One Shenandoah Winter (23 page)

She missed her uncle, she missed her parents, life was far from perfect. Connie took a deep breath, filled by a remarkable combination of sadness and contentment. She was far from alone, and the life she had ahead of her held so much to look forward to. How on earth she could think of such things as they lowered Poppa Joe into the ground was beyond her comprehension. But she wanted to be honest with herself this day. This and every day to come. And to be perfectly honest, she was indeed too full to be anything but content.

Three Sundays later, Connie knocked and peeked around the open door. “Brian, do you have a minute?”

The pastor swiveled his chair around from where he had been staring out his back window. “Connie, hello, what a nice surprise, come in.” He stood and walked around his desk. “I was busy daydreaming.”

Her nerves betrayed themselves with the double grip she had on her purse. “I wanted to thank you for the service you did for Poppa Joe. I'm sorry it's taken so long to get by and tell you, but . . .”

“Don't give it another thought.” He ushered her into a chair. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

“You know, it's strange, but I'm still getting comments about that Christmas Eve service.” He went back around and seated himself. “Seems a lot of people have been touched by Poppa Joe's passage. Attendance is up almost ten percent, did you know that?”

“No, no, I hadn't noticed.”

“It's interesting you should stop by today, actually. I was planning to come see you later this week.” His gaze drifted back toward the window, as though drawn by the memory which was bringing a little smile to his face. “I had quite a remarkable discussion this morning with another visitor.”

But she did not want to hear about other visitors. Not now. It had taken three weeks of arguing with herself to get this far. “Brian, it's actually, well, there's something I need to talk with you about.”

That caused him to put his smile away and bring her into full focus. “Of course, Connie. How are you getting on?”

“Fine. I'm fine. I'm, well . . .” The grip on her purse tightened. “One night I had a talk with Poppa Joe. He asked me, he said . . .”

Brian settled back, sort of drawing away, giving her room to breathe and step through this at her own pace. But not speaking. Not urging.

She took a breath and pushed it out in one quick rush. “He said he was looking for a way to give a meaning to his passage. I've been thinking a lot about that. And I've been thinking about what you said on the road that day, when you said people like me were the hardest to reach. And that I needed to do more than just get by.”

His smile was back, softer now. “It's nice to know you found my words worthy to remember.”

“I think . . . you were right, Brian. I've been going through the motions for too long. I'm fine now, really. I mean, better than fine. It's not like I'm, you know, not coping or anything. But I want to live for more than just getting by day to day. Poppa Joe, he . . .” And then the breath was finished. Connie felt defeated by her own inability to voice what she was so unsure of.

“Poppa Joe lived for his hills and his Lord,” Brian offered quietly. “He had the gift of a faith that moved with him, breathed with him, carried him through the good and the bad.”

“Yes.” Connie was so relieved to be understood, a wave of weakness flowed through her. “That's him.”

“And in his talk, he left you with the feeling that maybe you needed to do more and be more.”

“Like he was asking me to grow up,” Connie agreed.

“That's a wonderful legacy to offer both his memory and your God,” Brian said. He steepled his fingers. “Nathan Reynolds and I are going to start meeting Thursday nights for Bible study. Would you like to join us?”

She felt herself blushing suddenly. “Nathan?”

“He's a wonderful man, Connie.” Brian's eyes illuminated the office's quiet shadows. “I'm so glad you're becoming friends with him.”

“I . . . Yes.” She felt as if the floor were shifting beneath her chair. “A Bible study would be nice.”

“Sadie has a women's group she's trying to put together, an outreach program for the poorer families up the valley. Nathan's volunteered his time. We could certainly use some help with coordinating our efforts.”

So many doors opening. Some seen, others still hidden from view. “Count me in.”

“Good. I'm so very glad.” The smile strengthened. “Now I have something else to talk with you about. We were wondering if maybe we could borrow Poppa Joe's meadow next Sunday.”

“I suppose so.” Connie cocked her head to one side. “Brian Blackstone, what are you not telling me?”

