"She's always been kinda wild," Mrs. Young continued. "Homer and I never did have a lot of friends. We were always content to be together. So I've never talked about this with people from church. And now I no longer have Homer." Her eyes were the color of denim that had lost its crispness, and the woman herself seemed to follow suit. Washed in grief, she was fading.
Ruth Abercrombie let the door slam behind her as she stepped onto the patio. She was wearing pink mules and an oversized pink terry cloth robe, covering a white, frilly nightgown that stuck out at the collar. She scuffed over and plopped down in the last unoccupied plastic chair. Here's the mess, thought Abby.
The porcelain was gone; a rag doll remained. Her skin was muslin; her hair was mud-brown yarn. She sagged in the chair unable to sit up straight. Abby drew a hand through her own hair. Her lips failed a full smile when Mrs. Young introduced them to Ruth.
"Hi," was Ruth's flat response. She kept her eyes on the patio concrete just in front of her mother's feet.
"Your mom told us that you'd come to stay, so we thought we'd come over and invite you to a Sunday school picnic/yard sale that we are having on Saturday." Duncan exuded friendliness.
Indeed friendliness seemed to be pimpling out every pore, Abby thought wryly.
Ruth raised her eyes to Duncan's.
"Thanks. If you'll excuse me." She stood up and walked away. The door slapped shut behind her.
"I'm sorry she was rude."
"It's OK. It's obvious that something is really wrong," Abby said.
"Well, I told you that she left her husband. He finally called here two days after she'd gone. I didn't know that she hadn't told him." She wrung her hands in her lap. "I thought that was odd."
Abby and Duncan nodded their heads in agreement with her.
"He said that she has been traveling with her job quite a bit lately, and she had a trip scheduled for the day that she showed up here. He went to meet her plane, and she wasn't there. Then he called her office. Well, you can figure that out ... " She waved away the long explanation with her hand.
"Finally he called here."
"Did she ever say why she left?"
"No. She won't tell me. She just said she needs some time. She won't even talk to Charlie. That's her husband. I offered to get the pastor if she wanted someone to talk to, but she just said no."
They all looked up when Ruth came back outside wearing blue jeans and a tee shirt. She had finger-combed her hair back into a ponytail.
"I thought maybe you would go for a walk with me?" she asked Abby.
This day just gets weirder and weirder, Abby thought. She glanced at Duncan. He nodded.
"Sure," she answered. "Where are we going?"
"Just down the block."
"If you wouldn't mind," Mrs. Young addressed herself to Duncan. "I have a light bulb in my sewing room that needs changing and I'm just getting too old to be climbing on the furniture."
Duncan stood up. "Show me the way."
The dryness of the garden was left behind.
"I know this is somewhat odd." Ruth fixed her crystal eyes on Abby. "But I felt I could talk to you."
"I'm glad to help if I can. But we don't even know each other."
"Actually, that's a good thing. I don't have any friends left. So since you are not my friend, I can't lose. You know?"
"I think so."
They began to walk down the sidewalk. Ruth kept interlocking her fingers and bending her hands back.
"I guess Mom probably told you everything."
"She told me that you left your husband, and he called here looking for you."
"Well, that's all she knows. I can't tell her the truth. You have to promise me you won't tell her."
"I won't."
They had made it to the end of the short block and crossed the street. The sidewalk in front of this house was rust colored.
"I left Charlie, that's my husband, so that I can get clean."
Ruth was rubbing her hand up and down along the inside of her arm. Abby looked for needle marks. Ruth's arm was smooth.
"Do you believe in dreams?—Abby, right?” Abby nodded, yes, that was her name.
"Do you believe in dreams?" Ruth asked again.
"Do you mean, do I think God can talk to us in our dreams?"
"Yes."
"Yes. I believe that," Abby answered.
"Mother doesn't." There it was, a hint of the aloofness that she had experienced with Ruth before. "She believes in the Bible. She believes in miracles, but she doesn't believe that they can happen to us."
