When I return to the sidewalk Orpah and the women are no longer there. I wait a bit hoping she will show up, but have to move when the area is overrun by the Christian zealots. They are proclaiming The Word and condemning everyone present to the eternal fires of hell. The ghosts and the nurses and the bleeding souls with broken limbs ignore The Word and go about their business of strolling, gamboling or prancing up and down.
“Hey, homey, I thought you was in Virginia by now.” The voice of Obed comes from a tall Darth Vader made of glowing orange plastic. He is with another action figure — a fluorescent yellow Young Anakin who asks me in the voice of Beth Eddy what I did with Orpah. I am happy to hear these familiar voices.
“According to Ruth’s wishes you should be thumping the Bible with those people,” I say to Darth Vader, pointing at the zealots.
“Those folks are loonies, my man,” says Darth Vader.
I tell them I was beginning to panic because Orpah got lost in the crowd.
“Uh-ah! You don’t think she changed her mind again?” asks Darth Vader.
I hope not. When she changed her mind about going with me I was crushed. I was prepared to abandon the RV at the Center and hit the road on my own. After she told me she couldn’t leave her daddy I didn’t see her for days. I supposed that time she was doing the memories with him. And she was painting the pictures. She didn’t bring them to me to translate into quilts or just to keep. I took it that our mourning relationship had come to a sad end. It was another loss in a life of losses.
“Somehow I don’t think so,” I tell Darth Vader. “I think she just got carried away meeting old friends. She’s somewhere in the crowds.”
Young Anakin says she hopes we find Orpah since this is her last opportunity to meet her.
“It can’t be the last,” I say. “Orpah is not leaving forever. She’ll be back one day.”
“Only she?” asks Young Anakin. “What about you? Surely you’re not deserting us forever.”
She has always been such a sweet person.
“I’ll come back too,” I tell her. “Kilvert was my home for one year. I’ll come back to see Ruth. And of course her Mr. Quigley. And you, Beth. And my favorite scoundrel here. I am glad to see that today he has adopted a much safer identity than that of a ghost partial to girls’ breasts.”
She laughs. And then says that she is always grateful to the ghost of Nicodemus. And to the mediation that I suggested. Darth Vader says that he hopes the ghost of Nicodemus is resting in peace tonight.
“It was avenged,” I say. “Why can’t it sleep in peace like all decent ghosts that have been avenged?”
Darth Vader and Young Anakin walk me to the RV, which is parked on the parking lot of a closed down supermarket on Stimson Avenue. I realize that I do not have the keys. They are with Orpah, wherever she is. Young Anakin says they will keep me company until Orpah arrives.
“If she’ll arrive at all,” says a skeptical Darth Vader.
“She will arrive,” I say confidently. “But you don’t have to keep me company out here. I insist you go your way. Go back to the parade of creatures and have a good time, kids. I’ll be all right here.”
They laugh at my characterization of their Halloween block party as a parade of creatures.
“I’ll come check in the morning,” Darth Vader offers. “If Orpah’s gone back home I’ll help you drive the darn thing back to Kilvert.”
As they leave I call after Darth Vader: “Ruth tells me you’ve given up on your dream for a casino!”
“I don’t need no casino,” he calls back. “I’ve got Beth now. And I’ve got the church too.”
My wait is only an hour, although it seems like half the night because of anxiety and the chill. Orpah arrives and says she was looking for me all over the place. We can’t drive at this hour. I agree. We need some sleep. I take off my cape and top hat. We get under the Irish Wheel, fully clothed. She is a nun today. She is divine. And this makes her more appetizing. But I long ago learned the art of self-control and self-denial. No carnal pleasures tonight.
Her teardrops make her face look like that of a clown. I burst out laughing.
“What’re you laughing at?” she asks.
“Your tears are beautiful,” I say.
“Your tears are beautiful too,” she says.
We cuddle into each other’s arms and sleep. I pray that no one comes in the night and tows the RV away since I suspect it is illegally parked. My thoughts float back to Kilvert; to Ruth and Mahlon.
By the end of October Mahlon’s garden of gnomes had become smaller. Half of it was taken by flowers. Mahlon was becoming a flower man again. He just woke up one day and decided to plant something Ruth called “live-forever.” It would dry with the winter chill in a few weeks’ time, but would come back to life in spring. It would repeat that cycle over and over again till, according to Ruth, the end of time.
I saw this garden when I went looking for Orpah after I had not seen her for days since the Katrina concert. And when I went again the next day to plead with her.
“She’s come to her senses,” said Ruth as she fussed over Mahlon’s flowers.
Instead of talking about Orpah and what she meant exactly by her coming to her senses she was more excited about the flowers. They were daffodils, she said. Besides the bushes of roses. Her Mr. Quigley secretly planted the bulbs a month before, which was a wise time because daffodils liked to establish their roots before the ground froze. They needed the cold weather to form flower buds. I would see them in full bloom early in spring, perhaps in March, because as far as she knew I would still be here at that time since Orpah was not going anywhere.
“I want to hear that from her,” I said to Ruth.
But she would not see me. I decided at that time that she was a lost cause. I would stop chasing after her, pack my things and leave Kilvert once and for all. I would leave her the RV because it was useless to me without her.
The next time I went to Ruth’s the garden was still thriving, despite the drought that was devastating southeast Ohio. The summer had been dry and farmers were fearful that in winter their animals would have no feed. Some had started to use winter feed as early as August. The county was declared a disaster area by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, although the drought conditions were rather spotty. The bottom of the hills had some water while the hills were dry.
It did not seem like the drought was having any effect on Mahlon’s garden. It was getting greener by the day. Ruth’s garden of Swiss chard, parsley and cabbages was luxuriant too.
On the driveway Mahlon was feeding a cow with his hand. Orpah was holding a basin of cow feed. She was sobbing in convulsions. None of them paid any attention to me. I could see though that Mahlon was trying to comfort Orpah. I could hear something along the lines of “don’t worry, little girl, everything will be all right.” I decided not to stop.
There were changes at the porch as well. Ferns were hanging among the wind chimes. There was fuchsia hanging in a basket.