The Cedar Tree (Love Is Not Enough)

by McGriffith, Danni

  "Before you go?" He cleared his throat. "I appreciate you helpin' Gramps and Irvin with my arm last night."

  Jon turned, his eyes narrowed. "They needed the help, but if I'd known all this other stuff—" he nodded in the direction Katie had gone—I would've come over just to break the other one."

  ***

  The arm his grandfather and Irvin had set didn't give much discomfort, but the bruised knee, now the muddied mix of colors on an oil slick, proved a different matter. The knee throbbed with pain all night, a counterpoint to the turmoil of his thoughts, and on Saturday it prevented him from doing much besides lying in his grandfather's bed with it propped on a pillow. Katie didn't return.

  On Sunday morning, he rose, determined to go to church to see her. He couldn't leave her to face all that on her own. His grandfather waited expressionlessly in the doorway while he struggled, one armed and sweating, to pull on his jeans. The room began to spin and his legs buckled. His grandfather caught him, hauled him back onto the bed, and then left for church.

  He studied a crack splintering like a jagged lightning bolt across the yellowed plaster of the tall-ceilinged room. The crack ended at a dusty spider web. He turned his head to moodily eye the clock beside the bed. Ten thirty.

  Was Katie at church? Sitting there small and defiant while everybody worked at getting her away from him?

  The clock's ticking thumped dully inside his ears like he'd stuffed them with cotton. He scowled. Reaching for the clock, he hurled it into the hallway. It jangled indignantly for a second or two then fell silent.

  He awakened later when his grandfather entered the room holding a grease-spotted paper bag. The old man sat on the chair beside the bed and bowed his head to offer a long blessing.

  "Feelin' any better, Son?" his grandfather asked, finally, as he removed a paper bag of onion rings from the sack.

  "Yeah."

  "Brought you a double cheeseburger, mayonnaise, and large fries. That's right, ain't it?"

  "Yeah." With an effort he pulled himself up on a pillow and reached for the paper wrapped burger. "How was church?"

  "Fine." His grandfather poked an onion ring into his mouth. "Had a few visitors. Let's see, now…"

  The old man launched into the family histories of the people involved, spending a lot of time trying to remember how they were related to the family they were visiting.

  Who cared? He didn't even know any of them.

  "Was Katie there?" he asked, interrupting the flow of words.

  The old man nodded, stretching out his legs.

  "She look like she was doin' okay?"

  "Well—" his grandfather fished around in his shirt pocket for a toothpick—"she looked stubborn."

  He wadded his paper wrapping and threw it at the empty bag. It missed. Lying back on the pillows, he scowled up at the ceiling, his jaw tight.

  His grandfather cleared his throat. "'Bout like that."

  "What else d'you expect?"

  "Nothin'." The old man regarded him steadily, chewing his toothpick. "I've seen more star-crossed lovers than you could shake a stick at. They all look the same." His grandfather's eyes held a sudden shadow. "In fact, you remind me a powerful lot of somebody I used to know.

  "Who? You?"

  "No," the old man chuckled. "Me and Gramma wasn't never star crossed. She knew what she wanted and had me brought up to scratch right quick."

  "Well, Gramps, when you're about a hundred years old, you've just about seen everything," he said testily. "I'm gettin' up."

  "Suit yourself, but you'll have to put on a shirt. You're havin' company later."

  His grandfather fetched a wooden crutch from the closet under the stairs and one of his collarless shirts then tore off the shirt's arm at the shoulder to fit over the cast.

  A few minutes later, he hobbled to his living room chair and propped his foot on an overturned bucket that had once held five gallons of motor oil. Almost instantly, he slept again.

  Just at dark, a knock on the door awakened him. The room filled with noise and laughter as the church's youth group filed in. He straightened in his chair and rubbed his hand over the whisker stubble on his jaws, seeking Katie. She entered last, her anxious gaze flying to his. Their eyes held, oblivious to everyone else. She handed a plastic container to one of the girls then crossed the room to his chair.

