The Liberation of Ravenna Morton

by Suzanne Jenkins

  I needed to eat something, but until I figured out a way to cook the rice and beans left behind, I’d eat the dried fish, tomatoes and mushrooms. It was more healthy nourishment than I’d had in years at the boarding school. My mother’s abandoned garden might still have something edible buried in it. I’d dig around there, too.

  While I was contemplating what my next move would be, Robert Morton floated up on the riverbank, navigating a canoe. We’d known each other as little children, and for him to appear out of nowhere sent chills up my arms.

  “Boozhoo Peggy Ojibwe,” he hollered. “Aniish na?” He said this in our language, and I could just barely make out what he was saying. Hello, how are you?

  “Hello, Robert Morton, I’m fine,” I answered.

  “When did you return?” He looked concerned, and I was grateful. Someone knew I was here in this lonely place.

  “Last night. My family is gone,” I said. “Do you know where they are?”

  “They left before the harvest two years ago,” he replied. “Your father said his brother had work for him.”

  Before the harvest? I thought. Why would a man leave his food behind? “How’d you know I was here?”

  “We’ve been keeping an eye on the place. I owe you firewood, too,” he said, chuckling. “Don’t tell my dad.”

  I shook my head. What could I say to him now? Please help me? I don’t even have a pot to boil water in? Or a change of clothes? I had too much pride to beg.

  “Get in,” he said, pushing on the river bottom with the oar to get closer to shore. Like he was reading my mind, he added, “You can come home with me, and my mother will fix you up with what you need.”

  I was conscious of him looking at my hair. What had been done to me sent waves of anger through me. I thought, not now, don’t think about it now. It would be how I dealt with life. I never gave myself the luxury of dwelling on what had been until much later.

  I got into the canoe, and immediately, the memory of traveling with my family washed over me, the good memories of my childhood before I was taken away. My father’s people lived upriver, near Allegan, and in those days, you had to get out of the canoe and walk it across the road in three places before they built higher bridges. I remembered my mother guarding the basket, which held whatever food gift she was bringing along for our hosts, like it contained gold when in truth, no one wanted our food. We would be dressed in our best clothes, fit for company. Yet white people traveling the road would still look at us as if we were trash.

  Robert and I didn’t talk during the trip. The Mortons lived downriver close to Douglas. When he pulled up to the bank, I saw Mrs. Morton hanging laundry on the line. I don’t think it registered who I was for a moment, but then when she realized it was me, she yelled and threw her clothes pins on the ground. Running to me, she walked into the marshy ground and stooped over to embrace me, crying all the while. Again, the thought that my own mother never came to see me in eight years yet this woman would cry at my return was something that I would stuff down inside.

  She spent the next hour helping me bathe, dressing me in clean clothes, and arranging my hair so it wasn’t so brutally male. She fed me the most delicious venison stew and dried apple cobbler. It was the best food I’d had in eight years. I was grateful no one asked me any questions about being away. All conversation centered on me settling in and making a new life in my ancestral home.

  Later, Robert and his mother would tell me that they were shocked at how thin I was. My menses appeared briefly when I was twelve, but it stopped because of the meager diet in Mt. Pleasant. By September, I’d gained enough weight and had enough body fat to begin my cycle in earnest. Robert and I married in October, and Ravenna was born exactly nine months later.

  Poor Ravenna. As I said, she took the brunt of having a maniac for a mother. By the time she was four, I think I had stuffed most of the pain down to a dull roar. But Ravenna became the receptacle for my anger. I beat her and treated her the way I was treated at school. My treatment of her helped hide my anger from Robert. I remembered how gentle I was with Sharon, and then I would be nice to Ravenna for a while. My mistreatment of Ravenna is the worst memory.

  Sharon. She would die during a measles epidemic at the school. I’m not sure why I didn’t catch it. I took care of her; the nurse showed me how to bathe her face when her fever spiked, and how to hold her head up to give her water so she wouldn’t choke. But it wasn’t enough. She died in my arms.

  When Regina was finished reading, April knew they had to get out of the restaurant. Facial expression contorted, tears were streaming down her face. April put money down on the table and stood up, going to the other side of the booth and offering her arm. Regina took it and unabashedly started to sob. If anyone noticed, they didn’t care.

  Pointing back at the table for the waiter to get the money, he acknowledged April with a nod. She’d call later to make sure it was enough to cover their bill. The sisters were leaning on each other for support, Regina stumbling. April helped her get into the car; Regina still held the letter in her hand.

  After they got in, she finally spoke. “Oh my God, poor nimaamaa. How awful, I just can’t believe it. She’s never uttered a word, never used it as an excuse. She makes excuses for everyone else.”

  “I have more information. You might as well hear it now rather than be upset again later.”

  “What is it? What could be worse than this?”

  “Peggy hung herself from a tree, and Mama found her,” April said.

  Regina gasped. “How do you know such a thing?”

  “George told me. Ravenna had to climb a ladder to cut her down, and she fell to the ground. That old oak tree stump near the river; that was the tree. She had George ask an old logger who used to work at the sawmill to come and cut it down.”

