The Language of Sycamores (4 page)

I looked tired. Old. Weary. The brown eyes, those “Vongortler brown” eyes Grandma always made such a fuss over, were red rimmed, puffy from crying, creased with worry lines at the corners, troubled.

Oh, soul, are you weary and troubled. . . .

A piece of the song came to my mind, a few words to go along with the melody from the mist. Gazing toward the bathroom window, I played the notes in my head, but no words came. I had the strangest urge to pluck out the tune on the old piano in the living room. It had probably been twenty-five years since I’d heard that song, no doubt on some long-ago Sunday at church in Hindsville. I wouldn’t have heard it anywhere else. We only attended church under the marshal and scrutiny of Grandma Rose, when all of us dressed up and paraded off to the First Baptist Church of Hindsville, like goslings in a row, with Grandma strutting in front like Mother Goose.

Smiling wanly at the image, I left the bathroom and headed toward the door. The sound of the handle turning stopped me halfway across the small living room, and I paused on the crocheted rug near the piano.

A thin shaft of sunlight crossed the floor and Kate peered through the opening. “Karen?” she whispered. “Is that you in there?”

“It’s me,” I answered, muted as well. “I’m here.”

Kate let the door fall open, but she didn’t come into the room. I wondered why. “Hi,” she said, and smiled, her dark eyes glittering with joy and what I thought might be tears. Joyful tears, of all things.

I instantly felt guilty for not having come back sooner. “Hi, Kate.” I stepped forward, and she stretched out her arms. We hugged, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Strange, since it wasn’t.

When we let go, she stepped back onto the porch, and we stood there in awkward silence. “When did you get here?” she finally asked. “I didn’t mean for you to have to stay out here. You should have come on into the house.”

I shrugged, following her out, letting the screen door fall into place. “That’s all right. I got in at two in the morning, and I didn’t want to wake anyone. Besides, I kind of like it out here.”

Kate blinked, surprised, wrapping her arms around herself. “Well, I know it’s a mess. I’m sorry. I don’t come out here much. I just haven’t been ready—you know—to go through Grandma’s things. I just haven’t been able to clean the place out.”

“I understand.” I did. I knew that Kate leaving the little house untouched was the same as my not coming back to the farm since Grandma’s death. We were both trying to pretend that things hadn’t changed, that something as strong and constant as Grandma Rose couldn’t possibly be gone. “I’ll help you with some of it, if you want.” Would I? Was I any more ready than Kate to face it?

“That sounds good.” She obviously didn’t believe it. Neither did I. We both knew I would come and go and not much would be accomplished.

Kate started with the usual small talk as we walked the stone path to the farmhouse. “I’ve got Joshua’s room upstairs for you and James. Josh’s bunking in with baby Rose for a few days. I saved the guest rooms for Jenilee and her boyfriend. I hope you don’t mind. Those two rooms at the end of the hall have a separate bathroom. I figured they would be more comfortable there, since . . . well, since we don’t really know each other very well.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” I paused to consider the thought of having a cousin we’d never met coming as overnight company. It was bound to be strange for everyone. We probably wouldn’t have much in common other than some family history none of us understood. “But, listen, I’ll stay out in the little house. That way Joshua can have his own room—and besides, it’s nice out there. It’s . . . quiet.” I glanced back at the house. “I could use some peace and quiet.” The words sounded more wistful than I meant them to.

Kate didn’t miss the hidden meaning. “Everything all right?”

I could tell she wanted me to say yes, so I did. Kate had her mind on setting up guest rooms and making beds, entertaining company and discovering the deep, dark family secret, whatever it was. She didn’t need to hear my sad story, and I didn’t want to tell it. I finished my sentence with a quick excuse as we walked into the kitchen. “It’s been a tough week, that’s all. Stressful.”

Kate nodded. She understood job stress. She’d had a busy career of her own until she moved to Missouri and went the mommy route. I wondered if she missed her life in Chicago, if she ever regretted giving it up. There wasn’t any way I could ask. She’d think I was criticizing or comparing. “So, how is life on the farm?” I heard myself say. Kate stiffened, and I realized even that sounded wrong. When I talked to her, I went into sibling mode, whether I meant to or not.

