by Tena Frank
How pretty! She turned away, then suddenly flashed back on the last time she left the little bungalow.
“Come on. Get your things packed now!” The hard, demanding edge in Rita’s voice scared Cally.
“But I don’t want to,” wailed Cally, her tiny face covered with streaming tears. “I don’t want to leave.”
“Get going now!” yelled Rita.
“But, Mommy, I want to stay with my friends and with Gamma and Gampa!”
“Calliope Ann. Do what I say right now. Gamma’s gone and we’re going too. We can’t stay here no more.” At 7 years old, Cally had known for a long time that when her mother invoked her full name, fighting back would be a hopeless cause. She stifled her tears as much as she could and slowly started putting her favorite things into her little suitcase.
“Where’s Gamma, Mommy? Why can’t I see her?”
“She’s gone, Cally, I told you.” Rita’s tone softened a bit. “She . . . oh . . . she’s just gone.”
“But I want to see her!” Cally began wailing again.
“She’s gone, Cally. You can’t see her. Now pack!”
“Then I want to see Gampa . . .” Cally pressed on hesitantly.
“No, Cally. We have to leave now. Pack, or we’ll leave everything behind.”
Cally returned to the task, picking up her chisels and the pieces of wood she had learned to carve under her grandfather’s watchful eye. “There’s no room for that junk,” yelled her mother, tossing it all onto the floor. “Just pack some clothes and two of your favorite toys.”
“Okay, Mommy,” Cally spoke quietly and kept her eyes cast down. When Rita left the room, Cally quickly picked the chisels and wood up and stuffed them under her clothes in the suitcase. She had no choice about going, but she would not leave her most precious belongings behind.
Less than an hour later, her mother pulled the packed car away from the curb and headed west.
Cally pulled herself out of the memory and refocused on getting her bearings and finding her grandparents’ house. She walked down to the next block, turned left and walked two blocks more. Some familiar details on the houses along the street convinced her she headed in the right direction, but the street then came to a dead end just before she expected to find the house on the next block. Instead, she faced a steep landscaped slope with a chain-link fence at the top, behind which the traffic on I-240 zipped by.
It had never occurred to Cally the house might no longer be there. In her mind and heart it represented permanence and love, belonging and hope. She had waited more than 40 years to come home again, and now she realized, with a sickening feeling, home had disappeared.
Cally stared ahead in disbelief. She lost all sense of her body and felt herself enveloped in a thick cloud. She tried to shake off the feeling by forcing herself to breathe deeply into her diaphragm. Her head spun and she heard ringing in her ears. Then she realized the ringing came from the church bells at St. Lawrence, the same bells her grandmother had used to teach her to count when she was a tiny child. The thought of her grandmother made her heart ache and she burst into tears. She sat down on the curb, wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed in despair.
Cally spent the rest of the day in a blur. She wandered around the neighborhood, deep in thought. She found her way to the shopping mall where she aimlessly strolled past the many window displays, doing little more than passing time. She managed to eat part of her lunch at an Indian restaurant and declined taking the leftovers with her when she paid her bill.
Eventually she went back to the hotel where she dropped into the comfortable bed and fell into a deep but turbulent sleep. She dreamed all night. About whittling little sticks of wood with her grandfather. About eating homemade applesauce in Ellie’s sweet-smelling kitchen, and settling into Ellie’s arms for a story before naptime. About huddling in the back seat of a car hurtling its way to California in the dark of night. And about so many other snippets of her childhood she feared she might be going mad. Were they memories or dreams? Maybe both. It didn’t matter. Cally spent the night wrestling with the past and despairing of the future.
“I love you Cally.” Ellie’s voice rang out clearly. Cally woke with a start and looked about the room. No one in sight. “I love you. You’ll be fine.” Ellie’s voice again, and so clear, so real.
“Gamma?” Cally tried to pull herself fully into wakefulness. “Gamma? Is that you?”