"There're lots of people who think that way. But I figure God talked to Joseph that way and Daniel and even Nebuchadnezzar, so why not me? Same spirit of God. New day," Abby responded.
"That is what I always thought, too." She spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully, as though if she just talked, her roots would show.
"You have to be careful, though. You have to know your Bible or you can get tricked," Abby said.
"I had a dream this morning. It was one of those. You know what I mean? The mist clears, and then you can see clearly? It's like you're there. And you can remember the details better than if you watched it on television."
Abby nodded.
"I dreamed that I was on a boat with you..." Ruth continued.
"With me?"
"Yes, isn't that strange?" Ruth stopped, and Abby expected a pointed look, but Ruth's eyes were settled at a point just above her head.
"Anyway"—they continued walking—"the water below us was green and swirling and we were headed toward the east."
"What else?"
"Nothing. That was it. But then I got up and came out and there you were."
Ruth stopped abruptly and put her hand up. "No, wait. We had just come through a storm and we were soaking wet."
They resumed walking, stepping down a curb, mounting the next.
"What do you think it means?" Abby asked.
"I don't know, but I think that you and I are linked somehow." They were both quiet for a few more square lengths of sidewalk.
"Why were we soaking wet? Maybe we're going to face a troubled time at the same time," Ruth went on.
"I think that because we are in the boat together, it means we go through it together," Abby ventured.
"Oh, I see."
"What did you mean that you left your husband so that you could get clean?" Abby probed.
"Do you know what it means to be sober? Really sober?" Ruth stopped again to not look Abby in the eye.
"Yeah, I think so."
"It means that you'll die before you'll ever have another drink. Even if a drink is sitting there, and you are dying to have it, and you feel like you might die if you don't have it. So be it"—she swiped the air with her hand—"you'll die. That's what I have to do: be sober."
"You don't look like an alcoholic."
"People are seldom what they seem. I'm not an alcoholic. I'm a drunk of a different type. But the principle is the same. I had to come here to get in control."
They walked quietly for a short time.
"Odd thing is," Ruth began again, "that I used to think of myself as a Christian. When I was a child, you know. But lately I haven't given it much thought. I mean Charlie and I came to church for the holidays, because it was part of the family tradition. Now here I am."
Ruth gazed at the ground. They were crossing another rusty patch of sidewalk, and Abby fleetingly wondered why it was so. Ruth was looking forward again. Abby studied the white clouds forming into huge mansions in the sky. What kind of drunk was she? What does she need me for?
She had become so absorbed in her thoughts that Ruth's voice startled her.
"I prayed for help yesterday. And here you are." There was a bit of awe in her voice.
"You have to hold on to that." Abby turned to Ruth to emphasize her thought. "Remember that God is not far. Even when it gets hard." Ruth searched her eyes. Abby continued, "Life is hard, and we find ourselves on paths we did no
t expect to travel, but He is still there." They were moving again.
"Gosh, I know that sounds really trite, but it's true. I had always thought that if you were divorced, you had screwed up badly. I mean, you could never do anything for Him again. And as I was going through my divorce"—she paused while she looked for the right words—"it's like He threw his coat over me and called me his own. He takes care of me. Always. He'll take care of you, too."
"We'd better turn around," Ruth suggested. "I don't suppose you have all day to be walking around town with me."
Indeed they had walked more than two miles, traveling past the Gordons’ and winding up near the strip mall. The abrupt suggestion to change direction gave Abby a feeling that she had said the wrong thing. But she decided she had nothing else to give, and maybe this woman who couldn't share what was wrong with her needed to hear that the Lord was close and loved her just as He always loved Abby. So she pressed on.
"Do you have a Bible?" Abby asked.
"I used to. Mother probably still has it."
Abby could detect once again a separation between the two of them.
