Family of the Fox, #1

by F. M. Isaacs

  “You've fixed them before when the vole got them,” I replied. “How did you do it?”

  She swallowed. “Usually they had a root or two left.” She yanked the plant from the dirt. “Oh,” she cocked her head, passing her hands through a thin network of very apparent roots. “It has...plenty...of roots.”

  I examined it closely. It did, after all. “I thought it didn't. Sorry...”

  Mom scrutinized me. “Did my father do this?”

  “Grandpa Brian?” What was she talking about? He wasn't even here! “I just replanted it now. I told you.”

  She looked back up into the trees, and then she shook her head without saying anything.

  “Why Grandpa Brian?”

  “Oh, you know how good he is with gardening. Come on in. I made some of the strawberry bread you like.”

  AS WE ENTERED THE HOUSE, my mother inquired if I would be going to Uncle Jonas' house later. “He's got Andrew and Hannah there too, and they were hoping you'd visit with Daniel.”

  I used to babysit Andrew and Hannah's kids, but they were getting older, so I didn’t see as much of them anymore. Andrew and Hannah were distant cousins of ours, and at some point I intended to figure out how. Jonas had constructed an enormous family tree years back, which was probably up in the office closet. I'd have to dig it out when I had the inclination.

  Sitting down at the table, I yawned and stretched deeply.

  “Long day,” Mom commented, rubbing some dirt off of the blush-peach wall. Every female in my family seemed to love the color peach. Grandma Robin’s whole house was done in the loudest apricot color anyone could imagine.

  “Very long day. When is Matthew coming home, Mom?”

  “Probably tomorrow. He's got a late exam today. Don't worry. He'll be here for your party on Sunday.”

  I wished he could come today. I missed him, and it would have been fun to spend some time with my brothers before all the party insanity commenced. Well, maybe tonight would be a good time to finally check out the family tree – although I really didn't feel like combing through pages of names and dates right now.

  Yet maybe I wouldn't have to. “Mom, how are Andrew and Hannah related?” I piped up.

  She set a piece of her famous strawberry bread in front of me. As far as I was concerned, it was cake, but she insisted that the small amount of sugar used qualified it as a “fruit bread.” I didn't care what it was called. It was just amazingly good.

  “Hannah's related to us on my dad's side. Her last name was Fox until she married Andrew.”

  “Oh.”

  “She's a very distant cousin.”

  “How distant?”

  “I don't know. Pretty distant.”

  Slightly disappointed, I ate in silence. I was hoping I'd get more information than that. “Want to come to Jonas' with us?” I finally offered.

  With her ever-present cup of tea in hand, Mom sat down beside me. “That's okay. Your dad should be home soon. And he'll be hungry because it's a late night. You know what my father says about what happens when a daddy gets hungry.”

  I smiled, remembering what Mom always had said when I was young, “'He turns into a lion', right?”

  She grinned. “Yup.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Since it was such a lovely afternoon, I walked to Jonas' house. It would have been nice if Daniel had waited for me and given me a ride, but the trip wasn't so far that I minded. I knocked on the door and Hannah let me in, welcoming me. She was a pretty woman, unmistakably part of my mother's side of the family. She had thick dark hair, although it was wavy, not straight like Grandpa Brian's. And, as always, her hazel eyes radiated a contentment that I never could fathom.

  “Come in, come in, Corinne.” Hannah's accent wasn't so unlike Allen's. She was from Europe, although I wasn't quite sure what country, but I did know that my parents had helped her and her husband out in the past. She had once mentioned that if not for my family, she would never have gotten married.

  “We can't wait for your party on Sunday!” Hannah bubbled as she led me through the house. She was one of those people who always seemed to be upbeat, but it was genuine. She really didn't have a perfect life – she and her husband were just scraping by, and now that their oldest child was nearing college age, they had a lot more to worry about.

  I passed by her youngest, who sat back against Jonas' wall of shelves, a stack of his books at her side. My grandfather often told his uncle to get rid of some of them, as so few people read printed books anymore, but Jonas was an old-timer, and he cherished every volume.

