"Mommy?" I said, and she sat up.
"How are you. Honey? Huney?"
"No. What's going on? Where's Daddy and
G randad?"
"Daddy and Grandad had a very bad argument
after what happened," she began. "I thought they
would come to blows. Actually, I thought Grandad
would swing that machete at him. Your uncle Simon
stepped between them and just stood there like a wall,
and they stopped.
"It calmed down. They ate some dinner and
then went out to work on the grain combine. That's
where the two of them are. Simon went up to his
room. He's got a bad cold. probably from having only
cold water to bathe in and sleeping in that dank. dark
place."
"Did he get his dinner?"
"I brought it to him," she said. "Why don't you
have something to eat now, Honey?"
"I was so embarrassed. Mommy," I moaned.
"Chandler will probably have nothing to do with me
now."
"Oh, I'm sure he will," she said.
"You weren't there. It was terrible. I was never
so frightened myself."
"I know. Let me make you something to eat,"
she insisted. rising. "At least some hot soup." She put her arm around me and we went inside. After I ate a little. I picked up my violin and
began to play. More and more lately, I was finding it
helped me express my innermost feelings. The music
always revealed what was truly going on within the
caverns of my heart. I didn't play that long, but when I
gazed out my window, I saw Uncle Simon had been
sitting by his. listening. He had a light on, and he
looked different because his head was slumped. I
supposed he had fallen asleep. I waited to see if he
would wake and wave good night, but he didn't, so I
put away my violin.
I was feeling very, very tired myself. The
emotional drain was deeper than I had imagined.
Maybe I was just very depressed, but almost before I
let my head fall back on the pillow, my eyes closed,
and the next thing I knew, the light of morning was
brightening my room.
The house was quiet. When I glanced at my
clock, I saw it was well after nine. We usually left for
church between eight and eight-thirty. I rose, washed,
and dressed as quickly as I could. When I descended the stairs, I found Mommy had left a note for me on
the refrigerator door.
Daddy and I decided to let you sleep this
morning. There's pancake batter in a bowl in the
refrigerator. Eat a good breakfast. We'll see you after
church.
I wondered where Grandad was. I was certainly
not in the mood for any of his hell and damnation
speeches and had made up my mind that if he started
on me and Chandler, I would either walk away or tell
him to mind his own business. My indignation fueled
my courage and fired up my anger. I marched around
the kitchen, slamming pans and silverware harder than
necessary. I needed noise. The silence made it feel as
if the world was closing in on me.
I ate deliberately, chewing hard, swallowing
and digging my fork into my pancakes as if I had to
kill each one before I could eat it. All the while I had
my eyes fixed on that doorway, anticipating my
Grandad's entrance, but he did not come. Winding
down, I finished eating and washed and put away my
dishes, the pancake skillet, and silverware. By the
time everything was cleared away and cleaned. I
heard Daddy's truck pull up in front of the house. I
stepped out to greet them.
"Morning, Honey," Daddy called.
"Did you make yourself some breakfast, dear?"
Mommy asked immediately.
"Yes," I said. "Sorry I slept so late."
"That's all right. We were glad you got
whatever rest you needed, dear,"' Mommy said. She looked very pretty and fresh this morning,
and I thought Daddy was very handsome in his sports
jacket, tie, and slacks. Mommy paused to kiss me on
the forehead. Then her eyes got small and dark. "He bother you any this morning?"
"I haven't seen or heard him."
"Grandad's up in the west field, probably,"
Daddy said. "There's a wooded place there he's used
on Sunday as his private church for years
I knew the place. Because Grandad Forman put
such a holy stamp on it and because it was his private
place. I stayed away from it.
"He's been troubling," Mommy told Daddy.
"And I don't mean just the incident yesterday with
Honey and Chandler, Isaac. There's a new madness in
him. When he came at you yesterday. I thought he
would swing that machete for sure," Mommy said.
"He's mumbling to himself and talking to the shadows
more than ever. It's not good."
Daddy nodded and gazed toward the west field. "I know." he said. "He and I worked together as
usual afterward, but he would barely speak to me and
kept reciting phrases from the Bible. It gave me the
creeps the way he turned his head when he spoke, as
if some invisible person was there beside him." "It's troublesome. Very troublesome. Isaac,"
Mommy emphasized.
"I'll try to talk to him some more and get him
calmed down." Daddy promised. He should be back
soon."
"I haven't seen Uncle Simon this morning
either," I said.
"Oh. Simon's still quite under the weather
today. Honey. He's been developing a bad chest cold
and I told him to make sure he rests himself well,"
Daddy said.
"Did he have his breakfast?"
"I brought him some hot oatmeal before we left
for church," Mommy said. "Well, I guess I'll go
change into something more ordinary."
"Me, too," Daddy said.
