Chapter Forty-One

CELIA RACED LIKE THE WIND for Dr. Vishnevsky, her feet pounding and slipping on the muddied lane up to his house. Her mother had said that Ruby Lynne was in a bad way and that Granny Chree needed the doctor to come quick. That didn’t sound good. As far as Celia knew, Granny Chree could cure everything from croup to gunshot wounds. Whatever more had happened to Ruby Lynne Wishon, whatever it was that her mother and Miss Lill and Granny Chree frowned over so, must be worrisome in the extreme.

By the time she reached Dr. Vishnevsky’s, the morning sun had stretched itself over the tips of the cedars flanking his cabin. Celia stumbled up the steps, her heart nearly bursting from her chest, and pounded on the door. It rarely took Dr. Vishnevsky long to open his door. This morning it seemed he’d been standing beside it.

“Celia Percy! What brings you here so early? Is your mother all right? Chester? Mrs. Swope?”

Celia nodded, bending over, clutching her knees. She couldn’t catch her breath but waved her hand from side to side to say that wasn’t it. “Come. Please come now—to Garden’s Gate. Ruby Lynne Wishon—” Celia couldn’t finish but it didn’t matter. Dr. Vishnevsky grabbed his coat and bag and was out the door and down the steps before Celia could turn around.

“My automobile’s tire is flat! I’ll see you there!”

Celia followed as best and quickly as she could, but the doctor’s long strides left her far behind. That was fine with her. The sooner he reached Garden’s Gate, the sooner the horrible could be fixed. He was, after all, the miracle doctor who’d saved Chester’s life two years ago from that near-fatal attack of appendicitis. If it hadn’t been for Dr. Vishnevsky’s surgical skills, Chester would be dead. Hardly a week went by that Celia didn’t think on that and thank God for Doc Vishy, even when Chester proved a pain in the neck.

By the time Celia reached Garden’s Gate, the doctor was upstairs, conferring with Granny Chree and Miss Lill in the hallway outside Ruby Lynne’s door. Celia wanted to join them, but her mother pulled her back.

“Oh no you don’t, young lady. You’ve got chores and this is none of your never mind.”

“But it’s Saturday, Mama, and I found her—almost—by the door. I want to know Ruby Lynne’s gonna be okay.”

“Dr. Vishnevsky’s going in now. Ruby Lynne will be fine . . . in time. The best thing you can do for her is to go on about your business and not let on to anybody that she’s here. You understand me? If word gets around, it could be terrible bad for her and for the rest of us.”

Celia listened, trying to take it in. There was much she didn’t understand and more she wanted to know.

“I said, do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Celia wouldn’t do anything to hurt her mama or Miss Lill or Ruby Lynne for all the tea in China. All the tea in China was another expression she’d just read and she understood right well what it meant.

•••

Jesse was no stranger to those unique tuggings on his heart and mind, the call of the Holy Spirit. He’d learned early not to ignore them. They’d never led him astray. That late morning, after a long night of walking the floor with an inebriated Joe Earl and consoling Joe’s wife, those stirrings took him to Garden’s Gate.

He knocked on the front door, intending to turn the knob and walk in, knowing the library bell over the door would ring, announcing a newcomer. But the door was locked—in the daytime—a thing he couldn’t remember happening since the library opened or even before Miz Hyacinth passed. He waited. When no one came, he knocked again, but still not a footstep within his hearing. He pulled back and noticed that curtains and drapes closed off each window—another peculiar thing for daytime.

Rather than knock a third time, he walked around back. Granny Chree was nearly through the wintered garden, into the barren fruit trees. “Granny Chree!”

She slowed but didn’t stop.

He caught up with her as she neared the orchard’s far edge. “Everything all right here?”

Granny hesitated, which was the third strange thing. At last she turned, settling her eye on him. “No, Reverend Willard. It’s not.”

“Is Lilliana all right?” He couldn’t keep the dread from his voice.

“That chile on a long journey, but she be all right.”

“Is she coming back?” He felt panic rising.

Granny let out something between a chuckle and a snort. “Not that kind of journey, Reverend.” She shook her head. “You two ought to have your heads knocked together.”

“There’s not much I’d like better, but I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“She got some travelin’ in the mind to do and a heart that needs mendin’. Don’t you give up on that girl now.”

“I won’t.” He meant it. “But the curtains are closed. The front door’s locked.”

“Kitchen door’s open. You go on in and see what they say. You might do some good.”

Before Jesse could ask what she meant, Granny turned and stepped into the woods, disappearing amid the gray trunks of tall, naked trees and long needle pines.

That left him in an awkward position. He didn’t want to just walk in on the ladies, but something was wrong. In a few long strides he was on the back porch and knocking softly on the door. It opened before his knuckles made their second rap and Celia Percy fell into his arms.

“Reverend Willard! You’re here! I’m glad you’re here!”

“What is it, Celia? What’s the matter?”

Gladys pulled her away. “That’s no way to carry on now, Celia. You go change your clothes. Widow Cramer’s expecting you to help her clean house this morning; then get on to the store to sweep up. You don’t want to lose that job with Ida Mae—but don’t you say a thing about goings-on here.”

“How can I go over there when—?”

“You most certainly will go and you’ll not say another word—here or there. Now go!”

The fear and uncertainty in Celia’s eyes raked fingernails across Jesse’s heart. He couldn’t contradict Gladys, who turned away from him to the sink, but he couldn’t imagine sending Celia off for the day distraught as she was. The moment he heard Celia’s footsteps on the stairs, he whispered, “What is it? What’s happened?” And then, as he realized he might be overstepping his bounds, “How can I help?”

Gladys braced herself against the kitchen sink. “I don’t know what we’ve got here, Reverend Willard, but I’m afraid. I’m near scared to death for us all.”

Before he could ask more, Lilliana walked in.

“Gladys, Celia needs you—upstairs.”

“Lilliana,” Jesse began.

“This isn’t a good time for a visit, Reverend Willard. I’m sorry, but I must ask you to leave.”

That felt like a punch to his gut. “I’d like to help—whatever is—”

“This is a family matter.” Lilliana’s eyes widened, as if that statement surprised even her.

“I hope I’m counted part of that family . . . if you’ll allow me.” Instinctively he reached toward her.

Lilliana hesitated, looking at him with what he could only interpret as longing, but pulled back, and a veil quickly dropped between them. “You should go now. Please.” She turned away.

The lead in Jesse’s heart sank to his feet, but he lifted them and took himself out the door. What could it be? Why won’t she let me help? Why won’t she let me in?

But having no answers, he stepped off the porch.