Читать книгу Down to the Potter’s House - Annette Valentine - Страница 16

I awakened to the melodious sound of a familiar carol coming from the radio in the parlor at Sister’s house. It couldn’t have been much past seven o’clock, and the morning after Christmas was pushing its way into my room by way of the fresh fragrance of cedar. It came past the door that creaked as it opened, wafting over to the very spot where I had been sleeping ever so peacefully, enjoying the luxury of extra time beneath warm covers with no responsibilities to roust me out of bed.

“Aunt Gracie?” The whisper worked itself into my dream the way that voices and events do, and I rolled over with the images of Henry and Father outside on the porch at Emma’s house, smoking their cigarettes, puffing black curls into the air, arguing about nothing. And Francine was whispering to my eldest sister in distasteful tones, a witch-y finger pointed in vigorous gestures at Emma.

“Aunt Gracie, wake up! Don’t you want to talk to Flossie Flirt?” Louise, unrestrained, stood by my bed. Her new doll was propped up beside me.

I stretched my mouth wide open in oversized yawns and forced my eyes to open, blocking the glare of a sunbeam forcing its light through a slant in the window blinds.

“Good morning, Louise!” I sat up in bed and pulled my robe from the bedpost. “Of course! May I please talk to your cute doll?”

“Oh, Aunt Gracie, she’s much more real than a doll! Flossie Flirt says ‘Ma Ma’! Why are you still in bed?”

“Louise, honey! We were going to let Gracie sleep. Remember?” Millicent chastised from the doorway.

“I need to be up anyway,” I said, hoping to reassure them both with a theme of forgiveness. But having turned in late last night, tied to the emotions of yesterday’s family gathering, reminiscing about the good times and anticipating the future, reflecting on the uniqueness of the single Christmas spent down at the potter’s house and recounting the changes in my life since that time, it was a wonder I’d slept a wink. And I’d dreamed of food but woke up hungry.

Breakfast made me grateful for what I had, but I prayed with a deep awareness that went beyond the oatmeal and butter on the table in front of me to the many hard-hit people adapting to new economic circumstances. To the people whose lives had made a difference in mine. To the Willoughbys—Marcus and Lucy and Chester—whose home was open to me when there was no place else to go. To the opportunity for education when all around the living conditions had worsened and farmers had come to the brink of losing their land in these difficult times of our nation’s depression, hard times. “Amen,” I said aloud.

“You always pray by yourself so long, Aunt Gracie?”

“I’m not alone, honey. God’s beside me. Listening.” I tried to grab and tickle little Louise, but barely got my knuckles to her ribs before she skipped away. “Guess Jim was out early this morning,” I said to Millicent.

She sat down at the table, coffeepot in hand. “I thought yesterday went well. Emma makes it all look so easy. And Henry was pleasant. Certainly avoided Francine, it seemed.”

“Yes, it seemed so. Did you think my dinner for Simon was perfectly horrid, Sister? Did you?”

“Cooking takes practice, Gracie. It was fine. Fine. You know Jim’s going into the store no matter what. I doubt many folks will be in, but who knows?”

“Simon, maybe? Was he going to work today? I didn’t think to ask him, but he is going to telephone me today. I know so little about him, Sister. It might not be right, after all, to see him too much . . . with my leaving in May and all. I’ve promised to be with him three times in the next several days. What do you think?”

Millicent stirred her coffee, poured in a dribble of cream, and slowly stirred again. “I’m not one to stand in your way. Africa’s a mighty long way away and—”

“Oh, but I’m not referring to my leaving. There’s no question about my going where I think God can use me. I’m trying to be like clay in His hands, trying to let Him shape me as He sees fit . . to help the people He wants me to help.”

“I know, Gracie. I know your heart, too, I think. But it is . . . interesting that the two of you have come back to Todd County pretty much the same time. Simon’s a good man. Good family. Good sense of humor. Very handsome. I’m just saying, you can be clay in God’s hands anywhere.” She offered a warm smile, and her sisterly advice felt sweet. And then she laughed out loud like she loved to do. “You don’t have to be foreign clay!”

The telephone rang two short rings, loud and clear from the nook in the hallway.

“Something to think about before that telephone rings off the hook and you go changing your mind about seeing him,” Millicent said with a prissy little simper. “That’s going to be for you, Gracie. Why don’t you go ahead and answer?”

It rang again before I could get there. “Carver’s residence,” I said. “Gracie Maxwell on the line.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Hagan,” came the operator’s reply.

An awkward silence seemed liked forever, and then I heard Simon’s familiar deep voice, first in the form of a cough, then a huff-laugh. “Gracie! Please excuse me! I have a small, unanticipated audience for this call. Let me turn myself around here and see if I can duck behind one of Jim’s storage boxes.” I could hear rustling in the background. “I do apologize. And I’m afraid I am gonna have to be rather brief.”

“Hello, Simon. I hope your Christmas was good . . . with your family,” I said, trying to alleviate some of the awkwardness of our conversation’s beginning.

“Gracie . . . “

Uh-oh, was a thought that entered my mind, followed by, He’s cancelling. It was the kind of bad-news inflection in his hesitation that might’ve stopped my heart had he not immediately continued and the awkwardness returned as quickly as it had departed.

“Yes! Yes, a wonderful one! Could not have been a better time with family. Just almost everyone was there for the reunion. Don’t even think I can count that high, there were so many. But listen, I want to hear all about yours when I come for you on Saturday. Turns out there aren’t a lot of places in Elkton where I can teach you the Charleston, though. And nothing like there is in Albuquerque, unfortunately. So, would it be alright if—”

“Of course,” I found myself saying. “Come here and I’ll try fixing—”

“No, I won’t have you going to any trouble, if you were going to invite me to dinner. This was going to be such a good plan: first a dance lesson, then I thought of a movie, but there’s not one anywhere within miles of here. But, Gracie, this just has to work. Hannah, my stepmother—and you’re going to love her—Hannah’s going to fix one of her great meals for us. There’s room in the parlor to dance and a Victrola. You can stay overnight in my sister’s room. Then, there you are: Sunday morning and Providence Methodist Church, very close, just on the south end of my dad’s property.”

I guessed he’d paused to take a breath. All I could hear was snickering. Either from the party line or in the background at Jim’s store, but Simon has his agenda and he was sticking to it.

Millicent and Louise had come into the hallway, and I was making go-away faces, batting the air to emphasize the imperative.

“What do you think?” It was almost a whimper. He’d definitely simmered down, sounding more like an insecure twelve-year-old than the tall, confident man of two nights ago.

“Well . . . I think let’s plan on it,” I said. “What time will you be coming by for me?’

“I’ll be there at five thirty with bells on.” The relief in his voice was palpable. “Actually, I’ll be in Jim’s truck, so more of a rattle. But I’ll see you then.”

I hung up the receiver and pursed my lips—lost in speculation over my impulsive agreement. “That should not have happened,” I said, my finger still tightly hanging onto the hook.