The Eyes of the Doe

by Patricia Taylor Wells

  “I reckon she still in her room,” I says.

  “Can we see her?” the second girl ask.

  “I don’t see why not. Go on down the hall. It’s the second door on the right. She need to come out, anyhow. Once the rest the family gets here, we be ready to eat.”

  I watched as the girls knock on the door like they’s afraid of Miss Holly. She took a long time opening the door. They all hugged each other and then close the door so I couldn’t see or hear what’s going on. Not good for Miss Holly to be all alone. She just a child herself. No one bother to look in on her all morning. I guess I should have done that. I knowed her all her life. She and Master Jake over here a lot before they move to Dallas. Why they move there, I don’t know. I ain’t never been to Dallas, but I know it a mean city ’cause that where the President got killed.

  It wasn’t long before everyone showed up. There was Miss Kathleen, Mr. Randy, and their baby girl; Miss Libby, Mr. Martin, and the twins; Mr. Martin’s youngest brother Mr. Drew and his wife Miss Sybil; Miss Holly, her two friends, and one of the girl’s parents; and the pastor of the First Baptist Church. Mr. Ross and Miss Jewell not coming, Brother Parks say. They want to stay with their boy all they can.

  I hurried and got everything ready, then called everyone to the table. Once they all seated, Brother Parks cleared his throat and asked them to bow their heads.

  He say a short prayer, asking God to comfort them in their time of loss. No one looked like their spirits lifted much when he finished. Miss Sybil decide it her place to cheer everyone up. I don’t care too much for her. Always acting like she better than everyone else.

  “My book club just read the most wonderful book,” Miss Sybil threw out like she think they all interested in what she has to say.

  “What book is that?” Miss Libby asked.

  Lord help us. Once Miss Sybil gets started talking, she go on like a woodpecker hammering a tree.

  “A Separate Peace. It’s by John Knowles. It’s about this young boy at a boarding school in England during World War II. He becomes best friends with his roommate. The boys constantly try to outdo one another. They create this secret society that requires members to jump into the Devon River from a large, high tree.”

  “Doesn’t sound that appealing to me,” Mr. Martin spoke up. He could be the devil at times.

  “Well, there’s more to it than that. During the rite of initiation, the two boys are standing on the same branch, and just as one of them is about to jump, the other one jiggles the branch. This causes his roommate, Finny, to fall out of the tree and break his leg. Later, Finny falls down a flight of stairs and breaks the same leg. Only, this time, he dies during an operation to set the bone.”

  “Aunt Sybil,” Miss Kathleen said. “Can we talk about something else?”

  Most everyone turn their eyes to Miss Holly.

  “If anyone cares for seconds, they’d better hurry.” Miss Libby looked around the table. “We need to get going before long.”

  After lunch, Miss Kathleen unfolded a quilt on the living room floor so her baby can take a nap. I be in charge of watching Miss Jennifer while the family at the funeral. Several women from the church come over to help me put the house back in order. The women was already bustling about the kitchen, cleaning the dishes, slicing cakes and pies, and getting the coffee ready to brew. Miss Libby doing her best to hurry everyone out the door as they fetch the hats and gloves they put down somewhere when they got here.

  I look out the window and see Miss Holly standing on the porch all alone. She open her umbrella as it start to rain. I then see Miss Kathleen and Mr. Randy drive off without her. What in tarnation going on? Miss Holly just stand there, like she don’t know what to do. Just about everyone else already gone. A car about to pull away stops and one of Miss Holly’s friends get out and go up to her. She take Miss Holly by the hand and lead her to the car. Miss Holly look like a lost puppy eager to follow anything that moved. Where her family? Lord have mercy! That girl got a long, hard road ahead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The most difficult prison to escape is the one we create in our minds.

  Holly

  I SMOOTHED OUT the two dresses I had hastily thrown in my suitcase the day before. I settled on the navy rayon with a white sailor collar and brass buttons down the front. As I stared at my reflection in Caroline’s oval mirror, tender moments Jake and I had shared played vividly in my mind: the little funeral service we held after Cullen ran over our puppy; the time I took scissors to Jake’s hair when I overheard Mother say he needed a haircut; rushing downstairs every Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought us.