And Cally realized the voice came from deep within, from the place in her heart where Ellie had always lived and always would live. Her tears fell softly as she nuzzled into the pillow, remembering the softness of Ellie’s breast, the encircling arms and the warm sweet breath against her hair as she said again “I love you Cally. You’ll be fine.”
Hours later, Cally woke, refreshed and with a lightness of heart she found surprising. I’ll be fine, just like Gamma said. And she headed out for a new day of exploration.
TWENTY-FIVE
2004
Tate arrived at Uncle Piggy’s at twelve noon on the dot as Ruby had suggested. The weather had turned chilly and damp, and she huddled into her fleece vest, turning her back to the wind in an effort to stay warm as she approached the crowded entrance. The distinctive scent of barbecue wafted from the smokestack and filled the busy parking lot.
She joined the snaking line inside and immediately felt crunched in as more people entered behind her. Everyone chattered among themselves, filling the room with a buzz that competed with the annoying commentary emanating from the TV anchored to the wall above a row of picnic tables. The menu hung behind a tall counter and she scanned it quickly. Pork, chicken and starchy side dishes. She had been counting on something healthy and green to balance the barbecue ribs she planned on eating. Collard greens or a salad—any kind of vegetable would have been acceptable, but her only choice other than French fries appeared to be coleslaw.
Tate succumbed to the festering sense of irritation and disappointment that had emerged as soon as she’d stepped inside and looked around. What a dump! Not what I was expecting since everyone says this is the best barbecue in town. And these people! No respect for personal space. I don’t give a damn what you did last night. Just turn off the cell phone, shut up and stop bumping into me!
Tate noticed her familiar, crotchety mood. Sixteen years in New York City had given her plenty of time to develop a strong intolerance for being crowded and subjected to the blathering of strangers in cramped spaces. The advent of cell phones, in her humble estimation, constituted a sign of the impending end of a civilized world. Strangers poured out the intimate details of their lives in full voice anywhere they happened to be with no regard whatsoever for who might be listening in.
She grumbled and fussed under her breath and sidestepped so she stood just slightly out of the line. She put her hand on her hip and stuck her elbow into the small gap she had created between herself and the man in front of her. She glowered at him as he continued his non-stop, animated conversation complete with theatrical gestures obviously meant to impress the man next to him. If that oblivious idiot bumps me again, he’ll get a sharp poke in the ribs. Seconds later, Tate’s wish came true. The Idiot backed into her jutting elbow and let out a loud yelp.
“Oh! My bad!” He glared at her as if she were the source of the problem. Tate hoped her wordless response conveyed the message that he should back off and pay attention in the future.
The stare-down with the man ended with Ruby’s arrival. “My, my, honey,” she called to Tate as she wriggled her way through the line. “Hope you didn’t have to wait too long for me. Oh, it’s unusually busy today.”
“Hey, Ruby! Your timing is perfect.” In fact, only two parties stood in line ahead of them.
“Been here long?” Ruby asked.
“Oh, just long enough, I think. I’ll be glad to get out of this crowd and sit down.” Tate sent a malevolent glance in the direction of The Idiot.
“Thanks for standing in line. I only have an hour for lunc
h, so I don’t get over here as often as I’d like.”
“Glad you took the time to meet me, Ruby. I just wanted to apologize again for being so rude to you.”
The Idiot took notice of this and raised his eyebrow in an exaggerated Oh-you-being-rude?-I-can’t-imagine-such-a-thing way. Ruby noticed the exchange and gave Tate a quizzical look.
“I had my hand on my hip and he bumped into my elbow. He seems to think it was my fault.” Tate offered her excuse sheepishly.
“Oh, I see.” Ruby turned to the man.
“Please excuse my friend here. She’s just getting used to our Southern ways, and she’s a bit of a slow learner.”
Tate flushed from her neck to her hairline, partly from anger, partly from embarrassment.
