The sun was shining, the snow was melting, Aunt Batty had given me a much-needed helping hand, and it looked as though Gabe Harper might live after all. I knew I should feel lighthearted, but try as I might, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more trouble coming down the road. Maybe that’s because trouble had been following me around like Aunt Batty’s dog for such a long time that I’d forgotten what it was like to take a step and not have it underfoot.
I smoothed the coverlet on my bed, then stared out the window, listening to the steady sound of water dripping as icicles thawed in the sun. The snow is melting! That meant that the snow in Aunt Batty’s kitchen would be melting, too! I’d have to figure out a way to protect all her belongings.
As I pondered what to do, I saw Alvin Greer’s truck slowly drive down the road beyond the house, heading toward Deer Springs. If the roads were passable, I could drive Mr. Harper into town to see the doctor. But he couldn’t very well go in his long johns, and I hadn’t washed his clothes yet.
I hesitated, then opened Sam’s bureau drawer. My husband’s clothes lay neatly folded, as if he’d left them there only yesterday. It was the first time I’d handled Sam’s things since he’d died. I picked up one of his work-worn flannel shirts, surprised to find that my grief was gone, leaving a brown empty place, like the spot that’s left after you’ve yanked a flower out by its roots. I held the shirt to my cheek. It still smelled like Sam. But when I tried to picture his face I couldn’t recall it. Maybe that was part of my punishment. Maybe all of my troubles were my punishment for lying to Sam like I did.
Even so, I missed him. Not just because the kids needed a daddy or because of all the work I had to do now that he was gone, or even because of all the loneliness he’d left behind. But because Sam had truly loved me. I was always very certain of that. He loved me. And I missed feeling loved.
I chose a clean set of clothes for Mr. Harper to wear and closed the drawer again. On my way past Becky’s room I stopped to make up her bed, but it was already made. Aunt Batty’s work, no doubt. Then I spied the photograph she’d brought from home sitting on Becky’s dresser. I picked up the brass frame and studied the picture.
A pleasant-looking man about thirty-some years old sat slumped on a chair in front of Aunt Batty’s cottage with a blanket over his legs. He was an invalid, thin and ill-looking, with dark, mournful eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. The young woman who stood behind him had rested her hand on his shoulder, and he had lifted his own hand to tenderly cover hers. He wore a wed-ding ring on his finger. The girl stood in a bashful pose. Her head, which had a circle of flowers on it, was tilted away from the camera, and her round shoulders slouched forward. She was barefooted. I looked at her closely—it was a plump, youthful Aunt Batty.
Hadn’t she just told me that she’d once taken care of an invalid, shaving him and all? I looked at their joined hands, then at their faces again, and thought I saw in their expressions much more than a nurse and her patient.
Secrets.
Heaven knows I had plenty of my own. Gabe Harper obviously had his secrets. Why not Aunt Batty, too? I thought of a sermon about secrets I’d once heard in a church in Montgomery, Alabama, and I shuddered. The preacher had scared me half to death with his frightening words: ‘‘You may be sure that your sin will find you out!’’ I pictured sin like a long-nosed bloodhound, tracking you wherever you went, sniffing your trail of misdeeds, baying out loud for all the world to hear once it had you up a tree.
I set Aunt Batty’s photograph back where I’d found it and went downstairs. Everyone was still crowded in Gabe’s room, laughing.
‘‘I hate to break up this party,’’ I said crossly, sticking my head in the door, ‘‘but the snow is melting. Aunt
I smoothed the coverlet on my bed, then stared out the window, listening to the steady sound of water dripping as icicles thawed in the sun. The snow is melting! That meant that the snow in Aunt Batty’s kitchen would be melting, too! I’d have to figure out a way to protect all her belongings.
As I pondered what to do, I saw Alvin Greer’s truck slowly drive down the road beyond the house, heading toward Deer Springs. If the roads were passable, I could drive Mr. Harper into town to see the doctor. But he couldn’t very well go in his long johns, and I hadn’t washed his clothes yet.
I hesitated, then opened Sam’s bureau drawer. My husband’s clothes lay neatly folded, as if he’d left them there only yesterday. It was the first time I’d handled Sam’s things since he’d died. I picked up one of his work-worn flannel shirts, surprised to find that my grief was gone, leaving a brown empty place, like the spot that’s left after you’ve yanked a flower out by its roots. I held the shirt to my cheek. It still smelled like Sam. But when I tried to picture his face I couldn’t recall it. Maybe that was part of my punishment. Maybe all of my troubles were my punishment for lying to Sam like I did.
Even so, I missed him. Not just because the kids needed a daddy or because of all the work I had to do now that he was gone, or even because of all the loneliness he’d left behind. But because Sam had truly loved me. I was always very certain of that. He loved me. And I missed feeling loved.
I chose a clean set of clothes for Mr. Harper to wear and closed the drawer again. On my way past Becky’s room I stopped to make up her bed, but it was already made. Aunt Batty’s work, no doubt. Then I spied the photograph she’d brought from home sitting on Becky’s dresser. I picked up the brass frame and studied the picture.
A pleasant-looking man about thirty-some years old sat slumped on a chair in front of Aunt Batty’s cottage with a blanket over his legs. He was an invalid, thin and ill-looking, with dark, mournful eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. The young woman who stood behind him had rested her hand on his shoulder, and he had lifted his own hand to tenderly cover hers. He wore a wed-ding ring on his finger. The girl stood in a bashful pose. Her head, which had a circle of flowers on it, was tilted away from the camera, and her round shoulders slouched forward. She was barefooted. I looked at her closely—it was a plump, youthful Aunt Batty.
Hadn’t she just told me that she’d once taken care of an invalid, shaving him and all? I looked at their joined hands, then at their faces again, and thought I saw in their expressions much more than a nurse and her patient.
Secrets.
Heaven knows I had plenty of my own. Gabe Harper obviously had his secrets. Why not Aunt Batty, too? I thought of a sermon about secrets I’d once heard in a church in Montgomery, Alabama, and I shuddered. The preacher had scared me half to death with his frightening words: ‘‘You may be sure that your sin will find you out!’’ I pictured sin like a long-nosed bloodhound, tracking you wherever you went, sniffing your trail of misdeeds, baying out loud for all the world to hear once it had you up a tree.
I set Aunt Batty’s photograph back where I’d found it and went downstairs. Everyone was still crowded in Gabe’s room, laughing.
‘‘I hate to break up this party,’’ I said crossly, sticking my head in the door, ‘‘but the snow is melting. Aunt
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