The Waltons and its characters are property of Earl Hamner, Jr., and all legal copyright holders. This story is not intended to infringe upon the rights of any copyright holder.
Ike could hardly believe the difference a single month could make. When he’d gone to see Aimee in October, he’d come away thinking nothing on Earth would ever make his family whole again. He’d come back to find Corabeth pretty much unchanged, her moods shifting with the wind.
He supposed, in a grim sort of way, he had President Kennedy to thank for the reconciliation of his family. The tragedy of his assassination had jolted all of them out of their private little tearjerkers. Even Corabeth, when faced with a grief so much bigger than her own, had found it in herself to get dressed and out of bed. She’d even gone so far as to attend church for the first time in over a year.
When Aimee and Jeff showed up on Thanksgiving morning, Ike felt like the luckiest man on Earth. Far from the shattering melodrama he’d expected, Corabeth took her granddaughter in her arms, suddenly and completely in love.
The visit was short, but pleasant. Corabeth and Jeff got along cordially; Ike hardly believed they would ever be close, but at least they were civil. And even though Corabeth and Aimee had not completely resolved their differences, it was a start in the right direction. Ike couldn’t have been happier if he’d won a million dollars.
Which made it all so much worse when, without warning, the nightmares came back a week after Thanksgiving.
“I don’t want to discuss this anymore.” Corabeth was crying now. She shut her eyes tightly, fists clenched in anger.
She always got angry when she cried during their sessions.
“Come on, Corabeth. You’re getting close to something. Why do you keep fighting it?”
She tossed her head back, sniffing loudly. “I’m not fighting anything. You keep hounding me--”
Elliott took her hand in his, handing her a tissue. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that you started having the nightmares again once you told me about Daniel? Six weeks without a single nightmare, and suddenly you’re having them again?”
“I stopped taking the medication; I told you that already.”
“You stopped taking the medication two weeks ago. The nightmares started six days ago--the day you told me Daniel was married.” He grasped her hand, not letting her pull away this time. “Don’t you see a connection?”
She pulled her hand free, clutching the tissue as she blew her nose. “Of course, I see a connection. Only an idiot would fail to see a connection. What I don’t see is why you won’t let me go back on the medication.”
“Because the medication will just mask it again. You have to face whatever you’re hiding. You have to look it straight in the eye and let whatever happens happen.” He sighed as she shook her head vigorously. “Corabeth, do you remember what it was like when you first started coming to these sessions?” She didn’t answer; her eyes were fixed firmly on the wall behind him. “You have worked so hard, come so far in the past few months. You’re speaking with your daughter again, for the first time in over a year. You have a husband who loves you. You have that beautiful grandbaby. Do you really want to throw that all away?”
Corabeth pulled her feet up onto the couch as she rested her head on her knees. Her expression grew vacant as she wrapped her arms around her legs and began to cry once more.
“How’re you feeling, Corie?” Eileen tucked her skirt under her legs as she sat on the bed next to her friend.
Corabeth winced. Her head was still hurting, and she felt so very weak. “I’m all right,” she said hoarsely.
“Never were a good liar,” Eileen remarked, pulling the tray from the bed stand. “I’ve got some lovely stew for you.”
“I’m not hungry,” she protested.
“You lost a lot of blood, sweetie. The doctor says the concussion’s gonna make you queasy. But you have to eat, even if you don’t feel like it. It’ll help you get your strength back.”
The rational part of Corabeth knew Eileen was right, that the food was not really as disgusting as she thought it was. But even the smell of it made her turn away. Tears came to her eyes--if only they’d just leave her be. Her head hurt so badly, and she was so tired.
“Come on. Be a good girl; eat a bit for me.”
She managed to swallow a small bite, hoping that would satisfy her makeshift nurse. But Eileen insisted on a second, then a third. By the time Corabeth thought she would lose everything she’d managed to put down, she was rescued by a gentle rap on the door.
Eileen put the tray on the table and hurried to the door. “Don’t think this gets you off the hook, Miss,” she said as she peaked out to see who was there. She and the visitor exchanged a few words, then she turned back to her patient. “You’ve got a reprieve. It’s Dr. Matthews. I’ll be back after he’s finished examining you.”
Corabeth tried to smile as Dr. Matthews scooted Eileen and the tray out of the room and took her hand warmly. “How’s my patient this afternoon?”
