The Rockin' Chair

by Steven Manchester

  As John made his rounds back toward the farmhouse he figured, Alice will have to be up by now. Recently she slept in, but that seemed the least of their worries. John had taken over the cooking and though he’d spent years happily devouring every dish set before him, he hadn’t paid much mind as to how they’d gotten there. The only thing worse than my breakfast is every meal that follows, he decided. Shaking his head at reality, he released a nervous laugh. “My God,” he said to no one, “if it was only the meals that changed.”

  Alice could feel the sun on her eyelids before she dared opening them. Beginning with a squint, she was blinded by the light that engulfed the room. Taking a second to adjust, she shook off the two quilts that restrained her and then grabbed her flowered housecoat at the foot of the massive bed. Throwing it on, she steadied her tiny feet into a pair of worn moccasins, all the while wondering, Why didn’t Ma let me sleep in? It don’t make no sense. It’s Saturday … with no responsibilities to school or church. She felt tired, more exhausted than usual, and waking to a fire burning into her pupils was certainly not the way to start such a pretty day. Making the mental note, I’ll have to talk to Ma about the rude awakening, she stumbled and had to brace herself at the doorway. Her mind had sent some message that her body could not interpret. Brushing it off as fatigue, she started again toward the kitchen thinking, Maybe Ma will let me help with breakfast.

  Grabbing the dented copper kettle off the stove, she turned to the sink and let the water flow like one of the fresh mountain springs that ran out in the backyard. She lit all four burners, placed the kettle back on the stove and began humming a childish tune. The last embers in the wood stove made her nostrils flare at the distinct scent of burnt oak. Smells like the remnants of a late night’s chill, she thought, one of my chores to remove. But she couldn’t recall bringing in the wood or lighting a fire. Shrugging it off, she snugged down on the robe’s cotton belt, folded her arms across her chest and continued to hum.

  She wandered toward the kitchen window and, though she could not have fought it off nor even detected it, her mind was suddenly exposed to a different reality. Like a child discovering a new world through ancient eyes, she peered out the window and her jaw went slack.

  A stranger was busy at work and the sight of him made Alice’s mouth go dry. Her heart began to race and her breathing became shallow. Yet, though the man’s presence absolutely terrified her, his every movement was hypnotizing. Trembling, she stood paralyzed and watched.

  He was a large fellow, maybe six feet or better, with shoulders as broad as his smile. In his fists, he held cracked corn, scattering it in a pattern so that every chicken had its fair chance. He was an old-timer, his face wrinkled and weathered like his callused hands. In the middle of that chiseled face sat the biggest nose. Curiously, as if she’d thought it a million times before, she decided it showed great character. For a cruel second he turned toward the window, making her squirm with anxiety. She relaxed, though, when she was sure his liquid blue eyes had not found her. He returned to working slowly, his every move filled with purpose and kindness.

  But that moment of peace only lasted one single sigh of relief. As if caught in an inescapable nightmare, she watched the man’s three-legged dog limp straight to the window, glance up and tilt his head—almost cynically. Though she could not manage the words from her constricted throat, her eyes begged for the animal’s silence. Please don’t, she pleaded in her mind. Please … please … please … But it was not to be. The crippled mutt barked out his wailing alarm, calling his master’s attention to her. In an instant, she felt her knees buckle, as the room spun slowly—in a cruel sort of way. She tried desperately to hold on, but the last thing she saw was a red cap and green overcoat rushing for the house.

  “Oh God … no!” she screamed, but the stranger kept coming. He’s comin’ to get me, she feared, and though her mind pleaded for her legs to flee, they would not budge. She collapsed to the cold linoleum floor and awaited the worst.