  The sandy-haired girl was reading an old, tattered children's book that I recognized from my youth. “The Sad Little Peahen? Jonas still has that?” I exclaimed. “He used to read that to me when I came over. So did my mom.”

  Daniel emerged from the kitchen. “Mom read that to everyone,” he said, fiddling with one of Jonas' sculptures. Uncle Jonas had a large collection of art and antiques that he'd picked up in his travels. Every time I visited him, I'd discover something new.

  My brother switched his focus to a twisted amethyst carving as he continued, “The peahen story was my favorite book as a kid. I always got a kick out of the names of the prince and the lady in there.”

  “Our names,” Hannah blushed.

  Yes, the story of Prince Andrew and commoner Hannah always had held me in its thrall as a young girl, and I secretly imagined it really was about Mom's cousins – even though it took place in the 1300s.

  “Jonas, it's suicide!” Andrew's voice bellowed from the kitchen.

  Hearing the outburst, Daniel threw his arms in the air in mock-confusion. “Some prince,” he smirked with a laugh. “Come in and say hi to everyone, Corinne.”

  I looked down at the little girl. She seemed just as captivated by the book as I remembered being. “You like that story, Shaina?” I asked her.

  She flipped the page. “Yup, Mommy used to read it every night.” A folded paper fluttered out and hit the floor.

  “Daniel!” Jonas beckoned from the kitchen. Hearing his deep, gravelly voice pulled me back to my own childhood. Seeing him was a treat, for he always had something for us – an exotic toy, foreign money, “vintage” candy... To me, he was like Herr Drosselmeyer, the mysterious magician/grandfather in The Nutcracker. With his white hair and mustache, he even looked like he could be a sorcerer.

  “Daniel, come on in here!”

  “Coming,” said my brother, and Hannah followed. I picked the dropped paper up to tuck it back into the book, but my curiosity got the better of me and I unfolded it.

  It was well-worn and creased, and the printing was that of an official document. I flattened the sheet out and studied it. It was a death certificate.

  “Jonas Benjamin Fox, born March 29, 1908, died Oct 29, 1976”.

  I stared at it for a moment. Jonas Fox didn't die fifty-six years ago. Jonas Fox was very much alive, and he had just started arguing with my brother in the kitchen.

  And if he had been born in 1908, he'd be...well, dead. Either that or very near it. He'd be one-hundred twenty-three years old or so.

  I carefully re-folded the paper and placed it back into the book, instructing Shaina to be certain not to lose it. Then I strode into the kitchen, regarding my uncle as he sparred with Daniel.

  “It's improper,” Jonas was saying. “Everyone's right. And this particular choice is far more dangerous than you realize.” He glanced at Hannah, who appeared flustered. She went over to the cabinet and pulled out more snacks, even though the table had two plates of cookies on it already.

  “Dangerous? He's amazing!” my brother yelled back.

  “And so are you, and you can't fool with it. Clean up your own mess or they'll have to step in.” Jonas looked up at me as I cleared my throat. “Corinne, hello!”

  “Hi Uncle Jonas. Hi Andrew. What mess?”

  Andrew sat quietly at the kitchen table, a bowl of half-melted chocolate ice cream in front of him. His face was paler than usual,
and I couldn't imagine why he wasn't eating. The man always ate ice cream. Who knew how he kept so thin?

  I wanted to interrogate Jonas about the fake death certificate, but I knew him to be an honest man, and I was sure there was a good reason for the document. Plus, I didn't want to embarrass him in front of his guests. “What's going on here?” I asked instead.

  Everyone glanced at each other. Apparently they were aware of whatever Daniel was up to and they didn't agree with it either.

  “Daniel's poking his nose into the wrong things,” my uncle said dismissively.

  My brother snorted and grabbed a cookie – even though he already had one in his other hand.

  With his eye still on Daniel, Jonas blatantly changed the subject. “When's your brother coming home?”

  Daniel didn’t bother to reply. “Tomorrow, I think,” I answered for him.

  “I can't wait to see Matthew. It's been a while!” Hannah gushed.