“It's a surprise, Connie. And it's not my surprise to be telling you about. Just promise me you'll be there next Sunday afternoon.”

Twenty-Seven

A
s the week wore on, Connie found herself receiving little smirks and how-dos made musical by a secret she was not party to. Just walking down Main Street became an exercise in pretending she did not see what was making her quietly simmer. People crossed the street just to be able to smile their mystery in her face and to talk about anything under the sun except what she did not know.

By Thursday afternoon she had had enough. She stopped by Campbell's Grocery for a few items, and found Hattie and Dawn clustered at the checkout counter sharing a good giggle. Connie felt something snap inside. “I'll have you know it's not nice to laugh behind somebody's back. And it's ten times worse to do it to their face!”

“Why Connie, darling, we're not laughing at you.” Hattie turned her grin toward her daughter. “Are we, Dawn, dear?”

“Hattie Campbell, if your grin was any bigger it'd show your back dentures.”

“What a horrid thing to say. I don't wear dentures and you know it.”

“Well, maybe we can correct that.” Connie planted hands on her hips. “I want to know what's going on around this town, and I want to know right now!”

Dawn gave her innocent round eyes. “What, you mean about the church picnic?”

Connie stared at her. “A picnic? In January?”

Hattie said, “You don't have to be warm to eat.”

Dawn added, “Up at Poppa Joe's meadow. Didn't anybody tell you?”

She looked from one woman to the other, felt her gaze narrow at the sight of half-hidden smiles. “You're not telling me the truth, not the one, nor the other.”

“Why Connie Wilkes, what a thing to say.” Dawn raised her hand. “May my dear sweet momma wash my mouth out with lye soap and carbolic acid if I'm talking fibs.”

“What a positively horrid thought.” Hattie's eyes crinkled at the edges toward Connie. “I just don't know what to do with this child any more.”

“She's too much like her mother for her own good.” Connie worked to hold on to her ire. “If all that's going on is a picnic, why wouldn't Brian tell me about it himself?”

“Maybe because Miss Nosy Britches is supposed to be the guest of honor,” Dawn said, tossing her blonde hair. “And ought to be willing to show a little patience.”

“Patience is a worthy virtue,” Hattie agreed solemnly. “Especially for a woman of your age.”

“You know perfectly well you're nine months older than me, Hattie Campbell,” Connie kept her eyes on Dawn. “Why on earth would anybody want to make me guest of honor at a picnic?”

“That's exactly what we were just talking about, isn't it, Momma?”

Connie stared at them, defeated by their good humor. She picked up her groceries and snapped over her shoulder, “You two are about half as sharp as you think you are.”

“One o'clock Sunday afternoon, Connie dear,” Hattie called. “Chad and I will drive by to pick you up.”

That evening, the sight of Chad's car and Duke Langdon's truck both parked in the pastor's drive was almost enough to turn Connie around. But when she thought of who else was supposed to be there, Connie felt a warmth flood her face and neck.

There was none of the afternoon's bantering when she entered. Hattie and Dawn were friendly but subdued, saying simply they thought a weekly Bible study was long overdue. Chad looked as content as ever. Duke was wary and warm in turns, depending on whether his attention was on Connie or Dawn.

The evening passed too quickly. Brian was a delightful teacher, sketching their first passage in Romans, drawing them out with questions that invited them to think, to delve.

Connie found herself casting swift little glances toward Nathan, observing things anew. How his knife-edged features seemed softened by the light in his eyes. How his dark hair had tiny threads of silver-gray. How he listened to Brian with the same intensity he showed in the clinic, a total involvement with the matter at hand.

Toward the end of the evening, Connie felt as though the night caught its breath. It startled her, for the sensation was identical to the night of her talk with Poppa Joe. She looked around, wondering if anyone else felt the same. But they were nodding and listening and reading, continuing as though the night were just the same. But it wasn't. Something was very different. A sense of soft and gentle power grew around her, a drawing in so intense that nothing outside this room and this moment had any importance whatsoever. She looked at them, her oldest friend and her first love and their daughter and Dawn's fiancé. She studied the town's doctor, the pastor and his wife whom she had known since childhood, and felt as though she were seeing them for the first time. A faint light seemed to surround them, an illumination she felt with her heart. She took a shaky breath. Strange how the night had somehow taken on a holy cast.

