Travelers Rest (30 page)

“Sorry to interrupt your lunch,” Jane said as she sat in the opposite chair.

“On the contrary,” Truman said, glancing down at the food. “Thank you for interrupting.” He settled the fork on the tray and leaned back, clasping his hands at his waist. For a moment he seemed to be studying her. Then he asked, “How was it?”

Jane nodded, one small lift of her chin. “It was a beautiful service. Exactly what Seth would have wanted, I think.”

The two weeks since their return from Travelers Rest had been a storm of activity for Jane. She had gone back to Troy to help Jewel and Sid plan the funeral and afterward had helped write thank-you notes for the deluge of flowers, meals, and condolence cards that had poured in.

“I wish I could have been there,” Truman said.

“Me too. You picked a bad time to have the flu. How are you now?”

“Better,” he said simply. “More importantly, how are
you
?”

She offered a small, brave smile. “I’m all right, Truman. I really am.”

He looked skeptical and waited for her to say more. When she didn’t go on, he asked, “And Sid and Jewel? How are they?”

“Heartbroken, of course. But at the same time, strong. They’re such strong people, really. Whenever I saw Sid, he was comforting someone else instead of the other way around. And Jewel . . . well, she just kept saying they hadn’t really lost him because they know where he is.”

Truman pressed an index finger to his lips in thought. “She has a good point.”

“And their other son, David, came back from Alaska for the funeral, of course. He’s decided to stay put in Troy for a while, which is a good thing for Sid and Jewel. Having David there will be a comfort for them.”

“I’m glad, Jane.”

“I am too.”

A brief silence before Truman pressed, “And you’re sure you’re all right?”

Their eyes met as Jane nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. I miss Seth. I miss him a lot. But by the time he died I had already been grieving the loss of him for a long time. I think I’m ready to begin moving forward.”

“And what will you do now?”

“I’m going to finish out the summer here, taking care of the Penlands’ house and their dogs. When Diana and Carl come home at the end of the summer, I’ll go back to Troy, back to my teaching job there.”

“While you’re here, will you continue to visit me?”

“Of course I will. How could I not?”

Truman nodded, glanced toward the window, back at Jane. “Something tells me, even after you return to Troy, this friendship of ours is a keeper.”

Jane smiled. “No question about it. I think we’re bound together for life. So don’t worry. After I go back to Troy, I’ll come up to visit as often as I can.”

“And what if I’m not here? What if I’m in Travelers Rest?”

“Travelers Rest?” Jane’s eyes widened. “Do you think you’ll move back there?”

“Lord willing, I just might. Eventually, that is.”

“Is it Bess?”

Truman chuckled. “As the young folks say today, we’re talking.”

“Burning up the airwaves, are you?”

“Let’s just say it’s a good thing I have unlimited long distance.”

Jane laughed out loud. “I thought you said you were too old for any of that, Truman. You know, it’s hard to fall in love when you’re falling apart.”

Truman chuckled quietly. “It seems I’ve discovered a little spunk of my own, a little bit of spunk I didn’t know I had until I met Bess again.”

Jane looked at him a long moment before saying, “I’m really glad for you, Truman. You deserve some happiness.”

“No.” A shake of the head. “That’s the thing. I don’t deserve it. It’s a gift, plain and simple. A gift I never thought I’d have.”

They were quiet then, though the silence didn’t seem awkward to Jane. It just seemed peaceful. Finally Truman said, “Did you hear about the kitty?”

“The kitty?”

“The kitty from the chess tournament.”

“Oh? Did someone win?”

“No, not yet. The tournament’s still going on.”

“What about the kitty, then?”

“Everyone involved in the tournament decided to donate the money to Children’s Hospital as a memorial to Seth. It’s been earmarked for the spinal cord unit.”

Jane drew in her breath. “Really, Truman?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“That’s wonderful. I’ll have to thank everyone. If Seth knew, I’m sure he’d be thrilled about it.”

Truman nodded. “I like to think he knows. Somehow.”

“Speaking of Seth,” Jane said, “I’m supposed to let you know about the concert.”

“The concert?”

“Yeah, it just kind of happened. Some of the guys on five wanted to do something for Seth, so they asked Jon-Paul to come and play as a tribute to him. There’ll just be a few of us in the atrium, but do you want to come?”

