THE LAST CHAPTER

CHAPTER ????

THE LAST PARAGRAPH

The knock at the door was so unexpected it almost startled Cecelia.  She had so few visitors that the doorbell had long since become inoperable.  The knock was soft, not bold, and Cecelia put down the bouquet of peonies, wiped her hands on her apron and went to the door.

There stood __________. “I’ve written something,” she said.  I would like you to read it.  She pulled a manuscript from he satchel and handed it to Cecilia.  Cecilia read the cover and glanced up with a slight smile.  “When Blooms a Rose,” she said.  “I like it. I look forward to reading it.   Tonight.  Yes, I’ll read it tonight,”  and she put the manuscript on the ________ right next to the  _________.  You were kind to bring it to me to read.  I’m honored.  

I wanted you to read it first.  It’s important to me that you read it before anyone else.  You have been so kind to me.  “You have been, been,” she searched for the words.  Cecilia took her by the hand and clasped it between her own.  She could feel the warmth of her fingers and the softness of youth, the vulnerability of life yet to be lived.

That was that.  She left with little said.  

Barely had the door shut that Cecelia picked up the manuscript and opened the cover.  There, on the very first page were the words: To my angel, Cecelia, who nurtured a bloom from a dying vine.  You gardened my heart.  Every flower there is from you tending.

Cecelia clasped the pages to her heart and slumped down in the chair, and she wept.

She lit a candle and lifted the pink and green afghan from it’s place on the end of her bed.  She didn,t even pull down the covers but slid on top of the neatly made bed and propped herself up against the crocheted pillow case.  She could not go to sleep without reading more.  Every page was like a repeat of that warm hand she had held earlier in the day.  Every word, every line like a walk through her aromatic garden in the spring.  This was Spring to Cecelia.  The barrenness of winter had turned a corner and she could feel the sweetness of spring well up within her.

Rarely does a life have such significance in the grand scheme of things.  Rarely does one find that kernel of purpose and promise born into her in the womb, or maybe in some heavenly realm where God resides and writes reminders to Himself about necessary acts of providence.  But every so often it happens.  Every once in a while the star of divine design meets with a galaxy of destiny and a universe is born and ushers forth a personhood that innately follows the arc of a a shooting star.  More often than not, and in the case of Cecilia, that stars leads directly to the edge of adversity.  For it is in adversity that life truly begins and then evolves.  Cecelia had fancied it her lot in life, her burden to bear, if you will.  But the burden pressed upon her as a child had truly been her bridge to the whole of the Magnolia Junction experience.  It had been her own junction, that place where you depart to escape the mundane, to flee toward some illusive adventure in some far away place, only to discover that the true adventure begins and ends at that very same junction of departure.

Cecelia watched the flicker of the candle against the faded wallpaper and followed the black smoke of the diminishing wick as it curled like a ribbon dangling from a helium balloon let slip into the unknown by a tiny hand.  Her thoughts dangled there as well as her eyelids became heavy.  She was tired.  It was time to rest.

And with that she closed her book, blew out the candle and put the past behind her.  She would rise to meet the morrow with a fresh outlook on life and a cherished belief in herself and in the whole of mankind, especially her neighbors and friends of Magnolia Junction.

CHAPTER 2: It Happened On The Way

It Happened On The Way

Jeremiah Sothesby was a bit of an enigma to the citizens of Magnolia Junction. Bright, educated and fastidiously well bred, it was generally considered a waste that Jeremiah had managed to stay in town. His love for Sarah and his respect and devotion to Harrison, Sarah’s father, were the most obvious reasons. But a man with Jeremiah’s background could have had an outstanding career. No one in town would have blamed him for leaving. There was no way Jeremiah could rise to the prominence that befitted him living in a rural place like Magnolia Junction.

When Jeremiah spoke, people listened. His education in law as well as having been brought up in a home where debate and the law were topics of constant conversation, had made him articulate, cunning and impossible to outwit. Jeremiah had only recently become Mayor of Magnolia Junction when Pap Murphy had retired. Pap had been mayor for as long as just about anyone, with the exception of Freeman Gottschalk, could remember. A loveable fellow, one who knew the stories of everyone in town, he mostly was kept on because he had so much on every living citizen and a bunch dead. His knowledge of the backgrounds of the people in town was kin to a historian. But if you called him that, he would just chuckle and tell you that he had a photographic memory and had penchant for reading the newspaper (both of them) every day. Of course, by this time, everyone who had every set foot in Magnolia Junction had been the topic of a story, mostly front page, at some time or other. That’s how Jimmy Franklin’s hit and run had made the front page. It didn’t have to be a slow news day to make the front page. You just had to have been old news for at least a year.

