Travelers Rest (26 page)

“I do some. But I also have two cooks on staff. One is Geraldine Crowley, who’s been with us from the start. The other is a young man who’s just here for the summer, in between college semesters. His name is Richard Coleman.”

Truman looked up, startled. “Coleman?” he asked.

“That’s right.” Laney gave Truman a knowing smile. “Tommy Lee’s grandson. He helped prepare our lunch today.”

“You don’t say,” Truman said incredulously.

“I believe I just did.” Laney laughed.

“Is Tommy Lee still alive?”

Laney shook her head. “He died some years ago. Heart attack, I believe.”

“Aneurysm,” Bess interjected. “I wasn’t there, of course, seeing as how it happened at a white church. But as the story goes, it was a Sunday morning and he was helping take up the collection during the service. He’d just taken the plate from Mr. Abernathy when he fell over dead right there in the aisle. What a commotion! Women screaming, money flying everywhere, and old Tommy Lee laid out on the floor dead as a doornail. Serves him right.”

“Aunt Bess!”

“Well, Laney, the man was a hypocrite. A member of Buncombe Street Baptist and a member of the Klan too.”

“He wasn’t a member of the Klan.”

“Laney, girl, there are some things you don’t know—”

“But, Aunt Bess—”

“Truman,” Bess said, turning stern eyes in his direction. “You were right, you know. Tommy Lee should have gone on and died down there by the river. It’d have saved a lot of people miles of heartache if he had.”

“Aunt Bess!” Laney hissed. Jane noticed her anxiety as Laney scanned the room to see if anyone was listening.

Bess waved a hand. “Hush, Laney, I’m just speaking the plain gospel truth. About time somebody did.”

The table fell silent. Jane looked at Truman; his freckles stood out against his now pale skin. His mouth hung open slightly, and his eyes were round and gleaming.

“I’m sorry, Truman,” Laney said. “Aunt Bess has no right to bring that up.” She shot a reprimanding glance at the older woman.

Truman shook his head as though to loosen the words on his tongue. “It’s all right, Laney. It’s—”

“Truman, I never understood Maggie’s decision,” Bess interrupted. “She did you wrong by not going north with you.”

“Oh no, Bess,” Truman said quickly. “No. She . . . she was right. I was a doctor and it was my duty to help. My sworn duty. Even if I wasn’t a doctor, it’s not right simply to leave a man to die, no matter who he is. Maggie knew that—”

“Even so, I’d have gone with Charlie, should the same thing have happened to us, and heaven knows Charlie wasn’t even near worth it.”

“Charlie?”

“My late husband.”

“Aunt Bess! How can you say such a thing about Uncle Charlie? He was a wonderful man.”

“He had his good points,” Bess agreed, “but bear in mind, Laney, you’re not the one who had to live with him day in and day out for thirty-seven years. I know a little bit more than—”

“Clapper!” Laney called as a man approached the table. She sounded relieved. “Clapper, I want you to meet our guests. This is Truman Rockaway—”

“Now, don’t get up, Dr. Rockaway,” Clapper interrupted. He came to the table with a huge smile and a hand extended. “I can shake your hand just as well with you sitting down.”

“All right, then.” Truman took his hand and the two men shook. “Happy to meet you, Mr. Jackson.”

“Everybody calls me Clapper.”

“And you may remember Jane,” Laney went on, “though I don’t suppose you’d recognize her.”

“Well, I’ll be!” Clapper exclaimed. “Are you really the little girl that used to live at the Rayburn House?”

“One and the same,” Jane said with a laugh.

“Well, I’d never have known. My, oh my. You’ve grown up real nice, Miss Jane.”

“All right, Clapper,” Bess snapped. “Get your tongue back in your mouth and take a seat already. I’m hungry and I want some lunch.”

“My tongue wasn’t hanging out, Aunt Bess. I was just paying our guest a compliment.”

“Yeah, yeah. And I’m Martha Washington with a suntan. Now, where’s the appetizer?”

Truman chuckled. “I don’t believe you’ve lost any of your spunk, Bess.”

“You got that right,” Clapper volunteered. “She’s only gotten spunkier with age—”

“Clapper!”

“That’s a compliment, Laney. A compliment. Nothing wrong with having a good dose of spunk.”

