_
Annie bold bid for independence had not gone unnoticed by anyone, especially Luke and Andrew. Both of them decided they wanted driving licenses as well. Luke talked about it excitedly to Maggie the next morning before school.
“You have to take a test -- a driving test, I mean, in a car, ya’ know,” she reminded him. “It’s not very hard but you should practice a little first.” Her mind was churning furiously, trying to think of a way this could lead to spending some time together. It had been three weeks since prom night, and she was disappointed he hadn’t asked her out again. “Why don’t we take my car into town and you can drive it around?” she asked bluntly, not able to think of a more clever way to approach it.
“Wouldn’t that be illegal? I mean, what if we had an accident or something. I don’t have a learner’s permit and you aren’t over 25, right?”
“So what. We won’t have an accident,” she said trying to sound reckless. “You never do anything unless you can do it well. Don’t you want to get your license soon?” That would be so wonderful, she thought. They could drive around town and she’d sit real close to him and be like a regular dating couple – if he’d ever get around to asking her out, that is.
Luke phoned her later to ask if she’d like to go out that night. She knew he meant out driving, but she preferred to think of as going out, like on a date. Her aunt made it very clear she did not approve of them going on a school night but didn’t forbid it, either.
When Margaret picked him up, he was all slicked up from his after-chores shower and jumped in the car eagerly. She drove to the other side of Shannontown and turned the driving over to him. She quizzed him from the driver’s manual as they drove. They laughed at some of his incredibly stupid answers. The radio dial was set on her Grandmother’s favorite FM station.
“I an change the station if you’d like,” Margaret said.
“Nah, that’s okay. I like it. Don’ tell anyone, but I’d take Neil Diamond over Three Dog Night anytime.” There was something else they had in common, she thought.
He drove through the city streets of Dubuque with no trouble just as she had predicted. And when they were driving past the mall on the West end, they noticed that a new movie, Easy Rider, was showing. “I heard it was really different – lots of music,” she hinted.
Luke grinned, knowing full well what she wanted. He pulled into the parking lot and ushered her into the theater. She fairly quivered with excitement. She had never gone to a show with a boy before. She loved movies, especially the old ones on late night TV. Her aunt remarked more than once that for such a sensible girl, Margaret certainly was emotional when it came to Alan Ladd or Gary Cooper riding off into the sunset, or Judy Garland and Bing Crosby crooning some heart-wrenching love song. However, she was also no coward when it came to trying new things either.
“Well, what did you think of it?” Luke asked her as they crawled back into the car. But she was so stunned by the movie’s violent and sudden ending, she could hardly speak.
“It wasn’t as though those two guys were solid citizens or anything. But to just shoot them like that?” she exclaimed, choking back the sobs. “I just wasn’t prepared, that's all.”
“I had heard about the ending,” Luke chided himself. “I should have insisted we see True Grit or something else.” He could see she was deeply affected so he slid his arm along the back of the seat and drew her near. They headed toward home.
“Do you think they’re right? About being free, I mean -- to be that uninhibited and not tied down?” she asked.
“Heck no. Would you really want to be gorked out of your mind on drugs and travelin’ around the country like that? They were so dirty and threatening, people wouldn’t even let them eat in their restaurants. C’mon, Maggie, that’s not exactly your style, is it?”
“Well, maybe not quite like that, but I don’t want to end up like my Aunt Betty – tied to one place for seventy years. She’s hardly been across the state line.”
“You talk about freedom. She is one of the freest persons I know. She does and says exactly what she pleases. It’s about feeling good when you get up in the morning, feeling good about who you are. And having choices – that’s what this country is all about.”
“Well, I guess you really didn’t care for the movie, huh?” she said in a tiny, hollow voice. But then she started giggling and he started laughing, too. She turned on the radio and flipped to another channel. They were talking and not really listening when a newscaster broke in with a news alert. The sense of urgency and drama in his voice caught their attention.
Tragedy on a college campus today. Officials from Kent University in Kent, Ohio, report that there was four deaths and nine young people wounded on their campus today as the result the Ohio National Guard firing into a crowd of demonstrators. The Guard had been called there over the weekend after the student protesters had disrupted the town, burned the ROTC building, and prevented firemen from controlling the fire. Large scale demonstrations have been building on that campus as well as on many others across the nation in response to the president’s nationally televised announcement last Thursday that he was sending troops into Cambodia to destroy Communist bases of operation there. In response to today’s tragedy, administrations of colleges and universities across the country are bracing for what they fear will be widespread rioting. Student organizers at the University of Iowa say there will be a vigil tonight--
Maggie turned off the radio. She was clutching her stomach as though she was physically sick. Luke drove on, staring straight ahead, also shaken by the news.
“They were just kids!” Maggie cried. “They’re probably just a little older than us. How could they shoot them down like that?”
“Maybe there’s more to it. I can’t believe they would shoot into a crowd without some provocation. I just can’t believe that!”
“You can’t? Most college students I know don’t carry guns. Aren’t we supposed to be free? Isn’t that what you said? Can’t students demonstrate without getting killed? Can’t people ride down the highway without getting shot in cold blood? I don’t understand! I just don’t understand any of this!” She sank into her seat, angry and confused. They didn’t talk any more. He drove on home and pulled into his driveway. He turned off the engine and sat there in silence a while longer.
“I don’t understand it either,” he said. “Everything just seems to be changing so fast. Things that are supposed to be important, aren’t any more. No one knows who or what to believe. I’m going to be graduating in two weeks, and this is supposed to be one of the best times of my life, but it isn’t. How can it be when I don’t know what’s real?” His fists were clinched and his mouth, tight and drawn. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She opened her arms to him and held him tightly. They clung together like survivors in a lifeboat. But then he tore away abruptly and bolted out the door. But after a few steps, he turned and stuck his head through the open window and kissed her hard. And then he was gone.
It was just a moment, really – gone so quickly. She wanted to cry after him to come back, to hold her and need her a little longer. But that was too much to hope for.
_ _ _ _
The memory of that night was still very vivid in Margaret’s mind when she and several hundred others including most of the Winston clan, squeezed into the gymnasium for the high school commencement. Luke marched in with the rest of the Class of ’70, looking somber and ill-at-ease, as seventeen or eighteen year old young men often do at these occasions. Across the wall, above the stage, was a large banner with the chosen slogan printed in three-foot letters.
“We have gone far, but we have further to go,” it said. Maggie studied the words intently, wondering what it meant.
It was a hot, sticky May evening and it was very hard to focus on the tedious lecturing of the guest speaker. He told them this was indeed one of the best times of their lives, so they should enjoy it. The gentlemen lamented his own mis-directed youth in one of those if-I-knew-then-what-I-know-now speeches, pleading with the 64 graduates to work hard to secure a brighter future.
Incredibly, he made no mention of what was happening around them in the world beyond tiny Shannontown, Iowa. It was as though the turmoil and conflict that spread across the country since the Kent incident should have no impact on their lives. The speaker congratulated the many graduates who were planning to enter colleges next fall without commenting on the over 500 colleges and universities that were forced to close early that spring because of student strikes and rampant chaos.
As the arguments and conflict were consuming campuses and political arenas, they also raged across many dinner tables, super market counters, and country fences. Luke was right when he said everything was changing. Perhaps it seemed magnified to him and his peers because they were being thrust into the middle of it, ill-equipped to make decisions and form opinions that would affect the rest of their lives. What they had learned in history classes in those very classrooms no longer applied. It had been easier for earlier generations of American boys in other times, in other wars. Even just four or five years earlier, scores of young men had marched willingly onto Asian-bound transports with the noble ideal of stopping the Communists, once and for all. But the illusion of that notion had evaporated long ago. Now Americans were forced to struggle with the question, do you agree or disagree? Is it right or wrong? The debate raged while mothers, wives, and sisters of young men wept.
_ _ _ _
Annie was glad school was almost over. The daily ritual of getting every one up and out to do their morning work, then fed, clothes changed, and everyone ready for the bus, was becoming progressively more difficult. There was so much work to be done that everyone was treating academics like an inconvenience. And she was tired of fighting it.
What was especially tiresome was the constant arguing. Most of it was caused by internal family matters such as Danny getting into Peter’s things or the endless verbal sparing between Thomas and John. But there were also the external conflicts that intruded into their home every time Matthew turned on the news or picked up the newspaper. Debating the state of national affairs and policies was an ongoing battle between him and his oldest son. Annie was sick of it. She hated the word Vietnam. And she hated the hallow, pained expression that sometimes flickered across Luke’s face at the mention of it. He said very little but she knew the pressure on him was mounting. She prayed fervently that the whole thing would end before he would be forced to make any definitive decisions.
He, at least was spared, the last ten days of school. There is no vaccine for spring fever and they all had it badly. The last two weeks passed agonizingly slow. Finally, all that remained was the traditional awards assembly that last day of school.
John was sorry to see it end -- the track season, not the class work. When talking to Kenny that morning, his friend laughed and reminded him that school would soon start again after three short months. Football practice would start mid-August. “You’re excited about that?” he laughed. “Just wait till we have two-a-days, with a zillion calisthenics with twenty pounds of pads in 90 degree heat.”
“Well, if I want to make the team, I’d better stay in shape this summer,” fretted Johnny.
“Ah, c’mon Winston, you’re gonna make the team and you know it. Coach knows you got speed. And after I’m done with you, you’ll know the patterns and play backwards and forewords. Let’s go to the stupid assembly and get our track letters. And man,” he said, smacking his lips in lusty anticipation, “this is only the beginning.”
_ _ _ _
Perhaps it was an illusion but it seemed as though the strife and hostility seemed to melt away in the warm June sun. Life seemed to settle into some semblance of routine. Boredom breeds contention, but there was no danger of that. Matthew came to the table every morning, armed with work assignments like a drill sergeant. Now that the planting was done, most of the work involved trying to clean up the place and working on the out buildings and fencing. They had to get the barn ready for the bales of hay that would soon be stacked in the haymow.