  "Are you better?" She considered him with her head to the side as she slipped off her coat to reveal a blue sweater and a long, black skirt hugging her slender form. The soft sweater provided a dark backdrop for the shining fall of unbound hair down her back and set off the blue of her eyes.

  "Yeah." He grinned, mindful of his sore mouth. Then he lowered his voice. "You look good. I wish I could see you out of both my eyes."

  She smiled. "You are better. I made you some cookies."

  "This's my lucky day."

  "You look it," she said with a laugh. She leaned to hand him her coat, filling his senses with the smell of frosty air and scent from her perfume. Her fingers clung to his. "Don't let anything fall out of the pocket," she murmured.

  He grinned. "I'll take care of your pocket."

  Her fingers slowly brushed away from his while he searched her gaze. His grandfather had been so wrong. Everything was exactly the same between them. Better even.

  He gradually became aware of Karl speaking to him from a seat at one end of his grandfather's dusty sofa.

  "…your pickup hauled down to the body shop," Karl said.

  He reluctantly turned. Karl's direct gaze showed knowledge of what had happened in the barn, but most of his disgust seemed to be directed at Katie in the gaze he raked over her. She coldly returned her brother's look then turned toward the kitchen.

  "Thanks for takin' care of it, Karl. I owe you," he said. "Is it pretty bad?"

  "The guy didn't think the frame got tweaked," Karl said. "He thought he'd have it finished by the end of the week."

  Lance sat on the other end of the sofa with his gaze—oozing misery—fixed on Katie as she crossed the room.

  "Sweet," he said, frowning. That tall scarecrow had better quit looking at Katie like that… "I should be able to drive by then."

  Lance stared at the doorway until Katie reappeared a few minutes later, and then watched her cross the room with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk.

  "You remembered I liked these from that day we moved cows and you dumped the ice chest on me?" He took the goodies from her, grinning.

  She smiled and glanced at him from beneath her lashes. "Maybe."

  He drank deeply of the cold milk then bit into a chocolate chip cookie. "I thought you were indifferent to me."

  "Maybe I wasn't."

  He glanced up, intercepting a look of stark pain behind Lance's thick glasses. The other man's Adam's apple bobbed convulsively and his prominent ears reddened. He jerked to his feet and stumbled toward the kitchen, bumping into a young woman entering the room with a notebook.

  "Katie, we've got to get this Christmas program figured out," the girl said, crossing the room.

  "I don't want to organize it this time, Laura," Katie said with a pained expression.

  "You don't want to do anything with us anymore—" Laura eyed her with an irritated frown—"but that's too bad. You're the best at organizing this stuff."

  Katie reluctantly took the notebook and sat next to her brother on the sofa.

  He had never seen her interact with other people much—their brief meetings had never given him opportunity—and he watched with interest as she began to make order from the jumble of opinions and joking laughter in the room.

  Finally, she glanced at Lance on the far end of the sofa. "What are you doing this year?"

  He shoved up his glasses with a big-knuckled forefinger. "I thought I'd sit this one out."

  "No, you won't, Lance," she said sharply.

  "Katie—"

  "You'll do your Elvis singing 'White Christmas' just like you've done since you were ten. There's no reason
for you not to."

  "I don't want—"

  "You'll disappoint everybody. I'm putting you down for it."

  Lance's good natured face turned brick-red then white. He jerked to his feet with his loose-jointed movement. "Just put me down for doin' my stupid Elvis impersonation of 'I'll Have a Blue Christmas Without You'."

  His naked expression of love and pain silenced the room. Katie gaped up at him while a deep flush started at the neck of her sweater and spread over her cheeks. Lance pulled on his coat and stumbled out the door. A moment later a motor started outside.

  "Hey, did you guys know Elvis had a pet chimpanzee?" Tim asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  The boisterous gathering resumed, but Katie's pencil didn't move and her gaze remained fixed on the paper on her lap.

  At last, she gave a slight start and looked up. "Okay. Lance on Elvis impersonation." A chill entered her voice as she turned to her brother, sitting with one of his booted feet on his knee. "Karl, what are you doing?"

