Street, John had taken notice of my silence.

  “So how’s it going, sawbones? You’re not your normal chatty self.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “I guess I’m in shock. I mean, I’m glad, but I just never would have
predicted this.”

  The truck pulled into the church’s packed parking lot and we hopped out.

  As we approached the front steps through the thickly falling snow, John looked at me with a sly smile. “Well, it’s all a little hard to explain, Doc, but I figure if God is watching everything, the least we can do is act entertaining.”

  I laughed again. I was still astonished, elated beyond words. I could hardly catch my breath.

  We opened the large front door of the church and stepped into the empty narthex. The doors to the sanctuary were closed and since there was no sound coming from inside, I immediately assumed a prayer was in progress. As we approached the sanctuary doors, I grabbed John’s arm.

  “John, look—I’m really glad you came, but you need to know something before you go in. Every year, you know, they recognize someone who’s been important to the town. Well, I was told it was to be a surprise, so I didn’t tell you yesterday. But this year, it’s you.”

  John had abandoned his jovial mood. He stood expressionless. Then slowly the wily grin returned. He put his left arm around my shoulder and with his massive right hand he pulled open the sanctuary door. “No, sport,” he said. “It’s not me. It’s you.”

  “What?” By now he had ushered me into the cavernous, candlelit sanctuary. Every pew was full and a large choir sat behind the distant pulpit. The room was silent. Everyone was seated except for one person. Standing in the center aisle just inside the sanctuary doors was Connie. She nodded to John and approached me with her typical disdainful gaze. She turned and stood beside me, taking my elbow. “You’re late. Come with me, Dr. Bradford.”

  We began to walk down the center aisle toward the front of the church. At first I resisted, but in my shock and with Connie’s firm grasp, I began stepping along with her. As we passed the back pew, I saw Toy McAnders sitting with Sarah Akins and Sam. Toy immediately stood up and began to clap loudly and methodically. Then each successive row gradually rose and began to clap. By the time we were halfway down the aisle, the applause had grown to a thunderous roar. I recognized a sea of familiar faces: Sheriff Thurman, Leo Sikes, the librarian Herbert Denson, Maylen Cook, Lida Wilkins, Chick McKissick, even Polly Fletcher, and dozens of others. They were all smiling at me. Connie was looking straight ahead and now wore a beaming grin.

  I could not grasp what was happening. “I don’t understand,” I whispered to Connie. “I—I don’t understand.”

  Connie tightened her grip on my elbow. “Just keep walking, Doctor. It will all be fine.”

  The roaring applause continued. All the people of Watervalley turned to me as we passed. They formed an ocean of smiles. My heart rose with an unspeakable joy.

  I became filled with the spontaneity of the moment and leaned over to Connie. “Are we getting married?”

  She stifled a snorting laugh and immediately regained her stoic face, whispering to me, “You’re in the Lord’s house. Act like you’re housebroken.”

  Connie and I arrived at the front pew, where two spots had been saved for us. Already seated were Will Fox and his mother, Louise. Her face was filled with healthy color and she gave me a soft, grateful smile. Following Connie’s lead, I sat.

  The crowd continued to stand and the applause echoed even louder. Finally, one of the ministers standing at the front approached the pulpit. I recognized Frank Whitfield, pastor of the Episcopal church. He smiled warmly at me and held up his hands to the crowd. The applause slowly receded and everyone sat down again.

  Pastor Whitfield spoke. “Dr. Bradford, just as on your first day in Watervalley, you make quite an entrance.”

  This brought a ripple of laughter from the crowd. I looked down with a smile of embarrassment.

  “As many of you know,” he continued, “each year we give thanks for one of our own who has touched our lives. I can think of no time when the community has been so united on choosing that individual.” He turned to me. “Dr. Bradford, thank you for coming to Watervalley and being one of us. You’ve listened to us, cared for us, and used the gifts God has given you to cure us. We count ourselves blessed to have you among us.”

  As he finished these words, the entire choir rose in applause. Once again, everyone in the sanctuary stood and clapped. Connie’s face was full of generous pride. It was all overwhelming. Those directly behind me patted me on the shoulder and I sat completely humbled. Tears of irrepressible joy welled up in my eyes.

  Finally I stood and sheepishly held up a hand in thanks to the crowd. Then I sat down again.

  Pastor Whitfield motioned for the congregation to sit as well. He then nodded to the organist, who began the opening strains of “O Come, All Ye Faithful.”

  I was relieved that the service had finally started and the focus was no longer on me. As the choir and congregation sang the verses of the song, I sat in complete wonder. A startling thought suddenly hit me, hard. I leaned over to Connie. “Hold it. You lied to me. You did. You lied to me. You told me John Harris was being honored.”

