Contemporary Women's Fiction: Agnes Hopper Shakes Up Sweetbriar (Humorous Women's Fiction) (18 page)

Then again, maybe his changeable behavior didn’t have anything
to do with me. Maybe he was upset because his beloved Alice wasn’t around. Normally, he would be asking if she slept well or if she would like more juice. If she could eat a bowl of oatmeal, he was glad to ask the cook to fix her some.

Now, my Charlie was as dependable as a sunrise, no matter what. So why was I getting my life tangled up with a man who changed with the wind? I thought he was going to be a friend, someone to count on. But if he wasn’t? Oh shoot, what difference did it make anyway? I would be leaving soon and more than likely never see Smiley again.

My inner confusion continued. Didn’t say two words to me until he declared, “We need to talk.” Humph. And double humph.

Thirty minutes later we sat in two porch rockers side by side. Most of the other residents were back in their rooms tending to personal needs before the student preacher came from Fruitland Bible College. The only other person nearby was Lollipop. He sat in the swing at the far end of the porch, dragging his long legs and slurping a fresh sucker.

The hot, humid day reminded me of my first day at this place. Only five days ago, but in some ways, it seemed like a year or more. If the meeting with Miss Johnson went as I predicted, this could be my first and last Sunday here … in this rocker … on this porch.

“What a mess, Charlie. What a mess.”

My tangled thoughts turned to the little man next to me wearing seersucker pants and a pale blue shirt. Who did Smiley think he was? You let a man become your friend, and he thinks he owns you—thinks he has the right to tell you how you ought to behave. Well, I’d had enough. I felt like a ticking time bomb, and the time was about gone.

“What gives you the right—”

“Alice is dying,” he said barely above a whisper.

“What?” I said, searching his drawn, white face. “Are you sure?”

“She had breast cancer years ago. It’s returned, ’bout six months ago now. Doctor says it’s aggressive this time and has spread all over her body. Can’t seem to keep any food down. Wasn’t your fault she was sick last night. Been happening a lot lately.”

“How long does she have?”

“Weeks … maybe days. Only the good Lord knows.” He sighed deep and sorrowful. “She won’t be able to stay here. She’ll have to be moved to the Lane Wing. You know, the part of Berea’s Mission Hospital where they take the terminally ill.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, patting his hand. “Does she have any family?”

“A nephew. Arizona I think. Miss Johnson’s notifying him, but I don’t expect him to come. Alice hasn’t heard from him in years.”

We both fell silent. I stared across the front yard, but everything seemed out of focus somehow. Lollipop sauntered inside. Hot, humid air moved through the hanging ferns as our rockers moved back and forth, back and forth in a broken rhythm.

A young, clean-shaven man bounded up the steps clutching a well-worn Bible to his chest. “Good morning, folks. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

I had forgotten about him coming, and I looked up in surprise. He might as well have been babbling in a foreign tongue. He started to repeat his greeting.

“We heard you,” I said. “Before you start your preaching, go see Alice, Alice Chandler. She won’t be able to make it to the service today.”

He looked at his watch. “What’s wrong? Is she sick? Guess I’ve got a few minutes, but I have to find someone to play the piano and choose the hymns. What’s her room number?”

“Seven. Alice is dying.”

“Oh,” he said, and then flipped through his Bible. “Does she know the Lord?”

“You don’t need to find a verse to read,” I said. “She knows them all by heart, and I expect if she’s up to it, she’ll quote a few. Just pray with her a little while or, if she’s sleeping, pray over her. Take your time. We’ll take care of the piano player and the hymns.”

“We will?” Smiley said, the smallest flash of amusement in his voice.

“Of course,” I said, standing up to show this man we could move into action if we so chose. Smiley rose too, though a little unsteadily, and held on to his chair. I was glad to have something to do. Anything. A person can do only so much rocking.

While we placed worn Broadman hymnals on sofa and chair cushions, the aroma of fried chicken drifted from the kitchen where Shirley sang “Red River Valley.” I was glad to know she was staying past breakfast.

Smiley said, “You play the piano?”

“Only some old honky-tonk tunes, by ear. Do you?”

“Tone deaf. Francesca can play, but she plays high-brow stuff nobody can sing to.”

People were beginning to come in and take their seats. “This shouldn’t be a problem,” I said. “Who usually plays for Sunday services?”

By the look on his face, I knew. Alice.

I grasped one of his limp hands and squeezed it. “I’m sorry.”

He dropped his head. I didn’t know what I would do if he started crying. As it was, I had to resist folding my arms around him to comfort him like a small child.

“Maybe I’d better go check on her,” he said. “You take care of things here. Just don’t ask old Miss Watson. The only thing she wants to play is “Jesus Loves Me.” She knows scores of hymns, but she’s stuck on that one.”

I laughed and it felt good.

A wheelchair pulled up next to me. “I hear you need a pianist.”

“Yes, but Smiley said—”

“That man doesn’t know everything. I can certainly read music. Show me what you want me to play.”

We started with one of Alice’s favorites, “I Come to the Garden Alone.” You would have thought Lil was auditioning at Carnegie Hall. She performed three hymns so wonderfully we just listened to the music and didn’t sing. In between them all, Miss Watson yelled out, “Play ‘Jesus Loves Me.’” When Lil played it with a simple touch, we sang along.

When we finished, Miss Watson yelled again, “Play ‘Jesus Loves Me.’”

A voice called out, “She just did, Nellie.”

The preacher stood and faced us, his face ashen gray. “Let us pray.”

