Down by the River (17 page)

“Oh, honey, I was playing by the Spirit then. A church service belongs to the Lord, and sometimes He just gives me the song He wants to have sung. I hear it within, and then I give a nod to Vincent and I play it. Sometimes he is hearing the same thing within. And sometimes he hears the instructions first, and he nods to me and I follow. It's nice how God orchestrates it. So if it seemed to go well, He deserves the credit.”

Even Grace had trouble following that explanation, and Margaret, for once, was speechless.

Jo Carson smiled. “I started playing for this church as a young girl of about sixteen, and I've been playing here ever since. It's a kindness that God has continued to let me serve Him in this way for so long.”

Jo Carson's son Berke and his wife Sally came up to join them then. They all lived a short distance down the street on the River Road. Grace knew Berke and Sally had come back home to move into the old Carson homeplace with Jo after Berke's father died. Berke and Sally's two children were grown, and Berke and Sally had wanted to leave the northern winters. Berke worked for a computer repair company in the area and Sally as the secretary for the Creekside Church.

“Are you ready to go, Mother?” Berke asked. “If so, I'll help you up and out to the car.”

“It was nice to meet you, Margaret.” Jo said as her son linked her arm in his and helped her walk down the steps from the piano.

“Yes, it was nice to meet you, too.” Margaret said these words quietly, staring after Jo Carson.

Sally watched them start up the aisle. “Her eyesight is getting worse. She has macular degeneration, you know. It isn't safe for her to try to get down these steps on her own anymore.”

“But how does she see to play?” Margaret was incredulous.

Sally smiled. “She knows the keyboard in her heart. At home, she might play for hours. She can still play about any song she listens to often enough. We've gotten her tapes of the classics, and she plays many of those by ear. But hymns are still her favorites. It's a wonderful gift she has.”

Sally talked then about what a nice time she and Berke had at the gathering at the Mimosa the week before. Grace noticed Margaret simply continued staring quietly after Jo Carson.

At the door of the church, Vincent stood talking to his congregants as they left the service. He took Margaret's hand, and Grace knew from the way Margaret acted that she was affected by his touch.

He smiled at her. “I'm glad you talked to Jo Carson. She said she'd like you to come and visit her one day. She'd like to hear you play.”

“I'll try to do that.” Margaret offered a forced smile.

“I enjoyed your message,” Grace added.

She and Margaret walked down the church steps and started down the street toward the Mimosa. As they reached the door to the screened porch, Grace looked over to see tears streaming down Margaret's face.

“Why, Margaret, what's the matter?”

“She plays totally by ear.” Margaret sobbed. “She's never taken a formal lesson, and she can play like that. So well. So freely. It seems so unfair. After all the hours and hours and hours of lessons and practice I've had. That someone could just play like that. Without any of the work and the agony and the criticisms and the struggle.”

Grace reached over to hug her child. “She practiced and practiced, too, Margaret. Didn't you hear her say so? And Sally said she still does. It hasn't come without work and labor on her part, either.”

“But she didn't have to endure all the lessons!” Margaret sniffed, the tears rolling freely down her cheeks now.

“Maybe you're looking at it wrong. You had the
opportunity
to have lessons. I don't think Jo Carson ever did. If I remember, Sally told me Berke's mother grew up with very little. Her family lived up in the mountains, and there were nine children. I doubt there was money for lessons. Wasn't it good that God gave her a way to use her gift? Without that, she wouldn't have been able to do anything with her talent. There would have been no opportunity.”

Margaret frowned as she followed Grace from the porch into the kitchen. “Well, that's a pretty story, Mother. But it's hard not to feel resentful when you've worked as hard as I have—and then to meet someone who can sit down and play like that without having had to study at all.”

Grace dropped her purse and Bible on the kitchen table. “I don't think you need to feel jealous of Jo Carson, Margaret. You possess a beautiful gift of your own—well developed and well exercised. There's hardly a comparison between the two of you.”

Margaret sat down moodily in a kitchen chair. “I didn't know Vincent could sing and lead music. You didn't mention that to me.”

“I didn't think to.” Grace sat down at the table to join Margaret.

“He must have musical training to be able to do that. But he's never mentioned it to me.” She scowled.

Grace chuckled. “It's not as though you strike up many conversations with Vincent Westbrooke, Margaret. There may be a great deal about Vincent you don't know.”

“You sound just like him!” Margaret glared at her mother. “That's what he said this morning.”

