10 Haven’t you made a hedge about him, and about his house, and about all that he has on every side? Thou hast blessed the work of his hands, and his substance is increased in the land.
11 But put forth your hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face.
12 And the LORD said unto Satan, Behold, all that he has is in your power; but don’t lay a hand on him. So Satan went forth from the presence of the LORD.
“You don’t have to be a sinner for the devil to attack you.”
“And Spafford?”
“A good Christian man.”
After the death of his son and the loss of all his property Spafford decided his family could use a vacation. So he put his wife and four daughters on a ship bound for England and he said he would join them soon. On the way across the ocean they ran into another ship and their ship sank. Spafford received a telegram from his wife that said “Saved alone”. His girls had all drowned. Spafford took the next ship to England to join her. When they reached the spot where the ships collided, drowning his daughters and all, the captain called Spafford to the deck to show him. As sad and broken hearted as he must have been he took out paper and wrote a poem. Later on another fella set it to music. The words have got me through some real bad times. Look it here.” Eldon showed me where he wrote the poem in the front of his Bible. The old preacher sat up real straight and began to read.
“When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well; it is well, with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blessed assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.
You see George, even if you are the last one standing, naked, beaten, starving with nowhere to go, you could be like Spafford’s wife and be able to say, “Saved alone.” God don’t care where you been or what you’ve done, he only cares about where you’re goin’.”
“You think Mattie made it?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“She didn’t have religion,” I told him.
“Don’t matter. God’s one breath of a prayer away.”
I prayed with the old preacher. I know my life hasn’t been what it should, but maybe I can do better from now on. I hope it doesn’t cancel out what I prayed but I really do hope to see Mattie up there.
November 3, 1952
Got a job. There is a small dairy just down the road. Walter at the café introduced me to the owner. I think it was rigged but he asked if I needed work.
There are three Bettencourt brothers that do the milking. My job is hosing out the milking room and feeding the cows twice a day. He said the farmhouse will come empty next month and if I’ll keep it up it will be rent-free.
November 7, 1952
I am learning to love cows. They shit too much and are mighty snotty but they are peaceful animals. The Bettencourt brothers are nice guys and we are becoming friends too.
Alma is excited about the new house. I am a bit worried about her. She is awful thin. She says she’s fine but I’ve noticed her holding on to the counter. I told her she needs to see a doctor and she got mad and started yelling about wasting money on nothing.
November 14, 1952
Alma had some sort of spell today. I took her to the doctor. He said she has low blood pressure. He gave her some tonic and said she needs to eat liver, and spinach to build up her iron too. She is way too thin.
The folks in the house at the dairy moved out today. So we can move sooner than we thought. The Bettencourts and Lloyd are going to help move our stuff. We can use the pickup from the dairy. We haven’t got much but I have developed piles and been bleeding some so the help will be appreciated.
Thanksgiving 1952
Got a nice card from Georgie yesterday in the mail and a picture of little Coleman. I hate that name! Georgie’s wife’s maiden name, Alma says. They are fine and he has a job with a bank. They will be moving soon to a town about an hour from Los Angeles. Casa something, I couldn’t make out the name, his penmanship isn’t so good.
I have been having dreams again. I wish I could stay in them sometimes. I am young and say clever things in the dreams. Mattie is always with me. Last night I dreamed that Mattie and I and Georgie, Josie and Connie along with the girls from my dreams all lived in the house in Colorado Springs. I dreamed we all went on a picnic in a big black Pontiac. We laughed and sang songs as we rode along. Mattie’s hair blew in the wind. She was so pretty. She walked out into the water at the lake. It was scary though because the water was on fire. As she got deeper and deeper in the water she was waving for me to join her, then she disappeared. I always wake up when she is gone.
Thanksgiving 1952
We spent the day with Lloyd and Mamie. All their kids and grandkids were there. They invited some friends of theirs and so the house was wall-to-wall people. Lloyd went to the turkey plant owned by Flodeen’s and got two of the biggest turkeys I ever saw. We had cornbread stuffing, and mashed potatoes, yams in brown sugar, everybody brought something and it was all delicious. We had more pies than a pie shop. I ate until I thought I would bust.
One of Lloyd’s boys broke open a quart bottle of Cutty Sark and I saw Lloyd go over and ask him to take it outside. He kind of gave a jerk of his head in my direction and I knew what it was about. Lloyd has pretty much cut out drinking too.
Right in the middle of the noise and hullabaloo Alma went into the bedroom and took a nap. Mamie said she was worried about her. Alma will not go back to the doctor.
The pages of the notebook were stuck together. Cole tried to slip his fingers between them but they were stuck tight. He got a letter opener from the desk drawer and carefully worked it between the pages. The sheet crackled and split. Something spilled and was allowed to dry. It was no use trying to salvage the pages because the ink ran and what little pencil he could see was too faint to read. It seemed that magazine pages were glued into the notebook but all he could make out was a partial picture of a hospital or large building.
