by Jeff High
“So, I noticed you and Estelle sitting with the House family on Sunday. That transpired quickly.”
Connie nodded her head. “Oh my. After I left you, I went home and told Estelle the whole story. Sweet Jesus, that girl’s eyes were out on stems. She was so excited I thought she might just lie on the floor and vibrate. She insisted we call Matthew immediately and have a pow-wow. He and the children came over for dinner that night and I just have to tell you, we instantly fell in love with them. He brought the old phonograph and records, so Estelle could hear them and we all had a grand time together. Sunday morning, she and I were sitting on the pew waiting for the service to start. Next thing I know, Adelyn and Andrew came darting along and slid in next to us. Matthew caught up and, bless his heart, half apologized and asked if they could join us. Of course, we were delighted.”
“I think it’s a grand thing. I’m happy for all of you.”
A secretive smile crept across Connie’s face. “Actually, Matthew and I met again on Monday. I think he and I may form a little partnership.”
“Doing what?”
“Re-opening Society Hill as a bed and breakfast.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I think so. Estelle doesn’t need me at the bakery anymore, you’re about to be raptured off to married people heaven, and Matthew thinks that the old mansion should be brought back to its former days of grand entertaining. He’s planning on putting quite a bit of money into it, giving the place an elegance it hasn’t know for decades. You have to agree; Society Hill has an incredible story. The whole secret tunnel-Al Capone-bootlegging thing will draw a lot of interest, not to mention my grandmother’s records and her story. I think the bed and breakfast can be elevated to a national level and become a destination stay.”
“Wow! That’s an incredible idea. So, how will this partnership work?”
Connie offered a tempered smile. “Essentially, I’ll be running the whole thing, which is fine by me.”
Connie’s gaze tightened into a rather uncanny and mirthful framing. “Oh, he’ll be helping out, among other things.” Having said this, she grabbed her tea glass and drank a large swallow. It was almost as if she didn’t want to answer the question. I let it pass, absorbed by the extraordinary venture that she and Matthew were planning.
“By the way, Matthew called me today.”
“Oh?”
“It was about the bachelor party. I think word must have gotten out that nothing has been planned. Matthew invited me to come up to his place Friday night after the rehearsal dinner. He’s got a fire pit out back. Said we’d get a fire going and hang out.”
Connie stirred her fork casually. “That sounds rather tame.”
“Well, you never know. We may end up singing a few rousing campfire songs.” I paused and drank a sip of tea. “Hey, you should join us.”
Connie stared at me deadpan. “Tempting. Think I’ll pass.”
“Your loss.”
She crossed her arms and frowned at me. “I don’t get it. Grown men sitting in the dark around a fire. What’s the appeal?”
I rubbed my chin and thought for a moment. “It’s kind of hard to describe. There’s just something about poor lighting and the opportunity for crude behavior. If you’re a guy, you love it. You get to spit a lot and talk about hockey.”
She shook her head and spoke with a breezy disdain. “Sounds cosmic.”
“Well, he also mentioned having a bottle of twenty-year-old Scotch. So, it’s possible we might drink a toast or two. Maybe even one to you.”
Connie stared at me stone-faced. “Be still my beating heart.” With her arms still crossed, she looked up at the ceiling and lamented. “What is it about men? If it flows downhill, they’ll put ice in it and try to drink it.”
“Subtlety isn’t one of your charms, is it, Connie?”
After responding with an unamused scowl, she shook her head, gathered her fork, and resumed eating her dinner.
“Speaking of Lucky Charms, Christine told me you’ve been acting like you’re fresh out of them.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that you’re in a blue funk over this whole Polly situation. Saying that you blame yourself.”
I drank a final swallow of tea, pushed away from the table, and stared reflectively at Connie’s guileless face. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. And I’m starting to think that my leaving might be a mistake.”
Her response was unvarnished and direct. “Hmm, that bit of foolishness came on rather sudden. Usually there are some warning signs.”
