“Father, do you want vinegar on your greens?”
“I think not. A little butter, perhaps.”
“Louella, he won’t have vinegar, he’ll have butter.”
“Butter! I never heard of butterin’ greens. Miss Sadie, y’all want your tea hot or cold?”
“Which is easier?”
“Cold’s done fixed.”
“Send cold,” said Miss Sadie with some pleasure. “And remember he likes his plenty sweet.”
“Ah, not anymore,” said the rector, fidgeting.
“Louella, not anymore,” his hostess shouted.
“What’d you say?”
“He doesn’t like his tea too sweet anymore.”
“No sugar,” he said, feeling as miserable as if he had just delivered an elegy.
“No sugar in his tea, Louella. Are you coming up?”
“I’m eatin’ right here in this kitchen. Do y’all want chow chow for your beans?”
“Yes, indeed,” said the rector, pacing the floor.
“Chow chow, Louella, and plenty of it. Don’t sound the alarm again, it nearly made him faint. Just knock twice with the broom handle and send it up.”
He found that the discussion over lunch particulars had given him an odd twinge in his stomach, but the tea, when it came up on the silent butler, revived his spirits.
“Father,” said Miss Sadie, who was sitting up in bed, having finished her lunch, “you can’t imagine how wonderful it is to have someone listen to me ramble. Did you ever think that just when people grow old and have so much to tell, that’s when people want them to hush? I hope when you grow old, there’ll be someone to listen to you ramble.”
“I feel blessed to have people listen to me ramble every Sunday of my life,” he said happily, folding his napkin and putting it on the tray.
“Oh, pshaw, you’re so modest. You never give yourself enough credit, in my opinion. You don’t ramble at all, you get right to the point, and it’s always God’s point, as far as I can see. But, do you know what I appreciate more than your sermons?”
“What’s that?”
“The fact that you love us. Yes, that’s enough for me, that you love us.” She closed her eyes and let out a lingering breath. “Ahhh, the peace. What a blessing. Father, will you come again tomorrow? While I’ve got the hook in the water, you might say. I don’t believe I have the strength to go to the end, today.”
“I will. Right after lunch. Don’t fix for me tomorrow. I’ll bring you a doughnut from Winnie’s.”
“Just plain,” murmured Miss Sadie. “Not fancy.”
He went as quietly as he could across the creaking floor and closed the door behind him.
Miss Sadie was sitting in a slip-covered wing chair by the window, with an afghan over her knees. “I’ve been thinking all night,” she said, “and I don’t want to waste a minute.”
He sat in the wing chair opposite her and unbuttoned his jacket. “I have until three o’clock, Miss Sadie. My time is yours.”
“When Mama and I met Willard in Paris, we would never have dreamed he was the one who made Papa run off the road. He was so nice, so considerate, so genuine. He had just moved to Mitford from Tennessee, and we learned from his conversation that his family had nothing to speak of. He was a boy who was trying to make the most of his God-given talents, and he was busy inventing things in the pharmaceutical field.
“One thing he’d invented was Formula R, which stood for Rose. Formula R was good to put on burns or wounds. It was an antiseptic, it just worked wonders, but it stung like fire.
“We had the sweetest times together in Paris. My mama was a wonderful judge of character, and while she had a soft heart, she couldn’t be fooled. She thought Willard was a fine person. But when we got home, and we started telling Papa about the Mitford boy who befriended us in that faraway place, why, I thought he would have a stroke.
“I couldn’t believe the horrible anger that welled up in him, something I had never seen before in my life. He said Willard Porter was trash, the lowest kind, an uneducated, penniless, heathen boy with no future and no breeding, and we were never to mention his name in our house again. He was so mean to Mama, as if she had betrayed him.
“I found out Papa had dealt with Willard after Willard came home from Paris, because when I saw Willard driving around the monument one day, he acted as if he hadn’t seen me.