  Connie glanced sideways at me, unmoved by the accusation. She whispered in return, “I knew it’d be good for you to ask John to come. Let’s just say I was killing two sinners with one stone.”

  I absorbed Connie’s response for a moment. Again I whispered, “Humph. Doesn’t change anything. You still lied.”

  Connie frowned, facing straight ahead. “Whine all you want, Doctor. Jesus is on my side on this one.”

  I had to swallow a grunted laugh. I smiled and whispered playfully, “What makes you so sure?”

  Again Connie glanced sideways over to me but this time she did so with a confident smile. “Jesus loves us all, Doctor. But I’m his favorite.”

  It was all I could do not to laugh out loud. I shook my head and smiled, then reached over and squeezed Connie’s hand. She sat looking straight ahead, but reached over with her other hand and placed it on mine, giving it a good squeeze. Then, releasing my hand, she brushed the corners of her eyes. My astonishment was complete—Connie Thompson moved to tears.

  The service continued with hymns and prayer and a short message. I was humbled and thankful to be once again in a place of worship. It had been too long. I was also shocked to note that John Harris had taken a place in the back row of the choir, among the basses. Apparently he had slipped in there after handing me off to Connie.

  During one of the hymns, I whispered to Connie, “Look at John up there in the choir. What got into him anyway?”

  “Apparently you did,” she whispered. “He called me early this morning and wanted to know the details. He practiced with us this afternoon. He probably never told you, but he used to sing in the choir every Sunday.”

  I shook my head. It was all so unbelievable.

  As the service was drawing to a close, I noticed on my program that the final song featured a short solo by none other than Christine Chambers. All along I’d been watching her in the choir, where she looked radiant and beautiful. She eventually met my gaze. I couldn’t bring myself to break away from staring. She looked down, but was noticeably smiling. The time for her solo was coming up.

  In the soft candlelight, Christine’s clear voice sang “Advent Come.” The velvety, almost distant sound of the quartet of strings, the deep, low pitch of the organ, and the muted but perfectly blended harmony of the choir warmly joined in. As the soft, melodious notes filled the church with calls for a new heaven and a new earth, I closed my eyes and could feel around me the swell of life that was Watervalley. The people here knew sickness and setback and disappointment. I had seen that firsthand. But along with the faith they expressed within these walls was a fundamental belief in the goodness, the value, the beauty of life. These people of Watervalley had forgiving spirits, a sense of optimism, and a joyousness that lifted them over the muck and routine of their daily lives. At that moment I fully realized the importance of my life here. There was a larger agenda that transcended my small plans and gave my life a significance it would not otherwise have. Many miles away were bri
ght lights, glamorous places, art, entertainment, and endless possibilities of new relationships. But I was here, with these people, and I found myself thankful to be counted among them.

  After the service, I walked out onto the steps and sidewalk in front of the church, shaking hands with well-wishers, exchanging holiday greetings, and receiving an endless stream of thanks. I felt someone come up from my side and gently grab my arm with both hands. It was Christine.

  She pulled the length of my arm tightly in next to her, wrapping it in a delightful hug, and whispered softly, “Do you remember what I said to you the first time you asked me out?”

  My mind was still in a spin. I exhaled a soft laugh. “Wow. Um, no. You got me. Help me out here.”

  Christine gently placed her finger on my chin, pushing my gaze toward the steps of the church where her uncle, John Harris, was in a robust and laughing conversation with the mayor and his wife. She whispered deliciously into my ear, “I told you the devil would be singing Christmas carols before you and I hit the town. Since it looks like you’ve pulled that off, give me a call sometime.” She squeezed my arm again, yielding herself into me. Then she smiled and lightly ran her finger down the length of my nose, and with a teasing grin she walked away. She joined her mother, who stood waiting nearby, and they departed toward their car.

  After a few steps Christine glanced back at me with a most luxurious smile. About that time I heard a voice behind me. It was Connie, leering at me with her standard judgmental face. No doubt she had witnessed the brief conversation between Christine and me. She shook her head from side to side and forced a low hum between her closed lips.

  “Mmm-mmm-mmm.”

  “Okay, what?” I responded in a puzzled tone. With all that had passed, I no longer lived in dread of Connie’s scornful glares, although secretly I still had a healthy respect for them. “C’mon. Why the frowny face?”

  Connie broke into a robust laugh. “Well, well, well, Doctor,” she said as she reached over to straighten the collar on my overcoat. “You’re just in a dream right now, aren’t you? You held off an epidemic and the whole town adores you. You quietly solved a series of ongoing crimes. You got the meanest man on earth to sing some praises. And suddenly the prettiest girl around is taking a serious interest in you. Now what you got to say for yourself?”