Jeremiah had rescued Sarah from what could have been the life-long care of the O’Donnell household. After Francis left, when Emily had entered first grade, Sarah, then 17, had become the duly appointed matriarch, much to the delight of the boys whe never could get away with anything while Francis was there. Sarah was a much kinder and less demanding mother figure, though each of the children respected Francis for the sacrifice she had made. Sarah never would let the children complain about Francis. However, laughing about her curious ways was fair game, and became some of the most hilarious conversations in the O’Donnell household. Harrison wasn’t much for laughter, but even he had cracked a smile on occasion as the children had recited things that Francis said and recounted the curious things she had done in the course of any given day.

Had it not been for Francis, Sarah would have never met Jeremiah. On the day of the parade, commencing the Perilous Disaster Festival, Sarah had been called upon to work the kitchen at the Café. Sarah usually served as waitress, hostess and general keep the customers happy person. But on this day, everyone in town had either come in for barbecue or had ordered some to take home. The café was buzzing with activity. Francis had agreed to work the tables and Sarah had donned an oversized cook’s apron to assist with making more prize winning sauce.

It was hot that day. It was one of those crazy May days in the south, when the temperature catches the coattails of summer and gets drug into the 90’s. The thermometer in the kitchen had registered 99 degrees Fahrenheit when Sarah had happened to glance up. Her tiny face and mahogany hair glistened. Sarah continuously wiped her brow with the bottom of her apron, just to keep things sanitary. Her face was streaked with the crimson sauce that had splashed on the apron as she stirred the iron pot. Harrison swore by that old iron pot. But it put off heat like a pot-bellied stove, and on this particular May day, heat was not in demand. Sarah had just gone out back to catch her breath, when Jeremiah entered the café.

Harrison, the connoisseur of the barbeque and protector of the ribs greeted Sarah as she exited the back door. “Hot in there,” he said, as if there were a doubt. “It’s almost unbearable,” Sarah lamented. “But I’ve got some swell sauce almost done,” she bragged. “That’s my girl.” “We’ve had customers since breakfast, askin’ for ribs and lots of sauce. You’re success is going kill me,” she teased. “My success has kept you younguns in clothes, young lady,” he chided. “Yes, and Emily Sue is begging for that yellow dress that has been in Miss Molly’s window since Easter. She didn’t get it for Easter, and she wasn’t happy about that. She does look cute in yellow. Remember that little yellow dotted swiss I made her last year? She wore it last Easter.” “Yep.” “Francis bought her them shoes. Remember?” “She looks like your mother.” Sarah stopped to let the words sink in. Her heart still hurt, every time she allowed herself to think about it. Emily did have all of Hannah’s features. Her olive skin, her trademark, blue eyes seem even bluer.

Sarah missed her mother. Being the first born and the only girl, until Emily, Hannah and Sarah had bonded from the beginning. Their relationship went beyond the usual. Hannah was only 16, when she and Harrison got married and Sarah was born 4 months after Harrison left for Europe. Hannah hadn’t even realized she was pregnant, and when she finally realized that something strange was taking place in her body, her beloved husband was in the midst of a world war and she was all alone with this new life growing inside her. Hannah loved Sarah before she ever laid her eyes on her, and cherished this new love that shielded her from the deep loneliness she had felt when Harrison had left. Hannah had felt abandoned, just like she had been abandoned by her father early on. Sarah was hers to keep and Hannah didn’t left her out of her sight for the first four years of her life. Where you saw Hannah, you saw Sarah.

Turns out, it was mighty providential, because Sarah grew up fast. Without siblings and her father away, Sarah found herself with adults, mostly. Sarah accompanied her mother to every quilting party, church supper, political rally and town hall meeting. She became adept at all the things that Hannah loved, including sewing. Hannah had made all of her clothes as a child. It’s all she had. She had used Ethel Murphy’s Singer to do all her sewing. The Singer was a hand-me-down from Ethel’s aunt. Ethel couldn’t sew and was perfectly happy with Hannah bringing it out from the cobwebs in the attic.