“I'm sorry.” Grace shrugged. “I forgot he said that. But you can hardly blame Vincent that you know so little about him.”

Margaret fidgeted with the strap on her shoulder bag. “It's really amazing how he and Jo can tune in to each other to perform the music the way they do. She said they hear the music within. How do they do that?”

Grace thought for a minute. “In the same way God talks to you in your heart when you pray and ask for answers. Or in the same way you get a leading from God about what you should do sometimes, I think. Only they get it about the music to use in the service.”

Margaret caught Grace's eyes then. “This isn't the kind of church we've always belonged to, Mother. It's different.”

“You don't like it?”

“I don't know.” Margaret looked thoughtful and sighed.

Grace looked at the clock. “I have homemade chicken salad left over from yesterday. Would that be all right for lunch? We could eat fruit and biscuits with it. I have some of both from the buffet this morning.”

“That would be fine.” Margaret stood up. “But let's go change first.”

She started down the hall, and then turned to look back at Grace.

“I feel different here, Mother. It's as though all the rules I've lived by don't seem to apply. It's sort of unsettling.”

Grace smiled. “To me it's been freeing, Margaret. I felt very restricted and bound in my life in Nashville, in many ways, but I never realized it until I came here.”

“You do seem different here. And happier.” Margaret grinned. “I doubt you miss Jane climbing up your back all the time.”

Grace winced. “No.” She raised her eyes to Margaret's. “I don't mean to be disrespectful to Charles's mother and your grandmother, but it was hard always knowing that she disliked me.”

“She always tried to make me hate you.”

“That's rather harsh, Margaret.” Grace caught her breath.

“No, it's the truth. And I always felt torn between the two of you. Never knowing who I should try to please or emulate.”

“Well, it seems like deciding who to emulate should have been easy. Jane was a concert pianist. She'd experienced the success you dream of. I know you admired her.”

“I admired her talent.” Margaret paused. “But she has a cruel streak. I didn't admire that. Sometimes she was cruel to me.”

Grace looked at Margaret in surprise. “Was she? I never knew that. I thought she doted on you.”

“As long as I did what she wanted. Thought what she wanted me to think. Acted like she wanted me to act. She was very controlling, Mother.”

“She was with me, too. But I never realized she acted that way with you.”

Margaret shook her head. “Honestly, Mother. Jane was controlling with all of us. With Daddy, with the boys, with Elaine, with me—and with you. Everyone bowed and scraped to her. I was always torn between whether I loved and admired her or whether I hated her.”

“Margaret!” Grace exclaimed. “This is your grandmother you're talking about.”

Margaret put her hands on her hips. “Oh, please. Will you deny that one of the reasons you wanted to move here was to get away from Grandmother Jane? She was horrid to you for as long as I can remember. I used to wonder how you could stand it. As I got older, I got angry at you for how you let Jane treat you. For how you let her insult you and get away with it.”

“I had no idea you felt like that.” Grace twisted her hands. “She was Charles's mother. I had grown accustomed to her ways. I tried to get along with her for your father's sake. He always asked me to overlook her ways when she acted unpleasant or rude. He said it was simply the way she was. He wanted there to be peace.”

“Yeah, I hated that, too, about Daddy. He never stood up for you when Jane went after you. He just let her verbally abuse you. We all did. It was an awful feeling sometimes, Mother.”

Grace felt shocked at these revelations. Tears started in her eyes. She couldn't help it. She hated to think her children had felt these things without her knowing it. How they must have disrespected her!

Margaret gave her a small smile. “In a funny way, I was proud of you when you stood up to us all and said you were moving over here regardless of what we thought. I mean, we were all mad because it wasn't like you. But even while I was mad, I was sort of proud of you.”

She came back to give Grace a hug. “And since I've been living over here with you, I'm more proud of you. If I haven't said so, I want to now. You're running a business and doing it well. You've opened a shop and are selling those crafts we all thought you were crazy to make. It's kind of cool, Mom. You're becoming your own person here. It's sort of neat.”

“Well, thanks, Margaret. Those are nice compliments.” Grace wiped some tears away, still a little overcome. “And I'm sorry I disappointed you before. It wasn't an easy situation with Jane. I always tried to make peace. It seemed like the only solution given how your father felt.”

Margaret looked thoughtful. “It wasn't only you. I've let her push me around, too. Dictate to me too much. Hurt me and humiliate me without fighting back. I haven't handled her much better. Except that most of the time she liked me more.”

“Because she thought you were exactly like her.”

