The Blue Bottle Club (28 page)

"Meatloaf and mashed potatoes."

"Perfect." She watched him as he ate, picking at her own breakfast while he devoured his with gusto. When he was finished, he set his plate on the floor, and Pisgah daintily lapped up the remains of his egg and broken bits of bacon. "Is your mama up yet?"

"She's probably awake. When we're done here, I'll take some breakfast up to her and get her bathed and dressed."

"Just like every day," he commented.

Ellie nodded. "Just like every day." She paused and narrowed her eyes at him. "Rome, I want to ask you a question."

"Ask away."

"You've been here four and a half months, right?"

"Yep. Is that your question?"

"Not exactly. I was just wondering—well, in all that time, you've watched me caring for Mama, even helped me with her when I needed to go out. But you've never asked about her—what happened to make her this way."

Rome took a sip of coffee and smiled. "I generally make it a practice not to pry into other folks's business, Ellie, 'cause I don't particularly like folks prying into mine. I try to accept people as I find them, without butting in where I don't belong. It's not that I don't care, and sure I've wondered about her, but I guess I figured you'd tell me about it when you were ready."

He fell silent. Ellie looked into his eyes and found an openness there, an expression of compassion and concern that shook her to the core. Over the years, when people would ask about her mother, she could tell that they were simply nosy, poking around in her misery the way folks will rush to a fire or an accident just to say they had witnessed the disaster firsthand. Rome, however, neither prodded her for information nor turned a deaf ear. He just waited, his calm expression communicating that anything she told him would be entrusted to a soul capable of honor and discretion.

Before she realized what was happening, Ellie was telling him how they lost their money in the stock market crash, how Mama's breakdown had turned her inward and closed her off from the rest of the world. And other, more intimate things, like her long-dead dreams of becoming a social worker and the pain she endured every time she looked at Mama. Like the way she felt trapped, as if she had been buried alive, sealed into a mausoleum with a corpse that still ate and slept and breathed but never spoke.

As the words came rushing to the surface, Ellie realized that she had never told another living soul what she was telling Rome Tucker. There had been no other soul to tell. And she herself had not been aware of the depths of her pain until she spoke it aloud. She should keep quiet. Keep it to herself. Be strong. But the dam had burst, and there was no way to contain it now.

"I've lost e-everything," she gasped. "My life, my mother—all my dreams for the future. I'm twenty-seven years old and I have nothing to look forward to except years of this—this hell." It came out of her in a rush of relief and shame and unspeakable agony, and she pushed her plate away, laid her head on her arms, and wept.

Rome said nothing until the torrent of tears had subsided. Then he placed a hand on her arm—a tender, calloused hand—and whispered, "Ellie, look at me."

She lifted her head and blinked until her eyes cleared.

"I can't possibly understand your pain, so I won't pretend I do. But I know about loss. I—well, I was married once. My wife died. When I lost her, I ran away from everything I had ever known. I thought my life was over. But it wasn't. As long as there is love, there is hope."

"Love?" Ellie stared at him, certain he had lost his mind, and a white-hot rage rose up in her. "What love? I'm not a young girl anymore, Rome, and I have no life. I'm alone here, with a mother whose mind is completely gone, who, according to the doctors, has no hope of ever recovering. I don't even have so much as a prayer of meeting anyone who might, by some miracle, fall in love with me. I'm too old, and even if I weren't, no man in his right mind would take on me and Mama too. I'm trapped, Rome. Stuck.

God forgive me, but nothing will change, at least not as long as Mama is alive—and that could be another thirty or forty years. Who will love me then? For that matter, who loves me now?"

She glared at him, challenging him to find an answer, and saw an odd look flash through his eyes. He bowed his head for a minute, and when he raised it again, he was smiling. "God loves you, Ellie," he said in a quiet voice.

Her mind reeled with the injustice of it all, an unfairness she had not allowed herself to dwell on until this very moment. How dare he spout platitudes about God when the Almighty hadn't so much as raised a finger on her behalf? God hadn't healed her mother, brought Mama back to her right mind; God hadn't provided groceries when there was no money or given Ellie opportunity to see her dreams fulfilled. The arguments boiled inside of her, so that she almost missed his next whispered words:

"And I love you."

Ellie snapped to attention. "What did you say?"

Rome smiled. "I said, I love you." He chuckled and glanced down at the cat, who was now dozing with her head on Ellie's foot. "And apparently Pisgah loves you too."

"This is no time for jokes, Rome Tucker."

"I'm not joking." He raised one eyebrow. "Clearly, the cat adores you."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," she snapped. "I was talking about
you.
You can't possibly love me. You barely know me."

"Of course I know you." He slid his hand down her arm and captured her fingers in his. "I've watched you for four and a half months. I've eaten at your table. I've seen the tenderness and compassion you show in caring for your mother, despite the angry and confused feelings you harbor inside." He grinned suddenly. "Do you remember Ruth?"

"Ruth who?"

"Ruth, in the Bible. When her husband died, she left home and accompanied her grieving mother-in-law, Naomi, back to Bethlehem, to a land that was completely foreign to her. She gave up everything—had no hope for a future, no hope for love. But she found both love and a future, because a wealthy man named Boaz took notice of her loyalty and selfless service to Naomi. He said she was a woman of great nobility and faithfulness." He lowered his eyes. "You are like Ruth, Ellie James. Your devotion and commitment are obvious to anyone who has eyes to see. You are a noble woman. How could I help but love you and want to marry you?"

Ellie looked into Rome's face and saw no trace of mockery or deception. "You really think you might love me?"

"I really know I
do
love you," he answered. "The only question is, can you love me in return?"

Yes! Yes!
She wanted to shout it, to throw her arms around him and accept his love without reservation. But something inside held her back. She couldn't answer him—not now, not yet. She had to make sure she wasn't responding to him out of—well, out of sheer desperation.

