Heart Calleth Page 3

  He lifted his chin, and met Sandra's gaze, warm and welcoming, as he knew it would be. Both he and Laura had always been aware of Sandra's feelings for him. As a teen, he'd been impressed, especially his ego. But as he matured into manhood, her selfless love that she earnestly extended to both him and Laura, made him admire and respect Sandra. Women like her were nearly as rare as Laura.

  Sandra came around the booth and threw her arms unashamedly about Kevin in a warm embrace. "There's no one else I wanted to see more than you, Kevin."

  The following morning Sandra fussed more than usual with her hair. She had already pinched herself and peeked into the living room to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Kevin lay asleep on the couch under the comforter she had provided him last night. He slept on his side, his face toward her, handsome, despite the drawn thinness of recent illness and mental anguish. And dear to her above anyone she knew. He was the closest thing to heaven.

  She finished brushing her hair and examined herself in the dresser mirror and sighed with resignation. Her dark hair was naturally wavy; however, each individual wave had a mind of its own. She kept her hair short, with a slight curl at the sides, and a hint of bangs on her forehead. Her shoulders slumped as she examined her attire, a beige knit v-neck pullover and tan slacks. "You're a fool," she told her reflection. "Plain, with a lazy, old-fashioned sense of style. But then does it really matter. I'm not and never will be as beautiful and refined as Laura. And all I'll ever be to Kevin is a good friend." She turned away from the mirror. "A friend to the end. Always."

  She had called in sick, planning to make three good meals for Kevin, and do his laundry. He'd only brought one suitcase. The suit he wore was mussed and stained, not surprising after what he'd gone through. For the few days he remained here, she intended to give him all the attention his own sister, if he had one, might lavish upon him.

  An idea, wild at first, formulated in her mind as she made breakfast. She voiced it to Kevin, as he sat at the kitchen table.

  He had showered and shaved, and after futilely protesting against her washing his clothes, was now attired in his robe, while his garments – luckily wash and wear – agitated in the portable washing machine. The town was slowly rebuilding itself, but cleaners and tailors were not as yet prime on its agenda. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for all your trouble," Kevin said, forking down a mouthful of cheese omelet. "This is really good."

  "You've really neglected yourself," Sandra admonished. "When was your last meal? I'd swear you're starving."

  He didn't answer until he'd finished the omelet and drank the coffee. "You're right. I ate on the train, but then when I arrived home ..." He paused and Sandra saw the pain.

  "Don't go there," she said, and proceeded to refill his coffee cup. "Kevin, I'm going to ask you something. But you mustn't take this the wrong way." She hesitated, afraid her words might be interpreted as an inappropriate invitation, or worst, a pass. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. "I don't have anyone left here," she said. "My parents, well, you know the way they are." Again she hesitated, afraid to hear his rejection. But the words had to be said. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. "I want to go with you." Quickly she added, "As a friend." She read the surprise in his eyes, and before it could turn to misgiving, she explained, "I want to make a new start. My work at the hospital doesn't pay much; and needless to say, with the town mostly demolished, there isn't much need for a typist or a bookkeeper. On the other hand, I could be a great help to you, in a business capacity, that is – keeping your books, doing the clerical work, and the housekeeping. I'd accept whatever salary you could afford. In fact, as long as you gave me free room and board, you need not pay me until your crop was sold and you showed a profit." Sandra's heart beat rapidly as she watched Kevin's face, waiting for his reply.

  Stunned, Kevin tried to sort through the several reasons why he should not consider her request. He had no desire to hurt her feelings, but the idea was preposterous. One just didn't ... Yet, in the present chaos, one could not really fall back on normal behavior. And of course, he certainly could use the help she offered. He'd be starting from scratch. There would be a need to hire someone to help with the business end. He didn't look forward to the housekeeping. If a male friend had made him Sandra's offer, he would already have agreed. But it was Sandra asking. She was still in love with him. That love filled her dark eyes with a tense glimmer. She was biting her lower lip. "Sandra," he began to decline.