“Of course. When?”

“Just a few minutes, I think. Jon-Paul and the other guys are spreading the word in case anyone else wants to join us.”

“I’m supposed to play a game of chess with Stan Griffin right after lunch, but we can postpone. He’ll probably want to be at the concert anyway.”

“Great. Jon-Paul said he’d call me when they’re ready to start.”

Jane laced her fingers together and rested them in her lap. She gazed out the window at the gazebo surrounded by the midsummer gardens of roses, day lilies, delphinium, and forget-me-nots. “You know,” she said at length, “right before we left for Travelers Rest, Seth had a dream he said was very real, so real it was almost like he was there. He dreamed he and I were walking on the beach, and he could feel the sand and the wind and the water, and he could feel his hand in mine. Well, at the inn, I had a dream like that. It was so incredibly real.” She looked at Truman and gave him a bittersweet smile. “You were there too.”

“Oh?” Truman said, leaning forward slightly in the chair. “What was the dream about?”

“I dreamed that Seth was healed. He could walk again. He was just like he was before Iraq only—I don’t know—better somehow. I can’t explain it. But anyway, you and I were at the inn, and we were sitting in the library talking when we heard footsteps in the hall, and suddenly there he was. Just standing there in the doorway like he’d never been hurt. And he said he was all right now.”

Truman looked at her a long moment. “Anything else?” he asked.

She thought about the wine and the bread, and though she didn’t fully understand it, she wanted that to be her gift alone. She wanted to keep it to herself, like a love letter meant for no one else. She looked at Truman and shrugged. “I like to think Seth really is all right now. I mean, that he’s with God and he’s all right.”

Truman nodded. Before he could respond, the tapping of Jon-Paul’s cane in the hall announced his arrival. In another moment, he was at the door. “Jane?”

Jane looked toward Jon-Paul and smiled. “I’m here.”

“And, Truman?”

“Here. How are you, friend?”

“I’m doing well, thanks. Did Jane tell you about the happenings in the atrium?”

“Yes, she did.”

“We’re ready to start.”

“Wonderful. I’ll be there. You two go on ahead. I’ve got to call Stan and tell him we’re postponing our game.”

“All right. We won’t start till you get there, though.” Jon-Paul turned slightly and held out an elbow. “Jane?”

Jane stood to go.

“Oh, before you go, Jane,” Truman said. “Just one more thing.”

“Yes, Truman?”

He beckoned her closer with a lift of his chin. She took a step toward him and watched as he picked up the dinner roll beside his plate. Carefully, almost ceremoniously, he tore off one corner, placed the bread in Jane’s palm, and curled her fingers around it.

When he looked up, Jane found herself gazing into the kindest eyes she had ever seen.

Truman gave a small nod and squeezed her hand. “Broken for you,” he said.

45

J
ane walked in silence through the corridors with Jon-Paul, the bit of dinner roll still clenched in the palm of her hand. What had it meant? she wondered. Had she and Truman shared the same dream, or had they somehow been given a glimpse of heaven?

When he gave her the bread, she had wanted to ask him:
Truman, were you there? Was it real?

But she didn’t ask. Because she knew instinctively that it didn’t matter. What mattered was that here in this huge VA complex, among all the broken bodies from all the senseless wars, there was a reminder in her hand of one more broken body from one more senseless war, and the brokenness of that body, the brokenness that Laney called a sacrifice, was the only thing that made any sense at all.

“
It’s love
,” Seth had said.
“It’s what you’ve been looking for.”

She knew now what she hadn’t quite been sure of, that it was true. There was only one sure place to lay a heart where it could rest securely and never be broken.

As she and Jon-Paul entered the atrium, Jane gasped. She signaled him to stop with a tug on his arm.

“What is it, Jane?” Jon-Paul asked.

“I had no idea . . .”

“What?”

“I had no idea this many people would be here.”

“How many?”

“It’s . . . it’s . . .”

Before Jane could continue, they were approached by Hoboken and Sausalito. Hoboken waved a hand toward the crowd. “It’s . . . what do you say? It’s standing room only!”

“Yes.” Jane nodded.