“Better, thank you,” she murmured. He reminded her so of Papa, with his graying mustache, the crisp, tailored suits, even the twinkle in his dark blue eyes. She lay still as he held his hand lightly against her forehead.
“No fever,” he commented, then put his bag on the night stand and pulled out a stethoscope and began to listen to her heart beat. “Normal. Are you still experiencing dizziness and nausea?”
“Only when Eileen forces me to eat stew.”
He laughed, a deep fatherly tone that almost made her want to cry. “You listen to her, child. We don’t want you wasting away.” He pulled a straight-backed chair from the vanity and placed it next to the bed. Sitting, he began to press gently on her stomach. “Any pain when I touch there?”
“No.”
“There?”
“No, sir.”
“Ther--” Her gasp answered his question for him. “Hmm, that rib is not healing as fast as I’d like. You were lucky you only suffered contusions and no serious internal injuries.”
Corabeth looked up in confusion. “But I thought... Eileen said there was a lot of blood.”
Matthews frowned. “I hadn’t wanted to discuss this with you until you were feeling better, Corabeth.”
“Discuss what?” She struggled, ignoring the doctor’s protests as she lifted herself into a sitting position. “What did you want to discuss with me?”
His expression turned grim. “I’ve known you from the day you were born, Corabeth Walton. I delivered you myself, in this very house.” He paused, uncomfortable. “I never thought there would come a day when I’d have to have this sort of conversation with you.”
She paled. “What sort of conversation?” she asked weakly.
His eyes fixed on hers, all humor and lightness evaporating in one serious gaze. “There were no internal injuries, Corabeth. It seemed the kindest and most discreet thing to say under the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?” She was getting worried. Dr. Matthews had always been very straightforward with her. It must be something awful if he was taking this long to tell her.
“Corabeth, the blood loss was not from internal injuries. It was from a miscarriage.”
She simply stared at him, stunned. “I don’t understand.”
“You were with child when you fell. The trauma of the fall caused you to abort. Because of the injuries you sustained, you began to hemorrhage. That’s why there was so much blood.”
“I don’t...I don’t understand.” She was in shock now. That could be the only explanation for what she was hearing.
“Corabeth, because you are of legal age and because I couldn’t bring myself to cause your poor mother any more suffering than she’s already had to bear, I have kept this information to myself.” He softened, caressing her pale cheek with the back of his hand. “You are a good and decent girl. I know...I know that sometimes even the best of us can be led astray. The world is a harsh teacher, child. I urge you to learn from this lesson. Mend your ways.” He leaned over, kissing her gently on the forehead before leaving the room.
She sat there in the overwhelming silence of her bedroom, his words still echoing through her mind. It couldn’t be true. Her limbs seemed chilled to the bone. Hugging a pillow fiercely to her chest, she began to shake uncontrollably. No tears came, not a single drop. But she felt her heart break as a robin began to sing outside her window.
Ike leaned back in the recliner, propping the phone its arm as he did so. “Yeah, honey. She started two weeks ago. Marshall. Mary Ellen knows him from the hospital in Charlottesville.” Ike listened, hearing the concern in his daughter’s voice. “Well, I know, sweetheart. It took a lot to just get her in there the first time. But I think it’s doing her some good.” He reached out to the coffee table and got his can of pop. “He started her on some medicine to help her sleep. A lot of her problem was she was just plain exhausted. Once she had a good few nights behind her, everything began to smooth out. Of course, they want to get to the bottom of why it happened, so she doesn’t fall back down.”
He glanced at the clock. Four-thirty. Corabeth and Olivia should be back from Rockfish soon. He’d have to start dinner in a minute or so. “No, honey, she doesn’t tell me what goes on. I spoke with the doctor when she first started, and he warned me that she might not want to talk about what they discuss in their sessions. But she’s doing better. That’s all that matters to me. Is that Beth in the background?” He laughed. “Okay, Aimee. You go give her something to eat. Yeah...yeah, I’ll give her your best. Bye-bye.”
Ike took another swig of his Coca-Cola before swinging his legs down to the floor. He felt like steak tonight.
“So. Did you do your assignment?” Elliott Marshall tried to ignore the sunlight streaming into his office window. It was hard to concentrate with his first vacation in two years looming just ten minutes in the future.
“Well...”