CHAPTER 1: Do Not Disturb Cecilia Moffett

Unlike the others, Cecilia Moffett kept to herself. She didn’t enjoy the chatter and the games prevalent in town and made it clear with the “Do Not Disturb” sign that hung in a prominent place on her front door where the average citizen would hang a welcome wreath. Children didn’t come to Cecilia’s door at Halloween, even if the light was on. Cecilia wouldn’t come to the door anyway. She didn’t even leave her house when the town had the Perilous Disaster drill that included the entire town. It was such a huge event that it ultimately turned into a holiday and a parade.

The residents of Magnolia Junction have always loved a celebration, as witnessed by many a casual visitor. That’s exactly how Jeremiah Sothesby had made his home there. He was traveling through, on his way back to Boston, when he ran out of gas just this side of the county line. Desperate to find gas, he headed off in the direction of what smelled like barbeque pork. He found the gas, the Disaster Drill Festival, the best barbeque ribs he had ever eaten and a wife all in one adventure. But that’s another story.

Cecilia had the most beautiful flower garden in town. Actually, her whole yard was a flower garden. It had started off small, but Cecilia tended to be obsessive by nature, and the patch of ground that she had originally laid out for her flowers soon spread to include both the front and the back yard. Maude and Mary Grace were constantly complaining about the way the roses spilled onto the sidewalk and made it impossible to pass by without having to detour into the street. On one such occasion, Mary Grace almost got run over by Jimmy Franklin. Jimmy was on his bicycle throwing newspapers and trying to get them directly on Mr. Crawley’s front porch. He made the mistake of taking one last look backward and just about nailed Mary Grace. Maude screamed and it scared Mary Grace so badly that she fainted. (She had done that several times since she and Maude had returned from the treatment center in Valhollow.)

Maude and Mary Grace had never been quite the same since they had lost their husbands in the mill accident. Maude took to drinking, which wasn’t hard for her, since she was the talk of the town at every party. She hovered over the punch bowl and always seemed to be much happier at the end of the party than at the beginning. She danced better, too. When Frank passed away, she tabled (so to speak) the punch bowl, and went right for the Jack Daniels. No one was really surprised, but everyone was quite disturbed. She had taught half the town in Sunday School for the past 40 years and was a most unlikely drunk. But when Mary Grace lost her precious Arnold, she and Maude became the best of drinking buddies and soon decided that the best way to keep the secret was to live together in Maude’s two-story Victorian. There was plenty of room, and Maude had a cellar perfect for keeping the medicine, as it came to be referred.

Maude and Mary Grace took frequent walks. Some said they did it to practice walking straight in case they ever had to take a sobriety test. People had reported hearing Maude tell Mary Grace, “Walk straight, Gracie! You’re going to get yourself in trouble”. And that’s all it took in a small town like Magnolia Junction to make a good story. As a matter of fact, the Jimmy Franklin incident got written up in the Junction Independent as a hit-and-run, simply because it scared Jimmy Franklin so bad when Miss Mary Grace fainted that Jimmy had dropped his bike on the spot and ran for Doc Porter. On the other hand, the Magnolia Daily News had hailed Jimmy as a hero for having the presence of mind to go for the doctor. So the Daily News and the Independent were once again locked in controversy. You could always be sure of getting both sides of any story if you subscribed to both papers, because whatever one reported, it was sure to be quite the opposite in the other.

If the truth be known, the unsocial Cecelia had poked her head around the corner of the house that day of the hit-and-run (or Jimmy Franklin saves the day, whichever is your persuasion). Doc said he saw her when the crowd that had gathered all bent down in unison. Doc proceeded to give Mary Grace mouth-to-mouth and then pulled back with a sort of a wince, indicating that the fumes coming from Miss Gracie’s mouth might be combustible. When the crowd bent down, Doc came up and just happened to catch Cecilia’s eye. She disappeared in a flash.

