second time somebody died in this family 25 and they was too stubborn to do what they knew was right.'
'It's not only them. It's Daddy, too.'
'Yes. Stubborn fools.'
For a moment Rachel tried to repress the words, but in the end could not hold them back.
'Tommy Lee came to the cemetery today.'
Callie Mae silently rolled her eyes, folded her hands, and said, 'Halleluja.' Then she caught Rachel's chin with one imperious finger, forcing it up while she noted, 'So that's why you're cryin'.was
Callie Mae had been the Talmadges's maid when Rachel and Tommy Lee were growing up, and in the years since Eulice's death had divided that duty between Rachel's house and Everett's. There were no secrets kept from Callie Mae.
'Partly.'
Again Rachel was wrapped in a motherly hug. 'Well, you go ahead, get it all out o' your system. You just cry it out, then you'll feel better. And when you're done, you come down to the kitchen.' She backed away and smiled down at
the woman she would always look upon as a girl no matter how adult and refined she'd become. 'Got your favorite down there, cream cheese pound cake.'
That at last brought a wan smile to Rachel's face. Food was Callie Mae's panacea for all the troubles in this world.
'Not today, Callie Mae. I just don't think I could hold anything down.'
'Hmph! You nothin' but skin and bones, Miss Rachel. It's time you started eatin' right again.' She turned toward the door with a sigh. 'Well, time I got back down there.'
When she was gone, Rachel listened to the sound of voices from below. Lord, she was so tired. If she waited a few more minutes, maybe the last of them would leave.
She crossed to the bed, tested the mattress with five fingertips, and fell across the white eyelet spread with an arm thrown above her head. She closed her eyes and for a moment was fourteen again, a blushing fourteen, lying in bed quaking with disbelief because Tommy Lee Gentry had just kissed her in the break of the boxwood hedge. For the first time- really kissed her. Then his eyes had widened with
wonder and he'd walked backwards to his 27 side of the yard while she'd stood staring, amazed, for several heart-thumping seconds before spinning to her own yard and racing, as if a ghost were chasing her, up the stairs to this room, to this bed, to flop on her back and stare at the white canopy in the moonlight and feel herself begin to change from girl to woman.
Rachel rolled to her back, eyes closed, soul shot with guilt for dredging up dreams of Tommy Lee within hours after burying her husband. Where were the memories of Owen? Did nineteen years of happy marriage count for nothing? She thought of their childless house, and emptiness clawed upward through her body. If only there were children- someone to comfort her now, to help her through the days ahead. Instead, Rachel faced the dismal prospect of returning to the empty house alone.
'Oh, here you are, Rachel.'
At the sound of Everett's voice, Rachel coiled off the bed as if caught perpetrating an indecent act upon it.
'Daddy… I'm sorry. I must have drifted off.'
'Marshall was looking for you.'
'Oh. I'll go down in a minute. I just needed to get away.'
Everett's eyes slowly circled the room. 'Finding you here in your room this way… it brings back memories of when you were a girl and your mother was alive.' Absently he wandered to the south window, drew back the curtain and gazed at the view beyond. 'Times were so happy then.' As if suddenly realizing what he'd been staring at, he dropped the curtain. 'I wonder if I'll ever stop missing her.'
You could have friends, she thought. Two more than you've got. Two who meant so much to both of you at one time. She glanced at the top of the Gentry house beyond her father's shoulder, then at his back. It was slightly stooped now-funny, she'd never noticed it before. But then, the weight of guilt rested heavily; it was bound to weigh him down in time.
But he was still her father, and in spite of everything she loved him. At times when she remembered, when she thought of all she'd missed, she found it possible to hate him. But he was human, had needs, perhaps even regrets, though these he never revealed.
Very quietly she asked, 'Do you ever 29 see them?'
His shoulders stiffened. 'Drop it, Rachel.' But his stern tone only forced her on.
'I've heard that Tommy Lee doesn't talk to them anymore.'
'I wouldn't know. And it's none of my business.'
You made it your business twenty-four years ago, Daddy, she thought. But aloud she only observed in the quietest of voices, 'I was looking at the hedge you and Gaines Gentry planted all those years ago. You can still see the break where-was
'Rachel!' he barked, swinging around. 'I fail to understand how you can be preoccupied with thoughts like that on a day when you've just buried Owen.'
She flushed, standing before him with fingers clasping and unclasping against her stomach. Guilt came creeping over her, and she upbraided herself for speaking of the Gentrys today of all days. She studied Everett's face, noting how gray and shaken he was. 'I'm sorry, Daddy. Owen's death has been terrible for you, hasn't it?' It was an odd question from a widow, but they both knew her
relationship with Owen had been staid, comfortable at best, and the past six months had been hell for her. His death had come as somewhat of a relief, so Rachel had her guilt, too.
'I had such plans for him,' Everett sighed, prowling the room, avoiding his daughter's eyes.
'I know you did.' Owen had been his hope, the son he'd never had, his right hand in business. But Everett's shoulders lifted in a fortifying sigh, and he turned again to his daughter.
'I guess we'd better go back down. I left the Hollises there, visiting with Marshall.'
'Yes, I guess we'd better.' But she wondered how she'd tolerate any more of Pearl Hollis's noisy weeping, or Frank Hollis's dolorous looks, which seemed to say, if only Owen had had children.
But children, like boxwood hedges, were never mentioned; both were taboo subjects in this house.
Downstairs Marshall True was waiting, gallant and accommodating as always. 'Rachel dear, I was worried about you.' He came forward quickly, reaching for her hands. She gripped his fingers, relying upon him once again for emotional
support, while Marshall's kind gray 31 eyes rested upon hers reassuringly. 'Whenever you're ready I'll take you home.'
An hour later, as the two of them rode toward Rachel's house in Marshall's car, she slumped back against the seat with a sigh. His understanding eyes moved to her, then back to the street. 'I know the feeling well. I remember when Joan died, how difficult it was to dream up responses to all the well-meaning phrases friends came up with.'
Rachel closed her eyes. 'Am I ungrateful, Marshall? I don't mean to be.'
'No, dear, I don't think so. Just tired. Tired of it all, and glad it's over.'
She rolled her head to look at him and asked quietly, 'Am I really allowed to be glad it's over?'
'You shouldn't have to ask that question of me, of all people.'
She smiled wanly, remembering how Marshall had seen them through the worst of it, cheering Owen through the depressions, bolstering Rachel's courage when bleakness threatened to beat her down, remaining steadfast until the end, just as they had done for him
when his wife had died four years ago.
'But I feel so guilty because I… I'm relieved he's gone.'
'That's natural, when the death has been lingering.'
Was there another person in the world who always knew the precise thing to say, at the precise time it was needed, the way he did?
'Thank you, Marshall. I simply don't know what I'd have done without you.'
He pulled up in Rachel's driveway and reached for her hand. 'Well, perhaps we're even, then. You and Owen
