Beyond All Measure (30 page)

“I’ll take a look.”

Ada and Wyatt followed Dr. Spencer into Lillian’s room. Ada was stunned at how greatly Lillian had changed overnight. Her skin was slack and papery, her eyes shrunken into their sockets. Each shallow breath was accompanied by a faint wheeze. Ada’s stomach clenched. She remembered that terrible sound. The death rattle, her mother’s doctor had called it. There was surely no hope now for Lillian’s recovery.

The doctor bent over the bed to examine Lillian.

“How long?” Wyatt asked, his voice rough with tears.

“A matter of hours, I should think.” Dr. Spencer straightened and put away his stethoscope. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I’d be obliged if you’d stop by the mill. Tell Sage I’m closing down until after the funeral. And find Charlie Blevins. He’s the best coffin maker around. Tell him to use some of that good oak we milled out last week.”

“I’ll take care of it. Shall I send the minister out here?”

“Lillian would like that. Tell him we’ll have the service here at the house. The stove at the church isn’t working properly.” He massaged the back of his neck. “You’d best send word to the undertaker too.”

The doctor nodded. “I wish I could stay, but I’ve a couple of very sick children who need attending and a mother with a baby due any minute.”

“We’ll be fine.” Wyatt shook the doctor’s hand. “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

They saw him out and went the kitchen, where Mariah had set out breakfast—warm bread with strawberry preserves and fresh butter, a platter of bacon and eggs, a pot of strong coffee. Ada found herself suddenly famished. When had she last eaten? It seemed a lifetime ago.

The three of them ate in a heavy silence broken only by the clink of silverware on their plates and the soft chiming of the parlor clock. When the meal was finished, Mariah quickly washed and dried the dishes, retrieved her basket, and pulled on her cloak.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” she murmured to Ada. “There’s nothing you can do for her now. Look after Wyatt.”

When Mariah’s buggy disappeared around the bend, Wyatt slumped onto the settee. “Go on up to your bed and get some sleep,” he said gently. “You’re exhausted.”

“So are you. I’ll wait with you.”

“You’re not obligated.”

“I want to stay with you.” Her eyes filled. “And with her.”

They returned to Lillian’s room. Wyatt replenished the logs in the fireplace. The fire flared, and the logs popped, sending up a gray plume of fragrant wood smoke. The birds awoke and chattered in the trees. Feeble sunlight pushed through the drawn curtains.

“She was quite fond of you,” Wyatt said quietly.

Ada managed a weak smile. “I was fond of her as well. I’m sorry I vexed her more than I meant to.”

He smiled. “So did I. But Aunt Lil could be difficult. Judgmental. Demanding. And stubborn to a fault.”

“I wasn’t certain how she’d react to my bringing Sophie here, but she seemed to enjoy having her around.”

“She always had a soft spot in her heart for those in distress. I think that’s one reason she took to you. She might not have always acted like it, but she knew how heavy your burdens were.” His voice cracked. “I’m going to miss her.”

“Oh, so will I!” She looked up. “Wyatt, could we pray for her?”

He gazed back at her. “I think that’s exactly what we should do.” They joined hands across the bed.

“Lord,” Wyatt began, “you gave me this good woman, Lillian Caldwell Willis, at a time in my life when I needed her most, and now I reckon you’re wanting her back. We thank you for her long life, for what she’s meant to us and to our town. We ask you to remember her virtues, forgive her sins, and welcome her into your loving presence.”

A soft sigh escaped Lillian’s parched lips. Ada bent to kiss the older woman’s cool, dry forehead and wondered about death. Did Lillian somehow know that the end had come? Was she afraid? Relieved? Expectant? Ada didn’t try to stop her tears.

Outside, a cardinal took up its morning song. It seemed that minutes passed before Lillian took another shallow breath.

“The Lord is my shepherd,” Wyatt began.

Ada joined him. “I shall not want . . .”

Lillian’s breath grew fainter. Tears slid down Ada’s face as she and Wyatt recited the ancient words.

“Yea, though I walk—”

Lillian’s eyelids fluttered. Wyatt bent to kiss her cheek, and her expression grew peaceful. She released a final breath.

Wyatt and Ada stood for a long minute in the awful silence. Then Wyatt gently drew the covers over Lillian’s head. “I wish the preacher had arrived in time.”