  There was a soft knock on the door. I quickly wiped my eyes and buttoned the top of my dress. When I opened the door, a wave of nostalgia swept over me like a slow, summer breeze rippling through wind chimes. As my childhood friends, Janice Kilpatrick and Laura Williams, stood before me, the time and distance that had separated our lives scattered as quickly as dandelion spores in a puff of wind.

  Immediately after lunch, Aunt Libby began herding everyone out the door. It was raining, so I went back to my room to grab the umbrella Aunt Libby had loaned me. Its plaid canopy sheltered me from the slow steady drizzle as I stood on the front porch waiting for Kathleen and Randy. They must have thought I had gone with Aunt Sybil and Uncle Drew. When I saw them drive off without me, I began to panic. It was the same level of panic I had felt the day I failed to get on the school bus one afternoon back in the first grade. Although Kathleen had pointed out which bus I should take that morning, by the end of the day, all the buses looked the same. I remember standing there, watching all of the buses drive away, wailing for my mother who never seemed to be around when I needed her.

  A car pulled up to the porch and stopped. Janice got out and came to me.

  “Come with us,” she said as she took my hand and led me to her parents’ car.

  I slid in next to Laura and Janice climbed in from the other side. It almost seemed like I was sitting between my two best friends on the way to a movie.

  I spotted Uncle Martin as we approached the church. He had gone ahead of everyone to pick up Mama Hendricks. When he opened the door of his mother’s shiny black Buick, an old colored woman whom I only knew as Antarctica got out of the car and unfolded Mama Hendricks’s wheelchair. Uncle Martin gently lifted my grandmother as though she were a fragile porcelain doll and carefully sat her down into her chair. Her hands lay fixed and useless in her lap.

  As soon as Mr. Kilpatrick parked the car, I hopped out and hurried over to Mama Hendricks. Her frail shoulders trembled in my arms.

  Uncle Martin looked uneasy. He excused himself and walked over to a group of men who had gathered for a smoke.

  “My sweet, sweet Holly.” Mama Hendricks raised her head and cried. “This is just too much to bear.”

  All three of Mama Hendricks’s sons had served their country in World War II, risking their lives to save the world from one of its darkest hours. All three, by the grace of God, had returned home unharmed. How many nights had she prayed to God to spare her the heartbreak of burying a son? And how many times had she thanked God for hearing her prayers? I don’t think it ever occurred to her that she could lose a grandson in a time of peace. It seemed totally unfair of God to lay such a heavy burden on an old woman. I took the neatly folded handkerchief from her lap and dabbed the corners of her eyes.

  “This done broke her heart,” Antarctica murmured. “She seen a lot in her life. But this, can’t nobody ’xplain. Only Jesus know how come this happen. I tell Miss Ada that, but don’t do no good. She can’t stop herself from crying.”

  “Lord, have mercy,” Mama Hendricks cried out. “The good Lord should have taken an old woman like me instead of a young boy like Jake. I’d go to my grave this very day if it would bring him back.”

  Antarctica shook her head and pushed the wheelchair up the sidewalk that lead to the main entrance of the red brick church. Although built in 1952, some of t
he old-timers still referred to it as the new church. I walked alongside my grandmother with my hand on her shoulder. A young boy dressed in his Scout uniform saw us and came over to assist us with the chair. He had driven down with the other members of Jake’s troop to serve as an honorary pall-bearer. The entire troop would walk behind Jake’s coffin during the recession as “My Country ’Tis of Thee” paid final tribute to their boyhood friend.

  “I got it now,” Antarctica told the young Scout when we reached the high columns of the main entrance. I waited for her to step aside, but she kept a firm grip on the handlebars. All I could do was follow close behind as she rolled Mama Hendricks down the center aisle past the hard stares of women who had come early enough to grab the best seats for observing everyone who entered and what they were wearing. We moved over to the far right of the second row of the middle pew reserved for family. Mama Hendricks would have to remain in her wheelchair in the aisle between the pews. I sat at the end next to her. Penelope Crocker, who always made everything her business, wasted no time trotting over.

