The Long Road Home (16 page)

The moment he left the mood of the barn lightened. Junior grabbed his guitar and started strumming. Junior was a simple, good-natured person who avoided confrontations.

Not Frank. He was too much like his pa. “What’s this about John Henry seein’ Katie Beth?”

Esther picked at the straw, but two small patches of pink appeared on her cheeks.

“Damn it all,” cursed Frank. “He knows I’ve got my claim on her. I oughta give him two good reasons to back off,” he said, lifting clenched fists.

“Aw, cut it out, Frank,” Esther snapped. “He’s only seein’ her to get back at us.”

“What did I ever do to him?” asked Frank, still pissed off.

“You’re my brother.”

“Yeah. Me too,” offered Junior.

“I still don’t like it,” said Frank, lips taut.

“Then do something about it,” said Esther in a huff. “You’ve been scratchin’ at Katie Beth’s door for years now. It would do you right, do us both right, if the two of them ran off and got married! What’s the matter with us Johnstons anyway? A bunch of old bachelors and spinsters, that’s what we are. Looks like that’s what we’ll ever be.”

This time, it wasn’t Esther’s temper that shut Frank up, but her sadness.

Frank rubbed his neck and sprawled far back on the hay bale, bringing his foot up to rest against it with a thump.

Junior’s clear, rich voice began to hum, then sing the words
of the Cat Stevens song he was playing. His voice had a soothing quality. After a few measures, Frank joined in with his fine tenor voice and finally even Esther sang. Pick, strum, strum. The earlier tensions melted away and faces softened as the circle of music bound them once again.

C.W. leaned back on his elbows, perplexed by the sudden explosion of emotion and its equally sudden demise. C.W. allowed himself to get drawn into the music; he who never sang. Not knowing the words, he hummed along and kept time with the wagging of his boot.

Nora would love this, he thought, stretching out in the circle of music and friends. He hoped she’d be included too, someday. If Nora was going to live up here, work here, become a good neighbor, she’d have to join this circle.

DAYS FLY FAST in the country. Not as fast, however, as Esther flew from her house a few mornings later, slamming the screen door behind her. Her long legs barely touched the ground as she traveled, straight as an arrow, to Aunt May’s trailer. Taking the two steps at a single leap, she slammed against the door and knocked three times, rocking the metal, calling, “Aunt May?” She knocked again, even louder.

May swung open the door. “What in heaven’s name is the matter with you, child? I’m watchin’ my soaps.” May took in Esther’s wild-eyed appearance.

“Come on in, Esther,” she said softly, as she stepped aside.

Esther slipped in, brushing against May’s ample bust, and immediately slumped down on the small sofa. In her hand she carried a torn envelope and a single sheet of white paper.

“I guess you heard from that New York school?”

Esther nodded, her face grim. “Oh, Auntie May. They don’t even want to give me an interview.”

May took the letter and brought it close to her squinting eyes. It didn’t take long to read the few lines. Lord help us,
she thought, looking over at her niece blinking fast, swallowing hard, and pinching her lips, as if she was going to heave tears. So few words to throw a dream away. Esther’s smug confidence would take a beatin’ by this blunt rejection, that was sure. And Esther’d be more mortified to show tears.

That Esther could come here to let go touched May deeply. She understood her niece’s headstrong ways. She had come by them honestly. Stubbornness could be the seed of loneliness, May well knew. It was her fervent hope to spare Esther the regret she herself felt by teaching Esther to temper her willfulness with contemplation.

“You might not believe this,” May said. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. But New York is a big place. There be lots of roads to it.”

“Not for me.”

May watched as Esther gathered up her legs and sat as stoically as an Indian. May sighed heavily and plodded the short distance to Esther’s side. There wasn’t room enough on the small sofa for Esther and a woman May’s size, so she eased down into the kitchen chair beside her, grunting on settling in.

“So!” she exclaimed, slamming her hand down on the table. “Let’s see some tears! Where are the angry shouts? Let’s hear them, get them out. Or all that anger will fester in your spleen and make you sick.”

Esther shook her head. “No, Aunt. There’s no fire left to belch. It’s time I woke up from this dream. Get me a life.”

“There ain’t no fire, huh?” she said, disbelieving.

Esther stared at her hands. May followed her gaze to where the nails were stained in green and brown oils. “Esther, that paint goes deep under your skin. You couldn’t wash it off in a thousand washings.”

Esther chipped at the paint a moment, then her face
contorted and she brought her colored fingers up to hide the tears. May drummed her fingers on the table while Esther sobbed, her own big heart breaking. Even as a little girl, there weren’t many times she could remember seeing Esther cry. Those childish tears were easy to deal with, unlike complicated woman tears. Last time she saw Esther’s tears was when MacKenzie had hurt her bad. Back then, however, May’d witnessed more shame in those tears than sorrow, and her own heart didn’t break as it did now. She reached out and handed Esther a box of tissues, which Esther promptly used.

