A Scent of Clover

Andy examined his reflection. “Just one more check,” he thought to himself as he looked closely for towel lint on his freshly shaven face. Stepping back from the mirror, he straightened his tie and looked down at his newly pressed pants, making sure the crease was straight clear down to his shiny black shoes.

“Aw, why do you care so much about how you look?” he said out loud to himself.

Andy ran to catch the taxi that had already blown its horn. He could have walked, but he wanted to arrive a little early, hoping to see Henry and Ruth before too many others had arrived. He thanked the taxi driver, tipped him generously, and proceeded to walk through a set of double oak doors.

He quickly scanned the room and noted that there were not many in attendance, as yet, only relatives and a few very close friends of Ruth and Henry. Andy entered the room as if walking in slow motion. When Ruth saw him enter, her face lit up with a smile. She walked towards him, lifting her arms for his embrace. “God, she is so small,” he thought to himself. Andy remembered her as being a very petite woman, but it had been nearly 25 years since he had seen her. “Well, she is nearly 80 years old,” he reminded himself as he felt her fierce hug.

“I am so glad you could come,” she said with genuine pride, smiling up at him. “How do you think he looks?” she asked while gesturing towards Henry.

“He looks really good, Ruth. I see you finally got him in a suit.” Andy flashed her a bright smile. He wanted to talk with her more, but family members from out of town had just entered and had stolen her attention away from him.

Not yet ready to walk up to Henry, Andy found a place to sit in the back. He was glad that he would have some time alone to reminisce for a while and time to gain his composure. He had been away for so long. He was vaguely aware of music, the crowd that was gathering and the smell of flowers as his thoughts went drifting back to the first day that he and Henry worked together.

Andy had been a young African-American of 21 years. He was good looking, or so he’d been told. He stood a straight and tall 6’11”, with a smile that could light a room and twinkling eyes that would tell secrets that his mouth would not. He had just finished his police training and had reported to the Chief of Police in Mt. Vernon, Illinois. It was his first day on the job and his partner was Henry Anderson, the Chief himself.

Their assignment on this day took them to a local greenhouse. They had been investigating the homicide of a local nurseryman and had come to interview the young lady inside.

“Lucy, come up here and talk with us,” Henry called out to the back of the greenhouse. A young lady in her mid-twenties with a blonde ponytail and too much eye make-up walked up to them, wiping her hands on her overalls.

“Whatsup, chief?” Lucy asked while eyeing Andy.

“Andy has a few questions for you,” he said while finding a seat and giving Andy a slight shove.

“Were you working in the greenhouse on the night of April 22?” Andy asked her. Without warning, Lucy slapped him hard across his right cheek. Within a nanosecond, he swung around and slapped her back.

“Did you see that, Chief?” Lucy gasped while holding her cheek in total amazement. Her eyes glaring at Andy, she took a few steps back.

“I certainly did,” said Henry, slowly chewing on the toothpick he always seemed to have in his mouth.

“Wa . . . well, what are you going to do about it?” she stammered, as both Lucy and Andy turned their heads toward him in anticipation of his reply. Henry rose up from his chair, hitched up his pants, and walked slowly over to Lucy. He took her by the elbow and gently guided her to the vacated chair and sat her down.

“I’ll tell you what I am going to do,” he said slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “If you agree to cooperate with us and tell us what we need to know, I am not going to tell anyone that you slapped my partner.”

That was Andy’s first memory of the time he spent at Henry’s side, and the first time he could recall that he had felt such great respect for any man. Henry was a mature man nearing the age of retirement, but reasonably fit from years of hard work. His sandy gray hair was kept buzzed in a neat flat top. The chief always dressed in plain clothes, stating, “I’m just an ordinary man with an unordinary job.” The only thing that distinguished him as chief was the badge he wore on his shirt pocket. He and Ruth had been married for 40 years and had one grown daughter who lived in Montana. The Andersons; had quickly grown fond of the young officer and adopted him in their hearts. Andy’s respect for them quickly grew into love, and he soon found that he had acquired a second family, . . . for life.

Andy’s thoughts gradually returned to the scene around him. Looking around, he noted that the room had filled to capacity. His gaze returned to Henry, and he suddenly became aware that the chief was wearing all of his Masonic emblems. Andy straightened himself in. his seat and looked at him, fully, as if for the first time. The chief’s lapel pin could be seen lightly shining in the distance. He was wearing his Masonic ring and his lambskin apron. Andy watched as a gathering of Masons congregated around Henry, someone said a prayer, and then they closed the lid on the coffin.