Ah. Corabeth Godsey. He snapped himself back into the present, studying the tall, handsome woman who sat opposite him. She wore her hair upswept and had on a sharp new outfit. There was a streak of self-assurance in the way she carried herself, more poised and relaxed than he'd ever seen her. Elliott noted absently that she had nice legs for a woman her age.
He snapped himself out of that thought with a mental smack to the head. “What have you got for me today?”
She grinned slightly, shaking her head. “You’re never going to believe what I did this week.”
“Try me.”
She pursed her lips, seemingly nervous and excited all at once. “I called William and Mary.” At his puzzled look, she explained, “The college. William and Mary. I called to ask if they had any information on Daniel Dechaine.” She uncrossed her legs, leaning forward intently to tell her story. “You told me to do something that terrified me, so that’s what I did. I called the college just as bold as you please and asked for the whereabouts of one Daniel Dechaine, geologist.” She smirked. “Well, I tell you, that young girl they had working there certainly didn’t make it easy for me. I must’ve spoken to five people before anyone could give me any information at all. A Miss Thompson in the faculty records department told me there had indeed been a Professor Dechaine in the Geology Department back in the 20s. She couldn’t reveal any personal information, but she did give me one very important bit of news.”
“And what was that?”
“That he was deceased.” She nodded triumphantly. “So what do you think I did? I marched myself right up to Richmond that very day and went to the Clerk of Court’s office. I found his death certificate--Daniel Dechaine, born October 29, 1897, died July 10, 1954. Cause of death: injuries sustained in an automobile accident.” She frowned, but continued pointedly. “Marital status: Single (never been married).” With a determined nod of her head, she raised an eyebrow and waited for his reaction. “Well?”
“Well.” He kept his voice neutral. This was certainly an interesting development.
She waited until certain he was not going to comment, then answered her own question. “Well, that bastard lied to me. He lied to me.” She blew out a single, furious burst of air. “All those years I wondered what might have been, if only he had been free to be with me.” She shook her head. “Truth is, he was free as a dove the whole time. He just didn’t want to be with me.” Her voice faltered slightly, the hurt still echoing after almost four decades.
“If you had known that at the time, what would you have done?”
“What would I have done?” She laughed without even the slightest trace of humor. But the words caught in her throat as she considered the question. “What would I have done?” she repeated softly. “I probably would have followed him to Richmond. Forced the issue. I would have ruined both our lives.” She closed her eyes. “All those years...every time I looked at my husband, I compared him to Danny. He was never as smart or as handsome or as passionate, I thought. But Danny was a coward.” She looked the doctor straight in the eye. It was as if a veil had been lifted.
“And Ike?”
“Ike...” She struggled to put her thoughts in order. “Ike was an adult. From the very moment I met him, he was an adult. He had responsibilities, and he wasn’t afraid of them. No matter what came along, he managed. I used to think I married Ike because he was safe. Besides, I figured no matter how long we were together, I’d never love him enough for him to hurt me like Daniel did.”
“And you no longer believe that.”
"Well, he has been able to hurt me pretty badly. But even when he hurt me, when he had the affair, I still didn't feel as..." She held the thought, looking for the right word. "Let's just say I didn't marry him for passion."
"Why did you marry him?"
“I think I married him because--” She considered her words carefully. “Elliott, I don’t have the foggiest idea why I married Mr. Godsey.”
He laughed. “Well, that’s about as honest a statement as I’ve heard all day.”
Corabeth laughed as well. “Almost thirty years, and I can’t give you one good reason why I married the man!” Her smile took over her face, erasing decades in a single flash. “When Mama passed, I decided to go to Richmond. I was terrified; the only person I could think of to turn to was Daniel. Well, needless to say, that required a boldness that had been drummed out of me by tragedy and the Depression. So I took a detour to Jefferson County, on the pretense of paying my dues to my kin. It was on that very trip that I pulled into the General Mercantile to fill my tank with gas.” She shook her head, unable to banish the grin from her face. “I dozed off at the wheel--I was so tired when I pulled up. When I woke up, Mr. Godsey was standing there, staring at me like some sort of lost puppy.”
“Fate?”
“I never thought of it that way. I suppose if it hadn’t been for Daniel, I’d have never begun that trip to Richmond. I’d have never pulled up to that crossroads and met Mr. Godsey.”
“So perhaps some good came out of your experience with Danny.”
Her smile faded. “I wanted desperately to give Mr. Godsey a son. When I found out I was barren, I thought my life was over. All I could think about was that day on the mountain. It kept running through my head over and over, like some bad movie.”
