Gram slowly shook her head, then leaned back into the sofa, her nearly blind eyes gazing blankly toward the ceiling. “Well, I’ve never been one to put on any pretenses about knowing anything about religion. And although I went to church a fair amount as a little girl, I’ve been neglectful as an adult. But in the past few years I’ve grown painfully aware that I’m coming to the end of my life. Good grief, my doctor told me more’n a year ago to get my affairs in order—” she laughed, “—whatever that means. But his warning did get me thinking about religion some, and I remembered what my own dear mother used to tell me back when I was just a small child. She used to say that Jesus Christ was our free ticket into heaven—that all we had to do was to receive him. Now that seems simple enough to me.”
“Yes,” I said, not disagreeing with her in principle. “I suppose it is that simple. But I guess what we’re trying to do is to live a better life right now—while we’re still here on earth. We want to serve God in the best way we can.”
She smiled. “Well, I suppose that’s not such a bad thing, dear, not really. Especially nowadays when so many kids are taking LSD and protesting and doing God only knows what else. I s’pect being overly religious ain’t such a bad thing. Just you remember what my old granny used to tell me.”
“What’s that?”
“She used to say that some folks should watch out not to become so heavenly minded that they’re no earthly good.”
I thought about her words, and I knew I’d heard them before, probably from my own grandma, but to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t exactly sure what they meant—at least not then. “Well, I don’t think we need to worry about that, Gram. But speaking about earthly goods, I found a closet that’s just full of sewing things.”
She nodded. “Yes, I used to enjoy sewing. But then I got sick, and my eyes got too poor. I suppose I should just get rid of all that old stuff, maybe give it to the Goodwill or something.”
“No, no… we don’t need to get rid of it. I mean if it’s okay, maybe I could use it.”
“Sure, honey, you do whatever you like with it.” She turned her face toward me. “You’re a good girl, Rainbow—” Then her mouth twisted as if she’d just bitten into a sour lemon. “Tell me, dear, what’s your real name?”
I thought for a moment, then looked over my shoulder to see if anyone was around before I answered in a whisper, “Cassandra Jane.”
She patted my hand again. “Cassandra Jane. Why, that’s a real pretty name. Much better than Rainbow.”
“My mama gave it to me before she died.”
Gram frowned. “Your mama died?”
For some reason, I just opened up to her then. I told her all about my past, about losing my mama and my grandma and how my daddy was in prison—or maybe he was out by now.
“Oh, you poor little thing. Why, I had no idea. Well, don’t you worry, you can stay here with me just as long as you like, dear.” She lowered her voice. “I just hope all those other kids will be heading on their way soon. I have to admit they’re starting to wear on me some. But you are most welcome to stay on here.” She smiled and I could see how yellowed her teeth had become from smoking. “And you’re a good little cook, dear. That meat loaf you made last night was just perfect.”
To my surprise, her sympathetic words actually brought tears to my eyes, and I thanked her for her kindness. It wasn’t often in my life that anyone said anything very appreciative to me. I thought of the Crowleys. Even their words of praise had been few and far between.
But speaking of meat loaf reminded me that it was about time to start preparing supper again, and so I went back into the kitchen and donned my apron. It seemed I spent about half my waking hours in that kitchen. I didn’t mind so much once I’d gotten everything all cleaned up and organized to my own liking—and of course I had Sunshine as my right-hand helper. But I knew that, more and more, they’d be needing her help outside, because there was lots to be done to get the farm in order. And so I knew I’d better learn to get along as best I could, all on my own, when it came to fixing the meals and working in the kitchen.
Fortunately, it was a pleasant, old-fashioned, country kitchen that reminded me some of the Crowley’s. I suspected that Gram had been a pretty good cook during her day, and I knew from talking to her that she had a particular penchant for sweets and desserts. And I tried to use her favorite recipes in order to accommodate these longings (of course I would later learn that this is just what a diabetic person does not need to indulge in, but she never once told me otherwise).
