“Mary? What’s the matter?”
“I’m feeling a little blue, I guess.”
Thomasina dropped her canvas carryall on the low stone wall and moved closer. But Mary stopped her with an upraised hand. “I’ll be all right, honey. I’m in good company here. Why don’t you go on in and see about Milt?”
“You sure?”
Mary nodded, her face to the setting sun. Thomasina watched the rosy crown slip behind a blur of trees on the horizon. Shafts of light streamed across the heavens like countless arms uplifted in praise. Hallowed be Thy name. The prayer showered over her heart, quieting Thomasina’s anxiety as she retreated across the yard to the house.
Milt was in a chair by the bedroom window, talking on the telephone. He covered the receiver with his hand. “Get me a glass of water, would you, Tommy? I’ve been on the wire all evening, and I’m dry as cotton.”
When Thomasina returned with the water, he had ended his call. She took his blood pressure, his temperature and listened to his lungs before suggesting a bath.
“I guess I’m old enough to know when to scrub behind my ears. Sit down before you wear a hole in the rug.”
Thomasina sat. She returned her stethoscope and blood pressure cuff to her canvas carryall and pulled out her patient log. Her paperback book fell out, too.
“Wish somebody’d pay me to read on the job,” groused Milt, as she picked it up, crossed her legs and turned her log book to the proper page.
“Mmm.” Foot swinging, Thomasina took down the time, his heart rate, blood pressure and other routine information.
“Quit speaking, did you?” Milt spoke over the scratch of her pen.
“No, why?”
“Thought maybe I hurt your feelings.”
“No more than usual.” Glancing up from her record keeping, Thomasina saw him plucking at the sheet. “What’s the matter?”
“I’ve had some things on my mind,” he mumbled. “Sorry I growled.”
“I was kidding, Milt. You didn’t hurt my feelings.” Thomasina grinned and added, “Grumbling comes with the territory.”
“Shouldn’t though. I was wrong about Will and the girls, too,” he admitted. “I gave them a pretty hard time about going behind my back and sending you here.”
He was referring to his behavior following his release from the hospital after a respiratory infection turned into pneumonia. Emphysema complicated matters, which was why his doctor suggested nursing home care. Milt dug his heels in, saying Mary was all the nursing he needed. His children knew better. They went behind his back and called Picket Fence, arranging for round-the-clock nursing.
Frustrated over having no say in his own life, Milt railed over his perceived betrayal at the hands of his son and daughters, and ranted at Mary for defending them. He vented his frustrations and wounded pride on Thomasina, as well. Mary acted as a buffer, apologetic to Thomasina and appeasing to Milt. But even she lost patience when Milt tried to send Thomasina packing.
“Enough is enough!” cried Mary, shaking her finger in his face. “You let the girl do her job, or I’m digging a hole in the flower garden and throwing you in myself.”
Milt took a long look at his worn-out wife and shut his mouth. He had been a different man since.
“You’ve been a big help to Mary and me,” Milt continued. “A friend, too.”
“Careful. I’ll ask for a raise,” quipped Thomasina.
“Hush, Tommy, and let me finish,” he ordered. “The thing about Will and the girls making decisions over my head is that only yesterday I was telling them where they could and couldn’t go, and what time to be home, and I wasn’t taking any back talk, either.”
With his words came a wrenching glimpse of the brevity of life. Thomasina felt the press of work she had not even spoken aloud about, much less begun, and watched as Milt pushed the curtain back.
“It’s about dark,” he said, squinting toward the flower garden. “What’s keeping her?”
Thomasina’s thoughts pivoted. “Are you two at odds?”
“Who?” rasped Milt. “Mary and me? No. What makes you ask?”
Mary’s tears. His trembling hand. His apologies, as if he could use a friend in his corner.
Thomasina said, “The tree in the front yard’s still standing. I thought maybe she told you she’d rather you didn’t cut it down.”
“You’re not paying attention, Tommy.” Milt let the curtain fall back into the place and said without preamble, “We’ve got an appraiser coming tomorrow. We’re going to have an auction, and sell the equipment and the land, too, if we can get what it’s worth.”
The breath went out of Thomasina. She would have sworn he’d give up his lungs, his arms, his legs, his very lifeblood before he gave up his land.
“I’m making the arrangements first,” Milt continued. “Then I’ll tell Will. The girls both live out of state. I’d rather tell them in person, but that’s up to them.”
“None of them want the farm?” said Thomasina.
“They never have in the past. If they’ve changed their minds, they can give fair market value and there’ll be no auction.” Gaze narrowing, he added, “If you’re thinking I owe it to them free and clear, just let me say…”
“I wasn’t,” Thomasina inserted hastily.
“In my book, giving them something they haven’t worked for is less a gift than a test of character, and I did my part in their character years ago. Anyway, I’ve got to have a little something set by to take care of Mary.” Milt jutted out his knobby chin, rubbed his bald head and waggled a finger in the general direction of his water glass.
Thomasina took it to the kitchen and filled it again. He spilled more than he drank, and dropped the glass, trying to return it to the table.
“Jeb Liddle’s been farming the ground for almost a decade now. He’ll bid,” he said as Thomasina stooped to pick up the glass and the scattered ice cubes.
“How many acres are there?”
“Why? Have you got a nest egg?” he injected on a lighter vein.
“Mostly in stocks and bonds,” she said.
“Ya, right. So what are you doing here?”
She shrugged off his disbelief and said with a grin, “Can’t a girl have a hobby?”
“Cute, Tommy Rose.” he chortled. “Grab a piece of paper now, before you get too sassy for list making. There’s something I want you to do for me tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“Your day off,” he said, nodding. “I know that. But while Mary’s fine with the plan, the details are making her weepy. I figure she’ll be better off nest shopping than getting all antsy over the appraiser prowling the place. I can’t very well ask Will to take her, now can I?”
“I’d be happy to take her,” said Thomasina. Seeing that Mary wasn’t the only one having a tough time with the details, she leaned forward and patted his knee. “Are you sure you’re all right with this, Milt?”
“I won’t say it’s easy. But it’s God who’s lifted us up and given us opportunities and God who says when it’s time to let go.”
“He’s said this?”
“Not in words. But the indications are there.”