Marrying Stone (41 page)

"I'll take ye," he answered. "We can run over that near ridge and be there in two looks and a jump."

Meggie sat on the front row of the church garbed in her black dress and bonnet. Her eyes were dry, but her heart was weeping copiously. To her right sat her father, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his anger and disappointment barely beneath the surface. Jesse was on her other side. His eyes still red-rimmed, he was biting his lip to keep from shedding tears in public.

The congregation of the Marrying Stone church mournfully sang "Rock of Ages, cleft for me" and Meggie fought the chill that had settled in her soul.

All the night long and through the morning she'd thought upon the things Granny Piggott had said. And upon her father's words, too. She thought about Roe. In her mind, she could see him smiling with Jesse, staring down at her from the hole in the roof, crying out her name. She could see his face as he pleaded with her to marry him. And it broke her heart.

She'd set him free to go back to the Bay State to a life that had never made him happy and to a woman that he wasn't sure even existed. She'd told herself that it was a selfless thing that she did, something that was best for him. But in truth, it was her own childish stubbornness that had refused his offer. She had wanted a prince. A prince that was besotted with his feelings for her. A prince that would dote on her eternally. One to sweep her from her feet like in a fairy tale, and marry her for love.

Roe Farley was no prince. He was a man.

She had expected him to love her and he hadn't. But he'd hardly had time to know her. She'd thrown herself at his feet and then complained when he hadn't been grateful. Roe Farley, having never loved or been loved, had been supposed to take to it like tadpoles to pond scum, because Meggie Best wanted it that way.

Silently she berated herself for her foolishness as she stared at the empty altar before her. Life had offered her a real man and a real chance for happiness and she'd deliberately thrown it away to nurture a fancy.

Now that tale had ended, with no happily ever after, but the finality of death. And it was a story she'd plotted herself.

She'd insisted, at least, that the funeral service be simple. And she refused a headstone in the boneyard. Roe Farley was dead to her, dead to these people, but forever more in her heart he would live. Not as a conquering prince or dashing lover, but as a good and gentle man who had held her close and had wanted to marry her.

Meggie felt Jesse tremble beside her and she reached over to clasp his hand in her own. He looked strong and handsome in his Sunday suit with his hair slicked back. But since the bell had begun tolling at dawn that morning, his emotions had been raw and his tears close to the surface.

"You go ahead and cry if you want," Meggie had told him at breakfast. But he'd shaken his head.

"Pa ain't crying," he'd said. "And Roe wouldn't neither. I ain't no baby boy, Meggie. I'm a man just like them. Roe said so and he's my frien'. He never lies to me:"

The last strains of the old hymn faded and Pastor Jay stepped up to the pulpit. Meggie swallowed her trepidation and wadded her hankie in her hand.

The old man looked ready and purposeful as he stepped before them. His white hair gleamed in the sunlight that streamed in from the window behind him. He was still very tall and straight for a man of his age. And his voice was still powerful enough to speak with the authority of heaven. His eyes scanned the crowd meaningfully, obviously noting who was there and who was not. He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't. Faster than a turkey takes a worm, the old preacher's expression changed and he seemed puzzled, confused.

"Is it Sunday already?" he asked his congregation.

Several churchgoers cleared their throats and a couple of children giggled behind their hands. The preacher continued to look at them questioningly until Deacon Buell Phillips stepped up to the pulpit. Leaning closely he whispered into the old man's ear.

"Funeral?" Pastor Jay asked loudly. "We're having a funeral? Where's the body?"

Again the deacon conferred with the pastor and the old man nodded his head. He looked over to the family mourners' bench and smiled sadly at Meggie.

"I'm so sorry about your loss, sister," he said.

Buell Phillips sighed with relief.

The pastor continued, "I'm afraid I didn't know your late husband."

"Of course you did," Phillips snapped impatiently under his breath.

Again the pastor looked confused. "Oh, well maybe I did," he said lamely, scratching his head. "But I can't seem to bring the feller to mind right now."

He looked over at Phillips who appeared momentarily nonplussed.

