by Janie DeVos
“Mrs. Cavanaugh, I’m quite sure that won’t be necessary!”
“Then go get my son!” I hissed in a deadly low voice. The director motioned for her secretary to go retrieve Donnie. Then she walked to a filing cabinet, pulled out release forms, practically threw them at me, and I filled them out. As I continued to wait, the silence was heavy in the office. I was too tense to sit down, so I remained where I was while Mrs. Caldwell went into her office and found paperwork to pretend to be involved with. The minutes dragged like hours until, finally, the door opened and Donnie was ushered in.
Apparently, he had no idea why he was being brought to the director’s office, and his little face was drawn and frightened looking. Donnie hardly glanced up until he heard me say his name, then his head snapped up and he looked totally stunned as he saw me kneeling there, with my arms wide open, waiting to encircle him like a living life preserver. He blinked hard once, as though he didn’t quite trust what he was seeing, then finding that I was still there, he didn’t make a sound or say a word as he threw himself into my arms.
I held him tightly, then lifted him up while whispering to him that everything was going to be okay, that we were going home. I felt the familiar trembling and heard the raw sound of his sobbing, just as I had at the sanatorium when Geoffrey had come to take him back to Cabot. But this time, his sobbing was out of relief; relief that his abandonment among strangers in this frighteningly rigid place had finally come to an end.
CHAPTER 34
Prodigal Sons
“Manchester? That’s what you’re going to name the cat? Well, that’s a good strong name, son, but what made you think of it?” I laughed, looking over and drinking in my son’s sweet, upturned face. Penmire was an hour and a half behind us, and Howling Cut was about the same amount of time ahead. Before Donnie could explain the reason behind the cat’s name, I spotted one of his favorite restaurants. “Hey, there’s a Bob’s Big Boy. It’s late, pal. We need to eat.” I whipped the Pontiac into the parking lot. It was a little before 1:00 p.m., and the place was still busy with its dinner crowd. As we walked across the parking lot, I admired the low-lying foothills that were still bright with autumn colors. High in the mountains of Howling Cut, the colors would have mellowed to rich, rustic hues by now, and the temperatures would be falling along with the leaves.
We entered the restaurant and I steered Donnie over to a couple of empty stools at the counter. A waitress brought menus over, but we knew what we wanted and ordered hamburgers with fries. Then, because we were celebrating freedom from our respective confinements, Donnie ordered a chocolate shake, while I indulged in a peppermint.
We were nearly done eating when I remembered our conversation about the cat. “So, go ahead and explain its name,” I said, before taking the last bite of my burger.
“Mrs. Manchester was the nice teacher I had at that school,” he replied, then noisily sucked up the last bit of milkshake through his straw.
A feeling of foreboding crept in. “Don’t you mean ‘nicest’? As in, the other teachers were nice, but she was the nicest of all?”
“No. I mean she was the only nice one. The others yelled, or made us do extra stuff, and sometimes sent us to the director’s office to be hit.”
I tried to keep my voice even. “Did they ever punish you, honey, or hit you?”
He looked ashamed. “Mrs. Caldwell hit me with a paddle three times. I mean, she hit me three times one time. I talked during a test.” He looked down, whether from humiliation that he’d been paddled, or because he felt guilty for being disobedient in class, I wasn’t sure. And I also wasn’t sure if I was glad or sorry I hadn’t known about this when I was just two feet from Mrs. Caldwell.
“Look at me, son.” He slowly raised his head and his little face was flushed. “No one, no one, has the right to hit you, for any reason. Do you understand? No one! She’s not going to touch you again. Ever. No one is. Okay?” I could see that he was trying not to cry. I reached over and gently pulled his little head toward me and kissed the crown of it. “You want another shake—to go?” I whispered next to his ear. He nodded. I ordered two more shakes and we hit the road. And that, I swore to myself, would be the only thing getting hit in my son’s young life for the rest of the time I had anything to say about it.
