by Janie DeVos
We were sitting on lounge chairs out on the lawn under the weakened rays of an early October sun. We were all enjoying the beauty of a perfect fall day, but I was particularly enjoying the bantering between my parents. It was the first time I’d seen Daddy since he’d broken his leg, and aside from the cast, he looked like his usual, wonderful self. I knew that Mama was finally at ease and enjoying the volleying between them, too, as Daddy had given her a real scare when infection had set into his leg and the doctors were concerned about it getting into the bone, and possibly spreading from there. But just as in my case, antibiotics had saved the day. They had stopped the infection from spreading, and then had stopped it altogether. There was concern that his leg might never be the same, and that he would limp as a result, but in typical Jack Harris fashion, he made light of it, saying that with his bum left leg and Mama’s bum right foot, between the two of them they’d have one perfect pair of extremities. He also said that if they leaned against each other, they’d both walk strong and straight. When he said it, I thought to myself that, figuratively speaking, they had done exactly that for the better part of three decades.
“How was your visit with Donnie and Geoffrey last weekend, honey? Donnie sounded like he’s enjoying the first grade when I talked to him on the phone a couple of weeks ago,” Mama said.
“He seems to like school okay. It’ll take a little gettin’ used to, of course. The little boy sitting in the desk next to his is in his Sunday school class, so at least he knew someone right off the bat, and he said he likes his teacher, so that’s a big help.” I was still hurting from not being able to take him to school on his first day, but Geoffrey had filled in for me, and I hoped and prayed that with him doing more for Donnie, the two might find a comfortable rhythm together, bringing them closer because of it.
“Still no sign of the cat, Mama?” The tree-climbing cat still hadn’t been seen.
“No, but when I talked to Donnie, I told him we’d keep looking. I asked him if he wanted to go buy one at the pet store, but he said no, that he wanted that particular cat and would wait for it to come around. Too bad that cat had such unusual markings, or I’d just go buy a substitute and hope he’d be none the wiser.”
“Oh, he’d know.” I laughed, nodding my head, confident my bright little son would immediately recognize an imposter.
“Well, we have news about Ditty,” Daddy announced, almost dejectedly.
“Oh, what, Daddy? Is he all right?”
“As all right as someone can be, sittin’ in the county jail over in Unicoi. He called us on Monday morning. Said he got nabbed at the Carolina-Tennessee line while runnin’ a batch of hooch over from Lost Cove. Ditty was only about twenty yards into North Carolina when he got pulled over. But bein’ that it was a Saturday evening, and just about quittin’ time for the Bantam County deputies, not to mention that one of ’em had a daughter he had to walk down the aisle that night, they didn’t want to be bothered. So they radioed the Unicoi County Sheriff’s Department, and said they were holding a boy at gunpoint for ’em right at the state line. Told them they knew who he was when they saw him comin’ and that they’d stopped him just before he could cross over onto the North Carolina side because they knew that the Tennessee boys would like to have him. Said to come get him and they’d hold him till they got there. So, one of ’em held a shotgun right at Ditty’s nose, while the other one got in his car and backed it right up into Tennessee. They held Ditty next to his car until the Unicoi deputies showed. Nice knowin’ how our tax dollars are paying for such fine, upright guardians of our fair state,” Daddy sarcastically added.
“They had no business deciding which side of the law Ditty was on—literally,” Mama said. “I asked him if we could come to see him after we leave here but he said no, that he was too embarrassed to see us right now. We’re worried sick ’cause Ditty said he could get up to five years in the state prison over there. Lord, it’s a terrible mess. We told him we’d hire a lawyer for him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Said he got himself into this mess and he was gonna get himself out. All we can do is pray at this point.” No one said a word for a moment as we mulled over the situation and the possible consequences. Finally, Mama broke the silence. “Well,” she said, standing up and walking over to the picnic table, “it won’t do any of us any good worrying about it to the point that we starve. How ’bout we have ourselves a little picnic?” She put on a brave face, but I knew she was scared to death for her only son. I got up to help her unpack a large basket of food they’d brought. Daddy stayed on the lounge chair where he could sit comfortably, keeping his leg elevated in its big, heavy cast.
