Eyes on the Prize Read online

  They held onto the bow rail and looked ahead. The boat created a curl of wave in front of the prow as it cut through the water. The wind ruffled their hair. The fresh air and misty spray felt exhilarating. Alice raised her face and breathed deeply, enjoying the experience.

  “Wonderful, isn’t it?” Vera said, smiling. She looked happy and perfectly at home standing on the bow of the luxury yacht.

  “Do you miss this?” Alice asked.

  Vera was silent for a moment, then inhaled and closed her eyes. When she opened her eyes, Alice saw a bit of indecision in her wrinkled brow.

  “I didn’t think so, but then I’ve been away for so long.” She tilted her head to catch more of the spray. “I wonder if Fred would like to take a cruise vacation or come here for a visit. He doesn’t care much for boats. He gets seasick.” Vera turned away from the water. “Let’s go up to the flybridge and see how Reggie’s doing.”

  Without another word, she went aft and climbed the ladder to the upper deck.

  A large canvas canopy covered the entire area. Vera explained that it was called a Bimini Top. They went forward to where Reggie sat at the helm in a leather captain’s chair. In front of him was a bank of dials and the controls. He slowed the boat and set a control to idle, then swiveled around and leaned back.

  “Have a seat.”

  Vera had Alice sit up front in another captain’s seat. She took the auxiliary cushioned bench seat behind them.

  “What do you think?” Reggie asked, looking completely confident that the boat would impress anyone who came aboard.

  “Beautiful. You’ve really steered the company into the luxury craft business, haven’t you?” Vera said.

  He shrugged. “We take on one or two a year, but our reputation is growing,” he said. “I’d love to return to the days when we built barks and steamers for river commerce. Those were the days. But our bread and butter still come from refits and repairs. Here …” He stood. “Take the wheel.”

  “I haven’t steered a boat in years,” Vera protested.

  “This baby steers itself. Come on.”

  “Well, okay.” Vera moved into the captain’s chair and took the wheel. She slowly advanced the throttle. The boat accelerated smoothly.

  For a few minutes, Vera looked ahead intently as she maneuvered the yacht. When the river widened, she sat back and relaxed.

  Alice heard the low hum of the engine and Vera and Reggie’s voices, engaged in a discussion about boats. She didn’t try to join the conversation. Rather, she slipped into a pleasant reverie, taking in the surroundings and marveling at the magnitude of God’s remarkable creation.

  So much water, ever flowing toward the sea, and yet the huge body of water came from small trickles of springs and snow runoff from mountains far from this spot. It struck her that trying to comprehend how that could happen and continuously flow without stopping was like trying to comprehend the vastness of God. The river was like a droplet of water in the stream of God’s power and presence. Amazing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The last guests had checked out by the time Craig came to the inn. Just thinking about the Kramdens made her cringe. Very nice people, but Jane’s garden was not a playground for children.

  “It looks larger, but not significantly,” Craig said. He took a long cloth tape measure out of his pocket and unrolled it, handing one end to Jane, who stood on the other side of the giant pumpkin.

  When he finished with his measurements, he called out the results, which Louise jotted down in her notebook.

  “We had two pumpkin growers visit Friday morning,” Jane said. “They did a different calculation, using three measurements.”

  “Yes, I’ve read about that. It may be more accurate. What did they come up with?”

  “Nine hundred eighty-eight pounds,” Louise said. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. “Well, according to my chart, it now weighs about nine hundred ninety-eight. Since Friday, that’s an additional ten pounds, give or take a few ounces. That’s probably pretty close to their finding. So what did they think of your pumpkin?” He rolled up his tape and put it in his pocket with his weight graph.

  “They were impressed,” Jane said. “One of them seemed disgruntled to find such a large pumpkin.”

  “Especially one raised by an amateur,” Louise said. “The other man was helpful. He’s the one who measured it.”

  “I saw the grumpy one sneak into the garden in the dark. The other man caught him and made him leave. Later we found a split in the stalk. Do you suppose the man tried to sabotage the pumpkin?” Jane asked.

