Vinita Hampton Wright

by Dwelling Places (v5)

  Today she has already had a hot rum toddy, and it’s only ten in the morning. The cough is horribly congested, and at times Mom wheezes after a coughing spell. Twice Jodie considers hauling her to the emergency room. But she knows the scene that will cause. So she works intently on dough for dinner rolls and the extra pan of dressing and the honeyed carrots and the gelatin salad and the other dishes that are under her charge. Maybe working in the school cafeteria has soured her on cooking. Or maybe she’s just not thankful on this Thanksgiving. Maybe what she really dreads is the moment when they all sit down together and have little to say to each other; she has come to dread dinnertime on any day, even if it’s only Mack and Kenzie with her. She hears them talking to each other, and she can tell how hard they’re trying to make everybody happy. Mack is trying to prove that his life is worth something, and Kenzie is trying to bring them all back to God. Neither of them can speak in a way that other people understand. Mack will list all that he’s done today; he’ll voice opinions that aren’t even important to him anymore, then sit back and look haunted when silence falls. And in Kenzie there now seems to be a constant, quiet panic. She talks more and more about Jesus and prayer and Satan. They do their best to tolerate it without participating in her fervor. They had a small portion of such fervor themselves, years ago, back when faith was a manageable, reasonable thing. But it has ceased to be either for a long time now.

  After lunch, Rita lies down in the living room for a nap. She’s taken cold medicine and is groggy. Mack is halfway to Iowa City by now, to pick up Aunt Linda, who is eighty-four and resides in an assisted living community. It’s hard for her to travel much anymore, but she wanted to be here on the farm for Thanksgiving, and they’ve not been to see her in a while.

  The kids are somewhere, maybe upstairs or roaming the countryside. She doesn’t try to keep track.

  The house is quiet. Jodie’s feet and legs hurt; she’s been up and working on food since five this morning. She’ll take a break while Rita naps.

  She eyes the kitchen phone and considers risks. Rita is three rooms away, and no one else is close enough to overhear a word she says.

  He said that he would be home until early evening, when he’d go out to his parents’ for Thanksgiving dinner. She said that she wouldn’t have opportunity to call him, with family around all day.

  It is understood between the two of them that he must never call her at home. But she can call him when it’s safe to do so. It’s also understood that talking every day isn’t appropriate. They’ve been together four times now, and they’re enjoying it a lot, but they are both still afraid to be too close too soon.

  She punches in the number. He picks up on the first ring.

  “Hey,” she says, knowing that he’ll know even from one word that it’s her. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving. I’m glad you called.”

  “Are you just sitting at home by yourself?”

  “Been watching parades and football, doing stuff around the house. I’m just chilling out, channel surfing, drinking some beer.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.”

  “Thinking of you.”

  The words bring instant happiness. “That’s nice too.”

  “How are you?”

  “Oh, you know. It’s Thanksgiving. I’m cooking all day.”

  “You having a bunch of people over?”

  “Just Mack and the kids and his mom and great-aunt. But it’s still a major dinner. I’m not in the mood to do it really, but it’s what we do.”

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  “I think you know.” She hides her face behind the receiver, even though nobody’s around to see her grin like an idiot.

  “Just run over here for a quickie.”

  “Right. I’ll do that between the pumpkin pie and cranberry salad.”

  “I know. Can’t blame me for asking.”

  They talk for ten minutes, about nothing in particular. It’s just good to hear his voice and to give him the sound of hers. It’s good to know that he’s out there thinking of her, that he can’t wait to get his hands on her again. Suddenly her day is full of energy. Suddenly she’s thankful.

  When they hang up, she can’t go back to work right away. Rita is still asleep on the sofa. Jodie wanders the house, looking out of windows, smoothing tablecloths, and rearranging throws on chairs and sofas. She is restless, happy, sad, anxious. All she really wants is to be in a bed in some other county with Terry all over her. To find a special place full of liveliness and hope.

