Esther took it, looking surprised. “Sure, Aunt May. I’d do anything for you.”
“I don’t want you to make any decisions today. Tomorrow neither. Promise me you won’t go telling John Henry you’ll marry him just yet. Decisions like that take thinking. Will you do that for me?”
She looked at Esther and could have sworn that she detected relief in her eyes.
“Sure. But, why?”
May rose to rinse a few teacups. Her arms filled the tiny sink. “Want some tea?” When Esther refused, May poured herself a cup and sat back down. Once settled, she felt ready to speak.
“I wasn’t always this fat and plain,” she said, squeezing lemon into her tea. The tart scent filled the small trailer. May could say it now, “fat and plain,” without the acute embarrassment she used to feel.
“When I was young, I had a fine full figure and a head of hair, just like your own.”
“I’ve seen the pictures, Aunt May. You were beautiful. You still are beautiful.”
May waved her hand in rebuke. “I’m not fishin’. I only mention it to remind you that a man could fall in love with me back then. One did. A fine, kindly man, a lot like your John Henry. But I had my fiery ways, even then. I got careless with something fragile, ’cause that’s what love is, a fine fragile thing at the beginning, before it grows strong. We quarreled over something, I can’t even remember what. I sent him away, sure he’d come back. It was expected that we’d marry, too. But he never did come back. He married another.” She paused to take a long sip of her tea. The lemon puckered her lips and the cup clattered a bit when she placed it back.
“Heard tell he died a year back. Even after all these years, I mourned him.”
“You think I should marry John Henry?” Esther eyed her aunt with a blank face.
“Now let me finish. Knowing what I had, I threw it away on a whim. I never had what you have—your talent and your drive. Do you think that comes every day? I’m sayin’ that you don’t play with the honest affections of a man like John Henry. If you love him, know it and marry him. If you don’t, let him go. You can’t keep bouncin’ back and forth, expectin’ that boy to always be there. It ain’t kind.”
She coupled her hands and looked directly at Esther. “Truth be told, you spend more time dreamin’ about your paint than you do John Henry. Esther, that don’t look like love to me. I don’t believe you’ll ever know the answer lest you go to New York and give your dream its due. Don’t act hotheaded. Think on it.”
“I will. I promise. I’m not too anxious to tell anyone just yet, anyway. I need to walk to the sacred grove and settle it inside.”
“That’ll be right. Go on, then. Do it now. Don’t put it off. Come here and give your Aunt May a hug first.”
May enveloped Esther in her arms, blanketing her in love. She wanted to protect her babies from outside harm, but she’d learned with Tom that she couldn’t. She could just be here to soothe the outside ailments with salve, plasters, and potions, and salve the ailments of the soul with unconditional love.
When Esther left, May reached out for the phone and pulled it toward her. She had three calls to make. She’d call her brothers, Seth and Squire, later. But first, with her mouth set in a firm line, she dialed Nora MacKenzie’s number.
Nora readily agreed to tap her contacts in New York. She couldn’t promise to open any doors for Esther, but she could call in a few overdue favors. Nora didn’t need to be cajoled. She was a firm believer in Esther’s talent.
Squire, however, was on the receiving end of a long lecture from his little sister about family responsibilities. Him with all that money in Florida and no children to leave it to. Squire argued that he’d always planned on leaving it to his nieces and nephews in his will, but May asked him why they had to wait for him to die for them to start living? He didn’t need that hold over them to get mincing attention. Didn’t he know how they adored him? This got Squire thinking, and he promised to send the necessary funds to Esther right away.
Seth, well now…May knew Seth would be the hard one. There was no bullying him, or forcing him neither. Seth had his own vision of the world, a wider one than most, and he came by it after long hours of thought. She rang him up and asked him to come over and haul away her garden debris. If she asked him to help, he’d be sure to come. Seth wasn’t likely to show up just to talk. ’Specially not at the close of lambing season.