Cole stretched and twisted at the waist. He walked outside and looked at the dry grass swaying in the afternoon heat. He thought of Lottie. He wasn’t sure if the butterflies he was feeling in his stomach were excitement or dread. He had so much to tell her about a father she never knew. How would he edit it? What needed to be told and what should be omitted? He asked himself again and again what his motivation was to connect to the people.
“You’re going to write a book right? Do an interview!” Cole said aloud, and went back into the house.
He muttered and argued under his breath as he went back to the table and picked up the notebook. “They don’t need to know everything,” he said, with a sharp conclusive nod of his head.
January 16, 1953
When I woke up this morning the house was silent. I usually can hear Alma banging around in the kitchen making breakfast. I sat on the edge of the bed listening and still I heard nothing. I went out to the kitchen and there was no Alma. I went to the bathroom and that’s where I found her.
She was passed out on the floor. She was in her night gown, her drawers around her ankles. The toilet was covered in blood. Inside, the tank looked like the floor where I used to kill turkeys. I checked her pulse and she was still alive. I flushed the toilet and tried to clean her up a bit and ran to get help. I knew she would be fu
rious if she thought anyone saw the mess.
Tony and Carlo helped me get her in the truck and I raced her to the hospital in Ceres. The doctor said she lost a lot of blood and was barely hanging on. I sat for several hours while they did tests. After a long, long while the doctor came out.
He said that Alma had advanced cancer in her colon. It is so bad that they can’t operate. He said she would never leave the hospital. He was a nice man and showed concern for me. I called Lloyd. He cried on the phone. I had never seen him show any kind of emotion I can remember. I felt real bad. He has been a good brother to Alma.
I tried to call Paula tonight but could not reach her. The number we have is no longer in service. I did reach George and told him if he wanted to see his mother he better get here quick.
January 18, 1953
Alma was awake today for several hours. She is not in pain but is very weak. They have her pretty doped up. We had a long talk. I told her I called Georgie but could not reach Paula.
She told me not to be sad she was dying. She said that I can’t remember how bad our life together was. She said that she never loved me. She told me that Paula was not my child and she was sorry she tricked me. She said Tom Wilkerson was Paula’s father.
This was hard for me to hear. I can only remember certain things about our life together and only a few are bad. I would just as soon not have known these things. I guess she needed to die with a clear conscience.
I felt like I should talk to her about God’s forgiveness and heaven. Eldon would have wanted me to. Somehow I couldn’t do it. I don’t want her there. I want to be with Mattie. I surely do hope I haven’t ruined my chance to get to heaven, but it’s worth the gamble.
January 25, 1953
Georgie got to see his mother one last time. Alma died in her sleep last night about eleven o’clock. George got here about two in the afternoon yesterday but Alma was in so much pain they gave her morphine and she couldn’t be roused enough to make any sense. Later on they cut back on her medicine. Around eight o’clock she came to long enough for her to wake up and talk to Georgie.
His wife stayed home with the baby, so Alma would never see her grandson. Georgie and I had dinner at a small diner. We never had a long talk I could remember. At first he was very quiet. I told him the shock therapy messed my mind up pretty good and I had a hard time bringing up a lot of memories.
He told me about moving to Colorado and how much he loved the snow as a boy. Then he said, “after Effie died.”
I said, “Who?”
He looked at me for the longest time. Your daughter with the colored woman, Effie. Don’t you remember her?”
He told how Effie died after being hit by a car. He said he loved her very much but his mother never comforted him after her death. “She is a hard woman.”
“And I was always drunk.”
“Not anymore,” he said.
“Did I hurt you Georgie?” I asked.
“Not physically,” he said. “But you were either drunk or gone an awful lot. We missed a lot of time we could have had together, Dad.”
“Can you forgive me?”
“I already have. I had to get on with my own life.”
I told George about my dreams. I described the woman who always disappeared in flames, and the little girls.
“That must be Mattie. Effie’s mother and her sister.”
He said I had two daughters with Mattie. Effie told him about how a sheriff burned their house down and her mother was burned alive. “The last thing she did was throw the baby out the window to Effie. Effie hid in a shed until you showed up. That’s when she came to live with us.”
“What about the other girl?”
“You gave her away. To some colored people in Orvin. I can remember the fight you had with mother over the little girl. That was the first time Effie held me. She always held me when I was scared.”
We talked for almost three hours. He is a young man I admire. He is strong and has overcome all the trials his short life has handed him.
January 27, 1953
It has rained all day. We decided not to go to the graveyard. Eldon Drake did the funeral service. He talked about heaven and what it will be like when we get there. None of us believed for a second that Alma would be there. Lloyd said as much after the service. A lady from the church sang “It is Well with My Soul”. I had never heard it before. I cried. People probably thought it was for Alma, but it was for me and my son beside me and the years I wasted.
