“Will, and there’s one in his desk here. Margaret keeps one on her key ring.”
“Will was smart on so many levels.”
Benita changed the subject. “By the way, I was grateful when your daughter made a statement.”
“Finally.” Big Mim’s face flushed. “She won’t say anything about terminating pregnancy, though. She’s toadying to the religious right in her party, which, as you know, I feel is a party of untrammeled greed and corruption.”
“Of which I am a member,” Benita said lightly.
“I forgot. I’m sorry, but you know I’m a yellow-dog Democrat.” Meaning she’d vote for a yellow dog before she’d vote for a Republican.
Benita waved her hand. “Will registered Republican, so I did, too. He always said one party was as bad as the other, but he felt that doctors received slightly more consideration from the Republicans. You know me, Mim, no interest in politics and no stomach for it.”
“Saves indigestion,” Big Mim joked.
The grandfather clock in the hall, an eighteenth-century one of high value, struck five. While it could have looked out of place in the house, it didn’t, which was a testimony to Benita’s abilities.
“Soon Daylight Savings will be over and night will fall so much more quickly.” Benita noted the lovely light. “I’ve never much liked winter.”
“Because you can’t play golf. Now, if you’d foxhunt, winter would fly by.”
“And so would I.” Benita laughed for the first time.
They chatted some more; Benita cried a little.
Big Mim actually quoted a passage she herself remembered from the Bible, Philippians, Chapter 4, Verse 13: “ ‘I can do all things in him who strengthens me.” “
“Miranda has rubbed off on you,” Benita remarked.
“She can go on. She must have the entire Bible memorized. I try to have her faith but I’m too logical, I fear.”
“I’m discovering mine.”
“What I have I found when I was diagnosed with breast cancer those years ago. I looked inward. Something I don’t usually do.” She inhaled. “Who wants pain? Who desires suffering? I can’t imagine anyone in their right mind wanting a dose, but one learns such important lessons that can’t be learned any other way. My mother, when I complained, used to tell me that suffering was a gift if you looked it in the eye. I never believed her, but now I do.”
“I’m learning.”
As Big Mim rose to leave, she stopped for a moment and glanced again at Will’s maple, the slanting rays hitting the top perfectly so the blush became more radiant, promising outrageous color soon. “Benita, keep your eyes on those unpaid invoices. With Will’s death, some people may drag their heels sending in the check.”
Little did she know she’d hit the nail on the head. Almost.
16
“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”
The antiphon thus spoken, the Rev. Herb Jones continued with the service for burial, his bass voice making the beautiful service even more memorable.
Benita, Georgina, Will, Jr., and Will’s two brothers and his sister with their families stood quietly under the maple tree as Herb, in his vestments, consoled them with “Domine, refugium”—the Lord is my refuge.
The long, verdant lawn added to the peacefulness of the moment.
At the close of the service, Will, Jr., placed his father’s ashes in a three-foot-square hole dug near the maple. Georgina covered it with dirt, patting it down.
Benita knelt, placing a cascade of pale yellow roses over the spot. Each family member, in turn, added their flowers.
The office staff, not in attendance because the service was family only, had brought a sumptuous luncheon to the house, to follow the funeral.
The three women cried quietly. Kylie sobbed the most, but she was the youngest. They’d come by at nine in the morning, and when Margaret, who’d driven everyone, dropped Kylie back at her apartment, she breathed a sigh of relief. All the drama was getting on Margaret’s nerves.
The family filed back to the flagstone patio, where the luncheon had been set out with the best china and crystal. They stood behind their seats at the two long tables.
“Herb, please take the seat of honor.” Benita motioned for him to head her table.
“The girls thought of everything.” Will, Jr., opened the first bottle of champagne.
Everyone called the office staff “the girls.”
When all the glasses were filled, Benita stood, faced the tree, and held her glass high. “To the memory of a good husband, a man of integrity and exquisite taste. How fortunate we were to have him in our lives. To Will.”
“To Will,” all repeated in unison.
She sat back down and leaned toward her daughter. “How he would have loved this.”
The day passed quickly enough with all the family around. An hour before sunset, under the direction of Will, Jr., they all piled into cars and drove west to watch the sun set over the Blue Ridge.
Not until their return home did Benita give way. When Will, Jr., turned the car down the drive, they saw that it had been lined with sugar maples, one for each year of their marriage.
At Big Mim’s behest, Tim Quillan had put everyone he had at Waynesboro Nurseries on the job, and they’d planted those maples, six feet each, in two hours’ time and left without a trace.
Will, Jr., stopped the car; the cars behind him stopped, as well. One by one, they all got out of the vehicles.
“Oh,” was all Benita could say before her legs gave way.
“Mother.” Will, Jr., grabbed her.
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Who did this?”
“We all did. Big Mim arranged everything and paid for the lion’s share. But we all pitched in. You know Dad and his maple.” He cried; he couldn’t help it.
Later that night, when Benita crawled into bed, she cried and cried. She cried for Will. She cried because she was wrapped in the love of her wonderful family. She cried because Big Mim had proven to be such a good friend.
She thought a moment about what Big Mim had said about how people can take advantage of you when you suffer from a ferocious blow. She’d pull herself together and keep on top of the billing and the money. She couldn’t play golf twenty-four hours a day, no matter how much she loved it. She needed a focus, a job, and tending to the business part of Will’s practice would suffice, for now.
She hadn’t discussed business with the children, but she would before they left. The choice would be to close the practice or sell it. If they closed, then the three women in the office would be out of work. Sophie would land a job first, because everyone needed a good nurse and she was the most experienced. Will would want Benita to do all she could for his staff.
But who would buy his practice after this?
The whole medical community had stepped forward to help with those patients in need. Again, she was overwhelmed at how good people were, how ready to work.
She had a little time. She was praying someone would step forward, a young doctor just wrapping up a residency, perhaps.
Then the oddest thought flitted through her head. Jonathan Bechtal looked familiar to her. The FBI had showed her photographs. She didn’t recognize him. But now, in her exhausted state, she thought there was something familiar.
She closed her eyes. Big Mim was right about how huge emotional events distort your mind, wear you out. She was going to have to be vigilant.
17
“You have it easy.” Harry wiggled in her seat. “All you have to do is shave, comb your hair, and put on your clothes. Okay, maybe tying the bow tie is difficult, but the rest is easy.”
“You look beautiful.” The line into Poplar Forest, a quarter mile long, demanded patience.
“You like this color on me?”
“Honey, I like every color on you. You can wear anything.”
The full-length dress, adjusted to fit perfectly by a seamstress, felt confining to a woman used to jeans, work boots, and a T-shirt or sweatshirt.