by Nan Rossiter
The service was beautiful, and although Callie didn’t get through it without some tears, she was definitely more in control of her emotions than she had been at her mom’s funeral. Afterward, the receiving line seemed endless, and Callie’s heart went out to everyone who had to wait in the hot sun, but when the line finally wound down, she looked up and realized that the person who had waited the longest was Linden. She gave him a hug. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry you had to wait.”
“That’s okay,” he said with a half smile. “I’m used to waiting.”
53
When Callie finally got home after the long day, she found Maddie and Henry on the back porch engrossed in an intense game of Candy Land. Maddie looked up, smiled, and whispered, “I’m losing, again!”
Callie laughed and collapsed into one of the chairs.
“How was the service?”
“It was really nice,” Callie responded. “There were so many people, they had to set chairs up outside!”
Maddie smiled. “I’m not surprised.”
Callie nodded toward Henry. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s doing very well. He has won the last three games. Somehow, I keep landing on those black dots and then I’m stuck there forever.”
“I don’t think I ever tried playing a board game with him.”
“Well, it took him a little while to get used to taking turns.” Henry looked up, waiting for Maddie to go, and she drew a card and moved. “But he understands now. Taking turns can sometimes be a hard lesson for kids with autism, but games like this are good practice for developing all kinds of social skills. He also helped me make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, and we drew some pictures.” Maddie paused. “Henry likes to draw animals and, in particular, one special dog.” She looked questioningly at Callie.
Callie smiled and said, “That must be Springer.” At the mention of Springer’s name, Henry looked up, and Callie said, “Springer’s not here, Henry.” After that, Henry lost interest in the game.
“Would you rather draw, Henry?” Maddie asked, sliding the pad and pencil and a new box of crayons over to him. Henry pushed the game away, picked up the pencil, opened to a new page, and began to draw, and Maddie looked back at Callie. “Springer must be pretty special.”
Callie nodded. “He is. He’s Linden’s dog, and they are pretty attached.”
“Is he the one that stayed with Henry that night?”
Callie nodded, wondering how Maddie knew.
“You should always try to encourage a special bond like that, if possible. Anything that Henry seems to show interest in or a fondness for should be encouraged and nourished.”
Callie nodded, and Maddie smiled. “I really enjoyed spending time with Henry today. He’s very bright, Callie, so don’t get discouraged. In fact, I think he’d be a wonderful candidate for the new Excel program we’re starting in the elementary school.” She stood to go, lightly touched Henry’s arm, and waved. “Bye, Henry. I had fun today.” Henry looked up from his drawing and opened and closed his small fist.
54
As the summer days slipped by, Callie was surprised by the warm strength she felt in facing life’s challenges. She still missed her dad desperately and often struggled in tearful despair over his loss, but she found solace in the words he’d shared with her about his faith: No matter what trials you’re facing, Cal, God gives you the strength to get through them. And she had come to believe it was true. She also found that she felt closer to him when she was working in his garden, especially if a hummingbird buzzed by like a navy pilot giving her a flyby. One morning when she was pulling weeds she unearthed a small wooden sign that her dad had made when she was little. She gently brushed off the dirt and read the once familiar words: YOU CAN’T GET IN TROUBLE WHEN YOU’RE WEEDING! The wisdom of it still rang true.
Henry also enjoyed working in the garden. Callie discovered that quiet, methodical activities soothed him, and weeding was one of them. He would follow her out to the garage to retrieve the old bushel her dad had always used and then march off into the sunshine with it banging against his short legs. How lucky, Callie thought, to have a child that likes weeding!
She also discovered he had a mischievous streak. On hot days, she would help him into his bathing suit, set him up with the hose, and go back to weeding. Moments later she’d be bent down in the hot sun and feel cold water showering down on her back. She’d look up in time to see Henry look away, suppressing a grin.