“Are those collards they’ve got there?” Daddy was watching half a dozen patients as they worked in different rows of the garden.
“That and mustard greens. They’re pickin’ ’em for tomorrow’s dinner.” I felt a stab of pain that I wasn’t working out there with Philip, and never would again. Time was not lessening the pain, although it had been almost a month since he’d left. “With it bein’ warmer down here, the growing season lasts a little longer,” I said, trying to get my mind off of him. I looked back at Mama. She was holding out a plate to me, filled with deviled eggs, ham biscuits, and homemade pickles.
“Give this to your father, would you, Kate. Jack,” she called over to him, “you want coffee yet? I remembered the sugar this—” She stopped mid-sentence and I turned to look at her from where I was standing next to Daddy.
Mama had a stricken look on her face and was white as a sheet. The coffee cup she was holding in her hand was tilted and some of the coffee she’d just finished pouring had spilled out. “Mama?” I tried to see what was causing such a reaction in her. “Mama, what’s wrong?” I moved toward her as Daddy was attempting to get up with the aid of his crutches. “Are you sick? What is it?” She was standing stock-still and didn’t utter a word. Again, I turned to see what she was staring at.
There, in the middle of a row of greens was Mary Boone. She stood frozen in place, just like Mama, and was staring back at her. Her arms hung limply at her sides, and a spade dangled from her left hand. Suddenly, Mama whispered a name so quietly that I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly. It was a name that she had not spoken in a long time: Merry Beth. As if on cue, both women dropped what they held in their hands and began to slowly walk toward each other. Not a word was spoken by either one as they continued to lessen the distance between them. Finally, they stood directly in front of each other. For a moment, neither woman moved. Then Mama lifted a shaking right hand and tentatively laid it against Merry Beth’s face. That small action was all it took and the two came together in an intense embrace; one that seemed to suggest that at last, someone had been found who was thought to be forever lost.
CHAPTER 29
The Ties That Bind
“She was found wandering the streets outside of Asheville almost six years ago, and was taken in by the Benedictine nuns at the Convent of the Holy Trinity. They could see that she had been beaten and that she needed far more help than they could provide. Mary . . . rather Merry Beth, had no identification and just kept mumbling incoherently. When the nuns asked her what her name was, it was hard to understand her nonsensical ramblings, but what they thought she said was Mary Boone. That’s a little off from Merry Beth Coons, but that’s what they thought she’d said, and maybe she did. Perhaps she didn’t want to give her real name for fear of being found by someone she was afraid of,” Dr. Sandell suggested from across his desk.
Earlier, out in the garden, Mama and Merry Beth had clung to each other and cried for the better part of five minutes until a couple of nervous orderlies had insisted that Merry Beth be returned to her room until it could be verified that we were indeed her family. We were quickly taken to the administration building in search of Dr. Sandell, or the chief psychiatrist, at the very least. Fortunately, Dr. Sandell was there and we were immediately ushered into his office, where the details of the surreal reunion and background informa
tion about Merry Beth were explained to him. We requested that Aunt Harriet be present if she was working that day. She was quickly located and joined us in the director’s office. Now he had Mary Boone’s thick file laid out before him, explaining her illnesses, and what little they knew about her past.
“She’s been diagnosed with schizophrenia and dissociative amnesia. With her schizophrenia, Merry Beth displays what are called ‘negative symptoms.’ These diminish a person’s abilities, and often include being emotionally flat or speaking in a dull, disconnected way, if at all. The patient often struggles to remember things, organize their thoughts or complete tasks. Genetics is a big factor,” he explained. “Schizophrenia occurs in roughly ten percent of people who have a very close—or what we term ‘first degree’—relative with the disorder; such as a parent or sibling.”
