Vinita Hampton Wright

by Dwelling Places (v5)

  “It’s another country. And God’s taking care of things there, the same as here. God’s in charge of getting people from one place to another. You don’t need to worry about it, or be afraid of it.”

  Young Taylor’s eyes have taken on a sheen. He blinks.

  Mack instinctively touches his son’s cheek as if to reorient himself to a place he hasn’t been to in a while. Young Taylor stares at Mack and keeps talking.

  “That’s why I’m not afraid of death anymore. I like hanging out with it, sort of like walking a fence line, knowing that the property you’re looking at will be yours before long.”

  “Is that why you’re always in costume? You like to hang out with death?”

  “No, I just want to prove that I’m not afraid.”

  Mack’s eyes are filling with tears. “I had a different idea.”

  “Stop worrying about me. I’ve figured stuff out without having to die.”

  Mack looks at Young Taylor’s face, at the lips pink instead of black, and he remembers the boy as a two-year-old. He used to make a joke out of kissing people. He liked to run from person to person and make loud smacking sounds against their lips.

  “I appreciate your telling me this,” says Mack.

  “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

  Mack cups Young Taylor’s chin in his hand. He draws the clean, bright face to his own and kisses his boy on the lips. “I like you better with your real face.”

  Young Taylor gives Mack a quick hug and goes on his way. Mack watches him the rest of the day—noticing where he is in the house, following his easy movements across the bare field to the woods, going to hang out with death, or God, or the angel that pulled him up from drowning.

  Mack wants to tell Jodie what he has learned. But he feels in his soul that this is not the right time. He carries his son’s comfort with him in solitude, wrapping it around his mind like a quilt.

  Kenzie

  “I’ll understand if you decide to stay.”

  Mitchell is standing in the middle of his barn, the finished sculpture reflecting afternoon sun from its multiple surfaces. The same light washes over him, giving his complexion a healthy, bronze glow. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, dark hair peeking out, and Kenzie wants to rest her head right in that spot. But she stands several feet from him, her arms loaded with metal scraps. They are cleaning up, because Mitchell won’t be creating any more sculptures out here for a while, maybe never again. Why he wants to be clean and orderly all of a sudden, she doesn’t know. But she is here to help in whatever way she can. Staying busy makes it easier for her to cope with the many pains racing through her.

  “I don’t want to stay,” she says. “I want to be with you. That’s my calling. I just don’t know how to leave without making a disaster for my family.” She wasn’t able to get away from the house until after lunch. Mom and Dad decided to fix a big pancake and sausage breakfast, which they didn’t eat until ten-thirty. Then, because the Christmas tree was already drying out and shedding needles, Mom declared that it was time to take down decorations. That took most of the afternoon. They stopped at two to eat some leftover chili. Mom and Dad acted content to have everybody there working together, even though the day had started with a huge argument between Mom and Young Taylor. But even Young Taylor calmed down and cooperated.

  So now that home is feeling a little better, Mitchell is in crisis. Kenzie has known this was coming, because of the way he acted after the Christmas pageant. She sneaked away to see him the next day, and he was silent and dark. He hardly mentioned Kenzie’s singing at all. Instead, he mumbled something about how evil lived within established religion. He’d felt demons all around him in the church. He acted disappointed that Kenzie hadn’t made that discernment herself.

  Today, though, he seems brighter. He’s been up since four this morning, he says, “putting my house in order.” He has carried garbage bags out to the trash heap and had a fire going there all day. Kenzie doesn’t understand why so many perfectly good items should be burned, but Mitchell says that he wants to purify the property before he leaves.

  Before he leaves. He has talked about leaving since Thanksgiving, that awful night when he pushed Kenzie away. But today his actions move him closer to a real exit. Only now he wants Kenzie to leave too. He mentions nothing about her age this time, and she doesn’t bring it up. Something important is happening, and all she can do is watch it unfold.

  “Baby, we’ve talked about this,” he says, tossing some rotten boards onto a pile near the barn door. “You’ve known for a long time that God is calling you to a different life. We’ve known it. And it’s hardly ever easy to follow God’s call.”

  “I know.” She’s ashamed of how weak she sounds. When he calls her “baby” she feels totally loved. But the words that follow it today are very, very hard. “Are you sure you have to leave now? I thought that maybe once the school year is over—”

  “God’s time is not our time. His ways are above our ways.” He points toward his chest with emphasis. “I know, from the bottom of my soul, that if I stay here, I die. The enemy will overcome me. I’ve already called Reverend Francis’s community, and they didn’t have room before, but just this week a space opened up. Our place is being made ready for us.”

  “Do they know that I’m coming with you?”

  “Yes. And after a period of counseling, Reverend Francis will marry us himself, with the whole community as witness to our covenant.”

  Today is the first time he’s come out and said anything about getting married. In one way it’s totally thrilling, but in another it’s almost too scary to think about. Mitchell seems so confident that everything will work out, and Kenzie feels her own faith faltering.

  “But can he do that, since I’m not eighteen yet?”

  “The government’s laws are not God’s laws. Reverend Francis follows God and only God.”

