At the Scent of Water (34 page)

Thirty-eight

The week passed. Her departure date grew closer. She finished cleaning out the house except for Margaret’s room, for although she knew she must do it, she would leave it for last. Laurie’s husband, Jim, put up the For Sale sign and said he would list it as soon as she left. She saw Sam twice. Briefly, and she kept it that way on purpose, avoiding him whenever she knew he would be around. She had not forgotten her promise to him about Kelly Bright, but the enterprise had begun to feel dangerous. She had set it aside.

She worked awhile on the rug she’d started. She walked the hills and filled her soul with the sights and sounds and smells of this place, for she knew she would not partake of them again for a long, long time. She spoke to Jason Niles once. He had called to “touch base.” She had assured him plans were still in place but had hung up feeling desolate, so she decided to keep her promise to Sam. That would give her the feeling of closure she wanted.

She rose up this morning ready to complete it. She looked up Kelly Bright’s pastor on the Internet and found the address of his church. She drove to Tennessee, passed Knoxville, and finally arrived in Varner’s Grove around ten. She drove to the church, wondering if her errand would be futile and halfway hoping it would be.

Varner’s Grove House of Prayer was a large corrugated-metal square building by the side of the highway. Annie turned in and parked in the graveled lot. She stepped out of the car, but instead of going inside, she stood there for a moment leaning against it and looking around. The church, for all its homeliness, was set in the midst of a beautiful grove of flowering trees under towering pines. She breathed in their fragrance. She let the tension drain out of her neck and relaxed her eyes, which were habitually tightened. A family of tree crickets rang in her ears, and even that soothed her. It was a gentle, melodic sound and part of this place. She looked around but could not see them. Papa would have been able to. He knew every kind of creature in these mountains and what kind of sound each one made, especially the birds. Just as she thought this, one flew down and lit on the branches of the dogwood in front of her. He was a comical little thing. Plain brown body with a bright red head. He fixed his beady gaze on her and sang, a sweet sharp whistle, followed by two warbles, a song he repeated several times. She smiled and stood very still, but after a moment he cocked his head abruptly and flew away. She sighed, added her own electronic chirp to the soup of sound as she locked the car door, and went inside the church.

It was cool. The air-conditioning was on. There seemed to be no one about, so she just looked for a moment. The foyer was small. There was a coatrack along one wall and a small wooden table along the other. A handmade banner was tacked to the wall.
Where Times of Refreshing Come From the Presence of the Lord
it said, and she felt a sudden wave of longing wash over her. She realized something deep inside her soul felt dry and weary, and for just a moment the thought of refreshing waters made her heart yearn for . . . for what? She read the sign again, saw where the refreshing came from, and then she knew why she was so arid and parched.

“I thought I heard somebody out here.”

She turned and faced a tall African-American man. His wide dark face creased into a brilliant smile. “I knew the Lord was going to bring somebody along today to see me,” he said matter-of-factly, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“My name is Jordan Abrams,” he said, extending his hand.

“Annie Dalton,” she answered back.

“How can I help you, Ms. Dalton?”

She took a deep breath and told the truth. “I want to know about Kelly Bright.”

“Are you a reporter?”

The purse had given her away again. She nodded. “But I’m not on assignment.”

He seemed to consider for a moment. He met her eyes and seemed as if he might ask a question, but he did not. “I have some coffee back in my office. We could discuss it if you like.”

She followed him through the dim all-purpose room they used as a sanctuary. The floor was concrete, and she could see basketball hoops at each end, but the folding chairs were padded and arranged in neat rows, a songbook on every other seat. A drum set and music stands were set up at the front. There was another banner there.
The Christ of Calvary Still Changes Lives
. She startled, remembering the question she had asked as she sat in the antique store in Santa Monica. Where is He? she had wondered, this Christ of Calvary who changes lives. He was here, it seemed, and she thought the thought with no trace of sarcasm. Instead, a fierce gladness possessed her, and she hoped it was true. She looked up to see the man watching her. She flashed him a smile. “You’re all ready for Sunday, I see.”