Annie kept busy with the housework and her garden. They were already eating lettuce and radishes, and the peas and onions were almost ready. The flowers were a particular joy to her. Soon she’d be putting bouquets of fresh pansies and marigolds on the table.
It seemed to her that the baby was blossoming, too. Becky was six months old now and thriving beautifully. Annie bought books and magazines to help guide her. The raising and nurturing of this baby was her highest priority. Becky had been given to her by her mother like a sacred trust, and she did not want to fail.
She was thinking about that one evening while upstairs bathing her. It was still 80 degrees at 6:00 at night and baby was irritable. Annie knew a nice bath would settle her down even though that meant that supper would be late. They would just have to wait.
She came downstairs just as her father came in. He was in a great mood tonight, she thought. He had just been down to the bottom and was telling everyone that most of the corn was a half foot tall already. Sonny and Matthew were discussing how soon they’d have to start cultivating the weeds which were as tall as the corn.
“Is the mail here?” he asked as he sat down at the table with a cup of coffee. Annie handed it to him. There was the familiar manila envelope, which meant their lawyer in New York had forwarded some mail from back East. “Mmmmm, what have we here? An official looking letter for Mr. Matthew MacAlister Winston III. If I am not mistaken, this is from your friendly neighborhood draft board.” The room was suddenly silent as everyone turned to look at Mack.
“Hey, that guy’s a good lawyer. Tell him to take care of it!” He was trying to sound cocky but really he looked more scared and panicked than anything.
“And how is he supposed to do that?” his father countered. “You can’t be exempt for school any more. So what are you going to do?”
Matthew seemed very calm and matter-of-fact about this, Mack thought. “Look, this is serious!” he cried. “I am not going to get drafted! That’s it – that’s final! No way! You’re acting as though this is a joke!” he screamed at his father.
“A joke? Young men fighting for this country? What makes you think that you’re too damn good to do that? Who in the hell do you think you are?”
“I think I’m a guy who’s smart enough to realize that it would be damn stupid to go over there and crawl around in some jungle for no good reason! I could get fuckin’ killed over there, for what? Nothin’!” He was pacing around the table, flinging his arms empathetically. “Hell,” he said finally, “there’s always Canada!”
“Huh!” grunted his father. “You’d find it awful damn cold and lonely up there. No friends, no family, no money.” He punctuated that last word so that the inference would be unmistakable. He threw the letter at his son. “You have until the first of July to reply or they’ll issue an arrest warrant. Maybe you can catch some terminal disease before then.” He lit a cigarette as he stood up to go back outside. “We have a while before supper so let’s get something done.” With that he went outside, the screen door slamming behind him.
Mack stood there, frozen with anger. His father’s attitude incensed him. “Hell no!” he shouted after Matthew. “I’m not doing a damned thing! Why should I bust my butt around here!” He was screaming now, but his father did not turn around to acknowledge him, which was more infuriating. Mack picked up an empty beer can and flung it at the door.
Sonny nonchalantly rose from the table. “Hey!” Mack exploded. “Where in the hell are you going?” Sonny said nothing. He opened the door and walked out.
“Hey! I’m talkin’ to you,” Mack yelled. He ran after Sonny and grabbed his arm and swung him around. “There’s one thing no one’s ever asked you, Mr. High-and-Mighty. What about you? How come you’ve never been drafted?”
“How do you know I haven’t” Sonny replied, meeting Mack’s stare evenly.
“That’s right. We don’t know nothin’ about you, do we? You just come and take over everything – our father, our home, our whole lives, and we don’t know a fuckin’ thing about you, except you’re a stinkin’, arrogant, son-of-a-bitch. And I’ve hated you since the first time I laid eyes on you!”
Sonny showed little emotion and turned to walk away. Again Mack stopped him. “Guess we know one thing about you, you’re a fuckin’ coward!” He grabbed Sonny’s shirt.
Just that quickly, Sonny slapped Mack’s hands away and flung him onto the ground. He seemed to weigh his words carefully before he spoke. “Listen punk, it’s none of your damned business. I came here to do a job and I’m doin’ it. So just stay out of my way!” Again, he turned to walk away.
But it wasn’t over. Watching from the porch, Annie and her brothers could see that Mack was not going to give up easily. Again, he lunged at Sonny, who pushed him aside easily. This time Mack lowered his head and came at Sonny like an enraged bull. They both went down, wrestling and rolling around in the dirt. The others watched horrified, knowing that Mack was badly outmatched. He was trying to slug Sonny across the face but was unable to land any solid hits. Sonny finally brought him under control and yanked him to his feet.
“Listen, you worthless, piss ass jerk,” he said, spitting the words. “Just stay the fuck out of my way and never touch me again!” He flung Mack back into the dirt and walked away.
Matthew watched the whole episode from the barn door. He couldn’t hear what was said, but he could guess. Good, he thought, the kid needed that.
_ _ _ _
Later, just after sundown, Matthew and some of the boys were sitting around the back porch, enjoying the cool evening. Danny and Peter were playing with the puppies, with Mutt sitting nearby.
“I sure wish that dog was more of a watchdog,” Annie called from the kitchen window. “The raccoons are getting the chickens, Dad.”
“Dog’s not the answer,” Matthew said. “You have to shoot the little rascals. And they carry rabies, too, so I don’t like them around the yard.” He sat quietly for a long time, watching the smoke from his cigarette curl up into the dark sky. “By the way, somebody has to go into town early and pick up a order from the lumber yard. It’s been ready for three days.”
“I’ll go,” Mack said, stepping out of the shadows. “Anything’s better than hangin’ around here.” He turned and walked into the house. Ordinarily, Matthew would have called him on his sarcasm, but not tonight. Mack had enough wounds and hurt-pride for one day.
_ _ _ _
Chapter 21
_
Matthew’s drinking buddies at the Pub reminded him it was only early May and there was no reason to panic. However, he was getting more short tempered and frustrated as the ground preparation and actual planting was taking twice as long as he thought it would. The constant machinery breakdowns plus the gross inadequacies and inexperience of his crew, was hindering their progress. He and Mack argued daily, and Andrew, although somewhat more congenial, was not coping with the situation very well either. He longed for privacy as much as his flamboyant brother craved the all night parties. They were both waiting for summer to pass so they could return home.
Their dependence on Sonny didn’t seem to lessen as the weeks went by. It was no wonder he had insisted on his own separate living quarters. “Sonny’s shed”, as it was called, was the only place of solitude he had. He did have one companion. The burly, unsociable dog chose Sonny to befriend. “Mutt” as Sonny called her, followed him everywhere, whether it was in the yard or round after round behind the tractor in the fields. It was rumored that Mutt and her five puppies had taken up residence in Sonny’s shed after one cold, rainy night. No one knew for sure since no one was ever invited inside.
Annie began noticing that Sonny had another unlikely devotee. Every since that day in the way-side park when Sonny had bundled up Joey and taken him for that walk, the little boy’s face would light up every time Sonny walked into the room. At first glance, it appeared that the affection was non-reciprocated, but Annie caught glimpses of Sonny bending over the boy, quietly talking to him. On rare occasions he even picked up the boy and cradled him clumsily in his lap. It reminded a mystery to her why he would pay any attention to this child. She suspected it was probably because Joey never bothered him with constant problems.
Annie was thinking about this one Saturday afternoon as she labored in her garden. She was angry with Sonny because she had tried to discuss her garden with him at dinner but he had snapped at her rudely. True, they were having a particularly bad day. One of the tractors was broken and the gas truck hadn’t showed up to fill up their diesel barrel so they were running low. Plus, the gathering dark clouds in the west were threatening stormy weather.
Annie was still very determined to put in her garden. Danny and Peter were her only available draftees in this enterprise. She was angry with everyone’s attitude, especially Sonny. It seemed to her that her garden should be a high priority, too.
She just began making some headway when word was dispatched from the house that Joey had messed himself and Thomas refused to change him. Annie had no choice but to throw down her hoe and stomp off toward the house. “Don’t stop working,” she called. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Since the boys were less than enthusiastic about doing battle with the bumper crop of weeds, they chose a more entertaining sport. From her upstairs window Annie could see them sword fighting with the sharp hoes, jabbing and lunging at each other. She was just going to yell at them to stop when she heard Peter scream, and both boys came running toward the house. She could see blood dripping from his hand even at this distance. As she reached for a towel to wrap the wound, she dispatched the frightened Danny down the hill to fetch Sonny.
Just a few minutes later, the tractor came roaring up the hill full throttle. Sonny tore into the kitchen just as Annie was applying a dressing. Sonny stood motionless in the doorway, staring “You sent Danny to get me for this? A little band-aid cut?” he demanded, his face turning a darker shade of purple.
“It was bleeding very badly! How was I supposed to know it wasn’t deep?” she sputtered, trying to vindicate herself.
Again, he stood for a long moment, just glaring at them. “What the hell do you think I am – your goddamn nursemaid?” He was yelling now.” “Do I have to wipe everybody’s butts around here? And you two. What in the hell were you doing out there? These are tools!” He shook a hoe in their faces. “You’ve been warned about this kind of shit before. Here, take these and get to work!” He thrust the hoe back into the boy’s hand and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Moments later, the tractor was heard heading back down the hill.
Left in the wake of the sudden triad, the boys looked as though they were going to cry, but trudged back to work. Annie sat a while longer, shocked at first, but then angry. No one had ever talked to her or any member of the family like that before. How dare he use that tone and language with them! How was she supposed to know the boy wasn’t going to bleed to death? She intended to speak to her father about this, but she doubted he’d do anything. They all knew that their father was convinced that without Sonny, they didn’t have a chance of making it. However, it was also true that without this family, Sonny would still be pushing a broom instead of driving $75,000 tractors.
Her anger began to ebb as she worked in the warm, afternoon sun. The tiny beans, peas, and cucumber seeds were carefully placed in the furrow she made along the string stretched between two stakes as Sonny had taught her. She patted the dirt over the seeds as though she was tucking a child into bed. Her hands were raw and caked with mud, but she didn’t mind. She surveyed the day’s work and felt a deep sense of accomplishment.