The kitchen had an abundance of tall cupboards, all filled with odd bits and pieces of stoneware and crockery. The cupboards were painted a nice pale shade of green. (I only discovered this after spending an entire day scrubbing them down with SOS pads—before that, they looked to be the color of old tea bags or tobacco spit.) Off the back porch was a good-sized pantry (full of old, empty canning jars). And I hoped to stock those shelves with my own home-canned produce in the upcoming summer. Gram had already told me of the fruit trees on her property that had once provided an abundance of apple, peach, pear, and plum preserves. But perhaps my favorite thing in that kitchen was the big picture window above the deep enameled sink. It looked out over what was soon to become a very fine vegetable garden.
In the center of the kitchen was an old wooden table with a bleached and worn surface that had seen many years of hard use. As spring drew near I enjoyed going out in the midmorning sunshine and picking a bunch of wildflowers, which I’d arrange in a pale green mason jar and set right in the center of the table—a pretty sight, if I do say so myself. But because the kitchen was my domain, I suppose I didn’t really mind all the work that came along with it. At least not to start out with anyway.
It wasn’t too long until I got the first garments of our “proper attire” sewn. In between meal preparations and Bible class, I’d set up the little Singer sewing machine on the kitchen table and sort through the stacks of old fabric. Most of the pieces were odd-sized leftovers from some previous sewing project, and none quite large enough to do anything substantial. So I started just sewing a colorful assortment of calicos, stripes, and plaids together to create larger pieces (long enough to make a skirt that could reach from waist to ankle). And then I gathered these “patchwork” lengths onto a waistband in order to create what I began to call “prairie” skirts. These colorful garments quickly gave us something modest to wear until I had time to create real dresses. And to my pleased surprise the sisters were completely delighted with their new patchwork skirts, and everyone thought I was quite clever. Yes, those were the good old days (as I remember them, that is).
And so, although it consisted of a lot of hard work, our first few months in “The Promised Land” passed fairly happily for the group. Looking back, I suppose it was sort of like a “honeymoon” phase—I know I still had great hopes and high expectations for all of us, and I believed that God was truly blessing us for our obedience to him.
Everyone worked hard to get the garden weeded and tilled and ready for spring planting. And the brothers made significant progress on the remaining acreage, mending fences for livestock, fixing an old chicken coop, cutting back wild berries and thistles. River was in charge of “agriculture” and tilled and prepared many acres for planting corn and beans and garlic (for our own use and to sell in town).
And all sorts of promising things were in the works. Stone turned out to be clever with tools and became our handyman. He was kept busy from morning to night. It seemed we were all working hard toward the same happy dream. And that in and of itself was fulfilling.
We started and ended each day with a time of prayer and Scripture reading—this always directed by Sky. But in the evening, after Gram had been escorted to bed, I would lead the group in praise songs, many of which I had written myself. After that we usually turned in early, pleasantly exhausted from our daily chores. The sisters continued to sleep in the house—and the brothers (except for Sky, who still occupied th
e downstairs bedroom) slept in the barn, where Stone had designed and built a more sheltered and rodent-free bedroom for them.
Occasionally Gram would query me as to how long the group planned to stay on. I think our presence in her house worried her some, probably more than any of us really knew. But her questioning decreased as time passed. I think she was grateful for the company, and it was plain to see that she needed someone to stay on and care for her. Perhaps she knew she wasn’t long for this world, for it seemed her health was steadily failing. And so, for these reasons, I suspect she bit her tongue and kept her concerns to herself. Several times I asked Sky if we shouldn’t take her in to see her doctor, but he insisted that doctors were all quacks and could do nothing to help her anyway, and that if we really cared about her we would lift her up in our prayers—which I did, usually on my own. But still she seemed to be fading fast.
