Hearts That Survive Part 31

"So you got the stove put in," she said.

That started a good conversation about stoves, and there was much about stoves she hadn't been aware of. "I'm glad to have it," he said. "I love to catch a fish, come home, and cook it fresh. I enjoy cooking." He cleared his throat and added, "Too. The salad is good." He nodded and messed up his hair. "Very good."

It should be. Took her over an hour to cook it. Fix it.

"I made coffee too. Would you like it now or with the chicken?"

"With the chicken will be fine." He took a bite of a b.u.t.tered roll. Ate it all. And the salad. She had some left as her appet.i.te wasn't the greatest at the moment. She'd just taken their salad bowls away and felt like taking a deep breath, but the air seemed different. She saw it then. Black smoke curling out of the top of the oven door.

By the time she screamed and jumped straight up, he was there, shutting the door, saying it was all right, just leave it in the oven. He turned it off, led her to the chair, and said these things happen all the time. He should have gotten a new stove for the house. That one was a few years old. They didn't need chicken anyway.

"The salad and rolls were perfect. Plenty." He got the wine. "Let's just laugh about the chicken and enjoy a gla.s.s of wine." He went into the pantry and returned with a corkscrew. Good. He kept talking, as if he knew he'd better. "I had Willard pick this up. Told him to get the best wine available."

He took gla.s.ses from the cabinet. He began to pour, then stopped and raised the bottle and read. "Dessert wine." He looked at her. "But there's nothing wrong with dessert wine," he explained, and she thought he thought she knew nothing at all about anything. "I think of it as a small amount after dinner to sip slowly. Some men like it with cigars. I don't smoke."

"The chi . . . chi . . . chi . . . ken did."

But neither of them laughed about the chicken. He said, "Why don't I just get rid of that for you?"

"No." He must have heard it. His face was as screwed up as hers felt.

She couldn't look at him. The only thing she could think of to say was, "I can't . . . c-c-cook."

"Here, I-" He touched her. Oh, he should not have laid a comfort-filled hand on her shoulder. It was too much. "Just go!"

She was wrong about the thunderclouds. The rumblings had been a warning of a volcano, and there was no way to prevent the eruption. It knocked the gla.s.s to the floor and her head to the table, and the lava, black and burning, flowed.

54.

Armand had driven the car. He'd thought they might go for a fast drive after dinner. But the entire evening had turned out to be disaster. But who knew what normalcy was anymore?

He had wondered if he could ever have a woman in Ami's house. In a personal way. But when Caroline had said she couldn't stay there forever, he said, "Yes, you can."

At first it had been because the two women had needed it. He was trying to be a good Christian and share what he had. He wanted to be helpful. But as time pa.s.sed, he saw her there, working in the garden, exclaiming joyously, "I never got my hands so dirty before," and putting them right back into the dirt.

Little strands of wayward hair escaped from the roll, tightened with sweat, and she would laugh about it. She enjoyed making things grow.

He was a young man, and he enjoyed watching Caroline as she grew.

Now she cried.

He went into the lake house where Bess and Willard were having dinner. They looked at him and must have seen his distress. "What in the world?" Bess said, and Willard rose from the chair.

"Caroline is sobbing."

"What happened?"

"She burned the chicken, and I took the wrong kind of wine." He felt the heat on his face and in his eyes.

"She's crying about that?"

He moaned, "I don't think so."

Bess breathed a heavy sigh. "It's about time. I'll need to hurry. Will you drive me?"

"Willard can."

They left in a hurry.

When she said it, he knew what It's about time meant. How he'd sobbed about Ami, about the stillborn baby, and all the way back to his earliest memory of things not going the way he wanted them to, the way he thought G.o.d should handle this world and his life.

He felt like doing it again.

So he went off into the woods and fell on his knees and sobbed.

This time he sobbed about the same things with several additions. This time about disaster, and lost lives, and grieving people, and Caroline, and Ami again, and the stillborn baby, and all the earlier things not going his way. But it was different this time too. He knew he could blame and doubt and be angry and hurt and suffer and not understand, and G.o.d would pick him up and brush him off. The mud stains might stay on the knees of his pants, but G.o.d would wash away the hurt and bring that peace and love and a.s.surance that pa.s.sed understanding.

He knew because G.o.d had done it for him before. So it was all right to cry out. G.o.d could take it.

And when the ache eased, he would again mean what he'd said many times in the words of Job, Though he slay me, I will serve Him.

So he cried and moaned and groaned and hurt and let the pain leave him and travel to the throne of G.o.d.

When G.o.d would get around to taking it, looking at it, reviewing it, he would say nothing happens that you can't bear and I'm with you always and he would send his peace.

55.

Bess told Willard he could leave. She encountered the putrid smell before entering the kitchen. She hurried to Caroline, slumped in a chair and her head on the table. A burnt chicken was in the sink, and its stink filled the air, mingled with the smell of wine. A broken gla.s.s lay shattered on the floor in a syrupy puddle of dark red liquid.

Caroline was making noises like some kind of machinery that was all choked up, trying to start, and just couldn't make it. Her chest was heaving, and she was banging the side of her fist on the table.

Bess took Caroline by the shoulders. "Let's go to the bedroom." Caroline let herself be led through the house, up the stairs, and into the bedroom. Bess didn't need to ask what was wrong. Her own eyes were tearing up. She mustn't let that happen. Caroline needed her for far more than she'd ever needed her for packing and unpacking her luggage, laying out clothes, dressing her hair, or even cooking her meals.

"Lie on the bed. Here, take this pillow and hammer into it, or hug it, or whatever you want to do. Just let it go."

"I try not-"

"Don't try not. Do it. Let it go."

