Read Online Return to Harmony by Janette Oke - Free Book Online
Authors: Janette Oke
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the heart to keep Parker away from his wife. Instead, he quarantined off the upstairs. Moira set up a camp bed for Jodie downstairs in the back parlor and came over twice a day to take a tray to the top of the steps, then return to stand over Jodie and make sure she ate her own food.
The evening of the ninth day Jodie did not come down from her perch at all. In the way of country folk, the neighbors also knew it was time, and gathered outside on the front lawn. The pastor was among them. Jodie sat on the gabled porch eaves, not aware she was holding Bethan’s hand, much less squeezing it so hard the fingertips were turning blue. She watched through the curtains as Doc Franklin entered the sickroom and set the lantern down by the bedside. Jodie looked at her mother lying there. It truly was her mother, though her face was changed beyond all recognition. Illness had reshaped her mother in just nine short days. No, not short. Jodie felt that the rest of her life would not be as long as those nine days.
Doc Franklin fed Louise another spoonful of medicine, then took her pulse. He listened to her chest, then straightened with a long, low sigh. Parker watched his movements in numbed silence.
“The Lord be with you, Louise Harland,” the doctor said quietly and shuffled from the room.
Louise accepted a drink from her husband, then turned toward the open window. In a hoarse whisper, she called, “Jodie?”
It took the girl a moment to find her own voice. “I’m here, Momma.”
“You are my heart’s delight,” her mother said, the laboring breath making every word an effort. “My love will always be with you. Always.”
Jodie forced her voice to make the words. “I love you too, Momma.”
Her mother was silent for a long while. When she spoke again, her voice was clearer and calmer than it had been in days. “I’m tired now, Parker. I have to sleep.”
The matter-of-fact tone broke him to pieces. “Don’t go, Louise. I beg you.”
“I must.” Simple, direct, clear. “It is time.”
Harmony’s undertaker was Mr. Timmons, a tiny figure of a man who scarcely weighed as much as his somber black suit. His house was situated next to the rectory, which was convenient; with a minimum of fuss people could file from the funeral home to the church to the cemetery. The Timmons’ place was double-fronted, one door opening to where the family lived, the other to the hall where the deceased was laid out for the final gathering. Bethan sat there now, her hand holding Jodie’s, and remembered all the times they had joked over how it would be to live next door to a funeral parlor. As she sat and watched the townsfolk pass by the sealed coffin, she reflected that she would never be able to look at this home and smile and joke again.
People filed solemnly by, stopping first by the coffin, touching the edge, looking down, many offering a simple prayer. The women held handkerchiefs crumpled to their trembling mouths. The men carried hats up close to their hearts, faces uncomfortable with the task at hand. Even those who saw Parker Harland every day were reduced to fumbling formality when they stopped before the griefstricken man and offered him their hands. Some he took, clinging to them with abject brokenness. Others he did not see because of his unchecked tears.
They moved on. Another halt, this time in front of Jodie.
She stared at the coffin, even when the view was blocked by people stopping in front of her. The hand Bethan held was as cold and blank and lifeless as Jodie’s eyes. Many of the women bent down to hug her and whisper a few words into her ear. Jodie neither responded nor looked their way.
Later the two girls walked the short distance to the church together, and it seemed to Bethan that all the town was there to stand and do homage to Louise Harland. No one seemed to think it odd that Bethan was there with the grieving family throughout, leading Jodie up the endless aisle and into the front pew, one hand
The evening of the ninth day Jodie did not come down from her perch at all. In the way of country folk, the neighbors also knew it was time, and gathered outside on the front lawn. The pastor was among them. Jodie sat on the gabled porch eaves, not aware she was holding Bethan’s hand, much less squeezing it so hard the fingertips were turning blue. She watched through the curtains as Doc Franklin entered the sickroom and set the lantern down by the bedside. Jodie looked at her mother lying there. It truly was her mother, though her face was changed beyond all recognition. Illness had reshaped her mother in just nine short days. No, not short. Jodie felt that the rest of her life would not be as long as those nine days.
Doc Franklin fed Louise another spoonful of medicine, then took her pulse. He listened to her chest, then straightened with a long, low sigh. Parker watched his movements in numbed silence.
“The Lord be with you, Louise Harland,” the doctor said quietly and shuffled from the room.
Louise accepted a drink from her husband, then turned toward the open window. In a hoarse whisper, she called, “Jodie?”
It took the girl a moment to find her own voice. “I’m here, Momma.”
“You are my heart’s delight,” her mother said, the laboring breath making every word an effort. “My love will always be with you. Always.”
Jodie forced her voice to make the words. “I love you too, Momma.”
Her mother was silent for a long while. When she spoke again, her voice was clearer and calmer than it had been in days. “I’m tired now, Parker. I have to sleep.”
The matter-of-fact tone broke him to pieces. “Don’t go, Louise. I beg you.”
“I must.” Simple, direct, clear. “It is time.”
Harmony’s undertaker was Mr. Timmons, a tiny figure of a man who scarcely weighed as much as his somber black suit. His house was situated next to the rectory, which was convenient; with a minimum of fuss people could file from the funeral home to the church to the cemetery. The Timmons’ place was double-fronted, one door opening to where the family lived, the other to the hall where the deceased was laid out for the final gathering. Bethan sat there now, her hand holding Jodie’s, and remembered all the times they had joked over how it would be to live next door to a funeral parlor. As she sat and watched the townsfolk pass by the sealed coffin, she reflected that she would never be able to look at this home and smile and joke again.
People filed solemnly by, stopping first by the coffin, touching the edge, looking down, many offering a simple prayer. The women held handkerchiefs crumpled to their trembling mouths. The men carried hats up close to their hearts, faces uncomfortable with the task at hand. Even those who saw Parker Harland every day were reduced to fumbling formality when they stopped before the griefstricken man and offered him their hands. Some he took, clinging to them with abject brokenness. Others he did not see because of his unchecked tears.
They moved on. Another halt, this time in front of Jodie.
She stared at the coffin, even when the view was blocked by people stopping in front of her. The hand Bethan held was as cold and blank and lifeless as Jodie’s eyes. Many of the women bent down to hug her and whisper a few words into her ear. Jodie neither responded nor looked their way.
Later the two girls walked the short distance to the church together, and it seemed to Bethan that all the town was there to stand and do homage to Louise Harland. No one seemed to think it odd that Bethan was there with the grieving family throughout, leading Jodie up the endless aisle and into the front pew, one hand
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