The Language of Sycamores (5 page)

“At
Grandma’s
house.” Dell emphasized the word, almost as if I shouldn’t be staying there.

If there was any hidden meaning, Kate didn’t catch it. “That’s good,” she remarked, busy trying to get baby Rose to stop playing patty-cake in her cereal. Irritated, Rose flung her hands into the air and squealed, letting out a very unladylike belch and some suspicious noises on the other end.

Joshua put a hand over his mouth and pointed, hollering, “Rose faw-ted.”

“Joshua!” Kate gasped.

Ben chuckled, then boasted in a false baritone, “That’s my boy.”

Kate slanted a critical glance at him, pulling the cereal bowl away from Rose. “For heaven’s sake, Ben, don’t encourage him. The other day he told the Sunday school teacher that Kaylee Smith was a p-o-o-p.” She spelled out the word and Joshua squinted, trying to decipher his parents’ secret code. Kate glanced at me apologetically. “I think all of this has something to do with potty training.” She shook a finger at Joshua in a way that was remarkably reminiscent of Grandma Rose. “And you, young man, are
not
to use that word. Remember what we talked about last Sunday, about the word you said about Kaylee Smith in Sunday school? Those are not nice words to say. Do you understand?”

Joshua gave her a confused look, as if he didn’t understand why some perfectly good words were not available for everyday use. “Yesh.”

Kate tilted her head and gave him
the look
. I recognized it from my mother. “Yes, what?”

He thought for a minute, then added, “Yesh, ma’am.” Kate smiled and nodded, and Joshua sat a little straighter in his chair. Grinning proudly back at her, he added, “I’m not supposed to say faw-ted and poop.”

“Joshua!” Kate gasped.

Ben lowered his face into his hand and started laughing. Dell twisted around in her chair and hid her grin in her elbow.

“Ben!” Kate scolded, like a mother desperately trying to rein in a situation that was spiraling out of control. She gave me a mortified glance, a woman-to-woman look, and I couldn’t help it; I started laughing with the rest of them.

Kate sat there trying to decide between laughing along and taking the hard line.

Ben laughed harder, and Dell bent over like she was picking up something off the floor, all but disappearing under the table.

I snorted coffee up my nose while trying to wash down toast, choked, then tried to get Kate to lighten up on her perfect-mommy-perfect-kid bit. “My gosh, Kate, he’s just a little guy.”

She delivered a quick blink, the kind of blink that said,
You don’t even have kids, so what would you know about it?

I felt myself bristle instantly, then start to shut down. Why did it always happen like this with us? Why was it always a competition of who had what and who could be the most perfect? “Sorry,” I muttered, halfheartedly. “Just my opinion.”

Joshua gave me a sudden look of admiration, one that said Aunt Karen was pretty cool. Kate caught it, and for a minute I thought she was going to pop a cork. Suddenly, I wished I hadn’t come to the farm at all. I should have stayed home and out of Kate’s life. She was only uptight because I was here. She wanted everything to look perfect in front of me, so she could win this year’s unspoken contest of Kate versus Karen.

She didn’t have any idea how poorly armed the competition was this time.
If you told her, it might actually help things,
a voice said in my head.
Karen’s life is falling apart. End of competition . . .

I bristled again. Old defense mechanisms die hard. For as long as I could remember, every report card, every test grade, every school project had been compared. Kate got straight A’s without even trying, moved up a grade, never forgot a homework assignment or made below a ninety on a test, while I worked my tail off to stay on the all-important A-B honor roll. In the back of my mind, there was always that sentence that lay just below the spoken words in our family—
Why can’t you be perfect like Kate?
Perfectly smart. Perfectly sweet. Perfectly kind. Perfectly married with children. One boy, one girl. Perfectly Kate.

No matter what we did, there would always be that one problem between us. Kate was exceptional. I was average.

Everything came easily to Kate. I worked hard for what I achieved.

How pathetic was it to still be carrying that around at forty-one years old?

There are,
I told myself,
worse problems to have than a little sister who’s perfect when you’re not.

And it wasn’t like there weren’t areas where, growing up, I had excelled above Kate. Music, for one. Music was my one exceptional talent, my solace when it was obvious that I wasn’t as academically gifted as my parents thought I should be. I hadn’t felt the need for music in years.