The garden had two long, winding beds filled with bee balm, black-eyed Susan, echinacea, lilies of every color, and blue and purple hydrangeas. There was also a separate bed for herbs: chives, parsley, basil, and tarragon. The last bed had always been reserved for vegetables, and even though it was late in the season, Callie had found four scraggly beefsteak tomato plants and one wilted cherry tomato plant at Agway. She’d bought them at a significant discount, brought them home, planted and watered them, and showed Henry how to pluck off the suckers that sprouted in the crooks between the trunk and branches. Henry took his new job seriously, and any potential suckers never grew more than a half an inch before Henry pinched them off. He was also very intrigued by the abundant clusters of little green balls on the cherry tomato plant and checked them daily when they started to change color. Finally, when they ripened to a bright fire engine red, Callie showed him how to pluck them from the vine and pop them, warm and sweet, right into his mouth.
On rainy days, Callie worked inside. One of the first projects she took on was turning her old bedroom into a bedroom for Henry. She boxed up all of her trophies, moved out her furniture, stripped off the faded wallpaper, puttied and sanded the walls, and let Henry pick out a new color. After the walls had two coats of fresh paint, she moved her old bed and dresser back in but rearranged them so the bed was against the wall and there was room for Henry’s old shelf and a small desk that she found in the garage. Finally, Callie surprised him with a new set of John Deere tractor sheets and, the first night they were on his bed, she had no trouble getting him in bed!
Callie talked to Henry constantly and explained everything she did. They read books, played games, and tried to stick to a schedule that Henry could count on. Gradually, he began to use words more frequently, and to Callie it seemed as if an evil spell had been broken. In the beginning, Henry just repeated words and sayings that he heard on TV, and she sometimes heard him whispering to himself, as if trying the words out: “What’s up, doc?” or “Sheriff, this is no time to panic.” These were two of his favorites, but slowly he began to express himself and converse too.
Maddie was very interested in hearing every detail of Henry’s progress. Even though he still had moments of frustration and occasional temper tantrums, the frequency of these diminished as his ability to communicate increased. At Maddie’s suggestion, Callie filled out the registration for the new program at the elementary school, and in late August, she and Henry visited the classroom. When they arrived, Maddie was busy hanging red paper apples on the bulletin board, but she stopped to show Henry his desk, and invited him to hang the apple with his name on it on the brown paper tree. Callie watched him reach up and hang it from one of the lowest branches. She was thrilled for him. Not only would he be able to come to this warm, welcoming place every day, but he would be taught by a wonderful, understanding teacher who was quickly becoming a dear friend.
Callie also told Maddie about her hope to go back to school, too, and Maddie suggested she consider Keene State. Right after Callie dropped Henry off on his first day, she drove to the campus and registered for a morning class that would put her on the path to finishing her degree and getting her teaching certificate in special education. She couldn’t wait to tell Maddie the news.
55
When Linden returned the pilot’s headset, Fairbanks looked surprised and asked how Henry was doing. Linden answered that he thought he was doing better but then he quickly changed the subject, and Fairbanks, sensing Linden didn’t want to
talk about it, didn’t ask again.
The summer days slipped by and Linden made steady progress on the old wall. Sometimes, when he was leaving for the day, he’d see Fairbanks standing on the porch, holding up two cold beer bottles and smiling. They’d sit on the porch, talk about the world’s problems, and listen to the melancholy chirring of the cicadas high up in the trees. By mid-September, however, the cool evening air whispered of autumn and the only sound that drifted from the woods was the occasional tentative chirp of a chilly cricket.
In a vain attempt to push Callie from his mind, Linden also began running again. He even retired his old Prefontaine racers and invested in a new pair of Nike trainers. Every morning, as soon as the sun was up, he headed out. In the beginning, Kat and Springer loped along beside him but, after he began putting in eighty miles a week, he decided that it would be better if they stayed home.
The only thing that changed in the barnyard that fall was the little bull’s size. He was, already, almost as big as his mother. With Cindy’s blessing, Linden had named him Robert, after his favorite poet, and because he thought he should keep the “R” theme going.
