by Lin Stepp
“But they didn’t understand?” He searched for the answer in her eyes.
“No.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I didn’t, either.”
“Oh, Lydia.” He put his arms around her and laid his head against her forehead. “I always felt so torn with the battles between you and my mother, and then with the dissension between the boys and Mother. I never knew how to handle it best. What to do.”
“So you did what you’ve always done?” Her question floated out softly into the night.
John pulled back to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“How did you handle problems with your mother as a boy? What did you do when you had controversies with her growing up, or as a teenager, or when it was time to go to college?” She kept her eyes on his. “You sidestepped the problem, or waited it out, didn’t you? Or you gave in, went along, because it was easier, made peace. Because you hated the conflict, it seemed easier to bend. To go along.”
“And what’s so wrong with that? Is fighting and arguing so much better? Isn’t making peace supposed to be the Christian way to handle things instead of stirring up more contention?”
John could see her thinking about this, sipping her tea before answering. “The big difference comes when the bending and going along compromises something important to you. In many ways, you never had that problem, John. Your major focus was on the farm and on the orchard, just as your mother wanted for you. You wanted to go to school near home. You wanted to stay near the farm and planned to come back to the farm after graduation. You told me that when we met. You blended comfortably into the fabric of everything Cunningham.”
“And your point is?”
“I didn’t always blend. I was different—and your mother never liked that. She had a hard time appreciating anyone different from herself. You know it’s true. To her, her own particular ways, ideas, thoughts, beliefs, and interests were the right ones. She could never appreciate my differences. As the boys grew and began to develop their own ideas and goals, different from what she wanted to impose on them, she made life difficult for them, as she’d done to me for a long time before.”
“She wasn’t very flexible.” John scowled. “With Mother you had to learn how to go along with her, to humor her, to keep from making trouble. My father taught me that early on.”
“Did you hear what you just said? That’s what you expected from yourself and so that’s what you expected of us in regard to your mother. But our personalities were such that we couldn’t do it. Our interests, beliefs, and dreams were such that we couldn’t throw them out to go along.” Lydia twisted her hands in her lap. “Holly said that you, she, your father, and even Stuart, all developed your ways of coping with your mother’s difficult, autocratic, and inflexible personality. In a sense, Holly helped me to see that each person who lived in the close wake of your mother had to choose whether to bend, conform, and stay or to fight and eventually leave. You needed to stay, and you had to bend and conform to do so. We couldn’t conform and so eventually we had to leave.”
“Holly could never learn to go along with Mother, and it got worse as she grew older.” John searched his memory. “The more she tried to assert herself, to be her own person, the more problems she had with Mother.”
“That’s what she said.”
John looked at her. “You’re saying it was the same way for you.” He shook his head. “I never thought of it like that.”
“What if someone had fought you when you were young, made you feel foolish to want to run the orchard, ridiculed you for your love for it, your interest in it. Tried to keep you from the dream of continuing it, giving your life and heart to it. Or made you feel stupid for any interest in farming you had, called you disloyal to your heritage for even holding that interest. Would you have found it easy then to go along with that person?”
He straightened. “You know I wouldn’t have.”
“Your sons felt that you should have fought more to see that that type of behavior wasn’t imposed on them. They felt that you—by not doing anything—allowed your mother to bully them and bully me unnecessarily. They resented you for never taking a stand for them. Or for me. They felt you didn’t protect me or them from your mother’s emotional abuse.”
John stood and walked across the porch to stand by the rail. “I had no idea they felt that way about me. I knew they had troubles with Mother, but I didn’t realize they also blamed me.” He turned to look across at Lydia on the swing. “Did you feel that way, too?”
She nodded, turning her eyes away. “I’m sorry, John, but I often did.”
He came back and dropped down to his knees before her. “You should have told me, Lydia. You should have told me.” He took her hand. “I loved you more than life itself. I thought I helped you best by not making it worse, by not escalating the arguments by getting into the fray, by keeping the balance. Later, when things grew so bad between you and Mother, and between Mother and the boys, I couldn’t seem to see how I could help.”
John looked up at her. “I tried to talk to Mother, urging her to try harder to get along with you, with the boys, but I guess that wasn’t enough.” He leaned over then to lay his head in Lydia’s lap. “I’m so sorry I failed you. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t try to.”
She stroked his hair, not making a reply.
John got up to sit beside her in the swing. “Can you find a way to forgive me? I can’t go back and do things differently now.”
“No, we can’t go back.”
He sought her eyes. “But you said if we talked, that maybe we could move on. I’d like that, Lydia Ruth.”
“I think I would, too, John Cunningham.” She leaned over to give him a small kiss. “Not everything has been resolved tonight, but we’ve talked out a lot of things. It’s a good beginning.”
He moaned. “You mean there’s more?”
“Probably.” She laughed. “And with the boys, there’s certainly more. But for tonight, let’s put the past behind us for a little while and simply enjoy the night, this wonderful full moon, the lightning bugs flashing in the darkness, the sounds of crickets and cicadas in the air.”
John tucked his arm around her on the swing, gathering her close against him. “I can go there.”
