A STRANGE PERFUME
It permeated their hearts as surely as it had permeated that little room--For her, the ever-present assurance of a love few will ever know; for him, the indescribable definition of what it means to be a man.
"Lord, it ain't right en' you know it!"
No sooner had the words rolled off Smedley's tongue than he began feverishly looking around from his perch on Sairee's back to see if anyone--that is any one other than the Lord--had heard.
"Now Lord, You know I'm a contented man, a thankful man, a man that ain't et up with worldly ambitions. I figured out long ago that I ain't 'bout to get rich preachin' up here on the Hog Back. I'm content though; I'd jest as soon be buried out behind the little white meetin' house as in the fanciest churchyard in the country, but this is jest more'n I can bear!"
Sairee had a peculiar way of knowing when the preacher's mind was occupied with thoughts other than forward progress. At those times, like right now, her gait would become a slow, smooth, leisurely walk. It was as if the mule realized that if she didn't jostle the parson out of his reverie then she could go on at a comfortable pace all the while enjoying a mouthful or two of the delicacies that the roadside offered, but which normally she and Smedley rushed by in sanctified haste.
Smedley's dark meditation was soon ended, not by any lack of caution on Sairee's part, but by the sound of an approaching buggy. It had been Smedley's notice of this buggy, when it was just a dust-plumed speck on the next ridge, that had cast him into the doldrums.
"Howdy Parson."
"Why, hello, Doc. Lazwell," Smedley intoned, with what he hoped was a sufficiently cheerful voice and smile. "I hope it ain't bad news that brings you up to the Hog Back."
"Well, no Parson, as a matter of fact, it's just the opposite. Young Missy Bedletter just gave birth to twin boys. Missy and Clyde, not to mention the grandparents, are as proud as a mule that won the Kentucky Derby. 'Course you understand, now, Parson, that's just a way of speaking. Personally, I don't go in for that horse racing."
Normally the mere mention of gambling of any kind would have caused a sermon to begin to rise up in Smedley. Not infrequently it would spew forth. Today, however, Smedley wondered if his agitation had shown on his face and been confused by Doc. Lazwell as confirmation that the Parson believed the stories about the Doctor's flatland excursions to play the ponies.
Mustering what he hoped was a pleasant face, Smedley responded, "No offense taken Doc. I reckon Missy 'n the two young fellars are all right then?"
"Just fine, why I wasn't any more needed than an alarm clock in a chicken house. Clyde and Claude will be up to Sunday School before you know it.
"By the way, how's that boy o' yours doing with that broken leg?"
"Fine, Doc. He's been usin' a walkin' stick jest like you said. We'll bring 'im down ta see ya in a week."
"Give my best to the Mrs, and tell that boy to take care of that leg." The doctor said as he clicked to the flawless chestnut mare who with eager, fluid strides soon caused the black and brass buggy to disappear in a cloud of dust. When the rig next appeared it was part of a postcard scene--the dark buggy moving smartly through rolling green along the blue and white ribbon of river in the valley below. By the time Smedley lifted his gaze from the Doctor's vanishing rig Sairee had eaten all the available tid-bits. In fact it was her stretching for a particularly tempting shoot that finally brought Smedley around. Sairee was glad for that last mouthful, for there was no leisure the rest of the way home.
___________
"I just can't get it to work out right." said Smedley as he reached for another biscuit. "Either I have just a little gravy left and I need another biscuit or I have just a bite or two of biscuit and I need some more gravy. I'm gonna try one more time 'n then quit."
Having finally achieved equilibrium, Smedley announced, "I saw Doc. Lazwell today." Flora Jean's inquisitive blue eyes encouraged him to go on.
"Missy Bedletter had twin boys today."
"My, she must have been surprised. Of course those Bedletters always were quick multipliers."
A half audible, "Uh huh," was Smedley's only reply.
Flora Jean waited for more; in fact, she waited so long that the dish water, in which she washed and rewashed the last bowl, got cold. "Did the doctor say anything else?" She finally coaxed.
"Oh, just this 'n that--he did say to tell ya'll howdy."
Flora Jean listened to her husband's voice trail off to a preoccupied murmur, then she watched him. She watched him a long time. The parson, locked in some struggle behind a blank out-of-focus stare, didn't notice.
Flora Jean could enumerate many reasons that she loved this simple country preacher. She loved him. There was no doubt about that. Tonight she loved him for that tenderness that was so rare in a man in that rugged country. Boys in the hills were taught not to cry. Like the blind fish that live in caves lose their sight, most men lost the unused ability to cry before they were fully grown. Flora Jean, with mixed emotion, had watched her own sons stoically face pain of body and heart. "It was a hard life. One had to be strong, yet..." She could only hope that the tenderness that she so loved in her husband would live on in her sons. Most mountain men quit crying all together about the time they got their first shotgun. A few, like Smedley, still cried, but only on the inside. "How terrible," thought Flora Jean, her own eyes moistening, "to not stop feeling the pain and yet not have the soothing relief that tears bring."
No one else in the world would have known. Flora Jean had no idea why, but she was sure. Behind the blank stare her husband was crying.
"I'm goin' out to shut up the hen house. That ole fox has been prowlin' lately 'n I don't want to loose one of my pullets to that rascal." Smedley's nod was all the response she received.
Jim Bob's bad leg wouldn't let him get out of the way of his mother soon enough. Jim Bob had been avoiding her every chance he could lately, and when he too had noticed his father's melancholy he made up his mind to stay out of her way tonight, but the game leg, and the fact that his crutch was not at hand, kept him from dodging soon enough.