“You never told him?”
“I never told anyone...except you.”
He decided to let that go. Corabeth had come so far; she’d get where she needed to be sooner or later, in her own time. “What if the child had lived?” he asked quietly.
“Oh, lord. I think about that now and just shudder. This may seem terrible, but I believe the Almighty did both of us a kindness, not letting that poor soul be born to an unwed mother...in that day and age.” She wrapped her arms about her waist, just a bit. “Maybe I would have been a good mother; maybe not. But that’s not something I’ll ever know.”
“Are you a good mother?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. But I do know I love Aimee. Even if I don’t agree with her about practically anything.”
“Corabeth, I hate to do this, but our time is up.” He shrugged apologetically as he reached for his calendar. “We still on for two weeks from Thursday?”
“I don’t know,” she grinned. “If you want me to complete another assignment, I’m going to have to find something that terrifies me first.” She winked. “A very rare commodity these days.”
It was just starting to cool down when she pulled into the driveway. The store was dark--Ike had started closing the store at three on Fridays, just for the summer. She unlocked the door, surprised not to find him as she always did--hovering over the books at the counter.
“Mr. Godsey?” she called. “Are you here?”
“In the bedroom, honey.”
She followed the sound of his voice, placing her handbag on the table as she passed through the living room into the bedroom. “Mr. Godsey!”
“Surprise!” Ike looked up from the pile of plastic and crates.
“What on Earth?”
“It’s one of those adjustable beds, like they have in the hospitals. Mary Ellen knew a guy who gave me a great deal.”
Corabeth stared at the monstrosity that occupied the place their lovely bed once stood. “I know what it is, Mr. Godsey. What I do not know is why it is in our bedroom.”
“Well, I know you haven’t been sleeping all that well since the doctor took you off of the medicine. This baby can be adjusted anyway you like...we can fix it so there’s no pressure on your lower back, your neck--” He took her arm, practically dragging her into the room to sit on the bed. “Feel that,” he said, bouncing slightly on the mattress. “Genuine therapeutic technology. It says so right in the brochure. And I got you one of those pillows that massages your neck--”
“Mr. Godsey...” Corabeth was laughing now. Her husband--the adult she had just discovered an hour ago in therapy--was bouncing on the bed like a six year old.
“So, honey, do you like it?”
What could she say? She looked into his puppy eyes and said, “It’s marvelous, Isaac.” She leaned over, kissing him gently on the lips. “You are so dear to think of me like this.”
“Well,” he said softly. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy, Mr. Godsey,” she whispered. Suddenly, she felt a blush forming just below her collar and spreading all the way up to her cheeks. “I’m also hungry,” she said, turning away before he could comment. “Have you eaten?”
“Eaten? Heck no, Corabeth. I’ve been struggling with this thing ever since the delivery guys brought it at noon.”
She sighed, imagining the damage he’d done to his back. She could never convince him that he was no longer a thirty-year old. He’d probably assembled the entire thing on his own. Oh, well. A little relaxation would do them both some good. “How would you like to go for a picnic up on the mountain?”
Ike grinned from ear to ear. “That sounds wonderful, honey.”
“Look, Mr. Godsey. Do you see the strata?”
“You mean those colored lines?”
“Exactly.” She eased herself down into the crevasse, motioning for him to join her. “Careful, it’s slippery. Each layer tells a story--like the rings of a tree trunk. You can tell the entire history of the rock just by studying the layers. Give me your pocket knife.”
“Huh?” Ike looked at her as if she’d just pulled a yodeling monkey out of a top hat.
“Your pocket knife, Mr. Godsey. I want to show you something.” She took the instrument he offered, opening it carefully. She turned to the crevasse wall and chipped a sliver of rock into her hand. “Basalt,” she said, showing him the specimen. “It is usually found on ocean floors. At one time, this entire area must have been under water.”
Ike laughed. “How can a mountain be under water?”
“Plate tectonics,” came her response. “The surface of the world is broken up into enormous plates, constantly moving at a very slow rate. When one plate submerges beneath another, that creates mountains.”
Her husband leaned against the wall, grinning from ear to ear. “All right. I suppose you’re going to explain to me how a moving rock can create the Blue Ridge Mountains.”