  "Business," she repeated. "Kevin, I'm not making a pass at you." He heard the tremor in her voice as she pleaded, "I know there is and will always be only one woman in your life. But I want to be near someone I know, someone I can trust. I'm all alone. I need a friend to lean on as I rebuild my life. I thought it might work the same for you."

  As a child, his mother's tears had always been Kevin's weakness. And as he grew the feeling extended to the female gender as a whole. Sandra's eyes were filling, and Kevin could imagine the hurt he would inflict upon her if he denied her request. One desperately lonely soul reaching out to another just as lonely and desperate. "All right," he sighed heavily, beside himself. "All right," he repeated, convinced it was the right decision.

  CHAPTER TWO

  (Almost heaven)

  The sun, finding only an opening here and there between the heavy layers of clouds that had become the norm for the changed earth, shone grudgingly on Kevin's five hundred acres of soil. Meteorologists blamed this condition on the cold moist winds and low temperatures resulting from the ice caps partially melting. The used tractor grumbled under Kevin as it dragged the rotary tiller through the dank soil. It was more mud than soil. The air was humid and it rained six out of seven days; a heavy, steady rain that drowned rather than irrigated the seeds Kevin planted, and turned the healthy soil to muck. But Kevin refused to give up like many of the neighboring farmers had done. The country needed fresh vegetables and fruits. The government paid unstintingly for edible produce.

  Watching Kevin from her work desk by the office window, Sandra considered herself to be as close to heaven as it was possible, having him all to herself, even if it was only in friendship. The months had turned into years ... five years, since he'd taken over the abandoned farm, on a rainy Monday morning.

  The main house, a one floor log wood structure, accommodated a large kitchen, a living room, three bedrooms, and a fairly modern bathroom. Kevin had converted one bedroom into the office where, beside housekeeping and cooking, Sandra worked as his girl Friday, taking care of correspondence between him and buyers. She kept the accounts in order, and managed to pay the bills on his meager stipends. Kevin labored hard, six days a week, often into late evening. Sundays were meant to be his day of rest. But crisis such as heavy downpours, or sudden onset of pest colonies, had them both rushing out to the fields, harvesting before the time, to save their crops of tomatoes, green beans, eggplants, potatoes, etc., whatever grew in the drenched soil starving for sunshine. The first year had been the worst and the leanest. But as the crops grew under Kevin's careful nurturing, he and Sandra saved every seed the plants themselves produced, replanting them, two, three times a year; some even in the winter months, in a crudely built but functional hot house.

  They kept a cow, a goat, some chickens and a rooster in the barn and never lacked for fresh milk and eggs. They utilized part of the farm as a wheat field. Sandra learned to make her own bread. She used a motorized stone mill to grind and separate the wheat for the flour she needed to make the bread.

  The thin bark of the sapling fruit trees Kevin planted the first week on the farm, thickened with the years and sprouted branches. Because of the meager sunshine, it took almost three years before the branches bore fruit, which Sandra canned in neatly labeled glass jars, keeping a quarter of the results for her kitchen, and selling the rest. She took delight in creating her own nametags – "Sandy's jam, jelly and preserves.

  Kevin could not quite pinpoint when it happened, when for the first time in all the years he had known
her, he felt the stir of desire. He could pinpoint when he began to notice little things about her that he had never noticed before. For instance, in the mornings when she greeted him at the breakfast table, sleepy, often with dark shadows under her brown, almost black eyes; she'd pour coffee for him, fry eggs ... and bacon when they could afford it, and slice bread that she had baked the day before. Then taking her place at the side of the table, she would bow her head, Cross herself, and whisper a silent private prayer, meant only for her Maker. It was her casual gentleness to which he had never quite paid attention, that touched a cord never heard before in his heart. She talked to plants, and that made him laugh. She treated the animals on the farm with that same casual gentleness. They had feelings, she insisted. She tried not to grow attached to any of them, aware that often they would end up as a meal on the dinner table. But it was difficult for her. She complained when she was tired; but went on doing her chores in the office, in the house, and outside helping him, especially at harvest time. She never held back praise at the results of his hard work, but she was never afraid to voice contrary opinions, often sound opinions He supposed his feelings for her began to grow slowly each day, as he returned home in the evenings, looking forward to his meal, and her companionship.