“Our mother wasn’t right—right in the head, I mean,” Mama said. “She lost several children to different illnesses, and she thought she was cursed and responsible for their passing. She actually tried to give our brother Prescott, Merry Beth, and me away for fear we’d die, too. Mama ended up killing herself when we were teenagers. I was always afraid that Merry Beth was cut from the same cloth as poor Mama.” My mother’s pocketbook was sitting on her lap, and her hands kept opening and closing on the top of it as though it was a life preserver and she wanted to make sure she had a good grip on it. She had to be in shock from the day’s turn of events. And while I knew that she was overjoyed to find Merry Beth alive, her illness was just one more layer of worry for my mother to bear.
“The other illness that she’s been diagnosed with is dissociative amnesia,” Dr. Sandell continued. “The distinctive feature of this disorder is the patient’s inability to remember important personal information. In many cases, it’s a reaction to a traumatic event, either one involving them personally, or one they have witnessed. They may develop depersonalization or trance states as a result. Merry Beth displays these symptoms regularly. Sometimes she just stands still for long periods, until one of the nurses or orderlies guides her to a chair or her bed, where she’ll passively sit down or lie down, according to the caregiver’s direction. She’s never been violent, but she is dissociated—disconnected from the world. and perhaps even her own feelings. I feel certain that the beating she suffered close to the time that she was found wandering the streets wasn’t the first—not by a long shot. My opinion is that she was brutalized and traumatized over many years.”
“Ray Coons.” Mama practically hissed his name.
The doctor looked perplexed. “That’s the man Merry Beth married back in her teens,” my father explained. “He was beyond no-good. He was evil. That bastard—excuse me, ladies—liked to hurt women. Does anyone know where he might be?” he disgustedly asked. Dr. Sandell said no. “That figures,” my father replied. “You know, he tried to kill Rachel, when he was robbing her family’s sawmill and Rachel happened to walk in on him. Merry Beth was party to the robbery.” It was obvious my father hated the man, and had been angry with Merry Beth for many years.
“She’s been ill her whole life, Jack,” Aunt Harriet said, leaning forward in her chair and gently laying a hand on my father’s shoulder. She and I were sitting next to each other behind my parents. She knew the pain my parents had been through on account of Merry Beth and Ray. And she was shocked to find that her sister-in-law’s sister had been at Pelham for years, unbeknownst to her. However, as Harriet explained, she’d never worked in the same building where Merry Beth was housed, nor did she eat in the same dining hall, and she wasn’t involved in any of Merry Beth’s activities, such as the gardening. Also, Merry Beth had left home when Harriet was a young girl, and she’d not seen her since.
“She looks so . . . different than I remember.” Harriet shook her head, comparing the institution’s photo of Merry Beth, taken on the day she was admitted, to a small, worn, and creased photo Mama had, tucked away in her wallet. The photo had been taken when her sister was about ten. She was at a lake near Howling Cut, and written on the back of the photo was “July 4th picnic, ’22.”
As they talked, I thought back to the time I’d seen Merry watching me from the window and crying on the day that Geoffrey had come to pick up Donnie to take him back home. She’d obviously seen Mama. And maybe she’d seen Mama, or was hoping to see her, the night she was hiding in the trees, watching the visitors leaving Pelham. We would probably never know. But what I did know was that Merry Beth had some understanding of a connection between her and our family, and most definitely with Mama. As they stood there crying, holding each other, Mama heard Merry Beth softly moan “Rachel” a couple of times.
“Yes, Merry Beth! I’m Rachel,” Mama had confirmed. But other than those two utterances, Merry Beth had said no more.
“It’s highly unlikely that she’ll ever be capable of living outside of this facility,” I heard Dr. Sandell say as I tuned back in to their conversation.
“I’ve bet on worse odds, Doctor.” My mother smiled, and a little twinkle sparked in her tired eyes.
PART THREE
CHAPTER 30
The Betrayal
It was about six in the evening and I was on my way down to supper when the nurse at the desk stopped me just as we’d opened the door to the stairway to walk on down. “Call for you,” she said, handing me the receiver across her desk. Startled, I took the phone.
“Kathryn, we found Donnie’s cat!”