I looked at the barn. It was so rare for Uncle
Simon to be under the weather and incapacitated. I
thought he was invincible. If he was sick enough to
stay in his claustrophobic room, it had to be serious. "Maybe Uncle Simon should see a doctor and
have some medicine," I said.
"You know how he is about that," Mommy
replied. "I'll make him some chicken soup for lunch." She and Daddy went inside. I stood there
thinking awhile and then I went in and fetched my
violin and the box of music Chandler had bought for
me.
"I'm going over to see Uncle Simon." I shouted
to Mommy and Daddy, who were still changing
clothes.
I went to the barn and then up the stairway to
Uncle Simon's room. He didn't reply when I knocked
on his door. so I opened it and peered in. He was in
bed. I thought he was asleep, but as soon as I started
to back out and close the door, his eyes opened. "Honey," he said, followed with a flow of
coughs. "Something the matter?"
"No, Uncle Simon. I was just coming over to
practice my violin and see if you needed anything.'" "Oh," he said. He wiped strands of hair off his
forehead and propped himself up. He wasn't wearing
any shirt, and there was a patch of redness a
t the
center of his chest.
"Do you have a fever?" I asked him.
"No," he said, shaking his head vigorously. He
coughed again. "That doesn't sound good. Uncle
Simon."
"It's nothing." he insisted.
"Mommy's making you some chicken soup, but
if you don't feel better soon, you should go to a
doctor," I said firmly.
He nodded, but with no real conviction. "You're going to play the violin for me?" he
asked, finally showing some light and excitement in
his eyes.
"I wanted to start on some of the music my
friend Chandler Maxwell gave me yesterday. I'm
going to audition for a special school in New York
City," I explained.
His eyes widened with amazement. "New York
City?"
"Uh-huh."
I took my violin out of its case and pulled one
of his two chairs up closer to the bed. Then I sat,
opened the box of music, and sifted through the
sheets, deciding to start with Bartok's First Sonata. "I'm just learning this," I explained.
He nodded, looking fascinated. It warmed my heart to see how I was cheering him up and helping him feel better already. He propped himself up a little more and waited. I tuned up and warmed up and then I started on the music. Every time I stopped to start
again, he nodded enthusiastically.
"I really shouldn't do this without Mr.
Wengrow, It's hard judging yourself,"
I started again and I played for quite a while
before stopping. When I glanced at him. I saw that he
had closed his eyes. The music appeared to have
soothed him, but his face was very flushed. I set the
violin down, and he looked at in with some surprise. "You look like you've got a high fever. Uncle
Simon," I said.
I went to him and put my lips to his forehead. It
was the way Mommy always tested for a fever. I had barely done so when Grandad's cry made
me jump and turn quickly toward the doorway where
he stood, clutching his Bible. I hadn't heard him come
up the stairs.
"Jezebel!" he screamed. "Get away from him." "He's sick. Grandad."
Grandad nodded and smiled so coldly it sent a
chill across the room and into my heart.
"Yes, he's sick," he said. "Sick with the strain of evil that's in you both. You'll bring down the Lord's
vengeance on me! Whore!" he cried.
Tears flowed so quickly and freely from my
eyes, I couldn't flick them away fast enough. Suddenly Uncle Simon rose from his bed, and
to my shock, he was naked. He waved his mallet of a
fist at Grandad.
"Get out of here with your garbage talk," he
roared. It felt like a crash of thunder.
Grandad stared wide-eyed, as if he was looking
at the Angel of Death. He pointed at him.
"Sinner!" he shouted, turned, and fled. Uncle Simon quickly realized he was
uncovered and seized the blanket to wrap around
himself.
"You better go," he said.
My heart was pounding a hole through my
chest and back. I shivered and trembled, gathering my
music, putting my violin back into its case.
"I'll tell Mommy what happened," I promised.
"You didn't do anything wrong."
Uncle Simon was back under the blanket, his
eves shut, his thumb and fingers pressing on his
temples.
"You need a doctor." I insisted and hurried out, never so frightened. I checked the yard for signs of
Grandad and then rushed to the house.
Mommy was in the kitchen working on her
chicken soup when I burst in. For a moment, I
couldn't speak. She looked at me, saw how upset I
was, and dropped the knife she was using to cut up a
carrot. It clattered on the floor.
"What's wrong?"
"Grandad... Uncle Simon," I blurted. "It was a
terrible scene!" Daddy heard the commotion and
hurried down the stairs. "What happened?"
As quickly as I could get out the words. I
described what had occurred, how just as I had
innocently checked on Uncle Simon's temperature.
Grandad appeared in the doorway and called me
names. Without saying Uncle Simon was naked. I told
how he had jumped up and threatened to bash
Grandad with his fist. I spoke so quickly, it turned my
throat into a tunnel with sandpaper walls. Mommy
had to give me a glass of water to finish
"Isaac," Mommy said. "It's come to pass. I feel
it. I know it."