Before dinner, after the afternoon barn chores, Seth drove up to the trailer in his pickup. He lived across the street, but she never expected him to walk over. She peeked out the dotted-swiss curtains to see Seth standing before her garden beds, observing them. May felt a flutter of satisfaction and pride, seeing her beloved beds freshly turned, the wooden bed boards straightened and all the shrubs pruned far back.
May tugged on a sweater and went outdoors to meet her brother by the front garden. He turned to greet her with a lively smile.
“Garden’s been cleaned up real nice,” he said. “Old vines took out, and them pumpkins are gonna make fine pies. Them fall greens been thinned, too.”
May’s gaze passed over the pumpkins and vegetables, which she grew for the family, to rest instead on the mums that she planted for color and pure pleasure.
“It’s gratifying to come out here again,” May said, crossing her arms in satisfaction. “I put that porch chair right smack beside the mums, just to sit and view it.”
“Nora MacKenzie do all this by herself?”
“Yes, she did.” May’s head bobbed. “Worked for days and days, and her with all them other chores to do. It’s no wonder she’s so skinny, the way she hurries about. But every bone in that body is dear. Sweet thing.”
“That was real thoughtful.” Seth rubbed his bristle. “I got something for you, May. Somethin’ I should’a brung long ago. Seeing your garden all fixed up again, well, I figured it’s time.”
May’s curiosity was piqued and she felt like a child at Christmas as she waited. Seth climbed into the pickup and backed it up right to the edge of her garden. A flurry of May’s hands and shouts told him when he’d gotten close enough to her precious flower beds. Seth heaved himself back out of the truck and walked to its rear, hitching up his pants and lowering the truck’s rear flap. Then, to May’s clapping hands, he brought out boulder after boulder of white marble and stone, setting them down in a neat line bordering her front garden. Each rock had been carefully chosen to be as uniform in size as nature had made them. Each rock had been washed.
By the time the last of the boulders was set in place, May’s hands were coupled by her trembling lips and tears glistened in her eyes just like the water glistened upon the rocks in the late afternoon sun.
“They’re from the sacred grove,” she murmured.
“Yeh-up,” replied Seth, breathless and brushing off the dirt from his hands. He reached out his hand and placed it upon his sister’s shoulder. A pronounced crease etched his brow, and beneath it, his eyes darted sheepishly.
“I know how much you loved Tom. You miss him as much as I do. You always loved all of ’em like they was your own. I should’a noticed you couldn’t get to the grove no more. It took a stranger to point it out to me.”
May patted his hand on her shoulder and gave him a look that said she was as glad to hear him say it as he was glad to get it off his chest.
“Come on inside,” May replied gravely. “It’s time we talked about something else.”
Seth followed May into the trailer and the two took either side of the round café table. They sat down in the same fashion, age and bearing being similar: they gripped the sides of the table and lowered slowly into the chair. After tea was poured, May told Seth all about Esther’s rejection from New York.
Seth reacted precisely as Esther had predicted. New York was no good for his daughter, he said. Why’d she want to go there when she could live here with her family? he asked incredulously. His stress on “here” and “there” implied his well-known feelings of city versus c
ountry. May let him go on, quietly listening to how Esther was being mule foolish not to hitch up with John Henry and give him some grandchildren, like was expected.
That’s when May jumped in.
“Expected by who?”
Seth met her gaze with raised brows. “John Henry, for one.”
“And you?”
He flushed. “Everyone. They been together since they was six. His family treats her like their own.” He rubbed his jaw and mumbled, “They been carryin’ on like they been married, that’s a fact.”
“Well, they’re not. And maybe they oughta not be.”
He cupped his jaw and rested it, elbow bent on the table, as he eyed her speculatively. “What’re you getting at?”
May brought herself up to full height in her chair, her ample bosom swelling to awesome proportions. In a firm voice she said, “Esther ought not to get married yet. She ought to go to New York.”
“I never told her to stay. Never tell any of my kids how to live.”
“You don’t have to.”
Seth shifted his gaze toward his sister. Confusion mingled with surprise in his eyes.
