by Amy Harmon
I went and helped your Grandma Nettie in her garden today. She talked about you a little. She said you sent her a letter. She told me a lot of the things I already knew, but of course I didn’t tell her so. She’s very proud of you. She’s looking forward to your Marine picture, too. She showed me where she’s going to hang it. She’s picked out a spot next to a picture of Don in his Army uniform. She said he was in the National Guard. I’m sure you know which picture I’m talking about. I saw another picture in her hallway I hadn’t noticed before. I’ve been in the house many times, but usually just in the kitchen or the sitting room. It was a picture of you with your mom and dad when you were about four years old. I know pictures can be misleading, but you all looked happy. You look like both of them—don’t you think? Your dad was such a handsome man and your mom was so pretty.
Life can be kind of cruel. Sometimes I think of my mom, your dad, people we love that have left us. I wish I understood God’s plan a little better. My mom’s death has definitely made me more capable and independent, and probably made me a stronger, better person. I just miss her sometimes. I miss you, too.
Love,
Josie
I didn’t receive another letter until Samuel graduated from boot camp, and I was getting ready to start eighth grade. He sounded so different already, so grown up and focused. He seemed so far away. I mourned the loss of the boy who had been my friend, even though the man he was becoming was impressive to me.
The best part of the letter was the little wallet sized picture he had included. My breath caught in my chest and my heart ached and sang simultaneously. He looked so handsome. His hair was gone, and his strong jaw and cheekbones were prominent in his lean brown face. His ears lay flat against his head, no pixie ears for Samuel. His dark eyes were solemn and staring just below the slim black brim of his white cap. His wide mouth was firm and unsmiling. His deep blue uniform was resplendent, with gold buttons marching down his chest. The flag stood behind him, and there was a look on his face that said ‘Don’t mess with me.’ It made me giggle a little. The giggle caught on a sob, and I threw myself down on my bed and cried until my head ached and I was sick to my stomach.
In the following months, the letters came fewer and farther between. I wrote as faithfully as his location allowed. Then the letters stopped altogether. I didn’t see Samuel again for two and a half years.
Intermezzo
December 1999
Nettie Yates brought over a plate of Christmas cookies and candies two days before Christmas. We had gotten very little snowfall so far, but the temperatures were frigid. I welcomed Nettie into the house with a whoosh of cold air and forced the door closed behind her as I “oohed” and “aahed” over her offering.
“Come into the kitchen with me, Nettie. I have something for you, too.” She followed behind me into the kitchen where I had loaves of chocolate chip zucchini bread wrapped in tinfoil and tied with cheerful red bows. I had at least twenty loaves spread across the countertop. Christmas can be especially stressful in small towns. You don’t always know where to start and stop in the exchanging of neighbor gifts. Everyone is a neighbor, and people get easily offended. The same goes for weddings. You have to practically invite the whole town and have an open house. That way you don’t risk missing someone, starting a Hatfield and McCoy situation that could last for generations. People were generally more forgiving of me because I wasn’t an adult, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
“Zucchini bread? Is it my recipe?” Nettie smiled at me when I handed her a loaf.
“Yep, but I didn’t give you any credit on the Christmas cards.” I smiled back. Chocolate chip zucchini bread had become one of my favorites since I had used it as an excuse to ply information out of Don and Nettie a few years before.
Nettie laughed good-naturedly and pulled out a chair next to the kitchen table where I had been tying the bows on the loaves of foil wrapped bread. She obviously wanted to visit a little, and I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to head back out into the cold night.
“Well, Samuel will be at the Christmas Eve Service with me and Don tomorrow,” Nettie said without preamble. “He sure did enjoy your playing when he went with us before. Remember how he embarrassed us with all that clapping?” Nettie started to giggle girlishly. “I thought we might get kicked out of the church.” Nettie’s giggle turned into a chortle as she reminisced.
My heart had stopped several seconds back, and I stood frozen to the old linoleum floor in my kitchen, hands raised to cut another long section of red ribbon. Samuel? Here?!! I must have been staring dumbly at Nettie, because her laughter stuttered and stopped as she rose to touch my cheek.