  “Miss Ada, you poor soul,” Mrs. Crocker chirped in a voice too pleasant for the occasion. “You would think that losing two husbands was enough sorrow for any one. What a sad day this is.”

  “Sad, indeed,” Mama Hendricks agreed. “This is just about the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “Well I declare, Holly.” Mrs. Crocker took notice of me. “Look at you. You get prettier all the time. This is so dreadful, dear, losing your little brother. I just hate something like this has gone and ruined your life.”

  Mama Hendricks pressed her lips tightly together. Neither one of us was about to cry infront of this meddlesome old lady. She could go back to her pew and tell all her nosy friends that neither of us had shed a tear.

  “Antarctica,” Mrs. Crocker said, “I’ll see to Miss Ada now. Why don’t you run along and see if someone can set up a folding chair for you out in the foyer? You can hear the service just fine from there.”

  “Penelope Crocker, what in Sam Hill are you talking about?” Mama Hendricks snapped. “Move over, Holly. Antarctica is sitting next to me.”

  “Now, Ada, I was just trying to make things easier. You know what people are going to say. After all, this pew is for family, and Antarctica isn’t exactly—”

  “They can say anything they want,” Mama Hendricks said. “Antarctica has worked for me for the past twenty years. She is just as heartbroken about my grandson as any of us. She’s staying right here and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  Penelope Crocker backed away, her face turning red with embarrassment. I tried not to let my enjoyment show too much. Mama Hendricks may be an invalid, but she was still spry in spirit.

  “Very well, Ada, have it your way,” Mrs. Crocker responded briskly. “Don’t blame me if everyone here gets upset about it. I tried my best to do what’s right. Good day, Holly.”

  Mrs. Crocker plodded up the aisle fully incensed, barely nodding at Kathleen and Mark who were coming down the aisle to join us.

  “That ol’ buzzard oughta be flapping her wings instead of her jaws,” Antarctica muttered under her breath.

  I moved over to make room for Kathleen and Randy, leaving a noticeable space between us to let them know how upset I was over being left behind at Aunt Libby’s. Once I was settled, I noticed a lone figure sitting in a folding chair next to the open casket where Jake lay at rest in his Scout uniform. It shocked me to think that anyone would be sitting next to my brother’s coffin. When the strange woman raised her head, I recognized the pewter strands of hair that stood out like silver tinsel under the brim of the black pillbox hat she was wearing. Painfully, I watched my mother—who seemed to have grayed overnight—take Jake’s lifeless hand in hers and presumably stroke his cold cheeks. It was enough to make me shiver. Oh, Mother, my heart cried. Don’t do this!

  I turned away, unable to bear the sight of her. I was relieved to see Daddy walking our way. He stopped occasionally to shake the hands of close friends and thank them for coming. He sat down next to me, stoic, with his arms folded across his dark suit and put his hand over his eyes, pushing hard against his temples. The air hung heavy with strains of “Largo” and the scent of wreaths woven with lilies, roses, and carnations. Never had I felt so alone. Daddy stared straight ahead as if in a daze when Brother Parks began to eulogize the short life of my brother. Mother remained in her chair throughout the service, her hand reaching into Jake’s coffin as though it were a crib and she were tending a sleeping child, now hushed by a lullaby of angels.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Every breath we take is borrowed; every draw due on demand.

  Aunt Libby

  THE FAMILY WAS huddled under the green tent erected for Jake’s burial. Everyone else stood shoulder to shoulder, doing their best to keep warm and dry under a sea of black umbrellas. There were so many people you couldn’t stir them with a stick. It had been standing room only in the church, too. I had given up trying to figure out who all was there. About the only family member missing under the tent, other than Martin who had driven Mama Hendricks home after her arthritis started acting up, was Jewell’s father, Leland Anders. I didn’t recall seeing him at the funeral either.

