chapter fourteen

Georgia pulled the hood of her old gray sweatshirt up over her head. The light sprinkle of rain that had been falling when she left the farmhouse was turning into a steady downpour, and she headed for the big elm tree in the middle of the field for shelter.

“Come on, Spam, hurry.” She called to the pig who had wandered in the general direction of the pond. Upon hearing Georgia’s voice, Spam waddled at her top speed—which wasn’t very speedy—toward the tree.

Seating herself upon one of the gnarled roots that had long ago pushed above the surface of the earth, Georgia wiped beads of water from her face and shivered as a few strays slid down her throat and onto her chest. What, she wondered, had happened to yesterday’s beautiful weather?

Seems it disappeared as quickly as Matt’s pleasant disposition had the night before, she thought, trying for the hundredth time to figure out what could have caused him to close off and flee so suddenly.

Everything had been fine. Better than fine. Matt had seemed to be getting along with everyone—everyone liked him—and he even seemed to almost like them. It had appeared that even Delia had started to win him over. Then bam! out the door he went without so much as a fare-thee-well.

Even Laura had been at a loss to understand what had caused him to bolt like that, and Ally had been crushed that he had left without kissing her goodbye.

Georgia traced small circles on the ground with the toe of one foot, then leaned over and picked the small purple flower she had unintentionally torn from its plant. Violets had always been a spring favorite, so she picked a few more and tried to recall what Hope’s flower book had said about violets. Something about offering protection against wicked spirits. And that mixed with something—was it lavender?—they were a powerful love stimulant and something about arousing lust.

She twirled the flowers around on their stems between two fingers, pondering their reputation and wondering just what exactly one did with them that could inspire love—to say nothing of lust—from another.

Several clumps of dandelions, their flowers having already gone to seedheads, grew around the base of the tree. When she and Zoey were little, they had called the milky white globes of seeds wishes, and had spent many a spring and summer afternoon contributing to the plants proliferation by blowing countless wishes to the wind to ensure that they would come true.

Georgia had never wished for material things, or for beauty, or for love. She had wanted only to become a dancer, to dance upon a big stage in a beautiful costume, to feel the music invade her body and to move with it. It had been her constant wish, her only wish, and eventually, it had come true.

Maybe there’s something to these things after all, she mused.

Hope’s book had listed many magical uses for dandelions, and Georgia tried to remember them all as she picked one, causing it’s sticky juice to cling to her fingers.

If you blow the seeds off the head, the remaining number of seeds will be equal to the remaining number of years of her life.

She blew, and the seeds scattered. There were lots of seeds left clinging, though, too many to count, so she figured she was good to go for a few more years.

She picked another one.

Blow three times and the number of seeds left will tell you what time it is.

After the third puff she paused and counted. Seven seeds remained. It had been about eight-thirty when she left the house. Close enough.

Amused now, she picked another, and tried to recall another of the entries in Hope’s book.

Blow the seeds in the direction of someone you love, and they will receive whatever message you send.

The rain had slowed, and Spam grunted loudly. She might be cold from the dampness, Georgia frowned, and having read something about taking care not to let your pig get chilled, she said aloud, “Okay, we’ll go back and you can curl back up on your little pig bed and sleep away a rainy Sunday. Which, actually, is not a bad idea ...”

Thinking about the pleasures of a hot cup of tea and a good book, Georgia pulled back the sweatshirt hood and followed a straight furrow to the end of the field. Realizing she still held the last dandelion in her hand, she pointed the stem in the direction of the barn and blew. She stood for a long moment, watching the tiny white seed heads drift upwards toward the second floor, wondering if, in fact, her message had been received.

Matt stared out his living room window, his eyes fixed on the small figure walking toward the farmhouse. If things had gone otherwise last night, he might have pulled on a parka and joined her on her early morning walk. In his mind’s eye, he could almost see them as they followed the deeply cut rows, walking closely enough for their shoulders to occasionally tap as they navigated the muddy furrows. Then maybe they’d sit in the farmhouse kitchen for a cup of coffee and some easy Sunday morning conversation. He scowled and turned from the window, picked up his coffee cup, and sat down at his own table to drink it, alone.

He glanced at the clock, the hour hand of which approached nine. He’d flown out of the farmhouse last night and jumped into his truck, banged the key into the ignition and ... nothing. His battery was dead. Clear as day, he could see cables on a shelf in his garage back in Shawsburg, right where he’d left them the last time he’d cleaned out the truck. He’d been forced to wait until morning to call a local service station to come out to give him a charge. The delay in leaving was frustrating him even further. He had wanted to be at the nursing home early this morning. And Doc Espey had asked him to stop over this afternoon around two—there was something he’d wanted to talk about—and Matt promised he’d be there. Probably wanted an update on the success of that new canine antibiotic we’ve been using, Matt thought as he drained the last bit off coffee from the cup just as the tow truck pulled into the drive. He ran down the steps and out into the rain to go about the business of getting his truck running.

