A Marriage in Middlebury. Anita Higman
have been wounded, but then later I would have thanked the person who had done such a deed on my behalf.”
What a strange and fruitless reply, unless he had grown to dislike his wife in some way. But there was no reasoning with the man. She sat back down. “I no longer know what to say.”
“I’m dying, but I’m not blind. I know why my son wanted to marry you. You’re beautiful. Still are after all these years.”
Charlotte wasn’t in the mood to be grateful for his compliment, since he was bound to use it against her before the conversation ended.
“And I realize . . . there was only a chance you might produce black offspring . . . but I could not allow you to foul our heritage. Legacy, you see, is all I have left. My own father had a saying, ‘Negroes are the help we hire, never the children we sire.’ ” A sneer consumed Mr. Wilder’s face, and then he covered his mouth with the oxygen mask.
“Excuse me for saying this, Mr. Wilder, but your words are offensive and unfair.”
With quivering hands he yanked off the mask and glared at her. “Doesn’t your Christ preach that the truth will set you free?”
“The truth I can handle, but I will not tolerate bigotry. Nor would Christ. And to use the Lord’s words for your sinister purposes only fouls his good name.” Charlotte rose from her chair again. So, that really was it. All the pain and the mystery and the good-byes were about a grandmother she had never even had the privilege of meeting. Talking about bloodlines the way he did made Charlotte feel like an animal with a blemish on her pedigree. Certainly not a respectable woman who was well-liked in her community. “I forgive you, Mr. Wilder.” They were difficult words to say, but she knew they had to be spoken.
His eyelids drifted shut. For a moment Charlotte thought he’d stopped breathing. Just as she was about to call out for Lucy’s help, his chest rose, and with a stark movement, he opened his lids and gasped for air. Then he whispered, “I don’t want your forgiveness.”
“I offer it to you anyway.” Charlotte backed away a step, but her gaze could not fully sever from Mr. Wilder’s stare. His lids were almost closed, and yet she knew he was watching her, assessing her, just like he did with the birds at the cemetery. “I wish things could have been different. That you could have gotten to know me. Over time, you might have grown to like me, and you could have set these other feelings aside.”
“Never.”
“Life is short, Mr. Wilder, and eternity is forever. You will face God soon. I beg you to talk things over with the Lord. Ask for his forgiveness . . . as I have had to do.”
“The only people who need mercy are those who live a life of regret. I do not need a Savior,” he said, “but I’m sure you do.”
His face ignited with such fury, it seemed the entire inferno of hatred Mr. Wilder had fueled through his lifetime blazed in his eyes all at once, making them appear otherworldly and frightening, as if Charlotte were staring into the mouth of hell.
“The only thing I require now,” he hissed, “is your absence.”
Chapter 5
5
Mr. Wilder’s words wrung at Charlotte’s heart like an icy hand crushing her spirit, but the greater unhappiness was knowing that she’d used up some of Sam’s time—time when he should have been saying good-bye to his father. She walked out into the hallway. For one dreadful moment, Charlotte wondered if Sam or Audrey or Lucy could have overheard the conversation, but surely they’d been too far away for them to decipher it.
They all three stared at her when she approached. It was obvious they wondered about the purpose behind Mr. Wilder’s summons, but the matter was too private to share. And it would have been too upsetting for Audrey and Sam to know, considering their impending marriage. When she remained silent, Sam and Audrey went inside the room, leaving Charlotte to stand alone in the hallway with Lucy.
“I think I won’t go in for a bit,” Lucy said. “I’m sure Sam would like to talk to his father without me always being in the room.”
“That’s very thoughtful.”
“I don’t think he has long to live. Perhaps just a day or two at the most, so I don’t want to interfere.” Lucy pulled a rosebud from the pocket of her nurse’s outfit and skimmed it against her cheek. “Did you notice there are no cards or flowers in Mr. Wilder’s room?”
“Not really, but now that you mention it . . . ”
Lucy gestured toward the other end of the hallway. “It’s all been put in the kitchen. Apparently, Mr. Wilder doesn’t like flowers. I’ve never heard of anyone in my life who didn’t like flowers.” Lucy fidgeted with her collar and then scratched the skin on her inner arm.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, but I think the land around my little cabin is infested with chiggers.”
“That’s not good.”
“Or it could be something else. I don’t really want to be here . . . in this house.” Lucy looked up at the stuffed moose head just above her. “It’s so oppressive. Like being in an ancient crypt or something with the walls closing in on you.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I never would have agreed to come, but lately I’ve been taking on some in-home nursing jobs for the extra money.” Lucy picked at the tassel on the bookmark, letting the bits of fluff drift to the floor. “But actually, I’m thinking of quitting nursing altogether.”
Charlotte had wandered off in her thoughts for a second, but she snapped back when she heard the word quitting. “But why? You’re good at it.”
“For the most part, people think I’m a good nurse. That I’ve found my mission in life, but it’s a lie. I never found my calling, Charlotte. Not like you did. You knew exactly what you wanted, and you went after it.”
Well, she hadn’t gotten all she’d wanted out of life, but it wasn’t the time nor the place to speak of her disappointments. “You’ve helped and comforted lots of people in this town.”
“Not really.” Lucy smoothed some of her wild curls back into her hairclip, but they came right back to frame her face. “I had such romantic notions about the medical profession when I went to nursing school. I was going to be this great healer like Florence Nightingale. But after all these years I’ve rarely known that feeling. Too many times patients don’t get well, no matter how much medicine they take. Mostly we just manage their pain and symptoms. We give them drugs, but with all the side effects, we’re forced to give them more pills. You can only take so much failure before it gets to you. At least I can’t. I get weepy all the time.” Lucy dropped the rose in her pocket and pulled out a tissue.
“I’ve never heard anyone talk like that in your line of work. It probably means you have a lot of empathy. Maybe your industry needs fewer pills and more compassion.”
“Yes, that’s true, but it’s slowly killing me. And no guy wants to date me while I’m like this. Guys like Miss Congeniality type girls, and I can’t even remember the last time I really smiled or laughed.” Lucy fastened her fingers together and then wrenched them back and forth as if they couldn’t be undone. “I’ve never told another living soul about any of this, especially not my parents, but I felt I could tell you.”
Charlotte drew Lucy into a hug. “I’m so sorry.”
When she released her, Lucy said, “My dad sacrificed a lot for me to go to nursing school. I didn’t feel right telling him I was thinking about walking away from it all. He’d be devastated.” Lucy chewed on her fingernails.
“Perhaps that’s true, but the reason your father sacrificed for you was because he loves you. I’m certain your career doesn’t mean as much to your father as your happiness. You should talk to him.”
“I