  “Where is the split? Let me take a look.”

  Louise showed Craig where they had mounded dirt on top of the split stalk. He gently brushed the dirt aside and squatted down to look. He prodded, then re-covered it with dirt and checked along the stalk for other breaks. He examined the stem.

  “It looks fine. Splits like that are common and don’t really stop nutrients from getting to the pumpkin. I don’t see any vine borers or bugs.”

  “We found a squash beetle yesterday,” Jane said. “I’m surprised we don’t have an infestation on the pumpkin plants.”

  Louise went looking through Jane’s flowers. “Here’s a strange creature that looks like an elongated lady bug, but it’s yellow, instead of red. Is this a squash beetle?”

  Craig went over and examined the bug, which was busy feeding on a goldenrod flower. “No, but here’s why you don’t have more,” he said.

  “Aha. Of course,” Jane said. “We have leatherwings. They’re fierce-looking bugs, aren’t they?”

  “Ugh. Don’t tell me they’re beneficial,” Louise said, eyeing the long, dragon-like beetle.

  “Very. They dine on harmful garden insects.”

  “Those little soldiers may have helped your garden, which is looking very fine,” Craig said, surveying the greenery and bright flowers and herbs. “Particularly your pumpkins, Louise. For some reason, all your growth went into the huge pumpkin, but the others look healthy as well.”

  He stood, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing his day-old scruff of beard as he stared at the giant pumpkin. “Fred and I were talking, and we want you to enter this in the weigh-off in Baskenburg. Fred offered his truck and trailer to haul it. I figure we can arrange some way to move it. That’ll be the trick.”

  “That’s kind of you, Craig, but I can’t ask you and Fred to go to all that trouble and then give up your weekend to drive such a long way. I doubt if I have a chance.”

  “Sure you do. Think of it as representing Acorn Hill. We’ve never had anything this large grown in a garden. You don’t have to decide right now, but we need a little time to rig a hoist to get this on the trailer without damaging the great pumpkin. Think about it.”

  “All right, I will.”

  “Oh Jane, don’t compost or till in your garden remains this year. If those squash beetles have laid their larva on anything, they’ll winter over in the compost and you’ll have a real problem next year. Best thing to do is bag it all and haul it to the dump.”

  “Oh great. Thanks for the warning. I had planned to turn it all under.”

  Louise stood looking over her pumpkin patch. “It’s hard to believe the season is almost over. I’ll be sorry to see it end. I never dreamed growing something could be so satisfying.” She sighed. “And so time-consuming. I’m glad I had this experience, because I don’t intend to plant a seed ever again.”

  “All the more reason to enter your pumpkin in the Baskenburg Weigh-off,” Craig said, tucking his gloves into his back pocket.

  Jane picked several large tomatoes and gave them to Craig. They started walking toward the gate.

  Louise turned to follow them. “We’ll see,” she said. She was curious to find out if her pumpkin could compete against the other giant pumpkins, but she hated disappointments. It would be bad enough for herself, but she didn’t want Craig and Fred to be disappointed too.

  Agatha looked
lost in the bank of pillows propping her up in bed. Her shock of white hair, combed but sticking out at all angles, accentuated her pale, ashen complexion. Her sky-blue eyes nearly matched the blue in the flowers Vera had sent. Vera leaned over the bed rail and gave her aunt a kiss on the cheek.

  “Reginald took you out on the new yacht this afternoon?” Agatha said, more a statement than a question.

  Vera smiled. “Yes. I’m sure we look a mess. We stood on the bow and got pretty wet.”

  “Your color gave you away,” she commented. “Your cheeks are red. I knew he’d want to show off his new boat.”

  “He’s running trials. It handles beautifully,” Vera said.

  “Of course. Reginald is a true Jamison. Boatbuilding is in his blood. That’s good. I was more concerned with the bottom line, but he has a board of directors now to worry about all that,” she said, waving a feeble hand in the air. “Did he convince you to put me away?”