Linden finally finished the wall in early October, and Fairbanks insisted on taking him to dinner. They went to Harlow’s, and it dawned on Linden that he hadn’t been there since he’d had dinner with Callie and Henry. They sat in the bar, and Linden ordered two beers but Fairbanks stopped him and said he felt like a nip of juniper juice. Linden raised his eyebrows and Fairbanks chuckled. “It’s my autumn drink.” So they ordered gin and tonics, steaming bowls of clam chowder, and Reubens. While they sipped their drinks and waited for their food, Fairbanks told Linden he would be heading back to the city for the winter and added that he hoped Linden might be willing to look after the house and keep the driveway plowed when it snowed. Linden was surprised; he hadn’t thought about his friend leaving, but he agreed to look after the house, and Fairbanks reached into his pocket and presented him with a key. He also told Linden that he planned to have a big Christmas party at the house in December, and he hoped Linden would come and bring a date! Linden said he would definitely come, but he couldn’t promise he’d have a date. At that, Fairbanks took off his glasses, wiped them with his flannel shirt, and said, “You need someone, my boy, to keep you warm out here in these rugged New England winters.”
Linden nodded and, with a sad smile, said, “Maybe, someday.. . .”
56
On the day before Thanksgiving, Callie picked Henry up from school and they made a special trip to Windy Hill Orchard to buy apples. As they drove, she thought of all the times she and her dad had gone apple picking together. One time, they’d gotten up extra early to get more apples for the pies her mom was making for the church fair. When they’d parked in the field, it was still shrouded in morning mist and the old farmer was just coming out of the house with a cup of coffee. She and her dad had slogged through the long grass, heavy with dew, carrying large bags, and in no time at all, Callie’s sneakers and socks had become soggy and squishy. The gnarled old boughs of the trees had rested on the ground, groaning under the weight of their abundant fruit. But what Callie remembered most about that trip was looking down through the misty orchard and seeing a herd of deer walking through the trees, munching contentedly on the sweet apples. She and her dad had stood and watched for a long time and, when they’d finally returned home with the apples, her mom had said, “My goodness! I was getting ready to send out a search party!”
It was too late in the season to pick apples this year, but maybe next year they would find time to go. The little tomato farmer would certainly enjoy picking apples! They went into the gift shop and Callie bought a half-peck of Macs and a gallon of cider. On their way out, Henry spied a small toy John Deere tractor, and Callie gave in and bought that too.
After supper that night, Callie pulled out her mom’s tattered Good Housekeeping cookbook and looked up the recipe for piecrusts. Then she searched through her mom’s recipe box for the stained and faded card on which her mom’s apple pie filling was neatly printed. Callie studied the card, remembered that her mom’s secret ingredient was red cinnamon candy, and looked in the spice cabinet, hoping. She moved around the small jars and tins and finally found a small container with about a tablespoon left of the little red hearts. Just enough!
While she rolled out the piecrust, she listened to the familiar program Henry was watching in the living room. Lucy was trying to trick Charlie Brown into thinking she was going to let him kick the football. “Don’t believe her,” Callie whispered. “She can’t be trusted!” A moment later, Callie heard a loud AAUGH! followed by a painful thud. She shook her head in dismay. “I warned you, Charlie Brown!” She continued to listen to the classic sounds the adults made as Charlie Brown talked to his grandmother on the phone. Then she heard the Peanuts gang belting out “Over the River and Through the Woods,” and pretty soon Henry trundled into the kitchen, repeating the nasal sound, “Mwa, mwa-mwa, mwa mwa-mwa.” Callie laughed, and Henry smiled shyly.
“Want some apple slices?” Callie asked.
Henry nodded and she put some slices in a small bowl. Henry took the bowl and carefully put it on the table and then pushed a chair over to the counter to open the cabinet where they kept the peanut butter. Callie stopped peeling and watched him. He took out the peanut butter, hopped down, got a spoon from the drawer, dropped a big glob of peanut butter into the bowl with the apples, took an apple slice, dunked it into the peanut butter, and, licking the peanut butter, wandered back into the living room. Callie resumed peeling and shook her head. Where in the world did he learn that?