“I played the piano last night,” I heard myself say. I wasn’t sure why I said it—maybe just to break the silence or change the subject.

It took a moment, but Kate softened and we averted the beginning of a new cold war. “That’s great. You said something about it on the phone.” She paused a minute, meditating on her coffee as she stirred in a spoonful of sugar. “You always had such an amazing talent for music.”

On the other side of the table, Dell popped up and appeared interested. Kate turned to her, assuming she was looking for something to eat. “How about toast and some of your blackberry jelly this morning?” Dell gave a noncommittal shrug, and Kate served up the toast platter, butter and jelly, commenting, “Dell and I made blackberry jelly last fall from the berries in the freezer.”

I raised a brow. “From scratch?” I couldn’t imagine Kate
or
me figuring out the intricacies of canning jelly, even though we’d both watched Grandma Rose dozens of times.

Kate grinned and elbowed Dell. “From scratch, huh, Dell? We boiled the jars and sealed them in Grandma’s old white canning kettle and everything.”

“Wow,” I said and watched Dell cover her toast with something that did, indeed, look like blackberry jelly. “I’m impressed. Where did you learn to do that?”

Dell piped up. “The
Martha Stewart
show reruns.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “But somehow when Martha did it, she didn’t end up with blackberry juice splattered all over the kitchen.”

The three of us chuckled together, then baby Rose started to fuss and Kate paused to take off the bib and offer some bits of toast. “You know, while you’re here, you ought to try the old piano in the little house—see if it’s any good or if we need to just junk it.” She gave Rose a few pieces of cereal. “Why did you quit playing the piano? I can’t remember.”

I considered the question for a minute. “I don’t know. I kept it up the first two years in college, took some theater and dance, but it just got too hard after a while. I needed to buckle down to keep up with the engineering curriculum, and the music had to go.” That was exactly what my father had said to me when he saw my sophomore-year report card.
This music business has to go.
“Dad wasn’t too nuts about the arts classes on my transcript, either. Waste of money and time. You know the drill.”

Kate nodded in silent agreement. She did, indeed, know the drill. When she’d changed her major from medicine to environmental science, my parents had refused to pay for one more credit hour. Kate and Ben almost starved to death, both trying to get through college on part-time jobs. Fortunately, Kate was smart enough to work and pass the classes, so she held to her principles and got the degree she really wanted. Another thing I’d always envied, even though I wouldn’t admit that to her. Kate bucked the folks and lived to tell about it. She and Dad apparently had a pretty decent relationship now, these many years later. How she had managed to accomplish that, I couldn’t fathom.

Ben clearly sensed an uncomfortable family discussion brewing. Gathering up some dirty plates, he made a quick exit, saying, “Well,
I’m off to get the lawn mowed before the parade of relatives arrive.” Bending over, he kissed Rose and then Joshua.

Joshua held out his arms to be picked up. “I wanna go on the lawn mower.”

Ben ruffled his hair like he was a puppy. “Not right now, buddy. You stay inside and help Mommy until I get the mowing done, and then I’ll hook up the wagon and take you and Rose for a ride.”

Joshua sighed and quirked his lips to one side, trying to think of another plan to get what he wanted. Then he finally shrugged and said, “Okeydokey, Dad.”

As Ben was heading out the door, Joshua stood up in his chair and hollered after him, “I’m sow-wie I said faw-ted and poop!”

Trying not to laugh, Dell scooped him off the chair and said, “How ’bout we go outside, Joshie,” then headed for the door.

Kate slapped a hand over her eyes, shaking her head as she got up and carried her plate to the counter. She had the defeated look of a mom who just wasn’t making headway. “Motherhood,” she sighed. As soon as the word was out of her mouth, she realized who she was talking to, and she darted a guilty look my way.

I tried to pretend I hadn’t noticed it as I carried the remaining dirty dishes to the counter. “Oh, Kate, don’t get so worried. He doesn’t have to be perfect all the time. He’s adorable just the way he is.”

Kate nodded, seeming thankful for the reassurance, maybe a little shocked to be getting it from me. “I know,” she said quietly as we started rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, which was a new addition since the last time I’d been to the farm. “You’re right.”

We glanced at each other, both surprised to hear those words pass between us. Neither of us knew what to say after that, so we finished the dishes and dried our hands. Outside, the lawn mower roared to life.