She went happily back to her kitchen and began making a nice supper for her family, humming and smiling as she worked. About 6:00, she noticed John and Thomas doing the chores, apparently alone, telegraphing to Annie that the men were working late in the fields. She fed the little boys and put the baby to bed. Of course by now, the salad was wilted and the meatloaf and vegetables were drying out in the warming oven. The rush of excitement and satisfaction was now giving way to the aches and pains invading her body. Dark was descending over the land and the house was quiet. She sat on the back porch, becoming angrier the longer she waited.
Two hours later, the incessant humming of the machines became nearer as they made their way up the hill. She could hear her father and the others yelling at each other over the roar of the engines. Then there was silence and they came lumbering into the kitchen. They hadn’t even noticed her sitting there and she ignored her father’s calls until he got so loud she was afraid he’d wake up the children. “I’m out here!” she called. “What do you want?”
“You got a bunch of starving, hard-working men here. How about some supper?” He was obviously in a great mood. They must have finished planting, at long last.
She didn’t budge. “There’s cold meatloaf for sandwiches. Feel free to help yourselves.”
“Damn it, girl!” Matthew blasted. “We’re tired and cold and hungry. Now, come on in here and cook us something hot. Boys, just go shower and she’ll--”
“No, ‘she’ won’t!” Annie blurted angrily, trouncing into the room. “A nice, hot supper was ready three hours ago, but you missed it! This cook clocked out a long time ago!”
“Now listen here, young lady,” started Matthew, as much surprised as he was angry. “We decided just to keep going since we were so close to being done. It’s all planted. I am so happy and so proud of your brothers. They worked their asses off!”
“Well, so did I! Got half of my garden planted and I would have done more except I thought I had to come in start supper. Maybe next time you’ll take five lousy minutes to tell me what’s going on around here!” She slammed back outside again.
It took a few moments for Matthew to recover enough to speak. “Well, boys,” he said. “Let’s go have supper in town. Get cleaned up and we’ll meet by the truck in fifteen minutes.”
Annie sat cross-legged, wrapped in a blanket in the porch swing, listening to them move around the house until they were gone. She sulked a little longer but decided it was stupid to sit out there, freezing to death. She went back inside the dimly lit kitchen and poured herself some hot coffee.
Later, Sonny came in. She could hear him in the mudroom, throwing aside his jacket and washing up at the sink. He went to the refrigerator, stared at its contents but didn’t take anything out. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he noticed her as he turned to sit down.
“Everyone else went into town for supper,” she said, sounding defensive already. “Why didn’t you go along?”
He stirred his coffee slowly and said, “I had to finish up out there. The boys were having trouble with that damn pump again.” He lit a cigarette and slumped in his chair.
Annie looked away, choosing to ignore his obvious state of exhaustion. “If you want something to eat, there’s some meatloaf in the oven,” she murmured.
“Nah, I’m not hungry.” He took his coffee and cigarette and got up from his chair slowly. “How’s the boy’s hand?” he asked as he neared the door.
She was surprised he mentioned it. Could this be an indirect apology? Probably not. “Oh, it’s fine, just fine.” She followed him to the door. “Ya’ know, Sonny, I am trying to be more self-reliant, and I think I’m doing pretty damn good!” In response, he brushed past her and reached for the handle. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she pressed.
“I think I said enough this afternoon,” he said as he opened the door. He clearly was in no mood for any meaningful dialog.
She blocked his retreat. “Yeah, you did have a lot to say this afternoon,” she cried. “And I was pretty damned mad, too. But you’ll be glad to hear that you taught me an important lesson. Don’t worry, Mr. Jackson, I won’t be bothering you with trivial matters any more.” She was glaring at him, but his expression never changed. He disappeared into the night, leaving her angry and alone once again. If she was going to show him as well as every other egocentric male around here, she needed a plan and she had a good idea where to begin.
_ _ _ _
As she went about her Sunday morning routine, Annie was still a little icy. Skipping down the stone steps of the church after Mass, she made a surprising announcement. “Daddy, you and boys are on your own today ‘cause Lori Bean and I have plans for the day. I have no idea when I’ll be back.”
With that the two young ladies were off, giggling as they walked toward Lori’s car. Looking equally perplexed, Charlie approached them asking for a ride home for him and his two kids. He had no idea what was going on either.
Annie came home later that evening, still grinning. She clearly had a secret but she told no one. She kissed her abandoned father on the cheek and asked how his day had been. But before he could answer, she floated dreamily upstairs.
“If I didn’t know better,” mused Mack, “I’d guess she was having an affair.” He hesitated for a moment and then said, “Nah, it couldn’t be.”
Her behavior was chalked up to a female whim and not discussed further. But when she left with Lori Bean for several hours twice more that week, she really had them wondering. When she announced she was leaving again Friday afternoon, Matthew demanded to know just where she was going. Annie just smiled and told him not to worry, that he’d understand soon. She trotted out the door when Lori pulled up in front of the house.
The boys and Matthew called after her. “Hey! What about groceries? We’re out of everything! What about the baby?” It was useless. She left.
Then about 8:30 that night, the household was aroused by a loud honking. There was an unfamiliar car coming up the driveway. “Hey!” whooped Mack. “It’s Annie! My God, my little sister is driving a car!”
“Hello, gentlemen,” she called, stepping crisply out of the car, enjoying their gaping stares. “Help me unload these groceries, will you?”
“Where did ya’ get the car. When ya’ learn to drive?” they all chorused.
“Lori Bean!” deduced Matthew. “She’s been teaching you how to drive and took you to get your license, didn’t she. But where’d get the car?”
“Isn’t it great?” she gushed, beaming. “It’s a nine passenger wagon, V-8, automatic transmission, completely rust-proofed. And they gave me a great deal cause I paid cash.”
“Cash? What cash?” demanded Matthew, envisioning her writing out a check for the total amount of the car.
“My own money from the trust fund in New York,” she explained. “Well, it was my money to spend any way I chose, right?” Then she looked pointedly at Sonny and said, “Now me and the kids won’t need anyone to cart us around any more.” Sonny didn’t acknowledge that comment was directed toward him. He simply picked up another armload of groceries. She realized she wasn’t going to get any satisfaction this round either.
It was amazing to Annie how owning something of major value could change your outlook on life. All her life she had been totally provided for, pampered and spoiled. She didn’t have to scrimp and save in order to buy it, but she felt like the car was her trophy for accomplishing and contributing. The blisters on her hands and her position in the family structure made her feel as though she was earning some measure of respect. With this car, she felt very independent and self-reliant. It was also a sign that she was one of the adults in this new coalition and a force to be reckoned with.
_ _ _ _
It was a Friday night and Matthew wanted to take a quick run down to the bottom before supper. He cajoled Sonny, Mack, and Andrew into riding along. He still hoped that some of his enthusiasm would rub off on his oldest sons and he thought seeing the young seedlings sprouting would give them a sense of accomplishment.
They were gone longer than they intended. They hurried into the kitchen hoping that they would not receive another tongue lashing for being late. But there was no supper cooking and Thomas was there, fussing with the baby. “Hey, where’s Annie?” Andrew asked.
Matthew was standing at the sink. “Yeah, her car’s gone. Is she gonna leave all the time now?” he said, sounding annoyed.
“She had to take Danny and Peter into town,” muttered Thomas. “God, babies are so hard to feed! Anyway, you won’t believe what happened. You know how you told those boys not to play in the weeds and junk behind the barn? Well, guess what, they did anyway. The stupid Danny got into a big ol’ beehive out there. Should have seen it – Peter came screaming across the yard for Annie. And there came Danny, totally surrounded by this whole swarm of bees. Yuk!” he winced, “it was awful!”
It took an instant for what he was saying to sink in. Matthew recovered first. “Danny’s hurt?” he bellowed. “My God! Why didn’t anyone come find us? What did she do?”
“Should have seen her!” Thomas exclaimed. “She grabbed a blanket off the washer and ran out there. She wrapped it around him and smothered most of ‘em. She and Peter got some stings, but not as bad as Danny. She loaded them both in the car and told me to watch the kids. She even had me call Dr. Adams’ office to tell him what happened and that they were on their way. She took Luke with her. I haven’t heard anything since they left.”
The men stood there, staring at each other in total disbelief. “I gotta get to town,” Matthew said, heading out the door.
“I’ll go along,” insisted Andrew. And they were gone.
“I knew all that junk out there was gonna be trouble,” Sonny said. “I told them damn kids to stay away from there.” He stood up then and headed for the door with a look of purpose on his face.
“Where are you doing?” demanded Mack.
“I’m gonna level that son of a bitchin’ lot out there!” Mack followed him and together they put the scoop on the front of one the big tractors to bulldoze the whole mess into a giant pile several hundred feet away from the barn. Then they set it on fire. There were several small buildings and two large decaying corncribs. The weeds were so high and tangled it was a wonder even small boys could manage to penetrate it.
The flames were still leaping into the dark sky several hours later when Matthew and Annie’s cars drove onto the yard. Annie was met by an anxious reception committee.
“Oh, my God!” moaned Mack, looking at his sister’s face. It was red and puffy, her eyes nearly swollen shut. Even her arms and hands had welts from bee stings.
“Don’t look so shocked. It’s not as bad as it looks. Help Daddy with Peter. He got stung, too. Poor Danny. He has to stay overnight in the hospital. Andrew stayed with him.” John helped her walk toward the house. “There’s a bag full of medicines in Daddy’s truck. I just wanna go to bed.” Then she stopped, noticing the fire behind the barn. “What’s that?”
“Sonny bulldozed that whole mess down and torched it. He’s still out there, watching the fire.” Annie couldn’t help but smile. Leave it to Sonny to take care of the problem.
She didn’t remember how she got upstairs, undressed, and into bed. The next thing she knew she awakened to a dimly lighted room. Her clock radio said 1:52. She became aware of a hazy figure sitting in the corner. It was her father, sleeping in the chair. She felt stiff but otherwise not too bad. She threw back the blankets to get up.
Matthew stirred. “You shouldn’t be getting up, honey.”