“All the way over on the boat, I had dreamed of seeing him again, the fact that he lived in my hometown was . . . it was just too joyful for words. And then, to come home to that cold anger and rage, and a papa who hardly seemed the same person. . . .
“One day, China Mae brought me a note. It was folded up little bitty and hidden in her dress. It was from Willard, and when I saw the handwriting, the same handwriting on the notes that came with the roses in Paris, I remember that my heart beat so wildly, I had to sit down.
“China Mae said, ‘Don’t you dare faint, faintin’ is too white for words.’
“I still have the little note. It said: ‘I have made the very worst mistake of my life. The incident on the road was inexcusable and completely unintentional. I deeply regret that I have caused this strife and am willing to do anything within my power to remove the memory of it. I have apologized to your father with heartfelt sincerity, but he will not hear me. I do not know what more can be done at this time. Please forgive me. Your faithful servant, Willard James Porter.’
" ’Mama,’ I said, ’I think I love Willard.’
“She said, ‘Don’t even speak of it, don’t let your heart think such a thing, it is impossible. This has changed your father in a way I don’t understand.’
“Just like when I was a little girl, I stopped going to town. We ordered off for my clothes, just like always, and I didn’t even cut my hair. Mama helped me study, and I played the piano and did needlepoint, and read books, and went to church every evening and lit a candle and knelt down and talked to God.
“You would have thought the heavens had been barricaded against me, as if God had said, ‘Nail everything up good and tight, in case Sadie Baxter tries to get through.’
“It seemed a long time later that China Mae said someone was building a big house over in town, a big showplace, all white with porches and gables and even a widow’s walk, though there was no ocean for hundreds of miles.
“Everybody at church was talking about it, and talking about Willard, how he had sold some of his pharmaceutical inventions, and how he was getting rich.
“Something awful happened to Papa when his name was mentioned at church, or wherever. You would think that the years would soften his heart toward a foolish, unfortunate incident, but it did not.
“You know, Father, looking back, Papa was a lot like Willard. He came from nothing, he had no special education, he was a rough man in many ways, but he refined himself and taught himself to speak well and read good books and travel in polite society, just like Willard.
“China Mae came home now and again, all excited. ‘I seen ’im, Miss Sadie,’ she’d say, ‘I seen your Willard and he jus’ th’ han’somest man you ever laid eyes on.’ He opened up a pharmacy on Main Street where Happy Endings is now. And one in Wesley, and two in Holding.
“I received a letter from him one day, out of the blue. I’d like to show this one to you. Would you be so kind, Father, to step to the dresser and look in the top drawer on the right?”
He opened the drawer and was struck by the scent of lavender that rushed out at him. He found the ivory envelope just where she said it was and took it back to his chair by the window.
He removed the brittle stationery, unfolded it, and saw that the date at the top was June 13, 1927. He read aloud:
“ ‘My dear Sadie, I saw you go by yesterday, and though you did not see me, I was very touched by your sweetness and grace. I know it is risky to write to you, and have firmly emphasized to China Mae that you must burn this letter after reading it. I implore you to do so, as I take this liberty wi
th the greatest concern for your happiness.
“ ‘I once said that when you grow up, I should like to marry you. Today, you are twenty-one, and I believe that is considered by all to be grown up.
“ ‘As for myself, I am twenty-six, my business is at last going well, and I am beginning to make a place for myself, my mother, and my little sister. For the first time, it is possible for me to marry, and yet it is impossible for me to marry the one I love devotedly and think about night and day.
“ ‘I do not know your feelings for me, except what China Mae has confided—please, I beg you, do not punish her for speaking out of turn.
“ ‘I have tried again and again to think of a way to change your father’s mind toward me, but I come each time to the same bitter conclusion. He despises me, and anything I might try to do to win your hand would only bring turmoil and despair to you and to your mother.
“ ‘You may know that I am building a house in the village, on the green where Amos Medford grazed his cows. Each stone that was laid in the foundation was laid with the hope that I might yet express the loving regard I have for you, Sadie.