That reminded me of what Ben had said. “So what does he mean, parade of relatives? Who all is coming?”

“Oh, Ben’s exaggerating.” Kate rested against the counter, gazing thoughtfully toward the door. “I thought Aunt Jeane would be able to be here, but Uncle Robert just had a stent put in—minor surgery, but
he’s supposed to rest a few days. Jenilee’s coming, and she’s bringing the box of old letters she found. Her boyfriend, Caleb, is joining her. I had asked Jenilee’s two brothers, Drew and Nate, and Drew’s wife and kids, just because I’d like to meet them, but Nate had a high school baseball tournament this weekend. We’ll get together sometime soon, I’m sure.”

“Wow,” I said. “I didn’t know we had so much family around here. Grandma never talked about any of them.”

“There’s also a cousin of Grandma’s living over in Poetry—Eudora . . . something . . . ummm . . . Jaans. Eudora Jaans. We crossed paths briefly after the Poetry tornado, but never really talked. I think she was Jenilee’s neighbor growing up. She’s a second cousin to Grandma Rose.”

“You’ve really gotten into the family genealogy,” I commented, hoping there wasn’t going to be a pop quiz later. “I never knew the family tree had so many branches.”

Kate took on a mysterious look, her gaze darting around the kitchen as if the walls had ears. “That isn’t all of it. I found an old family Bible in the attic, and Grandma Rose had two sisters—Augustine Hope was quite a few years younger, and then there was a sister two years older than Grandma Rose, named Sadie.” Leaning close to me, Kate whispered with exaggerated drama, “Her name was
scratched out
of the family Bible. No death record. Just scratched out.”

A tingle of mystery sent goose bumps over my arms. “Wonder what that means.”

Kate’s eyes met mine. “Don’t know.”

Chapter 5

O
ur long-lost cousin arrived just before lunch, in the passenger’s seat of a pickup driven by a college-aged guy who looked vaguely familiar to me. He smiled and shook Kate’s hand in greeting, then Ben’s, then mine, saying, “Hi, Karen. Bet you don’t remember me.” I caught myself staring at his arm, which was red and mottled with old scar tissue, probably from a burn.

I glanced up, embarrassed for staring and for not remembering him. He smiled pleasantly as Kate completed the introductions.

“This is Caleb Baker.”

“Brother Baker’s grandson?” It didn’t seem possible. In my mind, he was still a chubby, freckle-faced kid singing in the choir at Grandma’s church in Hindsville. “My gosh . . . I . . . well . . . you’re supposed to be about twelve years old.” I remembered that he had been in a serious car accident the year that Grandma died. No doubt that was the cause of the scars. The way Grandma had told it, he was lucky to be alive.

Caleb chuckled. “Been a few years, huh? Great to see you again, Karen.”

“You too.” I shook his hand, purposely not looking at the scars, which seemed to bother me more than they bothered him. I glanced around his shoulder at the petite blonde who had to be Jenilee Lane, our cousin. She was pretty in a natural way that didn’t require makeup,
like one of the waiflike models in the fashion magazines who could be anywhere between fifteen and twenty-five. Her features were soft, slightly childlike. There was an innate vulnerability in her brown eyes as her gaze darted nervously around. She didn’t come forward to greet us, but stood there seeming uncertain.

Caleb sidestepped, slipping his arm behind Jenilee and bringing her closer. “This is Jenilee. Jenilee, Karen. Karen, Jenilee.” He smiled encouragement at Jenilee, and I could tell they’d talked about this meeting on the way over. “You already know Kate and Ben, I guess, from when they came to Poetry after the tornado last summer.”

Our new cousin extended a hand shyly and fluttered a glance my way. “Good to meet you, Karen.” There was a careful pronunciation to her words—one that said she was trying to hide an Ozark accent. She seemed as uncomfortable with all of this long-lost relatives business as I was. I felt sorry for her.

“Nice to meet you, Jenilee.” I smiled, trying to look warm and accepting, though those were Kate’s usual strong points, not mine. I was known for coming on as slightly overbearing, a trait I inherited from my grandmother. “Did you have a good trip over from Poetry?”

She glanced at Kate, seeming confused, then answered, “Oh, I don’t live in Poetry anymore. I started college last fall in St. Louis. Premed.”

