by Lin Stepp
Lydia wrinkled her brow at Holly’s questions. “I don’t regret coming back to the mountains, even though I miss the boys, Aunt Martha, and some of the friends I made in Atlanta. I feel much more contented and at home here.” She paused. “As for the job, I’m excited about that and I still think it’s a good opportunity for me. All my visits to campus, including the one today, have been positive.”
“And John?” Holly lifted an eyebrow in question.
Lydia sighed. “That’s the part I have questions about.”
“He hasn’t been hard on you, has he?”
“No. No.” Lydia waved her hand. “If anything, I’ve been hard on him. I keep pushing to talk out problems from the past, and John just wants to pretend they never happened. ‘Let the past be the past,’ as he says.”
Holly nodded. “Yeah, John likes to sidestep difficult situations and relationships. As he says, ‘Tend to the apples and move on.’ ”
“Why does he do that, Holly?” Lydia put a hand on her hip. “Sidestep around problems like they’re not even there? Say, ‘It’ll work out,’ or ‘It’ll get better with time’ about everything?”
Holly pushed her empty plate aside. “It’s how John learned to cope when he was a boy, I think, with a home life that was never healthy.” She signaled to the waitress for more tea. “Things were better in my younger years. Daddy’s parents lived in Main House, and they ran the farm at that time. They were both gracious, warm, hardworking individuals. They set the tone for the farm and were beloved in the community. Mother never really fit into what I like to refer to as the ‘Cunningham mold.’ As she candidly told me one day during one of her famous hissy fits, she’d married Daddy to ‘marry well,’ to combine two well-respected Haywood families—and she reminded me that I needed to take a proper pride in our heritage, always keeping in mind my place in the community.” She shook her head. “All this lecturing was due to my infamous infraction of daring to date a local boy Mother considered unsuitable.”
Lydia closed her eyes. “That sounds so much like Estelle. I can hear her voice in my mind.”
“I bet you can still see that finger she always shook at you when she got on one of her bandwagons.” Holly laughed, wagging her own finger in the air.
“How can you laugh about it, Holly?” Lydia said and winced.
“You have to find defense mechanisms in order to live with an autocratic, domineering sort of person like my mother. A child—and even an adult—needs to find ways to cope and stay sane. I coped by staying out of Mother’s way when I was very young. Later I learned to laugh and be defiant.” She stopped, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “I often think John coped by looking past the difficult times and choosing not to see them, by never rocking the waters, by always going along to get along. When you live in a no-win environment as a child, you learn to find ways to function in that environment. Basically, you either submit or you fight. And with Estelle Cunningham, fighting never accomplished much.”
“How well I remember.” Lydia sighed.
Holly smiled at her. “You fought, Lydia, and I fought. And eventually we had to leave because we wouldn’t submit. John didn’t fight. He went along, and so he was able to stay.”
“But isn’t that cowardly?”
“Not really in the situation. It was more a form of realism.” She grinned. “I had psychiatric counseling, and it helped me get free of believing I could have changed things by my behavior. I couldn’t have.”
“That sounds like what John said—that you sometimes need to realize when you can’t change someone, so you change yourself.”
Holly spread her hands. “You see? John got it figured out long before we did. He realized Mother wasn’t a person you could reason with in a normal way, so he learned to sidestep her.”
“He compromised, Holly.” Lydia leaned forward in irritation. “He let her get her way even when she was wrong.”
“And you’re still angry at him for the way he coped.” Holly reached a hand across the table to take Lydia’s. “If John had fought, Lydia, he would have needed to leave as we did. And he loved the farm deeply, like a man loves a woman.”
Holly’s face softened. “When I look back, I see how things changed the most for John at two pivotal points. The first was when Stuart died.”
Lydia well remembered stories of John and Holly’s brother, who died at nine of lockjaw.
