Hidden Places (7 page)

I’d been waiting for God to send someone to help me for months now, but I guessed He must be hard-of-hearing. I was all alone, isolated from town, holed up with snow piled to the windowsills— and yet I didn’t want the snow to melt because I had no idea in the world how I would run Wyatt Orchards all by myself come springtime. I had a houseful of people to tend—three grieving kids, a dying hobo, and a crazy old lady with her lunatic pets— yet I still felt like I was all alone.

As I lay in the darkness, feeling sorrier and sorrier for myself, wishing I had someone to keep me company, I heard the click of a dog’s toenails on the wooden floor. The ticking sound moved up the hallway, into my bedroom, across my floor. I peered over the edge of the bed. Winky stood in a pool of moonlight, slobbering and grinning up at me. It was the last straw.

‘‘You don’t belong up here!’’ I said in an angry whisper. I waved my arms at him. ‘‘Go on, go back downstairs!’’

I didn’t think that fat old thing could jump, but that’s exactly what he did—jumped right up onto my bed.

‘‘No! Bad dog! Get off!’’

Winky lay down beside me where Sam used to sleep and rested his head on my knee. There was something about the weight of his stubby little body, the warmth of him, that was oddly comforting. I didn’t really want him to go.

‘‘All right, then,’’ I said sternly. ‘‘But just for tonight.’’

He lifted his head to look at me and winked.

CHAPTER THREE

I
woke up the next morning to the aroma of coffee. Sunlight streamed through my bedroom window like it was noon. I leaped out of bed when I realized why—I’d overslept!

How could I have done such a stupid thing? I got dressed as fast as I could. I had kids to tend to, chores to do. I raced past the other bedrooms and saw that my kids were already up and gone. Who knew what mischief they were into by now?

I hurried downstairs, then stopped short in the kitchen doorway. Aunt Batty stood at the stove singing ‘‘Amazing Grace’’ and flipping pancakes. She wore a homemade yellow sweater that was nearly as bright as the sunshine outside. All three kids sat at the table wolfing down pancakes smothered in apple butter as fast as she could flip them. Even Becky was eating, her mouth crammed so full that her cheeks puffed out. The milk pails were full of milk, the egg basket was full of eggs, the coal scuttle was full of coal, and both stoves were fired up and heating the house. I ran my hand through my sleep-tousled hair and sank onto a chair, feeling numb.

‘‘You should have called me. I didn’t realize it was so late...Imust have forgotten to set my alarm.’’

Aunt Batty grinned. ‘‘You didn’t forget, Toots. I sneaked in and turned it off. Winky told me you needed your rest.’’

‘‘But the chores—’’

‘‘All done.’’ Aunt Batty set a plate of pancakes in front of me. ‘‘I’ll get you some coffee to go with those.’’

‘‘We all helped with the chores, Mama, so you could sleep,’’ Jimmy said. The kids were real proud of the gift they had given me. I felt dizzy with the surprise of it all.

‘‘Thank you. But listen, Aunt Batty, you don’t have to do chores—’’

‘‘Nonsense! Of course I do. As I explained to Winky and the girls this morning, it shows very poor manners to accept someone’s hospitality and not do your fair share of the work.’’

As if to prove Aunt Batty’s words, Queen Esther waddled out of my pantry with a dead mouse dangling from her teeth, its tail trailing across my floor. I’d known for some time that I had a mouse or two living in my pantry, nibbling on anything they pleased, but even though I’d set several traps, I hadn’t caught a single one.

Esther crossed the kitchen and dropped her prize at my feet, smirking up at me as if to say, ‘‘There. That’s how it’s done.’’ Then she turned her back, tail in the air, and strode into the parlor to take her morning nap on my chair.

‘‘Thank you,’’ I mumbled.

Seated beside me, Becky took one look at the dead mouse and scrambled to stand on her chair, screaming, ‘‘Eeee! A mouse! A mouse!’’ The boys laughed out loud at her—even Luke laughed— as she danced from foot to foot, wringing her hands.

Aunt Batty scooped up the mouse with a broom and dustpan, shaking her head in dismay. ‘‘That Queen Esther is a good little hunter, but she never cleans up after herself.’’ She carried the dustpan outside and set it on the porch, mouse and all. ‘‘Esther will be looking for that, come dinnertime,’’ she said as she closed the door again.

‘‘She eats
mice
?’’ Becky asked with a shiver.

‘‘Certainly, Toots. All cats do. But Esther eats more than her fair share of them, don’t you think? That’s why she’s so chubby.’’ She helped Becky climb down again and fed her a forkful of pancakes. ‘‘I’ll bet you can’t finish your breakfast before your mother finishes hers.’’