  With no more than a stern look, Three Speed lay down on the porch, the storm door slamming in his silver-haired face. John raced through the parlor and could hear the teakettle screaming for help. Breaking the kitchen threshold, his worried eyes caught Alice lying near the bottom cupboard. Her frail body was rolled up in the fetal position and her thumb was stuck in her mouth. As if he were approaching a wounded bird, he slowly kneeled down beside her and held out his hand. She hummed louder. For what seemed like a lifetime, she avoided his stare. And then finally, courageously, she glanced into his eyes. For a moment, she looked as if she was going to accept his hand but, in the last glimmer of such a hope, she pulled back, retreating deeper into her tortured mind.

  “It’s me, darlin’,” John whispered. “It’s John … your husband.”

  “You do look some familiar,” she mumbled. But still, her eyes betrayed her lack of trust.

  Again he whispered, “Come on, Alice. I’m not gonna hurt ya. You’re just sick, ol’ girl.” He opened his hand even wider and watched as her horrified eyes gradually registered his words as truth.

  Like an abandoned child who had lost all hope only to find that her parents had not meant to leave her behind, Alice raised her arms and began to weep mournfully. “I’m sorry …” she whimpered.

  In one easy motion, John scooped his tiny wife into his arms and kissed her frightened face. Turning off all four burners—the majority that did nothing but lick at air—he carried Alice like an infant to their bedroom. All the way, he could taste the salt of her tears on his tongue. It was a bitter taste and he hated it, yet he knew all too well that it was only a small taste of what was still to come.

  On the way up the stairs Alice sobbed, “I’m so stupid now … so dumb.”

  “You shoosh now,” John whispered. “That just ain’t true.”

  He placed her back into their four-poster bed and, conforming to their daily ritual, gave her the two white pills and a small glass of water to wash them down. He talked slow and gentle to her, trying to remove her fears and keep her mind in the present. “Time to rest, Alice,” he whispered. “You just need to get some rest is all.”

  For a moment, she smiled—as if she believed him. But in the next moment, her eyes filled with panic and she pushed herself toward the headboard, scrambling desperately to create a safe distance between them. “Don’t you touch me, mister!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on me!”

  She’s gettin’ worse, he thought, and began humming a lullaby.

  “Mama! Mama … help me!” she screamed but, as she called out in a panic for her mother, the pills began to take effect. He stroked her hair until her mind eventually removed itself from the harsh reality of now and found a more pleasant place to dwell. When John was sure that Alice would need nothing more, he kissed her and returned the cap back onto his throbbing head.

  Finishing the cup of tea that Alice had started, John made two quick phone calls and then returned to the porch with the hot mug in hand. Grabbing a red handkerchief from the back pocket of his denim overalls, he wiped off the crusted dew that covered his faded-gray rocking chair.

  Before easing into it, he took notice of the four names carved into the seat, each telling a story all its own. The first—Hank—was carved for the only child born to him and Alice. The three listed beneath it—George, Evan and Tara—announced the two boys and one girl that Hank and his wife Elle had offered as grandchildren. The chair was the McCarthy roll call, a legacy that would live long after each of their brief lives. If only this chair could talk, he thought.

  John sat back, sipped the strong tea and rocked. Three Speed never moved an inch. The wise dog could see the painful truth in his best friend’s eyes. There was much thinking to do and, whenever thinking was involved, the old man did it in his chair. It was a sacred place to either celebrate or grieve, and from the long look on his master’s face this was no time for a pint of spirits.

  As John waited for his cavalry to arrive, he closed his tired
eyes and listened to the stillness of the late autumn morning. The creek, which usually babbled joyfully, was quiet—as if frozen for the season. There were no birds to give their song and weeks before, most of the woodland animals had gathered all the food they would need, wisely electing to settle into early hibernation. There was a soft breeze that shook the trees, but other than that the only sound to be heard was John’s shallow breathing.

  This silence brought a feeling that John could not remember or even define. Rocking back and forth, he thought hard until the answer ambushed his mind like some unseen enemy. The strange, horrible feeling that had been covering him like a wet blanket—is loneliness, he decided. It has to be. Although Alice slept behind a window not ten yards from where he now rocked, for the first time in his long, labored life John McCarthy felt alone.