“Thanks for saying you still love me, John.” She nuzzled her head against his shoulder. “I love you, too, you know.”
He searched for her mouth then, enjoying the wonder of having her here, back in his arms and back in his life.
CHAPTER 11
The next morning, Lydia walked down to Main House to collect her blackberries from Ela. She felt good about her talk with John the night before, about the love and apologies he had expressed.
The kissing wasn’t bad, either. She grinned at the thought, feeling girlish and young.
Letting herself in the back door, Lydia followed the sound of Ela singing in the kitchen. “You’re in a good mood,” Lydia said to her, walking into the large, sunny room. “I don’t remember you singing over the stove when I lived here.”
Ela made a rude noise and sent Lydia a sideways glance. “Mrs. Cunningham disapproved of singing when you were supposed to be working.”
“I see.” Lydia leaned against the counter.
Ela poured a bowl of cake batter out into two floured pans. “Let me put this cake into the oven, then we’ll sit down and have a cup of coffee together.” She paused. “Or I can fix tea.”
“I’ll make the tea while you finish the cake.” Lydia headed for a cabinet. “Do you still keep leaf tea?”
“Bought some the day I heard you were coming home.” She grinned at Lydia, wiping her hands on the apron wrapped around her waist. “Got it at the Mast General Store in downtown Waynesville. They carry loose teas there, sell teapots and such, too.”
“I love to explore in the Mast store.” Lydia took down the bag of Earl Grey tea from the shelf, found the teapot, and put a teakettle full of water on to boil on the stove. “Blue Ridge Books has good Rishi
Teas, too.”
Ela popped the two cake tins into the oven, then washed her hands at the sink before sitting down at the table with Lydia. “My, my, it’s good to sit here and look across the table at you again.”
Lydia smiled. “Thanks. It feels good to me, too.” She looked around and sighed. “Visiting or working in the kitchen with you was one of the places I could feel happy for a while when I lived here.”
Ela frowned. “Estelle Cunningham was a hard woman.”
Lydia leaned her chin on her hands. “How did you deal with her as well as you did, Ela? She was so disrespectful to you.”
“No, that’s not true.” Ela shook her head. “Estelle set the relationship between us from the first day Manu and I came to work here. We were the help and she was our employer. She drew the line firmly and stated with clarity the boundaries and expectations in that relationship. In her own way Estelle respected me—and Manu—for our work and dedication as helps to the family. I recall times she complimented me, and times when she didn’t, but we had our ways together that worked. I always hurt more for you than me in living with Estelle. It was different with you.”
Lydia got up to pour their tea. “Why was it so different for me? Why could Estelle never like me?”
Ela checked the cakes before answering and then brought back a tin of fresh oatmeal cookies to sit on the table. “Ozetta Sheppard said Estelle saw you as a threat. You reminded her of her predecessor she’d only recently supplanted, Mary Cunningham—a tall, gracious, warmhearted, and kindly lady, beloved by all. Estelle was her polar opposite—short, squat, harsh in nature, and not easily liked or sought out in friendship. Estelle knew this, but her position as matriarch of Cunningham Farm gave her respect and a position of authority here and in the community. From the first, your ease and joy vexed her, Lydia. She wasn’t a happy person within herself, and she resented happiness and pleasure in others.”
Lydia dipped a cookie into her tea. “Holly talked about how lovely Mary was. She called the farm a happier place before Mary and John died and Estelle came to Main House.”
“Holly would remember the change.”
Lydia pushed her hair back behind her ear. “I tried so hard to make Estelle like me.”
Ela shook her head. “Yes, and Estelle saw it a sign of weakness to try to please others. I heard her make remarks to that effect often enough—making derogatory comments about someone being too nice or too accommodating, showing no backbone. Pride ruled Estelle versus thoughtfulness or love, and she capitalized on position, duty, proper role, and appropriate conduct. She learned that in the Whitmeyers’ stuffy home where she grew up—her parents hung up on ancestry, prestige, and right standing in the community, always looking and acting just so. I don’t think I ever saw Estelle Cunningham simply let down and be herself, kick off her shoes, laugh, and have a good time. She was always proper, stuffy, and critical.”
“The critical part I certainly remember. I don’t think I ever did a thing that pleased her.” Lydia blew out a breath of regret.
“Few people did, child.” Ela got up to take the cakes out of the oven to cool. “Estelle had few real friends. She couldn’t risk truly close friends because she didn’t dare let anyone get that close. She always feared revealing a weakness, letting her guard down. At heart, she was a lonely woman, and deep down she envied your loving ease with your children, with John and with others. She resented your joy in life, your spontaneity and creativity, your inventive ideas. You were a freer being than she could ever be. . . .”
“Yes, and she tried to squash me into her own mold. Always pressuring me to change and be like her, criticizing and picking at everything I did—at my clothes, my cooking, my mothering, my interests.” A wash of harsh memories swirled across Lydia’s mind.
“She was hard on you.” Ela walked over to look down at Lydia. “But she’s gone now, and you need to let the past go. You need to realize that she owned the problem, that she was a troubled person. You need to move on. Forgive and forget.”