The roads continued to carry us upward into the looming peaks beyond. As we traveled, we talked about the many things that had gone on while we were away from each other. In just six months’ time, much changed in the life of a five- turned six-year-old little boy. While I loved hearing about all of the goings-on, it also saddened me that I hadn’t participated in his activities, many of which he’d done for the first time.
We were only about five miles from Howling Cut, and heading up the curving Timberland Road when Donnie spotted a hitchhiker up ahead. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and we could only see the back of him. He was walking in the direction we were going, with his left thumb sticking out. “You gonna pick him up, Mama? Papa always does.”
“Well, that’s because Papa’s a man. Women shouldn’t pick up people they don’t know. And I’m not sure anyone should, really.” We had just pulled alongside the man, but I didn’t want to make eye contact with him because I didn’t want him to think we were stopping. We carefully passed him on the narrow road, and I continued explaining the potential hazards of picking up a stranger as I glanced at the man in my rearview mirror. “Most people are nice, but . . . Oh, my God!” I slammed in the clutch and the brakes, then eased the car over to a small space between the road and the mountainside. “Stay here!” I said, switching the ignition off and setting the parking brake. Then I ran back as fast as I could to the hitchhiker—the stranger—who wasn’t really a stranger at all, but my brother, Ditty.
CHAPTER 35
Fight or Flight
“So, they let me go on account of the dispute over which side of the state line I was really on,” Ditty continued, explaining why he’d been released from jail. “I told the judge what happened—about those North Carolina deputies backin’ my car up over the Tennessee state line so that they didn’t have to deal with me—and they all said I was lyin’. But the judge knew that the one deputy had a daughter gettin’ married the night of my arrest because he’d been invited to the wedding. And he figured there was no way I could have made that story up ’cause there was no way I’d know about that wedding unless the story had played out the way I said it did. So he let me go. I drove out of there as fast as I could—without speeding—and got all the way to Red Hill before the engine blew. Guess I’d run the thing too hard too many times.” He sheepishly smiled, his innuendo not lost on any of us.
We sat around the kitchen table until well into the evening, long after Donnie had gone to bed. Only after he was out of earshot did Ditty and I give detailed accounts of the confrontations each of us had just faced. Needless to say, it had been a day where emotions ran high, and no matter how tired I was, I knew that it would be hard to sleep.
One of the most emotional scenes was when Daddy and Mama came home after a lengthy afternoon down in Marion. Their appointment with the orthopedic surgeon had been delayed by several hours when he was called into emergency surgery. They’d almost rescheduled their appointment, worrying about me and afraid that I might need them, but since they’d not heard from me, they decided to wait for the doctor. Daddy said they were so worried the whole time they were there that they nearly asked the doctor for two sedatives once they got in to see him. I knew he was joking, but still I figured it wasn’t too far from the truth.
By the time they got home, Ditty, Donnie, and I were already there. We’d been watching for them, and as soon as they pulled into the yard, we walked out onto the porch. Daddy had just gotten out of the passenger’s seat with the aid of a cane, and Mama was coming around the front of the car. When they saw all three of us at the railing, they froze. Donnie rushed down the steps, shouting “Grandma!” and threw himself into Mama’s arms, while Daddy remained wh
ere he was, but lowered his chin to his chest, closed his eyes, and began to softly cry. Ditty walked down the porch steps to him and, without saying a word, wrapped his arms around Daddy. They stayed that way for a minute or two, with my father leaning on my brother, just as my brother had leaned on our father throughout his life. I’d stayed on the porch, watching them, absorbing it. Finally, everyone came up the steps, and as my parents hugged me, with both of them crying now, I knew, without question, that this was where Donnie and I needed to be. It had been my home for most of my life, and it had never stopped feeling like home, even when I lived in my own house in Cabot. And I knew that Donnie felt the same way.