“A tragic death and hard on all of us,” Holly continued. “But especially on Mother. In an odd way, Stuart was the only one of us Mother truly loved. The first son, the heir, and named after her father, Judge Stuart Whitmeyer. He even looked like Grandfather Whitmeyer.” Holly smiled at the memory. “Stuart coped by flattering and joking his way around Mother—and it worked. He was the only one of us who seemed able to get his way with her. Stuart was funny, charismatic, and a natural charmer. I shudder to think of the ladies’ man Stuart might have become if he’d lived. He could wrestle money and favors out of Mother with sweet talk and smarmy compliments. He even talked her into keeping a dog in the house, and you know how she felt about animals indoors.” She paused, looking away in thought. “Whenever Stuart came around, John and I might have disappeared into the woodwork for all she noticed. Stuart lit up the day for her.”
“John never told me that.”
“I doubt he saw it. I was eleven when John was born and Stuart was eight. A year later, Stuart died. Mother grieved for him for years. She didn’t even want to care for John, who was only a baby then. My grandmother Mary and I raised him.” She smiled. “I always think that’s why John turned out so well. Mother hardly noticed him until he started his teens. Then she realized more children weren’t forthcoming and that John would be the heir. During that same period, our grandparents passed away, and Mother and Daddy moved from the Manager’s House, where the Sheppards live now, to Main House. That’s when Mother really morphed into another being.”
“What do you mean?”
“She became the Grand Dame of Cunningham Farm, taking over our Grandmother Mary’s role as mistress of the farm and easily moving into a role of dominance over my father. Dad could never see fault in Mother, you see, and he always expected John and me to work to see that Mother ‘didn’t get upset,’ as he called it. In short, he expected us to find a way to get along with her even if she acted unreasonably. If upsets occurred between us, Mother always won. It was rare that my father asserted his will over hers in matters of the home.”
Lydia’s mouth dropped open. “So your father set the example for John of going along, of not rocking the boat, and of letting Estelle win in all matters?”
“I suppose so.” Holly tapped her chin. “I never thought about it that way, but John did begin to adopt Daddy’s ways of coping with Mother’s temperament without argument or dispute.”
“Do you think John sees this? Do you think he understands the situations that led him to think and act as he’s done?”
Holly shrugged. “Probably not.” She sipped at her tea. “I know Mother paid little attention to your boys, or Mary Beth, either, until Daddy died and she suddenly realized the boys would be the future of the farm.”
“You’re right, Holly.” Lydia stared at her, knowing her mouth had dropped open as she did. “It was when Grandpa Will died that Estelle suddenly focused her attention on J. T. and the twins, grooming them, as you say, to be potential Cunningham Farm heirs.”
“Mercy, I pity them that time.” Holly shook her head. “I can remember how Mother focused on me when I hit my teenage years. She started critiquing every action I took, every garment I wore, every word I spoke.” Her eyes caught Lydia’s. “She went after you like that, too—to some degree from the very first when you married John, but more so after Daddy died and you and John moved into Hill House. I saw it every time I came to visit.”
“And I remember you stood up for me.” Lydia smiled at her. “That’s when I started to love you so much, Holly.”
“Well, I wasn’t around often.” She s
hrugged off the compliment. “But I felt proud of you when you took a job at the college to help the farm recover and to help John. Mother gave you a fit for going out to work, I know, but I thought it was wonderful you chose to do that. You could have loaded up the kids and left right then, gone back home to your folks. Some women do when hard times hit. That’s when I knew you really loved John and the farm.”
“Thanks for that, Holly.” Lydia looked down at her plate. “But don’t be too complimentary. Working orchestrated a way for me to escape from Estelle every day, too.”
“No.” Holly waved a hand at her. “Work became rewarding to you, Lydia. Don’t condemn yourself for finding a place of meaning for yourself while you worked to save the farm. I always thought it fair justice that you discovered yourself during that time—forged new goals and a purpose for your life. Started working on your master’s while you could get your classes free at Western. Began to make a career niche for yourself.”
“Did you fault me when I took the job working for Martha at Georgia Tech, when I moved to Atlanta and left John?”