  This new solitude was mercifully interrupted by the honk of a car horn. Slowly, John looked up to find Doc Schwartz’s fancy car barreling up the long dirt drive, disturbing the still air behind it. Pushing to his feet, John stood and leaned on one of the porch banisters, the stained tea mug still cradled in his giant hands. He watched the young doctor pull right up to the stairs and desperately hoped that the answers to his questions had arrived. With great torment, though, he equally wished they hadn’t.

  Young Doc Schwartz had taken over for old man Duff and had only been in the county for ten years. Still, he was a caring soul who was always willing to go the extra mile—and walk it if need be. As such, most townsfolk took a shine to him right off. With wire-rimmed spectacles and a bronze tan, he had the look of one of those big-city doctors. But from the moment he opened his mouth, his words dismissed that notion. He was sincere and caring. In this case, however, though he’d never lied, he’d done his best to avoid the devastating truth.

  “Mornin’ Big John,” he called out, as he retrieved his bag from the back seat. “Alice had a rough night, did she?”

  “Rough mornin’ too, doc. She’s gettin’ so that she’s scared to see my pretty face.”

  The doctor chuckled kindly. John’s attempt at masking the worst fears imaginable couldn’t fool anybody but every man was entitled to his pride. Walking past him, he patted the old man’s shoulder. With an equally false grin, Doc Schwartz sucked in a lung full of air and promised, “I’ll look in after her and see if I can’t do something,” knowing that he finally had to explain the merciless illness that was stealing away this gentle man’s wife—one small piece at a time.

  John nodded his appreciation. Though a man could ask for nothing more, he prayed, I hope this young fella has some sort of miracle hidden away in that black bag of his … just one miracle to make everything right again. He refused to lose faith.

  Doc Schwartz was with Alice for some time and every second felt like an eternity. For a while, John stayed on the porch, giving the doctor his space. Right about the time that the soles of his boots were heating up, the sound of another car broke the silence. It was Elle, an angel-in-waiting.

  Bringing the loud clunker to a jerky halt, she turned off the ignition and was out of the car in one sudden motion. With determination plastered across her porcelain face, she marched past the sputtering engine. “She’s getting bad isn’t she, Pa?”

  John nodded, but before he could open his mouth, she flung her arms around his big shoulders and gave him a hug.

  “Doc Schwartz is in with her right now,” he told her. Reluctantly breaking the embrace, he rested his eyes upon her. “I don’t know, Elle. I don’t how many times I can say good-bye to my squaw.”

  She grabbed for his shoulders again. “I’m here now, Pa,” she whispered into his ear, “and I’m not going anywhere.”

  With that said, he enjoyed a longer embrace, all the while wondering, Why has this wonderful girl put up with my son’s torment all these years?

  She took him by the hand and escorted him into the house.

  With each step, the fear of losing that which he cherished most got closer. Still, somethin’ needs to give, he decided. There ain’t no need to prolong what is. No matter how many big words Doc Schwartz throws at me, I wanna know every detail of what Alice is fightin’ … once and for all. In his bones, he could feel the truth eating away like acid. In his mind, he could sense that his entire world was about to completely collapse down around him, with nothing for him to do but sit back and watch. And in his heart, he could feel Alice’s pain—for she had once stolen his heart and kept it for herself. If it were only me and not Alice, he thought, wishing with all his might he could do the suffering for her.

  Alice awoke and was babbling about family members who had long passed away. She muttered blurry details of days long forgotten and swore of experiences that could have never occurred—except in her mind. “I miss the carnival. We traveled the country but I hate donkeys. Pa’ll be along soon. I just know he will. Mama said it’s so … that’s how.” Each broken sentence and disoriented phrase was repeated over and over, nothing adding up to anything that made sense. While she rambled on, Doc Schwartz agreed with her every word. Elle sat alongside the doctor, holding Alice’s hand throughout the entire spiel.