Finally, with exhaustion winning out, I got up from the kitchen table, washed my coffee cup in the sink, then kissed everyone good night and made my way upstairs. Walking into my old bedroom, I realized that the night air had shifted from refreshing to chilly, and the one blanket on the bed wasn’t enough. I lowered the window until it was open just a crack, then went into the closet and grabbed the blue and yellow Sunbonnet Sue quilt that Grandma Willa had made for my fifth birthday. After gently laying it on top of my sleeping child, whose small body hugged the far side of the bed close to the wall, I slid beneath the covers, careful not to wake him. Lying on my left side, I studied his face. In looks, Donnie was becoming a combination of Geoffrey and me. Geoffrey. He’d called several times already, at least I was quite sure it was he, for my parents’ phone never rang that much. But I wasn’t ready to talk to him, so it was just easier not to answer the phone at all. I knew, however, that first thing in the morning, I’d have to call him, and it was going to be a difficult call, at best.
Carefully, I moved some of Donnie’s blond hair away from his closed eyes. I wanted to—needed to—touch him to assure myself that he was really there, and apparently he needed those same little reassurances, too. Normally, he would be in the spare bedroom, but he wanted to sleep with me, at least for this night, and I understood. It was almost as though we were afraid to lose sight of each other for fear one of us would vanish again. Rolling over onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling. The light from the front porch below illuminated the room enough that I could still make out the old familiar watermark that resembled a man on horseback. Growing up, when I couldn’t sleep, I used to make up stories about who the man was, and where he was riding to. As a little girl, the stories involved the man saving me from monsters; as a teenager, he saved me from human bullies.
About thirty minutes after I’d heard everyone come up for bed, including Ditty, who’d decided to spend the night with us instead of going over to his apartment, the shrill ringing of the phone shattered the quiet stillness. Leaping from bed, I hurried out to the hallway and answered it in a hushed whisper. I knew it would be Geoffrey, but I couldn’t have him disrupting the household all night long.
“Kathryn! Where the hell have you been? I’ve called your parents’ house a half dozen times and no one’s answered until now!”
“Geoffrey, it’s twelve thirty in the morning. Can’t this wait until tomorrow—later today, actually?”
“Listen! I’m going to be there in the morning and I’m taking Donnie back with me. And you sure as hell better be there with him. How dare you take him out of school without discussing it with me! And surprise, surprise—my wife is out of the state hospital without even telling me that, too! How very thoughtful of you, Kathryn.”
“Geoffrey, don’t come tomor—” The line went dead. I tried to call him back but the line was busy and I knew he’d left the receiver off the hook.
It was tempting to pick Donnie up, quilt and all, and take off, but there would be no more running. I wasn’t going to do it to myself, and especially not to my son. Besides, this was the only place that I would run to. And no one was going to run me out of my home, Geoffrey included. I looked over and saw Mama standing in the doorway of her bedroom. “You okay?” she whispered.
“Mama, with y’all picking apples this time of year, I know Donnie would be a big help to you and he’d love it. Why don’t you take him out there first thing in the morning—and pack a picnic lunch, ’cause you might be gone for a good while. And, Mama, take him to the farthest part of the orchard; that back thirty acres, okay?” She didn’t say a word. Her smile said it all.
As I quietly crawled back into bed, I could hear Donnie’s even breathing. If the phone had disturbed him, he had fallen back to sleep. Rolling onto my back, I stared up at the man on horseback, and oddly enough, felt an overwhelming sense of peace come over me. Enough so that I silently told my longtime defender that he was finally free to go save other damsels in distress, because I was strong enough to fight my own battles now.
CHAPTER 36
Ends . . .
Mama and Daddy left with a tired and grumpy Donnie in tow a little after 8:00 a.m., and Geoffrey pulled into our yard, with gravel flying and engine running hot, exactly an hour and twenty minutes later. The car had barely come to a stop when he got out and started to charge up our front porch steps, but was stopped short when I walked out the screened door to meet him.
“Hello, Geoffrey,” I said evenly, and walked over to the porch railing.
