Mother and I were on our way back to Raymore. The sky had turned a deeper shade of gray, but Mother had insisted we stop by the cemetery to check on Uncle Jim’s grave. We rode in silence until I said, “Mother, whatever happened to you and Bettina Bach? As friends, I mean.”
Mother began to wring her hands.
“Mother? What is it?” I shot her a quick look, then refocused on the road and driving. It seemed it grew darker outside by the minute.
“Bettina never thought she was pretty enough . . . smart enough . . . Everyone felt that she’d settled for Buster Godwin. He was employed by her father after they married, but he’d hardly hit a lick at a snake. Not like Mr. Valentine. He and Uncle Jim were a lot alike in that. Maybe that’s why they were such good friends. I remember that when Miss Lilly Beth— Bettina’s mother—died . . . she died young, you know . . .”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t know anything at all about her. Or, if I did, I’ve certainly forgotten it.”
“Died just after her thirtieth birthday. Pneumonia. I remember Uncle Jim saying that Valentine Bach would never be the same without Miss Lilly Beth. He adored her. Simply adored her.”
“Like Uncle Jim adored Aunt Stella?”
Mother chuckled. “Oh, he did do that, didn’t he? That cantankerous woman . . . he treated her like she was a queen, but no one could put Stella in her place like he could.” Then she laughed out loud, and I joined her. “Uncle Jim said that all the women in Cottonwood—the single women—tried to cut a path to Mr. Valentine’s door within a week of Miss Lilly Beth being buried. But he wasn’t interested then, and I guess he never was.” Mother pressed her thighs with her palms. “Uncle Jim said it was the most compassion he’d ever seen Aunt Stella show another human being; that she’d cried and cried for Miss Lilly Beth and what Mr. Valentine was left to do, raising Bettina all by himself.
“You know, when we were young girls, Mr. Valentine was always clean shaven. Not like he is now with his wild scraggly gray beard and long hair. He wore overalls at his work as a builder, of course, but when he came home, he’d go straight to the bath and wash up. After his wife died, he never did dress properly again. He just lived in overalls. It was like the life in him was buried with her.”
“But like you said, he had Bettina.”
“I used to have dinner over there, back when Bettina and I were very young children. Elementary school age. And always on fried chicken night. Goodness, could Miss Lilly Beth fry a chicken. Even better than Aunt Stella or Mama.
“I remember how he’d come to the kitchen table smelling like soap and aftershave.” Mother paused at the memory. “He’d give Miss Lilly Beth a kiss, then nuzzle Bettina’s neck. And she’d giggle like little girls do.” I could see Mother’s head turn toward me then. I cut her a look. “Jo-Lynn, the love of a child cannot replace the love of a spouse.” For a moment I didn’t answer, so she added, “You know that, don’t you?”
“I know that.”
I heard her take in a deep breath, then let it go. “Listen, my love. I still don’t understand why you’d leave your husband to do it, but I’m beginning to understand your reasoning for taking on that project back there.”
“You do?” I glanced at her somber face. “Really?”
“Keep your eyes on the road, please, ma’am. And yes I do. Honestly, I’ve struggled with whether just to buy you a book on ‘finding purpose’ and hope you figure it all out for yourself. But there was something you said in the bookstore that made sense.”
“That’s one for the records.”
“Don’t be snippy. The point is, I’m here to help you in any way, if you need me.” She reached across the seat and slipped her fingers into my hair at the nape of my neck, then scratched with her nails, an endearing thing she’d done as long as I could remember. “You’re my child, after all.” Another quick look at her and she smiled at me. “And I love you.”