August 17, 1940
Ellie gazed with unfocused eyes at the dark hole in the ground. Somewhere, as if from a great distance, a man was speaking. "I lift mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help," the voice intoned in a numbing cadence. But when Ellie lifted her eyes toward the mountains, all she saw was the summer haze that turned the Blue Ridge a smoky white, as if the whole world around her were burning, burning.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the voice went on. Ellie looked again at the black hole. Ashes. Dust. Her ears registered the words about "a sure and certain hope of resurrection," but her mind rejected them. She might cling to the assurance of resurrection for her mother, but there would be no new life for her. All hope had gone up in flames, burned to ash.
Tish nudged her with one elbow, and Ellie jerked back to the present. Obediently, as if sleepwalking, she moved to the pile of raw earth next to her mother's grave, collected a handful of dirt, and dropped it onto the lowered coffin. Her eyes fixed on the tombstone that headed her fathers grave, to her mother's left. Gone too soon, the epitaph read. She had already decided on the words for Mother's stone: Finally free.
When the last "Amen" was uttered, Ellie shook hands with each of the mourners and thanked them for coming. She spoke the words woodenly, like a meaningless ritual, and barely looked at the faces as they filed by murmuring their condolences. Reverend Potter, from the Methodist Church, had performed the simple ceremony Letitia and her mother, Maris, were there and a number of their friends from the church. Ellie knew that Pastor Archer and his wife had been notified—they had, after all, been close friends with Big Eleanor back in the days when she had money and social standing and influence at Downtown Presbyterian. But the Archers hadn't come. To them, Eleanor James had died years before she breathed her last breath.
The small knot of black-clad mourners dispersed, and Ellie walked away from them, alone, up to a rise where a cluster of oaks shaded the hilltop. In the shadow of the largest tree, two gravediggers leaned on their shovels, smoking. As she approached, they doffed their caps in a gesture of respect, crushed out their cigarettes, and ambled back down the hill to finish their job.
Ellie settled herself on a rock and stared down toward the river, a ribbon of molten gold reflecting the afternoon sun. Here and there the current ran over boulders in the riverbed, sending off glints of light like tiny diamonds blinding her with their brilliance.
Gold and diamonds.
Instinctively, her gaze dropped to her left hand, her ring finger. Rome's engagement ring was gone, of course—taken by the authorities as possible evidence. Her finger still bore the faint imprint of the filigreed band. The mark would fade in time, she knew. But what of the gaping wound in her heart? Would it heal as easily, closing up without so much as a scar, as if the promise of life and love had never found its way into her soul?
An image surfaced in her mind, a long-buried memory of standing with her father beside a tree that had been struck in a lightning storm. She couldn't have been more than five or six, and she couldn't recall her father's face, but she remembered as if it were yesterday the way he put his slender, manicured fingers into the blackened gash. "Will the tree die, Daddy?" she had asked.
"No, honey, it will be fine," he had assured her. "In time, new layers will grow over it, and the bark will come back so that you can barely tell where the lightning hit. But if somebody cuts this tree down someday, they'll find a spot, right here, that's harder than the rest of the wood, hard as iron."
Was that the way the human heart worked too? Ellie wondered. Did the wound heal up only to leave a knot as hard as iron below the surface?
With a start she realized that she had just buried her mother, and yet the pain that assailed her was not that loss, but the void left by the departure of Rome Tucker.
There had been no time for the explanations he promised her. He had gone with the police willingly, even eagerly, vowing that once things were cleared up, he would be back.
But when? And back from where? She didn't even know where he had come from—Arkansas, Iowa, someplace west of the Mississippi, she thought, but that didn't narrow down the field very much. Rome had been reticent to talk about his past, except to tell her about his first wife's death. How stupid of her, to open her home—and her heart—to a complete stranger, a man who had revealed to her only the barest essentials about his own life.
But he had seemed so honest, so candid. So genuinely in love with her. And he had cared about Mama too, helping lift from Ellie's shoulders the burden of her care. Rome, after all, was the one who had been with her when she . . .
Despite the August heat, a cold chill ran up Elbe's spine.
Rome had been alone with Mother when she died.
The physicians had confirmed, right on the signed death certificate, that Eleanor James had passed on from "Natural Causes." She just gave up, the doctor assured Ellie. Just decided that it was time to go. It wasn't unusual in cases like this for a patient simply to will to die.
But what if they had missed something? What if the suspicions about Rome had been true? If he had killed once, he would have nothing to lose in doing it again. And if they had gotten married, when he grew tired of her. . . ?
"Ellie."
The low voice came, close at her ear, and Ellie jumped up and whirled around. It was Tish, holding out a hand in her direction.
"Ellie, it's time to go home."
The sun was beginning to set behind the western mountains, tinting the summer haze with a glow the color of salmon flesh. Elbe's dark dress was soaked with perspiration, and her hands felt clammy. She removed her hat and ran a hand through her hair. A faint breeze stirred the damp tendrils at her temples, a momentary relief.