  He eyed her with the same measure of chilly disgust. "Same thing I usually do."

  "Well, then—" she scowled at him—"I'll put you down for your excellent impersonation of an idiot."

  She finished writing down the Christmas acts and closed the notebook. One of the visiting girls his grandfather had spoken of earlier approached his chair. In her early twenties, curvy, and with shining caramel colored hair and a tight sweater, she smiled.

  "Hi. I'm Tracy." She swung her hair back from her face and raised an eyebrow. "If you had a pen, I could sign your cast."

  He turned to Katie. "There's an ear-tag marker in the pocket of my coat. Everybody can sign my cast if they want to."

  Katie fetched the marking pen from his coat hanging on a hook by the door, but instead of handing it to Tracy, she stood behind his chair and leaned over his shoulder. He breathed deeply of warm perfume and touched his bruised face against the fabric of her sweater as she wrote on his cast.

  A moment later, she straightened, handing the pen to Tracy with a gleam in her eyes.

  He lifted his arm. The words, Gil, I Love You, Katie, sprawled across his bicep inside the large outline of a heart. An unaccustomed flush heated his face, but he grinned like a kid who'd got his first hickey just above his collar…and was worried his mom would see it.

  A few minutes later, an array of signatures littered his cast, with Karl's business-like, Karl C, filling the last spot. A general stir began as everyone shrugged into coats and shuffled toward the door. Katie returned for her coat.

  He opened his hand enough for her to see the note from her pocket then nodded toward his cast. "You got me wearin' your brand now?"

  She flushed. Glancing around the room—only his grandfather remained and he stood at the door calling after his departing guests—she leaned over him. Her hair brushed his face.

  "Maybe." She touched her lips softly to his.

  "I like it," he murmured against her. "You can do the other arm, too."

  "Do I need to?"

  He grinned. "No."

  The old man turned from the door. She quickly straightened, and with a regretful glance, followed the others outside.

  A few minutes later, he sat on the edge of his grandfather's bed with her note opened.

  Mom's been working on Dad. I overheard them arguing last night. She told him you weren't your dad (whatever that means) and he needs to give you a chance. She doesn't want me with you either, because of the church mostly, but she's a lot easier to deal with than Dad is, maybe because she doesn't feel like arguing. I wish this baby would get here. I hope it's a girl. I've got plenty of brothers. All everybody thinks about is the baby, now. Except me. I think about you. I think about you every minute of the day. I pray for you, too. Your poor face. I miss you. I miss the notes in the tree. Get better soon so you can come see me. You can, now!! I wish you hadn't given Dad your word we wouldn't sneak around anymore, though. Did you not want to kiss me again until I'm eighteen, or thirty-five, or what? If I could see you in the barn tonight, I'd make you wish you hadn't made that promise...

  He already did.

  ***

  The next morning, the wind whistled through a crack in the living room window, forcing a thin dusting of snow onto the windowsill. Gil leaned on his crutch staring outside at his grandfather clambering through knee-deep drifts toward the barn, a shadowy shape in driving flurries of snow. The storm had energized old Chief, and he bounded wildly through the drifts like a puppy, biting the snow and barking.

  He grinned at the dog's antics then turned to hobble through the gloomy rooms like a caged animal pacing, troubled by something he couldn't identify.

  Maybe it was the thing with Lance the night before. He felt kind of bad for the guy, but really…a public meltdown? What a wimp. The guy should suck it up a little. Have some pride. Wearing his feelings on his sleeve like that was just pathetic.

  He made his way to the cramped laundry room, once a closet with walls of bright green, now faded by age and layers of grime to the dingy color of bread mold. With an effort, he scooped an armload of dirty jeans from the floor.

  He shouldn't have made that promise to Katie's dad. It could be a long time between now and…when? He wanted to marry her. He did. Soon. But there was the church thing, and he had to be able to take care of her. The church thing would solve itself with time. Probably. But the other…

  He shut the gold colored lid and turned on the washing machine. Frowning, he hobbled into the kitchen.