“No!” Andy held his cry inside. “Why did they have to do that now? I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye. God, I’ll never see the chief again . . . ever.” Andy’s laments remained silent, but he could not hold back his tears. With his eyes closed, he fought hard to control his emotions. The minister had begun to speak, but once again Andy’s thoughts retreated to the past.

It was the end of Andy’s probation period. The following week, he would be patrolling alone. Henry had taught him all that he could, or so the young officer thought. At the end of their last day as partners, Henry asked Andy if he was in a hurry to get home. Andy wasn’t and so he had agreed to accompany Henry on a ride in the chief’s old pickup truck. Andy had come to call him “Chief” some time ago. That was what every one called Henry, except for Ruth, who always called him Henry.

The Chief was quiet on the ride out of town and sensing that the Chief didn’t want to hold a conversation, Andy was quiet as well. The ride took them around the lake, when without warning the pickup came to a sudden stop along side of the road.

“Let’s walk,” Chief said. Without waiting for a reply, he threw the gearshift into park and swung open his door. They walked along the side of the road while Chief pointed to many different types of wildflowers growing along their way. There were snapdragons and sweet peas, Queen Anne’s lace, black-eyed Susans, and daisies. There were so many flowers, and much to Andy’s surprise the chief seemed to be able to name them all. They left the road along a slightly worn path that led beside a horse pasture, stopped and leaned across the white-railed fence, and paused to admire the horses there. Both men were silent for quite some time.

“Look at them horses, Andy. Ain’t they beauties? Ever last one of them. Looky there at that black stallion. Ain’t he the proud one though, and he should be. Finest piece of horseflesh I ever did see.” The Chief s eyes flashed with delight. Andy chuckled at the fact that the Chief could gain so much pleasure in such simple things.

“Let’s walk a little more,” the Chief said while turning, knowing that Andy would follow. He led them down to the lake and out on to an old gray boat dock.

‘Take off your shoes and socks, Andy,” barked the Chief. Andy quickly followed orders, understanding that when the Chief barked like that, you did as you were told.

“Now sit here and let your feet dangle in the water a bit. Ain’t that the softest water you ever felt?” he asked, but before Andy could answer he went on.

“Do you hear that bird a singin? That’s a warbler of sorts. Ain’t it pretty? And here we sit a part of it all,” the Chief said while looking around as if he were searching for something more that he could share. They sat in silence a moment before he began again.

“Stop moving your feet and looky in there. You see those little minnows workin’ around? You smell that on the air? Know what it is? It’s clover. That’s the smell of clover.” The Chief closed his eyes and smiled as if he were proud of himself.

“This has all been nice,” muttered Andy as he shifted to meet his eye, “and I know you have a point to all of this. I am just not sure what it is.”

“I’ll tell you what it is, Andy. You are a great young man. You are going to be a great officer. This being your last day of probation and all, I figured I had to get something off a my mind.” Chief took the toothpick out of his mouth and drew in a big breath.

“I don’t want you to go fencing yourself in. What I mean to say is so many young black people seem to think that the color of their skin causes limitations to what they can do, what they can dream, and what they can become. I just showed you a bunch of beautiful flowers on our walk. They were all beautiful no matter what color. Those horses we passed, don’t you agree that the black stallion was the most magnificent of all? All you see around you now, the shiny lake, the bright blue sky and the smell of clover. Do you smell it Andy?” The Chief waited for a reply.

“Yes, I smell it, Chief.”

“It’s all nature, and you are a part of that nature. You are part of God’s wonderful Universe, and there ain’t no fences ‘round the Universe. You remember that, Andy,” Chief said as he put his toothpick back in his mouth, letting Andy know he had made his point.

A soloist began to sing. The sound of the soprano brought Andy back to the room and to the present. Her voice drifted sweetly over the room.

“. . . and when at last I go, unto my journey’s end, . . .”

Andy rose quietly, stopping to smooth the pants of his Illinois State Police uniform, and noiselessly exited the double oak doors. Outside there was a slight drizzle. He leaned back into the building to avoid the rain and squeezed his eyes shut while tears ran down his face, feeling free to let them fall. His reprise lasted only a moment as he quickly fluttered open his eyes in complete surprise as he felt the bright sun warming his face. A scent of clover filled the air while the soloist’s voice filtered through the closed doors, allowing him to hear the words as she finished her song.

“We’ll meet again . . . my friend.”

Martha Finley, R.N.

Pediatrics