Reverend Sam’s bronze eyes crinkled with amusement at finding me on his porch the next morning so soon after my last visit. I was soaked to the skin, my blouse, skirt, and nylons sticking uncomfortably to my body after running through a pouring rain from the taxi to his house.
“Are you too tired for a visit?” I asked, then rushed on. “I won’t make you work today, I promise. I just need a friend to talk to and I’m afraid you’re the only option.”
He laughed. “I’d never be too tired to talk to you,” he said, stepping back to let me in.
I walked inside and the ashy scent of the fireplace wrapped around me like a comfortable old robe.
“Since you’re not going to make me work,” he said, “why don’t we sit in the living room and I’ll pour us some sweet tea?”
“Thank you,” I said. “That would be wonderful.”
He left the room for the kitchen and I sat down on one of his two big sofas, sinking into the deep cushions that puffed up around my damp skin. I’d never had the chance to look around this room before, and I saw now that it was filled with a woman’s touch. Doilies on the tabletops. Elaborately framed photographs on the walls, crocheted afghans folded over the arms of the sofas. Reverend Sam’s wife was still alive in this room.
He returned to the living room with two tall glasses of sweet tea and took a seat on the other sofa.
“I can feel your wife here,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows, then smiled, looking around. “Yes, she’s here. My sons tell me I should redecorate the whole house, or better yet, sell it and move to Charlotte to be closer to them, but…” He shook his head. “This is where I belong and this is the way I like my house.” He chuckled. “Could you imagine me and my skeleton in a house in the big city?”
I smiled and shook my head.
“This is home,” he said. “So what, my dear girl, is on your mind today?”
“Have you heard about the polio hospital they’re building at the Fresh Air Camp?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “Hard to live in Hickory the past twenty-four hours and not hear about it. I know there was a big meeting last night, but…” He shook his head. “I preferred to stay home. Were you there?”
“Yes,” I said, “and really, it’s quite amazing—and maybe impossible—what these three doctors have managed to dream up in just a few hours. I don’t know how they’re ever going to be able to do what they’re proposing.” I held up my hands in wonder. “But to make it possible—to turn the camp into a hospital—it’s going to take a lot of volunteers. And one of the things they need desperately are nurses. And I’m a nurse.”
“Ah,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “I’d forgotten that about you. How fitting.”
“I am,” I said. “And I want to volunteer there, but both my mother-in-law and my husband say no. They expect me to sit around all day doing nothing useful.” My voice broke, surprising me. “I’ve made so many mistakes, Reverend Sam.” I folded my hands together tightly in my lap. “I used to be proud of who I was. Now I’ve lost myself. I really need to do this.”
Reverend Sam looked at the ceiling for a long moment. Finally, he returned his gaze to me. “Your mother-in-law, I assume, is Lucy’s mother,” he said. There was sympathy in his voice. Sympathy for Ruth, not for me, and suddenly, I felt some of that sympathy myself. Ruth had lost her daughter. She was a cold and difficult woman—that was her nature—but she had to be suffering terribly over that loss. I lowered my eyes, feeling guilty for my negative feelings about her.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “Lucy’s mother. She believes nursing is beneath me and that I’ll bring home germs and disease.”
“She’s a fearful person.”
I started to contradict him. Ruth never struck me as fearful, and yet … maybe it was fear that drove her. Fear of losing her status in Hickory. Fear of losing her friends. Her place in the world.
“Maybe,” I said.
He didn’t respond. He suddenly seemed removed from me, from the room, his eyes closed, head bowed, as he beseeched the Lord and the universe to open the doors between two worlds. I sat still, listening to him talk to God. Suddenly, his voice changed.
“Yes, I see,” he said to the air, his eyes still shut. “Yes. Yes.”
I sat still, wondering what he was seeing behind those closed eyelids.
Finally he opened his eyes. “Walter says you must help,” he said.
Walter again? “I don’t know a Walter,” I said. “You mentioned him the other day, but I don’t—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “He knows you. Possibly he’s your spirit guide? Many of us … those of us who are very fortunate, anyway … we have spirit guides. Walter may be yours. We may never know his exact connection to you, but he has a definite sense of what it is you need to do. You must help at the polio hospital, not only to save the children. You have to help there to save yourself.”
I stared at him. Yes, I thought. Yes.
“All right,” I said, and I smiled. “I will.”