The Fullness of Time--A Novel of Watervalley

by Jeff High

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Have you decided, or do you want a few moments to overthink it?”

  “Well, yes. I want to take the position.” I heard myself say the words and yet, my own senses held them in disbelief. Christine said nothing, but her eyes softened.

  I looked at her wide-eyed and began to shake my head, repeating the words. “Yes. Yes. I want to take the research position.”

  For long after that, it seemed that all both of us could do was laugh spontaneously. We teased and chided each other for our secretiveness, our scheming, and our collective foolishness. It was as though a magic door had opened to a splendid, more abundant world and we both were intoxicated with the freshness, the sense of adventure of our life to be. Christine spread the blanket over the grass and we stretched out, our eyes transfixed across the water. The sun shimmering upon the surface mesmerized us, enveloped us in a transcendent feeling and we lazed in the glory of Camelot. After a time, while perched on her elbows, Christine placed a hand over her eyes and focused on the distant shore.

  “Did you do something to the grass over there?”

  I spoke sheepishly. “Yeah, I mowed some images on to the bank. Can you make them out?

  “Not really.” She sat up, continuing to shield her eyes with her hand.

  “Oh, I see it now. That’s us with three kids, right?

  “That would be correct.”

  Christine collapsed onto one elbow and turned to me, her face framed with a charmed and melted adoration. Then without uttering a word, she rolled toward me and pushed my shoulders to the ground, pressing herself upon me for a long, delightful kiss. In time, she folded her arms across my chest and spoke with whispered affection. “You can be such a sweetheart.” Once again, she turned her head and focused back across the lake.

  “What are those other two things?” She asked. “Are those cows? Are you wanting to raise cows?”

  “No. They’re dogs. That’s Rhett and Casper.”

  She sat up and studied the far bank. “Kind of big for dogs.”

  “A push mower is not exactly a precision instrument.”

  She laughed and once again playfully grabbed my shoulders and pushed me to the ground, delightfully yielding the full measure of herself against me. She was smiling irrepressibly and probing deep into my eyes. “You make me very happy, Luke Bradford.”

  After kissing me on the forehead, she continued to search my face. “Do I make you happy?”

  At first, all I could offer was a gushing smirk. “Miss Chambers, I am in love with you, and I find that everything about you brings me tremendous happiness. But in the spirit of full disclosure, the fact that there are only a few pieces of cloth between me and your delightfully perfect body invokes larger emotions that make happiness a poor cousin. I won’t apologize for it. I am a man in love with a beautiful woman, and I cannot wait to consume every inch of you.”

  Christine lowered her gaze and spoke thoughtfully. “I know. I think about it a lot, too.” She shrugged lightly.

  I simply nodded, there being little more to say on the matter.

  She fell silent as well. A soundless, balmy breeze floated over us. Despite our longings, we had made promises to each other. Promises not born out of some rule book or some hope for heavenly upgrades for good behavior. But rather, promises of what we wanted our life together to be despite the norms and opinions of the larger world. It was who we were. And yet, that didn’t mean it was easy. Often, the incredible weight of our emotions begged us to think differently.

  After a time, Christine’s reflective manner began to melt away. In a gesture of fortification, she nestled close and looked at me with undaunted resolve. “Luke, listen. All the teasing you did earlier about me being a princess and wearing a crown...I know that, well, that there may be a grain of truth to it. I know that the wedding is all about me and I admit it’s a little selfish on my part. I also know that you’ve been patient. You’ve done everything to make my wedding day all the things I’ve ever hoped for, all the things I ever wanted that day to be. But, mind you, Luke Bradford, that’s the wedding day.”

  “Okay.” I shrugged.

  “So, I can promise you one thing about what our wedding night will be.”

  “Oh, and what’s that?”

  With unabashed certainty, Christine leaned in close and whispered a single word in my ear.

  “Epic!”

  Chapter 34

  FINDING CLOSURE

  I WOKE UP SUNDAY MORNING in an odd mix of apprehension and exhilaration. Before going to bed the previous night, I had sent an e-mail to Dr. Bray at Vanderbilt telling him that I was planning on taking the research position. I wanted the decision behind me. The conflict had clouded me for so long that I willfully chose to cross the Rubicon, knowing that the light of morning might engender second thoughts.

  It did.

  Sunday mornings in Watervalley owned a certain serenity and stillness. The world turned more leisurely, breathed more gently. By the time I awoke in my sequestered attic bedroom, the morning sun of April was showing its muscle, casting warm, bright squares across the wooden floor. The room was filled with a hazy, ethereal glow, leaving the spellbound air languid and heavy. Moving slowly, I placed my feet on the floor and stretched, twisting my arms high in a contorted yawn, as if I might wring the sleep from my body. Eventually, I headed downstairs, fully enjoying the luxury of an unhurried day.

  After taking care of the dogs and making coffee, I decided that I would polish up a little and attend the morning service at the Presbyterian church. Although I would hardly consider myself a devout person, my convictions had been part of me since childhood. The on-call duties of my profession had made my attendance sporadic, and I suspect that a few of the First Pres regulars saw my occasional harkening of the narthex doors as only taking religion for a test drive. I knew better. Besides, although I had decided to leave, I could not deny that part of my heart would remain here in Watervalley. That morning, haunted by an odd sense of loss, I felt a quiet need to sit among the people I had come to know.