As Clapper spoke, an angular young man with a narrow face and sandy hair came out of the kitchen with a pitcher of water in one hand and a pitcher of tea in the other. He approached the table, politely asked who wanted what to drink, and began to pour. Jane noticed Truman watching him intently, the grandson of the man who had knocked his life off course. Richard Coleman must have felt Truman’s gaze, because he cast a quizzical glance at him. But Truman disarmed the boy with a smile and a nod, and Richard Coleman, pouring sweet tea into Truman’s glass, smiled in return.

He’ll probably never know,
Jane thought. He would never know who Truman was, or how his own great-grandfather refused to care for a little Negro child, or how his grandfather had caused Truman Rockaway to run from everything he knew and everyone he loved.

When the drinks were poured, the unapprised Richard Coleman began his spiel. “For our main meal today,” he said, smiling courteously as he moved his gaze around the table, “we’re having grilled salmon with cream sauce, boiled red potatoes, and asparagus tips. Dessert will be strawberry shortcake, with fresh strawberries, of course, as well as homemade whipped cream. If you’ll excuse me a minute, I’ll be right back with your salads.”

With a slight bow, he left abruptly for the kitchen.

“That sounds wonderful,” Truman said.

“What does?” Bess asked. “The meal? Or hearing a Coleman treat you with respect?”

Truman nodded thoughtfully. “They both sound pretty good, now that you mention it, Bess.”

Bess sniffed and lifted her chin. “’Bout time things got straightened out around here.”

Jane regarded the two of them with a kind of wonder and curiosity for what they had seen and experienced, things she herself would never know, things that had happened before she was born. History, she saw, was simply people’s lives, the large events the sum total of individual stories, and much of it rode on a man’s or a woman’s response to heartache. Racism wasn’t the nation’s story, it was Truman’s and Bess’s and Laney’s and Clapper’s. Just like the war in Iraq wasn’t a world story. It was Seth’s and hers and even Truman’s too, because it had brought them here, back to the place Truman had had to flee but that he could now return to, since a page had turned and the story had changed. Truman had survived it all. For the first time Jane thought perhaps she could too.

She turned to Clapper and smiled. “So tell me, Clapper, how did you happen to buy this wonderful inn?”

“You can thank my father-in-law for that,” said Clapper, who glanced at Laney with a smile. “Yes sir, Cyrus was not only a fine doctor but a shrewd businessman. He started dealing in real estate back in the ’70s, and then he got me involved and . . .”

As Clapper went on talking, Jane noticed Bess leaning toward Truman. Bess’s entire face was a smile as she patted the old man’s weathered hand. Softly, almost in a whisper, she said, “Welcome home, Truman.”

Truman nodded, said quietly in return, “Thank you, Bess. It’s good to be home.”

38

T
hey were finishing their dessert when Jane’s cell phone rang. She pulled it from her pocketbook and checked the number of the incoming call. “It’s Jewel.” She looked at Truman first before glancing around the table. “Will you excuse me?” Flipping open the phone, she rose from the table and headed for the front porch.

Twenty minutes later, Laney joined her there, carrying two fresh glasses of sweet tea. She handed one to Jane, who took it gladly, then settled herself in the rocking chair beside her. “Everything all right, honey?”

Jane took a sip of tea before answering. She looked at Laney and tried to smile. “It’s Seth,” she said. “He’s . . . well, he was my fiancé.”

Laney nodded. “Your grandmother told me about him.”

“So you know what happened?”

“Some. I know he was wounded in the war.”

Jane took a deep breath and stared down at the tea in her hands. “Yes, he’s paralyzed from a gunshot wound. He’s a quad, Laney. He can’t move much from the neck down.”

“I’m so sorry, Jane.” She reached out and patted Jane’s arm. “It seems to me you’ve had more than your share of heartache in your lifetime. I wish there was something I could do to change things.”

“Thanks, Laney. I do too. Most of all, I wish I could change things for Seth. He was a carpenter, you know, and now . . .” She finished by lifting her shoulders in a small shrug.

“What was the call about, honey?”

Jane took another deep breath to steady herself. “Seth’s not doing well. Like I said, that was Jewel, his mother, calling from the hospital. He has pneumonia, you know, but now it looks like he’s developed MRSA.”

“MRSA?”

“Yes, that awful infection people pick up mostly in hospitals, of all places.”

“Well, what does this mean?”

Jane looked out over the front lawn, as though searching for the answer there. Finally she said, “Jewel says they’re doing all they can to treat it, of course. She just thought I ought to know.”