“Your kids love you,” she said. “They flock around you like bees to honey. And I’m not sayin’ that’s bad. It’s good fer some. Take Frank. Ain’t nothin’ he wants more than to live his life on this land. Sarah’s just a bit mixed up now, but she’ll turn out all right. She don’t wanna go nowhere else. Her life is here with Grace and Timmy, and Zach too, once they settle up. And you know they will if’n you stop coddlin’ her and boot her out.”
Seth raised his chin high and furiously scratched his neck.
“Junior.” May paused while her face eased. “Well, Junior may be simple but he’s all heart and he’ll live a good life here. Frank will always look out for his brother.”
“That’s how it should be.” Seth was looking out the window.
“Yeh-up.” May paused and made circles with her two thumbs. “Esther, though, is a maverick. She can’t live by the hand-me-down values the rest of us live by. For you it’s always the boys that go off huntin’. And it’ll be the girls that tend the home. Well sir, Esther ain’t like most women. She’s slender in the hips. Esther’s got to go out and stake out her own territory.”
Seth dropped his hand down on the table. The spoons rattled on the metal table.
“So let her go! The gate’s wide open.”
May shook her head and turned sad eyes toward Seth. He had a look of resolution on his face she knew too well.
“She can’t,” May said gently. “The gate might be open, but the electricity’s still on. She’s scared of gettin’ zapped.” May’s eyes flashed and she leaned as far forward over the table as her bosom would allow.
“Seth, you got to give your daughter permission to leave. You got to turn off the fence.”
Seth angrily pushed himself away from the table, the chair scraping against the floor. For a moment he stood looking down at his sister. His face was flushed, and his lips tightened and loosened, fishing for the right words. May waited, then frowned when Seth merely brushed his hand in the air with a frustrated swipe and strode over to the door. He rested his hand on the handle a spell, pondering, then turned to face her. His face was resolute.
“I reckon she’s old enough to turn it off herself.”
17
ONE GOOD TURN deserved another in her book. Nora wanted to show her appreciation in ways that counted up here. In action. First on her list was C.W. Nora appreciated his kindness in the barn, his loan of books, and his driving her to town, knowing full well he counted the minutes until they got out of the town limits. C.W. was always doing that, giving up his time to help someone. How often had she seen him rush to Seth’s side to carry a heavy bag or a tool for the old man? How many hours did he spend tutoring Frank in business? Esther was like a sister to him. They parried and shared barn chores in a way that would have made her jealous were it not such a friendly exchange to witness.
As she clambered across the meadow, the little red wagon filled with shopping bags bumping along behind her, she wondered about her elusive hired hand and his penchant for secrecy.
She came upon the little gray cabin suddenly. It sat on a rounded hilltop in the middle of a grassy clearing. The sun shone straight upon the tin roof without the hindrance of maple, birch, and cherry branches. It had been her cabin once. Nora had added flower boxes under the four-square windows, a slate front stoop, and to the left side of the cabin, the rising hill was held back by a boulder retaining wall.
The cabin sat on the border of the Johnston land, giving the cabin full view of Esther’s small Christmas tree meadow and below that, Seth’s marvelous Skeleton Tree Pond. Nora had built the cabin on this picturesque spot as a place to paint. That, she thought sadly now, was another dream that had died up here.
She pushed open the door to the cabin; it creaked loudly, making her cringe thinking the entire forest could hear the high wail. She peered around the door into the room. Motes of dust floated in a single ray of sunshine that filtered through the southern panes of glass. Nora hesitated, her hand resting on the knob. She didn’t want to invade C.W.’s privacy. But hadn’t she promised to help fix up the place?
Her mind made up, she hoisted the bundles in her arms up with her knee and walked into the one-room cabin. His room, now.