“Oh Daddy, I just need to walk a little. I don’t feel too bad, honest. Did you call the hospital? How’s Danny?”
“He’s fine. Fever’s down and he’s sleeping. He’ll probably come home in the morning.” He hesitated then, obviously wanting to say more. “You should have stayed overnight at the hospital, too. But you kept saying, ‘I want to go home.’ ”
“Yeah, I did. Why? Does that surprise you?”
“Well. I guess I wondered if a nice clean hospital might appeal to you after a couple months in this place.” He was looking around at the unpainted, un-carpeted room as he spoke. He sank down on the edge of her bed, running his hands through his hair, looking tired and haggard.
“Maybe I was wrong to bring you all here. I was thinking of myself so much I lost sight of what’s really important.”
“Daddy, you’d better not let Mack hear you talk like that,” she teased. “You just had a bad scare, that’s all. But we’re going to be fine. Look at what we’ve accomplished since we came here. You should be very proud.” She kissed her father on the cheek and said. “Go to bed, Daddy. You’re tired. I’m gonna stay up for awhile. Don’t worry, okay?”
She walked him down the hallway to his room and kissed him again as she sent him off to bed. She looked in on Peter, who was sleeping soundly. She touched his cheeks and was relieved that they were cool and less swollen.
She went downstairs to the kitchen and found Sonny drinking coffee. There was no open hostility between them since their last run-in, but they were not on good speaking terms either. She hadn’t forgiven him for his insufferable arrogance. “Hi. Mind if I join you?”
She reached for a glass, but it slipped from her hand and shattered at her feet. He poured another glass and said, “You’d better sit down.” He cleaned up the mess, poured himself another cup of coffee, and sat down across the table from her.
“Thank you,” she said, feeling a little uneasy as she felt his dark eyes inspecting her. “I’m alright, ya know. You don’t have to nursemaid me, really.” She emphasized those last words, in obvious reference to that other conversation they’d had days before.
He took a swallow of coffee before he answered. “Well, it worked, didn’t it? Getting your license and that car was the best idea you ever had.”
“Oh, you’re taking credit for that? That was your doing?”
“No, but if I said something to rile you up, then I’m real glad.”
Annie started to get angry again, but decided she didn’t have the energy. Besides, he wasn’t sounding sarcastic or condescending.
“So, what were you trying to do today, driving in that condition?”
“I was careful. I surprised myself, even – I mean, I just reacted . There wasn’t time to get help. I didn’t even realize I was stung until everyone started fussing over me.”
“Well, you did damn good,” he said with just a hint of admiration in his voice. “But next time, send someone to find one of us. You went from one extreme to the other. Just settle in the middle somewhere, alright?”
His words and mannerisms caught Annie totally by surprise. She didn’t even know how to respond, especially when a small, half-grin stole across his face. She pushed away from the table and moved tentatively toward the stairs. He didn’t make a make a move to assist her. She wasn’t surprised. They had reached a new understanding – he’d help her if she fell flat but only long enough to put her back on her feet again and send her on her way.
Chapter 22
_ _ _ _
Matthew’s drinking buddies at the Pub reminded him it was only early May and there was no reason to panic. However, he was getting more short tempered and frustrated as the ground preparation and actual planting was taking twice as long as he thought it would. The constant machinery breakdowns plus the gross inadequacies and inexperience of his crew, was hindering their progress. He and Mack argued daily, and Andrew, although somewhat more congenial, was not coping with the situation very well either. He longed for privacy as much as his flamboyant brother craved the all night parties. They were both waiting for summer to pass so they could return home.
Their dependence on Sonny didn’t seem to lessen as the weeks went by. It was no wonder he had insisted on his own separate living quarters. “Sonny’s shed”, as it was called, was the only place of solitude he had. He did have one companion. The burly, unsociable dog chose Sonny to befriend. “Mutt” as Sonny called her, followed him everywhere, whether it was in the yard or round after round behind the tractor in the fields. It was rumored that Mutt and her five puppies had taken up residence in Sonny’s shed after one cold, rainy night. No one knew for sure since no one was ever invited inside.
Annie began noticing that Sonny had another unlikely devotee. Every since that day in the way-side park when Sonny had bundled up Joey and taken him for that walk, the little boy’s face would light up every time Sonny walked into the room. At first glance, it appeared that the affection was non-reciprocated, but Annie caught glimpses of Sonny bending over the boy, quietly talking to him. On rare occasions he even picked up the boy and cradled him clumsily in his lap. It reminded a mystery to her why he would pay any attention to this child. She suspected it was probably because Joey never bothered him with constant problems.
Annie was thinking about this one Saturday afternoon as she labored in her garden. She was angry with Sonny because she had tried to discuss her garden with him at dinner but he had snapped at her rudely. True, they were having a particularly bad day. One of the tractors was broken and the gas truck hadn’t showed up to fill up their diesel barrel so they were running low. Plus, the gathering dark clouds in the west were threatening stormy weather.
Annie was still very determined to put in her garden. Danny and Peter were her only available draftees in this enterprise. She was angry with everyone’s attitude, especially Sonny. It seemed to her that her garden should be a high priority, too.
She just began making some headway when word was dispatched from the house that Joey had messed himself and Thomas refused to change him. Annie had no choice but to throw down her hoe and stomp off toward the house. “Don’t stop working,” she called. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Since the boys were less than enthusiastic about doing battle with the bumper crop of weeds, they chose a more entertaining sport. From her upstairs window Annie could see them sword fighting with the sharp hoes, jabbing and lunging at each other. She was just going to yell at them to stop when she heard Peter scream, and both boys came running toward the house. She could see blood dripping from his hand even at this distance. As she reached for a towel to wrap the wound, she dispatched the frightened Danny down the hill to fetch Sonny.
Just a few minutes later, the tractor came roaring up the hill full throttle. Sonny tore into the kitchen just as Annie was applying a dressing. Sonny stood motionless in the doorway, staring “You sent Danny to get me for this? A little band-aid cut?” he demanded, his face turning a darker shade of purple.
“It was bleeding very badly! How was I supposed to know it wasn’t deep?” she sputtered, trying to vindicate herself.
Again, he stood for a long moment, just glaring at them. “What the hell do you think I am – your goddamn nursemaid?” He was yelling now.” “Do I have to wipe everybody’s butts around here? And you two. What in the hell were you doing out there? These are tools!” He shook a hoe in their faces. “You’ve been warned about this kind of shit before. Here, take these and get to work!” He thrust the hoe back into the boy’s hand and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Moments later, the tractor was heard heading back down the hill.
Left in the wake of the sudden triad, the boys looked as though they were going to cry, but trudged back to work. Annie sat a while longer, shocked at first, but then angry. No one had ever talked to her or any member of the family like that before. How dare he use that tone and language with them! How was she supposed to know the boy wasn’t going to bleed to death? She intended to speak to her father about this, but she doubted he’d do anything. They all knew that their father was convinced that without Sonny, they didn’t have a chance of making it. However, it was also true that without this family, Sonny would still be pushing a broom instead of driving $75,000 tractors.
Her anger began to ebb as she worked in the warm, afternoon sun. The tiny beans, peas, and cucumber seeds were carefully placed in the furrow she made along the string stretched between two stakes as Sonny had taught her. She patted the dirt over the seeds as though she was tucking a child into bed. Her hands were raw and caked with mud, but she didn’t mind. She surveyed the day’s work and felt a deep sense of accomplishment.
She went happily back to her kitchen and began making a nice supper for her family, humming and smiling as she worked. About 6:00, she noticed John and Thomas doing the chores, apparently alone, telegraphing to Annie that the men were working late in the fields. She fed the little boys and put the baby to bed. Of course by now, the salad was wilted and the meatloaf and vegetables were drying out in the warming oven. The rush of excitement and satisfaction was now giving way to the aches and pains invading her body. Dark was descending over the land and the house was quiet. She sat on the back porch, becoming angrier the longer she waited.
Two hours later, the incessant humming of the machines became nearer as they made their way up the hill. She could hear her father and the others yelling at each other over the roar of the engines. Then there was silence and they came lumbering into the kitchen. They hadn’t even noticed her sitting there and she ignored her father’s calls until he got so loud she was afraid he’d wake up the children. “I’m out here!” she called. “What do you want?”
“You got a bunch of starving, hard-working men here. How about some supper?” He was obviously in a great mood. They must have finished planting, at long last.
She didn’t budge. “There’s cold meatloaf for sandwiches. Feel free to help yourselves.”
“Damn it, girl!” Matthew blasted. “We’re tired and cold and hungry. Now, come on in here and cook us something hot. Boys, just go shower and she’ll--”
“No, ‘she’ won’t!” Annie blurted angrily, trouncing into the room. “A nice, hot supper was ready three hours ago, but you missed it! This cook clocked out a long time ago!”
“Now listen here, young lady,” started Matthew, as much surprised as he was angry. “We decided just to keep going since we were so close to being done. It’s all planted. I am so happy and so proud of your brothers. They worked their asses off!”
“Well, so did I! Got half of my garden planted and I would have done more except I thought I had to come in start supper. Maybe next time you’ll take five lousy minutes to tell me what’s going on around here!” She slammed back outside again.
It took a few moments for Matthew to recover enough to speak. “Well, boys,” he said. “Let’s go have supper in town. Get cleaned up and we’ll meet by the truck in fifteen minutes.”
Annie sat cross-legged, wrapped in a blanket in the porch swing, listening to them move around the house until they were gone. She sulked a little longer but decided it was stupid to sit out there, freezing to death. She went back inside the dimly lit kitchen and poured herself some hot coffee.
Later, Sonny came in. She could hear him in the mudroom, throwing aside his jacket and washing up at the sink. He went to the refrigerator, stared at its contents but didn’t take anything out. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he noticed her as he turned to sit down.
“Everyone else went into town for supper,” she said, sounding defensive already. “Why didn’t you go along?”
He stirred his coffee slowly and said, “I had to finish up out there. The boys were having trouble with that damn pump again.” He lit a cigarette and slumped in his chair.