"Maybe you ought to eulogize the feller, Buell," the pastor said. "You seemed to know him."

"Me!" Phillips was aghast. "I don't know a thing about giving a funeral."

"Ain't nothing to it," Pastor Jay told him. "You simply tell what you know about the man. And right now, I don't know a thing about him. Sorry about that, sister," he said to Meggie.

"But I can't—" Phillips began.

"I can."

The words came from the family mourners' bench and Meggie and her father turned to stare at Jesse in disbelief.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, this is ridiculous," Phillips said, turning to the other men on the deacons' bench for guidance and agreement.

Murmurs among the crowd were loud and spirited. Jesse gave no time for them to ponder; he rose to his feet and stepped in front of the congregation.

He was clearly nervous. His blue eyes seemed big as plates and his upper lip trembled as if he might burst into tears any minute. But he didn't.

He looked at his father and Meggie. Then he looked out over the congregation.

"I don't speak in front of folks much," he said. "Mostly 'cause I'm kindy simple and folks don't never listen to me no how."

He glanced back at Pastor Jay who was still standing at his place behind the pulpit. "But if the preacher don't remember Roe Farley, well… I do."

Jesse cleared his throat and raised his chin bravely. "Roe Farley was my frien'," he announced. "He didn't have to be. Some folks probably wondered why he was. He was right smart, smarter than most of you here. He knew that when he come to this place, but he never let on like it."

The young man cleared his throat. The slight trembling in his voice had ceased and he was gaining confidence with every word that he spoke.

"At first he didn't let on about how smart he was 'cause he wanted folks to like him. And folks don't like people who are different much. Later it was because he knew he weren't no better than you because of it."

Jesse tugged unthinkingly on the sleeves of his suit coat. "Ye see," he said, "Roe Farley figured out that having a smart mind was a gift from God. Just a gift, like something yer pa hands ye at Christmastime. It wasn't something that you earned or something that ye deserved. It was nothing a feller could really take any pride in having 'cause he didn't have nothing to do with it. God did. If a feller got his nose in the air about being smarter than some other folks, why, it was as silly as thinking he was something 'cause his eyes were blue or he had a wart on his lip."

Jesse hesitated as he looked across the crowd hoping that they would understand.

"And Roe Farley, he taught me that not having a smart mind was not something I need to be 'shamed of. Like the smart feller, I didn't have nothing to do with it either."

Jesse smiled proudly. "Roe knew that what ye do with what ye got is what really is worth countin' in this world. He admired us here on the mountain. He comes from a real fancy place with an ocean and trains and more folks than we seen in our lifetimes. Now us, we didn't have nothing like them folks. We didn't have nothing at all. But we had our tunes and songs. Roe said that was brung from acrost the sea a long time ago. They was ours and we kept 'em. That was a good thing and he was grateful to us for it. That's what Roe's Listening Box was all about."

Jesse's quiet voice had mesmerized the congregation who sat thoughtfully, reverently silent.

"Now Roe Farley weren't perfect," Jesse continued. "He made mistakes. I make a lot of mistakes myself. I feel bad about mine. And he felt bad about his. But he didn't try to hide 'em or pretend they didn't happen or blame them on somebody else. He just owned up to what he done and he tried to do better next time."

Hesitating for a moment, Jesse caught his sister's eye and she smiled encouragingly. "Now some people thought that Roe Farley a-marrying my sister was a mistake. My sister, Meggie, was one of the folks that thought that way. But it weren't no mistake as I can see it. Roe, he loved Meggie. He told me… well, we talked sometime about personal things and he told me that the way he felt about love and life and people, it changed because of my sister Meggie. She cared about him and no one had never cared about him afore."

Tears gathered in Meggie's eyes and she dabbed them with the black hankie.

"Now some of you folks probably think that Roe was just talking and that he didn't mean all the things he told me about it being all right that I got a simple mind and about how he cared for my sister Meggie. But I know he weren't just making up lies. Roe Farley was my frien' and frien's tell each other the truth."

"That's right, Jesse."