  “He didn’t even try, Aunt Agatha. I have an appointment to talk to the doctor and therapist tomorrow and to look at this center they’re suggesting. After we check out everything, I’ll come talk to you some more.”

  “Sit down, Alvera.”

  Vera pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. “There’s a brown envelope on the table. Would you hand it to me, please?”

  Vera picked up the manila envelope and gave it to her aunt. It had the name of a law firm stamped in the corner.

  “This is for you. I had my lawyer draw it up. It gives you my medical power of attorney. I’m still sane enough to make my own decisions, but I’m getting old. I trust you, Alvera. Don’t let me down.” She handed the envelope back to Vera.

  Vera took it and held it, staring at her aunt. “Does Reggie know you’re doing this? He’s very concerned about your welfare, you know.”

  “I know. Reginald is a good boy, but he doesn’t understand there’s more to life than being comfortable and safe. I want to live, Alvera. Going into one of those nursing homes isn’t living. It’s just existing until the Lord decides to take me home.”

  Alice had visited two assisted living centers in Potterston, and they provided small, but very nice apartments with staff to help and lots of social events. The residents had seemed happy and active. Agatha might actually like such an arrangement if she gave herself a chance, but a negative attitude could make life miserable too. Vera had her work cut out for her.

  They stayed for a while. Agatha wanted to hear more from the Psalms, so Vera opened Agatha’s old Bible.

  “Read Psalm forty-six to me,” Agatha requested. She folded her hands together in her lap and leaned back against the pillows.

  Alice loved the Psalms and the beautiful language in them, so she closed her eyes and listened to the reading.

  “Psalm 46:1–5,” Vera said. “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells. God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.”

  Agatha will see the river of God, thought Alice. It would make all the rivers of the world seem like trickles and it would make everyone glad. Then all the trials and storms Agatha still had to face would be insignificant. How glorious that would be. She glanced over and caught the old woman’s gaze. She could see by Agatha’s nodding agreement with the message of the Psalm that the elderly woman had the hope of future glory.

  Jane’s feet beat the pavement coming down Chapel Road early Monday morning. She topped the hill. Her lungs burned and her heart pounded hard against her chest.

  One hundred yards from the driveway she slowed her pace. In half a minute, she turned and loped along the driveway, then jogged in place behind the inn, slower and slower to bring her pulse down gradually. She looked at her watch in the dim morning light. She’d shaved a minute and a half off her best time. Bending down, she stretched one leg back. She’d learned the hard way the importance of stretching before and after a race.

  Me-ye-owl. Meowl. Yeowl, screeched through the morning air, coming from the direction of the garden. Jane ran to the gate, jerked it open and nearly tripped over a streak of something dark, the size of a small dog, that raced past her, out of the garden. She looked to see what it was, but it was already gone. Across the garden, something moved. Peering through the dim light, Jane saw a head poke up out of the leaves in the pumpkin patch and two luminous eyes stared at her. As she made her way through the garden, she realized Wendell was sitting in the middle of Louise’s pumpkin patch.

  Meow, the cat beseeched in his most beguiling voice.

  “When did you come, Wendell?” Jane reached down and picked up their black-and-gray-striped tabby. Then she saw a bright red spot on his paw. “What is this?” She held up his paw and looked at it. She couldn’t tell if he’d gotten it caught on something or gotten into a fight with whatever streaked past her.

  “Let’s go inside and see what’s wrong.”

  Wendell let out another pitiful meow and let Jane carry him to the house. She got out a bottle of diluted hydrogen peroxide and cleaned his paw. A scratch appeared as she did so.

  Louise came into the kitchen while Jane was tending to his paw. “What happened to Wendell?”

  “He scared up something in the garden by your giant pumpkin. Whatever it was went shooting past me when I opened the gate. He got a little scratch, so he must have confronted it.”