Annie looked away, choosing to ignore his obvious state of exhaustion. “If you want something to eat, there’s some meatloaf in the oven,” she murmured.
“Nah, I’m not hungry.” He took his coffee and cigarette and got up from his chair slowly. “How’s the boy’s hand?” he asked as he neared the door.
She was surprised he mentioned it. Could this be an indirect apology? Probably not. “Oh, it’s fine, just fine.” She followed him to the door. “Ya’ know, Sonny, I am trying to be more self-reliant, and I think I’m doing pretty damn good!” In response, he brushed past her and reached for the handle. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she pressed.
“I think I said enough this afternoon,” he said as he opened the door. He clearly was in no mood for any meaningful dialog.
She blocked his retreat. “Yeah, you did have a lot to say this afternoon,” she cried. “And I was pretty damned mad, too. But you’ll be glad to hear that you taught me an important lesson. Don’t worry, Mr. Jackson, I won’t be bothering you with trivial matters any more.” She was glaring at him, but his expression never changed. He disappeared into the night, leaving her angry and alone once again. If she was going to show him as well as every other egocentric male around here, she needed a plan and she had a good idea where to begin.
_ _ _ _
As she went about her Sunday morning routine, Annie was still a little icy. Skipping down the stone steps of the church after Mass, she made a surprising announcement. “Daddy, you and boys are on your own today ‘cause Lori Bean and I have plans for the day. I have no idea when I’ll be back.”
With that the two young ladies were off, giggling as they walked toward Lori’s car. Looking equally perplexed, Charlie approached them asking for a ride home for him and his two kids. He had no idea what was going on either.
Annie came home later that evening, still grinning. She clearly had a secret but she told no one. She kissed her abandoned father on the cheek and asked how his day had been. But before he could answer, she floated dreamily upstairs.
“If I didn’t know better,” mused Mack, “I’d guess she was having an affair.” He hesitated for a moment and then said, “Nah, it couldn’t be.”
Her behavior was chalked up to a female whim and not discussed further. But when she left with Lori Bean for several hours twice more that week, she really had them wondering. When she announced she was leaving again Friday afternoon, Matthew demanded to know just where she was going. Annie just smiled and told him not to worry, that he’d understand soon. She trotted out the door when Lori pulled up in front of the house.
The boys and Matthew called after her. “Hey! What about groceries? We’re out of everything! What about the baby?” It was useless. She left.
Then about 8:30 that night, the household was aroused by a loud honking. There was an unfamiliar car coming up the driveway. “Hey!” whooped Mack. “It’s Annie! My God, my little sister is driving a car!”
“Hello, gentlemen,” she called, stepping crisply out of the car, enjoying their gaping stares. “Help me unload these groceries, will you?”
“Where did ya’ get the car. When ya’ learn to drive?” they all chorused.
“Lori Bean!” deduced Matthew. “She’s been teaching you how to drive and took you to get your license, didn’t she. But where’d get the car?”
“Isn’t it great?” she gushed, beaming. “It’s a nine passenger wagon, V-8, automatic transmission, completely rust-proofed. And they gave me a great deal cause I paid cash.”
“Cash? What cash?” demanded Matthew, envisioning her writing out a check for the total amount of the car.
“My own money from the trust fund in New York,” she explained. “Well, it was my money to spend any way I chose, right?” Then she looked pointedly at Sonny and said, “Now me and the kids won’t need anyone to cart us around any more.” Sonny didn’t acknowledge that comment was directed toward him. He simply picked up another armload of groceries. She realized she wasn’t going to get any satisfaction this round either.
It was amazing to Annie how owning something of major value could change your outlook on life. All her life she had been totally provided for, pampered and spoiled. She didn’t have to scrimp and save in order to buy it, but she felt like the car was her trophy for accomplishing and contributing. The blisters on her hands and her position in the family structure made her feel as though she was earning some measure of respect. With this car, she felt very independent and self-reliant. It was also a sign that she was one of the adults in this new coalition and a force to be reckoned with.
_ _ _ _
It was a Friday night and Matthew wanted to take a quick run down to the bottom before supper. He cajoled Sonny, Mack, and Andrew into riding along. He still hoped that some of his enthusiasm would rub off on his oldest sons and he thought seeing the young seedlings sprouting would give them a sense of accomplishment.
They were gone longer than they intended. They hurried into the kitchen hoping that they would not receive another tongue lashing for being late. But there was no supper cooking and Thomas was there, fussing with the baby. “Hey, where’s Annie?” Andrew asked.
Matthew was standing at the sink. “Yeah, her car’s gone. Is she gonna leave all the time now?” he said, sounding annoyed.
“She had to take Danny and Peter into town,” muttered Thomas. “God, babies are so hard to feed! Anyway, you won’t believe what happened. You know how you told those boys not to play in the weeds and junk behind the barn? Well, guess what, they did anyway. The stupid Danny got into a big ol’ beehive out there. Should have seen it – Peter came screaming across the yard for Annie. And there came Danny, totally surrounded by this whole swarm of bees. Yuk!” he winced, “it was awful!”
It took an instant for what he was saying to sink in. Matthew recovered first. “Danny’s hurt?” he bellowed. “My God! Why didn’t anyone come find us? What did she do?”
“Should have seen her!” Thomas exclaimed. “She grabbed a blanket off the washer and ran out there. She wrapped it around him and smothered most of ‘em. She and Peter got some stings, but not as bad as Danny. She loaded them both in the car and told me to watch the kids. She even had me call Dr. Adams’ office to tell him what happened and that they were on their way. She took Luke with her. I haven’t heard anything since they left.”
The men stood there, staring at each other in total disbelief. “I gotta get to town,” Matthew said, heading out the door.
“I’ll go along,” insisted Andrew. And they were gone.
“I knew all that junk out there was gonna be trouble,” Sonny said. “I told them damn kids to stay away from there.” He stood up then and headed for the door with a look of purpose on his face.
“Where are you doing?” demanded Mack.
“I’m gonna level that son of a bitchin’ lot out there!” Mack followed him and together they put the scoop on the front of one the big tractors to bulldoze the whole mess into a giant pile several hundred feet away from the barn. Then they set it on fire. There were several small buildings and two large decaying corncribs. The weeds were so high and tangled it was a wonder even small boys could manage to penetrate it.
The flames were still leaping into the dark sky several hours later when Matthew and Annie’s cars drove onto the yard. Annie was met by an anxious reception committee.
“Oh, my God!” moaned Mack, looking at his sister’s face. It was red and puffy, her eyes nearly swollen shut. Even her arms and hands had welts from bee stings.
“Don’t look so shocked. It’s not as bad as it looks. Help Daddy with Peter. He got stung, too. Poor Danny. He has to stay overnight in the hospital. Andrew stayed with him.” John helped her walk toward the house. “There’s a bag full of medicines in Daddy’s truck. I just wanna go to bed.” Then she stopped, noticing the fire behind the barn. “What’s that?”
“Sonny bulldozed that whole mess down and torched it. He’s still out there, watching the fire.” Annie couldn’t help but smile. Leave it to Sonny to take care of the problem.
She didn’t remember how she got upstairs, undressed, and into bed. The next thing she knew she awakened to a dimly lighted room. Her clock radio said 1:52. She became aware of a hazy figure sitting in the corner. It was her father, sleeping in the chair. She felt stiff but otherwise not too bad. She threw back the blankets to get up.
Matthew stirred. “You shouldn’t be getting up, honey.”
“Oh Daddy, I just need to walk a little. I don’t feel too bad, honest. Did you call the hospital? How’s Danny?”
“He’s fine. Fever’s down and he’s sleeping. He’ll probably come home in the morning.” He hesitated then, obviously wanting to say more. “You should have stayed overnight at the hospital, too. But you kept saying, ‘I want to go home.’ ”
“Yeah, I did. Why? Does that surprise you?”
“Well. I guess I wondered if a nice clean hospital might appeal to you after a couple months in this place.” He was looking around at the unpainted, un-carpeted room as he spoke. He sank down on the edge of her bed, running his hands through his hair, looking tired and haggard.
“Maybe I was wrong to bring you all here. I was thinking of myself so much I lost sight of what’s really important.”
“Daddy, you’d better not let Mack hear you talk like that,” she teased. “You just had a bad scare, that’s all. But we’re going to be fine. Look at what we’ve accomplished since we came here. You should be very proud.” She kissed her father on the cheek and said. “Go to bed, Daddy. You’re tired. I’m gonna stay up for awhile. Don’t worry, okay?”
She walked him down the hallway to his room and kissed him again as she sent him off to bed. She looked in on Peter, who was sleeping soundly. She touched his cheeks and was relieved that they were cool and less swollen.
She went downstairs to the kitchen and found Sonny drinking coffee. There was no open hostility between them since their last run-in, but they were not on good speaking terms either. She hadn’t forgiven him for his insufferable arrogance. “Hi. Mind if I join you?”
She reached for a glass, but it slipped from her hand and shattered at her feet. He poured another glass and said, “You’d better sit down.” He cleaned up the mess, poured himself another cup of coffee, and sat down across the table from her.
“Thank you,” she said, feeling a little uneasy as she felt his dark eyes inspecting her. “I’m alright, ya know. You don’t have to nursemaid me, really.” She emphasized those last words, in obvious reference to that other conversation they’d had days before.
He took a swallow of coffee before he answered. “Well, it worked, didn’t it? Getting your license and that car was the best idea you ever had.”
“Oh, you’re taking credit for that? That was your doing?”
“No, but if I said something to rile you up, then I’m real glad.”
Annie started to get angry again, but decided she didn’t have the energy. Besides, he wasn’t sounding sarcastic or condescending.
“So, what were you trying to do today, driving in that condition?”
“I was careful. I surprised myself, even – I mean, I just reacted . There wasn’t time to get help. I didn’t even realize I was stung until everyone started fussing over me.”
“Well, you did damn good,” he said with just a hint of admiration in his voice. “But next time, send someone to find one of us. You went from one extreme to the other. Just settle in the middle somewhere, alright?”
