The Fullness of Time--A Novel of Watervalley

by Jeff High

  “Was there anything there that you didn't expect to find?”

  “You mean besides me?”

  Connie responded with a slow drop of her chin, unamused. I thought for another moment. “No. Nothing unusual. Why?”

  Instinctively, she leaned in as a precursor of confidentiality. "Lida has always said that people heard voices coming out of that room at night."

  “What kind of voices?”

  “It was always female. Some kind of singing.”

  The back of my neck prickled as if something invisible had just breathed upon it. My reaction had not escaped Connie’s notice. She regarded me curiously. “What?”

  I gushed a weak chuckle in an expression of resignation. “Okay, don’t laugh. While I was outside of Matthew’s house, I got a little serenade from the spook sextet.” I went on the explain as best I could the odd vocalizing I had heard; about how it sounded like several melodies being played on top of each other.

  I was half-expecting Connie to admonish me for giving credence to anything in the spectral realm. Her reply, however, was quite the opposite.

  “Did you recognize any of the tunes?”

  I was slightly taken aback. "Well, no. Not really." But after further thought, I added. "They sounded old, like something...I don't know, maybe from the Twenties."

  “From the Twenties?” Connie countered skeptically.

  “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe. At the time, I seem to recall being more focused on getting my heart restarted. Besides, I guess I’m surprised. I didn’t realize you were open to the possibility of a little higher cosmic vibration.”

  Connie leaned back in her chair. “Well, I have a confession to make. I’ve been in the Hatcher House only once in my entire life. I was about nine years old at the time. Daddy was a painter, and I tagged along with him when he went there to give an estimate on some work. Daddy told me to stay close. But I wandered upstairs to the third floor to have a look around. Well, I ended up in that old study...all googly-eyed at how beautiful the place was. Then suddenly, I heard those voices just like you did. It scared me to death. I ran so fast I almost time traveled. I thought demons were trying to get me because I had disobeyed Daddy. I felt so guilty, I went home and punished myself by reading the entire book of Deuteronomy, twice. After that, I swore I'd never set foot in that house again."

  “You think it was the ghost of the murdered woman?”

  "I don't know, and I don't care. For the next ten minutes, after it happened, I was probably as white as a daisy." Having said this, Connie bellowed out a deep throated laugh. "Lord have mercy," she continued, "It still gives me the jitters. I've never been so scared in my entire life."

  She shook her head and continued to snicker. But in time she folded her arms and pondered for a moment. “I think it’s time I put that silliness behind me. I need to pay our newcomer and his family a visit. Looks like I’ll have to overcome the heebie-jeebies and make that happen.” Connie tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling, preoccupied. “It’s still a curiosity why he came here. It’s too dramatic a change. He’s either running to or running from something.”

  I was tempted to reveal Emily’s relationship to Hiram Hatcher. But I didn’t. As agreed upon, I had told Christine. Connie was another matter.

  “Well, by all means, do what you think you should. Matthew is reserved, but certainly a likable fellow.” Despite my newly acquired skepticism about him, I felt compelled to describe him in a positive light. Connie noticed my brooding and stared at me with anticipation, expecting more. I changed directions.

  “By the way, Matthew mentioned that he was in the Navy. I found that, well, odd. He didn’t strike me as ex-military.”

  Connie shrugged. “Did he say what he did? Was he an officer?”

  “No. No details. Although, I guess he saw some level of combat because he mentioned seeing wounded men.”

  “Do you think he meant the Marines? You don’t normally think of someone on a ship being shot.”

  “I’m sure he would have made the distinction if he were a Marine.”

  She nodded in agreement. “Well, in any case, I’m glad you’ve struck up a friendship. I've always heard that knowing people is better than knowing about them." Having said this, she paused and reflected for a moment. Then she said the most curious thing. "If you want to know the skinny on Hiram Hatcher, you should talk to John Harris, although, it may be a touchy subject."

  “Oh, really? Why is that?”

  “John’s maternal grandmother was Hiram’s personal secretary. There’s an old rumor that the two of them had a fling.”

  “So? What’s the big deal about that.”

  “She was married to John’s grandfather at the time.”

  “Ohhhh,” I muttered in a long, low voice of revelation. “Yeah, that would make for an awkward line of questioning.”

  “To make it worse, John’s mother was born several months after Hiram left town so suddenly. And you know Watervalley, sweetie. The school for scandal is always in session.”

  “Well,” I said. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll tread lightly.”

  I walked her to her car and on my way back, stopped by my mailbox to check the mail, a duty I had neglected to perform for several days. There was a healthy stack of letters, mostly Christmas cards and junk mail. I vacantly flipped through the pile on the way to the front porch. But one envelope brought my progress to a halt.

  It was from the law offices of Levine and Schweitzer, the firm in Atlanta that handled my Aunt’s estate. Between my deceased parents and my Aunt Grace, I had been left a considerable inheritance. It would not come into play for several years. That made the letter quite odd and candidly, somewhat troubling. The envelope was legal size and clearly not a Christmas Card.

  I returned to the kitchen and opened this peculiar correspondence. What it said changed everything.

