Vera sucked in a sudden, deep breath and looked visibly shaken by her aunt’s appearance. Fortunately, the lady was snoring softly and didn’t witness her niece’s reaction.
When she had visited Acorn Hill years before, Agatha had been spry and energetic. Alice had expected her to look frail now from the pneumonia she’d suffered in addition to a broken hip and surgery, but the tiny, pale wraith lying in the hospital bed reminded Alice of a dried apple doll that she’d seen at the county fair.
Vera quietly moved a chair to the side of the bed and sat facing her aunt. She reached over and touched her arm. “Aunt Agatha,” she said in a low voice.
Agatha’s eyes opened. She stared blankly for a few seconds, then recognition dawned and she smiled. “Hello, dear. I knew you’d come. I’m glad.” She looked over toward Alice. “Who’s that? A nurse? I don’t want another one of those horrible shots. They hurt like the dickens.”
“That’s Alice, my friend from Acorn Hill,” Vera said. “She’s a nurse, but she doesn’t work here.”
Alice stepped closer to the bed. “Hello, Mrs. Jamison. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Have we met before? Oh no. I can’t see a thing without my glasses. Be a dear and get them for me, Grace.” She reached toward the bedside table.
Vera shot a distressed look at Alice. “I’m Vera, Aunt Agatha, not Grace. That was my mother. She’s not here.”
“Of course she’s not here. Don’t you think I know that? She died years ago.”
“Yes. I’m her daughter, your niece, Vera.”
“Alvera Lorinda Jamison, I know very well who you are. If you’d get those glasses for me, I could see you as well.”
Vera found the glasses and handed them to her aunt, who fumbled to put them on. She managed, then peered up at her visitors as if examining something strange. “So you’re a nurse, are you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come here. I don’t want to have to shout. Those buzzards out there spy on me all the time.” She beckoned Alice with a bony hand.
Alice moved close, next to Vera, and they both leaned over the bedrail to hear better.
“They’re drugging me,” Agatha announced in a loud whisper. “They think I don’t know it, but I do and I can’t stop them. I don’t take their pills. I spit them out when they aren’t looking. But they inject stuff in this tube. I pulled the needle out of my arm twice. They punished me with a big shot in my poor hip that stung like a hornet.”
“That’s probably a vitamin shot to build you up. You’ve been very sick, Mrs. Jamison. You need your strength to get well.”
“Oh, that’s what they’ve been telling me, but they want to put me away. My nephew’s in cahoots with the doctor and those nurses and the lady that makes me get around with that silly walker thing. Ridiculous.”
“That’s for your protection, Aunt Agatha. They don’t want you to fall again.”
She turned a sharp eye on her niece. “Have you been talking to Reginald? Don’t you listen to him. He wants to put me away so he can run the business by himself. I don’t trust him.”
Vera gave Alice a helpless look. She turned to her aunt and patted her hand. “I came to help you figure out what to do when they release you from here. The doctor told me that could be in a couple of weeks if you keep improving. You have to get stronger first, though.”
“I know. That’s why I need to get out of here. The food is terrible and there’s a bunch of sick people in here. I don’t belong here. Bring me my clothes and take me home, Alvera.”
“I can’t do that. You don’t have anyone at home to take care of you.”
Agatha wiggled, trying to scoot up in the bed. Her hand shook as she reached for the bed controller. Vera found it and handed it to her aunt. Alice went to the other side of the bed and helped Agatha to sit up.
“That’s better. Now you listen to me, missy,” she said, shaking her bony finger at Vera. “I don’t need someone taking care of me. I’ve managed on my own for years and I don’t intend to stop now, so don’t go listening to that rapscallion nephew of mine or that charlatan who calls himself a doctor. I know what’s best for me.”
Vera sat and took her aunt’s hand. “I came to help you, Aunt Agatha. I’m on your side. Sometimes circumstances in our lives change and we have to make the most of them. You’ve been through that before. I’ve always admired your flexibility and your strength, no matter what happens.”
Agatha’s eyes became watery and her hands shook. “This time is different. This time I don’t have control. Help me, Alvera. Don’t let them put me away. Promise me.”
Vera took a deep breath. “I won’t lie to you, Aunt Agatha. You don’t have a lot of options. You can’t go up and down your stairs like you used to. I won’t let them make any decisions for you without your consent. That’s all I can promise.”