  The pastor at Watervalley First Presbyterian was Joe Dawson, a young, likeable fellow who had an easy smile and endless energy, which made everyone slightly jealous and wondering if somehow, he was getting better sleep than them. In the last year he had brought some needed change to the worship service of Watervalley’s frozen chosen whose previous rule of thumb was not to sing any hymn written after 1800.

  I eased in and sat in one of the open pews toward the rear. Yet as I quietly gazed at the modest lives around me I couldn’t help but contemplate the explosive news I was harboring and the effect it might have on them. The hushed and reverent setting of the long, lofty sanctuary was sobering and reflective, conjuring up childhood memories of biblical narratives. And try as I might, I was unable to quell the nagging comparison of myself to Judas. To my relief a moment later, Matthew arrived. He and his two children joined me. We exchanged hearty handshakes and smiles but the start of the service prohibited further socializing.

  Despite my infrequent attendance and the weight of my news, I found that I always enjoyed the Sunday service. There was something medicinal to the mind and soul about simply pausing for an hour to reflect, to ponder, and to escape the treadmill of a busy life. Christine normally sang in the choir. But on this particular Sunday, she had nursery duty. As the opening hymn began I once again gazed around the room at all the lives, all the stories around me.

  I had come to Watervalley foolishly thinking that these were small people; people who had no power to make a new life for themselves and whose greatest impulse was to simply keep in the swim. But I had discovered them to be quite the opposite, fiercely independent and self-determined. And while it was true that they cast a curious eye toward distant horizons, they lived here by choice. Underneath their plainly fashioned exteriors were noble capacities. They were brave, faithful, earnest, and had an unsparing friendliness toward strangers like myself. They te
nded to stick to their roots, their traditions, and their families because they found strength and security in the familiar.

  And yet the larger world from which I had come thought of them as narrow minded and ignorant because they were indignant toward the vast, impersonal forces that intruded upon their daily lives and tried to dictate to them what their values and morals should be; that they should accept and normalize behaviors that they believed were wrong. They were not perfect people, nor were they saints. There was a fair share of them who were ethanol challenged to the point of excess and who fell prey to a little mattress hopping along with the other frailties of the human condition. But their occasional indifference to right and wrong didn’t mean they didn’t know the difference between right and wrong. They felt no inclination to redefine truth because it was inconvenient. In my way I admired them deeply, and I would miss them. The reality of leaving hung like a troubling veil.

  Meanwhile, I noticed that the twins were once again about the business of gazing into the far corners of the sanctuary and pointing and counting before whispering to each other behind a protective hand. As before, Matthew seemed oblivious. I, on the other hand, quietly found it fascinating. If this was a game, it would seem that its’ freshness would have expired long ago. Yet, here they were, engaged as ever in the same odd practice. It was baffling.

  The service ended and thus began the inevitable slow departure. The post-service period was the supreme opportunity to meet and greet. Many of the regulars felt like they shouldn’t leave the church until fifteen minutes after the Holy Spirit did. As well, it seemed that Matthew’s and my presence was something of a novelty, and immediately we were both surrounded by a lengthy list of greeters. In time the crowd dissipated, leaving us the opportunity to catch up.

  “Well, Dr. House. What’s the latest with you and yours?”

  A broad grin emerged. “We, my friend, are immersed into the extraordinary world of the Watervalley T-Ball Baseball League.”

  “That’s great. What team does Andrew play for?”

  “Mahlon’s Barbershop. They’re the Barbershop Pirates. Apparently through some distorted Watervalley interpretation of the words, everyone calls them Mahlon’s Barbary Pirates.”

  I nodded my understanding, knowing the propensity of some of the locals to fuse a small fact to a larger fiction. Matthew continued.

  “The funny thing is this. As it turns out, all the uniforms are a little big and the ‘P’ and the ‘S’ are hidden around the side under each player’s armpits. So, it looks like the name of the team is ‘irate.’”

  “That’s hilarious.”

  “You would think. But actually, the name fits pretty well for some of the parents.”

  I understood his implication. “Pretty intense, huh?”

  “Oh, my gosh,” Matthew exclaimed. “It’s insane. You would think the future of Western Civilization depended on the outcome of each game. Some of the parents act like the Braves or the Cubs have scouts in attendance. Last Saturday, two of the moms almost got into a fist fight.”

  “Mmm, sounds about right.”

  Matthew leaned in. “Listen to this. The other night, Andrew got tagged out sliding into home base. So, I tried to be encouraging and shouted, ‘Good try, son. Good try.’ A second later, this hefty, redneck mom sitting behind me tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and she rather flatly told me, ‘Mister, this ain’t no good try league.’”

  “Let me know the next time he has a game. I’d love to come watch...both the game and the parents.”

  Matthew seemed curiously surprised at my offer. “Oh. So, were you a big baseball guy back in the day?”