"Can you give me some time to sort all this out?" Ellie asked, hating herself for her hesitation. "It's so sudden, and—well, I just need to think about it."

She half expected him to get up and stomp out of the house, to be furious at her for her reticence. But he simply grinned and squeezed her hand. "I'm not going anywhere. Take all the time you need."

He got up, took his dishes to the sink, and went to the door. "As long as there's love, there's hope," he repeated as he pulled on his boots. "Don't forget that."

"I won't forget," she whispered to his retreating back.

And for the first time in ten years, Little Eleanor James actually believed it might be true.

August 15, 1940

As the morning sun streamed in, Ellie sat at the kitchen table mesmerized by the prismatic light cascading from the diamond ring that adorned her left hand. It wasn't a large diamond, barely more than a quarter carat, but it was hers.

Rome had presented it to her two weeks ago, exactly nine months from the first day he had appeared on her doorstep. It had been his mother's ring, he explained, willed to him at her death—the sole item of value in her estate. On several occasions he had been tempted to sell it. Times were hard for everyone, and his mother would have understood. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to part with it, even when he desperately needed the few dollars he might get for it at a pawnshop. A hot meal and a dry bed weren't worth bartering his only inheritance. He wouldn't, as he put it, become like Esau, swapping his birthright for a mess of pottage.

Amazing, Ellie mused, what transformations could take place in nine months. Not a long time as relationships go, but time enough. Time enough for hope to germinate, grow, and blossom. Time enough for appreciation and friendship to turn into love.

Ellie leaned back in her chair and sighed. The world around them was in turmoil—war was heating up in Europe, and rumors were beginning to circulate that sooner or later the United States might have to get involved. But here, in her universe, peace reigned. Peace, in the person and presence of Rome Tucker.

She turned her hand this way and that, watching as the diamond caught the light and refracted shards of rainbow around the room. She had never expected this—never expected anything, if truth be told, other than a lifetime of caring for her mother and living in lonely isolation. And then Rome had come, as if by miracle, and everything had changed. No longer did she resent the daily labor of caring for her mother; no longer did she dread the turning of the calendar pages. Every day brought new surprises instead of the grinding sameness: Rome at the door with a butterfly perched on his finger or holding a bouquet of roses nurtured by his own hand. Quiet evenings on the porch, watching the sun set and the moon rise, with Pisgah purring between them on the swing. Eager conversations about the future, plans for a family, for Rome establishing his own business as a carpenter. Tender moments of holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes.

She knew now, as she had not known the day he first proposed marriage, that she truly loved him, a love based on his character, not on her own need for someone else in her life. He didn't care that she had no money, that all she had to offer was this cavernous house. He didn't flinch at the prospect that Mother would always be there, alive but unresponsive, needing constant care and attention. All he wanted, he repeated as often as she needed to hear it, was a chance to live with Ellie and love her for the rest of his days.

The man might not be an angel, but he was definitely a saint.

Ellie jerked from her reverie as the front door creaked open and a dear, familiar voice called, "Ellie? Are you home?"

"Tish!" Ellie dashed through the dining room and met Letitia Cameron in the middle of the front parlor. She flung herself into Tish's arms and hugged her until both of them were breathless, then pulled back and looked into her friend's eyes. Tears clogged her throat, and she gulped them down. "Oh, Tish! I can't believe how long it's been! Let me look at you!"

Ellie held Tish back at arm's length and surveyed her. She had grown older, no longer the teenage girl hanging on Philip Dorn's arm. But she looked good, really good. Happy. Content. "Tish, how are you?"

"I'm fine," Tish said, squeezing Ellibe's shoulders. "I'm just fine. Busy. I've missed you, Ellie. And I'm sorry for not coming more often. Time just gets away from me, you know, with teaching and helping Mama, and—"

"It's all right, Tish," Ellie murmured, drawing her friend into another hug. "I know You've got your own life, and I haven't been able to get away—"

Tish's gaze wandered toward the curving staircase. "How is your mother, Ellie? And how are you?"

"Mother is pretty much the same. But I'm not. Oh, Tish, there's so much to tell!"

Tish smiled wanly and nodded. "I know. Rome . . . well, Rome has told just about everybody at church about the two of you. Let's see the ring."

Ellie thrust out her left hand. "It doesn't rival the engagement ring you got from Philip, but I love it."

Tish grimaced. "The engagement ring I got from Philip paid my way through college. I have no regrets on that score. And it is lovely, Ellie."

"Come on into the kitchen. I made coffee and an applesauce cake. We can talk in there."

Tish followed her and sat down at the kitchen table. "Where's Rome?"

"He's upstairs, reading to Mother. She doesn't respond, of course, but he does it anyway. She seems to rest easier with him around and with the cat curled up at her feet. I think they're about halfway through the new Hemingway. He's so good with her, Tish. Takes a lot of the burden off me."

" I . . . I'm glad." Something about the way Tish said it left Ellie with the impression that a great deal was being left
unsaid.
But Tish just sat there, her eyes darting around the room, while Ellie poured coffee and cut two slices of cake. "That cake looks fabulous—what is it again?"

"Applesauce spice cake, with caramel frosting."

Tish took a bite and closed her eyes. "Mmm. Can I have the recipe? Mama would love it. And so would her clients."

"Sure." Ellie hesitated. "It's Rome's favorite."

An expression flashed across Letitia's features, an emotion Ellie couldn't quite identify. But clearly, the very mention of Rome's name brought something to the surface, something Tish was trying to hide. Maybe she still wasn't over losing Philip Dorn to that pasty little scarecrow, Marcella Covington. Or she might be just soured on marriage in general, or perhaps a little envious. . . .