Travelers Rest (10 page)

She dropped her pocketbook on the kitchen table and looked around the room. Where to go? What to do? She moved from the kitchen to the dining room to the den at the back of the house, where she sat down in the overstuffed chair by the empty fireplace. The room was small and cozy, with a fieldstone hearth, large braided rug, built-in bookcases jammed with aging volumes. She called for the dogs, who came running. She patted her lap and they both jumped up, licking her chin briefly before curling into a nap.

“Well, at least I have you guys,” Jane said, stroking their fur. Both dogs sighed contentedly.

Jane leaned her head back and shut her eyes. What an amazing thing contentment was! She remembered the day she felt all was right with her world, the day her dreams and her life lined up with each other and fell into place. It was the day Seth proposed, not quite a year ago.

———

“I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning,” he’d said the night before. “And be sure to wear your walking shoes.”

“But where are we going?”

He shook his head and gave her a crooked smile. “You’ll see.”

At nine o’clock on that July morning, he pulled into the circular drive of the Rayburn House and honked the horn.

“When will you be back?” Gram asked.

“I don’t know,” Jane said with a laugh. “I don’t even know where we’re going.”

And so they had driven, on and on, taking Route 40 more than a hundred miles toward Asheville, but cutting off onto 64 and heading south toward Ruth and west again toward Lake Lure before finally arriving in the little tourist town of Chimney Rock. The town was a narrow strip of restaurants and souvenir shops nestled in a gorge with an expanse of mountains on either side. The Rocky Broad River cut a natural divide between the town and Chimney Rock Park, a vast stretch of mountain trails and waterfalls, the pinnacle of which was the 315-foot monolith for which the park was named.

Seth drove through the entrance to the park and over the bridge to the parking lot. When he opened the door for Jane, he pointed to the rocky spire and said, “That’s our destination.”

Jane put her head back full tilt and shielded her eyes from the sun. She had long known about Chimney Rock, of course, but she’d never been there. More than two thousand feet up, on top of the jut of rock that, in fact, looked like a chimney sprouting up out of the mountain, an enormous American flag rippled in the wind. “We’re going up there?” she asked.

“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and twining her fingers with his.

To get there, they walked through a lighted tunnel cut into the mountain and entered the elevator that would take them to the Sky Lounge at the base of the spire.

“I’ve heard this elevator goes up the height of twenty-six stories,” Seth said casually.

“Really?” Jane said, chewing her lip. “Did I ever tell you I’m scared of heights?”

Seth only smiled. The elevator doors opened, and they walked through the Sky Lounge out into the open air and the wind. The sun was high in the sky, reaching toward noon. Jane squeezed Seth’s hand more tightly as they walked the trail to the base of the metal stairway leading up to the top of the rock.

Jane put her hand on the railing and froze.

“Don’t be afraid,” Seth said. “I’m right beside you.”

She looked up into his eyes and, after a moment and a few deep breaths, gave a small nod. “I’m ready.”

Up they climbed, step after dizzying step, the wind strong at their backs, the sun warm on their heads. “Don’t look down at the stairs,” Seth said. “Keep your head up.”

Seth was right. The stairway was open, and down was very far down indeed. Sweat moistened Jane’s palms, but she lifted her chin and concentrated on the top, the flag, the open cloudless sky.

And then they were at the top where the Blue Ridge Mountains stretched out toward a horizon that was miles upon miles away. The view was an immeasurable span of green, broken to the southeast by the shining blue of Lake Lure. Jane had the sense that she was soaring without wings, that she was viewing what for centuries had belonged only to the birds and the angels.

She and Seth stood silently for several minutes, their arms about each other but their faces turned outward. Jane wanted to say something about the beauty of it all, but there were no words to describe it, not a single one that would do it justice. Surely there was no more glorious place in all the world.

When someone finally spoke, it was Seth. “You may be wondering why I called this meeting,” he said.

She looked up at him and laughed. He didn’t join her. He seemed suddenly nervous.

“Well,” he went on, “it’s just that I wanted to be on top of the world with you . . . or kind of, anyway, when I asked you to be my wife.”