“But I'm not!” Margaret's face grew stormy. “I don't want to be like her! She has a dark heart. I want to have a good heart.”

Grace put a hand out to touch Margaret's cheek. “You do have a good heart, Margaret.”

“Maybe. I don't know. I feel all disquieted lately. Like there is something I want that I don't understand. Like there is something pulling at me.”

“Do you want to talk about it? We can if you'd like.”

Grace waited quietly while Margaret thought about this.

“If you were feeling all confused and stuff, what would you do, Mom?”

Grace's eyes moved automatically to the Bible she had left on the kitchen table.

“Don't even say it,” Margaret warned, following her eyes. “You'll sound like Vincent. He told me out of the blue one morning—when you'd gone out of the kitchen—that all the answers I needed were in the Lord. Just like that, without my saying anything that would lead him to say anything like that. I swear, Mother, his kind of religion gives me the creeps sometimes.”

“He's probably right about the Bible being where the answers are, Margaret.”

“Maybe for some people. But I'm not sure I'm cut out to be the religious type.” She lifted one shoulder and then started down the hall again to go change her clothes.

“I think I'll be glad when school starts again,” Margaret said as she started up the stairway, almost talking to herself. “That's probably why I'm feeling restless.”

Grace looked after her daughter thoughtfully. There seemed to be a lot of changes working in Margaret right now. And for Grace, every day seemed to bring new revelations about what people had been thinking about her that she'd never known before.

A
s Jack crossed the swinging bridge on his way to work the next day, he saw Vince sitting on a bench by the river with his head down and his hands dropped between his legs. Either he was dejected or praying. It was hard to tell. If dejected, Jack figured it was over Margaret Conley. He certainly didn't envy any guy who tried to take Margaret on.

Feeling sympathetic, Jack walked the half block down Creekside Lane to where Vincent sat. Vince's dog, Joel, greeted Jack with doggy enthusiasm, weaving around Jack's legs joyously, his tail wagging like a happy flag. Jack reached down to scratch the dog's ears.

“Morning, Jack.” Vincent looked up with a smile. The boy wore old shorts and a T-shirt this morning, but still managed to look polished. Scooting over on the bench, Vince made a place for Jack to sit down.

“Couldn't decide if you were praying or crying over a woman when I looked down from the bridge and saw you.” Jack dropped down beside Vincent and gazed out over the Little River. The sun sparkled over the water, making a pretty sight.

Vincent turned amused eyes toward Jack. “And what woman do you think I might be crying over?”

Jack directed a pointed look down the road toward the Mimosa. “Those Conley women could drive a man to prayer or tears. I should know.”

Vincent grinned. “I'm not concerned about Margaret. If she's the One, the Lord will work things out in due time.”

“Sounds like the kind of thing a preacher would say. Well-spoken. But there's a man under those preacher's robes, too. I'd say he's experiencing a little frustration.”

“Is that what you're experiencing, Jack? A little frustration? Or is it more?”

Jack frowned at him. “You're got a gift for redirecting conversations, Preacher. Did you learn that in theology school?”

“Maybe I learned it from the Lord. And maybe you could use getting a little closer to Him yourself.”

“Now you're making me wish I hadn't stopped by to say hello.”

Vincent picked up a rock and skimmed it across the water. “Were you ever close to God, Jack? Maybe as a kid?”

“What makes you think I'm not now?” Jack felt annoyed.

Vince skimmed a few more rocks across the water, not answering.

Jack scowled. “Okay. I got converted as a kid, if that's what you're asking. But I drifted off in my teens, I guess. Girls chased after me, and I enjoyed them. I always got cast in the Bad Boy role, no matter what really happened. I guess I settled in to the pattern, justified or not sometimes. What was the point in fighting it?”

“But you married. I heard you were a good husband. And I know you're a good father.”

Jack's voice grew bitter. “Yeah, and what good did that do me? Celine took off and left me. Wanted better things than me, the girls, or Townsend, Tennessee. Flitted back off to Hollywood. And the fast life there.”

“You mad at God about that?”

“Sometimes.” Jack surprised himself with his honesty. “And sometimes I'm mad that a lot of good Christian folks suggested I must have cheated on Celine or she wouldn't have run off on me. Seems like I also recall some other good Christian people told me I drove my daddy to an early grave, too. I guess I've come to think rather poorly of Christians and their ways of judgment and caring. I haven't been overly eager to be counted in their ranks.”

“But you come to church. You bring the girls.”

Jack was quiet.