"Only God can give the interpretation of dreams." Ruth looked at her sideways. She had picked up the pace a little, her long legs taking almost a cube of sidewalk at a time. Abby took them by halves. She was beginning to get out of breath.
"It's in Daniel. You must get a Bible, and you have to study it."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Abby's short legs took two strides to Ruth's one. In the block just before Ruth's house, Abby ventured one more idea.
"You can just read for starters, you know. It might be too much to think of studying." Abby emphasized the word, like the word itself was a burdensome tome. "Just begin reading, and He'll guide you.”
Ruth smiled a tight-lipped grin with her chin slightly pointed to the sky.
"Thank you for walking with me today." Her formal tone was dismissive.
Duncan was sitting on the porch with Mrs. Young. His broad smile warmed Abby and drove from her the momentary uncertainty that Ruth's dismissive tone had caused.
"Are you ready?" he asked. His manner was as good-natured as she had always seen it. If there was some dark thing lurking behind that smile and those warm eyes she couldn't find it.
"Thanks again for coming." Ruth turned and went into the house.
"Thanks very much." Mrs. Young addressed Abby.
"You're welcome."
The three walked to Duncan's truck. Abby and Duncan got in. Mrs. Young stood by Abby's door.
"She's been walking a lot since she came here. I wish she wouldn't walk alone." She wrung her hands.
"I think she's gonna be OK," Abby said.
Duncan leaned across Abby to speak to Mrs. Young. Abby's heart raced at his nearness.
"We have to go, Mrs. Young. Call me when that part comes in for your dryer, and I'll install it for you."
"Thank you, Duncan." She waved at them as they drove down the street.
"Well, how'd it go?" Duncan hadn't made it down to the end of the short street.
"Wait a minute." She felt like if she started talking, Mrs. Young, or even worse, Ruth, would be able to hear the whole thing.
When they had cleared the neighborhood, Abby felt a sense of relief.
"Do you believe in dreams, Duncan? The kind that tell the future or give understanding that we wouldn't have otherwise." He kept his eyes on the road. "You know, do you think that God still speaks to us in dreams?"
Just when she'd figured out that she'd said exactly the wrong thing and decided that he must think she was a kook, he spoke.
"Yes. I've had a couple of those. But you must be very cautious."
"Yes, I know. That's what I told Ruth. She had a dream this morning before we arrived and I was in it."
Duncan's eyes left the road and found Abby's.
Abby relayed to Duncan the conversation she had shared with Ruth, including the odd change in Ruth from friendly to cool on their way back.
"Oh, it's probably nothing. She probably just realized the time. You guys were gone for nearly an hour."
"Sorry."
"No, that's what we went for, but I do need to get back to the office."
"I wonder what she needed to be sober from. And if that has anything to do with why her mother's Social Security check went missing."
"Maybe she gambles."
"That would explain it. She said she wasn't an alcoholic. What were your dreams about?"
Again, Duncan was quiet, picking his words or watching the traffic. She didn't know him well enough yet to be sure.
"Nothing much. I pushed my hand through a looking glass and found myself in a very scary place. I didn't do it again."
"I have seen that place. Have you ever seen the future?"
"No."
They rode the rest of the way to the dock in silence. Abby was glad to be out of the Young house with its bizarre happenings. There was something sinister there, and according to Ruth, she was supposed to be linked with her somehow. If that were so, then how come she hadn't heard yet? Or had she because Ruth had told her?
She was reasonably sure Ruth's vision was authentic because of the green swirling water. She had seen the water many times.
The first time she had seen anything she was just a child. She had seen herself swimming in her house full of the green, swirling water. She was laughing. She could breathe under the water. She had told her mother, who said something along the lines of "That's interesting, dear," or "Neat dream." Whatever it was, she could no longer remember. Helen did not have the gift and didn't believe anyone else did either.