  Rita

  Rita has never felt particularly close to Aunt Linda. She’s actually Taylor Senior’s aunt, although she is young enough to be his older sister. Has a lot of Dutch in her, which may be the problem. The Dutch people Rita has known tend to be tight-lipped and judgmental, as if they’re sure you haven’t cleaned your house well enough. Actually, she’s not known that many Dutch people, but it only takes a couple to make a strong impression. Taylor’s parents were good people but sort of stiff. They died in the early years of Rita and Taylor’s marriage, and she never felt very close to them either.

  Aunt Linda walks in the house ahead of Mack wearing a dark green plush coat. Her silver hair is shaped against her head in careful curls; the woman has had her hair done once a week for decades, one thing that makes her indiscernible to Rita. Aunt Linda always looks good for her age, but today she walks much more slowly than before. She has survived hip surgery this past year, and a person her age doesn’t recover from such things quickly. Her face is made up just enough to be appropriate, and she wears nice jewelry but not a lot of it. She wraps herself and her green coat around one person after another, including Rita. Aunt Linda is much older than Rita. She towers over Rita by a foot and is slender in the way well-to-do people stay slender; they have the luxury of eating just the right foods, and they go to the doctor for every little ailment. For years Aunt Linda has walked every day—for no reason except to walk. Her joints haven’t been ruined by labor on a farm; her husband owned a clothing store and made a good living for them. Rita doesn’t consider that envy has anything to do with her lack of connection to Aunt Linda; she decided long ago that envy is a waste of time. The woman has simply never interested her much. Rita greets her with the usual warmth and respect.

  Rita wishes Jodie could be a little brighter today. Usually she’s more energetic and talkative at holiday time. She chatters about the recipes or recounts family stories while they work. Jodie has always been a fine person to be with during celebrations; she can make any dinner into a feast. But Jodie has been quiet today, and she acts irritated every time Rita has a coughing fit, as if it were purposeful.

  They eat at five, the world outside already growing dark and chilly, while the room inside glows with silverware and steamy bowls. The conversation is fairly slow until Kenzie asks Aunt Linda about her grandfather, and the old woman lights up and pats her curls and begins to tell stories of former generations. Her grandfather was a circuit rider, a preacher who traveled through the countryside tending to small, scattered Methodist congregations. Aunt Linda quickly moves to the story of her brother, who fought in World War II, was wounded in France, and befriended the Belgian soldier in the next bed, who later came to the States to visit and ended up marrying Aunt Linda. Young Taylor perks up and asks more questions about the war, and Rita finds herself in a strange but friendly dialogue with Aunt Linda. Their memories merge in some places, but because of their age difference they have quite different recollections of the times and events. It’s as if they are filling in gaps for each other. An hour later everyone has finished Thanksgiving dinner, and Jodie is clearing the table. She’s hardly said a word.

  It is the scene in the kitchen a while later that startles Rita. Jodie is making coffee to go with the pumpkin and pecan pies. Kenzie is washing dishes. Aunt Linda and Mack both stand at the counter near the doorway to the dining room. They are bending over something intently. Rita comes closer to see what is going
on.

  “I take two of these a day, three of these. On some days, when I feel the need, I take one of those in the morning. This one I take at night only.” Aunt Linda is speaking over a pill container, the kind with sections labeled for days of the week and morning, afternoon, or evening. Her well-kept hands are pointing out various pills in pinks and yellows. She’s explaining her regimen to Mack.

  “Well, I may have you beat. Look at this.” Mack has taken small prescription bottles out of the pocket of his jacket, which hangs on the back of the door. He lays them out and recites:

  “Both of these morning and evening. This three times a day. This in the morning only. This one at night.”

  “How do you keep them straight?”

  “I line them up on the shelf. So far it hasn’t been a problem.”

  “You need a little box like mine. I load it up at the beginning of the week, then just obey the little lids.” She chuckles. They both raise pills and glasses of water. “Bon appetit,” says Aunt Linda. Mack nods and clinks his glass against hers.