Lydia looked around. “That’s especially hard to do here—in this house, where I still feel her presence so strongly.”
Ela made a tut-tutting sound. “Generations of Cunninghams, Sheppards, and others have lived on this farm, loved it, and built it. Fine, good, decent people. You can’t judge this old farm or house based on one woman who was a little twisted. In a way, your heart ought to reach out to John and Holly, who came out as strong and well as they did with Estelle for a mother, and to the Sheppards, who stayed on the farm and put up with her high-and-mighty ways toward them. Your heart should remember others around this area, too, who moved on despite Estelle and who built their lives, loved, and thrived, despite her.”
“You sound like John.” Lydia felt a flicker of annoyance. “Saying I should have gotten along better.”
“No, I never meant that.” Ela shook her head. “Estelle put you through a daily hell she had no right to inflict on anyone. You had every right to resent it.” She pulled out a large bowl to start to mix cake icing in. “But Estelle is gone now. And it’s time for healing.”
“I’d like to experience more healing. Surely you know that.”
Ela turned to her with a hand on her hip. “Well, you’ll have to work at it for healing to come. Maybe fight a few battles to get to a new place.”
“What do you mean?” Lydia felt confused by Ela’s comments.
“Purpose to go and make your peace—in every area.” She walked over to smooth a hand over Lydia’s hair like she would a child’s. “Begin with the house. Go through every room. Confront the old memories and purpose to get past them. If need be, speak to the rooms, to the shadows in the rooms. To the lingering spirits. Get free, Lydia. This house is only a house, and Mary Beth and John have made a lot of changes since Estelle died. But you’ve felt fearful to even walk around in it. Let old memories keep a power over you instead. Cowardice can never step free of the past, Lydia, only bravery can.”
She sat down at the table to look in Lydia’s eyes. “When you’ve finished with the house, you need to go to the woman’s grave at some point, too. Make your peace there.”
Lydia shuddered.
“Until you move forward in bravery, the past will hold you, and continue to hurt you, control you, and keep you from future happiness and freedom. You have to face your ghosts, your fears, and banish them. You have to establish yourself, to free and separate yourself from the hurts of the past.”
“Where did you learn these things, Ela? And how do you know if they will work?”
Ela smiled. “I’m Cherokee. We are more interconnected with the earth and life than white men. I was taught these things and I know they are truth. I reverence the wisdom of my ancestors.”
Lydia looked toward the kitchen door leading into the main house. “Will you go with me?”
“No. You must go alone. The Great One will be with you and He will help you.” She made a shooing gesture toward the door. “There is no one here but us today. This is a good time.”
And so Lydia found herself wandering down the hallway of Main House intent on facing her past to make a new beginning. Anxiety slowed her steps and for a moment she considered simply sprinting out the front door. Gathering her courage instead, she walked into the formal dining room, where Estelle Cunningham had reigned at the head of the table, making each evening meal an unbearable ordeal to get through.
Stopping in surprise at the doorway, Lydia noticed changes immediately. The dark flocked wallpaper and formal oil paintings were gone, the heavy silver tea service put away, and the room lightened from its excess of ornate furniture and decorative china. The walls were painted a clean, clear blue now above the wainscoting, the table no longer encased in padding and lace tablecloths, the formal chairs reupholstered. A light, happy feeling pervaded the room, helped by the heavy draperies gone from the windows.
“Wow.” Lydia couldn’t help the exclamation. Everything looked and felt so different.
After a
few moments, she walked through the room trying to decide how to confront her past constructively. Uninspired, she sat down at her old place at the dining room table and dropped her head to pray for guidance. After a time, she lifted her eyes and looked toward the head of the table. “Estelle,” she said. “I know in my heart I did everything I could to love you and to try to make you love me. I’m sorry I failed to please you, and I’m sorry about the personal problems that caused you to be unable to love me and care for me. I’m a nice person, Estelle. I believe you’d have seen that if you’d ever let yourself try. I’m sorry you felt so repressed that you had trouble letting anyone know joy, and I’m sorry for all the unhappiness and issues you couldn’t get past to enjoy life more and to love more.”
Lydia paused, frowning. “I’m not sorry, Estelle, that I resisted letting you change me to be like you. And I’m not sorry I tried to make a happy, warm, loving home for John and our children. I know things grew less happy for you after John, the children, and I had to move here with you after Grandpa Will died. I wish things could have been different.” She took a deep breath. “But today is a new day, and I am moving on, purposing to be happy in life, purposing to let the past go to embrace the future. Like Ela said, I’m going to go through every room, and face and banish old memories in order to start looking forward instead of backward.”
She stood to put her hands on Estelle’s old chair. “I forgive you by faith for all the old hurts and pains, Estelle. I think truly a dark force warred in you to create so much unhappiness in others. And I don’t want that old darkness hanging around me, or in me, anymore.” She took a deep breath. “Lord, help me let it go and set me free from all the bad memories and sorrows associated with unhappy, past times. I ask it in Jesus’s name. Amen.”
Lydia walked around the room, feeling lighter and freer. It surprised her how much better she felt. With rising confidence, she set off through the rest of the house to make her peace in every room as Ela had suggested.
