The River to Glory Land

by Janie DeVos

  “Here, you open it, Striker,” Granddaddy said, snatching it from Mama’s hand. “You know how to behave yourself.”

  Everyone waited quietly as Daddy opened it and began to read the folded paper inside. After a minute or so, he laid it on the table and, with a bewildered look on his face, said to Mama, who was sitting across from him; “They’ve deeded us this house, Eliza.” He looked over at my grandparents and then back down at the paper again. Even though we had lived in the house ever since the hurricane had destroyed ours, it still legally belonged to my grandparents. “Why would you do that, Max? Eve?”

  “Because it should legally belong to you all,” Grandma said, tears welling up in her dark brown eyes.

  “Mama, I don’t understand,” my mother said, her eyes just as full.

  “We’re goin’ home,” Grandma said softly.

  “Home?” Mama asked, even more confused. “This is your home.”

  “No, daughter, this is your home,” Granddaddy corrected her. “Your mother and I want to go back to Central Florida; back to Lake Weir, and the Ocklawaha River. That’s home to us. It always has been. We still have those ten acres and the house from our old citrus grove that we sold off years ago. And we’ll stay in a hotel around there and work on the place until it’s livable again. It shall be a labor of love,” he said emotionally.

  “Speaking of hotels; what about the Spinnaker?” I asked.

  “We sold it this morning.” Granddaddy took a large bite of cake.

  “To whom?” Mama cried in disbelief.

  “To the man with the right price,” Granddaddy replied around a full mouth.

  “Actually, it’s a group from Philadelphia; the Walden Group. They own several hotels on the Beach already. They’re well aware that Chick has been charged with tax evasion and racketeering. Chances are, he’s going to go away for a very long time, and his hotel will be put up for sale. If it is, then the developer will snatch that one up, too, and have an enormous chunk of prime real estate. We close in three weeks.”

  “Three weeks! Are you kidding?” Mama actually looked pale.

  “Eliza, it was a very good deal. We’d have been foolish to pass it up,” Granddaddy explained.

  “But three weeks?” Mama’s voice broke.

  “Honey, you know we’ve been talking about it for a good while now.” Grandma reached over and took Mama’s hand. “Your father and I are in good health, thank the good Lord, but we’re not getting any younger. Max is over seventy now and I’m in my sixties. If we’re gonna make a change, then this is a good time to do it—while we can enjoy it.

  “Now, back to the business of selling the business.” She smiled, looking around at all of us. “The Walden Group wants to buy the Full House, but we told them that we only owned fifty percent of the ship and that our son-in-law and daughter owned the other half. So, Striker, if you and Eliza don’t mind, we’d like to give our shares to Lily.”

  “Give me your half?” I looked at her and then Granddaddy. “That’s too much! Surely y’all can use that money.”

  “Granddaughter, believe me,” my grandfather said with a twinkle in his eye. “The price we’re getting for the hotel, parking lot, and prime beachfront property will keep us eating fine for the rest of our lives. Striker, how do you and Eliza feel about that, though? We don’t want to short change you.”

  “Oh, you’re not,” Daddy assured him. “Honestly, that works out just fine. Eliza and I got word about the bid we put in to the government and they want us to build three good-sized boats for the border patrol with every bell and whistle we can put on them. It’s just a small order, really, but it’s a start. Honestly, we may end up selling out our shares in the Full House, too, if it all becomes too much to handle. The marina business has to be our top priority right now.”

  Everyone was thrilled with Daddy’s news.

  “Olivia.” Grandma looked over at my sister. “You’re not being left out by any means, honey. Your grandfather and I will give you a cash gift once the closing takes place.”

  “Please, don’t do that.” Olivia looked down at the table, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. “I’ve caused a lot of trouble, and cost people a lot of money, too. You’ll make me feel even guiltier if you do that, Grandma.”

  “Oh, fiddlesticks, little girl!” Grandma said, dismissing what Olivia said with a wave of her hand. “Your antics just brought a little excitement into the mix, that’s all. To be perfectly honest about it, Olivia, I was glad to see that you have…Oh, what is that word Mrs. Rosen from New Jersey uses all the time?...Chutzpa! That’s it!” Everyone laughed. We needed a little levity. I looked at my sister. She was smiling, and except for one small scar above her right eye, all the cuts on her face had healed, though I knew that it would take longer for the bruises and cuts on her spirit to heal. But they would. In time.