“It’s good.” Kate switched to a defensive posture. “Busy. I’ll tell you, having two kids under age four is a challenge. Seems like I just get one taken care of and the other one needs something.” A hint of frustration came through in the words, and she quickly added, “But I wouldn’t trade it. The kids are doing so great here. They love being on the farm. Aunt Jeane and Uncle Robert come down from St. Louis every few weeks and do the grandparent thing—spoil the kids rotten, then leave.” She smiled at the mention of Aunt Jeane, my father’s sister, our family peacemaker. The Pollyanna who gave love so freely that we couldn’t help loving her back. It still amazed me that she and my father came from the same family. Kate must have been thinking the same thing. “Dad even comes three or four times a year when he’s not busy on consulting jobs. He’s still
Dad
in a lot of ways, but you know, he’s not too bad at the grandparenting. Joshua’s getting big enough to enjoy the yard and trips down to the river to wade and catch minnows. He and Dad take backpacks and go off on these long hikes, looking for fossils and studying plant parts. Joshua loves science, so they’ve bonded over that. He knows a zillion different kinds of rocks and the scientific terms for all the parts of a flower. It’s really a great thing for a little boy, getting to roam and play and discover all the time.”

But what about you?
I thought.
What do you want?
I didn’t say it, of
course. I just nodded and smiled. Kate could tell I didn’t buy into the whole farm-wife thing. It was hard to believe she could be happy here after living in Chicago and having a career among the movers and shakers.

Then again,
I thought,
Kate’s kids can’t decide to downsize and vote her out of her job.
There were some benefits to having the security of a family.

In the kitchen, Kate poured two cups of coffee and brought the sugar and creamer to the table. We sat down together and fell into silence, like the city mouse and the country mouse trying to decide what to talk about. There wasn’t much common ground.

“So,” Kate said finally, “tell me about work. Been on any interesting jobs lately?”

I blinked at her, surprised. Either Kate had changed in the last two years, or she was trying very hard to make me feel at home. Normally, she didn’t like to talk about my work. There was an unspoken note of sibling rivalry to most of the things we talked about, and work was one of the worst.

I had the urge to tell her the truth—to spill the whole story, as I had to Keiler on the plane. How would it change things between us if I did? “Oh, the usual,” I heard myself say, and then I changed the subject. “How’s baby Rose? You know, I haven’t even seen her yet, except in pictures. How old is she now?”

“Sixteen months.” There was glint of maternal love in Kate’s eye, and she glanced toward the kitchen doorway, as if she expected the baby to wake up just because we were talking about her. “She’s a doll. It’s amazing how different she is from Joshua. As a parent, you think it’ll be the same with each one. Then they come and you see that they’re little individuals, even as babies. It makes you realize that you can’t lay all of your personality flaws on your folks—some of them you’re just born with.”

Kate smiled, and I chuckled. “Well, see, if you don’t have children, you never have to face that fact.”

We laughed together; then Kate turned serious again. “I hope it won’t be like it was with us. I don’t want Ben, the kids, and me to just
be four people living in a house together, going our separate ways. I want us to be close as Josh and Rose grow up—to eat dinner as a family and sit on the porch in the evenings and talk, really spend time together.”

“Well, that’s how it’s supposed to be,” I said quietly. Something pinched just below my ribs, a twinge of some unfamiliar emotion. Jealousy perhaps, or regret.

Kate and I fell silent again. I finished my coffee, and she pushed hers aside half-full, then glanced toward the door again. “Hey, no one’s up yet. Want to take a walk down to the river and back? I usually try to walk in the mornings and get some exercise before the kids wake up.”

“Sounds good,” I said, and meant it. “We haven’t done that in years.”

Kate and I smiled at each other. She stood up, saying, “Let me grab some tennis shoes,” as she disappeared through the utility room door, then came out with a baby monitor and two sets of muddy shoes. She handed one pair to me almost apologetically. “Sorry these are such a mess, but you might want to leave your good sandals here.”

I slipped off my sandals and put on the loaner shoes. “Guess I didn’t come prepared for country life.”

“It takes a little getting used to.” Kate hooked the baby monitor on her sweats before we descended the porch steps and walked out the back gate. “Remember how we used to run down that path barefoot?”

“Did we?” I tried to remember as we walked past the blackberry patch, which was in full bloom and just beginning to bear. “Geez, it’s all muddy and rocky and there are crawly things down there. I can’t believe we ever walked it barefoot.”

“We did,” Kate assured me. “I guess it’s easier when you’re young and agile. Dell does it all the time. She hardly ever shows up here with shoes on her feet.”

“Dell?” I repeated, pausing to untangle myself from a stray blackberry vine.

Kate glanced over her shoulder, frowning. “The little girl who lives across the river on Mulberry Road?” She was clearly hurt that I hadn’t
been keeping up with her life. “Remember, she was with us that Christmas before Grandma died, and then when you came down for the funeral in the spring? She and Grandma Rose were really close.”

