Rachel nodded sympathetically. As the woman rambled on, Rachel wondered if she was in poor health. Clearly, she was lonely and needed someone to listen to her, but Mrs. Morris was a long way from the grouch that she and Mary Aaron sometimes secretly poked fun at. Rachel couldn’t help feeling a little ashamed of herself. As an innkeeper, it was her duty to see to the welfare of her guests. Why hadn’t she noticed Mrs. Morris’s frailty before?
“I come here for the peace and quiet. I have a lovely apartment in a nice complex in Philadelphia.” She took a spoonful of the vegetable soup. “Delicious.”
“Do you have family?” Rachel asked when silence stretched between them.
“A niece in Seattle, and one son. But we’re . . . estranged.” Mrs. Morris glanced up again, and Rachel sensed that it took a great deal of effort to hold back tears. “We . . . we haven’t spoken in years—my son and I. My niece is pleasant enough, but we aren’t really close. Cards at Christmas, that sort of polite but distant relationship. A sweet girl, really, but quite involved in her own life, as she should be.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rachel murmured. “It must be awful for you being . . . separated from your son. Is he your only child?”
Mrs. Morris nodded. “Do you have children?”
Rachel shook her head. “My fiancé and I are going to be married in a couple of weeks.”
“I hope you are happy together. And if you do have children, cherish them. And don’t try to mold them into someone you think they should be.”
Rachel sat quietly. Sometimes it was better not to speak but to let someone else do so. Usually, people felt the need to fill the silence, and it seemed that was true with Mrs. Morris because soon she began to talk again.
“My husband worked long hours. He was never home weekends or holidays; his law firm always came first. It was important to him to bring in a substantial income, but the price was that I raised my Bruce practically alone. Chicken pox, strep throat, broken arm, always I was the one who sat up all night with our son. We lost my husband when Bruce was fourteen, but I saw that he went to the best schools, received an Ivy League education.”
“You must have been proud of him.”
“I was. Am. Bruce was always at the top of his class. But as soon as he finished his residency, he left for India to work with the poorest of the poor.” She closed her eyes and winced, then pressed her stomach.
“Are you in pain?” Rachel asked, getting to her feet.
“It will pass,” she said. “I took my pills just before you came up.” Mrs. Morris inhaled slowly. “Please, I must be keeping you from something important. I’m sure you have more to do than to listen to the rantings of an old woman.”
Rachel sat down again, wondering what illness Mrs. Morris was suffering from. “Nothing more important than being here and sharing tea with you. But you don’t look well. We have a good doctor here in Stone Mill. I could call—”
“No, thank you, but I have quite enough physicians already.” Her chin firmed. “I’m dying, my dear. Rather sooner than I’d hoped.”
Rachel was taken by surprise by the announcement. “Are . . . are you certain that there isn’t something more that can be done? Specialists? Second opinion?”
“Long past that. Now drink your tea.” She offered that half-smile again. “I’ve been to Sloan Kettering. I’ve done treatments, and we’ve exhausted all avenues. Don’t look so stricken. Death comes to all of us. It’s just my time.”
“Oh, Mrs. Morris, I’m so sorry,” Rachel said. She could feel her throat constrict. In a moment, she’d be crying. “If there’s anything I can do—”
“You are doing something. You’re listening to me. No one wants to listen, especially when it concerns death. That’s a taboo subject in America.” She winced again and bit her lower lip. “I don’t know why I’m pouring out my personal troubles to a perfect stranger, but it seems I am.” She took another mouthful of the soup. “This is very good. It’s difficult to find things that tempt my appetite. You can see that my clothes are falling off me. Nothing fits properly. The doctor wants me to drink protein shakes for athletes and formula for old people.” She chuckled and took a little more soup.
“You were telling me about your son, Bruce,” Rachel said gently.
Mrs. Morris nodded. “Yes, I was, wasn’t I? Such foolishness that we argued. I thought he was rebelling against his upbringing, my decisions, me. I accused him of holding money in disdain because he’d never had to work for it. We argued bitterly. I told him that he’d been given everything.” She shook her head again. “I was so certain that I was right, that I knew more of what he should do with his life than he did. I even told him that he owed me, his widowed mother, and that he was being selfish.” She glanced away. “But he insisted God called him to devote his life to the needy.”
“Some are called to serve,” Rachel ventured. “I think if my child made such a sacrifice, I would miss him terribly, but I would be proud.” And I’d make the effort to go wherever he was to see him, she thought, but wouldn’t say out loud.
Mrs. Morris sniffed and tears began to run down her cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, except that maybe . . . tomorrow is my birthday. That’s why I came to Stone Mill. I couldn’t face being alone there in that apartment thinking of how my own selfishness ruined my life and kept me from the one person I loved more than anyone in