“All but the sermon,” he answered. “I had it planned, but the Lord’s telling me He’s changed His mind.”

How does that work? she wanted to ask. Did He tap you on the shoulder and whisper in your ear? But she did not speak. Because her own faith was in tatters, she would not pull and tear at someone else’s.

Pastor Abrams’ office was a small square at the end of the building. It contained three walls of books, a metal desk, and two upholstered chairs.

“Please, sit down,” he offered. He poured two cups of coffee from the pot on the shelf. “What do you take?”

“Everything,” she said.

He doctored a cup for her with sugar and powdered cream, and she sipped it for a moment, considering what to say. She set down her cup and faced him.

“I want to know who Kelly Bright was,” she said. “I’d like to catch a glimpse of the person behind the issue.”

“Why?” He asked it plainly, and she stared back. She had hoped he would assume he knew the answer and would begin talking. She was faced with a soul as canny as he was kind, and she supposed nothing would do but honesty.

“My husband was the doctor who operated on her,” she said. “The one who made the mistake.”

His eyes widened and he nodded, but he still did not speak.

“He wanted to know who she was. Is. I thought I might be able to help him.”

Pastor Abrams looked at her for a long moment. “I wouldn’t want you to print anything I tell you unless Kelly’s mother gives her consent. I’ve been meeting with her. I wouldn’t want her to feel betrayed.”

“I won’t print anything without her consent,” she said. “You have my word.”

He looked at her again, seemed to debate for a few seconds, then nodded. A slight smile lit his face. “Kelly was a great kid. Our paths crossed through our bus ministry. They live in the projects, you know. Public housing over on the east side. If her mother had sued, she could have taken the money and bought herself a house, but she said she wouldn’t do that while her baby was alive. Felt like it was giving up on her. She said that was the reason Kelly’s father wanted the tube taken out. So he could get the settlement.”

Annie nodded. She did not write anything down. She did not suppose she would forget his words.

“Kelly was five when she started coming here to church. She asked Jesus into her heart at Vacation Bible School, and I don’t know when I ever met a child who was so deep in the Lord. She loved Jesus.” His face lit at the memory.

“She could pray the house down, and she knew more Scripture verses than I did.” He chuckled. “She fellowshipped with us for six years in all, and by the time of the accident, she had her sister and brother coming to church, and her mama was just about talked into it, too.”

Annie remembered Rosalie Cubbins, the wistful look on her face.

“You know what she told me just before the accident?” he asked Annie.

She shook her head.

“She said, ‘Pastor, it would be worth anything to me if my mama and daddy would come to know Jesus. I’d even die if it would help.’ That child knew,” he said with certainty. “She knew.”

“Well, have they?” Annie asked, and she realized it sounded demanding. Angry. Bitter and rude.

“Not yet,” he said. “But I haven’t given up.”

There was silence for a moment. “Does that help?” he asked her.

She shook her head, and to her embarrassment her eyes filled with tears.

He waited for her to compose herself, handed her a box of tissues from the table beside them. She hadn’t meant to, but she told him the story. All of it. She left nothing out, and when she had finished, she looked up to see pain in his eyes.

“Things changed between me and my husband,” she said quietly. “Even before Margaret died. He got lost in his work, and I . . . I just got lost. When Margaret died, it would have been hard enough if everything had been right. But it wasn’t. He stayed gone all the time, and I couldn’t be there anymore. I couldn’t be there alone. It was too much.”

“I hear you,” he said gently.

She looked at him questioningly.

“My wife and I lost a daughter to leukemia when she was five.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He nodded his head at her words. “When Missy died, I thought I would lose my mind,” he said. “And Caroline nearly did, too. But I guess the difference was that we held on to each other. And we held on to the Lord.”

“How did you do that?” she demanded. “When He was the one who took her from you?”

He shook his head. “There’s no answer to the question you’re asking. The why question. I don’t think we’ll ever know the whys in this life. But I know whom I have believed.” His voice vibrated with passion and life, and her eyes filled with tears again.