I shrugged. “It’s just not that simple, Connie. Despite what anybody believes or says, to my thinking, I failed Polly.”
“Sweetie, we all failed Polly. Any one of dozens of people could have spoken a kind word to her and made things different. What she did was a cry for help and the good news for her is that the kind folks of this community are more than willing to give it. But Polly failed herself, too. Heavens, she made gossip a deity and it got to the point where you had to take a hit of nitrous oxide just to be around her for a few minutes.”
I spoke pensively. “I think she’s well aware of that now. She said as much this afternoon.”
“Then you shouldn’t be feeling any guilt over this.”
I scratched the back of my head and exhaled a long, brooding breath. “I suspect guilt may be a factor, but it’s really more than that. It just boils down to a matter of practicality. I’ve burdened this whole decision process by placing everything on some ethereal plane; conjuring a lot of lofty thoughts about destiny and higher purpose and what my place is in the world. But it’s not about me and the simple reality is this. I’m needed here. Despite all the well wishes I see it in their eyes. Nancy Orman talked to the mayor yesterday and there has been zero response to the opening. Who knows when another physician can be brought on board.”
“Sweetie, I admire your concern. But there’s a hole in your logic large enough for barge traffic.”
I crossed my arms, mildly indignant at Connie’s assertion. “Well, I’m not sure I agree with that little truth bomb.”
My tone wasn’t lost on her. She thought for a moment, her eyes vacantly searching the room as if she were deliberating on her next words. Her voice held a calm assurance.
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately about that Bible Grandfather Rayford gave to Hiram.” She paused and looked at me for a sign of acknowledgement. I sharpened my gaze, a little dumbfounded at this change of subject.
“Okay.”
“When I was a little girl Grandfather Rayford gave me a Bible on my tenth birthday. We were at church. He had just finished preaching the Sunday service and everyone had left the sanctuary except for my parents and me. Mama was pregnant with Estelle at the time. Grandfather Rayford asked me to come up to the pulpit with him. I wasn’t sure what was going on and I remember being a little timid. But when I got there, he bent down and gave it to me. That Bible had my name embossed on the outside in gold letters. It made me so proud. It was a beautiful thing and I loved it instantly.”
I silently nodded. Connie continued.
“Then, as we were leaving, a thunderstorm came out of nowhere and the rain fell in sheets. I made a run for it to the car and when I did my precious new Bible slipped from my hands and fell in the mud.” Connie paused, shaking her head. “I was so upset. I just stood there and cried because I had always been taught to have a high view of scripture and dropping my new bible in the mud seemed like I had ruined something holy.”
“But my grandfather quietly came and stood there with me in the rain, holding his umbrella over the two of us. He bent over and picked up my Bible, wiped it off with his handkerchief, and gave it back to me. I remember sobbing and heaving and doing my best to tell him I was sorry and that I had tried to catch it. But my grandfather looked at me with all the peace in world. He brushed his thumbs under my eyes to wipe away my tears and held my face in his hand. Then he told me something I’ve never forgotten.
“And what w
as that?”
“That I should never worry about the Bible hitting the ground. The Bible is God’s word and it would endure. He said that it was much more important to catch God’s needy before they hit the ground. You know, in most churches, we observe communion all the time even though there’s only one time in scripture that the Lord told us that he would be present in the bread and wine. But he continually tells us in the gospels that he is always present in the poor and suffering.”
I understood her words but was still at a loss. I spoke pensively. “Connie, I’m not sure I understand the connection here.”
“You’ve learned that, Luke. That’s why your heart troubles you. In your own way you love the people of Watervalley. Time and time again you’ve caught them before they hit the ground and they know it. That’s why they’re acting like they are. They’re scared. Scared that you won’t be there when their husband has a heart attack, or their child breaks an arm, or their baby has a fever and they can’t get it down. But your passion is to do research, Luke. It’s been that since the first day you showed up here. Now, I haven’t had a direct interview with Him, but I believe God put that passion in your heart. That’s why you can’t let it go. So, I think you were perfectly right to deliberate all of this the way you have. That’s what I meant a moment ago about a flaw in your logic.”