  “Another option for you, Lily,” Grandma said, picking up the conversation again, “is that you can forego taking over the shares and we’ll sell them to the Group and then give you that money. No matter what you decide, though, you can remain employed. The Walden Group said they’ll retain any of the employees who’d like to stay, which not only means you can continue as a cruise director, but also as a dancing instructor at the Spinnaker. Oh, speaking of keeping current employees on, that goes for Judith, too, which is a good thing. Otherwise, the poor woman would have been out of two jobs. So,” Grandma said, taking a deep breath, “back to the Full House. Lily, what say you?”

  “When does the Walden Group need a decision?”

  “Anytime, really,” Grandma replied. “The Full House is simply an ‘aside’ to them.”

  “All right,” I said, thinking. “When is the last excursion we have scheduled?”

  “Hold on,” Granddaddy said, pulling a small note pad out of the breast pocket of his dark gray canvas shirt. Licking his thumb, he began flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for. “A week from Thursday.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Can I have ’til then to think about it?”

  “I don’t see why not. Do you, Eve?”

  “No,” she replied. “That’ll be fine. Take some time to sleep on it.”

  “Well, ol’ lady,” Granddaddy said, rising from the chair and stretching. “You ready to hit the road? I’ve been fed enough cake and now my bones are ready for bed.”

  We walked them out to the porch, and while Grandma and Granddaddy continued to discuss their plans for Central Florida, sounding like children in their exuberance and excitement, the rest of us forced ourselves to laugh with them, and act just as thrilled as they were about the sudden change in their life. In truth, though, we were nothing short of heartbroken. I knew that my grandparents were well aware of our feelings, but they weren’t going to let that stop them from moving forward. This was their life, and they would do whatever was necessary to enjoy every season of it until they took their last breaths. Not only did they expect us not to interfere, but they expected us to do the same.

  About one in the morning, I gave up trying to sleep. My room was hot. Not a breath of air was stirring and I had a headache from thinking too much. Throwing back the one sheet I had on me, I quietly crept into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of iced tea, and went out on the porch to try to cool off and settle down. Suddenly, down by the river’s bank, I saw a slight movement and realized that someone was sitting there. Straining my eyes in the light of a half-moon, I could make out just enough to know it was Mama.

  Leaving my glass on the small table by my rocker, I walked down the yard and quietly called her name so as not to startle her. Turning, she smiled at seeing me and held out her hand to join her. Taking it, I sat down and dropped my legs in the cool water by hers. “Too hot to sleep, isn’t it?” she said. It was a statement more than a question. We both ran hot.

  “That, and too much to think about,” I replied. We were both q
uiet for a moment or two. “How’re you feeling about Grandma and Granddaddy leavin’?” I asked, figuring it was a silly question, but her answer told me otherwise.

  “I guess it’s somethin’ that they probably should have done a while ago,” she replied as she tossed a small flat stone into the river sideways so that it bounced across the surface four times. Try as I might, I never could get the hang of that. “They should have done it after the storm beat the hotel up so badly,” she continued. “They’ve about killed themselves trying to keep their heads above water. The Full House has helped quite a bit, but not enough to give them the kind of life they want to live now that they’re gettin’ up there in years. You know, I think that’s what bothers me the most; not that they’re leaving as much as they’re getting old.” She skimmed another stone. “But I want them to be happy, no matter where they are. If going back to the old grove and the Ocklawaha River makes them happy, then that’s where I want them to be.”

  I leaned over and kissed her cheek, then laid my head on her shoulder. “You’re a good daughter, Mama,” I sighed.

  “And so are you, my darling. Now,” she said, patting my thigh, “earlier this evening, before we were so rudely interrupted,” she chuckled, “I took you out to the porch to talk to you about why you’ve been so blue. I have a feeling I know, but I want to hear it from you, all of it.”

  “But, it’s so late, Mama. We can talk about this another time.”

  “Do you want to go to sleep?”