“That’s great.” My father would have loved her. Finally, a future doctor in the family. “You know, I think Kate did tell me something about that. . . .” I realized from Kate’s expression that she
had
told me all of these details via e-mail, and I hadn’t paid attention. “I remember now. Kate said you had a scholarship. That’s great. Congratulations.”

“It’s really more of a work-study.” Jenilee seemed embarrassed that our conversation had focused on her.

“Well, it’s great, anyway,” I said lamely, wishing Kate or Ben would say something. I became acutely aware that I had absolutely nothing in common with this twentyish cousin from a tiny Missouri town, except for some forgotten family history. What in the world would we find to talk about?

Jenilee seemed to be thinking the same thing. She glanced over her shoulder like she wanted to jump in the truck and drive away at high
speed. “I’ve got the box of letters in the car.” She glanced at Kate. “You want me to bring them on in now?”

Kate slipped an arm around Jenilee’s shoulders like they were old friends. She was determined to make this get-together a success. “We can do that later. You two come on in and have lunch. I know you must be starved after driving all the way from St. Louis. You can tell us all about school and the work-study program. Did you ever get moved into an apartment there?”

Kate started toward the door with Jenilee, and Caleb in tow, and Ben and me trailing behind. As we walked, Kate kept up the barrage of questions and Jenilee answered. Yes, Jenilee was enjoying her first year in college. No, she hadn’t found the right apartment yet—she was staying with some girls Caleb knew until she could get into a dorm. Yes, it was a little hard to adjust to life in the big city—she never thought she’d find herself living so far from Poetry. She missed her brothers, who were living in Springfield. Yes, her brothers were doing fine—Nate had finished physical therapy on his leg, which was shattered last summer when the tornado flipped his truck. He was playing baseball this spring at his new high school. Jenilee hoped that would be good for him, as he still had some lasting emotional effects from the
things
(I could tell there was something dark hidden behind that word) that had happened during the tornado.

Caleb jumped in and quickly changed the subject, saying, “Hey, did you know Jenilee’s going to make the national news?”

Jenilee huffed an irritated breath and tried to slap him, but he ducked playfully out of the way. “Caleb, will you stop telling everyone about that! It isn’t a big deal.”

Caleb shoulder butted her off the porch step. I could tell they were more than just casually dating. When they looked at each other, their eyes sparkled with the glow of young lovers. I had a sudden pang of remembering when James and I used to be like that.

“It is too a big deal,” Caleb insisted. “It’s cool.”

Jenilee pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose like she’d just caught a whiff of something awful. “It is like, two minutes, and I sound like one of the Beverly Hillbillies.” She glanced at Kate as they crossed the
porch. Kate was obviously interested, so Jenilee served up the condensed version. “They were doing a follow-up for
Nightbeat
about the tornadoes in Missouri last summer. They wanted me to talk about what we did in the Poetry armory right after the tornado, where we gathered up all the lost photos and things and hung them so people could get them back. The reporter wanted to know what ever happened to all the stuff—whether the photos got back to the folks they belonged to, that kind of thing. They met me at the Poetry armory, and I walked around and looked at the empty walls and they filmed that. Then they asked some questions about the Poetry tornado and what the town was like afterward. It was all kind of strange, and when they played the tape back for me, I sounded like a hick. I hope they throw it away instead of putting it on the news.”

Kate’s eyes widened enthusiastically. “When’s it going to be on? We’ll have to make sure to watch.”

I gave Kate a
be quiet
look as we filed into the kitchen, but she didn’t catch it. She didn’t have any idea she was making Jenilee feel even more self-conscious. “The raw footage always looks bad,” I interjected, hoping to reassure her. “Once they’ve edited it and put together the segment, it’s not as bad as you think it’s going to be.” I sounded like I knew what I was talking about, which was pretty impressive, considering that I’d only been on camera a few times—once when my group had designed a homeland security network for Portland, Oregon; once or twice in PR videos for Lansing; and once when we’d done the first big round of layoffs. I pictured myself standing in front of the Lansing building with other management members, boldly defending the future financial solidity of our company to a pack of voracious reporters. God, what a sickening thought . . .

“Really?” Jenilee said, and my mind snapped back to the present.