My hard outlook had melted under Connie’s affectionate words. I shrugged and spoke acquiescently. “Everything you say makes sense, Connie. But I don’t seem to have your resolve.”
“I think if you consult Abraham you’ll find that uncertainty, dissent, and disagreement are part of a healthy theology.” Having said this, she lowered her head and glared at me over the top of her gold inlay glasses, speaking in a slightly reproving monotone. “Not that you will.”
I could do little more than grin at her insight but was nevertheless warmed by the quiet certainty of all that she had said. I slid back in my chair, extended my legs, and laced my fingers behind my head. I looked at her for the longest time; my eyes soft and my face framed in a warm and irrepressible smile. I felt in want of saying so many things. But in the end, I simply tilted my head slightly and proudly declared, “I love you, Connie Thompson.”
At first, my pronouncement was met with zero impact. Connie regarded me unflinchingly. But in time the faintly upturned corners of her mouth betrayed her. She lifted her chin and pronounced with dry detachment. “Doesn’t everybody?”
With that, we both erupted into an unexplainable, explosive laughter; a mirthful outpouring of two souls who shared a bond of understanding that words could not capture. In time, Connie reached over and took my hand. She spoke with the full measure of her heart.
“The truth is, Luke, life here will continue. The fortunate and the unfortunate will still be a part of every day. This world is old in sin and it will take more than the little light that you and I hold to make all the difference that’s needed. Go to Nashville. Use that incredible brain that God has given you to bring hope to this world. But when you’re done, come back here and use that incredible heart of yours to bring a little courage to the plain and simple people of this valley. In the fullness of time, God has seen fit to unite my family. The people of this valley are your family, Luke. You will always be loved, and you will always be needed. When the time is right, come back home to them.”
Connie was right. I smiled and hummed a low sound of acknowledgement and we shared a moment of pure contentment.
Then, oddly, she inclined her head marginally to one side. By the smallest degrees, her expression sharpened, assuming a faintly wily air. “And you never know. In my experience, the good Lord always seems to have a trick up his sleeve.”
“You say that like you know something.”
Connie feigned ignorance. “I don’t. And if I did, do you really think I’d tell?”
“So noted.”
The assertion was in keeping with Connie’s abiding faith and outlook, despite her rather curious delivery. We cleaned the dishes and she departed for home. I stood on my front porch and watched her drive away, consoled by all that she had said, and reluctantly resolved that I was making the right choice.
But I also knew that for the next several days and culminating in the wedding and reception, I would be looking into the eyes of those I cared for and see the trace misgivings and uncertainty. They would wish me well, but the bittersweet element would be ever-present. I exhaled a deep sigh and took one last look upward into the far reaches of the oncoming twilight.
Even in Watervalley, it was not a perfect world.
Chapter 49
MATTHEW
FORTUNATELY, THE NEXT couple of days were uneventful. Unfortunately for the Mayor, this included the town’s business expo that he had so meticulously planned. The event was hosted Thursday morning at the Memorial Building. Despite a healthy advertising budget, along with several hundred invitations to businesses and corporations around the state and beyond, no one showed. That is, with one exception.
Around eleven o’clock, a handsome woman, professionally clothed in a business dress and heels, appeared through the double doors of the large Memorial Hall. A warm brunette, she was tall and slender and carried herself with a definitive poise and confidence. Despite wearing black rim eyeglasses that were plain and unremarkable, her tailored presentation had an intimidating air. But it took little imagination to see that the glasses served as an unintended mask. Hidden beneath them was a more accessible beauty; deep brown eyes that were inquisitive and full of slow surprise along with a lovely face that was fresh and striking. Her professional attire biased her age, offering an impression of being in her early forties. But something in her allure and bearing hinted that she was likely younger.