“Oh, Mama”—I laughed, relieved that’s all it was—“that’s wonderful! I know that he’ll—”
“Wait!” Mama cut me off. Now I could hear the real urgency in her voice. “Listen to me. I called Donnie about ten minutes ago to tell him, and to let him know we’d bring it to him when we come to see you next Wednesday. That maid Genevieve answered and said that Donnie was at school. I asked her why he was so late gettin’ home, and wasn’t that new nanny person supposed to collect him at school about midafternoon. She said that the new school he started would be keeping him all week now, and the nanny was let go late last week! What’s going on over there, Kathryn?”
My heart was beating fast and there was a ringing in my ears. Obviously the night nurse saw that something was wrong and reached out to me. “Mrs. Cavanaugh! Here, let me get you a chair. You’re white as a sheet!” Pushing her own chair out from behind the desk, she wheeled it around to me, then carefully pushed me down onto it.
“Kathryn! Are you there? Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, Mama, I’m here. I heard what you said.” It was hard to breathe, much less talk. “Geoffrey must have enrolled him in Penmire. Oh, dear God!” My voice cracked and I started to cry. I could hear Mama trying to reassure me and making suggestions on what we might do, but my mind was racing. Donnie’s at Penmire! Oh, Lord, Lord, Lord! Now, what? Think, think! I have to pull myself together.
I took a few deep breaths, forcing myself to breathe evenly. “Mama?” She immediately stopped talking when she heard my voice. “Okay, Mama, I’m gonna have to call you back. I need to make a phone call, but I’ll call you back in a few minutes, so don’t go anywhere. Wait right there, okay?”
“I’m not going anywhere, Kate. Call me right back.”
I pressed the button down in the receiver’s cradle to disconnect our call, then asked the nurse for a phone book. While she located it, I blew my nose and tried to breathe more naturally. I needed composure to pull off this phone call. The nurse handed me the phone book and I rifled through the pages with trembling hands. Finding the number I was looking for, I dialed nine to get an outside line and then dialed the number. It was picked up on the third ring.
“Hello? Yes. This is Mrs. Cavanaugh. My son, Donald, started at Penmire this week. Unfortunately, I couldn’t accompany him as I’m down with a nasty cold.” I sniffed. “Anyway, my husband, Geoffrey, brought him in, and, well, you know how well-meaning but lacking men can be when it comes to the little details. Geoffrey forgot to find out Donald’s room number and I’ve got a littl
e care package all ready for him, but without a room number, it has no place to go.” I laughed, hoping I sounded a little flighty.
“Oh, dear, Mrs. Cavanaugh.” The older-sounding woman at the other end laughed along with me. “I have one of those well-intentioned husbands at home, too. I know exactly what you mean! We would have made sure Donald got his package, even without the room number, but let me take a look at the room assignment chart. Ah, yes, here he is! Donald’s in room 303. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight, Mrs. Cavanaugh?” She oozed helpfulness. It was amazing what the hefty tuition at a boarding school could buy.
“No, thank you, not at this time, except please don’t tell Donald that I called. I don’t want him to have any idea that a care package might be en route.” I didn’t want Donnie mentioning to Geoffrey that I’d called. I didn’t want Geoffrey to know that I’d found out that Donnie was there. Angrily, I wondered when my less-than-honest husband was planning on telling me.
“Oh, no, I won’t mention a thing about your call, Mrs. Cavanaugh. It’ll be our little secret.”
“I appreciate your help.” I sniffed, using my congested nose to my advantage. “Good night.” I ended our call and then promptly called Mama.
“Mama? He’s there. I’m gonna get him out, but I’m not sure how yet. I’ll know more by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Kate, why don’t you let your daddy and me go get him?”
“You may have to, but I’m not sure you can. They may only allow a student’s parents to withdraw a child from school. I don’t know what their policies are, and I didn’t want to start askin’ too many questions about that right now. It might have sent up a red flag. I definitely don’t want Geoffrey, or even Donnie, knowing that I’m going to take him out of there, so the fewer questions asked, and the less said, the better. You and Daddy have done enough already, Mama. Lord, I’ve about worn you and Daddy out, not to mention your car. But there is one thing I’m going to have to ask of you.”
