Final Rights (35 page)

FIFTY-TWO

2005

Cally parked her car on a side street and entered
Riverside Cemetery on foot. Having suffered through what seemed like a brutal
winter to her, especially after living in California for most of her life, she
felt grateful for the warm February sun and unseasonably mild temperature.
Still, she wrapped the cashmere scarf more tightly around her neck and tucked
her gloved hands into the pockets of her puffy, thermal jacket to protect
against the cold breeze rustling through the barren shrubs at the entrance.

She followed the path
taken by most first-time visitors and history buffs who seek out this expansive
memorial to Asheville’s history—a loop around the Wolfe family plot, past the
Von Ruck mausoleum, along the winding paths girdling the rolling hills that
contain the final resting places of Asheville citizens dating back to the early
1800s. Cally had learned that some of the remains interred there even predated
the establishment of Riverside in 1885. As the city’s need for space grew, the
bones of the dead had been moved from the burying grounds surrounding the
churches in the heart of town and relocated to the new graveyard established on
the edge of Montford.

Cally resisted the
pressure she felt to hurry to the cemetery office for help in finding the
gravesites she had come looking for. Instead, she strolled past headstones with
names like Clingman, Vance, Patton, Merrimon, Rankin, McCormick—monikers that
lived on as names of the streets, structures and geography of Asheville and Western
North Carolina. Finally, after exploring for more than an hour, she felt ready
to find her grandparents.

The office occupied a squat brick building
adjacent to the Jewish section of the cemetery. As Cally entered, she was
greeted by a middle-aged man dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt.

“How can I help you?” He offered his hand
and Cally shook it, relieved to find a friendly, outgoing man rather than the
ashen, somber creature she had imagined would hold the position of Cemetery
Manager.

“I’m looking for a grave. Actually two of
them.”

“Names?”

“They’re my grandparents . . . but they’re
not buried together . . .” Cally suddenly felt nervous.

“No problem. I just need to know their
names.”

“Well . . . my grandfather was Harland
Freeman . . . I mean he was my biological grandfather, not my real grandfather
. . .” Cally stopped abruptly and turned to leave “. . . never mind. I think
I’ll just go.”

“Doesn’t matter. I can still help you find
him.”

Cally hesitated at the door and took a deep
breath to steady herself. “Okay. Sorry about giving you all that personal
information. Just their names, then. Harland Freeman. He was buried here in
1942. And Ellie . . . Marie Eleanor Howard. In 1962.”

Cally left the office ten minutes later, map
in hand, and headed toward Harland’s grave. She made a couple of passes through
the area where she expected to find it without success. Then she remembered
part of her conversation with Mazie Daniels. Tate had taken Cally to meet Mazie
the day after they found the mantle.

After telling Cally about Harland’s earliest
years, Mazie related how he had been ostracized by the business community he
hoped would accept him. “Anyone who didn’t hate him ’fore hated him after they
saw that awful tombstone he put on his grave.”

“Why did he do that?”

“Can’t say why. He left his life with my
family behind long ’fore that. People didn’t like him ’cause he was pompous and
self-centered, but he thought it was ’cause they held his past against him.
Maybe they did, but even so, he wasn’t a likable man. Everthing he did just
pushed everone farther away.”

“What about you, Mazie?” Cally had liked
Mazie immediately and recognized that telling Harland’s story still stirred up
emotions for the old woman.

“He pushed me away, too.
I tried not ta turn my back on him, but . . . anyway, he put that huge
tombstone right up in front a the Rylands’ plot, and it overshadowed ’em. I
think he prob’ly did that on purpose. But then it fell down and people started
fergitten about him. That house of his over on Chestnut is the only thing left
and it’s an eyesore. Folks can’t wait to be rid of it. Most of ’em ain’t never
heard a Harland and don’t know that was his place.”

Thinking of Mazie
brought a smile to Cally as she retraced her steps and found the Ryland family
plot. From that vantage point, she easily located the crumpled monument,
overgrown with ivy, which sat a few paces along the slope. She looked across
the gentle hills of Riverside, the afternoon sun in her face, and thought what
a beautiful resting place Harland had chosen.

Unfortunately, the
peaceful view proved no match for the swirling emotions that enveloped Cally.
Sadness, anger and confusion fought for dominance, but Cally’s resolve won the
battle as she approached the fallen marker. She tugged thick vines away from
the stone until she had uncovered most of the old granite. Then she sat on one
of the moss-covered benches that bracketed Harland’s grave.

“You don’t know me, but
I’m your granddaughter.” Cally’s words came out in a ragged whisper, and she
looked around to see if anyone had heard her. Harland certainly couldn’t, but
Cally spoke for her own benefit, not his.

“Mazie told me about
you. You were a pretty despicable character from what I understand.” Cally
rubbed debris off the headstone so she could read what had been inscribed.
“Even that epitaph. ‘I stand by all I did . . .’ What was that about, anyway?

“I wanted to hate you like everyone else
did. But I know you had a difficult childhood. I know about Crazy Eulah, the
old shack, all of it.” Cally thought about her own childhood—the losses she had
suffered, the challenges of growing up with an alcoholic mother, being ripped
away from her home and her loved ones. Her experiences had shaped her and
Harland’s had shaped him. Everyone, even Harland, deserved forgiveness. And
Cally was the only one left to provide it. As this awareness flooded over her,
Cally’s heart began to open.

“I wish things had been better for you. But
I’m also glad I was born, and that wouldn’t have happened without you. So I’ve decided
not to hate you. I think you’ve always wanted to be accepted. So now you are,
Grandfather. By me.”