Upon entering the room, she stopped, and for a moment absorbed the mixed signals of elaborate preparations amidst complete vacancy. Walt was at the far end of the room, planted in a chair with his feet on a nearby display table and blubbering despondently to Matthew, who had dropped by to talk briefly about his plans for the bed and breakfast.
Upon seeing the woman, Walt leaped to his feet like someone caught in the act and made an immediate waddling beeline toward her. Carrying a leather briefcase, she walked to meet him with a steady, assured stride that was both deliberate and graceful.
As Matthew would later relate the story to me, Walt did his best to exude a charming welcome. But something about the polish and poetry of the woman had him tongue-tied. When he wasn’t blurting his words, he was choking on them. To her credit, she negotiated past his awkwardness with politeness and an engagement that was tempered with unmistakable urban reserve. No longer able to stomach Walt's floundering, Matthew finally intervened and introduced himself, serving as something of an ad-hoc interpreter for the discussion. Fortified by his new wingman, Walt began to speak in coherent sentences. His bubbly enthusiasm returned.
But his gusto waned after asking her what her interest in Watervalley was. Her name was Evelyn Southall. She was from Nashville and was thinking about moving to Watervalley to open a bookstore.
Walt did his best to hide his disappointment, but per Matthew, she was too intelligent not to miss it and too polite to acknowledgment it. Matthew told me all of this late Thursday afternoon. He came by my office to talk about our two-guy bachelor party and to tell me about a small discovery he had made. But he dwelt on the story about the woman in a rather telling way.
“So, Professor House. I’m getting the impression you were a little taken with this well-coiffed bibliophile. Sounds like she was rather pretty.”
He shrugged and spoke vacantly. “Pretty enough, I guess. But,” he said reflectively. “You’re the brunette guy. I tend to fall more into the blonde category.”
“I’m pretty sure hair color is not a make or break factor in the chemistry of attraction.”
Matthew was dismissive. “It doesn’t matter. I think Walt did a pretty good job of scaring her off.”
I let the matter drop. “So, in other news,
I hear you’ve knuckled under the heavy-handed lobby of the Society Hill Book Club and are letting them meet up at the mansion again.”
“Yeah,” Matthew responded, his mouth set in a fixed grin. “It’s all the easy money, fast cars, and loose women they throw at you. Besides, it’s pretty much in keeping with the new plans for the place.”
“Connie told me. Sounds great, although...seems like it all happened rather quickly.”
“I would have to agree. But, what can I say?” He said with a wide-eyed expression of resolve. “It all just feels right.”
“Hey, again. It sounds great. You’ll get a kick out of Connie Thompson.”
Matthew grinned slyly. “Get a kick or be kicked?”
“Probably both.”
“She can be quite persuasive.”
“This, we know.”
“Anyway, I came by to talk to you about a couple of things. Remember the land behind the mansion, the 928 acres owned by the Frontenac Company?”
“Sure.”
“I flew to Charleston Tuesday and met with the law firm who has been paying the taxes.”
“Wow. You flew there?”
“I figured it was the only way to get them to talk with me.”
“And?”
“It took a little doing to prove my relationship to Hiram. But once we got that worked out, what they told me was amazing.”
I sat up in my chair, deftly focused. “Let’s hear it.”
“We know from the letters between Hiram and Rayford Coleman that Hiram agreed to leave town and not interfere in the life of his daughter, Maylene. But, according to the lawyers in Charleston, when Maylene turned eighteen in 1945, Hiram desperately wanted to give something to her. But if he did, then the story would come out. So, he did the next best thing he could think of. He set up a trust fund that would give ownership of the Frontenac land to Maylene’s heirs per stirpes. The only caveat was that the transfer was to take place in seventy-five years. By that time, he knew that Maylene would likely be gone, and the chips could fall where they may. I guess this was Hiram’s way of trying to vindicate himself to his eventual grandchildren.”