His words and mannerisms caught Annie totally by surprise. She didn’t even know how to respond, especially when a small, half-grin stole across his face. She pushed away from the table and moved tentatively toward the stairs. He didn’t make a make a move to assist her. She wasn’t surprised. They had reached a new understanding – he’d help her if she fell flat but only long enough to put her back on her feet again and send her on her way.
Chapter 22
_ _ _ _
Chapter 20
_
When prom night actually arrived, Luke had to admit he was a little excited. The gym, especially the mural, looked very nice, and Margaret’s sheer rapture was contagious. Annie insisted that he rent a tux with a white dinner jacket and order a pretty orchid corsage.
At the appointed hour, Annie came up to his room to see if he was ready. She fussed over him, fixing his tie and adjusting his cummerbund. She knew his brothers had been heckling him about his choice of dates because Margaret McDuffy was regarded as somewhat of a freak. But she was proud of Luke for finding a lovely swan hidden inside an ugly duckling. Annie had spoken to Margaret at Mass and found her to be quite sweet.
She stood back and surveyed her brother. “You look very handsome,” she smiled. “I wish Mama was her to see you. She always thought you needed to get out more and meet girls. And I think she’d approve of your choice.”
“Oh, you do, huh,” he grinned a little sheepishly. “Well, with Margaret I don’t have to worry about finding something to talk about. She’s real good at that.”
Annie gave him a nice, sisterly kiss, reminding him to grab the corsage out of the refrigerator on his way out. His chauffeur, Mack, was waiting to take him to McDuffy’s. Luke didn’t have his license so Margaret was going to have to drive. That was a little embarrassing, but he’d survive.
He knocked at her door. He was a little early but he supposed she’d be pacing by now. Miss McDuffy opened the door, smiling somewhat tersely, Luke thought, considering how friendly she was the other night when he came for supper.
“My niece is dressed but I think she wants to make a grand entrance or something,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Now you know she is a damn good driver and she’ll be doing all the driving tonight, right?” She took her shawl and sank down in her rocker. “Now you don’t seem the type, but I’m tellin’ ya’ anyway. Ddon’t try no funny business. This is her first date, ya’ know.”
“Aunt Betty!” Margaret shrieked from somewhere in the back of the house. She walked in then, trying to be elegant and graceful although those were by far the highest shoes she had ever worn. Her dress was lovely with a lacy jacket draped over her shoulders. Luke gasped appropriately which made her blush. He noticed right away she wasn’t wearing her glasses, which probably explained why she nearly walked into the coffee table as she came across the room. Luke stiffled his smile as he knew how self-conscience she was about needing such thick glasses. He remembered the flower and he felt her trembling as he pinned it on. She had a boutonnière for him but she asked her grandmother to pin it on. Considering her limited vision, he was just as glad she had chosen that route.
They drove to the high school. Luke’s earlier prophesy that they’d have no trouble talking proved false. She was too nervous. Perhaps the fact that she was driving on her first date bothered her more than it did Luke because she parked the car in the back corner of the lot. Unfortunately, that meant she had further to walk.
They, along with all the other young guests, were sent to the library where they mingled and drank some much-too-sweet punch. After much oohing and awing over dresses, hair-dos, and such, dinner was finally announced. The doors to the gym were swung open after weeks of secrecy. With the help of some well-placed lighting, cardboard Roman columns and plastic greenery, the place didn’t look so much like a gym anymore. There was a false ceiling of blue and white streamers shimmering above them and even a bubbling fountain wishing well in the corner. All of this was designed to magically transport the fashionable ladies and gentlemen to an unforgettable night on the “Streets of Venice”.
Luke and Margaret ate quietly. He noticed Margaret blushing from time to time when she saw her girlfriends who were un-escorted, whispering and looking her direction. No matter how much he tried to put her at ease, he could see ho nervous she was. The dishes were taken away and everyone turned their chairs toward the dais.
Raymond Harvey, the junior class president, was the emcee for the evening. He welcomed the faculty and senior class guests. Luke sat back and patted the carefully worded note tucked in his pocket. At the appropriate time he would have it delivered to the unsuspecting master of ceremonies. He put his arm around the back of Margaret’s chair.
An important part of the prom program was the prophecy, prepared by a committee of juniors in which the future of each of the seniors was predicted. Most were comical but some bordered on cruel. Luke’s name was mentioned in passing, something about him becoming a great artist who would be confused sometimes as to whether he should paint cornfields or skyscrapers.
Next was the senior class will, a tongue-in-cheek listing of gifts banqueted to lower classmen from the seniors. Again, some were funny, but many were less than kind. Luke sensed Margaret becoming increasingly tense as she waited for her name to be mentioned. She had warned Luke that it might be a zinger. Then it came: “Annette Applegate wills the entire school library and her title as ‘Class Brain’ to Margaret McDuffy. Also, Annette would like to leave her the name of the optometrist who fitted her contacts.” The two girls looked at each other across the room and shrugged their shoulders – it could have been much worse.
As the program appeared to be nearing completion, Luke excused himself and walked to the rear of the room where the underclassmen waitresses were hugging the wall, listening. He approached one he knew not to be at all shy and whispered something in her ear. He passed the note to her and returned to his seat to watch his bit of drama unfold.
Raymond waited for the applause to die down after the will was read, preparing to make a few closing statements. Just as he was about to speak, the note was delivered. Luke felt no pity whatsoever as Raymond struggled to regain his composure as half the school looked on. Luke hated these egotistical types who always seemed to get their kicks by putting down others.
Raymond was destined for great things -- everyone said so. His father had some political pull in the area and was quite proud that his son was headed for West Point after high school. It was generally felt that the young man was well suited for such an honor. He excelled physically and scholastically. Well then, wondered Luke, why was this future general cheating in chemistry class – not once, but twice. The first time was a quiz and Luke thought he was probably mistaken. But the second time, he looked over to see Raymond staring at his answer sheet. Luke waited for him in the hallway after class.
He grabbed Raymond’s arm as he went by. “I’m surprised at you, Raymond,” he said, smiling deceptively calmly. “Why would you cheat on a chemistry test?”
“Cheat? Are you crazy?” the felon protested.
“I’m sure it would be easy to prove if the teacher compares papers. Too bad for you, I made a few really stupid mistakes.”
“Hey man, I didn’t have a chance to study,” Raymond pleaded. “We got home real late from the track meet last night. Just ask your brother.”
Luke considered his options carefully. Since he was the new kid in town it probably wouldn’t be real smart to get one of the school’s stars in trouble. “Alright, I’m not going to fink on you, not now at least,” he said. “But just remember, you owe me big. And don’t ever cheat off me again!” Later that night, when he and Margaret were working late on the artwork for the prom, he realized he had the perfect opportunity to collect on Raymond’s IOU.
Raymond thrust the note into his pocket and began reading the long list of committee’s and individuals responsible for the success of the evening. Luke knew the suddenly sweating host was going to have to be careful because his date, Cheryl Swanson, who had been the chairperson of the art committee, was sitting nearby. Raymond hesitated for a moment and drank a sip of water. Then he said, “And we are certainly impressed with all the art work on display here tonight. I am told that much of the credit goes to Margaret McDuffy who coordinated and designed the murals and wall decorations that you see here tonight.”
Many people looked at each other like they thought Raymond must have made a mistake. Others, who knew he was telling the truth, applauded enthusiastically. Margaret smiled, but Raymond’s date was not amused.
“You had something to do with this, didn’t you,” exclaimed Margaret, her face beaming. “What was in that note?”
“Wouldn’t you just love to know!” laughed Luke.
The program was over, and the tables and chairs were cleared away. A little four-piece band was now ready to take over the show. Luke and Margaret found a corner table where they could sit and observe the festivities. A full half hour after Raymond’s announcement, Margaret’s smile had not faded. She seemed to have recovered some of that old spark.
The band opened with a loud, albeit barely recognizable, version of Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline,” followed by a softer, slower “Crystal Blue Persuasion.”
“Would you like to dance, Margaret?” Luke asked. He hoped she could manage a slow dance with those shoes. He led her onto the dance floor, feeling her tremble as she touched her hand to his shoulder. Luke sang along as he gently propelled her around the dance floor.
Crystal blue persuasion
It’s a new vibration
Crystal blue persuasion
Crystal blue persuasion
Maybe tomorrow when He looks down
Every green field and every town
All of his children, every nation
There’ll be peace and good brotherhood
Luke thought the music might start Margaret talking about pollution or world peace, two of her favorite topics, but she was concentrating so hard on dancing that she couldn’t speak. The dance floor filled with the slower song so the band launched into another ballad, Peter, Peter, and Mary’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” Luke and Margaret limped their way through it, but were happy to return to their table when the band exploded in a raucous rendition of “Mama Told Me Not To Come.” Luke watched the adult chaperons to see if anyone objected to the lyrics. Mr. Rausch and his staff were so busy standing guard over the punch bowl and making sure that no couple was dancing too close, that they weren’t listening.
Want some whiskey in your water?
Sugar in your tea?
What’s all the crazy questions you’re asking me?
This is the craziest party I’ve ever seen
Don’t turn on the light cause I don’t wanna see.
Everyone seemed to be having fun, so the band tried “Eli’s Coming” and “Proud Mary.” When the band finally took a break after the first set, a Simon & Garfunkel album played softly over the loud speaker, leading off with a much more subdued, “Bridge Over Troubled Water.”
“That band is awful,” Luke said. “I can’t believe those kids are actually enjoying it. If my brother was here he’d probably march up there, take that fat drummer’s sticks right out of his hands, and have him arrested for impersonating a ‘percussionist’.”
“I’d definitely agree with Thomas. But they were cheap which was one of the main criteria for hiring them. And I don’t think it’s the music that has everyone all giddy. It’s whatever is in those little flasks they’re passing around. And there’s probably a woodsey later on tonight, too.”
“A ‘woodsey’? What’s that? A local colloquialism, no doubt.”