“Are you all right, Josie?” she asked, startled.
I shook myself a little, drawing myself up as I did and smiling brightly down into Nettie’s worried face.
“I was just a little surprised is all,” I said briskly, proud of myself when my voice came out sounding almost normal. “Why is he back? Is he just visiting for the holidays?” Memories of Samuel rose unbidden and an ache settled in my chest as I thought of how desperately I had missed him.
“Well,” Nettie sighed, and, satisfied that I was fine, sank back into the chair and resumed tying bows as she spoke.
“He gets leave every now and again, kind of like vacation time. But he’s been so busy and all. They taught him to be a sniper, you know.” Nettie’s voice dropped conspiratorially, like she was delivering good gossip, and her eyes grew wide at the thought of her grandson’s sniping skills. “He doesn’t talk about it much, but Don seems to think he’s had some dangerous assignments.”
I smiled at the thrill that was evident in Nettie’s face. Nettie was a sucker for Tom Clancy novels. I could only imagine what she was thinking.
“Anyway,” Nettie continued more matter-of-factly. “We’ve been begging him to come back for years, but he never seemed to want to. I think Samuel loves us, but I don’t know how many good memories he has of Levan and the months he spent here. It was a hard time for him.”
The little fissure in my heart with Samuel’s name on it cracked wide open. Nettie continued on, completely unaware of my distress.
“Anyway, he’s going to spend a couple of days with us and then go on to the reservation in Arizona for a week or so. His Grandmother Yazzie is gettin’ on in years. She was in her forties when she had Samuel’s mother. Goodness, she has to be nearing eighty now. Samuel says she still looks after her sheep. She herds them on horseback! Lardy, I can’t even imagine it!”
“Is Samuel here now?” I turned away from her and started unloading dishes from the drying rack, trying to seem nonchalant.
“Oh he’ll be rollin’ in tomorrow sometime. We’ll make sure to say hello after the church program tomorrow evening. I sure can’t wait to hear you play, honey. My word, it’s like we have our very own Liberace.”
I smiled at her comparison. I didn’t have much in common with the flamboyant Liberace, but Nettie was sincere in her praise, and I loved her for it.
“Well, I’ll be gettin’ on home now, love. Don will be wonderin’ where I am.”
I walked her to the door, chatting merrily, smiling brightly, all the while having a mild panic attack at the thought of seeing Samuel again. I closed the door behind Nettie and slid down it until I was propped weakly against it, my legs splayed out in front of me. I was sixteen years old now. Samuel was 21. Would he be the same? Would he even talk to me? Would he laugh to himself as he remembered our friendship? Would he be embarrassed that he had been such good friends with someone so young? I suddenly wanted my mother desperately. I didn’t know how I would even be able to play at the Christmas service, knowing he was there. My stomach roiled nervously, and I pulled myself up and slid onto the piano bench, determined that I would play better than I had ever played before.
I spent the next morning digging through my closet in steadily increasing panic. Finally, after I had tried on everything I had in every combination, I gave in and call
ed Aunt Louise. Louise was good with hair and make-up. After all, she made a living with her scissors, but Aunt Louise and her entire brood tended to be a little obnoxious and aggressive and way too blunt. I had shied away from asking for help with my appearance simply because I knew if I gave Aunt Louise or Tara an inch, they would take the proverbial mile. I shuddered as I dialed the phone, knowing Louise would be thrilled to help, but I might really regret asking. She picked up on the first ring. I could hear chaos in the background and had to raise my voice as I identified myself. I quickly gave Louise the run-down on my needs: The Christmas program was tonight and I had nothing to wear, and could she possibly help me with my hair and make-up? Squeezing my eyes shut and crossing my fingers, I asked if she might be able to come to my house instead of me going there. The thought of being on display for my cousins and Uncle Bob was more than I could bear.
“I need an excuse to leave the house,” Louise said matter-of-factly. “When do kids grow out of this Christmas Eve fever anyway? My kids are swinging from the rafters. I think I’m gonna shoot myself.” I heard her shout out a few orders to Bob, a couple of ultimatums to the youngest two, and a demand for Tara to “pull everything out of our closets that might work for Josie.”