She was momentarily stunned. “What?” she asked.

“My wife, Jane. I’m asking you to marry me.”

Her eyes widened. “You are?”

He released his hand from her waist and dug around in his shirt pocket. “I hope it fits,” he said.

She took the ring and tried it on. The diamond flashed in the sun.

“Does it fit?”

“Yes. Perfectly.”

“Will you be my wife, then?”

She wanted to say yes, but she couldn’t speak. She was laughing and crying at the same time while Seth kissed her forehead and brushed away her tears with his thumbs.

———

Jane smiled even now as she thought about it. On that day, July 12, 2003, she was completely satisfied. She was satisfied not only in what was but in what was to come. Because even the future was tucked into the moment; she could see it all so clearly, their children, their home, their happiness. She could see it just as though it were all right there with her on the heights of Chimney Rock.

But the satisfaction was brief, and now everything was different. Seth had gone off to war, and together the two of them had tumbled down the mountain.

Jane nudged the dogs off her lap and rose from the chair. Across the room, the Penlands’ liquor cabinet beckoned. Jane walked to the cabinet and looked through the glass doors at the bottles lined up inside. She remembered how, when her mother died, she had sworn never to do what her mother had done in the final years of her life. She would never dull her heartache with drink. When she grew older, though, she had failed. Those years at college especially, when she had let the drink burn her throat and soothe her heart. Her friends all thought they were simply having fun. Jane knew otherwise. She wasn’t looking for fun; she was looking for peace.

She hadn’t had a drink since the day Seth proposed. She’d made no conscious decision about it; she simply had no need for it anymore. It was easy to leave behind. After all, in Seth she had everything she wanted. The hollow place in her heart had been filled.

Jane lifted her hand to the cabinet and hesitated a moment. At one time the stuff inside had worked very well to ease the pain. And heaven knew she was in a world of pain right now.

She turned the knob, opened the cabinet door, and after reading the labels on the bottles, she reached for one.

14

J
on-Paul Pearcy was at the piano, singing a duet with a one-armed sailor who had a voice as smooth as gravel and a smile as big as the moon. They had drawn an audience and were hamming it up as they harmonized on “Some Enchanted Evening” from the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical
South Pacific.

Jane hung back and watched. She had no choice; to reach the piano she’d have to elbow her way through the crowd. She could only suppose that those at the VA today hadn’t expected to be serenaded, so when the song started they had flocked to the piano, only too glad to have the reprieve from the medical routine of their lives.

With the sailor crooning loudly just inches from his ear, Jon-Paul looked as though he was straining to stay on key. He must have faltered, because he broke out in laughter even as he sang. The sailor waved his one hand in the air, inviting the crowd to join in on the last line. In that moment the lobby became stage to a motley and unlikely choir, with nearly everyone lifting whatever voice they had in the grand finale: “Nev . . . er . . . let . . . her . . . GO!”

The room erupted in cheers, applause, and piercing wolf whistles. Even Jane couldn’t help smiling. The sailor stood and bowed, enjoying the admiration. He leaned over and said a few words to Jon-Paul, slapped him on the back, and meandered off on the arm of a pretty nurse. With that, the spectators dispersed, heading off to appointments in the clinics, to visit loved ones in the hospital, or perhaps to head back to their rooms in the community center where Truman lived.

Jane stayed, hesitating only a moment before stepping to the piano. Jon-Paul was chatting with an elderly man, but when the man moved on, Jane stepped in.

“Hello, Jon-Paul.”

The young man turned toward the sound of her voice, frowning slightly. Only then did Jane remember he couldn’t see her.

“It’s Jane Morrow. I met you the other day.”

“Oh yes.” Jon-Paul brightened in recognition. “Jane. How are you?”

How was she? She had awakened that morning with a headache, a queasy stomach, and a rock-solid disgust that she had drunk enough rum and Coke to get that way.

“I’m fine,” she said. “And you?”

“I’m doing great. What’s up? You been visiting with . . . um . . .”

“Seth. Not yet. I’m on my way to see him but . . . I wonder, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Ask away.”

“It may be none of my business.”