She shook her head. “Not me, Lydia. You ask Wade. I predicted the day would come when you’d jump at a chance to get away from Estelle. It tickled me when the boys decided to go along with you. How did that come about? I never knew exactly.”
Lydia smiled at the waitress who stopped to refill their tea and to ask if they wanted dessert before continuing. “J. T. was a junior in high school then. He wanted desperately to go to college and study architecture after graduation. Billy Dale, like his grandfather Howard—my father—was interested in engineering and Parker in landscape design. Georgia Tech had wonderful programs in all these areas.” Lydia added sweetener and lemon to her tea and stirred it, remembering. “Estelle refused to consider the boys leaving the area to attend college after graduation, and she adamantly opposed any career interest they voiced except working on the farm in some way. Contentions and fights became daily patterns in those years, and J. T. started threatening to run off and join the army as soon as he turned eighteen. The twins soon began to make similar threats.”
Lydia bit her lip. “The boys felt angry at their father, too, for not supporting them more in their career leadings and for not defending me when Estelle lit into me—or them—daily about one thing or another.” She stopped to sip her tea, remembering again. “Estelle blamed me that the boys entertained career aspirations other than farm management, and she attacked me in some way nearly every day—calling the boys ‘out of order,’ ‘rebellious’, ‘ungrateful,’ or ‘defiant.’ Things had really come to a head in our home.”
“Where did Mary Beth stand in all of this?”
Lydia grimaced. “Most of the time she stood with her grandmother. She wanted peace in our home. She wanted her brothers to not be mad anymore and to not leave the valley. In a surprising way, she and her grandmother became close through the years when I worked outside the home at Western. Estelle kept Mary Beth every day while I worked, you see, and Mary Beth’s gentle temperament and malleability didn’t create difficulties between the two.”
Holly crossed her arms. “Let’s be honest, Lydia. Rebecca Albright told me Estelle poisoned the girl against you as soon she got her off to herself. She convinced her you didn’t really love her or you ‘wouldn’t have gone off and left her in order to work at that college.’ I can just hear her saying it, too, because she said it to me on several occasions. She never appreciated all you did through those years to help pay off the pile of debts that had accumulated during Daddy’s illness and repeated hospital stays.”
“She didn’t help my relationship with Mary Beth, that’s true.” Lydia spoke the words with a tight nod.
“So, what’s that relationship like now?”
“Strained.” Lydia let out a long breath. “We seem to artfully avoid saying all the things we’re both thinking whenever we get together.”
“So bring it out in the open.” Holly’s eyes met Lydia’s. “In loving honesty, Lydia, you simmer everything inside too much and often fail to express yourself as you should.”
“I know, but I am getting better. Living on my own all these years has strengthened me.”
“Good.” Holly pushed back her dark, short hair, graying now just as Estelle’s had. Holly’s resemblance to her mother still jolted Lydia, although Holly stood taller than the more petite Estelle had and possessed a fuller figure.
While Lydia’s thoughts drifted, Holly returned to their former subject. “So, when you went to Atlanta, you had in mind that J. T. could follow and get his education at Georgia Tech while you worked.”
“That’s it exactly. It was one reason Martha called to offer me the job—to give that chance to her nephews.” She tapped a nail on the table. “The other was because she knew how unhappy and miserable I’d become.”
“And I well remember heck-fire broke loose when you accepted that position and told John and Estelle you planned to move to Atlanta.”
Lydia nodded. “I told John the move was to pave the way for the boys to go to college and to break the rising tension at the farm. I admitted to him, too, that I’d been unhappy and that my parents, Aunt Martha, and I all agreed a separation and a change for a time might be good for everyone.”
“That’s a much nicer way to put it than to tell them to eat dirt.”
Lydia laughed. “Heavens, I love to be with you, Holly. You help me to laugh about the most awful things.”