“I’ll be there at 3:30. That’ll give us plenty of time to play.” I could hear the grin in Louise’s voice, but I was too grateful to be afraid.
“I love you, Aunt Louise. What would I do without you?” I breathed thankfully.
“Oh, heck girl. You’d be in a world ‘a hurt, that’s what,” Louise cackled. “It’s about time you started caring about how you look. How you gonna ever get someone to notice you if you wear Johnny’s hand-me-downs for the rest of your life? You’ve got a good little figure and a pretty face, but nobody knows it because you hide behind your glasses and your books. What about those contacts we got you a prescription for? You better be wearin’ ‘em when I get there…”
“Thanks, Aunt Louise!” I interrupted brightly, sensing that Louise was winding up for a good nag. “I’ll see you at three!”
* * *
My dad didn’t seem to like the way I looked when Louise marched me down the narrow stairs from my little attic bedroom and announced that we were ready to go to the church. I was pretty happy with the results, however, and slid self-consciously into the kitchen behind Louise, not wanting to meet my father’s eyes.
“Ah, Louise! What’d you go and do that fer?” my dad grumbled. “She’s just a kid, and you got her lookin’ like she’s twenty-five.”
Twenty-five? Yay!
I giggled into my hand and decided it had definitely been the right move to call my aunt. She had brought over a V-necked black dress with long sleeves that hugged my curves and swished around my legs when I walked. It had little black buttons from chest to hip, and it fit me perfectly. I even had on black hose and high-heeled black pumps. Aunt Louise had pinned my blonde curls up on my head, blackened my eyelashes and lightly lined them, and stained my lips and cheekbones with a deep rosy pink. I felt very sophisticated and hoped I could pull it all off without tripping on the way up to the piano when it was time to perform. I knew for sure I would need to kick the heels off before I began to play. It would be just my luck to have my shoes get stuck on the piano pedals and ruin everything.
“She is not a child anymore, Jim!” Aunt Louise folded her arms crossly and jutted out her chin at my dad. “You can’t ignore the fact that your girl is practically grown! You better be ready to hand over some cash after Christmas is over! That girl has nothing in her closet! Nothing! I am takin’ her shopping, and we are gonna throw out all those old T-shirts of Johnny’s and those old Wranglers and cruddy gym shoes and all the other crap she’s been wearin’ for the last eight years since my sister died, and she’s gonna start lookin’ like the young lady she is! It ain’t right, Jim!”
“I like the way Josie looks!” my dad protested. Any mention of my mother usually was a bad move. I started herding the two of them out the door as the bickering continued.
“That’s because the way she looks is comfortable and safe—just the way a daddy likes it. No siree, not on my watch! Not anymore!” Louise was really warming up now. “It’s high time she got a little woman’s help. I shoulda done it long ago!”
My dad climbed into the cab of the truck with a huff. I moved over next to him on the bench seat, and Louise jumped in behind me, yakking all the way. I looked over at my dad and mouthed a silent “sorry Dad.” He just groaned and drove us down the road to the waiting church.
My stomach knotted up as we looked for the closest place to park. The lack of snowfall made parking easier. Usually, the drifts ran up and over the sidewalks and poured out into the poorly plowed roads. Tonight it was just cold and still, with plenty of room along the sides of the road for the assorted farm-trucks and family vans that usually lined the church during services.
“It’s gonna snow tonight. Mark my words,” my dad interrupted Louise, who was still chewing him up pretty good over my lack of feminine clothing. “If it does, I’m gonna be gettin’ a call to go into the plant. It’s just Murphy’s Law. I’ll get called in and Daisy will have her foal...” Dad was worried about his mare that was due to have her baby in the next few days. His pessimism seemed to momentarily silence Aunt Louise who saw Bob and her kids pull into the church parking lot from across the way.
“Oh, there’s my gang. Gotta go, Josie. Don’t lick your lips! You’ll ruin your lipstick! And try not to slouch. That dress bunches up in the front when you do! You don’t want to make the buttons pucker and give everyone a peek at what’s underneath!” With that she hustled off, still talking, and my dad and I sighed in tandem.