  “Not really. I pretty much sucked at baseball. I was however, exceedingly good at infield chatter.”

  Matthew nodded, exhaling a short laugh.

  “Seriously, though. Give me a call.”

  “Well that would be great, but I can’t imagine there aren’t better options to occupy your time.”

  “No, actually, the ball park is pretty high on the list of entertainment choices for Watervalley.”

  “Really?” He paused for a reflective moment. “I’m not so sure how I feel about that. What else do people here do for amusement in the evenings?”

  “Typically, people just sit on their porch and talk, mostly about other people.”

  Matthew smiled, letting the subject drop. “So, how are things with you?” He paused, lowering his voice. “Any developments regarding future plans?”

  I quietly motioned for us to step outside to ensure that we were out of earshot. Once clear of the church steps, I told him about my conversation with Christine and my plans to leave. Matthew listened patiently.

  “So, how do you feel about it?”

  “Mixed. I think it’s the right decision. But it’s not an easy one.”

  “Understandable. When are you going to go public?”

  “I’ll need to let the Mayor know immediately. That way he can begin corresponding with the state’s med schools for a replacement. But I’ll also ask that he be discreet. It will probably be best to hold off on any larger announcements for a few weeks.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’d hate for all that business to overshadow the wedding, especially for Christine’s sake.”

  “Ahh, I see. By the way, I had a conversation with Mayor Hickman the other day. He’s really pressing me to reconsider reopening the house as a bed and breakfast.”

  “And?”

  “Not interested. At least, not at present.”

  “Do I detect a slight change in the prevailing B&B winds?”

  “Not really. I’m just not as dead set against it as I was.”

  “Fair enough. Any more progress with the house...you know...in terms of finding anything?”

  Matthew shook his head, “Nothing. And I guess I have to admit, I’ve lost some steam on the whole matter. It turns out, the kids are happier here than I ever imagined. Admittedly, I’m doing okay, too. I’m starting to think that maybe that’s what Emily meant for us in the first place. Maybe a little small-town happiness was what we were supposed to find.” Matthew shrugged. “It doesn’t seem like that should be all of it. But, who knows?”

  “Could be.” I said. “Watervalley grows on you. And I have come to realize that there is something oddly charmed about this place. It has a way of healing wounds. But I understand what you’re saying about being unsure, about figuring it out.”

  “Yeah, I know. I just wish I knew what ‘it’ was. Meanwhile, I’m just getting on with the business of living and maybe in the fullness of time, whatever it is I’m supposed to find here will become obvious.”

  I shrugged. “Probably a smart plan. In the interim, I may need a lifeline.”

  “Why is that?”

  If word does get out that I’m leaving, I may need to come and hide at your place.”

  “Why? Do you think the locals will be storming your house with torches and pitchforks?”

  “No, but I don’t think they will have a parade and carry me around shoulder high through the streets either.”

  Matthew grinned. “Another thing, if you get a chance sometime, I was wondering if you’d mind taking a little hike with me.”

  “Sure. Where?”

  “Remember we talked about investigating the old spring house at the back of the property?”

  “I do.”

  “I’m still thinking I want to take another look at it to see if there is something in it that sheds any light. I’d appreciate it if you’d come along.”

  “Be glad to. Just let me know. By the way, did you ever find out anything about the property behind you, the nine-hundred plus acres?”

  Matthew grimaced. “No, that’s kind of fallen through the cracks. But it would be good to know more about this Frontenac Company. I’ll go by the Trustee’s office this week and see what I can find out.”

  I was a little surprised at Matthew’s inattention to this matter but saw it in keeping with his gen
eral retreat from trying to find answers to his departed wife’s haunting request. Perhaps this change of heart was part of the grieving process, an acceptance of what his life is now and a realization that perchance he had been looking for meaning where there is none. I took the conversation in a different direction.

  “So, since it looks like you and the kids are truly settling in, what do you think you’re going to do with yourself?”

  He slipped his hands in his pants pockets and grinned. “Good question. I’ll admit, I’ve been feeling a little adrift lately. I’m starting to catch up on the projects at the mansion and I’m pretty certain the high school is not looking for a Latin teacher.”

  “Probably an accurate insight.”

  “So, I don’t know.” He paused for a moment, clearly scrutinizing some distant idea. “The whole bed and breakfast thing...the truth is, it’s just not my cup of tea. Maybe if someone ran it for me I could possibly get my head around it. The town definitely needs some place for visitors to stay.”

  “And look at you, the previous recluse is now the concerned citizen. I’m impressed.”

  “Well, I’m just trying to be practical about it all.”

  “No, no. Absolutely. I get it. I didn’t mean to sound insincere. It’s small town fever. It creeps in under the door and just takes up residence. Trust me, I understand. I mean, despite my decision to leave, I hate the fact the town will probably have spotty medical coverage, at best, for several months to come. Perhaps even longer. But I have no answer for that.”

  Matthew nodded and offered nothing in return. Oddly, his eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head a little to one side, leaving his face framed in a distant pondering. Then again, there was little he could say. The medical coverage dilemma was one of my own creation and not his problem to solve.