“Oh, definitely.” I assured her. “Besides, you have to remember that it’s natural to hate hearing yourself on tape, but no one else sees it that way. To everyone else, you just sound like you normally do.” I launched into a story about my first news appearance—the one about the homeland security communications system. I’d flown home right after filming the interview, certain I’d looked like an idiot, and hoping no one
would see me on the news. Of course, everyone I knew saw it. The company president thought it was so good, he played a tape of it the next day for the whole company over the LAN system. “Anyway,” I finished, “I was pretty sure I was going to die right there, but, you know, everyone else said it was great. It’s never as bad as you think.”

Jenilee seemed relieved, and regarded me with a new measure of interest. We’d made a connection—the connection of two people, both obsessed over what everyone else thought. She smiled and said, “I hope you’re right,” with a cute little accent that made
ri-ight
into a two-syllable word. She did sound a little like Elly May Clampett. But in a good way. Jenilee was adorable. Anyone who saw her on the national news or anywhere else would like her.

“Karen, you want to grab the tea out of the refrigerator and pour the glasses?” Kate interrupted, before the conversation could get going again. I realized I was standing there talking while Kate was busy getting lunch on the table, and she was slightly miffed. My instant reaction was to give her a huffy answer, but the truth was I should have been helping. “Sure,” I said, reaching into the refrigerator for the tea pitcher while Ben took down the glasses and started filling them with ice. “Sorry about that. I got caught up in the conversation. What else do you need me to do?”

Kate blinked, surprised. It wasn’t like us to make nice, even to impress company. “Take out the potato salad and the pickle tray and pull off the plastic wrap.” She went back to putting ham slices on a platter, complete with little pineapple rings and maraschino cherries—red ones and green ones—an arrangement surely worthy of Martha Stewart.

Jenilee beat me to the refrigerator. “I’ll get it.” She seemed glad to have a job to do. I could tell she was used to taking care of everybody, and having Kate fawn over lunch was making her uncomfortable. The artfully prepared food and the precise table setting with the folded cloth napkins beside the plates gave lunch the feeling of an event. At an event, there are always expectations.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Kate,” I commented, trying to make the moment more relaxed. Kate quirked a brow, so I added, “Everything looks wonderful.”

“Sure does,” Ben said as he set the glasses on the table. He looked less relaxed than usual. Apparently, even he was feeling the pressure.

“Thanks.” Kate fluttered back and forth to the table, putting out little butter spreaders and Grandma’s old-fashioned salt wells with tiny silver spoons.

Jenilee gave the salt wells a perplexed look, commenting that the food was too pretty to eat, and Kate shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, and then we fell into silence, unable to think of anything else to say, now that we’d covered the basics. It looked like lunch might be as stiff and formal as Kate’s perfectly prepared platters of food.

The hallway door burst open and Joshua bolted through, dragging a toy car tied to a string. Skidding around the curve, the car wrapped around Jenilee’s leg, and sent her stumbling sideways just as she took a platter from the refrigerator. Spinning to one side like an off-balance ballerina, she twisted to keep from stepping on Joshua, lost the pickle platter, then caught it just as she collided with the swinging door and fell into the hallway.

The door slapped closed behind her, and we stood staring, shocked for an instant before Joshua dropped the string, straightened his arms at his sides, and let out a wail that probably cleared the woods of wild game for miles.

Kate came to life first, rushing across the kitchen, scooping up Joshua and pushing open the hallway door with a mortified look. The rest of us hurried to the doorway and stood there gaping at Jenilee, who sat against the stairway wall like a hastily discarded rag doll, the toy car still wrapped around her feet.

Dell rushed from the living room, confused, then put her hands over her mouth as she realized what had happened.

For an instant, no one seemed to know how to react, except for Joshua, who was crying and babbling, certain he was in bad trouble.

Jenilee held up the platter, grinning sheepishly. “I saved the pickles.”

Instantly, Joshua stopped wailing. “P-pick-wels?” He sniffed, and squirmed down from Kate’s arms. “I like pick-wels.”

All of us started to laugh. What else was there to do? Our first meal
together as a family wasn’t going to be perfect, as Kate had planned, but it was going to be memorable.

Ben stepped forward and helped Jenilee to her feet as Joshua advanced on the pickle platter, saying, “I want a pick-wel.”

Smiling, Jenilee handed him one, then stepped back. “Oh, my gosh, you look so much like my brother Nate.” She blinked and looked again, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes, then she turned to us. “If I had one of Nate’s baby pictures, you wouldn’t believe how much they look alike.”