“If it isn’t, I’ll tell you so.” He smiled.

She took a breath and said quietly, “I was wondering whether you were born blind.”

He cocked his head at that, and two lines formed between his brows. “Actually, no,” he said. “I lost my sight gradually, beginning when I was a teenager.”

“I see.” Then, alarmed, she added, “Oh! I mean . . . I guess that’s not the right expression to use.”

Jon-Paul laughed agreeably. “It’s all right. I use the expression myself, even though I don’t see. Or at least, I don’t see very well. I do still have some vision, mostly peripheral. But . . .” He paused a moment, as though trying to discern Jane’s reason for asking. “Look,” he said, “would you like to go talk somewhere?”

“Well, I don’t want to keep you. You probably need to get back to work.”

He shrugged. “I’m my own boss, so far as that goes.”

“All right, then. There’s a canteen where we could sit. Maybe you’ve seen it? Oh! I mean—”

Jon-Paul waved a hand and stood. He picked up his folded cane from the piano bench, but he didn’t open it. Instead he slipped a hand into the crook of Jane’s arm. “Lead the way,” he said.

———

Jane fed the vending machine enough change for a couple of sodas—a Coca-Cola for her and a Dr. Pepper for him. She carried them, an icy-cold aluminum can in each hand, to the table where the tall young man in the suit and tie sat waiting. She placed the soda in front of him and wondered whether she should pull the tab, but before she could decide, he had popped it himself and was taking a long drink.

“Guess I was thirsty,” he said absently. “Must have been that duet.”

Jane laughed lightly as she stared at his eyes. They were clear and bright and such a stunning shade of blue she couldn’t believe they didn’t work as well as her own. He was in fact looking at her; she felt the illusion of eye contact even knowing he couldn’t see her face. She marveled to think a person might have an entire conversation with Jon-Paul Pearcy without realizing he was blind.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” she said. “About your blindness, I mean.”

“Not at all.” He took another long swallow and settled the can back on the table. “I have a pretty good idea why you’d like to know, since you’re engaged to a man who’s also suffered a loss.”

“Yes.”

“So what would you like to know?”

“Can you just tell me the story of how you went blind?”

Jon-Paul nodded. “You probably won’t believe me if I tell you I once had perfect vision.” He paused, as though he expected her to say something.

She tried to travel with him back to that time in his life, but it was difficult to imagine. “You didn’t even wear glasses?” she asked.

“Nope. Didn’t need them. I was fine. That’s why it came as such a shock when I started losing my sight. It was completely unexpected. And because it came on so gradually, I wouldn’t let myself believe it was happening for a couple of years. I tried to convince myself that what I was seeing was normal.”

“What were you seeing? What was it like?”

“It started with small things back in high school. At first it was simply that I couldn’t see the blackboard in school as well. And then I started holding my textbooks closer to my face. And I had to lean closer to the sheet music when I was learning a new piece on the piano. I hid it from my parents, though. I never complained, and no one knew, so I was never taken to get my eyes checked. I was acting like a normal kid, and I just wanted to
be
a normal kid. I had my driver’s license, I played sports, I dated the cheerleaders.” He paused and laughed, but it petered off to a sad smile. “And then I went to college. By then I’d decided the life of a classical musician wasn’t for me. I went to Duke to study Premed, believe it or not. Dad, of course, wanted me to join him in the family business, but I didn’t want to be a lawyer. I guess I was a bit of a maverick. I wanted to be different, do my own thing. Besides, I was always fascinated by the way the human body works. Not just the remarkable way it works when it’s healthy, but the way it was created to heal. You know, broken bones mend. The immune system suppresses disease. White blood cells battle infection. The possibility of healing seemed a great tribute to the Creator, that He would grace our bodies with a means of restoration. I always found that intriguing. I wanted to contribute to that healing process by picking up where the human body left off, helping when a body needed help in coming back around to health.”

He stopped and took a sip of Dr. Pepper. “I suppose it sounds a little crazy.”

Jane shook her head. “Not at all. I never thought about it that way. I guess I’ve always taken the body’s ability to heal for granted.”