  Regina was heartbroken, imagining her old mother having had to go through such horrific experiences. She was the oldest child, Ravenna’s confidante, yet she’d never even hinted at abuse at the hands of her mother.

  “What should we do? I feel awful.”

  “Me too,” April said. “There’s more, but I can’t be sure it’s truthful. It’s journal entries written a few years before she died. George said she was showing signs of mental illness by then, so I’m not sure it’s trustworthy.”

  “What does it say, April? You’re scaring me.”

  Taking a big breath, April gave her the abbreviated version. “She writes that Daddy was a visitor at the cabin all along and knew about the baby. She hints that he knew who had Maria, too. If this is true, then Mama could have sought her out sooner, rather than having to wait until the woman was near death.”

  “Maria! I’m so sick and tired of hearing about the godforsaken baby. Why is this an issue? Why do I care?”

  “You care because it was important to Mama, that’s why,” April answered. “Now we have to decide if it’s worth putting her in more turmoil to disclose it to her. It might mean more to her than it does to us, so we have to be really careful.”

  April did not tell Regina, nor did she ask, how George Patos happened to hand over all the documents. She was sure that if her sister knew Esme was involved, it would be even more problematic.

  “What do you want me to do?” Regina asked.

  April looked out the car window. A light rain had started to fall, and she could see traffic was picking up going into town, even though it was off-season. It would be dangerous driving if it got much colder, and she wanted to go home before that happened.

  “Would you read the journal? Share them with Gloria, because I think she’s the most level headed among us. Then tell me what you think. Please don’t go to Mama alone. I want to be there if we decide to involve her. I do think she needs to know about the letter. Also, I want to tell her we know about Peggy’s death. Maybe if she knows she can lean on us, the burden won’t be so heavy.”

  “I’ll read it,” Regina said.

  “Okay. I’m taking you to your car. This weathe
r sucks.”

  They drove back to the cabin, and it was in darkness. But rather than being happy that all was well, that her parents were sleeping and safe, it made April sad. It was still early, not yet nine. Were they sitting by the fire, talking? Or were they in bed together, possibly making love, while their children struggled with the detritus of their relationship?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Regina said.

  “No, I bet you don’t.”

  “You’re thinking, how can they sleep while we’re struggling?”

  April chuckled at the accuracy of her sister’s wild guess. “Pretty much,” she answered. “Gee, I’m so glad you can relax while we’re miserable? Oh lord, I just thought of Michael. I wonder if he’s sober with his girlfriend, or in the o-zone, alone.”

  Michael was snoozing on the couch next to the naked body of Lily Baker. She was watching reruns of her favorite TV show, feeling deliciously lazy as if she were on vacation. She carefully turned her head to look at Michael, amazed that he was as beautiful in private as he was in public. Neither admitted to having been in a relationship in a very long time or having been to bed with anyone, and the excitement for her of having sex again with someone smart, handsome, caring and real was almost too good to be true. There were a few warning signs, but she decided to wait it out and not jump to conclusions.

  He was honest with her about his substance-abuse issues. Although it didn’t sound particularly dangerous to her, she knew it might be the tip of a much larger problem. Her mother was an alcoholic; she knew all the warning signs. They’d been together all day, and except for a small bite of food at his mother’s house, he hadn’t eaten. Sometime after four, he’d gone into the bathroom, and an hour later, he was glassy-eyed and smiling.

  “Did you take something?” she asked.

  He nodded his head and held her more tightly and within minutes was snoring. Only two a day and a few more on the weekend, he’d told her, legally obtained through a pain clinic he went to for back trouble. Breathing deeply, a small voice was telling her to put her clothes on and run, while her body was saying to burrow in and see what Sunday brought.

  Now it was nearing eight, and she was hungry. Trying to get up without disturbing him, she slid her legs off the sheet-covered couch, but he felt her and tightened his grip.

  “Please don’t go,” he said, burying his head in her neck.

  She felt him getting aroused, so she relaxed. “I’m starving.”

  “I’ll get you a pizza if you’ll wait for a few minutes. I promise that’s all it will take.” They laughed as he rolled over on top of her, wedging his knee in between hers.

  “I’ll wait,” she said, smiling into his eyes.

  He looked down at her lying under him and moaned. “Oh, man, less than a few minutes.” They made it last until she was finished, then had a shower and got dressed.

  “Let’s go out.”

  His apartment was right in town, so they bundled up and walked a few blocks to his favorite bar that also had great pizza. “The best thing about living in town is not having to drive.” They had beer and pizza and laughed some more, listened to live music and talked until two.

  “I haven’t closed a bar in ten years,” Lily said. “Probably longer. I keep forgetting how old I am.”

  On the walk home, with Michael’s arm around her shoulders, he made a decision. “Move in with me.”

  “Really?” Not thinking of what he was really asking, to have a life with him, she thought about practical stuff; she hated where she lived, close to the hospital but with noisy, inconsiderate neighbors, and no pets allowed. His apartment was large and conveniently located in town. “We’ve certainly known each other long enough.”

  “Yes, we have. I want to get married, too.”