Mamie fixed a nice lunch. About twenty people came to the lunch. Only half that were at the service. Free food will bring them out of the woodwork. I sensed the thing was breaking up so I took Georgie aside where we could be alone. I have a strange feeling we will never see each other again. I told him I was proud to be his father and asked him to only tell his son the good things he remembers about me. I said the main thing was to teach him to never take a drink. He gave me a hug and he was gone.
TWENTY-FOUR
As Cole pulled on to Highway 412 he shifted in his seat, adjusted the mirror and clicked on the radio. Rush Limbaugh was railing against some poor Democratic Congressman from “The People’s Republic of Madison” who proposed the educating of children of undocumented aliens be federally funded. Cole switched the station before the “Gentleman from Wisconsin” felt the full force of Rush’s ire.
He settled on a station that was playing “She’s About a Mover” by the Sir Douglas Quintet. The miles whizzed by in a blur of fences and alfalfa. Small towns, Foster Freezes, Dairy Queen signs, abandoned gas stations and RV dealers lined the highway. Oklahoma turned to Kansas and Cole rolled on. In Wichita he stopped at a place called Pig in Pig Out and picked up a barbeque pork sandwich, two Diet Cokes and used their bathroom.
As he crossed the Marion County line Cole let rip a rumbling belch that sounded as if it originated somewhere around his ankles. He wiped his mouth with a napkin the size of a small table cloth that he found in the bag and finished the last gulp of his second soda.
Eighty-five miles north of Wichita Cole pulled into a rest stop. His right knee felt stiff and was beginning to ache. As he got out of the car Cole held the door and did several squats trying to loosen his stiff joints. A state vehicle towing a trailer was parked with two wheels up on the sidewalk near where Cole pulled in. As he came up from his third squat Cole heard the whirring of a lawn mower coming around the restroom building. Blades whirling grass flying in its wake, the orange Japanese tractor drawing the huge, low slung mower behind, came around the concrete block building. The mower operator made a wide arching turn and ran over the Sunday edition of the Oklahoma City Oklahoman lying unseen on the lawn. The wind caught the shredded newsprint and blew it into the air like a January snow blower. Dime size bits of paper covered a family trying to eat lunch at a picnic table.
The young mother jumped up and screamed at the back of the mower driver who was oblivious to hitting the newspaper or her screaming. He wore large blue soundproof earphones over his sweat stained ball cap.
“Look at the paper in the macaroni salad!” the woman yelled, slapping her hips with the flats of her hands and returning to the table.
The husband shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich. A little boy about four years old was tossing handfuls of the newspaper confetti into the air and squealing with delight. Cole used the rest room, splashed his face, and washed his hands. There were no paper towels so he dried his hands on the back of his shirt.
Cole made it the rest of the way to Topeka in just over an hour and a half. He called Lottie’s number and Georgia answered. Cole gave his location and she gave him directions to the house. He was less than a mile away and suddenly was in a cold sweat. He told himself again and again that the outcome of the meeting really didn’t matter. Either way, it was what was supposed to happen. Cole laughed aloud at the voice in his head. Who was he trying to kid? It mattered, it mattered a lot.
Cole glanced down at the house number scribbled on the note pad i
n the seat next to him: 1420 B. He counted house numbers when he could seem them, two more blocks. The neighborhood was old and tired. Only about every third house showed some pride of ownership. “For Rent” signs were as frequent as boarded up windows. He slowed as he saw 1420 painted in red, white and blue on the curb in front of a white stucco house. Two mailboxes set atop a spiral piece of wrought iron, twisted, curled and painted a deep green that matched the house. The mailbox on the left had reflective tape crudely forming a “B” next to the house number.
Two cement strips formed a path back to a small cottage sitting at the back of the lot. The small yard was fenced in three foot high chain link that sagged and curled up at the ground. The grass was in need of mowing and was well on its way to turning brown. On either side of the steps leading up to the door stood two gnarled rose bushes. Huge blooms drooped from the thin branches. The petals were thick on the ground around the bases of the old bushes.
The screen on the front door was torn and had been repaired with black thread. The Frankenstein stitches were a strange contrast to the bright white of the newly painted front door. Cole glanced about for a door bell and not finding one, gave a quick, hopefully friendly, knock on the door frame.
“He’s here!” a voice Cole recognized as Georgia’s called out from behind the door.
The clicking and clacking of a deadbolt and chain accompanied the squawk of stiff hinges on the opening door.
Framed in the doorway stood a tall slender woman with high cheekbones and large eyes that were nearly almond shaped. Her denim shorts and orange tank top were obviously freshly washed and ironed. Georgia did not smile as she said, “You must be Cole.”
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