“ ‘It is bold to write you so, but I am filled with a longing on this, your twenty-first birthday, that is nearly inexpressible.
“ ‘I am going to give this house a name, trusting that things may eventually be different between us. I will have it engraved on a cedar beam at the highest point in the attic, with the intention that its message may one day give you some joy or pleasure.
“ ‘Perhaps, God willing, your father will soon see that I have something to offer, and relent. Until then, dear Sadie, I can offer only my fervent love and heartfelt devotion.’ ”
Father Tim sat for a time, silently, and then put the letter back into the ivory envelope.
She turned her head and looked out the window. It was a warm, bright spring day. “Such a waste,” she said simply.
He waited.
“I prayed for Papa, for God to give him a new heart, like He gave Saul. But He did not. In those days, twenty-one was an old maid, and I believe Papa was sometimes sorry that no one courted me. But there was no one, you see, there was only Willard. And then . . . two or three years later, there was Absalom Greer.”
Miss Sadie’s eyes twinkled. “Absalom Greer! Another uneducated man! I never could get it right. Which, of course, is why Uncle Haywood wanted me to go off to Paris, France, and then debut in Atlanta where I’d meet all those fancy boys. He told Papa if I stayed in Mitford I would wind up an old maid—or with dishpan hands, married to a farmer!
“I never did like Uncle Haywood,” she said, flatly. “By the way, did you bring my doughnut?”
“Your doughnut!” said the rector, patting his jacket pocket and bringing out a bag that had mashed rather flat. “I’m sorry to say Winnie was out of doughnuts, all she had left was the holes, so I brought you four!”
“Four doughnut holes,” said Miss Sadie, solemnly, peering down into the bag. “They can’t be very filling, can they?”
She laughed suddenly, and, for the first time, he saw the girl she had been. It lasted only a moment, the face of the girl, but it was there, and something in him connected with the young Sadie.
“Absalom Greer worked for Papa at the lumberyard. Of course, I never went down there much, but when I did, I liked it. I had taken to sitting rather gloomily around the house, just to show Papa how wicked he’d been, and how I hadn’t forgotten what he’d done.
“He said that what I needed was fresh air and hard work. So, he took me down to the lumberyard and put me in his office and opened all the windows, and that was the fresh air.
“Then he sat me down with an adding machine and ledgers, and that was the hard work!
“I have made Papa sound like a mean man. But oh, I loved him, and he could be such fun. Some days, he would just relax and laugh and pet me to beat the band. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not teach me to keep those hateful books.
“One day, a young man knocked on the office door and I opened it and there he was—a big, tall boy, as slim as a bean pole, wearing a cap and carrying a Bible. There was a kind of electricity about him. He looked down at me and said, ‘Miss Sadie Baxter, are you saved?’
“Why, I declare I didn’t know what on earth he was talking about! I looked straight up at him and said, ‘Well, I’m not lost!’
“He was the cutest thing, so tall and jovial, he had the heartiest laugh and the nicest smile, and knew how to talk plain talk. I just felt so at home with him, like I had a brother, and he was so excited about the Lord and about the Bible. Once, Papa came in and Absalom was sitting there reading me a Bible story on his dinner break. He didn’t miss a beat, he just raised his voice and read louder.
“Papa went and sat down at his desk, he was amazed. I don’t think he knew what to do about it, so he didn’t do anything. It kind of made me nervous, but Absalom read all the way to the end of Second Samuel, then got up, put his Bible under his arm, tipped his cap, and went back to work.”
Father Tim laughed with delight. That was another picture of the boy who had been delirious with God, the one who had come home from the silver mine and been knocked out of bed one night with a “two-by-four” and had gotten up, at last, to answer God’s call.
“Every day at dinnertime—we called it dinner, then, you know—Papa was usually out on the yard, and Absalom would come in and read to me. What a beautiful voice he had, and how hard he tried to polish his diction and improve his speech! It was a wonderful thing to watch, someone with so little schooling and so much yearning.