“Yeah. I’m from New York. I don’t like being crowded.” An explanation, for sure, but definitely not an apology.
“Oh, that clarifies everything!” The Idiot smiled at Ruby and went back to the conversation with his friend.
Ruby turned back to Tate. “We’re pretty acceptin’ of folks around here, but looks like you may be givin’ New Yorkers a bad reputation.” The comment, offered with gentleness and a kind smile, landed on Tate with a thud.
“Am I really that bad? Tell me the truth, please.”
“Honey, I believe we find what we’re lookin’ for in this world. And you jus’ lookin’ for someone to offend you.”
“I don’t think so. But maybe you’re right. Living in New York forced me to develop a thick shell. Everyone does it to block out all the noise and constant commotion. You pull into yourself. For protection.”
“Well, down here that shell of yours blocks out friendly folks and a whole lot more. Maybe you should think about givin’ it up.”
“Maybe I should. You know, Ruby, you have a way of going straight to the heart of the matter. That surprises me. And I appreciate it a lot.”
“What I’m about to appreciate is a down-home barbecue sandwich. What about you?”
Tate studied the menu again. It didn’t look any better the second time than it had the first. She had seen lots of food coming across the tall counter while she’d waited. It looked like everything was buried in thick barbecue sauce. If I can’t eat something healthy, then I’m gonna splurge on fries. She decided on a rib and chicken combination plate with sides of coleslaw and French fries. They stepped up to the cash register to place their order.
“How you doin’ today, Miss Ruby?” asked the cashier. Tate’s mouth dropped open as Ruby responded.
“Jus’ fine, and you?”
“Pretty good, but we’re busier than usual today, so I gotta’ stay on my toes.”
“I see that. Hope you got enough food for me and my friend here.”
“You know we do. You havin’ your regular?”
Tate placed her order and paid for both of them. Moments later, their food appeared on the shelf across from the cash register. They picked it up and Tate followed Ruby down a hall filled with picnic tables on both sides. Business people in suits, grizzled old men in worn overalls and families from young to old filled the seats. Ruby continued toward a back room, Tate in tow.
“Do they know everyone by name here?” Tate asked.
“Most of us, they do, if we’re regulars. I love this place. We’ve been coming here for family dinners most of my life. So many happy memories here.” They reached their destination and Tate looked around at a room more depressing than what she’d seen out front.
Heavy, veneered tables surrounded by clunky, ladder-back chairs filled the large, windowless room. The far end sported an unlit gas fireplace set in a red brick wall. Ruby headed for one of the few open tables, a smaller one with four chairs, and Tate followed, fervently hoping this was not the kind of place where strangers plopped themselves down wherever they found an empty seat.
Ruby settled herself in and cut her sandwich neatly in half, making it easier to handle.
Tate tentatively took a bite of the rib meat which had fallen easily off the bone. Too sweet. She quickly tasted the coleslaw and a small piece of a hushpuppy. Everything is too sweet. She looked up to find Ruby watching her closely.
“Looks like this may not be your favorite kind of food, right?”
“I can’t lie. I know a lot of people love this place, and I see why. It’s obviously been here for ages, it feels like a friendly neighborhood here, the menu probably hasn’t changed much over the years, the ribs are tender, juicy and smell wonderful . . . but I don’t like so much sugar in my food. I was hoping for some collards or a salad of some kind.”
“You’re right. This is the same menu I been eatin’ from since my family started comin’ here thirty years ago. For me it’s sort of like goin’ to Grandma’s house for Sunday dinner when I was a child. I can always count on things bein’ just the way I like ’em.”
“I can sure understand the appeal, then, and I bet most of the regulars here would say the same thing.” Tate tried the broasted chicken and ate a French fry, both of which were delicious. “Next time, I’ll probably stick with the chicken. It’s really good.”
“Yeah,” Ruby interjected. “And make sure you eat those green veggies before you get here.” They both laughed and continued with their meal.