Agatha stared into her niece’s eyes for several seconds. Then she nodded. “I know I can count on you.” She patted Vera’s hand, then looked up at Alice. “I hope you aren’t here to convince Alvera that the doctor is right.”
“I’m here to support Vera and that means I’m here to support you, Mrs. Jamison.”
She nodded. “I hope you’re staying at the house and not at some expensive hotel.”
“We already went to the house and we’re airing it out. We’ll be in the bedrooms in front next to your room,” Vera said.
“Good. That house needs to be lived in.”
“You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Jamison.”
“Quit calling me that. It makes me sound old. Call me Agatha. Now where’s my Bible. My eyesight isn’t so good anymore. I want you to read to me. Reginald’s too busy to spend time with an old lady.”
Vera found the worn, black Bible on the bedside table. She opened it to a lacy bookmark in the middle of Psalms and read, “Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me, for in you my soul takes refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed. I cry out to God Most High, to God who fulfills his purpose for me. He sends from heaven and saves me, rebuking those who hotly pursue me; Selah. God sends his love and his faithfulness.”
A soft, even humming sound came from the bed. Vera stopped. Agatha had fallen asleep with a slight smile on her face. “Psalm 57:1–3,” Vera finished. She marked the page and put the Bible on the table, then removed Agatha’s glasses and leaned over and kissed her softly. “Sleep well, Auntie.”
They tiptoed out of the room and closed the door quietly behind them.
The following morning, Vera and Alice attended services at Shelton Cove Community Church. It reminded Alice of Grace Chapel. The freshly painted white clapboard building looked old. She loved the traditional designs on the stained glass windows, the tall steeple and the chimes that rang to announce Sunday services.
As they walked inside, she noticed a few differences. Tall, shiny brass pipes extended up the front wall on each side of a large cross. The organ sat off to one side and looked new. Plush, dark green carpet felt luxurious underfoot and absorbed sound. As a result, the sanctuary seemed hushed and peaceful. The pews were padded with thick, dark green cushions.
They sat near the back. Alice settled in, prepared for a traditional service like the ones she was accustomed to. When the worship leaders got onto the platform in front, she knew she was in for a different experience. Two guitarists, a violinist and a flutist began playing. The music was pretty, but very modern. Three singers in front led the congregation, and the words to the music were projected onto a screen behind them.
Alice glanced at Vera, who returned the hymnal to the pocket in the pew in front of her. She shrugged her shoulders and looked up at the screen.
Alice didn’t attempt to sing. The song was unfamiliar, and she wasn’t a musician like Louise. She enjoyed listening and silently reading along with the other worshippers. The lively music made her smile. It called for the people to praise the Lord in the words of a Psalm. Alice wished she could remember it to teach the ANGELs at Grace Chapel. The preteen girls in her Wednesday night group would love the song and the lyrics.
Before the message, the worship leader invited the congregation to greet each other and welcome visitors. The room became noisy as parishioners left their seats and wandered around. A young man shook Alice’s hand and bid her welcome. He moved quickly on. A tall, slender woman, dressed stylishly in black slacks, a turquoise silk tunic and pointy, spike-heeled, black dress shoes came up to Alice and Vera.
“Vera Jamison!” She drew Vera into an exuberant hug.
“Suzanne,” Vera said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see you.”
“I knew it was you. I told Larry I was sure that was you sitting back here. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Suzanne, this is my friend Alice from Acorn Hill. We came to see my Aunt Agatha.”
“I know. I told Larry that was why you’d come.” She shook her head. “Poor old thing. Such a shame. I think her accident rattled her brain, you know? Reggie says she can’t remember him sometimes.” Her voice lowered. “We had to put Larry’s mother in a nursing home. I just hate seeing them get old.”
“I’m sorry to hear about his mother,” Vera said.
“Oh, it’s all right. They take good care of her. I tried, you know. I just couldn’t handle things. It’s better this way. She’s up there with Larry.” She pointed toward the front of the church. “We take her out to eat after church. Why don’t you come with us?”
“I’m sorry. I promised Reggie we’d have lunch with him.”
The instruments started playing again, and the people scrambled back to their seats. Suzanne said, “Later,” and hurried away. She slid into a pew next to a tall, distinguished-looking man with wavy, salt-and-pepper gray hair. A short, stooped lady with a red pillbox hat sat next to the man. His mother, Alice assumed.