Her grandmother taught her about the sight; she said it ran in their family. Her mother, Abby's great-grandmother, had to be very careful not to say anything about what she had seen because people would have called her crazy and locked her up. Nowadays people would still call you crazy, but most were more likely to chase you around looking for wisdom than throw you in the nut house.
Sitting around the large rectangular table in her grandmother's dining room with mugs of steaming coffee was always the venue for these stories. Abby missed those days. She missed the fellowship with a kindred spirit.
Grandma told her about the green water. Green was the color for life. Water represented spirit. The green water was spirit life: the word of God, the life of God. That part of Ruth's vision anyway was not a fake. The rest of it she didn't know about. Were they soaking wet because He had covered them, and their life was spared?
Ruth was nobody to her. She was surely nobody to Ruth. Was she to help her through this drunken problem of hers? How?
The question faded when they arrived back at MacLeod Tours. Duncan disappeared into his office and Abby did not see much of him until Saturday morning at the youth yard sale.
Chapter 21
It was early enough for the sky to still glow purple and orange in the chilly air when Abby pulled her car into the church parking lot. She was just in time to see Duncan hoist a large box of goods out of the back of his pickup truck and carry them to a table. His feet left tracks in the dew-laden grass. It was hard to look away from the sight of his muscular body even when Pastor Bob came up beside her.
"Abby," he boomed, "Delia Petersen can't come, and she knows the prices for everything. Do you think you could take over tagging this stuff?"
"Sure. Come on out, Chloe." Chloe climbed across the seats to exit out the driver's door. They followed Bob over to the first of several long cafeteria-style tables. The hospitality table was loaded with a large decanter of coffee, another with hot water for tea or cocoa, and two large boxes of doughnuts. Under the table were several more boxes of doughnuts. The familiar crew of Mrs. Young, Penny, the pastor's wife, and the couple that led the youth group were busy emptying boxes onto tables and blankets for display. All the usual stuff was there: books for a dime, old records for a quarter, dishes for a nickel. It seemed a wonder that these tired objects would raise any money and yet, every yea
r the Lord blessed their efforts for the youth on missions.
Abby rooted around on a table laden with clothes for the necessary roll of masking tape. She pulled a pen from her pocket and set to work. She was aware of Duncan on the edge of her sight. It was not unlike keeping track of Chloe. Chloe sat herself down next to a small box of children's clothes and began to help by pulling out one piece at a time and throwing it on the grass behind her back.
Abby picked up all the clothes, tossed them back into the box, taped a label with a price on the front, and put the box near a blanket display. People were arriving. Abby pulled Chloe behind the tables with her.
"They come early, don't they?" Duncan's breath tickled the nape of her neck.
Abby turned abruptly. He stepped back to avoid spilling the two cups of coffee he carried.
"Coffee?" He grinned.
"Yes, please." She took the cup from him.
"I want doughnut." Chloe clutched at Abby's waist.
"I'll get her one. Would you like one?" His brown eyes were happy and warm, unlike last time they had been together. Chloe reached up and put her hand in his.
"Can I come?" Chloe asked.
Duncan looked up at Abby. He seemed surprised.
"Can you tell me how much this is?" A woman's gruff voice pushed in between them. She thrust a hand holding two square wooden plaques of painted flowers before their eyes.
"We'll be right back." Duncan took Chloe.
It'll be all right, she told herself. There isn't anywhere for them to go; she could see the refreshments from where she stood. Abby turned to the woman. She had bright, bottle-red hair. Her eyes were gleaming. She was ready to haggle.
"Two dollars."
"Oh." The bluster disappeared and she began to smile.
"I'll take them."
Abby took her money. She had time to look down toward the hospitality table to see Duncan pulling out doughnuts.
"Do you really want three dollars for this phone?"
A label on the top of the phone in dark black said: "$3.00 FIRM"
"Yes, sir."
"It's not worth three dollars."
"Sir, it's not my phone. I can only go by the label."
"Well, I used to work for the phone company, and I can tell ya that this phone is not worth three dollars."