  Rita walks away, shaking her head. As if this medicine business were a laughing matter. Although she wishes for stronger medicine of her own about now. The coughing has persisted all evening, making the rest of them look at her with concern on their faces, which is irritating. She left her cough syrup at home, and the kind Jodie gave her isn’t as potent.

  Kenzie

  Being around Aunt Linda always makes Kenzie feel better. The woman is old and gentle and sophisticated, and the calm about her makes Kenzie think that this must be what nuns are like. She’s hardly ever been around nuns, but she can’t imagine such serenity existing without some direct connection to Jesus. She knows that Aunt Linda has gone to the same church for years and years. She wants to ask her some question that will draw the conversation to that. She tried to do that when she asked, during dinner, about Grandfather Loughlin, who had been a pastor on the frontier. But Aunt Linda slipped past that to war stories. Evidently, to her, conviction by the Holy Spirit was just normal life and conviction worth talking about was the kind that would sneak behind enemy lines. Kenzie wants to ask Aunt Linda about her prayer life, but she senses that prayer is a very private thing to her. This Kenzie can understand. But she likes to imagine Aunt Linda praying at an altar, maybe one different from the altar at the Baptist church, but similar in a lot of ways. She walks and talks like someone who has practiced true devotion for many years.

  This impression doesn’t add up when Aunt Linda gets out all her pill bottles. Kenzie has to remind herself that it wasn’t until recently, not until she discovered the teachings of Reverend Francis, that she herself realized the spiritual compromise in the taking of medicines. Kenzie decides to give Aunt Linda some slack in this area, since she is obviously godly and not the type to lean on crutches. In some scheme of need and answer, medicine for blood pressure is probably not in the same category with medicine for despair. She listens closely to Aunt Linda and Dad comparing their medicines. She wishes Aunt Linda would ask more questions about exactly why Dad is taking this or that. She’s not sure how much Aunt Linda knows about Dad’s stay at the hospital, but she looks like the type who could get to the bottom of something fast.

  After dessert and helping Mom clean up, Kenzie hides out in her room. Young Taylor is in his as well, burning incense, from the smell of it. Kenzie trips past the door and shuts her own, turning on her desk lamp, the one in the shape of a cream-colored stallion, a light-bulb and fringed shade sprouting up from the wild mane. She has had this lamp since she was nine. The horse’s name is Pallie, for Palomino. Pallie lights her darkness when she awakens in the middle of the night afraid of demons and the coming apocalypse. Pallie has glowed over her for the duration of the mumps and the flu, has made it possible for Mom to read a thermometer while half-asleep. Right now Pallie looks like a toy that a grown-up girl would have given away by now. Kenzie pushes him to the side and gets out her journal.

  Dear Jesus,

  My heart is full of so many things. I just want my whole family to know the peace I’ve found. I want to put my hands on each and every person and claim Jesus’ healing over that life. I want to cast out demons and pronounce the truth about everything that’s hurting Mom, Dad, Grandma Rita, and Young Taylor. I want, want, want! This desire is about to kill me, Jesus. Something’s got to happen soon. Something has to be made right.

  When I see how Mom and Dad still don’t talk much, it makes me want to scream. When I see the darkness in Young Taylor’s life, I just want to shake all the bad things right out of him. And I see Grandma worry and I want to hold her and calm her down. I want to know Aunt Linda a lot better than I do—I need some help in this never-ending war.

  I’m tired of the war. I’m tired of wondering if they’ll be okay, and hoping that I’m doing everything I can. Jesus, you have to help me see the truth. I can’t wander in darkness. I have to be sure of your presence and your promise. I’m not as strong as I should be, so you have to help me be strong and wise. You have to show me what to do. I feel like there’s hardly any time left. I know it’s not your will that I be afraid or full of panic.

  She writes in Pallie’s light for more than an hour. She stops a couple of times to read from Revelation and then from Psalms. She says the verses as her prayers. She inserts the name of her loved ones where the Psalmist wrote “I” or “we.” She kneels by the bed and reads Revelation 21:5–8 about six times, memorizing as much as she can. When the end comes, all she will have are the words here, the ones she has stored in her heart.