I suppose the first real “trouble in paradise” came when River and Breeze were discovered “fornicating” together in the brothers’ makeshift bedroom up in the barn one evening. Apparently it was Sky who caught them. And, after Gram had been tucked in, he made them both appear before the whole group (contritely, down on their knees), and he made them confess their sin and ask our forgiveness. Of course we forgave them. Then Sky told them that they must be married, to prevent this sin from occurring again.
Sky explained that the ceremony was to be simple, with no frills—a wedding was nothing more than making a public vow to God. Just the same, I worked hard to finish up a pale yellow calico “prairie” dress that I’d been working on for Sunshine (but with her permission I quickly altered to fit Breeze, who was a little shorter). And that morning, Sunshine and I gathered a few wildflowers and some ivy, and these we braided into Breeze’s hair. We knew how ashamed she felt for her “sinful act” and, while we did not condone her behavior, we were trying to encourage her. I even stayed up late the night before to bake a carrot cake, frosted with cream cheese icing tinted yellow to match her dress. This I also adorned with wildflowers. So despite Sky’s “no frills” decree, we did manage to make things nice for River and Breeze.
And so on that sunny April afternoon, we held our very first wedding in “The Promised Land” (naturally, it was officiated by Sky). We all gathered outside, under the big oak tree, which would become our official “wedding location”. And the words were spoken, and presto, River and Breeze were united in the eyes of God and man, and (according to Sky) the two became one.
Of course a honeymoon was out of the question (since finances were dwindling fast and a honeymoon was just a worldly thing anyway) but it was decided that Stone would now vacate the barn bedroom and come into the house to bunk with Sky, until other arrangements could be made. We knew that Sky wasn’t too pleased with this new setup. For some reason he always had this strong need for his own space—apart from everyone else. And, naturally, we never questioned this. It seemed only right and fitting that our leader deserved something more—something better than the rest of us.
With Breeze moving into her new husband’s quarters, Moonlight now had a room all to herself. This wouldn’t have seemed like such a big deal, except that Sunshine and I both felt that Moonlight was not pulling her share of the weight around the place. In fact, if it wasn’t a sin to speak evil of your sister, I would’ve publicly said that she was downright lazy. She was supposed to help with the house cleaning and farm work, but she seldom did. And in the rare event that she did, the job was never done right. (I tried to talk to Sky about my concerns once, but he insisted that I should handle it myself. This in itself should’ve given me a clue, since Sky was usually more than willing to correct a wayward brother or sister, but I was still somewhat naive in those days.) Try as I might, I just couldn’t seem to make Moonlight understand the importance of things like sweeping, mopping, dusting, and especially cleaning toilets.
In fact, I wasn’t even quite sure how she spent most of her time—other than sleeping, that is. Usually if you wanted to find Moonlight, you would simply go look in her bed. Of course, I would later understand that she had a good reason to be so tired. But back then it seemed like nothing more than pure, sinful laziness to me.
And what made it even more frustrating was that when she wasn’t sleeping, she was often bathing, washing her hair, and basically just primping. Now you wouldn’t think this would even be possible since sisters weren’t allowed to wear makeup, perfume, or any other kind of toiletry or adornment. But somehow Moonlight always managed to look pretty good. Sunshine and I suspected that she’d held on to some items (like mascara, lip gloss, lotion, hair conditioner, whatever…) and kept them hidden somewhere in her private room, but we never actually got up the nerve to go in there and search.
Our way of punishing her came in the form of exclusion. With Breeze newly married and occupied with River’s attentions, and Sunshine and me sharing a room and a quickly growing friendship, Moonlight was pushed right out of the sisters’ circle. And for this I still feel a little guilty. I, of all people, should’ve known better.
Anyway, it should’ve come as no great surprise when Moonlight became the next one to marry. But the shocker was that she was “the chosen one.” Moonlight had been picked to become Sky’s wife.