“I remember,” I replied, as the path widened and we walked side by side. “Cute little dark-haired girl. Really quiet.”

Kate nodded solemnly. “She has a hard time talking to people. She adored Grandma Rose, though. When Grandma was sick, Dell would come over with her schoolbooks and sit for hours reading her homework to Grandma. She kept showing up with her homework even after Grandma was so bad that she was asleep most of the time. I was really worried about how she’d do after Grandma died.”

I felt a pang of sadness for the little girl across the river, who had become so dependent on the grandmother all of us took for granted. “How
is
she doing?”

Kate shrugged. “It’s hard to say. A little better than last year, I guess.”

“That’s good,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. Clearly there was a lot that Kate wasn’t telling me.

“It’s better,” Kate agreed. “It still isn’t good. She likes it when James comes. I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned her to you. He picks up stink bait at Shorty’s, and they go fishing at some catfish hole Dell knows of.”

I blinked. “Really? He never said anything about that.” At least, I thought he hadn’t. For the last few years, as Lansing slowly slid downhill, I’d missed a lot of what James had to say, especially about the farm.

I tripped over a rock, losing my footing, and Kate caught my elbow. “Careful. The path isn’t very even. It’ll surprise you sometimes if you’re not watching.”

She had no idea how right she was.

The trail opened to the river, and we left off the subject. Kate swept a hand toward the water. “Well, there it is. Hasn’t changed much, has it?”

“No, it hasn’t,” I breathed, the essence of my childhood so strong that in my mind I was ten years old, barefoot and unafraid, and beside me Kate was young. “It’s just like it always was. It’s beautiful.” Closing my eyes, I took a breath, smelling water and earth and the faint scent
of spring growth. “It feels good to be here.” I wasn’t sure if I said the words or just thought them, but it was true. If there was a place on Earth that could quiet my mind, this was it.

Something stirred in the bushes across the river and I glanced at Kate, but she didn’t seem to notice. Pulling the baby monitor off her belt, she rolled her eyes apologetically. “The baby’s up. Guess I’d better get back to the house, just in case Ben doesn’t hear her.”

“All right.” I wondered if Ben really wouldn’t hear the baby, or if that was just Kate feeling the need to make sure the morning feeding and diapering were promptly and correctly handled, her perfectionism coming out.

Across the river, underbrush rustled again, and just before I turned away, I saw the little dark-haired girl, my husband’s secret fishing companion, standing in the shadows behind a tangle of vines, watching us.

Chapter 4

K
ate went inside to check on baby Rose, and I went to the little house to call James from the phone out there. By now he would have gotten my voice mail message and he’d be wondering why I’d suddenly decided to make a trip to Missouri. When he got to the hotel late last night, he’d probably tried to call me, but my cell phone went dead before I reached Hindsville, and I hadn’t bothered to recharge it yet. The reception in this part of the world was so spotty, it was practically nonexistent. He was probably on the way from his hotel back to the airport now, but I might be able to catch him before he got there. It was still only seventy thirty a.m.

The living room seemed close and musty so I opened the old wooden windows, then carried the black rotary phone to the porch, stretching the wall cord through the doorway. Sitting in Grandma’s rocking chair, I clasped the phone in my lap, stroking a finger over the dial, trying to think of what to say. How much should I tell James now? I didn’t want to get into the whole story as he rushed off to a flight. . . .

Sighing, I dialed the phone, leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. Why did I feel like this was some sort of secret? Why did it seem natural, easier, to keep it to myself?

I knew the answer, though I didn’t want to face it. I hadn’t told James how bad things really were at Lansing Tech these past months.
We’d gone along like we normally did—the two of us crossing paths a few days a week, then separating again for his flights and my business trips. As Lansing slipped further and further into the red, my travel grew more frequent and the hours at the office even longer. Because I wasn’t going to be home, James took on more flights and spent more layovers in Missouri. The net result was that James and I were never together long enough to do more than skim the surface of each other’s lives.

We were drifting, and in a vague way, we both knew it. But we followed our usual pattern of ignoring the problem, letting it work itself out. We’d drifted before—for three months after I insisted we take the job transfer to California and he didn’t like living there, for five months when he started counseling a female friend through a divorce and I was afraid she wanted more than just friendship, for six months after September 11 when I begged him to stop flying and he wouldn’t, for an entire year after the miscarriage and my mother’s death. Like all married couples, we’d gone through our periods of disconnect, but we’d always come back together. We always knew we would.

Why couldn’t I imagine coming back now—running to him like shelter in a storm, a soft place to fall? Why did this separation seem so much larger than all the others?