  John stood in the doorway, listening to his wife lie about things that had never happened or state facts that were obviously confused in time and context. In truth, Alice was no liar. For the first time, though, he wished she were. To Alice, it was truth—all of it. Even the wildest stories that danced between fact and fiction, past and present, were very real to her. Maybe there ain’t no need for the doctor’s prognosis, after all, John thought. The stabbing truth was as thick as the fog in which Alice now lived. He struggled to breathe.

  When Alice had finally come up for air from her delusional chatter, Elle reached for the nightstand and grabbed her mother-in-law’s most cherished possession. It was an earlier photo of Hank, Elle and the kids—proof of happier days. For a while, Alice seemed to admire it. But as her wrinkled fingers played, it became brutally clear that she was more interested in the frame than in the love that smiled from the glossy. Doc Schwartz kissed her forehead and gathered up his things before asking John, “Can we have a word outside?”

  As they turned for the door, Alice called out, “Hank, don’t you be a stranger now. And tell those kids of yours that their grandma misses’em somethin’ awful.”

  Time stood still until Elle’s wink gestured that they leave. No matter where her mind is, John thought, Alice is in good hands.

  No sooner had the storm door slammed shut than young Doc Schwartz had a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Though it surprised John, he never commented on it. Instead, he waited for the man to speak. As expected, there was no long-winded explanation. Doc Schwartz simply inquired, “John, if you don’t mind me asking, from the time Alice was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, how have things progressed?”

  With a heavy sigh, John took off his cap and collapsed into his rocking chair. Closing his eyes, he recited the most painful experience he had ever known. “At first, Alice would forget small things, like birthdays and the sort … the kinda stuff that had never gone unnoticed with her. I just figured it was her age catchin’ up to her, but it was more than that and for a long spell I know she hid a lot of it from me.” Staring off into space, he shifted from one hip to the other. “Not long after, like a frightened young’un she started callin’ out for her ma. Then she would even ask to go home, scared that the moon might make it there ’fore she did.” Pointing up, as if to confirm that he’d followed out strict orders, he added, “And like you told me to, I put her in the pickup, drove her out a mile or so, then headed straight back to the house.” Shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, he sighed. “It always worked, though. It eased her thoughts and she got a better night’s rest ’cause of it.” With a pause, his voice rose to be heard. “And I wanna thank you for that.” Once again, the old man stopped to ensure that his young audience understood the depth of his appreciation.

  Schwartz returned the nod and smiled.

  “But now … now it�
��s gotten so that she wanders off into the woods, gettin’ herself lost and scarin’ me out of my skull! Just yesterday, Elle chased her down in the north pasture.” With the saddest tears clarifying the blue of his eyes, he returned his gaze to the doctor’s somber face, drew in a deep breath and squeezed out the last bitter detail. “Dear God, she can’t recollect anything anymore. She don’t remember the farm or the kids. She don’t even know … me.”

  The doctor quickly turned his back and faced the range of mountains before them, while Big John wiped his eyes in peace. Some of those tears were born from the months and months of agonizing frustration and pain; others for the first relief of having shared the unbearable weight that he silently carried alone. For a time, Doc Schwartz stared at a sky that never ended, while John took that time to tuck away an incredible ache that never ceased to throb.

  The young doctor finally turned to look at a gentle man who would face a ruthless truth. When his eyes caught the old-timer, though, he saw only strength.

  John stood and quietly asked, “The truth now, Doc … how long does she got?”

  Schwartz shook his head. “It’s hard to say. She’s getting very weak. The Alzheimer’s is definitely stealing her mind and her motor skills will soon be leaving her … even the most basic as remembering how to swallow. But it’s not just about her memory. It’s her heart that’s not going to take much more of it.”

  Cutting off the ramble with a raised hand, John asked again, “How long?”

  “A couple months … maybe.”

  “Well, there it is,” John said, and struggled for his next breath.

  Seeing this, Schwartz blurted, “I think it would best for everybody if you placed Alice in a home that can take proper care of her …” He stopped. It may have been the advice of a doctor, but to John it was clearly the words of a fool.