Although we both kept our mouths tightly shut over this unexpected development, I suspect that Sunshine felt just as hurt as I that Sky had not chosen one of us. After all, we were the self-sacrificing, hard workers. I slaved all day in the kitchen and Sunshine not only helped me, but put in a man’s day outside in the fields as well. And, of the sisters, we were the ones who most wholeheartedly followed Sky’s teachings. We took our lives and our work seriously. And where did it get us? Plus it was no secret (between the two of us) that we’d both had similar feelings for our leader. Oh, certainly, we’d call these feelings “brotherly love, respect, and spiritual admiration,” but I think we both had a serious crush on Sky. And to be perfectly honest, I’d always felt it was more likely that Sunshine would be the one to marry him, although I must admit to nurturing my own pathetic, little hopes (especially around the time when he chose me to be the leader of the sisters). And even though I was the youngest, it hadn’t seemed entirely impossible that he might pick me.
But just as our kitchen garden began to put out real produce, it was announced that Sky and Moonlight would be wed.
Eighteen
My grandma used to say that the rain falls on the just and the unjust. And about the same time as Sky’s big wedding announcement, poor Gram took a turn for the worse.
Confined to her bed, and with horrible open sores on her feet, it fell upon me (and occasionally Sunshine or Breeze) to care for her. Moonlight complained she couldn’t handle it, insisting that the mere sight of Gram’s swollen and discolored feet made her literally sick to her stomach. (And when I did the arithmetic—about six months later—I decided it must have actually been the morning sickness that had made her feel so puny just then.) But in Gram’s final days, it took me and Sunshine and Breeze to care for her, almost around the clock. She was a large woman and her legs and feet had become nearly useless to her. And just the simplest bodily functions became overwhelming chores for all of us. It took all three of us sisters just to roll her over in order to change the sheets, which had to be done several times daily. Poor Breeze, she must’ve been doing four to five loads of laundry per day, but she hardly ever complained. And come to find out she was also with child. But fortunately for Sunshine and me, Breeze, unlike Moonlight, did not suffer from morning sickness, or if she did she never complained.
And although we three sisters followed Sky’s instructions to a T and regularly “anointed” Gram with oil (a liberal greasing of her old gray head with Wesson cooking oil) and prayed, she never seemed to improve any. And finally, despite our fervent prayers and best efforts, she passed away on July 4 (which I suppose could be considered her own personal “Independence Day”).
Unfortunately for Sky and Moonlight, it was also the day they’d
chosen for their big wedding event (not that any great plans had been made or invitations sent). And naturally, it was merely coincidental that it fell on a national holiday because by this time we all agreed with Sky’s theological thinking: All holidays were simply sinful excuses for commercializing pagan celebrations.
As fate (or God) would have it, I was the one to make the grisly discovery when I slipped in to check on Gram that hot July morning. Feeling strangely familiar with death by now (this was my third direct encounter) I simply swatted the bluebottle fly away from her forehead, then pulled the sheet up over her lifeless face and went to fetch Sky.
I felt only mildly surprised when Sky refused to call anyone in town about his grandmother’s death. In fact, that was the very day that he decided that telephones were an invasive and unnecessary link to the sinful outside world and pulled them both from the wall. And that’s how it came to be that we laid Gram to rest the same morning as the wedding.
Sky chose a serene and well-shaded spot out by the pine grove (and I truly think Gram would have appreciated the pleasant location). He then conducted a simple funeral service of reading Scripture, praying, and singing.
We didn’t worry too much that none of her friends or family were informed or invited to attend her funeral, since she hadn’t received one single visitor or personal phone call the whole time we’d been there (more than six months, by then). And we already knew that Gram had been estranged from her only son (Sky’s alcoholic father) for years now. I know how it saddened Gram that their relationship had never been mended over the years. And based on some things she told me, I suspect that she’d expected her son to make the first move. But no move had ever been made, and now it was too late.
Looking for Cassandra Jane (The Second Chances Novels) Page 18