“Not everyone would understand what you went through, but I do.” Holly took the check from the waitress. “I felt like I was reliving my earlier life every time I visited and watched my mother go at you and the boys. I hated that there was so little I could do about it.”
Lydia pulled out her purse to look for her billfold, but Holly waved her off. “No, this one’s on me, dear. I invited you to lunch and am delighted you came.” She reached a hand across to pat Lydia’s. “We’re Estelle-survivors, you and I—John, too, although I’m not sure he sees it the same way we do.” Holly paused. “You know, from what I hear from friends in the valley, I don’t think Mary Beth had such a sweet go of it with Estelle when she returned with the twins, or later when she nursed Estelle through the cancer that took her life. When you get some time with your girl, you may find she’s more in tune with you, and with all you endured from her grandmother, than you might think.”
Lydia’s eyes brightened. “Do you think so?”
“I’d say it’s a strong possibility.” Holly put some cash on the table with the ticket and stood up. “Come on, Lydia. Let’s go back to the store and get a piece of red velvet cake to top off a nice day. A lady in the area bakes every day for the coffee shop, and I promise you, her red velvet cake is a delicacy to die for. On our way, we can swing into the Mast General Store. I want to get the twins a couple of toys to send back with you.”
CHAPTER 8
Monday morning found John, Mary Beth, and the twins, along with Ela and Manu, at breakfast at Main House, getting ready for another day.
“Billy Dale, do not slurp your juice.” Mary Beth glanced up from the section of the newspaper lying by her plate.
He grinned. “I can make even better slurp sounds if I want to.”
“I’m sure you can, but don’t, okay? It’s not nice manners to slurp or to let people hear you drinking or eating.”
“It’s not nice manners to put corn on your teeth, to make smiles with orange slices, or to play with your food, either,” Bucky added with six-year-old authority, waving his cereal spoon in the air.
“That’s right.” Mary Beth’s attention shifted to her father. “Daddy, there’s an article in the paper today about the ghost sightings.”
“Cool!” Billy Dale leaned across the table, trying to see the paper. “Are there pictures?”
“Awww. You can’t take pictures of ghosts,” Bucky told him. “Everybody knows that.”
“There are no such things as ghosts.” Mary Beth spoke each word slowly and emphatically. “There
are spirits, good and bad, and angels, good and bad—and sometimes people discern or see these. However, good spirits and angels never flap about trying to frighten people. If you remember in your Bible stories, one of the first things an angel usually says is ‘fear not.’ However, spirits from the dark side are likely to say or do anything—having no good intent and originating from the father of lies.”
“That’s the devil.” Billy Dale stuck two fingers up over his head.
“Yes, and evil spirits from the devil probably get a big kick out of frightening and deceiving little boys and getting people to believe in ghosts.”
“Aww, shoot.” Bucky wrinkled his nose. “So, you don’t think ghosts are dead people?”
“Absolutely not, although you hear people talking as though ghosts are dead people floating around trying to get revenge or find peace.”
Billy Dale paused around a large bite of pancake. “I see ghosts of dead people on TV all the time.”
John laughed. “Well, surely you boys know that half or more of what you see on television is made up to entertain people. On TV, dogs dance and talk. Butterflies sing. People have supernatural powers and can fly. And athletes tell you they love a certain kind of cereal for breakfast or a style of athletic shoes to run in, when they may not like either—and all for a big paycheck.”
“Daddy John is right.” Mary Beth poured herself another cup of coffee. “Television is all about making money and providing stories and fantasies to entertain people.”
Billy Dale puffed out his lip. “You guys are taking all the fun out of this. It’s cooler to think the ghost is that Indian, mad because he got murdered up on the ridge, or Nance Dude out to get little kids.”
“There are no such things as ghosts in the Christian view.” Mary Beth sent Billy Dale a sharp glance. “People don’t become ghosts when they die. They may ‘give up the ghost,’ meaning their spirits leave their bodies, but then their spirits go on to heaven or to hell. They don’t hang around causing trouble, trying to take revenge, or haunting places or buildings.”