  “That might be pushing it on the first date,” she answered, laughing. “It’s bad enough that we slept together.”

  “No, it’s not. You and I have saved lives together. We’ve run trauma codes together, lost patients together. What’s so scary about marrying me after that?”

  “I have to give thirty days’ notice for my apartment,” she said, the practical one, and so happy that safeguard was in place. “Thirty days seems like a reasonable amount of time to get to know each other before we make a big commitment. And what about us working together? That might not go over well with the powers-that-be.”

  “I’ll leave, then. I get calls from headhunters all the time,” he said.

  “I’d be miserable without you, though. Let’s try to work through it if it becomes an issue. We’ll both leave if we have to.”

  “Lily, you are perfect for me. I’ll do what I have to make you happy, even if it means giving up my little habit.” Another warning bell she’d ignore.

  “I liked your family,” she said. “Especially your mother. It was an honor to meet her.”

  “My poor mother is a whack job,” Michael said sadly. “But I’m glad you liked her. She’s a treasure.”

  He decided not to say more about Ravenna out of loyalty and because it was too painful to dredge up memories of growing up in the cabin. That was a compilation of stories for another time, after they knew each other a little better.

  Part III

  Chapter 24

  While Regina got ready for bed, Gloria made a pot of hot chocolate. She’d baked cookies while everyone was at Ravenna’s gathering. On the dining room table, which overlooked the unattractive winter tableau of stacked-up patio furniture, Gloria arranged the cheap cardboard-covered penmanship practice notebooks that Regina’s grandmother had resorted to, recording the ramblings of a depressed woman.

  “I’ve got everything ready for you,” Gloria said, going to the window to pull the shade. “If you need anything, just holler. I’ll be right there.” She pointed to the small living room off the hallway, where a fire was burning in the fireplace and the TV was on low. She’d wear a headset so it wouldn’t disturb Regina.

  “You’re sure I should do this,” she said worriedly. “Once I read it, I can’t go back to live in ignorance.”

  Gloria laughed. “Not to worry, dear. You have never lived in ignorance. Denial, yes. You won’t be able to live in denial.”

  She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, if you’re sure I should, here I go.” She pulled the chair out and reached for the notebook.

  I want to write down everything because I’m starting to forget my life. Going to the boarding school, my parents leaving me behind, losing Robert, those things will always be with me.

  Regina took the boarding school letter out of the envelope again and reread it. Its sadness segued to the beginning of a love affair with Robert Morton. It was a beautiful story if only Robert had stayed alive.

  I switch back and forth between guilt and anger at Ravenna. Mike has been here, but I don’t want her to know. He knows about the baby. He knows where she is.

  “How’s it going?” Gloria asked, making chamomile tea.

  Regina told her about Mike visiting the cabin.

  “I don’t believe it,” she said. “It’s almost as though she was trying to ensure that my mother would have reason to be angry with Mike.” She stood up from the table and reached for Gloria. “Do you know what April said about you?”

  Gloria shook her head. “I hope it was something good.”

  “She said you were the only normal one in our family, in so many words,” Regina said, chuckling.

  “Oh my, that’s scary,” Gloria said. “I feel sorry for you if that’s the case. I’m far from normal.”

  Embracing the love of her life, Regina wondered where the story of her family was headed.

  Overnight fall became winter. Ravenna woke up at dawn to frost on the windows. It was cold in the cabin; the fire was almost out in the stove, so she fed kindling and split logs into the firebox and poked around in the coals until they caught. She was crouched down, looking through the isinglass window. How much longer could she maintain this lifestyle? Already
, she was becoming dependent on the items brought to her from the outside. The fine balance between protecting the way she lived and inviting outsiders in was difficult to maintain in the best of circumstances. Others wanted more for her, and the noise from more drowned out the peace she was fighting to achieve.

  All she wanted was to teach basket weaving to her granddaughters so they could continue to weave after she died. All of the knowledge of it, the subtle things that were easy to lose, like when to harvest the sweet grass and where to look for ash logs, how to care for the tools she used, those were the things that had to be taught by example.

  The things that mattered to her were of no importance to her family. They looked at her collections of natural finds with humor instead of reverence. But the other stuff, the substance of who she was, she’d buried, because with the telling of her life would come exposure, and she didn’t want to risk it.

  So the ways of her people, the beautiful communication with nature, the rich spiritual interplay of heaven and earth, the way she felt when she found the bones of a creature that had once lived off the soil without help from humans, the way she had wanted to live, would die with her. Something had killed her desire to share the hard-learned ways of living at the edge of the river. She knew what it was, but was paralyzed from telling anyone else. To tell could destroy what she secretly called the pretend. Just pretend everything is okay.

  “What are you dreaming of?”

  She stood up from her reverie at the stove to find Mike standing behind her, smiling down at her. “Oh, nothing,” she answered. “Everything.”

  “I’m sorry about yesterday, about all the commotion and attention. I felt like an ass.”

  “That’s okay. I’m just glad you were safe. I wonder if I need to stop my selfishness and let you move in.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to be out here during the day, my dear. It’s too quiet.”