"I'll get out there," he said. He went for his
boots.
"Be careful," she cried after him. "What's come to pass?" I asked.
Mommy shook her head and sat hard on a chair,
lowering her forehead to her propped hand.
"Mommy?"
She shook her head and sighed. Just as she
lifted it to speak, we heard the most ghastly, animal
scream. The look in Mommy's face matched my own
terror.
"Isaac," she cried and the two of us ran out of
the house.
The shouting was coming from the area behind
the barn where Uncle Simon had his wonderful
garden. Mommy reached for my hand as the two of us
ran across the yard. When we turned the corner of the
barn, we saw Uncle Simon. He was barefoot, wearing
only jeans and holding a scythe in the air, poised to
bring it down on Grandad, who was sprawled on the
ground.
Flowers everywhere had been slashed with that
scythe. The garden was decimated. Daddy was on the
sidelines, his hand extended toward Uncle Simon,
who stood like a pillar of rage over my grandfather. "Don't do it, Simon," Daddy pleaded. "You
can't do it."
Uncle Simon's arms shook with the effort to hold back and the effort to sweep down. There was no doubt in my mind that he had the power to slice
Grandad in half.
"Simon!" Mommy shouted. She let go of my
hand. "Isaac. tell him. Tell him!" she commanded
Daddy. He looked at her, then at me and then he
stepped closer.
"Simon, he's your father," he said. "He's your
real father."
Uncle Simon looked at Daddy and then down at
Grandad, who had his arm extended up to try to ward
off the deadly blow when it came. He clutched his
Bible in his hand as if it would act as a shield. Uncle Simon shook his head.
"Yes." Daddy said. "It's true, Simon. It's true.
Tell him!" he shouted at Grandad.
To me it seemed as if the air had stopped
moving around us and we were frozen in time.
Nothing moved, not a bird, not a rabbit. The whole
world was holding its breath.
Grandad shook his head.
"I don't confess to him," he cried. "I don't
confess to him."
"Simon," Mommy said in a softer tone. "Isaac
is telling you the truth. You can't do this. Well make it
all right. Please. Simon."
I was crying and shaking so much. I couldn't
have spoken if I had wanted to. Uncle Simon gazed
down at Grandad a moment and then he tossed away
the scythe and marched toward his flowers, kneeling
down to repair whatever he
could.
Grandad Forman rose slowly. He looked from
Daddy to Mommy to me and shook his head, backing
away. He pointed at me.
"It's in the blood." he said. "My sins are carried
in the blood."
"Na!" Mommy shouted back at him. "'Your sins
were born and will die with you, not with us. Go
make your own peace and leave us be." she ordered. He turned and stumbled away, clutching his
chest with one hand. his Bible with the other. After a
few steps, he paused to look back at us. He was
mumbling to himself and looked insane, his hair
flying up every which way.
"Go into the house. Dad." Daddy shouted at
him.
Grandad shook his head and then walked faster,
almost running toward the west field as if he had to
flee. We saw him stumble and fall and then get up and
hung along, gazing back at us until he was nearly
gone from sight.
"I'd better go after him," Daddy said. "Leave him. Isaac. We've got to get Simon to
bed," Mommy said, stepping toward him. She put her
hand on Uncle Simon's shoulder. "Go back to bed.
Simon. You need rest before you get very, very sick.
Isaac and Honey will repair what can be repaired for
you."
"She's right. Simon," Daddy said. "Go on back
to bed."
Simon stared at his mutilated garden, two large
tears flowing from his eyes.
"I'll fix whatever can be fixed. Uncle Simon," I
promised, tears falling from my chin as well. "You'll plant again, Simon." Mommy said. "Go
on."
Daddy put his hand under Uncle Simon's arm,
more to urge him up than to lift him. He rose, slowly,
looking after Grandad, not so much with hate and
anger in his face now as much as confusion. "I won't let him be my father," he said. Mommy
smiled.
"I don't blame you," she said.
Uncle Simon shook his head. He looked at the
destroyed garden and then toward the direction
Grandad had fled.
"Can't be," he said. "Can't be." He let Daddy
guide him away.
"Wait," Mommy called after them. Daddy
turned to her. "Don't take him back to that barn. Take
him to Peter's room in the house," she ordered. Daddy smiled and nodded.
"C'mon, Simon. It's time you came home,"
Daddy told him.
Mommy put her arm around me. I had finally
stopped shaking and had swallowed down the lump
that had closed my throat. My tears felt frozen over
my eyes.
"You all right. Haney?"
"Yes." I looked after the devastated garden. "I'll
Shooting Stars 04 Honey Page 10