Later, after the service truck had done it’s duty and returned to O’Hearn proper, Matt washed the cup and the plate from breakfast, then rinsed out Artie’s water dish before turning out the light and heading for his bedroom, where he repacked his clothes, made his bed, and whistled for his dog. He locked the door behind him, then paused there on the landing, to stand in the rain and look across the yard.

There was a light in the kitchen. He wondered what she was doing, and wished he could have felt free to join her. A crack of thunder from someplace out beyond the woods shook the ground beneath his feet. Calling to Artie, he opened the door of his truck, threw in his overnight bag, and hopped in after the dog. Whatever Georgia Enright was doing on this stormy morning, it had nothing to do with him.

It had saddened Matt in ways he could not express to have seen Delia Enright take his mother’s place the night before as Ally had presented her with what had traditionally been reserved for Charity. It had only served as yet one more reminder of what they had lost as a family that had always been so close, of what Charity had lost of herself. He had wished that his mother had been there, for Ally’s sake, certainly, but mostly for Charity’s sake. She had so loved Ally, had always made such a fuss for Ally’s birthday, helping Laura to plan her parties and make certain that all was perfect for her only grandchild’s special day.

Whatever had made him think he could integrate these people into his life, Delia especially, who was obviously all too eager to step into his mother’s role? And Laura’s words—“This goes to Grandma.”—still rankled. Had Charity’s absence been felt by no one but him?

He played with the radio dial, searching for something other than Sunday morning sermons or hip-hop, which grated on his nerves. He lingered for a moment over the station that was playing gospel. Charity had loved gospel music. He left the station on, hoping that perhaps a little of the optimism of the music would have a positive effect on his state of mind. He hated being gloomy when he arrived at Riverview. It didn’t help his outlook, and surely couldn’t help Charity’s, for him to be on edge and miserable.

“I won’t be too long, Artie,” Matt said as he parked the car under the sheltering canopy of a large tree in the visitors lot. “I’ll leave the window partly down on your side if you promise not to keep sticking your head out into the rain. And don’t bark at anyone unless they try to open the door, okay? Some of these folks might be late sleepers ...”

Out of habit, Matt locked his door, even though he knew that the chances were slim that anyone would steal his truck with a one hundred and thirty pound rottweiler sitting on the front seat. He tried to put a little life in his step as he walked toward the one-story white clapboard building that overlooked the river below, but his feet felt leaden and his spirits sagged. He pushed open the door and walked through the lobby, which on this rainy morning smelled musty and tired.

A glance into his mother’s room told him that she was already dressed and up for the day, her bed neatly made. He followed the hall leading to the morning room where he would be most likely to find her at this hour on a Sunday. Chapel having concluded for those who felt up to attending, there was often a social hour after the service. Matt could hear the chatter of the residents as he rounded the corner and poked his head through the door. There by the window Charity sat, a frail doll-like figure dressed in white, in her wheel chair. Pink and purple balloons were tied on long pink strings from the back of her chair.

The sight slowed Matt’s step, then stopped him, midstride, halfway across the room.

At one of the long tables, a young nurse’s aid was slicing a large wedge of cake into thin pieces and serving it to the residents.

On Charity’s lap, a square piece of birthday cake rested on a pink paper plate that was held by thin fingers. The cake’s frosting was deep pink, and even from ten feet away, Matt could clearly make out the letters. A L L Y.

Matt pulled a chair close to his mother’s and stared at the plate.

This goes to Grandma.

“I have cake,” Charity looked up and told him happily.

“I see that you do.” He cleared his throat. “Is it good?”

“It’s delicious,” she nodded. “You should have some. It’s someone’s birthday, though I don’t remember whose ...” She paused, looking confused, then brightened, pointing to the nurse and saying, “I think it’s her birthday.”

“I see you have some balloons,” he noted.

“Well, of course I have balloons. It’s a birthday party.” Her voice rose, slightly strident, as she stated the obvious.

“Mrs. Enright brought the balloons in last night,” the nurse’s aide called to him, “but don’t worry, we’ll take them off the back of the chair before anyone gets the idea to pop them or to eat them.”

“Mrs. Enright?” he said, although he had already known.

“She dropped them off with the cake last night. It was too late for her to read, but she said that ...”

“Read?” he asked, confused.

The aide nodded, her brown ponytail bouncing up and down. “She usually comes in once during the week to read aloud to Mrs. Bishop and some of the others, and she sometimes stops in over the weekends, too.”