“You're a smarter man than you pretend to be, Jack. You've been hurt in the past and been angry, and you've taken on a role to protect yourself. You've equated Christianity—and God—with the flaws of Christian people. And forgotten that all people have flaws . . .”

“That all have sinned and come short of the glory of God?” Jack interrupted to quote the Scripture sarcastically.

Vincent shrugged.

“And so what's your answer, Preacher? You think you or I can fix all those people? You think you can fix the church?”

“No.” Vincent looked at Jack with those intense blue eyes of his. “I can only fix myself and my relationship with God. Even as a minister, that is all I am totally responsible for. And that's all you're responsible for.”

“It's a little late for an old dog like me to change, Vincent. I have a reputation around here that people are not going to let me escape from easily, even if I wanted to change.”

“You don't really believe that,” Vincent said. His cell phone rang, interrupting their talk. Vincent pulled it out to take the call.

He hung up and turned to Jack, putting a hand on Jack's arm. “Your mother just had a heart attack, Jack. She's been taken into Blount Hospital. Bebe is with her. They tried to call you first. We'll need to head over there right now. It's serious.”

The next hours were a nightmare. The agony of the time seven years ago when Jack's father had died haunted him. He didn't want to lose his mother, too.

He paced the floor of the hospital waiting area. Vincent sat with his head in his hands. This time Jack knew he was praying. Jack saw Bebe's lips moving several times, too. She was praying, also. He knew Roger and Samantha were praying quietly, holding hands tensely, worried about Althea. But Jack couldn't even find words to pray. He didn't feel worthy to ask favors of God. Vince was right. He'd blamed God for the misguided ways of people, blamed God for every time things didn't work out fairly for him, and blamed God for Celine's leaving him. He'd even faulted God for taking his father early. Jack was in no place to ask favors of God.

Samantha made a call on her cell phone. She looked toward Jack when she hung up. “Grace is going to pick up the girls at Bible School. You know they've been going every day this week. Grace has Ruby, now, and she said she'd pick up Daisy and the twins as soon as the program lets out. She'll talk to them. She said to tell you not to worry.” Sam looked down, tears starting in her eyes. “Grace said to tell you she would be praying, too.”

Jack felt like kicking the wall. Here was another good person praying. What was the matter with him? Here his own mother lay battling death, and he couldn't even find words to pray for her.

By the time the morning slipped away, Jack felt haggard. Althea had made it through surgery and was in recovery. The doctor had been out and told them she was holding her own, but only barely. He couldn't be sure if she would pull through.

Then he came out a second time. The report was better. He now thought Althea would make it. That she was going to recover. Samantha burst into tears and hugged Roger. Jack hugged his Aunt Bebe, his tears falling, too.

Jack was able to go in to see his mother a little later—at about two. She looked pale, full of tubes and still unconscious. It frightened Jack to look at her. To think she might die. That he might still lose her.

“It may be several hours before she regains full consciousness,” the doctor told him when Jack went back out to join the family. “But I think she's going to make it. She's strong.”

“Praise God,” Bebe said, sitting down with the emotion of the day's events overcoming her. She put her face in her hands and wept.

Vincent went to sit with her and comfort her. He had the words to say she needed to hear. He was only a kid and he had the words to say. It shamed Jack. He should have been able to offer her some comfort.

“I'm going outside for a while,” he mumbled to Roger. “I need some air. I'll be back a little later.”

He got in his car and drove. Aimlessly at first. Heading back toward Townsend from Maryville, just wanting to get away from the guilt and pressure he felt.

Vincent was right. Jack had been mad at God. He'd blamed God for things that weren't His fault. He'd lived the devil of a life these years. And let his mother down. He knew she felt disappointed in him. And, now, maybe he'd never have a chance to tell her he was sorry. Maybe never have a chance to even try to change.

His car turned off on a familiar side road, and he pulled up in front of the Shady Grove. He wanted a drink. Just one or two to steady him. To get him through this awful moment. Then he'd drive back to the hospital.

In the bar he found Ashleigh Anne. She'd heard about Althea. She was sweet, and she felt sorry for him. He needed that. Needed someone to feel sorry for him.

He drank too much. He didn't remember how much. Just remembered that he started to feel better. To feel numb. To not hurt. He thought he remembered Ashleigh leading him out of the bar. But everything was fuzzy. And then he stopped remembering anything at all.

A long time later, Jack thought he heard banging on a door. And then voices. Women arguing. He tried to shake himself awake. To open his eyes. Lord, his head hurt. He scrunched his eyes open to look up, and he saw Grace.