James’s cell phone rang, then rang again. I found myself hoping he wouldn’t pick up, and was relieved when he didn’t. Putting off the inevitable was as easy as leaving another message on his voice mail.

“Hi, James, just calling to let you know I made it to the farm.” I paused, rubbing my eyes, unsure of what else to say. “I guess you’re probably wondering why I decided to come all of a sudden.” Tears choked my throat and my voice started to tremble. I swallowed hard.
Don’t fall apart now.
“It was . . . a strange week. Anyway, don’t . . . ummm . . . don’t worry about anything. I’ll tell you about all of it when you get here. Bye.”

Setting down the phone, I bent forward, covered my face with my hands, and sobbed in painful gasps so loud I was afraid Kate would hear me from in the house. I didn’t want her to find me like this. I didn’t want to be like this—a woman somewhere near midlife,
suddenly seeing that my existence was a paper tower balanced on one thin card, which had just given way.

I felt someone touch me, smooth my hair back from my face and lay a hand on my shoulder. “Grandma?” I heard myself whisper; then I remembered that it couldn’t be her.

The hand fell away, and I wiped my eyes, knowing it must be Kate. I braced myself for the questions that would come next. But when I looked up, the other rocking chair was empty, moving just slightly in the breeze. Through the kitchen window, I could see Kate and Ben in the main house, Kate feeding the baby and Ben helping Joshua pour cereal.

Staring at the empty rocking chair, I touched the warm place on my shoulder, a shiver passing through me. I was imagining things. Trying to pretend that Grandma was comforting me here like a lingering spirit. But that feeling was only an illusion, wishful thinking, because I couldn’t bring myself to confide in the living. If Grandma had been sitting in the other rocking chair, she would have said I was too proud.

A movement nearby caught my attention, and I knew suddenly that I wasn’t alone. Sitting on the porch railing, legs curled to her chest, was the little dark-haired girl. Resting her chin on her knees, she studied me through wide onyx eyes. She looked curious, her brows drawn together slightly in the center, her head cocked to one side as if she wasn’t sure what I was doing.

Was she the one who had touched my shoulder?

Wiping my eyes, I cleared my throat and quietly said, “Hi, there. Are you Dell?” even though I knew who she was. I recognized her from two years before. She’d changed some, her body starting to mature with the first hints of puberty, her eyes set in an oval-shaped face with cinnamon-colored skin and full lips that curved down into a natural pout. She looked like the little Indian doll I’d bought in a souvenir shop at the Grand Canyon when I was ten.

“Hi,” she said, seeming noncommittal, perhaps still a little leery at having found me sobbing on the porch. “You’re Karen. James talks about you.”

“That’s right.” I don’t know why it pleased me that James had mentioned me. I guess it made his secret life here seem a little less secret. “I hear you two go catfishing together sometimes.”

She nodded, perfectly impassive, and we fell into silence. I didn’t have much experience at making small talk with kids. When James’s nieces and nephews came to visit, I never knew what to say to them. Kids didn’t want to hear about LAN networks and microprocessors. They were always more interested in James. Flying jet airplanes was something that captured their imaginations.

But for some reason, Kate’s little neighbor was sitting there regarding me with obvious interest. I shifted uncomfortably, gazing out at the lawn. “Grandma’s rosebushes sure look good this spring. The yellow ones on the trellis are my favorite. I remember when she planted those. I bet I was only about your age. Those bushes were sitting out in front of Shorty’s Grocery, marked down on clearance, and they were just about dead. Grandma haggled with poor Shorty until he gave them to her free, just to get her to leave.” I chuckled at the memory, forgetting Dell was there. “Kate and I were so embarrassed, we wouldn’t even help her load the pots in the car.”

I glanced at Dell. She might have been interested. I couldn’t tell. We sat silently for a few more minutes, and finally she said, “Grandma Rose let me have one of the yellow ones. She dug some up and I brung the pot home to plant at my granny’s house. Uncle Bobby poured out some motor oil and it got killed a while back.”

“That’s too bad.” Hard to say whether losing the rosebush really bothered her or not. She spoke of everything in the emotionless tones of a kid who wasn’t used to having her feelings considered. “Well, maybe we can dig up another one for you. Those old-fashioned roses are pretty easy to transplant. You know, women used to carry those on the wagon trains back in the pioneer days, so that they could plant them when they made a new home somewhere.” I wasn’t sure why I suddenly remembered that story, or where I’d first heard it.

Dell straightened, surprised. “Grandma Rose told me that.”