As Cally spoke her
thoughts and feelings aloud, the anger and sadness she had carried for so long
began draining away. She ran through all that had changed for her since hearing
Mazie’s story about Harland’s tombstone. That tale had set her on the path to
Riverside Cemetery. It had also sealed her decision to remain in Asheville and
help Tate save Harland’s house.

In the months since,
Cally had moved from the Princess Hotel into the apartment that had once been
Leland and Ellie’s house. She planned to stay there until renovations were
completed on the house on Chestnut Street. She liked living next door to Tate,
and though Cally thought it unlikely they would ever become romantically
involved, their friendship had deepened steadily as the weeks passed.
 

With the help of a savvy
lawyer, Cally had gained control of the trust Harland had created and the
sizable amount of cash that remained in the trust’s bank account. She used some
of the money to pay delinquent taxes, thwarting the neighbors’ hopes for
demolition. Scott returned to work on the property after Cally paid him much
more than what he was owed from his work a decade earlier. He immediately began
clearing the land around the house of dead vegetation, and the yard now awaited
new plantings which would arrive as soon as the weather permitted. Cally
expected by mid-spring the house would be fully renovated and ready for
move-in.

It had not all been easy
though. The challenges of working with architects, adhering to city laws
governing work in the Montford historic district, trying to make friends with
the neighbors who resented her squashing their hopes for new development on her
land—all of it proved to be exhausting and frustrating at times. Still, her
plans continued to move forward and she inched steadily closer to creating a
new home for herself in Asheville.

Cally now understood
what Tate had known when she first saw the house on Chestnut Street, that new
life could be breathed into it and it could be a happy and welcoming place. It
could—and would—become Home. Cally told all this to Harland, and as she did so,
she felt herself settling deeper into her new life.

But more of her past remained to be found,
and it lay down the hill. A few minutes later, she sat on the ground in
disbelief staring at twin headstones:

As
Cally left the cemetery, she called Tate. They now sat on the porch of Cally’s
apartment, soaking up the last rays of winter sun.

“It just never occurred to me that Clayton
would be buried there, too!” Cally had done her crying in the car on the way
home. What remained was shock and anger. Clayton had always been a shadowy
figure in Cally’s life. Rita actively avoided him, and he hovered on the
outskirts of Cally’s relationships with Ellie and Leland. As far as Cally could
remember, they had never even spoken to each other more than a handful of
times.

Cally never thought of
Clayton as
father
.
In fact, for most of her life after Rita took her to California, Cally hadn’t
thought of him at all. That is until she and Tate had discovered his role in
Ellie’s death. Finding him interred next to Ellie had left Cally dizzy and
nauseous as she tried to make the connection between the man who had murdered
her grandmother and the one lying under the marker emblazoned with “Beloved
Son.”

“How can I help, Cally?” Tate squelched her
urge to jump in with a pep talk.

“You just being here is
support enough, Tate. If I hadn’t met you, who knows what I would have done. I
may have gone back to my condo, my job, my empty life in California. But now I
have all this beauty and hope and possibility in my life.”

“You seem really happy, Cally. I’m glad
you’re coming to terms with Harland.”

“Me, too. I’m going to
put a new marker on his grave. Nothing so intimidating as the original. Just
something that acknowledges his life, you know?”

“I do. I think Harland is finally getting
what he always wanted—love and respect.”

“I told Gampa. I don’t
think he’s able to forgive Harland, but he gave me his blessings nevertheless.”

Tate still joined Cally for visits to Forest
Glen occasionally, but she hadn’t been in over a month. “I need to get back out
to see him soon. How’s he doing?”

“He’s slipping a little.
He hasn’t fully recovered from that bout with the flu last month, and they say
he may not.”

“How does he feel about you moving into
Chestnut Street?”

“He seems relieved.
He’ll own it till he dies, but his will leaves it to me, so he said he was
finally untethered from it!”

“You’ve had an eventful day, Cally.”

“That I have! I’m feeling better, though. I
guess if I can find it in my heart to forgive Harland, then I’ll eventually be
able to do the same for Clayton. I better, because it’s not like I won’t be
seeing him again.”

“Yeah, I guess so . . . him being there
beside Ellie . . .”

“. . . and eventually Gampa, too.”

The two women sat in companionable silence
and watched the sun color the bellies of the clouds pink and gold before
disappearing behind the mountain ridges.

FIFTY-THREE

2005

Tate
left home without breakfast or coffee. She walked briskly and didn’t slacken
her pace until the house came into view. Formerly so dilapidated and sad, it
now bustled with activity as workers finished the final steps of the renovation.

So much had happened
since Tate first stumbled upon 305 Chestnut Street all those months ago. She
had learned a great deal, not just about Cally and her relatives, but also
about herself. Cally had found a place to call home and transformed it into a
nurturing haven. Tate had not done the same for herself, and she wondered if
she ever would, if she even could.

T
ate
walked around the house and into the backyard. Soil had been turned and
planting beds prepared for the meditation area Cally planned for the far corner
of the property. The fish pond would be reborn as a water garden. Within weeks,
the yard would be ablaze with color and abundant life.

Tate dropped into a deep
wicker chair with soft cushions near the old fish pond and wrapped her wool barn
coat snuggly around herself. She would always be welcome here, she knew that.
But it would never be hers.

Still, meeting Cally
and forming that immediate and tight bond, joining forces to save the house,
allowing herself to develop real connections with people as diverse as Leland
and Ruby and Richard Price . . . these experiences had changed Tate.

“Someday.” Tate allowed
herself to sink into a vision of the life she wished for, one filled with
richness and possibility. “Someday I’ll have my happily ever after, too.”