  And all those bills. That stupid wreck couldn't have come at a worse time. The bill to get his truck fixed wouldn't be cheap. He'd have to sell one of the horses.

  None of them were ready, though, and he couldn't work them without both his arms. Maybe he could figure out how to drive Jim Harris' old Peterbilt with one arm. If he could, he'd go back to work as soon as his knee got better.

  He opened the refrigerator door and cautiously flipped up the lid on a bowl. A layer of black, bubbly spots coated the stuff inside. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and hastily replaced the lid.

  If he could talk Katie into waiting to get married until she graduated from high school in the spring it'd give him some time to get his bills settled, get them a place to live, figure out how…

  He replaced the bowl in the refrigerator and shut the door. Standing on one leg at the window over the sink, he looked out into a wall of blowing snow.

  He could see himself with Katie in his arms every night. He could see himself trying to bring home enough money to keep them going. After that, all he could see was his father. He rubbed a hand over the suddenly clammy skin of his unshaved face.

  What if he couldn't bluff his way through it?

  His grandfather returned at noon, stomping snow from his rubber overboots.

  Laying aside the newspaper from the day before, he heaved himself out of his chair.

  "There just ain't a lick of sense in it bein' so cold," the old man grumbled, hanging his snow encrusted hat on its hook then his coat across a chair next to the stove. "How's the knee, Son?"

  "Good. Thinkin' of signin' up for the bronc ridin' at Cheyenne next year."

  His grandfather chuckled, unzipping his coveralls. "I'll bet you are."

  In the kitchen, he filled a cup from the pot of coffee on the back of the stove and set a steaming bowl of soup in front of the old man.

  "Mm." His grandfather sniffed. "You didn't make this."

  "I might have."

  The old man grinned. "You didn't."

  He chuckled. "Karl brought it by a while ago on his way to town." He lowered himself carefully onto his chair. "Katie made it."

  "Mm. She's a good cook." His grandfather paused. "You wanna bless this?"

  He eyed the old man in alarm. "I gotta pray as long as you do?"

  His grandfather laughed. "Only if you need to."

  He'd never offered an open prayer before, but he cleared his throat several times then mumbled a short blessing. Raising his h
ead, he met tears in the old man's gaze. His grandfather fished the handkerchief from his back pocket, wiped his eyes, and then loudly blew his nose. An awkward silence followed the display of emotion, broken only by the chink of spoons against the bowls as they ate.

  "What'd'you know about Chihuahuas, Gramps?" he asked, finally.

  "Yappin' little lap dogs?" Taken aback, his grandfather stared across the table.

  "I saw an ad in the paper. You think Katie'd like one?"

  "Probably. She likes little critters like that."

  "I thought I might get her one for Christmas since I ran over her other dog."

  A knock rattled the door in the living room. His grandfather rose to answer, and a moment later, the young preacher, Will O'Neil, followed him into the kitchen. The old man crossed to the stove for coffee while Will shrugged out of his coat, draping it over a chair at the table. The quick movements of his short, wiry frame conveyed the compressed power of a tightly wound spring.

  "How you gettin' on?" Will asked, grinning at him.

  "Not bad."

  "Good deal." Will removed his worn ball cap with the logo of a lumberyard on the front and tossed it to the floor beside the chair. Running his fingers through close-cut brown hair thinning on top, he sat down.

  "Bowl of soup, Will?" the old man boomed, sitting a cup of coffee in front of him.

  "Naw—" Will leaned forward to look in his grandfather's bowl. "Wait…is that Katie's Mexican stew?"

  "Yep."

  "Don't mind if I do, then. That's good stuff on a day like this."

  While they ate, the three of them talked mostly about the weather and Will's work being slow in the winter, and how his small children were doing.

  His grandfather finished his meal and scraped back his chair. "Don't mean to run off, Will, but I gotta finish feedin' the cows and I haven't got to Gil's horses yet."

  "I'll give you a hand," Will said, half-rising.

  "Naw." The old man gave him a searching look. "You stay in here and keep Gil company for a while."