“Oh yes, very local. I don’t think you’d find it in Webster’s. But let me see. Hmmmm.” She thought for a minute, trying to assimilate a proper definition. “It is when a person or persons, usually minors, procure large quantities of liquid refreshment, usually cheap beer. And said persons meet at some pre-arranged site, usually in some secluded, wooded area, and consumes said beverages and engages-- er, well-- in whatever extracurricular activities which might ensue.” She finished a little red-faced, but Luke was laughing.
“Beer, huh? You ever tasted it?”
“Beer? Oh, no. Aunt Betty would have a fit. Her father drank all the time and she’d kill me if she ever found out I came near the stuff.”
“Well, it is pretty foul. My dad lets us taste a little sometimes. He claims it’s an acquired taste, whatever that means.” They sat and watched a little longer until suddenly Luke stood up, took her hand to lead her out. “C’mon, I know where there’s more beer than these punks could ever dream of, and it’s not cheap, either. My dad won’t miss a can or two. Miss McDuffy, how would you like to taste your first can of beer? What your Aunt Betty don’t know, won’t hurt her, right?”
Margaret knew she should protest, but she didn’t want to. Luke escorted her to her car and motioned for her to slide over. She handed him the car keys without a second thought. “It can’t be too much different than driving a tractor, can it? I’ll be careful, honest!” She didn’t care. He could have said let’s hop a jet to Tahiti and she would have said yes. She felt him sitting close to her, flashing that wonderful grin of his. She hoped there was at least someone who noticed them speeding away, sitting there side-by side, like all the other couples.
They drove out of town talking easily about beer and beer drinkers they have known. When they arrived at Luke’s place, he turned into the driveway slowly and turned out the lights as he drove up the hill. He whispered for her to wait while he ducked inside his dad’s office and took out a six-pack from the little refrigerator. When he came out, he took her hand again and lead her to the gazebo. Leaning on his arm, she hopped along, taking off those awful shoes. The cool stone felt refreshing to her tormented feet. Luke made a big show of dusting off a place for her to sit, and then popped open a can for her and one for himself.
“We should make a toast,” he said in mocked solemnity, lifting his can. “To new experiences! To ‘Springtime in Venice’!” They clicked cans, saying, “Here! Here!” and then Luke leaned back against a post with a cute little smirk and watched her take her first swallow. He laughed when she gagged and nearly spit it out.
“Oh, that’s awful!” she cried. But she took another sip, determined to drink the vile stuff.
They both looked up and noticed the moon, which was nearly full and shining so brightly that they could see the outlines of the buildings and the timber shrouded in a hazy glow. It seemed to Margaret that the whole world was enchanted. It was a warm evening, but her nervousness and the cold beer made her shiver a little. He took off his coat and wrapped around her shoulders.
“I didn’t know this little gazebo was here,” she said. “I’ve lived next to this place all my life and always imagined that the inside must be beautiful.”
“Nah, it’s pretty old and creaky, but it’s home sweet home. Everything needs work – everything. My poor sister has lists of things that need fixing. But Pop and Sonny just keep putting her off. All they’re concerned with right now is getting the planting done.” He reached up and shook loose a board that was hanging above him. “This should be white with thick green vines growing all over it, don’t you think? Well, maybe someday.”
“So, you’re staying? I mean, the talk around town is that you’re a bunch of discontented, rich people who came out here on a whim. Everyone’s wondering if you’ll stay.”
“Ha!” laughed Luke. “Anyone who says that has never met my father. He’s serious about staying, all right. And he’s stubborn enough to pull it off. Oh sure, this place is a dump right now but he’s decided it’s what he wants whether we like it or not!”
“But you do like it here, don’t you, Luke? I mean, I’ve never heard you say anything like you hated it or that you wanted to go back East – right?”
“No, no, I like it here, really. But I’m in the minority, I think. Not that it really matters what any of us think. My dad’s not listening to any noe,” he said, sounding resentful.
“Didn’t you know? My aunt and your father belong to this exclusive club – the I-know-what’s best-for-you-club. At least you’re lucky cause you’re graduating in four weeks. What are you going to do then? You’re not going away to school or anything are you?” Shy, wistful hope was ringing in her voice, although she was trying to sound casual.
He didn’t answer at first. The sudden clouded look on his face frightened her. “I’m not sure I have much choice,” he said. “I’ll be eighteen in two weeks.” The reality of that didn’t need explaining.
Margaret’s heart seemed to skip a beat at that instant. Vietnam had always seemed unreal to her. But here it was, crashing down into this night of nights. “Oh Luke, not you!” she cried. “You couldn’t do it, could you? Go to war?”
“Somebody had to do it, don’t they? Isn’t it like a duty? That’s what my old man says. Where would we be now if his generation hadn’t fought World War II?”
“It’s not the same, and you know it. We have no business over there.”
“I don’t know what I believe. Here’s my dad constantly preaching all this patriotism stuff, but Mack says its all a bunch of bull. He’ll never go. And Andrew – he can’t go. He’s going to be a priest. So that leaves me, I guess.”
“So all of this is because of your dad? What do you want, Luke?”
“I have no idea. Guess that comes from being born into a family with money. I don’t have any driving ambitions. Or at least I didn’t think so until we came out here. I really like the idea of farming, living out here in the country.”
His mood changed suddenly then and he leaped to his feet. “Hey, you want to see a really cool spot I found back in the timber? This is supposed to be a woodsey, isn’t it? C’mon,” he insisted, pulling her to her feet. “What about your dress?”
“I have some jeans and sweater in the trunk. And sneakers.” She got her things out of the trunk and soon her dress was laying in heap on the backseat.
He started up the car and drove down the bottom road until he spotted his secret trail. He lead her down the pathway until they came to a creek. He flashed the light on the plank bridge he had built. Bowing deeply, he announced, “The draw bridge is down, my lady.” She curtsied and danced across. He took her hand and helped her up a short, steep incline until they stood in a large clearing.
“See, it’s a huge rock surface,” he said, pounding his foot to punctuate what he was saying.
“Guess some glacier dumped it here. I found it one day when I was looking for those damn cows. I don’t know if you can see it but there’s a wide break in the trees so you can see all the way to the river.” He took the blanket he brought from the car and spread it out so they could sit. He opened two more beers. “I think this would be a great spot for a cabin -- a nice A-frame cabin with lots of windows and fireplaces.” He knelt on his knees and stretched his arms out dramatically. “This could be my private kingdom. Wouldn’t need to go anywhere or do anything else – just live out my days right here and live happily ever after.”
“King Lucas, aye? Just live here in your castle and slay any dragons or Trojan horses that try to cross your moat. Well, let me tell you, sir, the local aristocracy does not look kindly upon strangers laying claim to parcels of our kingdom. First, you must be deemed suitable. Come hither and be knighted.” She picked up a nearby stick. With a great dramatic flourish, Luke knelt before her. “Sir Lucas, because you have proven yourself to be a Doer of Good Deeds, rescuer of maidens in distress, and chivalrous and kind, I pronounce you King Lucas, King of the Realm of the, er-- Rocky Castle.” She touched his shoulders softly as she spoke. And the deed having been completed, they both collapsed onto the blanket, laughing. “Oh God, I’ve never acted so silly in my whole life. You got another beer?”
“Sure do. Here you are, madam. Sure didn’t take us long to acquire the taste, did it?” He rolled over onto his back and stretched out, looking up at the heavens. Margaret was looking up, too, thinking that if she had wished upon a million stars, she could never have wished for anything more wonderful than tonight.
“What about you?” he asked after a long pause. “Now that my future has been settled and I’ve been solidly installed as Lord and Master of my kingdom here, what are your plans?”
“Me?” she said hedging. “I do think about it a lot. I want to go to college, obviously. I’d love to go to someplace like Berkeley or Radcliffe – just go as far away from here as I possibly can. But I won’t, of course. I have to stay close to my Aunt Betty. I’m all she has. She raised me, you know, so I have to take care of her now.”
“You big hypocrite! You give me hell because I feel I have to do something for my dad. But you’re doing the same thing. It’s a bunch of bull anyway, you know. If you were free – totally and completely free, to do anything or go anywhere you wanted, where would you go? You’d be scared shitless – we all would.”
“I would not! I’d go to some exotic place, let my hair grow and walk around bare-footed. I’d follow my instincts and be open to new experiences and ideas.”
“How come you can’t do all that here?”
“It’s not possible. Nothing spectacular could ever happen to me here cause I could never get out of the rut I’m in. None of the kids here like me cause I’m too smart. But school is easy for me and it’s the only thing that keeps me from being totally bored. I can’t change my hair or anything cause I’ve looked like this for so long everyone would just laugh at me if I tried to change now.” She sighed deeply. He seemed interested, so she continued.
“And besides, you can’t believe how strict my aunt is about everything. I mean, I love her dearly but she just doesn’t understand. I’m always gonna be remembered as the girl with the thick glasses, dumb clothes, and sensible shoes.” Her exasperation was almost comical, and she knew it. She started giggling again, the beer making her feel a little giddy and dizzy.
“God! I must be a real creep to even be seen with you!” Luke teased. “But you know what I think? I think you’re probably suffering from the grass-is-greener syndrome. It’s not an uncommon phenomenon, you know. It’s like your life is on hold. You just can’t wait to get out in the big world and prove something – to yourself, mostly.”
“How come you aren’t anxious to get out on your own and try out your wings? You’re so sensible and practical all the time. I thought artists were supposed to be romantics.”
He laughed softly. “So, that proves it once and for all – I’ll never be a great artist. I’m the down to earth sort. I paint only what’s real.” He shrugged his shoulders, still smiling. “Well, anyway,” he said. “It’s getting late. We probably should go, Maggie – you don’t mind if I call you that, do you?”
“No, I don’t mind,” she purred softly. “That was my dad’s pet name for me when I was a baby. Just don’t say it around school. I think ‘Margaret’ probably fits my image better.” She gathered up her things as she talked. But when she looked up, he was suddenly very close and she realized he wanted to kiss her. She could scarcely breath when he reached out and drew her nearer. And then their lips touched. It was not a long kiss, but a kiss just the same. She felt a wild flutter in her stomach like she had just gone over the top of a Ferris wheel.