“Delia Enright ...” He got up from his seat to approach the table.

“Young man,” Charity grabbed his sleeve as he passed her, “Edna did not get her cake.”

“I’ll get her a piece,” he patted her shoulder gently. To the perky young aide, he said, “Are you talking about Delia Enright?”

“Right. Mrs. Enright. She said that she talked to some specialist in New York who told her that lots of times, even though Alzheimer’s patients lose the ability to read themselves, they enjoy being read to. So she comes in—usually on Wednesday afternoon around two—and reads. Everyone looks forward to her visits.”

“Does my mother know who she is?”

“You mean, does she know that Mrs. Enright is a famous writer? I don’t think any of them realize that. She’s just the book lady to them.” The nurse went on. “She’s been real nice. She brings in autographed copies of her books for the staff. I figured you knew. I mean, we all figured she must be a relative or something, since she arranged for Mrs. Bishop’s private night nurse and ...”

“What?” The word exploded from between his lips.

“Well, you know, Dr. Bradshaw said that pretty soon Mrs. Bishop would be needing someone to stay with her at night, ’cause she had been sleepwalking again, so Mrs. Enright told us to arrange for someone to come in every night at seven and stay until change of shift at seven the next morning. She said to get the best person available and to have her start right away.” The nurse looked confused. “Didn’t you know?”

“No,” he said quietly. “No, I didn’t know.”

Beyond the window, the river ran high and muddy and swift after the night’s storm. From over toward Salisbury lightning cracked the sky in two. The clouds seemed lower, the mist thicker, the air heavier. Another storm was brewing, and Matt felt it both within and without. He thought it would be best to leave before either storm could break.

Matt left a gentle kiss on his unsuspecting mother’s cheek and left the room, back to the hall, through the lobby to the front door and beyond, where big splats of rain were beginning to fall hard on the concrete steps and thunder began it’s rumble from somewhere down the road. That the weather matched his mood was not lost on him. He unlocked the truck and hopped in, and without his customary greeting to Artie, drove off, hoping to sort through it all between now and Wednesday, when he’d be back for the story hour. He and Delia Enright had things to talk about.

As if he hadn’t had enough on his mind, Matt would take one more hit that Sunday afternoon.

He’d arrived home a little before one, with enough time to take a shower and change before driving over to Doc Espey’s. He stood beneath the blast of a relentless stream of hot water, hoping to burn out the chill and clear his head. He’d been caught off guard by the sight of Ally’s birthday cake on his mother’s lap, caught even more so by the news that Delia had arranged for a night nurse to watch over his mother. He was torn between gratitude for her kindness and anger over her presumption. Generally confused, he thought this was not the time to call Laura and try to discuss the situation. He was afraid of what he’d say.

And besides, he’d be spending the next few hours with Doc Espey, and didn’t want to spoil it by getting into a yelling match with Laura, and that’s just what would happen if he confronted her right then. He needed time to mull it over, time to sort it all out. Better to set it aside, and see what was on Doc Espey’s mind.

In retrospect, a shouting match with Laura might have been easier to take than Matt’s meeting with his old friend.

“Matthew,” Doc Espey had said when he entered the room, “come and sit. No, not that chair.” He pointed to one closer by. “Come sit by me.”

Matt sat where he was told.

“Turn that light on, son,” the old vet instructed. “It’s so dark in here, what with this storm. Would you like anything? Tea? Coffee? Eva is in the kitchen ...”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.” Matt’s eyes narrowed. There was the slightest air of unfamiliar formality that caused a faint tickle of suspicion to run up his spine.

“Out to see your mother today, were you?”

“Yes.”

“Is she any better?”

“No. No, she’s not.” Matt leaned back in the chair and said, “I think we’re at the point where we’re just beginning to understand that, with Alzheimer’s, you don’t get better. You only get worse.”

“I’m sorry, my boy. I really am so sorry. It isn’t easy watching someone that we love grow old.” Espey shook his head slowly. “And it’s not easy to accept certain things about ourselves as we get older, Matt. It’s not easy, growing old.”

Matt watched the old man’s face, and his chest constricted. Something was about to be said that he wasn’t going to like, any more than he liked finding out that Delia Enright had taken it upon herself to hire a nurse to care for his mother.

“The rain. The cold. The dampness.” Doc leaned back in his chair. “All of it takes its toll, you know. When you get to be my age ...” He waved his hand vaguely, and appeared to be struggling with his words.

The old doctor met Matt’s eyes, and he smiled. “You know,” he said, “I’m trying to look for an easy way to say this, but I can’t. So you’ll just have to forgive my bluntness, Matthew. I’ve decided to move to Arizona to be closer to my sister. Eva and I will be leaving June first.”