‘‘Yes, I can!’’

I watched in astonishment as Becky ate every scrap of food on her plate in record time. It occurred to me that I must still be dreaming.

I tasted the pancakes and understood right away why the kids wolfed them down. And the coffee was the best I’d tasted since the stock market crashed. It must have come from Aunt Batty’s house, since my coffee was mixed with chicory and tasted nowhere near this good.

All the while I ate I kept glancing at the spare room door, wondering what I’d find on the other side. Mr. Harper had seemed fine when I went to bed, but fevers could be tricky. He might be all better or he might be dead. I ate slowly, steeling myself for the worst.

When I finally got up the nerve to peek inside his room I was relieved to hear him snoring. I tiptoed to his bedside and laid my hand on his forehead. It still felt cool. Mr. Harper stirred at my touch, then opened his eyes and looked at me. I felt embarrassed, remembering how freely I’d talked to him last night, holding him in my arms and everything. I hoped he didn’t remember.

‘‘Hi,’’ I said shyly. ‘‘How you feeling?’’

‘‘Better than I have in a long time.’’ When he smiled he was an altogether different man from the sick one I’d been tending. His gaze unnerved me.

‘‘Think you could eat something?’’ I asked when I found my voice.

‘‘That coffee smells awfully good.’’

‘‘I’ll get you some.’’

‘‘Mrs. Wyatt, wait—’’ I paused near the door. ‘‘Listen,’’ he said, ‘‘I was wondering...Iknow I was out of my head last night. Was I saying things?’’

‘‘Don’t worry. Nothing made any sense.’’ I breathed a sigh of relief knowing he probably wouldn’t remember the things I’d said, either. But when I saw that he still had a worried look on his face, I tried to reassure him. ‘‘The only words I understood were when you called for your father. You scared me half to death because I figured you were about to die and you were calling on the heavenly Father, asking Him to forgive you.’’ I waited for him to smile again, but he closed his eyes and turned his head away.

‘‘I’ll take that coffee now, ma’am...If it’s not too much trouble.’’

I shut his door and returned to the kitchen. Aunt Batty was singing for all she was worth as she washed the breakfast dishes. ‘‘How’s that angel doing this morning?’’ she said when she’d finished the chorus.

‘‘He’s not an angel.’’ I started to explain, then gave up. ‘‘He’s much better. He’d like some coffee if there’s any left.’’

‘‘Is he hungry?’’ she asked. ‘‘I can fix him some pancakes, too.’’

For reasons I couldn’t explain, I suddenly felt shy about tending to Mr. Harper now that he was awake and aware of things. I handed the cup and saucer to Aunt Batty. ‘‘Why don’t you bring this to him and ask him yourself?’’

‘‘All right.’’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘‘The children told me all about him yesterday. We’ve been praying for him.’’

A jolt of alarm rocked me. ‘‘I wish you hadn’t done that.’’

‘‘Why not? The Good Book says—’’

I grabbed Aunt Batty’s arm and hustled her into the pantry so the kids couldn’t hear us talking. ‘‘Listen,’’ I said in an angry whisper, ‘‘our experience with prayer hasn’t been ver y good. We prayed and prayed for their daddy to get better, and he died!’’

‘‘Oh, we didn’t pray that the angel would get better—only that God’s will would be done, and that we could accept it.’’

‘‘What’s the difference?’’ I said bitterly.

‘‘Oh, there’s a big diff—’’

I pushed past her into kitchen, not wanting to hear her reasoning. ‘‘Becky Jean, come dry these dishes. Boys, get ready for school.’’

‘‘It’s Saturday, Mama,’’ Jimmy said. He and Luke exchanged glances. I
was
losing my mind.

Aunt Batty followed me out of the pantry and opened the door to Mr. Harper’s room, coffee cup in hand. She stopped short.

‘‘Goodness, you scared me!’’ she said. ‘‘You look just like a big old woolly bear lying in that bed! Now, why would you want to let your hair and beard get all shaggy like that?’’

I hurried into the room behind her, afraid she had offended him. ‘‘Mr. Harper has been sick with a fever, Aunt Batty. He can’t do much for himself.’’

‘‘Well, I could clean him up real nice, if you want me to. I took good care of Walter years ago, when he was bedridden. And then poor Papa, of course. Shaved them both clean as a whistle.’’

Even if I were dying I wouldn’t let crazy old Aunt Batty near me with a straight razor, but I didn’t know how to warn Mr. Harper. He looked from me to Aunt Batty in confusion, as if things were moving too fast for him to keep up.

‘‘Let’s wait until he’s feeling better,’’ I said quickly.