  “Could my family come at least?” Now that her life’s calling is more imminent, she is bothered by details and doubts.

  He comes over to her and places hands on her shoulders. “They won’t understand, and I think you know that.” He brushes back her hair, and she closes her eyes at the tenderness of it. “All we can do, Kenzie, is follow the Lord. And I believe he’ll give us the strength we need.”

  “You’re right.” She grabs another armload of scrap. They work into the evening, and Kenzie leaves just in time to eat supper with her parents. Mitchell says that he will likely work through the night. He wants to pack up the house and be gone after dark tomorrow.

  “Pack up as much as you can carry,” he says. “Tomorrow at midnight, I’ll drive down to just below the timber, south of your house. You can meet me there.”

  “Do you want me to come over tomorrow?”

  “No. I’ve got matters to take care of in town. It’s better if you spend the day getting ready.” He stops her as she heads for the gate. It’s dark, and just a few stars show from behind a veil of clouds. He holds her and kisses her hard on the lips. She hangs on to him a long time before moving away and down the road.

  Once home, Kenzie stands in her bedroom and tries to slow the thoughts speeding around in her head. She doesn’t know what to take. She’ll have to decide tonight and somehow sort through everything tomorrow during the day, with everybody around. Well, Mom will believe her if she says that she’s reorganizing her room; she does that every few months anyway. Mom understands reorganization and will leave her alone. If anyone sees her getting her suitcases out of the hall closet, she’ll just say that she’s storing some old clothes and books in them for now.

  Supper is uneventful, but every little comment or movement makes Kenzie want to rush out of the room and cry. She keeps saying to herself, God will give me the grace I need. Jesus goes with me, wherever I go, and I will never be alone. She wants to say something meaningful to each member of her family, but words will not come. The time has passed for making appeals or getting their attention. It is truly time to
leave.

  But she falls apart when she goes upstairs later and sits on her bed. She cries so hard that she worries that someone will hear her and knock on the door. She soothes herself by writing a long prayer to Jesus. She copies several Psalms into her journal and prays them for herself. Then she gets the suitcases from the hallway, with no interruption or detection, and places them on the bed. She starts with her closet, sorting clothes and shoes. She goes downstairs and gets several garbage bags from the kitchen. Mom is watching television by herself.

  “Where’s Dad?” Kenzie doesn’t know why she should ask this now; she will no longer be here to follow her parents’ every move and worry about its consequences.

  “Over at Grandma’s working on her car.”

  “Mom, I’m cleaning out my room.”

  Mom looks up. “Getting sorted out for the new year?”

  “Yeah, I guess. If I label some bags and boxes, can you take some things to the community closet for me?”

  “Sure.”

  It is one in the morning when she falls exhausted into bed. She has sorted through her closet and dresser and most of her bookshelves. She has her trunk and desk to go through, but they’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

  In the corner are several piles of books and various other things. She’s decided to give some of them to Bekka and some to Janelle. She won’t need them anymore, and at least her friends will have something to remember her by.

  Rita

  Can it really be January? But, yes, Christmas is packed away, and Rita has just turned the calendar to its new page. It’s as blank as can be, and she detects some failure in her system. Usually the month is penciled in before she even turns the page. She writes in birthdays and anniversaries, deadlines for insurance payments and the like. When she feels so inclined, she includes events listed in the church bulletin, but she doesn’t participate as much as she used to, so the months are automatically freer.

  And Mack got her car running last night. It didn’t take that long, which irritated her, and she said so.

  “Mom, you never know about these things. It could have just as easily taken me a day or two to get to the bottom of it.”

  “Well, thank you. It’ll be nice to have transportation again.”

  Her son looked as if a comment was on the tip of his tongue.

  “I do appreciate you and Jodie carting me around. You’ve been a lot of help.”

  “No problem, Mom.”

  Their conversation hasn’t been as easy since the afternoon Mack brought up his father’s death. She can’t yet forgive him for such disrespect. But she can’t fault him for the way he looks after her. She’s decided that it’s best not to bring up that discussion. He hasn’t either, so maybe he’s realized how wrong he was. Life will carry on. And now that she has her wheels again, she can freely mark up the month of January.

  She is at the kitchen table doing just that when someone knocks on her front door. Through the frosted glass, Rita can see a person’s shadow. Nobody knocks on her front door anymore.

  But there it comes again, this time with a woman’s voice. “Mrs. Barnes? It’s Reverend Maynor.”

  The pastor of the Methodist church. Rita goes to the door. When she opens it, Alice smiles. “Have I caught you at a bad time?”

  “No. Come on in.” Alice wipes her feet carefully on the small rug in the entryway. Rita shows her to the living room.

  Alice is close to fifty, and divorced. Slightly overweight but always looks healthy. She preaches out of books of the Bible that the former pastor, the ancient Reverend Sipes, didn’t seem to know existed: Amos, Ruth, Obadiah, Titus, even the Song of Songs with all the racy stuff. It’s hard not to like Alice, because she’s so down to earth. But she’s unpredictable too, and Rita wonders what has brought the woman into her house.