  I didn’t know much about Leland, other than he was a sharecropper who still plowed behind a mule. According to Jewell, he didn’t even own a pickup and had to hitch rides into town with neighboring farmers for the sparse supplies he needed. He lived all alone in an unpainted house on the hill that overlooked the crops he tended. He didn’t have a telephone either, so Jewell sent word by her sister Martha that Jake had died. I guess she just assumed that either Martha or one of Leland’s neighbors would give him a ride into town this morning. Poor Leland. I hated to think of him sitting in his parlor waiting for someone to come. I could almost see him pulling out his pocket watch—the only thing he could actually read—then carefully tucking it away in his trouser pocket. I doubt if Jewell realized her father wasn’t here; not in her state of mind.

  What a long, hard day this had been with all its raw emotions. A sharp pain pinched my heart as I choked back my darkest thoughts. I tried to put myself in Jewell’s place. The image of her sitting by Jake’s casket all through the service would haunt me forever. At one point, I feared she would jump in with him and close the lid. I wondered how I would be if something like this had happened to Caroline or Carl. Would I break down like Jewell did when Jake’s coffin was lowered into the ground or would I be like Ross—unable to release the deep hurt locked inside my heart? No parent should ever have to experience the ragged tragedy of losing a child.

  The only good thing about the miserable weather is that it kept everyone from lingering too long at the graveside. I was anxious to get back home and make sure Miss Trudi had everything ready for all the people who would show up to offer their condolences. As Carl and I were getting into the car, Caroline ran up to us and asked if we could give Holly a ride. I hesitated until I saw the angst on Holly’s face as she waited for my answer. Jewell and Ross were still under the tent with a small crowd of consolers. It was probably good for Holly to get away from all of this.

  “You’re more than welcome to come with us,” I told my niece. Every time I glanced back at her, her eyes were closed. When we got home, she said she wanted to lie down awhile.

  I don’t think I saw Holly the rest of the evening. I was too busy making sure everyone had what they needed. It was after ten before the last guests were out of here. I was glad Ross and Jewell were spending the night with Mama Hendricks. They wanted to get up early and go out to see Leland since he wasn’t at the funeral. They would swing by and get Holly when they were ready to drive back to Dallas. Not having them here made things easier for me. I was so exhausted that I didn’t even take my make-up off before crawling between the sheets. My sleep was cut short when Caroline shook me around five in the morning.

  “Holly’s sick.” Caroline’s voice broke through my dream
.

  “Sick?” My thoughts muddled as I tried to open my eyes.

  “She’s throwing up. You’ve got to come.”

  “What’s going on?” Martin raised his head.

  “Go back to sleep. I’ll handle it,” I said.

  I threw on my robe and followed Caroline back to her room. Holly was leaning over, heaving everything in her stomach on the braided rug beside her bed.

  “Go get me a bucket, some washcloths, and a towel,” I ordered Caroline.

  “Holly, do you have a fever?” I put my hand on her forehead. “I’m going to get you some Pepto-Bismol.”

  I came back in a few minutes and gave her a spoonful. She was so pale it worried me.

  “Would you like some dry toast and a cup of tea?” I didn’t know what else to do.

  “Where’s Mother?” she asked.

  “Your parents stayed with your grandmother last night. They have several people they wanted to see before going home. I’m not sure what time they’ll pick you up.”

  “Can you call her?” Holly gasped before vomiting on the pink tulip cover Mama Hendricks had quilted.

  I sponged the rug and quilt with the wet cloths and towel Caroline had brought me and placed the bucket beside the bed in case Holly felt sick again.

  Holly never ate or drank anything the entire day. I tried to help her out of bed once, but she couldn’t stand on her own. I was afraid she was dehydrated and decided to call Dr. Wayne, an old family friend. I caught him at home.

  “Tom, this is Libby. I don’t know where Ross and Jewell are, but their daughter Holly is sick. They may be out at Leland Anders’. He doesn’t have a telephone so I can’t call them.”

  “Does she have a fever?”

  “Not much, if any. But she’s sick, Tom. She’s been throwing up all day. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

  “Libby, let’s wait till her parents get back. If she isn’t better by then, I’ll meet them at my office. Kids get sick all the time, especially when they’re torn up about something.”