Alice liked the preacher. He talked about making choices, even when they go against popular opinion, and he used Rahab, out of the book of Joshua, as an example. She had exhibited courage in defying the authorities and helping Joshua and the Israelites. God saved her family and blessed her for sheltering His people.
It struck Alice that she had come with Vera to help decide Agatha Jamison’s future. As the preacher offered a closing prayer, Alice prayed that Vera would have the courage and wisdom to make the right choice for her aunt, and that her aunt would have the grace and courage to accept whatever was to come next in her life.
Sunday afternoon, Jane slipped the skin off of a ripe tomato and cut the tomato in small chunks into a large soup kettle. Nearby, several tomatoes bobbed in a pan of scalding water to loosen their skins.
Sterilized canning jars in a variety of sizes sat inverted on clean towels. Louise sat at the kitchen table, dicing sweet peppers.
“I’d better hurry and get these finished. Craig will be here in half an hour to measure the pumpkin.” Louise shook her head. “I still can’t believe all this fuss. I should have tried growing something simple, like cucumbers.”
“Mercy. I’m glad you didn’t plant them. With your success, we’d have to open a pickle factory.”
Louise laughed. “I saw you try to chase down Patsy Ley at church last week. When she saw you coming with a sack of vegetables, she took off.”
“I only wanted to help. She usually puts up vegetables and pickles.”
“Yes, and you gave her two whole sacks several weeks ago. She must have had her fill.”
Jane sighed. “I hate to have good, fresh produce go to waste. I’ve offered vegetables to everyone in town, I think. I’ll have to give the rest to Samuel for his hogs, I suppose.” She finished the tomatoes and picked out a large onion to peel.
“What are you going to do with your pumpkin, Louise?”
“I don’t know. My thoughts never went beyond keeping it alive and producing at least one decent pumpkin. What do you think I should do?”
“I’d give it double or triple doses of whatever you’re feeding it, then enter it in a weigh-off. Those who know about such things, like our guests on Friday, seem to think it stands a chance of winning.”
“I don’t know. The logistics of transporting it boggle my mind. Honestly, Jane, growing such a magnificent pumpkin is very satisfying, but I don’t intend to repeat this next year, so wouldn’t it be unfair to enter against those who try every year?”
“By that reasoning, I shouldn’t enter the Harvest 10K Run because I might compete against people who race all the time.”
“That’s different. You’re racing for charity, to help others, not to win a prize.”
For a moment, Jane stared at her sister, speechless. Her motives weren’t as altruistic as Louise implied. Jane planted her fists on her hips, still clutching a paring knife and a chunk of onion, and faced Louise. “You’re missing my point. You grew those pumpkins from seed and nurtured them through spring frosts and extreme heat in August. You pruned and trained and weeded and handpicked bugs off the plants. You’ve done everything any gardener or professional farmer would do and perhaps more. You deserve to win as much as Delmer Wesley or Harry Gladstone or anyone else.”
Jane thought about a few people in Acorn Hill who bragged about their expertise in the vegetable garden, people like the irritating Norman Traeger, who thought he knew all there was to know about agriculture. She raised a respectable garden and entered a few items in the fair each year, but she claimed no special prowess. She tended a garden for the pure joy of watching things grow and the pleasure of serving fresh food to their guests. “I’d like to see Norman Traeger’s face when you win a prize for the biggest pumpkin in Pennsylvania.”
Louise smiled. “That would be something to see. I’ve heard him lecture you on what he thinks you’re doing wrong and I’ve heard him giving advice down at Fred’s Hardware. He told the Bellwoods that they were making mistakes in raising their field crops. Can you imagine? Sam and his sons have college degrees in agriculture and very successful farms. I doubt Norman has any formal training. But that’s off the subject. I’m not likely to have the largest pumpkin.”
“You never know unless you enter. Think about it.”
“I did check on the contest. It’s the first Saturday in October. I can’t go off across the state and leave you alone to run the inn.”
“You most certainly may. I’m perfectly capable of handling things. Besides, Alice will be back. If we get desperate, I’ll call someone to help. So you have no excuse.”
Louise diced the last strip of pepper and scraped it into a large bowl with the other peppers, celery and carrots she’d chopped. “That’s just one obstacle. There are plenty of others.”
“Nothing that we can’t handle,” Jane said. She nodded her head once. As far as she was concerned, that settled it.