“It’s not just about going to New York,” Esther said plaintively, tearing the tissue into bits. “I can live with them rejecting me for some reason: I’m poor, I’m ugly, I’m crude. Anything—but not my work. I don’t know how much more rejection I can get past. Hell, Aunt May, I’m not even in the running. I haven’t crossed the line, and until I do, all my work is just, oh, I dunno… It’s considered a hobby.”

“By whom?”

“You know.”

“Not by me. I know how hard you work, and how good you are.”

Esther shifted her weight, irritated. “I know. But everyone else will. They think I’m crazy already. And Pa…well, you know how he feels about it. He’ll be glad I didn’t get in. He’ll say, ‘I told you so.’ To get married.” She threw her head back and emitted a bitter laugh. “Boy, John Henry will like this. Seems he was right all along.”

“Seems to be you’re listening to all the wrong people, honey. What do
you
say?”

Esther ground her teeth with a determination typical of her.

“I say I’m through wasting my life. John Henry’s right. I’m twenty-six years old. I’m gonna settle down, marry John
Henry if he’ll take me back, and have babies. I deserve a little happiness.”

An alarm went off in May. She was eager to support this turn in Esther’s attitude. To have her niece comfortably settled on John Henry’s dairy farm nearby was her fondest wish. But only if she really meant it. If Esther was giving up before the fight was finished, her regret would last a lifetime and snuff out any chance for happiness in the bitterness of might-have-been.

“Be sure you know what will give you happiness,” May said.

“I didn’t say a lot of happiness, just a little.”

“That’s a dangerous sentiment.”

Esther straightened her long legs. “Besides, Pa needs me. The boys need me. They depend on me. I’ve got to stay here and take care of them. And John Henry needs me too. He loves me, even still. Everyone expects us to get married. It’s just my stubborn nature that fights it.”

May picked up the letter, smoothed out the wrinkles, folded it three times and neatly tucked it back into the envelope. Handing it back to her niece she said, “Esther, I’m going to ask you a favor. I don’t ask many, so I hope you do me this one.”

Esther took it, looking surprised. “Sure, Aunt May. I’d do anything for you.”

“I don’t want you to make any decisions today. Tomorrow neither. Promise me you won’t go telling John Henry you’ll marry him just yet. Decisions like that take thinking. Will you do that for me?”

She looked at Esther and could have sworn that she detected relief in her eyes.

“Sure. But, why?”

May rose to rinse a few teacups. Her arms filled the tiny
sink. “Want some tea?” When Esther refused, May poured herself a cup and sat back down. Once settled, she felt ready to speak.

“I wasn’t always this fat and plain,” she said, squeezing lemon into her tea. The tart scent filled the small trailer. May could say it now, “fat and plain,” without the acute embarrassment she used to feel.

“When I was young, I had a fine full figure and a head of hair, just like your own.”

“I’ve seen the pictures, Aunt May. You were beautiful. You still are beautiful.”

May waved her hand in rebuke. “I’m not fishin’. I only mention it to remind you that a man could fall in love with me back then. One did. A fine, kindly man, a lot like your John Henry. But I had my fiery ways, even then. I got careless with something fragile, ’cause that’s what love is, a fine fragile thing at the beginning, before it grows strong. We quarreled over something, I can’t even remember what. I sent him away, sure he’d come back. It was expected that we’d marry, too. But he never did come back. He married another.” She paused to take a long sip of her tea. The lemon puckered her lips and the cup clattered a bit when she placed it back.

“Heard tell he died a year back. Even after all these years, I mourned him.”

“You think I should marry John Henry?” Esther eyed her aunt with a blank face.

“Now let me finish. Knowing what I had, I threw it away on a whim. I never had what you have—your talent and your drive. Do you think that comes every day? I’m sayin’ that you don’t play with the honest affections of a man like John Henry. If you love him, know it and marry him. If you don’t, let him go. You can’t keep bouncin’ back and forth, expectin’ that boy to always be there. It ain’t kind.”

She coupled her hands and looked directly at Esther. “Truth be told, you spend more time dreamin’ about your paint than you do John Henry. Esther, that don’t look like love to me. I don’t believe you’ll ever know the answer lest you go to New York and give your dream its due. Don’t act hotheaded. Think on it.”

“I will. I promise. I’m not too anxious to tell anyone just yet, anyway. I need to walk to the sacred grove and settle it inside.”

“That’ll be right. Go on, then. Do it now. Don’t put it off. Come here and give your Aunt May a hug first.”

May enveloped Esther in her arms, blanketing her in love. She wanted to protect her babies from outside harm, but she’d learned with Tom that she couldn’t. She could just be here to soothe the outside ailments with salve, plasters, and potions, and salve the ailments of the soul with unconditional love.

