It was New Year’s Eve, and the three of us had gone out to get Grandma’s welcome-home present.
Hazel and Momma had gone to bring her home.
I sat in the back holding the picture. The frame was gold spray-painted plastic. It was a portrait of Jesus. He had those eyes that followed yours, no matter from which angle you looked at it. It made me uncomfortable so I looked straight ahead.
On the way home, we passed Grover Flynn’s fish camp. Next to the bait hut, a new building was going up. The cement foundation was poured, and lumber lay off to one side by the road. Out front, they were putting up a new sign. It read “CLEM’S TACKLE AND BAIT SHOP. COMING SOON: A FISHING RESORT.”
He had done it. Clem had followed through on his plan. He was doing what he wanted to do, making his dream come true. And for that, he could always be proud. He always did hold a lot of stake in perseverance, stubborn old mule that he was. Clem had taught me a lot over the years: stuff about fixing cars, managing money, the economy; he’d even taught me how to drive. He had a lot of skills and could offer good advice on almost anything. But most of all, Clem set a fine example for friendship. From him, I learned to trust and forgive.
I glanced back down at the portrait and tried to imagine Clem Proffit with a beard and long hair, walking across Kentucky with a cane, guiding sheep. I propped the picture up next to me, facing forward, watched those piercing blue eyes. Come to think of it, Clem did sort of favor the Lord a bit. Same forehead, anyway.
Seeing those walls go up at Clem’s fish camp had the opposite effect of seeing the ones at the station come down. The guilt of destroying something was gone, replaced with the hope of starting over. Clem’s new sign brought back the vision of my own goals. I could do it, too. I’d go to school, and make myself proud. Maybe I’d make everyone proud and get them to understand. Sitting there in the backseat next to the Lord our Shepherd, I made up my mind to call Culler back, too. I had nothing to lose now.
When we got home from the store, Grandma was already there, sitting on the edge of her bed. Momma was putting socks on her feet, and Hazel was sitting in a chair by the window, smoking a cigarette.
Daddy didn’t speak, just walked in, right up to Grandma’s bed with a hammer and the picture.
Grandma looked startled and frowned at Daddy.
He centered the frame directly over the bed, covering a hole in the wall, reached in his pocket for a few hooks, and drove in the nails.
The hammering, of course, caught us all off guard. Momma looked up at him, and Birdie and I watched from the bedroom doorway.
Hazel was still dragging on her cigarette, but didn’t budge an inch.
Grandma turned her stiff neck just enough to see the picture over her head. She made a little whimpering sound, and then tears streamed down her cheeks.
All eyes were on Daddy, who stood back, arms folded, staring up at the portrait. “I figured this might make you feel safe, hanging right up over your head, watching out for you,” he said to Grandma. “Besides, you don’t want to look at that hole I blew.”
47. Lang Syne
The air was bitter cold, but at least there was no breeze. The year before, the wind had been gusty, and they’d canceled the show for safety reasons. We didn’t get there until around eleven-thirty, but we still had time to relax before the fireworks were to begin.
Most people didn’t arrive until late anyway because of the cold. The Resort guests, staying at the Lodge there at the park, were standing out on their balconies where it was warmer. It was a fairly good turnout for the show; everyone sat on canvas or plastic, huddled together. Lots of folks brought along a thermos of coffee, tea, or some other hot drink.
Culler and I sat snuggled up together under a down blanket. We had our own thermos of mint-flavored hot chocolate. I was warm enough, though, just being next to him again.
I had called him that night and invited him over. He’d shown up with a kitten for Birdie, and Daddy let her keep it. She’d cuddled him in her lap all evening, and it made Heidi a little jealous; she kept whistling, growling softly, but didn’t try to harm it.
“It sure is pretty out here at night,” said Culler, leaning back on our blanket. “It amazes me just how clear it is in the country. You can’t see all these stars in a city skyline.”
“That’s why I like it so much here,” I said gazing at the sky. The air was incredibly crisp, even our whispering seemed loud. A soft chatter filled the night. Christmas lights draped from one light pole to the next, and the bright bulbs cast soft, colored shadows in the snow. The whole hillside glowed mysteriously.
The music began and a countdown to midnight. The first firework blasted, and the crowd oohed and aahed. Culler leaned over and kissed me. “Happy New Year,” he said.
The show was beautiful; the lights and sounds around me were enchanting. Each time a spray of color burst into twinkling lights, the white ground below took on the same vibrant glow.
I was more absorbed in my own thoughts. With each boom, my heart thumped, but with anticipation, not fear. The feeling inside me seemed to reflect the magic light flaring above us.
When we got home, Culler walked me to the door. “Can I come in?” he asked. “Just for a minute. I have something for you.”
I hesitated a moment, but it was cold so I unlocked the door and invited him inside. “What is it?”
“A Christmas present,” he said, sitting down on the new couch. “I know it’s a little late, but I wanted to get you something.”
I plugged in the tree lights, pulled open the curtains. The fireworks display had ended, but the bright moon sustained the romantic glow in the sky. I sat down beside Culler.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box wrapped in green wax paper. “Here,” he said. “Open it.”
I unwrapped the gift, a small maroon velvet box. Inside was a pair of gold turtle earrings. I smiled, remembering the day I was wearing Birdie’s green plastic ones, before I’d hooked Culler.
That seemed so long ago, the late summer. And now it was winter. Not only was a new year beginning, but a new life was starting for me. Soon, springtime would come, and the snow covering the lawn would melt. Sitting there next to Culler, admiring the earrings and everything they stood for, I could feel the cold layer around my heart melting too.
Culler was staring at me; I had left him for my thoughts.
“Do you like them?” he asked, an arm around me over the back of the couch.
“I love them.” Carefully, I took them out of the box and tried them on.
“Now, whenever you wear them, you can think of me.”
“I will,” I said. “And everything the old tortoise has taught us, right?” I laughed.
“That’s right,” said Culler, “slow and steady.” He hugged me close.
Inside me once again, a spark ignited.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1997 by Debbie Lynn McCampbell
ISBN: 978-1-5040-3356-5
The Permanent Press
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Sag Harbor, NY 11963
www.thepermanentpress.com
Distributed in 2016 by Open Road Distribution
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