  “No,” I replied. “It’s too hot.”

  “Talk.”

  We lay back on the grass, staring up at the half-moon, and I started at the beginning.

  Chapter 45

  Letting Go

  The Full House reached the rendezvous point where I assumed we were meeting with one of the runabouts out of Bimini to replenish our liquor supply. As we waited in position for the boat’s arrival, I was on my hands and knees in the dining area on the second level searching under tables and chairs for Mrs. Zylar’s lost diamond and emerald tiger brooch.

  “And you’re sure the last time you saw it was in here, Mrs. Zylar?” I asked over my shoulder as the giant, overbearing woman stood behind me, supervising the thoroughness of my search.

  “Yes, Lily, I’m sure,” she testily replied as though offended that I would question her.

  “Martha, look! It’s here, dear.” Her husband, Sheldon, who was about half her size in girth and height, held out the missing brooch in the palm of his hand. “It was in your purse the whole time, dear.”

  Flustered and red-faced but unwilling to admit her error, she quickly snatched it out of his hand. “Yes, well...” she stammered. “Job well done, Lily. Job well done.” Then she ordered poor Sheldon to hurry along with her to get a cocktail before she keeled over from thirst.

  Swearing under my breath, I dusted off the knees of my dark brown tweed trousers and then sat down at one of the tables to catch my breath before getting involved in the next task of God-only-knew-what.

  Suddenly, I heard the sound of a plane nearing the ship. Looking out one of the portholes, I saw the Island Air logo fly by. It was the first time since Scott left for Cuba that he was rendezvousing with us. With my heart racing, I hurried out on deck, but realizing how anxious I looked, I made myself slow down and take a couple of deep breaths before walking up to the brass railing.

  Immediately, our dingy was lowered as the airplane flew well east of us then circled around and came in for a smooth landing on the water’s surface. Gripping the railing hard, I waited for the door to open, and as I did, I went through several options of clever things I might say to Scott. I wanted to seem cool and unaffected, though my white-knuckled grip and racing heartbeat told an entirely different story.

  Just then, my father came up on the right side of me, and, a moment later, my grandfather came up to the railing on my left.

  “Nice day, isn’t it?” Daddy commented as we watched the dingy approach the plane to pick up the cargo.

  “Uh huh,” I replied, a touch annoyed. I really didn’t need company.

  Just then, the door opened and someone I didn’t know stepped out onto the wing. When I realized that it must be Jackie Wilson, Scott’s new pilot, my heart rate decreased and my grip loosened on the railing.

  “Mornin’, Jackie,” Daddy called through cupped hands. “Got the entire load for us?”

  “Yes, sir!” the tall, lanky, thirtyish-looking man shouted back. “Every last bottle!”

  “Fine, fine!” Daddy replied. “Come aboard once you’ve unloaded and have a bite.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already eaten. I’ll take a rain check though.”

  “Anytime,” my father called back.

  I was surprised at how familiar they seemed with each other. I’d never met the man and asked Daddy how he knew him.

  “Oh, I stopped by the hangar on Watson Island earlier in the week. Scott called me from Cuba about resuming business. So I stopped in and met his new man.”

  Granddaddy had been chewing on a toothpick, but pulled it out of his mouth. “Nice that Scott’s got another plane in the air here. Sounds like it’s goin’ pretty good in Cuba, too.”

  “You know, Lily,” Daddy said as he watched the whiskey being loaded into the dingy. “Your grandmother went after your grandfather in a steamboat, and your mother chased down my train on a horse. They were mighty gusty gals.”

  “Indeed they were,” Granddaddy agreed.

  “Now,” Daddy continued, “do you know the difference between you and those two fine women?”

  Unsure where this was leading, I replied, “They were gustier than I?”

  “No,” he replied with a wry smile. “They had slower modes of transportation.”

  “Did Mama put you up to this?” I laughed, thinking back to our conversation on the riverbank the week before.

  Feigning surprise, Daddy said, “Now, would your mother do such a thing?”

  I didn’t bother answering. Instead, I hugged him like a drowning man does a life preserver; hard, hating to let go. But, that was exactly what he was doing to me, and for me. Now it was up to me. “I love you,” I whispered. He responded by giving me one last squeeze, then released me.