When Esther left, May reached out for the phone and pulled it toward her. She had three calls to make. She’d call her brothers, Seth and Squire, later. But first, with her mouth set in a firm line, she dialed Nora MacKenzie’s number.

Nora readily agreed to tap her contacts in New York. She couldn’t promise to open any doors for Esther, but she could call in a few overdue favors. Nora didn’t need to be cajoled. She was a firm believer in Esther’s talent.

Squire, however, was on the receiving end of a long lecture from his little sister about family responsibilities. Him with all that money in Florida and no children to leave it to. Squire argued that he’d always planned on leaving it to his nieces and nephews in his will, but May asked him why they had to wait for him to die for them to start living? He didn’t need that hold over them to get mincing attention. Didn’t he know how
they adored him? This got Squire thinking, and he promised to send the necessary funds to Esther right away.

Seth, well now…May knew Seth would be the hard one. There was no bullying him, or forcing him neither. Seth had his own vision of the world, a wider one than most, and he came by it after long hours of thought. She rang him up and asked him to come over and haul away her garden debris. If she asked him to help, he’d be sure to come. Seth wasn’t likely to show up just to talk. ’Specially not at the close of lambing season.

Before dinner, after the afternoon barn chores, Seth drove up to the trailer in his pickup. He lived across the street, but she never expected him to walk over. She peeked out the dotted-swiss curtains to see Seth standing before her garden beds, observing them. May felt a flutter of satisfaction and pride, seeing her beloved beds freshly turned, the wooden bed boards straightened and all the shrubs pruned far back.

May tugged on a sweater and went outdoors to meet her brother by the front garden. He turned to greet her with a lively smile.

“Garden’s been cleaned up real nice,” he said. “Old vines took out, and them pumpkins are gonna make fine pies. Them fall greens been thinned, too.”

May’s gaze passed over the pumpkins and vegetables, which she grew for the family, to rest instead on the mums that she planted for color and pure pleasure.

“It’s gratifying to come out here again,” May said, crossing her arms in satisfaction. “I put that porch chair right smack beside the mums, just to sit and view it.”

“Nora MacKenzie do all this by herself?”

“Yes, she did.” May’s head bobbed. “Worked for days and days, and her with all them other chores to do. It’s no wonder
she’s so skinny, the way she hurries about. But every bone in that body is dear. Sweet thing.”

“That was real thoughtful.” Seth rubbed his bristle. “I got something for you, May. Somethin’ I should’a brung long ago. Seeing your garden all fixed up again, well, I figured it’s time.”

May’s curiosity was piqued and she felt like a child at Christmas as she waited. Seth climbed into the pickup and backed it up right to the edge of her garden. A flurry of May’s hands and shouts told him when he’d gotten close enough to her precious flower beds. Seth heaved himself back out of the truck and walked to its rear, hitching up his pants and lowering the truck’s rear flap. Then, to May’s clapping hands, he brought out boulder after boulder of white marble and stone, setting them down in a neat line bordering her front garden. Each rock had been carefully chosen to be as uniform in size as nature had made them. Each rock had been washed.

By the time the last of the boulders was set in place, May’s hands were coupled by her trembling lips and tears glistened in her eyes just like the water glistened upon the rocks in the late afternoon sun.

“They’re from the sacred grove,” she murmured.

“Yeh-up,” replied Seth, breathless and brushing off the dirt from his hands. He reached out his hand and placed it upon his sister’s shoulder. A pronounced crease etched his brow, and beneath it, his eyes darted sheepishly.

“I know how much you loved Tom. You miss him as much as I do. You always loved all of ’em like they was your own. I should’a noticed you couldn’t get to the grove no more. It took a stranger to point it out to me.”

May patted his hand on her shoulder and gave him a look that said she was as glad to hear him say it as he was glad to get it off his chest.

“Come on inside,” May replied gravely. “It’s time we talked about something else.”

Seth followed May into the trailer and the two took either side of the round café table. They sat down in the same fashion, age and bearing being similar: they gripped the sides of the table and lowered slowly into the chair. After tea was poured, May told Seth all about Esther’s rejection from New York.

Seth reacted precisely as Esther had predicted. New York was no good for his daughter, he said. Why’d she want to go there when she could live here with her family? he asked incredulously. His stress on “here” and “there” implied his well-known feelings of city versus country. May let him go on, quietly listening to how Esther was being mule foolish not to hitch up with John Henry and give him some grandchildren, like was expected.

That’s when May jumped in.

“Expected by who?”

Seth met her gaze with raised brows. “John Henry, for one.”

“And you?”

He flushed. “Everyone. They been together since they was six. His family treats her like their own.” He rubbed his jaw and mumbled, “They been carryin’ on like they been married, that’s a fact.”

“Well, they’re not. And maybe they oughta not be.”

He cupped his jaw and rested it, elbow bent on the table, as he eyed her speculatively. “What’re you getting at?”