  Chapter 14

  STUNNED

  THE LETTER FROM LEVINE and Schweitzer read as follows:

  Dr. Luke Bradford

  205 Fleming Street

  Watervalley, TN 38489

  Dear Dr. Bradford,

  I hope this correspondence finds you well.

  As executor and trustee of your Aunt Grace's estate (Lillian Grace Bradford), I am charged with specific ongoing responsibilities regarding the administration of said trust.

  Notwithstanding, within the scope of her instructions are allowances for the disbursement of dividends, earnings, and other sourced monies attained beyond the original principal of the trust, provided certain conditions are satisfied. All monies, including the principal, will be made available upon your thirty-fifth birthday which is still several years hence.

  As you are aware, your Aunt Grace had a prescribed interest for you to follow in your father's career as a rural physician. However, specific within her instructions was the option to avail funds as identified above, after you completed two years of service in a doctor deficient community. While the language defining the use of these funds is intended toward your "health, education, and welfare," they will nevertheless be disbursed directly to you to be used at your discretion.

  Per my understanding, July of the coming year will mark the completion of two years of service in the community of Watervalley, Tennessee, where you remain the sole physician. Thus, the intent of this letter is to inform you that at that time, you will receive a disbursement of approximately $75,000 from your aunt’s trust fund.

  Please contact my office at your convenience so that arrangements can be made to facilitate a wire transfer of the funds when the appropriate time arrives.

  Sincerely,

  Jacob Levine, Esquire

  I read the letter three times, returned it to the envelope, and then retrieved it and read it twice more. The clause regarding the availability of interest and dividend money after two years was a vague memory that I had discounted because much of my aunt’s trust was in low interest-bearing bonds and savings accounts. As well, the phrase “other
sourced monies” made no sense but I readily disregarded it as “lawyerese.”

  I have no idea how long I sat there, vacantly staring at the objects in the kitchen. Suddenly, my life had something it had not possessed: choice. Come next July, seventy-five thousand dollars would pay off the balance of my college loans with a few thousand to spare, effectively releasing me from my third-year obligation to the town of Watervalley. As well, the research position I had been offered at Vanderbilt did not start until July when the Federal Grant money would become available. After being married in early June, I would go on my honeymoon and could then pay off my college loans, move to Nashville and step right into a position at one of the country’s leading research hospitals. It was an adrenaline rush, a dream come true. With the opening of a single letter, all the cosmic tumblers had magically fallen into place.

  I spontaneously extended my arms and fist in the air. "Yes!" I shouted aloud. My exhilaration was beyond words. The thought of being back in academia, steeped in the world of cutting-edge research and discovery, absolutely thrilled me. It lifted my soul. I was ecstatic, consumed with the realization that a bold new adventure lay before me. Still holding the letter, I began pacing back and forth in the kitchen, thinking of the possibilities and energized beyond belief. In my mindless excitement, my steps carried me down the hall and into the living room.

  Then, reality set in.

  Before me was the Christmas tree with all its stacks of gifts, canned goods, baked bread, and small crafts; modest offerings of thanks from the plain and ordinary people of Watervalley. I would be leaving them.

  I collapsed into one of the living room chairs, dismayed. What had I been thinking? Had I been asked thirty minutes prior, I would have said that my life in Watervalley was practically perfect. I was deeply in love with a beautiful woman, enjoyed many endearing friendships, and was adored and appreciated for doing a job from which I took great satisfaction. I was fortunate, and I knew it.

  And yet, my sold-out elation at the prospect of this new opportunity told a powerful story. I had come to define my world with Watervalley being my only horizon. But the dream of doing research had been more deeply embedded than I realized. Now awakened by hope, the thought absorbed me, devouring all else. The letter had become a magic door through which I could pass to a life I had only imagined. I now realized that unknowingly, I had longed to dream great dreams again.

  But there were other possibilities to consider. The money could be used to buy the Moon Lake property, an extraordinary and enchanting twelve-acre tract of land a few miles out from town. Christine and I had gone there on our first date, a picnic. A month ago, I had attained a one-year option to purchase the property, allowing me sufficient time to scrape together a down payment and secure the land. My thinking was that on some distant day, we would build a house there. It was my way of assuring Christine that Watervalley would always be part of our future. But the estate money could turn that distant dream into today's reality. Watervalley would pay off my school debt, and we could pursue building a house and starting a family. I knew in my bones that this news would make Christine euphorically happy.

  All I had to do was stay.

  The hours passed slowly. I methodically opened and sorted all the small gifts under the tree, moving the baked and canned goods to the kitchen and found small places to display the various crafted pieces that had been so proudly given. As a matter of course, I also sent an e-mail to Dr. Bray, my Vanderbilt professor who had offered me the research position, to inquire as to whether the job was still available. In our initial exchanges, he had told me to mull it over for a couple of months and that we would talk after the first of the year. That left me somewhat confident that the job was still mine should I want it. While online, I did a few searches for housing near the university; a likely meaningless exercise but one that my muted excitement couldn't resist.