  The first time he realized what was happening, he berated himself, picturing his beautiful Laura, comparing her exquisiteness with Sandra's simplicity and homeliness. He made excuses; he was lonely, he missed Laura, his parents, and his friends, many of whom had died in the initial quake. He reasoned that Sandra's constant company had become a habit, such as shaving in the morning, or taking a daily shower, or eating. He tried to bury the new feelings by working even harder, tiring himself to the point that when he came home for dinner, he hardly noticed what was on the plate, or who was serving the meal. Sandra responded by growing anxious about his health, worrying about him, and taking extra care of him, offering to take over some of his work outside in the field.

  His reactions to her concern and protectiveness totally confused him, because instead of feeling henpecked or bored, he felt comforted. He then reassured her that he was fine, that he didn't deserve all the attention she gave him. Sandra smiled, unable to hide a blush. "Think that if you like, but I don't agree with you," was her warm reply.

  It was at the fifth annual Harvest Dance, on a Sunday evening early in October, in the courtyard outside the small country church, that Kevin gave up the fight.

  Neither he nor Sandra considered themselves on a date, simply convenient escorts. Another habit, as he normally accompanied Sandra to most of the neighboring town's functions. Tonight Sandra looked almost beautiful in a cotton, Swiss dotted, apricot colored dress with a full skirt that reached to just below her knees. A yellow silk ribbon held her hair. She wore it longer of late, loose yet neatly in place, soft dark natural waves that cool breezes fluffed gently as he led her into the courtyard. The musicians, local folks with musical talents, played their violins and banjos, and a piano borrowed from the church. The clouds were less dense tonight, as if the Good Lord had told nature, be generous this evening. These families have worked hard this year to grow food for a devastated and hungry world.

  Cottons and jeans was the dress theme that evening. As had grown to be her custom, Sandra had laid out Kevin's clothes the night before ... a brown and black plaid short-sleeved shirt, tan Dockers, and smartly polished low black boots. In the morning she and Kevin had attended Mass together, as they did most Sundays, then participated in a community picnic, with games, and good food, most of it homegrown and home-baked. Overheated and panting from square dancing non-stop for the past two hours, Sandra asked to be excused for a breather.

  "I could use one, too," Kevin remarked, following her.

  They moved away from the courtyard and the music, and mutually headed toward a small wood bridge that curved lazily over a rippling stream. Two other couples strolled across the bridge, pausing to exchange sweet nothings, an embrace, and a kiss. Sandra's face was flushed and dimpled with laughter, her manner confident and carefree; the shy, reserved child let loose. Perhaps it was the beer, or the wine, or just the physical exertion of the dance. Tonight, her adrenaline churning, Sandra was filled with life, and beauty. Contagious! Kevin longed to feel alive once more. They stopped at the center of the small bridge. Sandra closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. "It almost smells sweet and clean," she said.

  With all the increased humidity, soggy was a better definition. But tonight Kevin was inclined to agree with her, at least about the air surrounding them. Or was it her aura and warmth that made the air smell of pear blossoms. As though of their own accord, his arms encircled her from behind.

  Sandra did not move. She wondered if he had heard her heart skip a beat? She reminded herself that it was just that sort of a night when romance was in the air, not love, not the caliber of love she craved. That love belonged to Laura alone, to her spirit, now that her body was no more. Sandra debated, I should pull away, make some sort of excuse, but as if of its own accord, her body turned and faced Kevin. Her gaze melded softly with his, and she restrained the gasp that threatened to break the spell when his mouth came down to touch hers. As she threw all doubts to the wind, and welcomed his kiss, the world about her dissolved. Nothing existed beyond that piece of bridge, Kevin and her, and the sky above.