Bess tried. Not to. But she did it. She let go. And began to choke and blubber and heave with sobs, and lay across the bed and banged both fists into it.

Caroline joined her. They cried and sobbed and wailed and made all the noise they could. And when they finished, they looked at each other and cried again. And when they finished, they forced more, made themselves cry it out. Unashamed. Deliberate. And the crying didn't hurt. It washed and cleansed.

They cried an ocean full.

But they didn't sink. They were in a little boat on top of the water.

Spent, they lay on their backs, breathing deeply, slowly, as if trying to get enough air after having run a race. Indeed, they had. She had the idea they had crossed the finish line. It didn't matter if you got there late, or were the last one to arrive. Just getting over was the important thing. Even if you had to crawl over.

When their breathing became more regulated, Caroline said, "That felt good."

"Shall we do it again?"

Caroline looked over at her. "I don't have a drop more."

Bess said, "Good. Because you look ugly."

Caroline gasped, but still smiled. Bess would never have said something like that before. Crying openly, brokenly, together, could work wonders. "You're no raving beauty, you know."

They laughed for a while, just because that felt good. "And we don't care how we look," Bess said.

"Exactly. And it's good just to breathe deeply."

"Yes, even if the air is filled with the smell of burnt, rotting chicken."

"Oh." Caroline sat up. "Let's go clean it up."

They did, and Caroline asked, "Where's Armand?"

"Oh," Bess said, "I think there was something he needed to do."

While they threw away the mess and cleaned up the kitchen, Caroline asked if Bess would tell her about her life.

Bess did so as they washed the dishes and dried them and put them away and cleaned the table and wiped the wine from the floor. Bess threw away the coffee, which was thicker than the wine, and made fresh.

She thought it time to be personal. Her life had been uneventful until she became a governess to a very wealthy family.

"I was foolish enough to fall in love-no, not love." She glanced at Caroline, who nodded. "I fell into obsession with the gentleman of the family. He represented all the world had to offer. I was stupid enough to believe I could step into his world. But I found out he could step into mine long enough to use me. And when the time came, when the young, pretty tutor came, he discarded me like a piece of trash."

Before long, with the kitchen decent again, they sat at the table, sipping coffee.

Bess thought she might as well tell it all. There was nothing you couldn't say once you've bared your tear-stained heart to another person. She took a good swallow of her sweetened coffee and set the cup in the saucer.

"I decided," she said, "I would learn all I could about that world. At another household with some older children, I sat in on the lessons. I read books and talked with the tutor. I determined to become like the mistress of the house."

She watched Caroline's eyes grow big. No way could she have known all that. But she encouraged Bess to go on. So she did.

"I was very frugal and saved my wages. Even asked for a raise in pay."

Caroline laughed. "Did you get it?"

"Oh, yes. I was invaluable." She chuckled. "I thought someday I would buy clothes like you bought me in New York, and wear a hat and walk like a lady and meet a gentleman and lie about my upbringing and he'd never know the difference. I would get into that other world."

She paused. But she'd come this far, which was a point of no return.

"We maids and governesses and housekeepers talk, you know. And when I heard Sir Chadwick was looking for an employee, I applied because that was a step further up the ladder. If I could learn how to look and act like you, I could go beyond third cla.s.s in society. I might even skip one."

"Oh, Bess," Caroline said. "I never suspected such a thing. You were . . . invaluable."

Bess saw the light of understanding spark Caroline's eyes. Bess had gone beyond being a servant. She had become invaluable. "You see, I didn't want to be a servant. I wanted to be a lady."

Now sympathy lay in Caroline's eyes. What a tragic figure Bess must seem. "You wanted to be like me?"

"I know, pathetic isn't it?"

When Caroline gasped, Bess said quickly, "Oh, I don't mean being like you is pathetic. I mean trying to be anyone but yourself is pathetic."

"Well, I'm glad you changed that. This coffee is still hot, and if I threw it on you, you'd burn like a chicken."

So far, they could still laugh. "Mine's cold." She knew Caroline's would be too. She poured more and stirred in a little more honey.

Caroline sipped, then said, "I guess you see now you don't want to be like me."

"Oh, I saw right away I was changing the way I thought. I didn't want to walk or talk like you. Or wear silk and jewels and hats like you."

She saw Caroline swallow, although her cup was in her saucer. She maybe thought that was an insult.

"You changed me," Bess said. "You were, are, the sweetest, kindest, most generous person I've ever known. You kept your place and I kept mine, but you never said a harsh word to me. I was a servant but you never let me feel I was beneath you. You built me up. I no longer wanted to be like a lady. I wanted to be good like you."

Seeing the trembling of Caroline's lips and feeling it in her own, she wondered if they would blubber again. She had to say it all. "You saved me by being a good person. And then, Caroline, you saved me again. By making me take off that cap. You thought I, a servant, was worth saving."

"I didn't do it because you were my servant."

"I know. And I didn't go because I was your servant. Soon after I came to you, I vowed in my heart I would become invaluable for my own good. You taught me how to be the best kind of servant, and in my heart I would be a friend to you, even if you never knew it."

"I felt that," Caroline said. "I didn't know how to define it. Thank you. But you don't have to agree with me on this," she laughed lightly, "I don't think I'm so good."

Bess smiled at her cup. That was part of why Bess admired and respected her so much.

She heard Caroline sigh. "I don't see how Armand and I can ever relate well again. I'm completely embarra.s.sed. And I'm sure he thinks I don't have a decent brain in my head."

"I'll bet he liked the way you look in that dress."

"He didn't say so."

"That proves it. If he thought you just looked nice, he'd say 'You look nice, Caroline.' "