Their conversation centered on getting to know each other. Ruby talked about her family, the recent loss of her mother, and her husband’s illness. She took the job at Forest Glen several years ago in order to pay for her children’s education. Her daughter would be the first person in the family with a college degree when she graduated in the spring. Ruby gushed with pride when speaking of the girl’s achievement.
“She’ll have her Bachelor’s degree. She wants to teach and will try to get a job right away. But I think she’ll go back for a Master’s degree eventually. She loves kids. I hope she has her own. I want to be a grandma. But not right now. She’s a good girl, real smart and determined. She’ll teach social studies.”
“She sounds wonderful. Seems like you’re lucky to have all of them.”
“Sure am. But it’s not always easy. Still, I thank God every day. What about you? Is your family in New York?”
“Well, that’s a long story.” Tate evaded the question. “But first, can I ask you something about Mr. Howard?” She paused, hoping Ruby felt comfortable enough to talk to her. “How long has he been at Forest Glen?”
“I can’t say much. But he arrived long before me. All I heard was that Mr. Price brought him.”
“After I left yesterday, I went to meet Mr. Price. He’s very old, but spry and friendly. I saw an exquisite desk Mr. Howard made, and it has a secret compartment in it!”
“Oh, that must be something. You know he makes all those little boxes, and some of them have hidden places, too. Don’t know how he does it. He gave me one a couple years ago, and I keep my rings in it when I’m not wearing them.” Ruby put her hands out, arching her manicured fingers to show off two beautiful rings, one with a ruby set in platinum, the other an embellished silver setting with a large lapis lazuli stone.
“I assume that one is a ruby. Your birthstone as well as your name?”
“No, just my name. My grandaunt’s name, too. And this one, the lapis, my husband gave it to me on our second date. He said it was almost as beautiful as me.”
“He sounds like a wonderful man.”
“He is. I don’t know what I’ll do without him, but he’s been goin’ downhill for a few years now, so . . . but we were talkin’ about Mr. Howard.”
Tate took the hint and returned to the discussion about Leland Howard. “He simply fascinates me. I want to take care of him. I’m so glad he’s out there at Forest Glen. You and all the rest of the staff seem to be so dedicated to your patients.”
“Our guests, not patients. We love them. They’re like our own family.”
“Do you know where Mr. Howard was before he came to you?”
“The state hospital, I think. But you didn’t hear it from me, understand?”
/> The state hospital! It all gets curiouser and curiouser. “No I didn’t hear it from anyone. I promise.” After they finished eating, they made their way out of the restaurant and paused in the parking lot.
“Thank you for this nice lunch . . . Tate.” Ruby gave a wink in place of the missing title, and Tate laughed.
“Now we’re getting somewhere. If you can lose the title, maybe I can lose the shell. It’s been a true pleasure getting to know you, Ruby.”
“Same here. Wish I didn’t have to get back to work, but I do. What are you up to this afternoon?”
“Back to the library again. I want to take a look at a book they have that mentions Mr. Howard and his work.”
“Can’t stop diggin’ can you?” Ruby asked with a big smile.
“Obviously not yet! I’ll be back to see Mr. Howard again, so I’ll be seeing you, too.” They gave each other a friendly wave and headed to their cars. Little did they know their next meeting would occur so soon.
TWENTY-SIX
1942
Harland Freeman had been busier than usual. A practical and methodical man, he wanted every possible detail covered while he still controlled his own fate.
He secured the plot he wanted at Riverside Cemetery, the final resting place of Asheville’s most elite. He sniggered quietly as he imagined the dismayed look on the face of Constance Ryland once she learned where he would be buried. He knew she would consider it an affront to her family name, but her anticipated horror constituted only one of the reasons he had worked so furiously behind the scenes to get his hands on that particular tiny piece of land. Just as he had been determined to live among Asheville’s business titans in his beautiful house on Chestnut Street, he wanted to ensure he would rest at the top of the small knoll elevated slightly above most of them forever.
