Buddy drove up and over the hills west of Aiden. The change in altitude was just enough for the first hints of autumn to touch a few trees. They shone out from among their brethren, hinting at changes to come. Buddy took the drive slow and easy, trying to get used to the way things were. Hoping to find some breath of rightness to the new beginning.
Molly allowed him space and silence until they started down the slope’s other side. “How do you feel?”
“Do you remember what your mother used to say when something riled her? She said she felt put upon.” He took a steep curve. “That pretty much sums it up for me too. I feel put upon.”
“It’s funny,” Molly said. “I was just thinking about Momma too.”
He glanced over. Her face was tilted slightly, so that she could look out both the front and side windows. The scar that ran from her left ear downward was displayed in all its angry fullness. Molly went on, “I was thinking about the accident.”
“Oh, Molly.” This had to be a very bad day for her. Molly had not spoken about the accident in thirty years, not since the year before they were married.
“I was five, the same age as Jennifer and Meredith,” Molly said, repeating the story he had heard just once before. “Momma was boiling bones on the stove to make marrow soup. The pot was boiling over. It was making such a mess. I had no idea how heavy it was until I tried to lift it off. It spilled all over me. Down the side of my face, down my neck and shoulder.”
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, hurting anew for her. And not just because of the accident. Buddy ached over how the journey was already causing her such grief that she relived the worst time of her life. He was inundated with a desire to turn around and go home. Let the whole thing pass them by. Take the days left to them and just enjoy what was theirs. The temptation was so strong he felt little tremors run down his fingers and through the steering wheel.
“Momma was such a proper woman,” Molly said in her own soft way. “She was a good person and a good Christian. But she was too concerned with what the world saw.”
As suddenly as the tremors came, they passed. Buddy glanced over once more. This was something new. He had often thought the same things about Molly’s mother, but had never spoken them out loud.
“Momma was devastated by what I had done. And so angry. I knew she was trying to hide her anger from me. But I knew. She was furious. She shouldn’t have been, and it didn’t make any sense, so she refused to even see it herself. But she was so very angry.”
One finger reached up and touched the scar. Buddy slowed so he could keep his gaze on her. Molly never touched her scar, except to powder it in the mornings. Watching her trace one finger lightly down the edge where healthy skin met the red-tinted scar tissue brought a lump to his throat.
“Momma stayed angry for such a long time. Probably not being able to admit she was furious even to herself made it last longer. At the time, all I knew was that I had done something terrible. And in my own way I understood better than she did. Momma was a proper lady. She was so concerned that the world thought good of her. And now her daughter had a scar that told everyone who looked at her that Momma was not a good mother, that she didn’t look after her own daughter.”
“You don’t know that, Molly.”
“I know the way she taught me to use makeup, long before other girls even knew what face powder was. I watched her take all my blouses and sew in embroidered collars that almost reached my ears. I learned from her how to set my hair so it would gather and spill over my left shoulder and hold it in place with bright ribbons, so attention would be taken away from my scar.”
Molly dropped her hand, gathered it with the other in her lap. “I was so ashamed. I had disgraced my mother.”
Buddy put on his blinker and pulled over to the side of the road. “You haven’t disgraced anyone. Not then, not ever.”
“But I did, you know.” Her eyes were pools of grief. Deep inside, a little girl was still crying tears the woman no longer shed. “I saw it every time she looked at me. I was a scandal.”
“Stop it, Molly, please.” He reached over for her hands. “Look, there’s still time if we hurry. I’ll drive you back home. I can do this alone. There’s no need—”
“That’s not why I’m telling you this.” One hand slid out to cover his. “I’ve let my mother’s shame be a barrier for too long, Buddy. Coming to terms with this journey has brought up all the reasons why I’ve spent my whole life hiding. Oh, I know I’m shy by nature. But more than that is at work here.”
Buddy leaned back but kept his hand in hers. He had no idea where she was going with this.
Molly looked out the light-streaked windshield. “For several years now I’ve been wanting to do something more. Something outside the church. I couldn’t understand what it was or why I felt that way, but I do now. I wanted to grow beyond the barriers that I’ve let restrict all my life. I want to grow.”
A flood of shame swept through him. He sat beside his wife of twenty-nine years feeling about two inches tall. Here he was, called in terms so vivid he felt as though his heart had been remolded in the process. And yet he was still looking for excuses to return to his comfort and his routines.
But his wife, who had a lifetime of quiet constraint to overcome, was willing to challenge her limitations for no more reason than a hunger to develop and the knowledge that he needed her. Buddy reached over and stroked a strand of wayward hair. “I’m so proud of you, Molly.”
The words brought her back to earth and her quietly prim ways. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, yes, you did.” He stroked her cheek, let his fingertips run lightly over her scar. His wonderful, wounded little bird. “So much.”