For a few moments, Laney rocked quietly. Then she asked, “Do you think you should go back?”

“That’s what I’ve been sitting here asking myself. Maybe I should, but Truman needs to be here.”

“He can stay, even if you go back. He can stay as long as he wants. Bess will make sure he’s well taken care of.”

Jane couldn’t help but smile at that. “Were you playing matchmaker for Bess and Truman?”

Laney chuckled and shook her head firmly. “When Bess found out Truman Rockaway was coming, she ran out and got her hair done, got her nails colored, and bought the dress she’s wearing today. It’s all her doing, not mine.”

“It sounds like she remembers Truman pretty well after all these years.”

“Honey, it seems to me she was probably sweet on him even back when he was dating my mother.”

“You think so?”

“She’d never admit it, but yes, I think so. She was only a few years younger than Mamma; old enough to be interested in Mamma’s beaus.”

“Hmm. Well, Truman will be flattered, even if he isn’t exactly in the market.”

“What? You think he’s too old for romance?”

“No.” Jane thought a moment. “I don’t think a person is ever too old for romance. But . . . I don’t know, Laney. Somehow I think Truman never quite got over your mother.”

Laney looked quizzically at Jane. “Men aren’t much for hanging on to broken hearts, honey. I can’t imagine that he never got over her. What happened between him and Mamma happened a lifetime ago.”

“It’s not so much that he still has a broken heart.”

“No? Then what is it?”

“He told me he always wished for the chance to hear Maggie say she forgave him for what happened by the river, but he never had that chance. I think he regrets it.”

“Oh?” Laney frowned and sat up straighter. She turned toward Jane. “He never tried to contact Mamma.”

“No. From what I understand he was waiting for her to contact him, if she ever forgave him and decided to join him up north. But she never did.”

“Oh.” Laney sipped her tea slowly and thoughtfully.

“Did she tell you much about what happened?” Jane asked.

“Some, yes. I mean, I knew the story. It wasn’t a secret or anything. Even my kids know about it, like it’s just part of our family lore now.”

“Well, why do you think she was never able to forgive him?”

“Oh, honey, I know she—”

“Laney,” Clapper called as he opened the front door. “I’m getting Truman’s and Jane’s suitcases from the car. Remind me which rooms you’ve put them in.”

Laney named the rooms, and then asked, “Do you need help?”

Clapper waved a hand. “Naw. Truman tells me they’ve got only one suitcase each. I think I can handle it.”

He went off to dig the luggage out of the Honda as Truman stepped out onto the porch. He looked at Jane expectantly.

Jane knew what he was asking. “Seth has MRSA,” she said.

Truman’s face remained placid, but Jane recognized the flash of fear in his eyes. “What does Mrs. Ballantine say they’re doing for him?”

“Everything they can.”

“When was he diagnosed?”

“The report came back from the lab a couple hours ago.”

Truman nodded, rubbed at the side of his face. “Do you want to go back?”

Jane looked out over the lawn again. Before she could respond, Laney said, “Listen, honey, if you feel you need to go, then go. Like I said, Truman is welcome to stay as long as he wants.”

“I’m not sure what to do, Laney. Jewel didn’t ask me to come. She didn’t say I
should
come, as though she thought . . .” She couldn’t finish. She looked up at Truman again. She wanted to hear him say that Seth would be all right.

Instead, he asked, “What’s in your heart, Jane?”

It seemed an odd question, and yet she understood. “I feel like I’m supposed to be here. I think I need to stay.”

“Then that’s what you should do.”

Clapper came back with a suitcase in each hand and bounded up the porch steps. “All right, Dr. Rockaway, if you’ll just follow me, I’ll show you to your room. We’ve got you on the ground floor so you don’t have to bother with any stairs.”

“My arthritic knees and I appreciate that, Clapper. And now listen, it’s Truman. None of this Dr. Rockaway stuff, all right?”

Truman followed Clapper inside, and when the porch was quiet again Laney turned to Jane and asked, “Are you tired after the drive down, honey?”

Jane sighed deeply. “Laney,” she said, “I think I’ve been tired for a very long time.”

“Anybody would be, after going through what you’re going through with Seth. Maybe that’s why you’re here. You can get some rest over the next couple of days, see if you can’t get to feeling refreshed.”

“That sounds more wonderful than you can know.”

“Come on, then. I’ll show you to your room.”