  “Wendell did? That’s amazing. He’s rarely attempted to chase anything.”

  “He’s been out watching you in the garden every day. He must feel proprietary about your pumpkins.”

  “Well, Wendell, I think you deserve a special treat for that. How about some real tuna for breakfast?” Louise said, reaching into the cupboard for a can. She opened it and flaked half of the contents into his bowl.

  Jane put him down. He barely favored his paw as he walked to his dish.

  “He doesn’t seem concerned about his injury. I guess we don’t need to baby him.”

  “Perhaps not, but he’s my hero,” Louise said. “Imagine him protecting my pumpkin patch.” She shook her head.

  “We need to check the garden after breakfast and see if the invader did any harm,” said Jane. “So what’ll it be for breakfast? Looks like we have tuna or squash.”

  “No thank you. Toast and tea will do for me.”

  “That rhymes. Forget the tuna. I just made a batch of zucchini bread with nuts and raisins,” said Jane.

  “That’s what I meant. Zucchini toast and tea. I’ll even do the toasting.”

  “Good. In that case I’ll run up and change. Be back in a jiff.” Jane made her way to the back stairs, leaving Louise to fix breakfast.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I can’t stand seeing Aunt Agatha in such poor health,” Vera said, sorting through the clothes in her aunt’s large walk-in closet. She pulled out a dress and held it up. “Most of her clothes aren’t suitable for the new life she’ll be facing.” She hung the dress back on the rack. “I suppose we could go shopping.”

  “What about this muumuu?” Alice said, holding up a flowing, Hawaiian print caftan. “The colors would perk her up.”

  “As well as everyone else in the center.”

  “That’s good. It’s slip-on and loose. Does she have any others?”

  “I think she used these as house dresses,” Vera said, holding up another roomy gown.

  “Those will do nicely. How about toiletries? Does she wear makeup?”

  “Yes. Bright rouge and red lipstick and penciled eyebrows. Maybe that would make her feel better.”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  They sorted through her toiletries drawer, taking out a supply of makeup and foundation. Vera found a portable magnifying mirror. “I don’t know if she’s strong enough to apply these things he
rself, but we can doll her up a little.”

  “What about shoes? Does she have some comfortable slippers or house shoes?”

  Vera opened a cupboard. “Here. There are a dozen pairs in here. Most don’t look like they’ve ever been worn. I wonder which ones she’d like the best.”

  “Take several pairs. We can always bring them back.”

  They packed two suitcases with Agatha’s things and put them in the car to deliver after Vera’s appointment with Agatha’s doctor.

  The doctor looked at the power of attorney papers and handed them back to Vera. He leaned back and rested one foot on top of his opposite knee. They were sitting in a small lounge area for visitors at the nursing home where Agatha was recovering from her postsurgery pneumonia. It was late morning and the lounge was empty except for them.

  “According to Mrs. Jamison’s chart, her broken hip has healed well. She should be getting full physical therapy right now, but the pneumonia set her back a couple of weeks. The longer she goes without therapy, the less likely she is to regain full mobility,” he said.

  “She seems terribly weak,” Vera said. “Is that from the surgery or the pneumonia?”

  “Both. There’s no doubt surgery is hard on a patient her age, but we see elderly folks come through with flying colors all the time. Your aunt seems to resist our efforts to build her up.”

  “Excuse me,” Alice said. “Might I interject an observation?”

  “Alice is a nurse at a hospital in Potterston,” Vera explained. “I asked her to come because she has so much experience working with surgery patients.”

  “I’d appreciate any insight you can provide,” the doctor said.

  “When we first visited her, Mrs. Jamison seemed disoriented. As you said, the surgical trauma, on top of the injury, is very hard on the elderly. She seems to have gotten the idea that your treatments are attempts to put her in a nursing home permanently. Perhaps Vera can persuade her to cooperate more. She told us that she has fought the intravenous medications and she won’t swallow the pills you’ve prescribed. Perhaps she would drink some high caloric nutritional milkshakes.”