Ada wiped her eyes. “Your prayer was lovely. Pastor Dennis could have done no better.”

She stood beside Lillian’s bed, wondering what came next. When her mother died, she’d been banished to her room while Elizabeth’s body was prepared for burial. What was expected of her now?

“Ada,” Wyatt said quietly, “you should rest now. The pastor will be coming soon, and I expect the undertaker will be along this afternoon too.”

“I
am
tired,” she admitted. “But what about you?”

“I’d like to be alone for a little bit—take a walk around the place while I wait for the undertaker. Go on up now. I’ll wake you in a while.”

Ada went up to her room and crawled into bed without bothering to undress. Now that the crisis was over, she was bone-tired and soul-weary. She slept without dreaming until Wyatt came upstairs to wake her.

He had combed his hair, but a two-day growth of beard still shadowed his cheeks. “The undertaker has come and gone,” he said, his voice raspy with fatigue and grief. “The Spencers are downstairs with Mariah and Sage. Pastor Dennis is here to talk about the service. I could use your help with deciding what to do. I’m not much good with ceremonies.”

“Of course. I’ll be right there.”

She donned the dove-gray dress she’d worn on her first Sunday in Hickory Ridge, saving her best one for tomorrow’s service. She washed her face, pinned her hair, and pinched some color into her cheeks.

Downstairs, a fire popped and hissed in the grate. Beneath the window sat a wooden coffin stand. Someone had draped the hallway mirror in black and placed a black wreath on the front door. The doctor’s wife bustled about, helping Mariah serve tea.

“Miss Wentworth?” Pastor Dennis set aside an empty cup. “Wyatt says you’re to help choose the songs and readings for tomorrow.”

Ada sat down and accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Spencer. “She liked Psalms and Proverbs and Ecclesiastes. Whatever you choose, Pastor Dennis, will be fine.”

“Very well. What about hymns?”

“ ‘My Shepherd Will Supply My Need.’ It was her favorite.”

“Mine too.” He licked the tip of a pencil and scribbled on a piece of paper. “What else?”

“ ‘Abide with Me,’ I think. She used to hum it when she walked in her garden.”

The pastor scanned his notes as if checking a grocery list. “I suppose that’s all I need. Much obliged for your help.” He shook hands with Wyatt, bundled into his black frock coat, and picked up his hat. “I’ll see myself out.”

Late that evening, when everyone else had gone, Wyatt lit the lamps. He and Ada foraged in the kitchen, preparing a cold supper that they ate before the fire.

“I walked in her garden this afternoon,” he said. “I could almost hear her fussing at me for trampling on her Louisiana iris. When I was a boy, she’d tell me not to take a shortcut through the garden, and I’d always forget and step on one plant or another. One time she switched me good for ruining a primrose bush.” He smiled. “Of course, she had to catch me first. I took off for the river, thinking I could outrun her, but she cut through the trees and caught up with me just before I got to Billy Rondo’s place. She walloped the tar out of me—not so much for ruining the bush, but for running from her. I guess I deserved it.”

Ada laughed, then sobered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing at a time like this.”

“Don’t apologize. Aunt Lil wouldn’t mind your enjoying a laugh at my expense.” He took a sip of his coffee. “She used to tell me I was too big for my britches. Nothing pleased her more than taking me down at notch or two from time to time.”

They sat quietly for a long time. The fire collapsed on itself with a soft sigh. At last Wyatt rose. “I should go home, but I hate leaving you here alone. Will you be all right?”

She stood too. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be back early tomorrow to help prepare for the service. I want to be here when Aunt Lil comes home for the last time.”

He looked so tired, so weighted with grief, that Ada’s eyes filled again. “I’ll have breakfast ready. I’d like to do whatever I can to make things easier for you.”

“The whole day will be easier if I’m with you.” He kissed her forehead. “Good night, Ada.”

She walked him to the door. When he had gone, she extinguished the lamps in the parlor and went up to bed. But despite her weariness, sleep proved elusive.

Now that Lillian was gone, Ada no longer had a job or a place to call home. And she was scared. All her life she’d been a planner. She hated not knowing what would happen tomorrow and the day after.