  I didn't say anything, however. I was studying my uncle, trying to fathom just why he had that certificate. The document had deepened the mystique surrounding him to a whole new level. He really didn't look much older than his nephew Grandpa Brian, truth be told. Just how old was he? Yes, I called him my uncle, but he actually was my mother's great-uncle.

  Was that even possible? I had never considered how unlikely that suddenly seemed. Then again, maybe this had something to do with why all his documents and mail were addressed to “Jacob” Fox? Maybe he was a different person than the Jonas of the certificate?

  But I had always understood that he had changed his name to Jacob because he wanted to be left alone after he retired...

  The name-change explanation sounded weak and flimsy to me now, and I realized there had to be something more going on here. It was time to ask some questions.

  THAT NIGHT, I DIDN’T examine the family tree as I had earlier intended. I decided I would rather do it without anyone around. It just seemed safer to do it away from prying eyes.

  When I was ready for bed, I wandered into the piano room. My father was playing Chopin while Mom folded laundry on the couch. “Julian, when are you going to change that light bulb in the kitchen?” she inquired while shaking a sock out of someone's underwear.

  He glanced at me from the corner of his eye before responding. “I need to get the ladder in there for that, Patricia. It's pretty high up.”

  She raised her eyebrow and turned to me. “You going to bed, kid?” She hoisted up the laundry basket with a grunt.

  “Soon.” I walked over to my dad and leaned against the piano. My youngest memories contained his music as a soundtrack, and I had always loved to hear him play. He filled our house with melodies, and he was so talented, had he not become a doctor, I was sure he would have been a famous pianist. “Dad, how old is Uncle Jonas?”

  He looked up from the keys, leaving one finger on the middle “C”. The tone struck, then died away slowly, and a confused expression settled on his face. “Um...not...sure? Patricia, how old is Jonas now?”

  Already halfway into the other room, Mom returned, placing the basket on the floor. “Well...he's...”

  “I mean, if he's Grandpa Brian's uncle, why does he look like he's the same age as him?” I inserted.

  “Oh, he looks much older than Brian.” Dad settled back to his Chopin.

  “Definitely,” my mother said, picking up the basket and trudging upstairs. I never did get my answer.

  THE NIGHT WAS FULL of sounds in the woods. This was nothing new; now and then we'd have the occasional raccoon tussles or cats howling. Of course, then my mom would check if the cats were strays. That was probably why she had been outside the other night – she always helped animals. We had six cats, and, as Dad said, it was only a matter of time before number seven showed up.

  But, like the other night, the noise woke me up. I must have been dreaming, because I felt that same inexplicable pride I had experienced in band, and I grew nauseated. Before I could work myself into another nervous frenzy, I got out of bed and opened the blinds.

  A mountain lion stared back at me.

  I did a double take, having never seen one before. The animal was a handsome specimen, and, from the edge of the woods, its eyes locked with mine.

  For a moment, I couldn't move. The creature held me enthralled, those unforgettable bluish orbs forbidding me to avert my gaze. And I was so captivated by the animal's preternatural beauty that I couldn't think of turning away. But another cougar suddenly emerged from the woods, playfully biting this animal's tail and pulling us both from our shared trance.

  The mountain lions disappeared off into the trees, and I was left gaping into the night.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I sat at the table, chomping down my breakfast. My mother cleaned dishes at the sink, and Dad picked at his oatmeal beside me. I wanted to ask more about Uncle Jonas, but since I hadn't gotten too far with the subject last night, I figured maybe I'd check with my brothers and see if they knew anything about what I'd discovered.

  So I went with a safer topic. “Did you know we have mountain lions in this woods?”

  “Mountain lions?” Dad pushed out at the same time he shoveled cereal into his mouth. “Like, cougars?”

  Mom didn't even glance our way. “I'm sure we do – it's very deep woods,” she said, opening the dishwasher and starting to load it. “That's why I don't like you roaming around in there at night, honestly.”

  “Well, I don't at night.”

  “Even in the day you should be careful.”

  “I'm always careful!”