  Her meditation is interrupted by sounds downstairs. It’s Grandma Rita coughing. It sounds worse than usual. Then she hears murmurings from her parents and finally hears Dad say, “That’s it, Mom. I’m taking you to the hospital.” Kenzie rushes downstairs to see Mom and Aunt Linda helping Grandma into her coat. Grandma’s face is pale, and she looks so weary that Kenzie is afraid she’s dying.

  “Mom? What do you want me to do?”

  “You stay here with Aunt Linda. Dad and I will take Grandma to the hospital.” Mom looks at Kenzie then and says quickly, “She’ll be fine, but I’m sure she needs some antibiotics.”

  They bundle Grandma Rita into the car. She is too overcome by the coughing and shortness of breath to argue. Kenzie turns on the yard light that’s closest to the sidewalk. She watches the car go toward town, then turns to see Aunt Linda standing there, concern on her face. She looks tired.

  “I think she has pneumonia,” says Aunt Linda. “All that congestion—it must be in her lungs.”

  “I don’t think she’s ever had it before.”

  “They’ll fix her up just fine. Do you have hot chocolate?”

  The mention of hot chocolate makes Kenzie long for Mitchell. That’s where she needs to be right now. But she can’t leave Aunt Linda.

  “Yes. I’ll fix some for us.”

  Young Taylor appears then, in the doorway.

  “Mom and Dad taking Grandma home?”

  “No, to the hospital. Her coughing got really bad.”

  Young Taylor looks as if he’s about to swear, but maybe because Aunt Linda is standing there, he turns away and sits on the couch.

  “You want hot chocolate? Aunt Linda and I are having some.”

  “Sure. Any pie left?”

  “I don’t know. Look for yourself.”

  The three of them sit in front of Miracle on 34th Street and sip hot chocolate. During the climactic scene, Mom comes in the back door. They can hear the car leaving the drive again.

  “How’s Grandma?” Kenzie hops off the couch.

  “She has pneumonia. She’ll be there a couple of days.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s staying there tonight.”

  “She’s really bad?”

  “Mainly she’s upset because they won’t let her go home. Dad will stay there until she gets to sleep and then stay at her house. Then he can go check on her in the morning.”

  Kenzie’s glad tha
t Dad won’t be at the stone house tonight. She had dreaded the moment when he would leave them all and go out into the cold and aloneness.

  At nine-thirty, Mom is in the dining room, putting away the good dishes. Aunt Linda is tucked away in the guest room. She will stay until Sunday, when Dad will take her back to Iowa City. There’s a knock on the door, and Dale is standing there. He follows Young Taylor upstairs, and they disappear into his bedroom. This is how Young Taylor gets around being grounded: his friends just camp out upstairs for hours at a time.

  Kenzie sits in the family room and tries to figure out how to get to Mitchell’s house without anyone knowing. At ten o’clock she stands in the doorway to the dining room.

  “Mom, I’m going to bed. You need me to do anything?”

  “No.” Mom turns to her briefly. She is at the dining room table, putting the good silver back into its velvet case that will in turn go to its place in the dining room cupboard. “Night, honey.”

  “Night.” She goes upstairs and does what she always does before bed, taking her normal time in the bathroom. Then she goes to her bedroom and fluffs up the blankets and pillows. She puts on her sweats and her jacket. Then she closes the bedroom door and slips downstairs, skipping the three steps that squeak. She ducks around the corner into the front room of the house. With the television still on, Mom won’t hear the sucking sound of the front door opening. Kenzie leaves the house, hops off the front porch, and goes to the road the long way around, behind the garage and away from the yard light.

  The sky is swollen with clouds and filled with a heavy darkness, the air so chilly that Kenzie coughs once or twice, getting used to it. She smells wood smoke from somewhere, probably the Timmonses’ place over south. As she comes up the rise, within a quarter-mile of Mitchell’s place, her gaze reaches and reaches for that speck of light that means he’s awake. Finally she sees a dim point of yellow, the light above the kitchen sink. It is then that she runs, feeling that something evil is right at her heels.