Grace? What was she doing here? And where was he?

He tried to pull himself up, and then saw Ashleigh Anne standing in the doorway. He looked around in confusion and saw that he was in her bed, the sheets and covers a tangle around him. And Ashleigh wearing some little scrap of a nightgown.

Mercy! What had he done? How had he gotten here?

He tried to sit up and felt his head would split wide open.

Grace looked down at him with disgust. “Your mother needs you and is asking for you. I told Roger I'd try to find you. Bebe came home and took the girls to her house earlier, so I was free to come and look for you.”

Jack shook his head, trying to clear it. He made another effort to sit up, and found that he was only wearing his boxer shorts. He looked to Ashleigh for answers, and she only shrugged.

Grace ignored everything and handed him his pants from off a chair. “Get dressed, Jack. And go wash your face and brush your teeth. Puke if you need to. But then we're going to get to the hospital to see your mother. Roger says she's getting anxious calling for you. And she doesn't need to get upset right now.”

Jack's head pounded as he attempted to pull on his pants. It was even worse when he leaned over to put on his socks.

He glanced up at Grace. She was expressionless.

“You want some coffee?” Ashleigh asked from the doorway. “I got some instant. I can make you a Styrofoam cup to go.”

He nodded at her. And she turned and headed toward her kitchen.

Jack looked at Grace again as he buttoned his shirt. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I went looking for your car. Roger told me some places to look. I found your red Jeep at the Shady Grove, and the bartender told me where to find you.” She knelt down on the floor and helped him tie his shoes. The gesture made him want to weep. Could this day get any worse? He hadn't imagined it could until now.

Jack moved shakily into the bathroom next door to Ashleigh's bedroom. He took a whiz and brushed his teeth with Ashleigh's toothbrush. He borrowed her comb to try to tidy up his hair. He looked awful. Finding some seasonal eyedrops that were supposed to reduce redness and irritation of the eyes, Jack dosed his eyes liberally with the liquid. It stung like the dickens, but he hoped it would erase some of the redness there.

He tucked in his shirt and made his way back out to the bedroom. He felt somewhat better now, although twelve hours of sleep would certainly help things more. God, he was tired. And hungover. He knew the symptoms.

“What time is it?” he asked, looking for his watch, rings, and billfold on the side table by the bed.

“Eight o'clock at night.” Grace's answer was direct.

“I left the hospital at two. That was six hours ago.” Shock and disgust hit him like a brick then. “Is Ma all right?”

“She's going to make it. Roger said you knew she would be all right when you left.”

“No. I wasn't sure. She looked so bad. Like my dad. So pale and full of tubes.”

“And so you thought going on a bender would help her?” Grace's voice was like ice.

Jack felt his anger flare. “Where's my car?”

“Your Jeep's still at the Shady Grove. You're in no shape to drive. I'll take you to the hospital.”

“Here's your coffee, Jack.” Ashleigh came back into the room, carrying a large Styrofoam cup with a wisp of steam still rising off the top.

Jack grabbed it greedily, nodding his thanks to Ashleigh.

“We need to go.” Grace started toward the door.

Ashleigh waved a couple of fingers at them as they went out the front doorway.

Lord, what a nightmare, Jack thought, as he climbed into Grace's town car. He couldn't imagine a more humiliating scenario, and he'd been in some doozies in his lifetime.

Grace got in the car and started the motor without saying a word. Soon they were on their way back down the highway heading for Maryville and the hospital. Jack nursed his coffee. There was little else he could do. And he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make the situation worse.

“How are the girls?” he asked at last.

“They were scared at first. But they are better now. Of course, we got the word from Samantha at around two that Althea made it through the surgery and was relatively stable. That helped.” She looked over toward Jack. “I promised the twins you would take them over to see their grandmother tomorrow at the hospital if she felt well enough to have visitors.”

He nodded. “Thanks for picking them up. That was good of you. We all appreciate it.”

She didn't answer and only drove.

When they turned in to the hospital, Jack said, “Come in with me, Grace. I know Ma would like to see you.”

“It's not necessary.” Her tone sounded stiff.

He looked at her then. “I'd like you to come, Grace. I'm not deserving, but Ma is. It would please her to see you.”

As they started up the hospital elevator a short time later, Jack turned toward Grace. “What did you tell Roger, Bebe, and Samantha?”

“Should I have lied to them?” She gave him a daggered look.