She added sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and a dash of salt to the apples and stirred everything together in a big bowl. Then she filled the uncooked piecrust with the apple mixture and strategically placed a dozen or so of the tiny red candy hearts on top of the filling. Gingerly, she slid a spatula around under the rolled-out dough that was still adhered to the counter, rolled it deftly onto her rolling pin so it draped over both sides, held the roller so it wouldn’t spin, and laid the top crust gently over the apples. She pressed and pinched the two crusts together, making a decorative pattern. Then she cut a small piece of extra dough into the shape of an apple and leaf and laid the pieces on top. She dipped her fingers in a little milk and lightly coated the top crust with it. Finally, she made a long aluminum foil shield to protect the crust, wrapped it around the pie’s circumference, and slid the pie into the hot oven.
“There,” she said softly, “I did it, Mom ... and I didn’t even cry.”
Henry wandered into the kitchen with his empty bowl, and Callie said, “You are just the man I wanted to see. It’s bedtime!” This news was met with some resistance, but no more than any little boy would give.
57
Linden fell asleep on the couch watching Jay Leno and woke up with a kink in his neck. He leaned forward, rubbing it. “How come we didn’t go to bed two hours ago?” he mumbled to the dogs sprawled in front of the fireplace. At the sound of his voice they opened their eyes and thumped their tails. “Do you two need to go out?” he asked. They both got up sleepily, stretched, and wandered over to the door. Linden let them out and stood on the porch, shivering. “Make it quick!”
Ten minutes later he was lying in bed, wide awake. Maybe I should just skip the race tomorrow, he thought. But then he remembered that he’d told his dad he wasn’t coming for dinner because he was running in a race, so he rolled over, set his alarm, and pulled the quilt up to his chin. He’d been trying to get by without turning on the furnace. Last year, he’d made it all the way to Thanksgiving Day, but he’d heard it was going to warm up over the weekend, so maybe he could break his old record.
He had just begun to doze off when Springer, who was lying against the bed, began snoring loudly and Linden reached over to shake him. The hapless yellow Lab snorted, stretched, and rolled onto his back with all four legs straight up in the air. “Forget it,” Linden grumbled. “It’s too late for a be
lly rub.” But Springer kept his position and began snoring so loudly that Linden had to pull his pillow over his head.
Callie stayed up late watching The Tonight Show while she waited for the pie to bake, so she was surprised when she woke up early on Thanksgiving morning. She sighed, pushed off her quilt, reached for her flannel robe, peeked in on Henry, and slipped quietly to the kitchen to make coffee. While she waited for it to brew, she looked at the pie and could almost hear her mom’s voice It looks like a picture! She’d thought about making a pumpkin pie too, but then decided there was no way she and Henry could eat two pies. Maybe she’d make one next week, when this one was gone. In the meantime, she still had dinner to think about. Her heart really wasn’t in making a big dinner, but she’d already bought a small turkey, stuffing, dried apricots, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, and vegetables. She had no idea when, or if, she’d have time to make everything, but she wanted Henry to know the fun of Thanksgiving traditions, even if it was just the two of them.
Callie poured steaming coffee into her dad’s mug, took a sip, and went down the hall to take a quick shower. The first thing she wanted to do after breakfast was visit the cemetery.
Linden slept fitfully and woke up several times during the night. Finally, he gave up, pulled on his faded Levis and flannel shirt, and shuffled to the kitchen to make coffee. While it brewed cheerfully, he let the dogs out, switched on the radio, and looked out the kitchen window at the cold gray river. WGBH happened to be coming in and the program host was introducing the next song.
“The original composition, ‘Simple Gifts,’ was written by Elder Joseph Brackett in 1848 while he was at a Shaker community in Alfred, Maine. It’s often called a hymn or a work song, but these descriptions are inaccurate, as it is really a dance. The recording I’m going to play is by the New York Philharmonic with Leonard Bernstein conducting. I know we are well into autumn, so I hope you will forgive me; here now is Appalachian Spring.”