‘‘Suit yourself,’’ she said, with a shrug. She handed him the coffee. ‘‘Here you go. I’m Aunt Batty, by the way. Who might you be?’’

‘‘My name’s Gabe...Gabriel Harper.’’

Aunt Batty looked thoughtful. ‘‘Gabriel, eh? I once knew another angel by the name of Gabriel. You any relation? You do look kind of familiar....’’

He gave a nervous laugh. ‘‘I’m really sorry to disappoint everyone but I’m not an angel. Far from it, I’m afraid.’’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘‘Mmm! This tastes as good as it smells. Thank you, ma’am.’’

‘‘Would you like some pancakes to go with that?’’ Aunt Batty asked. ‘‘My pancakes are delicious, I must say. I have a secret ingredient— so secret that even
I
don’t know what it is.’’

He smiled slightly as she howled at her own joke. ‘‘Sure...Thank you very much, ma’am.’’

His attention seemed drawn to something in the doorway behind me so I turned to look. All three kids were trying to sneak into the room. ‘‘Everyone out!’’ I said. ‘‘This isn’t a sideshow. Mr. Harper deserves a little privacy.’’ I didn’t want them getting friendly and feeling Mr. Harper’s loss when he either died or left us again. I tried to herd them out but he overruled me.

‘‘No, it’s all right,’’ he said in his deep, soft voice. ‘‘I wouldn’t mind some company.’’

I gave up and fled to the kitchen to get his breakfast. The kids had left three pancakes sitting all by themselves on the platter. I put them on a clean plate, dabbed a mound of apple butter on top, and brought them in to Mr. Harper. I was only gone a minute or two, but in that time Winky managed to waddle in to join the crowd and the gray cat decided to sprawl herself across the foot of his bed. Before I had a chance to shoo them out, the orange cat jumped onto the bed, too, carrying Becky’s mitten in her mouth as if hauling a kitten around by the scruff of the neck.

‘‘Oh, look,’’ Becky said. ‘‘Arabella brought you her kitten.’’

Gabe stared at the cat, squinting his eyes as if he wasn’t sure if he was seeing things or not. Arabella dropped the mitten in his lap then lay down beside him, purring and kneading his leg with her paws.

‘‘That’s the sorriest-looking kitten I’ve ever seen,’’ he said.

‘‘It’s really my mitten,’’ Becky said in a loud whisper. ‘‘Promise you won’t tell her?’’

Gabe laughed, and the sound of it reminded me again of the low notes on a church organ—the ones that tug on your heart and punch you in the stomach. The kids all laughed along with him and I knew I’d be fighting a losing battle if I tried to keep them away from him. I gave him his breakfast plate, then slipped from the room to go upstairs and make the beds.

It had turned out to be a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the snow was melting, Aunt Batty had given me a much-needed helping hand, and it looked as though Gabe Harper might live after all. I knew I should feel lighthearted, but try as I might, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more trouble coming down the road. Maybe that’s because trouble had been following me around like Aunt Batty’s dog for such a long time that I’d forgotten what it was like to take a step and not have it underfoot.

I smoothed the coverlet on my bed, then stared out the window, listening to the steady sound of water dripping as icicles thawed in the sun.
The snow is melting!
That meant that the snow in Aunt Batty’s kitchen would be melting, too! I’d have to figure out a way to protect all her belongings.

As I pondered what to do, I saw Alvin Greer’s truck slowly drive down the road beyond the house, heading toward Deer Springs. If the roads were passable, I could drive Mr. Harper into town to see the doctor. But he couldn’t very well go in his long johns, and I hadn’t washed his clothes yet.

I hesitated, then opened Sam’s bureau drawer. My husband’s clothes lay neatly folded, as if he’d left them there only yesterday. It was the first time I’d handled Sam’s things since he’d died. I picked up one of his work-worn flannel shirts, surprised to find that my grief was gone, leaving a brown empty place, like the spot that’s left after you’ve yanked a flower out by its roots. I held the shirt to my cheek. It still smelled like Sam. But when I tried to picture his face I couldn’t recall it. Maybe that was part of my punishment. Maybe all of my troubles were my punishment for lying to Sam like I did.

Even so, I missed him. Not just because the kids needed a daddy or because of all the work I had to do now that he was gone, or even because of all the loneliness he’d left behind. But because Sam had truly loved me. I was always very certain of that. He loved me. And I missed feeling loved.

I chose a clean set of clothes for Mr. Harper to wear and closed the drawer again. On my way past Becky’s room I stopped to make up her bed, but it was already made. Aunt Batty’s work, no doubt. Then I spied the photograph she’d brought from home sitting on Becky’s dresser. I picked up the brass frame and studied the picture.