The unexpected voice came from the doorway of the church. The entire congregation turned to see. Several people screamed. Beulah Winsloe fainted dead away.

"I told you that I was coming back, Jesse," Roe said as he took a step up the aisle. "And I just couldn't lie to my friend."

"Roe!" Meggie stood up, her eyes staring wide as the man she loved began walking toward her.

"I heard what you said about making mistakes, Jesse," he continued. "This little mistake is one that your sister made. I'm not dead. And I don't plan to be for a very long time."

He was at the front of the church now, within arm's length of the woman whom he loved.

"You're home," Meggie whispered.

"I'm home," he said.

The crowd came to life then. Women began shouting "hallelujah" and babbling to each other in joyous disbelief. Children began scampering around as if the church service had suddenly become a community picnic. The menfolk slapped Roe on the back companionably and welcomed him home.

Onery clapped his hand and pumped it with delighted vigor. "I knew you'd come back, son," he hollered over the noisy crowd. "Somehow I just knew it."

Granny Piggott was laughing and crying at the same time. She reached over and grabbed her nephew Pigg Broody around the neck and gave him a big buss on the cheek. The old fellow shook his head and spit a wad of tobacco into the can that he carried and commented to anyone who could hear him that "It's the dangest thang I ever seen in my life."

Jesse was jumping up and down like a youngster at the candy counter waiting for his turn to hug his friend. When his opportunity came he threw his arms around Roe like a big blond bear.

"It's so good to see you, my friend," Roe told him.

"I tried not to cry," Jesse confessed. "But I missed you real bad and there is so much I want to tell you and show you."

"I hope we have a lot of time together for telling and showing," Roe answered. "And someday, when I really do die, I want you to say all those things about me all over again."

Jesse nodded, but then admitted honestly, "I don't know if I can remember all them things that long."

Meggie still just stood there, stunned. Her heart was beating. She was breathing. But a sense of unreality gripped her.

As Roe came to stand in front of her a silence slowly fell upon the crowd. "Hello, Meggie," he said quietly.

Her voice trembled as she answered. "Hello, Roe."

Roe allowed his eyes to wander her face, her eyes, her hair half hidden beneath the plain black bonnet, the long length of her body, the tips of her toes peeking out beneath her gown.

"You're wearing shoes," he said with amazement.

"It's nearly winter," she told him.

They continued to gaze at each other, lost to the people around them. Meggie's hand trembled as she reached out, so gingerly, just to touch his coat.

He gathered her fingers into his own and brought them to his lips. A strange sound like the breaking of ice on the river on a spring morning resounded in Meggie's heart.

"There is something that I've got to tell you," he said.

She waited, wide-eyed and speechless for his words. There were things she had to tell him, too.

Roe cast a momentary glance in Onery's direction and gave him a hint of a smile. "Woman," he began gruffly, "I'm here on this mountain to stay. You can love me or loathe me but I'm not leaving you ever again."

Meggie felt her throat tighten as she stared at him.

"And there's something else I've got to tell you, too," he continued more gently. "I love you, Meggie. I've never loved anyone or had anyone love me. So I suppose I didn't recognize it for what it was at first. But I know now, Meggie. I know that it is love."

"I love you, too," she whispered.

"Praise God and hallelujah!" Pastor Jay shouted loudly from the pulpit.

The congregation turned their attention to the old preacher. They were surprised to find that rather than a comment on the young couple's reunion, the pastor was paying no attention to the people in front of him at all. With an expression of dazed thanksgiving and his hands raised to the heavens, he was staring toward the doorway at the back of the church.

As one, the people turned to see what he was looking at.

Gid Weston stood, just inside the threshold, looking as surprised at the preacher's outburst as everyone else.

"Gid Weston, you are the answer to my prayers," Pastor Jay proclaimed. "I promised God that I'd give up my pulpit when I got Gid Weston to darken this church's door. I'm an old man, my friends. I'm tired and ready to step down from this lofty service God has placed upon me. And now heaven has given me leave to do just that."

The congregation was stunned into silence and Gid Weston's eyes were as wide as a mama mink caught in the glow of a grease lamp.