“Connie?”

She turned and realized they were watching her. Brian asked, “Are you all right?”

“Fine. I'm fine.” She knew she was smiling, knew the smile had a sad twist. And did not care. Here she could set aside her worries and her barriers and all the outside woes. Here was holy ground. “I was just wishing Poppa Joe could see us.”

For some reason, no one showed surprise at her comment. Instead, they joined with her, sharing the same happy-sad, longing smile. Dawn said softly, “I've been thinking about him all night and I was afraid to say anything.”

“I felt like he was sitting right here beside me,” Duke agreed.

“I think Poppa Joe will be with us all for a while yet,” Brian said. “A very long while.”

Sadie served coffee and cake, and Hattie invited them to meet at her house the following week. Connie cooed over the baby with the others, listened as the Blackstones tried to express their appreciation to Nathan for his help, heard his shy acceptance. She felt deeply moved by the thought that dissolving his own angers had left him as exposed and uncertain as she felt herself.

As they slowly started getting ready to leave, Connie drew Dawn to one side and asked as casually as she could manage, “So how are things progressing about the wedding?”

“Oh, whew. I thought you were going to pester me again about the picnic this Sunday.” Dawn let her hair fall into her face as she slid into her coat, but not before Connie caught sight of the nervous flicker in her eyes. “Things are going all right.”

“Have you set a date?”

“Not yet.” Dawn flipped her hair back, her nerves fully exposed. “Actually, things have been put on hold for a little while.”

“They have?” Connie felt the attention of the entire room shift toward them. “Why?”

“Oh, hard to say.”

“Go on, Dawn, honey,” Duke said softly from his place by Nathan on the sofa. “It's time you asked.”

“No, it's not.” She tried to mask her fidgety nerves with quick gaiety. “You about ready to go?”

Connie watched the big man rise and walk over. “It's okay, sweetheart. Sooner or later you've got to do it,” he said.

But Dawn's strength dissolved with a slumping of her shoulders and a lowering of her face. “No. I can't.”

Connie felt her heart go out as she watched the tender way Duke wrapped his arm around Dawn's shoulders and held her close. She recalled the way Duke had spoken to the young boy at Poppa Joe's that day, and realized she had never accepted his gentleness as real. She observed the love in his face and the kind-hearted touch, and felt dirtied by her own blind jealousy.

Duke asked softly, “You want me to do it?”

Dawn responded with a little nod directed at the floor.

“All right.” Duke turned his gaze toward Connie. “The reason we haven't set a date is because Dawn doesn't want to get married unless you will be her maid of honor.”

For a long moment Connie could not respond. She remained locked in place by a sudden thought. It struck her like a hammer-blow. Instead of being there and helping Dawn at this most important moment of her life, her defiant little girl had been reduced to slump-shouldered defeat by Connie's ill will. Connie felt pounded down to about three inches tall.

She swallowed her shame and said, “I would be honored.”

Dawn lifted her face. “Really?”

The relief in Dawn's gaze left Connie feeling as if her heart were packed in ground glass. “Thank you so much for wanting me up there with you, honey.”

Connie endured the hugs and the farewells, desperately eager to just get out and away. But when she stepped out on the porch, Nathan approached and asked, “Can I give you a lift?”

“I'm just down the street a ways.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

To her surprise, she found the honest answer to be, “I'd be grateful for the company.”

The night closed in around them, still and crisp. The mountains cut shadow-lines from the starry sky, the ridges standing like timeless sentinels, there to protect and defend her little valley. Nathan spent a few moments walking in silence, his eyes on the night, before saying, “You seemed to be in quite a hurry to get out of there.”