  Moving to my grandfather, I clung to him for a long time, too. “I love you, too, Granddaddy,” I said, my voice cracking.

  He held me away from him, and the look of love in his dark blue eyes was there, just as it always was, but there was something more, too. It was a look of admiration, of respect.

  “You do, indeed, have your grandmother’s eyes, Granddaughter.” He smiled. “You clearly see what is right before you, just as she did a long time ago, and your mother, too.”

  I rose up on my toes and kissed his cheek. Then, cupping my hands around my mouth, I shouted across the water, “Hey, Jackie? Can I hitch a ride with you?”

  “Sure thing, Miss,” he shouted back. “Where to?”

  “Santiago de Cuba,” I replied.

  Four hours later, Jackie banked the plane so that we were heading west, toward the small airport on the south side of the island. To my left, the heavily forested Sierra Maestra Mountain Range rose abruptly from the southern coastline, creating a beautiful confusion of angles, colors and textures juxtaposed against the flat tranquility of the turquoise sea. But rather than enjoying the sights, I kept my eyes glued to the approaching runway as a thousand thoughts ran through my mind. Though Scott had asked me to come with him, that had been weeks ago, and I wondered if he could have changed his mind. Jackie interrupted my thoughts before I could worry about it anymore.

  “There’s our hangar.” He pointed up to the left to a metal building with the telltale blowing palm tree logo on the front of it. There were two planes inside, so Jackie parked our plane to the side of it.

  “Looks like Scott’s here,” Jackie said, rising up slightl
y in his seat to look past the dashboard. Sitting up, too, I saw legs sticking out from beneath the plane on the right side of the hangar.

  “You go on, Miss Strickland. I’ll be in after a while.” From the wry little smile he gave me, I knew he figured three was a crowd.

  Grabbing my duffle bag with the clothes I’d hastily stuffed into it on the ship, I jumped down from the plane and then slowly walked toward the man underneath the plane. I wasn’t sure what to say. I felt awkward and unsure, and a little presumptuous. But I walked up to him nonetheless.

  “Hello?” I said, bending over slightly.

  Immediately, Scott came sliding out on a creeper. Lying prostrate on the flat wooden dolly, he looked up at me for a few seconds with a look of confusion on his face. But then that look fell away, replaced by that warm, sensual little grin I loved.

  Sitting up, he wiped his grease-coated hands on an equally greasy towel.

  “And to what do I owe the great honor of Lily Strickland’s company?”

  I’d heard those words before; from the same man, sitting on a creeper by the same plane, but in a different place and time, when things were different in a hundred ways.

  “Your mouth, that’s what.” I smiled, recalling my answer to him back then. But this time, my reply had a whole different meaning to it.

  Pushing himself up off the creeper, he tossed the rag aside and pulled me to him. I didn’t care if he covered me with grease. I only cared that he wanted me there. And from the look in his eyes, there was no doubt he did.

  “You said you’d teach me to fly.” I smiled.

  “Oh, I will, lady, I will. And in more ways than one,” he added before bringing his mouth down to mine.

  Epilogue

  A River is Calling

  August 1930

  “We’re heathens, you know, for doing this on a Sunday morning instead of being at church,” I said with a chuckle as I stared up at the ceiling fan whirring overhead in the pressed-tin ceiling. Even though it was mid-August, the second story bedroom in the old house was quite comfortable with the fan going and the breeze coming in off Lake Weir. Still, a drop of perspiration made a trail from its starting point between my breasts down to my stomach, though it hadn’t been caused by the room’s temperature. Following the trail of dampness down my body, my husband and his very skillful mouth reminded me again why we’d decided to sleep late. It was the first chance we’d had to be alone since coming to visit Granddaddy and Grandma in their restored house in the old citrus grove, and Scott and I had taken full advantage of it. We’d said good-bye to them the night before because they planned to be on the Ocklawaha at first light fishing for sleepy, hungry bass. Still active as ever, my grandparents were thoroughly enjoying their golden years on their old homestead. Though they were raising citrus again, it was purely for fun; never costing them a night’s sleep worrying that cold winds would take a bitter bite out of money needed to feed their family.