The winter wind seeped into the old house. She drew her covers more tightly about her and tried to think. She had no doubt that Wyatt would honor his promise to let her stay on here until she could make other arrangements, but what possibilities were open to her? Should she move to that rundown ladies’ hotel in town and try to support herself making hats? Look for another opportunity as lady’s companion? Or should she leave Hickory Ridge for a larger town with more opportunities?

After all, she’d never meant to stay here forever. But that was before she loved Wyatt.

She punched her pillow and listened to the windowpanes rattling in the wind. Wyatt was still waiting for an answer to his proposal. All she had to do was overcome her fears and say yes to him, and her worries about her future would be over.

But she couldn’t do that to him. It would be wrong to use marriage as an escape from her difficulties. Wyatt deserved better than that.

The events of the day finally caught up with her. Hot tears leaked from her eyes and trickled into her ears. She lay in the heavy darkness, listening to the screech of a bare branch raking against the window pane.

What was wrong with her that she couldn’t give Wyatt her heart?

TWENTY-NINE

Ada’s heart lurched at the sight of Wyatt arriving at sunup in his somber mourning clothes. He looked pale but rested as he tethered his rig in the yard and crossed the yard to the porch.

Unable to sleep for more than a few hours, she’d risen at four to light the lamps, stoke the fires, and prepare his breakfast. The gesture, small as it was, had somehow made her own grief easier to bear.

He hung his hat on the rack in the parlor and smiled tenderly. “Didn’t you sleep at all?”

“Some. Too much on my mind.”

He nodded. “After I left here last night, I worked in the office for a while. Those fellows from Chicago who were here awhile back had a thousand questions about the mill. I sorted through them last night until I finally got tired.”

She touched his arm. “Come on to the kitchen. Everything’s ready.”

Wyatt held her chair, and they sat down to their meal. Consumed with worry and grief, Ada felt as if she were muffled in cotton, all her emotions muted. She ate without tasting anything, only dimly aware of the rattle of branches of the trees lining the road and the twittering of winter birds in the bushes beside the kitchen door.

Wyatt finished a second helping of ham and fried potatoes and poured more coffee for both of them. “That was good. The fried ham hit the spot.”

She smiled. “Lillian would have said it was too salty.”

“I reckon when a person is as old as she was, complaining about things is one of the few pleasures that’s left.” He stirred sugar into his coffee and helped himself to another biscuit. “Although now that I think about it, Aunt Lil complained a lot in her younger years too. She was already past forty when I was born. It couldn’t have been easy for her keeping up with me, but she gave it her all. I tried to do the same for her.”

“I don’t know many men who would have done what you’ve done.”

“I’m not looking for accolades. Just stating a fact.” He rose and looked out the window. “Here comes the undertaker.”

Ada stacked their dishes in the dishpan and untied her apron, then she and Wyatt went out to meet Lillian’s coffin.

The sight of it filled her with new sorrow. Until this moment, she hadn’t allowed herself to absorb the finality of Lillian’s death or the true depth of her feelings for the older woman. Serving Lillian in her last months of life had been a daunting responsibility and a sacred trust. Each memory of the good moments they’d shared seemed precious. She wished now that there had been more of them. For a moment, her knees went weak, and the winter landscape spun before her eyes, but Wyatt held tightly to her hand and whispered, “Steady, love.”

Harlan Wentworth, a short, balding man in a black suit and frock coat, jumped from his wagon and released the ropes holding Lillian’s coffin in place. “It’s colder’n a witch’s—uh, wagon tire this morning,” he amended when he saw Ada. “We’re lucky the ground is partially thawed. I checked with the gravedigger when I came past the church awhile ago. Ever’thing should be ready for the burying by the time the service is done.”

He blew on his hands to warm them and squinted at Wyatt. “You reckon you can give me a hand getting your loved one into the house? Normally I have my boy to help me, but he’s down with a bad case of the runs. Begging your pardon, ma’am.”

Wyatt helped lift Lillian’s coffin. Ada couldn’t help noticing that Charlie Blevins had done a masterful job of it; the golden oak planks were sanded so smooth that they gleamed in the morning light. The men carried it in through the hall and placed it on the stand in the parlor.

“I’ve got to get back to town, but I’ll be back this afternoon to transport the deceased to the graveyard,” the undertaker said. “I assume you’ll want to get the burying done before dark.”

Wyatt nodded, ushering him out the front door. “It was Aunt Lil’s wish that everything be done quickly. She never was one for drawing things out.”