“Then came the day he asked if he could court me. ‘Ask Papa,’ I said, with fear and trembling. I had never been courted in my life, and I was nearly twenty-five years old. My father was the richest man in Mitford or Wesley, and a laborer out of his lumberyard was asking to court me. I didn’t see one ray of hope in it.
“I remember I was so excited and upset, I ran to the back door and heaved up, if you’ll pardon the expression, Father.
“The next morning, on the way to the yard, Papa was looking straight ahead at the road and he said, ‘Sadie, Absalom Greer has asked if he can court you. What do you think about it?’
“I couldn’t believe my ears that Papa was asking me what I thought about something. I said, ‘Papa, I have prayed about it, and I would like to be courted by Absalom Greer.’ My heart beat so hard I thought I would pass out, but I always remembered that China Mae thought fainting was too white for words, so I never did it.
“ ‘Well, then,’ Papa said, ‘I am going to give him my permission.’
“ ‘Papa,’ I said, ‘thank you for your permission, but what I would covet is your blessing.’
“He must have given it to us, for Absalom was allowed to come to our house, he ate Sunday supper with us before he preached in the evenings, and often I’d go with him and sit on the front row. We were allowed to drive Papa’s town car on special occasions, and once Papa gave Absalom a beautiful suit that was cut too slim, and it fit Absalom like it was made for him! I’ll never forget what Mama said, she said, ‘My! You look like a Philadelphia lawyer!’ That pleased Absalom so much.
“You should have heard him preach, Father! Why, he’d take the fuzz off a peach. Lord’s Chapel hadn’t had a fine preacher for a long time, and I was starved nearly to death to hear such wondrous things—about salvation and redemption and Christ’s suffering for me.
“Absalom made it all so personal, as you often do, and under his preaching, the Bible came alive for me. He was the one who tried to teach me the great meaning of Philippians four-thirteen.”
A banner verse, he thought, smiling.
“But Absalom was like a brother . . . I still loved Willard. Now that I was getting out and about more, I would often see Willard, and the pain of that was very deep. His house was finished, of course, and the most beautiful sight in town—it was more wonderful than Boxwood.
“They said Willard worked all the time; even though he
joined the new country club, all he did was work. He joined the Presbyterian church, and he worked over there, too. Why, he helped them raise enough money for a new building in a little over a year, and in those days, that was something to crow about.
“All this time, Rose wasn’t doing well. They didn’t know much about her disease, and they still don’t, I’m told. But he took such good care of her, and then his mother passed away, and it was just the two of them in that grand house, a lonely man and a confused girl. Father, there were times when my heart was so broken for him that I wanted nothing more than to knock on his door and go in to him, and never leave.
“But something happened after a while, after two or three years of courting Absalom. It wasn’t that I no longer cared for Willard, but the caring had worn me out. I was very tired from caring so much and loving so much and hoping.”
She took a sip of water from a glass on the windowsill.
“Papa and Mama had come to like Absalom, and even though he had no money, and probably never would, they were happy with things, and all the hurt and the anguish seemed . . . in the past. I would not have wanted to upset that delicate balance for anything in the world.
“When I’d see Willard, he would tip his hat to me, though rumor had it that Papa had threatened to kill him if he ever spoke to me. It’s a hard thing to have to change your opinion of someone you love, and my opinion of Papa was changing, no matter how hard I tried to hold it back. It was like trying to hold back the ocean.
“The lumber business got awful bad, and I don’t think our finances had ever recovered from the money that was spent on Fernbank. You’ve never seen the little ballroom with the painted ceiling, it’s been closed up all these years, but that alone cost a fortune. The man who painted it came from Italy and lived here thirty-four months. And, of course, just look at all this millwork. Nobody in western North Carolina had finer, except Mr. Vanderbilt, of course.
“Father, you know how word gets around in a small town, and the word got around about our circumstances, and Willard heard it, and he approached Papa and offered to buy him out. I know why Willard did that, it was one way of saying, here, let me give you a good price for your business and save your face, and make things right after all these years.