“I really don’t care much for that woman,” my dad mumbled. “She’s nothin’ like yer mother. I don’t see how they even came from the same family tree, let alone the same womb.” He sighed again and then said gruffly, rushing his words to get them out, “You look real pretty, Josie. Louise is right about one thing. Yer all grown up. One of these days you’re gonna move away and leave your old man. I’m not lookin’ forward to it.”
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll always take care of you.” I grinned up at him and looped my arm through his as we walked into the church.
The pews were filling up quick and I tried not to look around for Don and Nettie. And Samuel. I wanted to see him almost as much as I didn’t want to see him. I kept my head forward as I tried to spot him peripherally. Everyone always sat in the same place. It just kind of happens. We’re creatures of habit. There were families who sat in the same pew, generation upon generation. If I didn’t know better, I would think the people of Levan bequeathed their pews in their wills. From what I could see, the Yates’s weren’t there yet. I exhaled in relief and at the same time my heart sank in disappointment.
I kept telling myself not to look for him. I kept my eyes trained on the podium where Lawrence Mangelson was just beginning his opening narration. When it came time for me to play, I was more nervous than I had ever been. I didn’t think my legs would hold me as I carefully walked up the trio of stairs to the piano. I slid across the smooth surface of the bench, straightened my back, and slipped my pumps off to the side. I had to look. I just couldn’t help myself. I let my eyes slide to where Don and Nettie usually sat for service. Samuel was with them, sitting to the right of Nettie, close to the end of the pew. I looked away before my eyes had time to register details. He was here.
With a deep exhale I dug into my piece, allowing my trained hands to take over. It was like watching myself from a few feet away. I didn’t make any mistakes and, as usual, before I had gotten too far into the piece, the music reached out and pulled me in, so that by the time I played the finishing notes, the me that observed and the me that played became one again.
When the evening was over and the last choir notes sung, the congregation gathered around, commending each other on the beautiful service, talking about kids, cows, and who was doing what. I stood next to my family, w
aiting, with my back toward the direction Samuel had been sitting. I knew eventually Nettie would make her way to us. After ten minutes or so of making polite small talk and graciously thanking those who came up to compliment my performance, I realized, of course, that she would have no idea that I was waiting on tenterhooks for her to appear with Samuel. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember that she had promised to say hello. Maybe they had already gone. Cursing myself for standing there like a cow waiting to be milked, I turned to see if maybe they had left the church.
It took me only a minute to spot Nettie and Don standing at the back of the chapel, chatting with Lawrence Mangelson. There was no sign of Samuel. Nettie caught my eye and waved me over to her. I moved toward her, eyes roving swiftly around the room to see if someone had cornered Samuel in conversation. Maybe he had stepped outside.
“Oh, Josie! You were wonderful. I just cry every time you play.” Nettie hugged me and patted my cheek as she drew away. “Wasn’t she wonderful, Don?”
Don added his less effusive praise as Lawrence Mangelson reiterated what Nettie had said as well. No mention of Samuel. I cleared my throat hesitantly.
“I thought I saw Samuel sitting with you. I’d like to say hello,” I blurted out and then tried to look bored in an effort to camouflage my feelings.
Nettie waved off the question. “He was here, but he slipped out right after the closing prayer. I think he’s plumb tuckered out. He drove a long way today and got in just in time to shower and come with us tonight. The beef stew and biscuits I left on the stove are probably calling to him!”
“Beef stew and biscuits?!” I thought to myself, outraged. He couldn’t even say hello? I looked down at my silky black dress and high heeled shoes and suddenly felt very foolish. I had been passed over for beef stew and biscuits.
Excusing myself with wishes for a Merry Christmas to Don, Nettie, and Lawrence Mangelson, I walked out the wooden double doors and down the steps into the silvery night. My breath made little white puffs in front of me, and I pictured them as desperate smoke signals rising into the sky. Unfortunately, the only Indian warrior who knew anything about smoke signals seemed pretty uninterested in any communication with me.