“She did? I guess she probably told me, too. That must be where I learned it. She liked the fact that all of those old-fashioned plants were
easy to share around. She had a name for it. I can’t remember what she called them.”

“Friendship flowers,” Dell finished, and I nodded, pointing a finger at her.

“That’s right,” I said, pleased with our sudden meeting of the minds over Grandma and her flowers. “That is what she called them. Friendship flowers and pass-along plants.”

Dell nodded, and we ran out of conversation starters again.

She turned toward the swaying fields of spring wheat below, her eyes fixed on something in the distance. “She tells me about you sometimes.”

“She does?” I asked, surprised that Kate would be talking about me to the little girl from across the river. Why would Dell be interested in me?

“Mm-hmm. She said you wouldn’t come back for a while.” Turning away from the field, she studied her feet, dark against the white railing. I pictured those bare feet dashing up the river path.

“Hmm,” I muttered, slightly offended by the idea of Kate and Dell talking about my avoidance of the farm. A prickle of big-sister indignation crept up my spine. “Well, I guess she was right. It has been a while.”

Dell brushed a few blades of dried grass from her toes, then watched a ladybug crawl along the porch post, seeming to concentrate more on it than on me. “She said you were comin’ because you were sad.” She raised her gaze with an intensity that sat me back in my chair. “Are you sad?”

Are you sad?
Such a simple question with such a long and complicated answer. “I’m not sure,” I whispered, lost in the measureless depths of her dark eyes, surrounded by a tenderness I couldn’t explain. “But you know what, it’s not something you should worry about, all right?” I couldn’t imagine what Kate was thinking, involving this little eleven-, maybe twelve-year-old girl in family business. “Kate shouldn’t talk to you about that kind of thing.”

Her eyes held mine a moment longer, confused. I had a feeling it was normal for her to be involved in adult business. She had the look of a kid who knew things far beyond her years.

Shrugging, she hopped down from the porch rail, crossed the porch, and started down the steps, her bare feet moving silently over the timeworn wood. “It wasn’t Kate that said it. It was Grandma Rose.”

“Wh-what?” Breath caught in my throat and the whirling in my mind stilled. I remembered the last moments before Grandma Rose died, when Dell came into the room and lay on the bed, her face only inches from Grandma’s. They looked into one another’s eyes, and somehow Dell knew that Grandma wanted her flowers brought inside so that she could see them one last time. There wasn’t a word spoken between them, but somehow Dell knew.

Shaking off the eerie feeling, I sought a logical explanation. “You mean she talked to you about me those months before she passed away?”

Stopping at the bottom of the steps, Dell frowned over her shoulder. “Maybe,” she said simply. “But sometimes I dream about her, too. I think she told me then. She said she heard it in the sycamores.” Turning away, she stepped into the early-morning sunshine and skipped to the house with the careless abandon of a twelve-year-old tomboy.

Rubbing the goose bumps on my arms, I watched her go, then sat very still, moving just my eyes as I looked around the porch. “I don’t believe in messages from beyond,” I whispered, feeling silly. “I don’t. I don’t. I don’t.” But suddenly, I wished I’d planned to stay in the main house. If there was anyone, anywhere, stubborn enough to run other people’s lives from beyond the grave, it would be Grandma Rose.

Kate called from the main house to tell me that breakfast was ready. Popping up like I’d been shot out of my chair, I hurried down the path, more than ready to return to the company of the living. When I walked in, Kate and Ben were at the table with the kids. Dell was handing Cheerios to Rose, playing peek-a-boo, and acting like a perfectly normal little girl rather than a pint-sized psychic medium.

I began to think I’d imagined our strange conversation.

Ben stood up and pulled an extra chair to the table for me, his usual friendly smile broad beneath his dark hair, which was sporting a bad case of bed head. “I like the do,” I joked. “You look like Mel Gibson in
Lethal Weapon
.”

Ben puffed out his chest, grinning. “Yeah, people say that a lot. Me and Mel, we’re like this.” He held up two intertwined fingers as he sat back down.

Kate handed him a bowl of fruit cocktail. “Here you go, Mel. See if you can get your daughter to eat some fruit.”

Ben offered Rose the fruit, then set it on the table when she refused. “She doesn’t want any. Karen, glad you could make it to our little meeting of the long-lost relatives.” I wondered if, like me, he was a little worried about Kate’s plan to bring us together with Jenilee for the weekend.

Kate reintroduced me to Dell as I poured a cup of coffee. “We met outside,” I rushed out, hoping that Dell wouldn’t say anything about finding me sobbing hysterically on the porch.