  The balance of my day was spent in much this way, vicariously living between the two dissimilar worlds, the two radically different lives that lay before me. Despite the fretting preoccupation with this dilemma, I was in high spirits. I found it impossible not to be elated at the prospects of such a huge windfall. As well, perhaps I innately knew that there was time. An inevitable decision would have to be made, but it wouldn’t have to be made today. For the moment, I could delightfully dwell in the possibilities.

  By late afternoon, I grew restless. I loaded up the dogs and drove out Gallivants Crossing to the Moon Lake property. The two-acre lake was on a high bald hill with views that were near celestial, making it the perfect place to build a home in the country. Originally, my thought was to buy the Moon Lake land for Christine. But there was a large part of me that equally loved it.

  On the drive out, the boys couldn’t be still; frantically climbing over each other between the front passenger side and small rear bench seat of the Austin Healey. They were on full dog adventure alert, excitedly looking from side to side and saturating the small enclosure with steamy dog breath. They constantly fidgeted, explosively looking out one window and then the next. It seemed that they instinctively knew we were going to Moon Lake. They loved the freedom of the open countryside, making the thought of confinement in a Nashville apartment a sour contrast. It was yet one more thing to consider.

  In time, we arrived at the locked gate. I opened it with the key that Luther had graciously provided me, and pulled the car into the thick, matted-down winter grass beside the lake. The December sun was still whole in the western sky, but only just so. I gave the boys a stern lecture about not running and jumping into the water. Disappointed, they looked at each other and seemingly nodded their agreement. As soon as I let them out, they strolled leisurely up to the lake’s edge and proceeded to walk directly into it, not run and jump. It was a legitimate technicality.

  I leaned against the side of the car and took in the splendor of the moment. The air was cool and crisp, suspended under a late afternoon sky of clear, delicate blue. The broad world before me was soundless, satisfied, eternal. There rose within me a contentment that transcended words. I could see myself here, breathing in this same air, staring at this same sunset, living out my life in an unbroken cascade of endless seasons.

  Suddenly, I missed Christine deeply and longed for her to be with me. I had grown to realize that part of the joy of Moon Lake was the unspoken delight that filled her when she was here. She had such a rich passion for life, and I wanted to be part of it, to live selfishly in the light of her boundless happiness. Both of our childhoods had known love, but hers had known roots and stability; something that mine had not availed. Her love of the rolling fields and high meadows of Watervalley centered her, gave her strength. It seemed that she and the incredible beauty of the valley were natural companions. I feared what taking her away from this would do. Perhaps I was a little too full of my own journey.

  In time, the distant western hills turned red with ancient light. The day slid into oblivion, leaving behind a vast and brooding darkness. Soon, an endless array of proud and tender stars, the warming particles of night, dotted the unbroken canopy of the heavens. For the longest time, I sat there; pondering, speculating, searching.

  Rhett and Casper had spent the last hour energetically roaming the lake and nearby fields, exhausting themselves. With nightfall, they came galloping back and sat at my feet, awaiting some sign of departure. But I was beyond the horizon, unavailable. They eventually collapsed into the tall grass beside me, their heavy panting forming small, steamy wisps that vanished into the dew of the night. A feeling of loneliness permeated the listless evening breeze.

  Try as I might, I could find no clear answer, no logical resolve. Even so, the spare, soft light of the partial moon gave the night an immortal stillness, washing away the harsh confusions of the past hours. Either future had the potential for both joy and disappointment. Ultimately, it seemed that everything yielded to a question of the greater good that I might accomplish with my life.

  I suppose few would doubt t
he benefit of my service to the people of Watervalley. They had struggled and been without a town doctor for three years before my taking the position. I feared that my departure would leave them in the same predicament for some time. Still, the research grant at Vanderbilt was to test the efficacy of an experimental fertility drug; one that, if successful, could benefit thousands and thousands of women and couples worldwide. Given that Christine had been diagnosed with premature ovarian failure, a condition that could potentially leave her barren, the research opportunity had tremendous personal significance.

  I also knew that I was not irreplaceable. Watervalley would survive, and as well, the research project would be completed without my involvement. Nevertheless, time and circumstance had decided otherwise. Both worlds wanted my participation, and at some juncture, I would have to choose one and forget the other. Each choice had consequences.

  Soon, I would need to talk to Christine; to tell her everything. It was a matter that we both should decide. But I needed to know my own heart first, and at that moment, it was clearly divided. I didn’t like holding my silence but felt it was the right choice. For the time being, truth and secrecy would have to lie down together.

  Chapter 15

  PATIENTS

  CHRISTINE AND I TALKED briefly on the phone that night. Her day with her grandmother had been wonderful, she said. They had talked non-stop and apparently Mattie had recounted a liturgy of hilarious stories from the past, especially her college days.

  “Did they have colleges when your grandmother was young?”

  "Stop. I'll have you know she graduated with honors from Agnes Scott. Her degree was in the Performing Arts."

  “Hmm, interesting. I guess somebody had to play Cruella De Vil.”

  "You need to spend more time with her. She's a clever duck."

  I had a different creature in mind, the kind that shed their skin. How was it that Christine and I saw this woman so differently?