The atrium was filled from wall to wall, and overhead in the lobby a solid line of people leaned on the banister looking down, waiting for the concert to begin.

“Did all these people know Seth?” Jane asked.

“Everyone knew Mr. Seth,” Hoboken answered.

“Not only that,” Sausalito added, “but they loved him. We are all here to pay our respects.”

“We have a chair for you, Miss Jane,” Hoboken said. “Please follow us.”

Jane and Jon-Paul followed the cousins through a crooked path in the crowd. Two padded chairs waited by the piano. Hoboken waved Jane into one as Jon-Paul took a seat on the piano bench.

“Who’s the other chair for, Hoboken?” Jane asked.

The young Ugandan gestured with a nod of his head. “Here he comes now.”

Truman walked stiffly toward them through the shifting crowd. Sausalito went to him, laid a hand on his shoulder, and guided him to the second chair. Truman eased himself into it with a sigh. His eyes met Jane’s, and they shared a smile, though neither spoke.

In another moment Jon-Paul raised a hand to silence the crowd. When a hush fell over the atrium, he said loudly, “Well, I want to thank you all for coming to this impromptu concert, which isn’t really a concert so much as a tribute to our friend, Staff Sergeant Seth Ballantine of the North Carolina National Guard.”

At the mention of his name, a cheer went up and the crowd applauded. Jane looked in wonder around the room until her gaze came to rest once more on Truman. He nodded at her as though to say,
Yes, he deserves the applause. He died a hero.

When the cheers diminished, Jon-Paul went on, “Now, anyone who’s heard me play before knows I’m not a concert pianist. I’m just someone who likes to bang out a song once in a while—”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Jonny,” someone shouted overhead. “You’re terrific!”

Jon-Paul laughed as the crowd applauded again. “All right, thanks,” he said. “But anyway, this isn’t about me. It’s about Seth. A great guy. A good friend. A terrific soldier. And a super chess player!”

Whistles. Cat calls. More applause.

“So this is for Seth,” Jon-Paul finished as he raised his hands to the keys. “And because I know he’d want it this way, it’s also for all the guys—all the men and women—who’ve given their lives to, well . . . as I’ve heard Hoboken put it, to defend the blessings.”

With that, an expectant calm filled the moments before Jon-Paul’s hands began to move. When the music started, Jane recognized the opening notes of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” She thought it an odd choice as a tribute to a fallen soldier, but as she became aware once more of the moist, doughy bread in her fist, she realized it was right. Even in a world such as this, there was joy.

For thirty minutes Jon-Paul played, moving without pause from one song to another and another. The crowd stood motionless, shifting only to let the occasional passerby through. Jane listened as though enchanted, the music carrying her back to childhood when she sat in the window seat in the parlor, grasping at the beauty beyond the glass. Once more, there was Grandmother on her knees in the garden, weeding the rows of freshly sprung tulips and budding delphinium, the early evening sunlight resting tenderly on the grass. And in the kitchen, Laney, singing her sad songs of hope as she washed the dishes yet one more time at the end of another sweet day. Only now Jane saw what she hadn’t seen before—God was there, master over all creation, scattering those seeds of beauty with open palms.

When at last Jon-Paul’s hands came to rest, the crowd broke out again in thundering applause. Jon-Paul seemed not to notice. Neither did he acknowledge it. Instead, he leaned toward Jane and settled his eyes on her face as though he could see her. He was smiling. “And this last one,” he said quietly to her alone, “this one’s for you, Jane.”

She knew what it was before he began to play. She listened as the familiar strains of “Clair de Lune” rose from the piano and twined themselves around the crowd. Jane felt herself wrapped up in moonlight, and as she watched Jon-Paul play for her, she was at peace.

Epilogue

T
HREE
Y
EARS
L
ATER

A
s Jane settled the vase of freshly cut gladiolus above the fireplace, she took a moment to run her hand along the mantelpiece.
Seth would have liked this,
she thought as she studied the hand-crafted scrollwork ornamenting the hearth. No doubt Seth would have fallen in love with every inch of the Travelers Rest Inn had he had the chance to visit. She could just imagine him walking through its rooms, observing with great diligence all the varied woodwork put in place a century and a half before. Certainly few visitors saw all that Seth would have seen had he been there.