  That night Sandra slept more peacefully than she had since childhood, Kevin's kisses forever warm on her lips. If he never referred to those moments on the bridge, it did not matter, because they had not been a dream. He had kissed her, not once, but thrice, then nestled his face in the crook of her neck, with the air of a man weary of heartache and loneliness. He had held her ... held on to her, as though he was in danger of drowning and she was the life buoy keeping him afloat. Almost heaven. Those moments would sustain her through the years, through the time when he most certainly would choose another to take Laura's place. Then she would leave the farm, knowing he was not alone and unloved. She would leave him to his happiness, despite her unrequited love ... and her grief. I'll take whatever time in your company is given to me, and let the memories carry me through the empty years. Almost heaven.

  CHAPTER THREE

  (Laura)

  Laura paused in the living room of her small second floor flat, to read once more her Diploma and Certificate. At last she was officially a registered nurse. She smiled ironically, though with a sense of accomplishment, and went to her desk, a plain oak rectangle with a drawer on the side. She placed the document inside the drawer, in the folder containing her birth certificate, retrieved from the Statistics Bureau after a long-term search. Part of her memory had returned. Her first name was indeed Laura as the dedication on the inside of her wedding band confirmed. But her husband's face and name eluded her. She remembered her mother, but not her father, nor where she had been born or had resided.

  Often in the wee of the hours of the morning during her rehabilitation, loneliness and depression had kept her awake in the almost silence of the hospital ward. The hushed soft whispers of the nurses quietly checking on patients, or speaking among themselves as they sat at their station by the entrance and exit doors, strangely added to her feelings of isolation. During those hours Laura often wished she had died along with her spouse, whoever he was. Her life had no purpose. Who was she? What had been her dreams, her hopes?

  She breathed a sigh. At last her life had a plan, a goal. Nurses were desperately needed in parts of the country where the earth had opened and swallowed whole cities, and the quakes and tidal waves had decimated what remained. Tomorrow she would leave the small town that had slowly taken root on the southern most coast of what remained of the sunken state of Florida. A post awaited her at a hospital further north. She had been rescued from the sea by the Coast Guard, a Jane Doe with no I.D. and no memory, and had lain in a hospital ward for months. The only clue to her identity had been the inscription inside the gold band on her fourth left finger. Yet she was told, "You're one of the lucky ones." Millions
had lost their lives when the waters swallowed most of the eastern and western coasts. How she had managed to escape was still a mystery to her. Perhaps she had been on a boat, or on high ground; the word "boat" or "ship" felt closer to the truth somehow, but with no certainty. Laura switched off the desk lamp. The room plunged into darkness despite the open blinds. Tonight the clouds were even thicker and heavier, obscuring the light from the full moon. The darkness seemed to blanket her identity along with her form. She switched on the lamp again. Tonight as she had done since regaining consciousness, she would sleep with the lights on, and dream of the faceless man she called husband.

  Kevin never forgot that Sunday morning in early spring. They had returned from Mass and Sandra had cooked a cheese omelet with sausage links, and home fries. The kitchen smelled of hickory spice and sweet egg yolks. Kevin's mouth watered long before she placed his meal before him. A cheery kelly green apron patterned with tiny red and blue roses protected her simple blue shift as she served him and herself. Kevin was reminded of his past in his parents' home. Of his father sitting at the head of table, as he, himself, did now. Of his mom as she served her family and herself their meals. Like his mother, Sandra sat at the side of the table. He suspected her reasons were different from his mother's who simply wanted to be near his father. He had asked Sandra once her reasons. "I'm not comfortable sitting opposite you," she had replied honestly. "That seat is usually reserved for the other half of the head of the family." In other words, that would have been Laura's seat. Yet in a world where nothing around him bore any resemblance to the one in which he'd been reared, Sandra was everything familiar and comforting. And if he let things stand as they were, sooner or later some other man would take her from him. He was not blind to the interested stares of several of their single male neighbors, farmers like himself.