  They chat for a few minutes about the holidays, the weather, and the pathetic state of the town’s streets, which is a regular topic this time of year. But after a few minutes, Alice sits back against the sofa.

  “Rita, I’m telling people about a special service we have coming up. It’ll be at the church in Oskaloosa two Sundays from now, in the evening.”

  “What kind of service?”

  “Well, it’s sort of a grieving service.”

  Rita sits up a little. “You mean a memorial?”

  “Not really. We’re not mourning the death of people necessarily.” Alice watches Rita’s reaction to this. “It’s more like we’re mourning a way of life that’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry, Reverend, but you’ve lost me.”

  The pastor scoots forward on the couch, her corduroy skirt draping past her calves. “This service is for families who have left farming over the past several years.”

  Rita struggles to comprehend, and Alice keeps talking. “You see, a number of people around here have gone through huge changes. They’ve lost farms or simply decided to leave farming for one reason or another. But it’s hard to just leave a whole lifestyle and go on as if nothing has happened. And so what the church here and in Oskaloosa would like to do is hold a special service that will help those families say good-bye to the former life and look forward to what comes next.”

  “Well,” Rita says, smoothing the doily on the arm of her chair, “I don’t know why you’re talking to me. I’ve lived here for years, haven’t farmed since 1990 or so. I switched lifestyles some time ago.” She adds a slight laugh to that.

  “I know, but the rest of your family is still moving through this transition.” Alice tries to meet Rita’s eyes, and her voice grows soft. “Rita, there’s been a lot of loss in your family. And nothing anyone can do or say can lessen that, but I really think it’s time that your faith community support you in a more tangible way.”

  “The faith community around here has outlived its usefulness where our family’s losses are concerned.” Rita straightens up even while she feels that her body is caving in on itself. “You’re still pretty new here, and you don’t know the history, but I don’t have a lot of fond feelings for some of the church folks around here.”

  “I do know that. I wasn’t here, but the same kinds of hurts happened in the town where my parents farmed.”

  “Then you’ll understand that these kinds of things are best kept in a person’s family. Nobody else can really help.”

  “I don’t agree. I’ve seen what happens when people are allowed to share their grief in a place where they are supported.”

  “Honey,” Rita gets up suddenly, pretending to stretch out her knee. “We’re doing all right. I really appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I don’t care to participate.”

  “What about your son and his family?”

  “You’ll have to ask them, but I doubt they’ll be interested either.” The pastor gets up and slips on her coat. Rita stands politely as she does so. “Please don’t think that I’m being ungrateful.”

  “I’d never think that, Rita.”

  “Good. I hope the service accomplishes what you want it to.”

  She watches Alice go down the walk. Her own heart is pounding. She feels invaded, just as she did the day Mack said all that about his father.

  “People have no right to dig up hurts.” She returns to the kitchen and her calendar but is too agitated to sit down. She says to the refrigerator and telephone, “I wish to hell everybody would stop trying to help me!” She opens the fridge to survey her dinner options but closes it after a moment, instead microwaving leftover coffee. Once in her chair in the sitting room, she searches through channels and finds a movie. She stares at it for two hours, hardly aware of the plot or the dialogue.

  14

  HOLDING ON

  Though vine nor fig tree neither their wonted fruit should bear,

  Though all the field should wither, nor flocks nor herds be there;

  Yet God the same abiding, his praise shall tune my voice,

  For while in him confiding, I cannot but rejoice.

  —“Sometimes a Light Surpri
ses”

  Mack

  He can’t remember the last time he and Jodie ate alone in the farmhouse. Usually at least one of the kids is around. It’s early afternoon, and they’re having a late lunch. While defrosting the freezer, Jodie found some round steak that had been in there a while, and so she has thawed it out and made them pepper steak. Young Taylor is running around with Eric. They dropped Kenzie off at Bekka’s in town. She was carrying boxes and said she needed to see two or three other friends and would be back in the early evening. So Mack and Jodie sit in the quiet while the freezer drips onto towels they have spread across the linoleum.

  The outdoors is drippy too, with a cold constant rain that has begun in the past half-hour to make tiny tapping sounds against the windows to signal the temperature dropping. As raindrops turn into sleet, Mack hovers over his plate of warm food, happy that his wife sits across from him in the sweater he bought her for Christmas.

  “Good steak, sweet.”

  “Thanks.” She nudges hers with a fork. “So Mom is happy, I’ll bet, now that she’s got her car back.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Did she figure out what you did?”

  “Nope.” He laughs.

  “We dodged that bullet, didn’t we?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You know, she wants us to get marriage counseling.” She looks up to see his response.

  “She harping at you about that? She cornered me a week ago.”

  “I think it’s probably a good idea.”

  He stops chewing. “You do?”

  She nods, taking a steak knife to the meat on her plate.

  “Well…sure. It’s fine with me. I didn’t want to drag you through any more than necessary. And it’s worked out pretty well with this guy I’m seeing. You want me to set up a time with him?”

  She keeps looking at her food. “If you like him, yeah. I’d rather not see a complete stranger.”