"Why don't you come home with us for a day or two?" Tish suggested. "The fall term doesn't start for another week, and it might be better if you didn't have to be alone."
Ellie shook her head. "I need to be home. And you don't have room. I'd just be underfoot." She sighed. "Besides, Pisgah will be wondering where everybody went. She's not used to being alone."
Tish helped Ellie to her feet, then linked arms with her as they started down the hill. "Then at least join us for dinner tonight. And let me come stay a few days with you."
Ellie hesitated. Part of her mind screamed that she just wanted to be left alone, to think about what had happened, to try to sort out in her mind how she felt about Rome, whether or not she trusted him enough to believe in his innocence. But another part dreaded going back to that vast empty house, filled now only with memories and recriminations.
"All right," she said at last. "But only for a couple of days."
August 20, 1940 Ellie sat at the kitchen table, staring with unseeing eyes as Tish put together chicken sandwiches and leftover green beans for the two of them. Pisgah had scratched at the screen door until Ellie got up and let her in and now lay in her lap, demanding attention and making a strange sound, rather like the cross between a purr and a whine.
Poor cat, Ellie thought as she scratched behind Pisgah's left ear. She doesn't understand why the house is suddenly empty, why Rome is gone.
To tell the truth, Ellie couldn't really understand it either. It all seemed like a bad dream—her mother's haggard, lifeless body being carried out of the house on a stretcher; the man she loved, or thought she loved, being led away by the authorities; the burly detective on his hands and knees retrieving her engagement ring from behind the kitchen door. She kept telling herself that if she could just wake up, the nightmare would vanish like mist on the mountains.
Tish set two plates on the table and took a seat opposite Ellie. "Go on, try it. I know I'm not as good in the kitchen as Mama, but I won't poison you. You need to eat."
Ellie stared at the sandwich, took a bit of chicken from the plate, and fed it to the cat. "I'm not hungry."
"I know. It's been years since Daddy died, but I remember."
Ellie looked up and smiled at her friend. Letitia Cameron was exactly the right person to be with her now—someone who understood from personal experience how absolutely horrible it all felt. Tish didn't try to force her to talk or attempt to probe into her grief. She was just here, and her presence had made the last few days, if not easier, at least bearable.
"Thanks for being here, Tish," Ellie said at last. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
"What are friends for?" Tish reached over and patted her hand. "You were with me when Daddy died, remember. And—I don't know, somehow I feel a little, well, responsible. . . ."
Ellie looked up and fixed her friend with a steely gaze. "Let's get one thing straight, Tish. Your father did his best for my mother, and even though it was a terrible time for everybody, I don't hold him accountable for Mama's inability to deal with losing her money. It was more than just the money, anyway. She depended upon her social status to give her a reason to live. She was weak, and when she didn't have her wealth and power to lean on, she simply broke. Your daddy wasn't responsible for it—and neither are you. There's no reason for you to feel guilty."
"I know," Tish said. "But it's not just that. I was the one who brought you the bad news about Rome too. We've been friends for years, Ellie. I hate causing you pain, no matter what the circumstances."
"It's all right." Ellie lowered her eyes and blinked back tears. "I had to know sooner or later. It's certainly better for me to find out now, before I made a mistake that would follow me the rest of my life."
They fell silent for a moment, and at last Tish asked, "What will you do, Ellie?"
"I don't know." Ellie shook her head. "I don't think I can stay here, in this house."
"Remember, years ago, when we wrote out our dreams and put them in the bottle? Back then you wanted to become a social worker, to help people. You could still do that."
The memory swept over Ellie like tongues of fire. She had been so innocent then, so naive. She could still feel the surge of freedom she had experienced when she finally committed those dreams to paper. She had felt noble and strong . . . even invincible.
But the past ten years had smothered that zeal. The flame had died and with it her dreams for making a difference in the world.
"It's too late," she murmured after a while. "I feel old, Tish. Old and tired. I don't have the energy—or the money—to go back to school."
"Can I offer one suggestion?"
Ellie sighed. "Sure. Suggest away."
"Well"—Letitia's voice took on a tone of hesitancy—"you've been cooped up in this house for a very long time."
"It seems like forever."
"Maybe you need to get out a little. You know, meet people."
Ellie blinked. "Meet people? Tish, I've lived in this town my entire life. I know lots of people."
"But you haven't spent time with them in years. You've given your life to taking care of your mother. Now you need to do something for yourself."
"And your suggestion is—?"
"Come to church with Mama and me."
Ellie felt her jaw drop. "You can't be serious."
"You used to go to church."
"Yes, when I was young and didn't know any better. But when we needed support and compassion, where were all those people who claimed to be my friends—and Mother's? You didn't see the great Pastor Archer at the funeral, did you?" Ellie could hear the edge in her voice but couldn't seem to temper it. "I didn't abandon the church, Tish. The church abandoned me."