  Then Daniel walked in, looking like he hadn't slept much. He fell into a chair, nearly knocking it backwards, and heaved a deep sigh.

  “You're awake,” Dad commented, as if he needed to point this out.

  “Yup,” Daniel replied, straightening up to accept a cup of juice that Mom handed him. “Cor, I'm going to see my dad today when Matthew gets here. Want to come?” He took a gulp of his drink.

  “Joy, that's just what I'd want to do with my day. Go see Jack,” Dad muttered under his breath. Even after all these years, he had very few positive things to say about Mom's first husband. He could never understand why she had married him.

  “Julian, please. Give Jack a break. He's sick. He almost died.” She slammed a pot down on the counter a bit too forcibly.

  Dad chose to remain silent on the matter. He turned back to my brother. “Daniel, you look awful. When's the last time you slept?”

  “I was out...late last night,” Daniel mumbled, standing back up. He dragged himself over to the cabinet and selected a cereal box.

  Mom twisted around, glowering at him. “Doing what, may I ask?”

  After dumping some cereal into a bowl, Daniel met her gaze, and his whole face reddened.

  “Daniel, we really need to discuss this! Your sister says there are mountain lions out there!” Mom's eyes were blazing into my brother's, and he faced away, opening the refrigerator and peering inside.

  “We'll discuss it later,” Dad said tightly.

  Of course it would be later. Why should I know what was going on?

  I had a feeling that Daniel's girlfriend was in town.

  A TRAVEL-WEARIED MATTHEW shuffled in the front door, tossing his bag to the floor and then embracing each one of us in turn. “How's Dad doing?” was the first thing he asked Daniel.

  “Good, I guess. As soon as you're ready, we'll go see him. Corinne's coming too.”

  “Let me put this in my room and we'll go.”

  “No lunch, Matthew?” Mom inquired. “No rest? You look exhausted.” She tried to smooth out his light brown hair, but it remained unruly.

  “I ate before, and I'm always tired. Nothing different than any other day. Do you mind if we go now, Mom? I have stuff to do, so I'd rather get everything out of the way.”

  As Matthew and Daniel went upstairs, Dad quipped under his breath, “We should have gotten Jack out of the way a long time ago,” and Mom hit him.

&nb
sp; WHEN WE GOT IN THE car, I immediately asked my brothers about Jonas’ age.

  “He’s old,” Daniel answered.

  “Thanks a lot. That was very enlightening.” Sometimes I wanted to slap him.

  Matthew, who actually took the time to consider my question, replied, “Gosh, he must be in his nineties by now, right, Daniel?”

  Daniel grunted.

  “I mean, he's Grandpa's younger uncle, but he's still gotta be pretty old. I never thought about it. But he's doing pretty well for his age.”

  “He keeps active and busy. That's the secret to long life.”

  “Thanks, Doctor Daniel,” smirked Matthew.

  I remained quiet, unconvinced.

  WE ENTERED JACK'S HOSPITAL room. Although he was facing away from the door, I recognized him immediately by his jaundiced, sickly-looking skin. His hair, which had once been a dark dirty-blonde, had grayed over the years and had now become thin and limp.

  A nurse hovered beside him taking his pressure. “He may be a bit loopy from the meds,” she said, removing the blood pressure cuff. “Mr. Farber, your sons and daughter are here to see you. I'll be back later to draw blood.” She left, and Jack twisted around to view us.

  “Daughter?” He tried to focus on our faces. “I have no...oh, Corinne. Yes, come here. Let me look at you.”

  Jack had always been nice to me. Yes, he was kind of on the sidelines of the family – he came in and out to pick up Daniel and Matthew sometimes, and occasionally he'd show up at parties and events for them. But he was never anything but civil to me, which, under the circumstances, was probably rough. I'm sure he harbored plenty of resentment toward my parents.

  Yet now he was peering at me as if just meeting me. “Yes, there's Patricia in you. There's some of him too, unfortunately. Those green eyes...it's like he's laughing at me through them. You know, I’ve always held it back, but you deserve to hear the stories about him and your mother. You have no idea...”