"Jim Bob, do you know what's wrong with your Pa?"
Jim Bob used his broken leg as an excuse to stall. The time between the question and his settling his six-foot frame onto a milk can left by the shed couldn't have been very long. Yet in that moment Jim Bob saw his mother in a way he'd never quite seen her before. For the first time he saw her not just as his mother, but as a woman. "A right pretty woman too," he observed as he saw her face softly lit by the last says of the sun. He knew why his father loved this woman. He knew why it had been so important that their secret remain hidden from her.
"Now don't lie," Smedley had said, "but try not to tell your ma about this." Right now this boy-man felt the same drive to protect this beautiful, kind woman that he loved, but he knew he couldn't.
"Ma, sit down a minute." Jim Bob said, sounding so adult-like that he surprised himself. "Pa's been savin' money fer somethin' special fer three years now. He wadn't sure what. He jes kep sayin' you deserved somethin' 'real special,' 'n he was gonna get it fer ya. Jesta couple months ago he made up his mind whut he was gonna gitcha. The old man down to the general store has an old buggy that Pa figgered he'd buy 'n fix up. He'd promised Pa he'd hold it fer'm. Zeke Hawkins has about the prettiest filly you ever laid eyes on. Well, Zeke told Pa that if'n he 'n I'd help 'm break them other two colts a his that he'd sell Pa that filly fer $25. Ma you ain't never seen a horse look so sweet."
Flora Jean hadn't quite made the last turn in her son's report. She didn't want to appear impatient, but she feared Smedley would show up at any time, so she gently chided, "Go on."
"Well, anyhow, like I say, Pa's been savin' money 'n now he knew whut fer. With what he had plus what he could add to it fer helpin' Lonzo Cambell put a new roof on his barn he figgered he'd have jest enough to by that filly 'n the old buggy. I told Pa I thought it was a capital plan."
"Pa was heartbroke , Ma. I know he cared that my leg got busted, but when Zeke got scared, 'cuz I fell offa that colt 'n broke my leg, 'n said maybe we'd better not help him after all, 'n when Pa had to give $25 to Doc. Lazwell, to fix m' leg up, it was like somebody'd done knocked all the air outa the man."
"So that's what he meant when he said, 'The Lord had already provided.'" Flora Jean mumbled, as Jim Bob nodded.
All that's left o' Pa's capital plan is this here barrel 'a harness. Pa's been gatherin' up bits 'n pieces 'n patchin' it together late at night."
The smell of old leather and neatsfoot and mule filled the shed as Flora Jean lifted the lid on the barrel. It was the smell that had lingered on her husband when he had come to bed after, "Doin' somethin' out at the barn."
She reached down and touched the well-oiled leather. She savored the smell that now engulfed her and ever after lingered in her heart--a strange perfume. Little comments made in passing now made perfect sense.
Her tears flowed, darkening that old harness where they fell.
Harness that didn't match, harness that had pulled wagons and plows and logs and other's dreams, harness once broken, lovingly repaired, and, now, all that was left of one man's broken dream. Old leather long ago discarded by those who were blessed with wealth, but which had now become a greater treasure than they could ever know. Harness patched and oiled late at night by the man she loved and who loved her. Harness that she now realized was to allow that beautiful filly to pull the merchant's old buggy with them in it to Mt. Elmo on their anniversary, two months away.
When Flora Jean finally dried her tears on her apron both she and Jim Bob knew that the contents of the old keg were not all that was left of the parson's aborted plan. That strange perfume filled their lives. A poor preacher's wife had received a gift that Solomon could not have afforded, and a boy standing on the threshold of manhood had seen across more clearly than he ever had before. Without a word Flora Jean stepped back and, Jim Bob put the lid back on that humble container, hiding from unappreciative eyes a priceless offering.
They never saw that harness again, but to say they never forgot that strange perfume would be to say far too little. It permeated their hearts as surely as it had permeated that little room--For her, the ever-present assurance of a love few will ever know; for him, the indescribable definition of what it means to be a man.
______________________
It was a rare occasion to see Dr. and Mrs. Lazwell at the services at the little meeting house up on Hogback Ridge. The greetings, though, were warm and genuine. The good doctor was just helping Mrs. Lazwell from the buggy when Flora Jean and the Smedley children came walking into the churchyard.
"How's that leg?" The doctor inquired.
"Fine, Dr. Lazwell. Say, idn't that a new buggy? And that's sure not ole Hypocrites."
"No Hypocrites had made two or three house calls too many. He'll live out his days in tall clover. Bought this mare and new rig a couple of weeks ago...Why I believe it was the day after your untimely mishap. I met your pa the other day I'm surprised he didn't tell you about it.
You'd better get a move on. It wouldn't do for the preacher's boy to be late."
That morning Smedley held forth about the thrice repeated question of our Lord to Peter: "Do you love me more than these?" The little congregation was gripped with the parson's fervor as he declared his love for the Lord and challenged all to follow. No one was more impressed than the lady with the white starched bonnet and the youth with the too-small jacket in the second row. They alone knew the fire and hammer blows that had shaped those words.
A couple of months later when Smedley boosted Flora Jean up onto Sairee's back and led her to the meadow by the creek for an anniversary picnic, she wouldn't have traded her seat for a place in a king's coach.
"Isn't that a lovely smell." Flora Jean said dreamily, but then was immediately brought up short for fear that her secret might be revealed.
Smedley sniffed the air, but could smell nothing but Sairee's freshly oiled saddle and bridle mingled with odor of mule. He looked quizzically at his wife, but she just smiled, and she looked so lovely to Smedley that soon the riddle didn't matter.
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