“It’s not that simple for me,” she said. “Where was God when my daughter drowned?”

She looked into his face, challenging him, and when he replied she was surprised, for she had thought it was another question that had no answer. But he spoke, his voice firm and sure.

“The same place He was when His son was nailed to a cross.”

They sat in silence for a minute before Pastor Abrams spoke again.

“A lot of things don’t make sense right now,” he said, “but someday our Redeemer will stand again on this earth, and everything will be right then.”

“I want it to be right now.” A desperate hope sounded in her voice.

“I know.” He whispered back, his eyes glistening with tears to match her own. “But just hold on a little longer, sister. Hold on to Him. One day you’ll understand.”

She took another tissue from the table beside her and blotted her eyes. They were quiet for a moment.

He sipped his coffee, and she dried her eyes and cleared her throat. She did not want to speak of this any longer.

“Thank you for your help.” She rose and took her purse.

“Anything else I can do, you just call me.”

“Thank you,” she repeated.

He wrote down his address and phone number on the back of a church brochure and handed it to her. She dropped it into her purse and went back to her car. She drove home. She was tired and hungry. She would eat and rest, and tomorrow she would tell Sam what she had learned. Then she would say good-bye to him and leave this place.

Part Three

Let your power fall,

Let your voice be heard,

Come and change our hearts,

As we stand on your Word,

Holy Spirit,

Rain down.

Thirty-nine

Mary poured the last of her dishwater on her dusty, bedraggled petunias. It was another dry, dismal, searing July afternoon with the thunder and lightning she had come to dread because there was never any rain or moisture. Just the stirred-up angry clouds and swirling heat. The reservoir had dropped. The lake behind the Fontana Dam was at an all-time low, and Buncombe and Haywood counties had declared a severe water emergency. The mites and beetles had grown stronger since their natural enemies had died off. The apples would be affected soon if it didn’t rain, and that would spell disaster for many whose income depended on the crop. The pine seedlings were dying up in the hills, the leaves yellow and crisp on the wild dogwoods and rhododendrons. The city had only sixty days of water left. The deer were wandering closer to towns, and she had seen on the news that this morning someone had seen a bear inside the Asheville city limits. The president was talking about emergency loans for farmers. The ponds were down. The creeks were dry. The lawns had begun to crisp, and there would be no more watering of flowers or grass, at least not at her house, for this morning the well had run dry. The pump had groaned once, twice, then had finally given out. She would have to call in a well digger, and for the time being they would drink bottled water and shower at Laurie’s, but that situation couldn’t go on for long. Everyone was in distress. And to be honest, her turmoil was not simply over the drought.

She had handed it to Elijah this morning, the long thin white envelope that she was sure would end this happy reprieve, this fantasy that she had been indulging that they would all live happily ever after. He had taken it and thanked her, put it in his pocket, and then she had seen him get into his car and drive away. She knew. Her heart had thudded hard and crashed down when she had seen the return address:
International Mission Board, Southern Baptist Convention
. That had been the letter he said he was waiting for, and she knew what would happen now. He would leave her. Again.

Mary wiped her eyes and tried to be joyful for him, for she knew how much this meant to him, but somehow when she had seen him and Sam leave each day, calling on patients, roaming the hills, as she had cooked for him and walked with him and talked with him and remembered, she had dared to hope. But she knew the truth. This, like everything else, was coming to a close.

Annie was leaving tomorrow. And Mary expected Sam would, as well, for he had received calls from Barney and the hospital administrator, Tom Bradley, yesterday morning and had disappeared for the rest of the day. She was making supper for everyone tonight, here at the house. It would be a sad affair, she was afraid, and she thought about calling it off. She could use the well as an excuse, but the real reason was that she did not want the pain of seeing their sad faces one more time, did not want another memory of grief to add to all the others.

She sighed and took the dishpan back in the house. Then she took out the pork chops she would cook and started setting out the ingredients for her desserts. She would have courage. She would do this last thing.