Her first thought was that C.W. lived like a monk. Four straight-backed chairs. A faded sleeping bag on the black iron bed. Dishes stacked on a shelf, collecting dust. Everywhere else lay books. Piles of texts tilted in the corner. Sheep and farming magazines were neatly stacked under the bed, and a long row of old, leather-bound volumes crowned the mantelpiece. Nora ran her finger across the crinkled leather as she browsed: Lao-tzu, Jung, de Tocqueville, Thoreau, Mark Twain. Her brow rose. Pretty sophisticated reading for a laborer.
On the table, one book, The I Ching, lay open beside a piece of paper and three pennies. Intrigued, she walked over for a closer look. He had drawn some kind of hexagram on the paper and beneath it scribbled notes in a tight, illegible script. Something about “the wise man and perseverance.”
Another torn scrap of paper was sticking out from beneath the book. On this sheet, one word caught her eye. At the bottom of the paper, encircled so many times the tip of the pen had scraped through the paper, was the name Nora.
She caught her breath and stepped back from the table. This was too private. Sure, she was curious about the private Mr. Walker, but she wouldn’t pry.
So Nora set right to work. Out of the shopping bag she pulled a freshly laundered down quilt and crisp white cotton linens. She approached the bed with militaristic purpose, but as she bent to fold up the sleeping bag, the musky, stale-sweet odor of his bedding arrested her. The scent was as identifiable as his signature.
Absently, she ran her fingertips atop the sleeping bag’s flannel lining, along the cold jagged edge of the zipper, and finally, traced the depression on his pillow. Nora gathered the faded green sleeping bag to her face, sniffing tentatively, then rested her cheek against the soft flannel. This was as close as she might ever get to holding him.
Nora jolted back.
Back to work, she ordered herself, shaking the thoughts away firmly as she shook out the sleeping bag at arm’s length. In like manner, Nora efficiently made the bed, dusted the furniture, swept the floors, and washed the grimy window-panes. It brought her pleasure to take care of him. She told herself it was because she was grateful for all he had done for her, but her heart didn’t buy it. Smelling his scent, touching his books, making his bed—all these intimate actions hinted the truth. She was falling in love with him.
After a few more trips back and forth from the wagon, Nora was finished. Arms akimbo, she surveyed her work. It would do, she decided, pleased. The bed was now comfortably made up with fresh linens and a down quilt of slate blue. Curtains hung at the windows. A round, brightly colored braided rug stretched out before the wood stove, and sitting on the iron stove s
at a new tea kettle and a selection of instant tea and coffee. Still, something was missing.
Her eyes scanned the room and were drawn to the far corner. Tilting against the wall, behind a pile of dirty laundry, rested a canvas. The scene depicted a shepherd, whose familiar hands-on-hips stance suggested alertness yet calm. He stood on a bluff overlooking a field dotted with white-fleeced sheep. Nora sighed. The painting was magnificent; Esther’s talent undeniable.
Nora grabbed hold of the large canvas and lifted it high atop the mantelpiece, shoving aside the books to make room. There was no competition here. Nora knew raw talent when she saw it, and respected it. Standing back, she nodded firmly.
“I’ve been meaning to do that for some time,” C.W. said from the doorway.
Nora whirled around, her eyes wide and her mouth agape. “What are you doing here?” she gasped.
C.W.’s brows gathered and he folded his arms across his broad chest. “I was about to ask you the same question.”
A great whoosh escaped from Nora’s lungs as she flopped her hands upon her apron. Her gaze circled the room, then shyly returned to his. What could she say that her actions didn’t already scream out? She could feel a hot burn rising on her cheeks. The way he was staring at her, she felt certain he understood every secret that her work implied.
He remained silent, waiting, and she knew him well enough by now that he could stand there forever.
“I’d promised to fix things up,” she started.
No reply.
“I picked up a few things in town…”
He still stood there, like a stubborn mule, not helping her out of this awkward situation in the least. Embarrassment, frustration, and pique all flared at once, prompting her to hustle over to her cleaning supplies and begin stuffing them back into the bags.
“Oh, forget it,” she said without looking back. “I just wanted to say thanks. So thanks.”
The Long Road Home Page 18
