I have often heard the expression “It hit him like a punch in the stomach,” but I had never felt it myself. Suddenly I knew exactly what it meant. The letter struck me a blow that caused a physical ache so sharp I had to bend over. Then I sat up. Perhaps I’d missed a word, or an entire sentence, and reversed the meaning of the thing.
I grabbed the letter and read it again.I read it out loud.
Eventually I turned it over and found another message scrawled on the back in pencil, a child’s handwriting.
And that is when I felt my heart break.
Chapter 45
I POURED COLD WATER from the pitcher into the basin, then washed my face with the coarse brown soap, scrubbing so hard I threatened to take the skin off.
Next I took a sheet of writing paper from my valise, along with a pen Meg had given me for the first anniversary of our marriage: a beautiful Waterman pen.
I pulled the wobbly chair up to the wobbly table and uncapped the pen. Immediately I felt all my lawyerly eloquence disappear.
Suddenly I came out of my writing trance…
“Mr. Corbett! Mr. Corbett!”
It was Maybelle, hollering from the foot of the stairs. I quickly wrote,
I put down the pen and walked out to the landing.
“What is it, Maybelle?” I called.
“Mrs. Nottingham is here to see you. She’s here on the porch. She’s waiting on you, Mr. Corbett. Hurry.”
Chapter 46
THERE ELIZABETH WAS, standing on Maybelle’s wide wraparound porch. She had put on another bonnet and seemed even more attractive than she’d been this morning.
She reached out for my hand. “I came to apologize, Ben.”
I took her hand. “What do you mean? Apologize for what?”
I said this for the benefit of Maybelle, whom I could see lingering in the parlor, trying not to be observed.
“Let’s go look at Miss Maybelle’s rose garden,” I proposed. “It’s in full bloom this time of year.”
I made a motion with my eyes that disclosed my real meaning to Elizabeth. She nodded and followed me around the porch toward the backyard.
Maybelle’s roses were actually in sad shape, a few blossoms drooping among a profusion of weeds.
“I’m sorry for this morning,” Elizabeth said. “The way I ran off.”
“You didn’t run, you walked. I watched your every step,” I said and smiled.
“You can still be funny, Ben.”
“Sit on the bench,” I said. “I won’t bite you.”
Smoothing her dress, she sat on the stained marble bench amid the raggedy roses.
Sitting close to her, I was fascinated by her every gesture, word, movement. I noticed the way Elizabeth touched her mouth with the knuckle of her second finger, giving herself a little kiss before coming out with an opinion. And the slow southern musical rhythm of her speech.
“You were surprised I came to see you again so soon?” she said.