“Either you can pack your bags, Kathryn, and Donald and I will follow you back to Cabot, or you can choose to stay here and I’ll take Donald without you. Your choice.” He was carefully controlling the tone and volume of his voice, and because of that, it sounded tight, as though it was painful to speak. He turned and walked back to his car.
“We’re not going, Geoffrey. We’re staying here, at least until I can sort some things out.”
“There’s nothing to sort out! You’re out of that damned hospital and Donald’s been discharged from Penmire. What the hell more could you want? Seems to me you’ve got the world on a string.” His control was beginning to break down as he realized he was no longer in control of me.
“Geoffrey, what has made you so angry? Is it because I took Donnie out of Penmire without discussing it with you first?”
“It would have been kind of you to do so,” he snapped.
“But, Geoffrey,” I calmly replied, “you didn’t discuss his enrollment with me.”
“You were ill!”
“I wasn’t dead!” Now I was starting to lose my own self-control. “What were you thinking, Geoffrey—that I’d be okay with it once it was said and done?”
“Actually, yes! I figured once he was settled and happy there, you’d be fine with it. You’d see that it was the right place for him. That other school wasn’t challenging enough for him, Kathryn. I knew he’d be far better off at Penmire.”
“But he wasn’t happy at Penmire! You were happy he was there! But Donnie was miserable, and most of all, he was devastated that you left him there.”
“Oh, for the love of God!” He slapped his thigh out of frustration, then put his hands on the edge of the roof of his car and laid his forehead down on them. “You’re going to make sure he grows up to be nothing more than an addle-minded hillbilly,” he mumbled in a low voice, but loud enough to make sure that I heard him.
“Go back to Cabot, Geoffrey,” I said in a low, flat voice. “We’re staying here.”
“I swear on a stack of Bibles, Kathryn, I will fight you for custody of my son, and I will win. You forget that I have a whole law firm behind me. Not to mention that I’ve got quite a few great litigation attorneys who are close friends. You try to fight me, Kathryn, and I’ll crush you in court. You’ll be begging to see Donald twice a year. Be very, very careful. I’m warning you!”
Ditty came around the corner of the house, but I couldn’t tell from his face whether he’d been listening or not. Very casually, he leaned up against the porch, with his left leg bent so that his cowboy boot was braced against the house, supporting his weight. He didn’t say anything as he chewed on a toothpick that jutted out from the corner of his mouth.
“This is a private conversation between your sister and me, Andrew.”
Ditty pull
ed the toothpick from his mouth. “Oh, I wasn’t gonna interrupt y’all, Geoff,” he drawled, knowing Geoffrey hated being called by that nickname. “But I had a question I wanted to ask you—while I thought of it, ya know.
“Why is it that the men you run with—you know, the fifty-dollar-cigar-smokin’ kind of guys—have such a thirst for white-trash whiskey, and white-trash joints, like the Back Alley Club, outside of Cabot? Ya see, Geoff, a couple of times when you and some of your pals were there having your private parties, well, hey, I was there, too! On one of those nights, me and my partner at the time were runnin’ late on bringing in a crate of that apple brandy that sells faster’n we can hardly make it. The owner of the joint hates it when we’re there at the same time as all his ritzy clientele, but hey, when you’ve had a flat with no spare, it slows ya down some. So there we were, storin’ the stuff in a little spot where the ATF agents can’t find it, and I can see y’all out the window of this special little storeroom, a-huffin’ and puffin’ on those ritzy cigars, and entertainin’ some high-priced ‘ladies.’ And I thought to myself, Man oh man, my brother-in-law is sure havin’ a hell of a good time!
“Kind of hurt my feelings you never asked me to come along to one of those little parties, Geoff, but then, my sister here might have found out what-all goes on. And knowin’ her the way I do, I think she’d be especially sore that some of those high-priced ladies aren’t quite ladies yet. They still got a few years to go. And you know, I was thinking, Geoff, I bet the North Carolina Bar Association, not to mention the ol’ police chief and the district attorney in Cabot, might be fairly interested in learning about these little goings-on, too.