"I know, I know." Tish nodded. "The same thing happened to us when Daddy died, at least at Downtown Presbyterian. I swore I'd never darken the door of a church again. But then we found East Asheville Methodist—a small church with a real feeling of family. These people don't just claim to be Christians, Ellie. They live it. It's very refreshing."
Ellie resisted the idea, but she had to admit that Tish and Maris's friends at the Methodist church did seem to be different, somehow. They didn't know Ellie or her mother, but Reverend Potter had conducted the funeral, and a dozen or so of the members actually came to the service. In the past few days, people she had only seen once or twice in her life kept appearing at the door with cakes and pies and casseroles, offering hugs and condolences instead of pat answers and religious drivel. The truth was, in three days she had received more genuine care from simple folks she didn't know than she had in ten years from the society people who had claimed to be her friends.
"A lot of nice people worship there, Ellie. Not rich people or powerful people, but honest, good people who will accept you without question. People who might help make this transition a little easier."
"I don't know," Ellie hedged. "I'll have to think about it."
"All right. You don't have to make a decision immediately," Tish soothed. "You can take your time, get through this, and when you're ready—"
"When I'm ready, I'll let you know," Ellie interrupted. "In the meantime, promise you won't pressure me about it."
Tish lifted her sandwich in salute. "I promise," she said. "No pressure."
August 31, 1940
Tish had been right, of course. Ellie needed contact with people.
She had known loneliness before, during all those years of caring for Mother before Rome came and broke the monotony. At times she had thought she might go mad from the sheer isolation. But back then she had a mission, a duty. She had her mother to attend to, and even in the midst of her isolation, she was never really alone.
Now, the huge old house echoed with every footfall, and the only companionship Ellie had was Pisgah. The big cat never left her side, watching her with enormous blue eyes, purring and rubbing against her at every opportunity, as if to assure her that she had one friend left in the world, a friend who would never forsake her. But even as Ellie grew increasingly attached to Pisgah, she knew, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, that a cat's company simply wasn't enough. If she wasn't careful, she would become one of those eccentric old women who lived with a houseful of felines and never spoke to a living soul.
"You know," Ellie said to the cat one evening as they sat together in the porch swing, "maybe Tish is right. Maybe I do need to get out and meet people, develop some friendships."
"Rrrowww," Pisgah answered, burrowing her head under Ellie's arm.
"I mean, the only real friend I have is Tish, and I can't expect her to be at my beck and call every time I need someone to talk to, now can I?"
"Rrroh-roow-roow," the cat responded.
Ellie stared at the big Himalayan, who sat back and gazed at her, her tail flipping against Ellie's arm. "I'm losing my mind," she muttered. "It sounded like you said, 'No, you can't.'"
"Bbbrrrr," Pisgah purred.
"So, what do you think? Do I dare take Tish up on her offer and go to church with her?"
"Yeowp," the cat answered. She jumped down from the swing and stood by the door, waiting.
Ellie opened the screen and followed Pisgah inside. The cat made a beeline for the hallway, leaped onto the table, and rubbed her cheek against the telephone.
Ellie shook her head and closed her eyes. "I can't believe I'm doing this."
"Mmoww." Pisgah nudged her arm.
"Now?"
"Mmoww," the cat repeated.
"All right, all right." Ellie clicked the receiver and gave the operator the name of Maris Cameron.
Tish came on the line. "Hello?"
"Tish, it's me, Ellie."
"Are you all right? You sound—I don't know, strange."
"I feel a little strange. Listen, do you remember inviting me to church with you and your mom? A couple of weeks ago, right after the funeral?"
"Sure I remember."
"Well, ah, I've—I've decided to go. Can you pick me up in the morning?" Silence.
"Tish? Are you there?"
"I'm here. Yes, we'll pick you up. Around ten—is that all right? Wait a minute."
Ellie heard Maris's voice in the background, then Tish came back on the line. "Mama says there's a social after church—a covered-dish dinner. Don't worry about bringing anything. There's always enough to feed a small army."
Great, Ellie thought. Why did I have to pick this Sunday, of all days? It was tough enough subjecting herself to an hour of worship; now she was facing an additional two hours, minimum, of small talk, with people she didn't know. What had she gotten herself into?
Pisgah rubbed against her hand and purred.
Tish's voice came through the receiver again. "Just one question, Ellie. What made you decide to come?"
"I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, as long as you promise not to have me committed." Ellie chuckled. "Let's just say I got a gentle nudge from a very good friend."
When Tish hung up, Ellie stood there holding the telephone and shaking her head. After a minute she replaced the receiver and turned on Pisgah. "This is all your fault."
"Bbbrrrr," the cat purred, rubbing against her.
"If this turns out to be a disaster, I'm going to blame it on you, understand?"
Pisgah jumped down from the table and sat on the rug, regarding Ellie with wide blue eyes. Her tail curled upward in its characteristic question mark.
"Rir-rrurrr?" she asked, then stalked off toward the kitchen.
"Yes, yes, I'll get your dinner," Ellie muttered, following. "But you'd better be right about this, or some musician is going to get himself some new violin strings."