She sighed. “It’s all very logical. Pretend my hand is the oceanic plate.” She held her hand flat against his chest. “And your shirt is the North American plate. Now, when the two plates collide, like at the San Andreas fault in California...” Her fingers moved to the top button of his shirt, pushing against the fabric. “One of them has to give. In the case of California, it’s the oceanic plate.” She wiggled her finger under his shirt. “When the oceanic plate goes under the North American plate, it causes ripples, just like those in your shirt. Those ripples, Mr. Godsey, are called mountains.”
She smiled as he placed his hand over hers, kissing her on the cheek. “You know the darnedest things, Corabeth.”
She kept her hand pressed to his heart, moving closer into his embrace. “My first--” She faltered, but pushed on. “My first beau was a geologist.”
“Really,” Ike pulled back to scrutinize her. “Should I be jealous?" he asked with a grin.
She lay her head against his shoulder. “No. Not at all. It was a long, long time ago.” Her heart was racing as he stroked her hair. “If you want, I can...I can tell you about it.”
He stiffened slightly, as if surprised, but he didn’t let it show in his voice. “If you want to, sweetie.”
Corabeth felt herself start to tremble, but she’d already gone too far to stop now. “Why don’t we back to that lovely grove you found?”
“Sure...sure thing, Corabeth.” Ike took the few difficult steps to climb out of the crevasse, then held out his hand to his wife. Together, they walked to the secluded clearing where the remains of their picnic lunch still waited. He helped her down, and she waited for him to join her before speaking.
“Are you sure you want to hear this, Mr. Godsey?” Her resolve was beginning to fade. But his solemn nod gave her courage. “I regret to say that it...it is not a very pretty story.”
“Well...” Ike shrugged. “We’ve all done things we’re not too proud of, Corabeth. That’s just life.”
She nodded. For a moment, she couldn’t think of a thing to say. Finally, she just blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. “I became pregnant, Mr. Godsey.”
The silence that followed was relentless. Corabeth couldn’t look into his face, couldn’t stand to see what sort of response he was having. When the quiet became unbearable, she plowed on. “The man's name was Daniel. I was very young. I thought I was in love. There was an accident--I lost the baby. Daniel--Daniel abandoned me. He never knew about the child. Nor did he ever try to contact me again.” She realized she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I recently discovered he is deceased. I suppose that’s for the best. Dr. Marshall believes very strongly in closure, and I would have no desire to reopen those old wounds.” Silence. “Please say something, Mr. Godsey.” When he didn’t answer her, she repeated, “Please say something."
When he did speak, it was with a voice totally devoid of anger and judgment. “You carried that burden all these years?” was his incredulous query.
She felt the tears burning at the back of her eyes. The response choked in her throat.
Ike lifted a single hand to caress her cheek softly. “All those years, and you never told anyone?”
She shook her head. “Who could I have told?” she whispered.
He caressed her jaw line with the back of his hand. “You could have told me, Corabeth. You could have told me.”
“I was afraid. I thought...if you knew--”
“After everything we’ve been through together, did you really think anything could change the way I felt about you?” His hands cupped her face now, his voice sounding for all the world like a parent soothing a frightened child. “You’re my wife, Corabeth. I love you more than anything in the world.”
“I lied to you. I lied to you from the very day we met.” She could hardly bear his touch. She wanted him to rant at her, to yell at her and punish her. His tender kiss cut through her like a dagger. “I’m a horrible person,” she choked, her lips soft against his jaw.
“You’re a magnificent person,” he whispered. “You’re strong, and smart, and beautiful. You’re not perfect. Neither am I.” He held her, fiercely, against him. “But together, we do okay.”
“How can you take this so calmly?” She knew she was on the verge of hysteria. His response confused her; he should be furious, yet he was cradling her like a child against him.
“Corabeth, I’ve spent the better part of a year and a half watching you die before my eyes. I don’t care if you had ten lovers. I don’t care if you were the whore of Babylon before I met you. All I care about is you. That you’re alive, that you’re here with me right now. Nothing else matters. Nothing you could tell me would change that.”
She looked into his face, stunned by his words and the vehemence with which he spoke them. She knew in a moment he spoke the truth. “Mr. Godsey,” was all she could say.
“What’s past is past.” He drew her to him, kissing her softly on the mouth. “All that matters is today.”
August 16, 1964
Today, my husband made love to me in a secluded grove in the mountains. We are hardly ingenues, hardly love-struck children made dizzy by passion. But today, finally, I understood what the poets meant. Today, finally, I felt my life begin.