The story goes that Cecilia and Doc Porter had had a fling in the olden days. It was common knowledge in the gossip circles, but you never saw the two together and Doc Porter had remained the town’s most eligible gentleman and totally unwilling to impart any information. But stories in Magnolia Junction are as plentiful as the kudzu and conjecture could fill the tabloids or the big screen with some amazing drama. Nevertheless, whatever conjecture had entertained the Daughters of the Revolution or the consortium of self proclaimed local dirty dozen that convened at Rudy’s Hardware on the weekends, the truth could not be known by the lips of either Cecilia or the good doctor. First of all, no one had heard a word from Cecelia in years, and it was a given that whatever you told Doc Porter was as safe as Fort Knox, especially if told in confidence. Whatever had happened between the two was the best kept secret in town, and believe me, if the Daughters of the American Revolution had had any inkling of the truth, it would have been front page news in the Independent or the Daily News, and both sides of the revelation would have been represented in stark contrast. Doc Porter didn’t hob-knob with the dirty dozen at Rudy’s because he knew that nothing good came from the talk there and he also knew that he was often the topic of conversation. Being the most eligible bachelor, handsome and the heir to the Porter fortune, he was the target of much jealousy and verbal venom. No one could quite explain why he would stay in such a small town with the potential that surrounded him. But stay he did, and had cured the ails of the vast majority of the town’s residents. The only exception was Freeman Gottschalk who had every ailment known to man, and some unknown that he had conjured up himself. He claimed to have the only case of gastroembolicomatitus. Even Bernita Coleman, the town librarian who had investigated the alleged disease, said that it didn’t exist. But you couldn’t convince Freeman of that.

Cecilia Moffett, even at her age, was lovely. Not to be confused with beautiful, Cecilia had always had a glow about her. People who knew her later on in life had contributed it to the amount of time she spent in the garden. But Cecilia had glowed since early childhood. The first time she sang a solo at the First Baptist Church of Magnolia junction at age 8, the light in the baptismal reflecting off the holy waters had made an ethereal connection with the brass offering plates on the communion table and had projected a halo around Cecilia’s golden haired head. It was like a little angel stood before them. The combination of the halo and the cherubic sound that had come from her lips made the whole congregation weep. It was one of those times in church when you're expecting the usual spiritual sedative, only to find that the gates of a well bastioned soul have gotten penetrated by surprise. Even Reverend Haygood commented on it when he got up to deliver the sermon. It was as if the whole sanctuary had become a victim of a holy spell. From that day forward, Cecilia had been referred to as “ that angel, Cecilia”. Cecil and Bertha Ann, Cecilia's parents, referred to the incident repeatedly and Cecilia finally requested that she be referred to by her Christian name, not her acquired title. As Cecilia got older, she became more and more embarrassed by it. She had never taken herself seriously, but the more the name came to be sanctified by her parents, the more uncomfortable she became with it. Of course, the kids in school were envious of her vocal talent and got fed up with her sainthood and made it unbearable for her. It had made socializing with the children her age almost impossible. It wasn't long before Cecilia was spending hour after hour alone in her room. In spite of it all, Cecilia loved to sing and sje was called upon often to display her talent. The fact that she glowed was unmistakable. Sun or no sun, reflection or not reflection, there was an undeniable glow about her. She couldn't help it.

Yes, Cecilia glowed. In high school, she tried to cover it up with the pressed powder that she had found in her mothers dresser. She had mistaken the glow for shine and had hoped that the powder make take the edge off. But that was not to be. You can’t put a lid on a candle without snuffing it out, and powder was no match for Cecilia’s spirit and the sunshine that accompanied her. Her best efforts could not disguise the glow.

Maybe that was what had first attracted the young Doctor Porter to her. He had everything any young man could want: wealth, looks, talent, charm. He could have had any girl in town, or out of town for that matter. When the high school football team traveled out of town, it was Carson Elliott Porter, III who wowed the girls. It didn’t take long for his fame to spread. He was a talented quarterback every touchdown pass got written up in the Daily News, compliments of Carson Elliott Porter, Senior. He not only owned the newspaper, but every politician south of the Mason-Dixon. He had garnered his fortune from the oil fields of Texas at a time when others were losing theirs. With money came power and with power and money, you can buy your way in or out of any situation. So Porter Senior could do or say just about anything he wanted to. Thus the Daily News, became his soapbox and pulpit, depending on his mood. It didn’t take long for Carson’s picture and embossed report of his successes to be displayed on the front page of newspapers throughout the region. It was a necessary evil for Carson, and he knew that complaining about it would only bring about an editorial featuring his humility and an even more prominent candid shot in the next issue. It was a no win situation.

More writing by Joan Gilbert Rhoden

Joan Rhoden