Surrounded by the silence that followed in the wake of his announcement, the old man watched the face of the younger as the words sank in.

“You’re leaving ...”

“Yes, son. It’s time,” Espey said quietly.

Matt stood and paced, wound tightly as an old watch, his mind reeling.

“Have you changed your mind about Shawsburg? You know that my first choice would be to turn my practice over to you.”

“Thank you, Doc. I appreciate that. I like Shawsburg, and I’ve really enjoyed working here. I’m grateful for the opportunity, but it’s always been my dream to open a clinic at Pumpkin Hill.”

“I know that, Matt, but I wanted to give you the choice, in the event that you’d changed your mind.”

“Thank you, but no,” Matt said quietly, “I haven’t changed my mind.”

“I had a feeling that you’d say that,” Espey nodded slowly. No surprises here. “I have had an offer from Greg Dannon to buy the practice.”

“Then, by all means, you should sell it to him. Greg’s a good vet. He’ll serve the community well.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“How soon ...” Matt could barely get the words out.

“Well, he said he’d send one of his assistants out to take over as soon as we signed the deal and he could get some equipment ordered.”

“What equipment could he possibly need?” Matt frowned. “There’s nothing here that’s more than two years old, and everything is state of the art.”

“I’m selling him the building and the practice, but not my equipment.” Espey leaned forward. “The equipment goes with you, to Pumpkin Hill.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Matt said softly. “But I’m afraid I’m just not in a position to buy the equipment any more than I could afford to buy the practice.”

Matt thought of the many thousands of dollars the vet had spent on the latest X ray equipment, CAT scans and lab and surgical equipment. It would take Matt years to be able to afford such tools. His heart sank. He’d have to go work with another vet for a while. He’d been saving money, but he was far from being able to afford to open a clinic of his own.

“The best I can afford right now might be a few of the examining tables,” Matt tried to force a smile.

“Matt, I’m not offering to sell you the equipment,” Espey told him gently. “I’m giving it to you.”

“Doc, you don’t just give away thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment...”

“I replaced everything over the past few years with the thought that one day you’d take it with you when you left.”

“Doc, I couldn’t accept it ...”

“Oh, but I’m not giving you a choice, son. It’s what I planned all along. Think of it as my last gift to you, Matt.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Doc, you’ve given me so much over the years. There’s no need for you to give me anything more.”

“I appreciate that you feel that way. I do. But this isn’t negotiable. All of the equipment, all of the supplies, will be loaded on a truck and delivered to your farm. It’s already been arranged.”

For the second time that day, Matt was caught up by emotions that conflicted and collided.

“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered.

“There’s nothing you need to say.”

Eva appeared in the doorway with two cups of tea.

“Ah, you’re just in time, my sweet,” Espey beamed. “Matt and I could use a little refreshment.”

“Will you stay for dinner, Matt?” She asked as she placed his cup before him.

“Yes, of course he’ll stay,” the old vet answered for the younger one. “We have a few more details to discuss, and I want him to read the results of the research project that Denton faxed down from the University of Pennsylvania yesterday. Did I show you my new fax machine, Matthew? It works on my computer, look here ...”

Later, his head still reeling, Matt drove over rain soaked streets to his little rented house at the edge of Shawsburg. He parked in the driveway and unlocked the front door with little thought to his actions. He fed the dog, then slipping the leash onto Artie’s collar, went back out the same way he’d come in.

Over the past few hours, the temperature had risen and the rain had settled to a steady, fine drizzle. Fog was growing from the warming pavement like mushrooms in a dank cellar. Matt walked past the closed and shuttered shops, past the library and the fire house, past the town’s one funeral home and the community swim club, which wouldn’t open for another month. Few cars passed and no one else, it seemed, had ventured out on such a night. The fog grew along with the silence, and soon the only sounds Matt heard were his own footsteps and the scraping of Artie’s claws on the sidewalk. He lost track of how long he had walked, and where. It was almost midnight by the time he arrived back at his own front door, his thoughts no less jumbled than when he’d set out.

The red light on his answering machine flashed once, twice, three times. His beeper hadn’t gone off, so he knew there were no animal emergencies. So, he felt he could ignore his machine. He walked past it into the kitchen and turned on the light. There was no one he felt like talking to, no one whose voice he wanted to hear. His nerves were stretched to their limit and his emotions had been beaten raw.

He took a beer from the refrigerator and went back into the living room and turned on the television. Sorting through his stack of Sherlock Holmes videos, he found the one that matched his mood.

The Hound of the Baskervilles.

He slid the tape into the VCR and settled back, hoping to lose his inner turmoil somewhere amidst the mists that drifted across the moors surrounding Baskerville Hall.