Smiley didn’t join us. Then I remembered Pearl. She hadn’t come either. Was she in her room? Was she waiting for one of my hats? I jumped up to find out.

William had his big feet sticking out, and I wasn’t paying attention. In my rush, I stumbled and nearly fell into his lap. As I recovered, he saluted. Everything in me wanted to wipe that silly grin off his face. The man acted like we shared some kind of secret.

“Forgot my hat,” I whispered.

“Amen,” the preacher said. “Let’s sing one more song. Does anyone have a favorite?”

As I headed down the hall, I heard Miss Watson yelling.

Lil began playing “Jesus Loves Me.”

Pearl was not in her room, but in mine, sitting on my bed. She chose my wide-brimmed straw with the red silk flowers, the hat I’d worn the day I’d first come to Sweetbriar Manor. I grabbed a little navy one with a crinkled veil and pinned it on my head. When we reached Alice’s closed door, I sent Pearl ahead, assuring her I’d follow soon. I tapped softly.

My eyes widened when Miss Johnson opened the door.

T
he director stepped into the hall and shut the door behind her. “I was just coming to get you.”

“You were?”

“Miss Chandler has called for you twice. But don’t expect her to recognize you or even know you’re there. She’s been talking out of her head, saying outlandish things.” She wagged her finger in my face. “Near the end, people hallucinate, say things that aren’t true.”

“When is she being moved?”

“This afternoon. I’m going over to Mission now to make arrangements. Fortunate for you, I’ll have to reschedule the meeting with your daughter until Tuesday, or maybe even Wednesday.”

“Yeah, lucky me.”

Prissy did a sharp-stepping retreat as the sounds of the young preacher gathered like static. I thought of the first time I had seen Alice sitting at our dining room table. I’d been struck by her frailty, the way she looked lost behind thick glasses, wearing a dark dress several sizes too large. When she told me she was a writer, quoting favorite authors instead of answering my questions, she sounded strange. And she paid no attention to the gentle man sitting across the table from her who was obviously love-struck.

“I should have noticed she was sick, Charlie. Maybe I could’ve been a better friend. Smiley’s right. I don’t think about anybody but myself.”

I’d seen the face of death before—heard its awful rattle when I laid my head on Charlie’s chest. Still, when I opened the door and went inside, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. My breath caught up in my throat.

Alice lay on her side, her long legs drawn almost to her chin. Her skin, tight across her cheekbones, seemed transparent. It showed a blue vein, delicate and pure. She didn’t look any bigger than a lump of rumpled bedsheet. Her hair, unbraided and brushed, fanned over her pillow like an angel in flight. Smiley moved a wet cloth over her eyelids and parched lips. I gently rested my hand on his shoulder.

“Alice wants us to go through her things before Miss Johnson gives everything away to the Salvation Army. I don’t think I can do it.”

“Yes you can,” I said. “If that’s what your dear friend wants. You can.”

Alice whispered and we both leaned close. “Kn … knew … what you would say.” She drifted away again.

A nurse I hadn’t noticed until now said, “All right, you heard the lady.” She lifted her patient’s wrist and felt for a pulse. “Looks like the two of you have some work to do, but I’m here to keep an eye on Miss Chandler. It’s imperative you folks stay out of my way.”

I’d never met a nurse who didn’t enjoy bossing people, but I’ll have to admit I was glad she was there. I tugged on Smiley’s arm and felt a strong resistance.

Pleading didn’t work. “Come on, do this for her. I can’t do it by myself, you know.” Finally, he moved a step back, but his eyes remained locked on Alice’s face. I pulled a chair over to the bed while the nurse scowled and told him to sit.

“You’re not going to be any help. Just stay out of the way like she said.”

He sat gingerly on the edge of a tall wingback, both hands on his knees, ready to spring into action if his lady needed him. We heard a hesitant tapping on the door.

“Tell them no visitors,” the nurse said, adjusting the IV drip.

Pearl stood with my red-flowered hat cocked on her head at a funny angle. Lil wheeled up behind her and spoke first.

“The way that preacher-boy prayed made us think Alice had died. She hasn’t, has she?”

The nurse came to the door in a rush of starched air. “No, but you people aren’t helping matters any. We need a little peace and quiet.”

“Let them come in to help Agnes,” Smiley said in a firm voice.

The nurse threw up her hands. “All right, but if anybody so much as makes one peep, you’re out of here. Is that clear?”

Fortunately, William had followed the two ladies, so I enlisted him also. It turned out we couldn’t have done it without him.

“Anything for you, Red,” he said with a wink. He was still chewing on that awful cigar.

William knew right where the handyman kept the dolly for moving people’s belongings, so he wheeled Alice’s books, magazines, and newspapers to the small library next to the office. He promised to stack everything neatly out of the way until we could organize it.

A half-dozen or so shoeboxes were stuffed to overflowing with old black-and-white photographs. Pearl latched on to the pictures, whispering names as she cupped them in her hands. I told her they were hers to keep, and she looked every bit like a child on Christmas morning. When William carted them off down the hall, she hurried behind him. I knew Pearl would treasure them, and Alice would be pleased.

The lunch buzzer sounded. Lil and I looked at each other, and a flicker of understanding passed between us. This task was more important than sinking our teeth into Shirley’s fried chicken.

Smiley stood, but his mind wasn’t on food either. He began brushing Alice’s long hair, slow and easy, humming a soft tune. It seemed her balled-up body relaxed a little.

The nurse said, “I’ve given her as much morphine as she can handle for a while.”

When I stretched up on my tiptoes and reached for a large box on the closet shelf, it slipped and knocked me to the floor. My little navy hat went sailing across the room.