She didn’t know how she was supposed to react or what to say, but he handled it masterfully. He took her hand and helped her to her feet. They both laughed as they found they were a little drunk. He put his arm around her quivering shoulders and they stood for a moment, gazing out over the misty countryside. It was bathed in silky moonlight, looking like a still-life painting of some mystical place. But then they returned to the real world.
_ _ _ _
Maggie was so happy and excited that she hardly slept that night. She played the wonderful events over and over again in her mind, trying to memorize every word and gesture. It was the night her first love had given her a first kiss and taken her to a place every young girl dreams of going. And for days and weeks, even months afterwords, whenever she thought of their night together in their stony kingdom, there was one special song that kept playing in her mind:
In truth there’s simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily ever-aftering
Than here in Camelot”
Chapter 21
_ _ _ _
When prom night actually arrived, Luke had to admit he was a little excited. The gym, especially the mural, looked very nice, and Margaret’s sheer rapture was contagious. Annie insisted that he rent a tux with a white dinner jacket and order a pretty orchid corsage.
At the appointed hour, Annie came up to his room to see if he was ready. She fussed over him, fixing his tie and adjusting his cummerbund. She knew his brothers had been heckling him about his choice of dates because Margaret McDuffy was regarded as somewhat of a freak. But she was proud of Luke for finding a lovely swan hidden inside an ugly duckling. Annie had spoken to Margaret at Mass and found her to be quite sweet.
She stood back and surveyed her brother. “You look very handsome,” she smiled. “I wish Mama was her to see you. She always thought you needed to get out more and meet girls. And I think she’d approve of your choice.”
“Oh, you do, huh,” he grinned a little sheepishly. “Well, with Margaret I don’t have to worry about finding something to talk about. She’s real good at that.”
Annie gave him a nice, sisterly kiss, reminding him to grab the corsage out of the refrigerator on his way out. His chauffeur, Mack, was waiting to take him to McDuffy’s. Luke didn’t have his license so Margaret was going to have to drive. That was a little embarrassing, but he’d survive.
He knocked at her door. He was a little early but he supposed she’d be pacing by now. Miss McDuffy opened the door, smiling somewhat tersely, Luke thought, considering how friendly she was the other night when he came for supper.
“My niece is dressed but I think she wants to make a grand entrance or something,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Now you know she is a damn good driver and she’ll be doing all the driving tonight, right?” She took her shawl and sank down in her rocker. “Now you don’t seem the type, but I’m tellin’ ya’ anyway. Ddon’t try no funny business. This is her first date, ya’ know.”
“Aunt Betty!” Margaret shrieked from somewhere in the back of the house. She walked in then, trying to be elegant and graceful although those were by far the highest shoes she had ever worn. Her dress was lovely with a lacy jacket draped over her shoulders. Luke gasped appropriately which made her blush. He noticed right away she wasn’t wearing her glasses, which probably explained why she nearly walked into the coffee table as she came across the room. Luke stiffled his smile as he knew how self-conscience she was about needing such thick glasses. He remembered the flower and he felt her trembling as he pinned it on. She had a boutonnière for him but she asked her grandmother to pin it on. Considering her limited vision, he was just as glad she had chosen that route.
They drove to the high school. Luke’s earlier prophesy that they’d have no trouble talking proved false. She was too nervous. Perhaps the fact that she was driving on her first date bothered her more than it did Luke because she parked the car in the back corner of the lot. Unfortunately, that meant she had further to walk.
They, along with all the other young guests, were sent to the library where they mingled and drank some much-too-sweet punch. After much oohing and awing over dresses, hair-dos, and such, dinner was finally announced. The doors to the gym were swung open after weeks of secrecy. With the help of some well-placed lighting, cardboard Roman columns and plastic greenery, the place didn’t look so much like a gym anymore. There was a false ceiling of blue and white streamers shimmering above them and even a bubbling fountain wishing well in the corner. All of this was designed to magically transport the fashionable ladies and gentlemen to an unforgettable night on the “Streets of Venice”.
Luke and Margaret ate quietly. He noticed Margaret blushing from time to time when she saw her girlfriends who were un-escorted, whispering and looking her direction. No matter how much he tried to put her at ease, he could see ho nervous she was. The dishes were taken away and everyone turned their chairs toward the dais.
Raymond Harvey, the junior class president, was the emcee for the evening. He welcomed the faculty and senior class guests. Luke sat back and patted the carefully worded note tucked in his pocket. At the appropriate time he would have it delivered to the unsuspecting master of ceremonies. He put his arm around the back of Margaret’s chair.
An important part of the prom program was the prophecy, prepared by a committee of juniors in which the future of each of the seniors was predicted. Most were comical but some bordered on cruel. Luke’s name was mentioned in passing, something about him becoming a great artist who would be confused sometimes as to whether he should paint cornfields or skyscrapers.
Next was the senior class will, a tongue-in-cheek listing of gifts banqueted to lower classmen from the seniors. Again, some were funny, but many were less than kind. Luke sensed Margaret becoming increasingly tense as she waited for her name to be mentioned. She had warned Luke that it might be a zinger. Then it came: “Annette Applegate wills the entire school library and her title as ‘Class Brain’ to Margaret McDuffy. Also, Annette would like to leave her the name of the optometrist who fitted her contacts.” The two girls looked at each other across the room and shrugged their shoulders – it could have been much worse.
As the program appeared to be nearing completion, Luke excused himself and walked to the rear of the room where the underclassmen waitresses were hugging the wall, listening. He approached one he knew not to be at all shy and whispered something in her ear. He passed the note to her and returned to his seat to watch his bit of drama unfold.
Raymond waited for the applause to die down after the will was read, preparing to make a few closing statements. Just as he was about to speak, the note was delivered. Luke felt no pity whatsoever as Raymond struggled to regain his composure as half the school looked on. Luke hated these egotistical types who always seemed to get their kicks by putting down others.
Raymond was destined for great things -- everyone said so. His father had some political pull in the area and was quite proud that his son was headed for West Point after high school. It was generally felt that the young man was well suited for such an honor. He excelled physically and scholastically. Well then, wondered Luke, why was this future general cheating in chemistry class – not once, but twice. The first time was a quiz and Luke thought he was probably mistaken. But the second time, he looked over to see Raymond staring at his answer sheet. Luke waited for him in the hallway after class.
He grabbed Raymond’s arm as he went by. “I’m surprised at you, Raymond,” he said, smiling deceptively calmly. “Why would you cheat on a chemistry test?”
“Cheat? Are you crazy?” the felon protested.
“I’m sure it would be easy to prove if the teacher compares papers. Too bad for you, I made a few really stupid mistakes.”
“Hey man, I didn’t have a chance to study,” Raymond pleaded. “We got home real late from the track meet last night. Just ask your brother.”
Luke considered his options carefully. Since he was the new kid in town it probably wouldn’t be real smart to get one of the school’s stars in trouble. “Alright, I’m not going to fink on you, not now at least,” he said. “But just remember, you owe me big. And don’t ever cheat off me again!” Later that night, when he and Margaret were working late on the artwork for the prom, he realized he had the perfect opportunity to collect on Raymond’s IOU.
Raymond thrust the note into his pocket and began reading the long list of committee’s and individuals responsible for the success of the evening. Luke knew the suddenly sweating host was going to have to be careful because his date, Cheryl Swanson, who had been the chairperson of the art committee, was sitting nearby. Raymond hesitated for a moment and drank a sip of water. Then he said, “And we are certainly impressed with all the art work on display here tonight. I am told that much of the credit goes to Margaret McDuffy who coordinated and designed the murals and wall decorations that you see here tonight.”
Many people looked at each other like they thought Raymond must have made a mistake. Others, who knew he was telling the truth, applauded enthusiastically. Margaret smiled, but Raymond’s date was not amused.
“You had something to do with this, didn’t you,” exclaimed Margaret, her face beaming. “What was in that note?”
“Wouldn’t you just love to know!” laughed Luke.
The program was over, and the tables and chairs were cleared away. A little four-piece band was now ready to take over the show. Luke and Margaret found a corner table where they could sit and observe the festivities. A full half hour after Raymond’s announcement, Margaret’s smile had not faded. She seemed to have recovered some of that old spark.
The band opened with a loud, albeit barely recognizable, version of Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline,” followed by a softer, slower “Crystal Blue Persuasion.”
“Would you like to dance, Margaret?” Luke asked. He hoped she could manage a slow dance with those shoes. He led her onto the dance floor, feeling her tremble as she touched her hand to his shoulder. Luke sang along as he gently propelled her around the dance floor.
Crystal blue persuasion
It’s a new vibration
Crystal blue persuasion
Crystal blue persuasion
Maybe tomorrow when He looks down
Every green field and every town
All of his children, every nation
There’ll be peace and good brotherhood
Luke thought the music might start Margaret talking about pollution or world peace, two of her favorite topics, but she was concentrating so hard on dancing that she couldn’t speak. The dance floor filled with the slower song so the band launched into another ballad, Peter, Peter, and Mary’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” Luke and Margaret limped their way through it, but were happy to return to their table when the band exploded in a raucous rendition of “Mama Told Me Not To Come.” Luke watched the adult chaperons to see if anyone objected to the lyrics. Mr. Rausch and his staff were so busy standing guard over the punch bowl and making sure that no couple was dancing too close, that they weren’t listening.
Want some whiskey in your water?
Sugar in your tea?
What’s all the crazy questions you’re asking me?
This is the craziest party I’ve ever seen
Don’t turn on the light cause I don’t wanna see.
Everyone seemed to be having fun, so the band tried “Eli’s Coming” and “Proud Mary.” When the band finally took a break after the first set, a Simon & Garfunkel album played softly over the loud speaker, leading off with a much more subdued, “Bridge Over Troubled Water.”
“That band is awful,” Luke said. “I can’t believe those kids are actually enjoying it. If my brother was here he’d probably march up there, take that fat drummer’s sticks right out of his hands, and have him arrested for impersonating a ‘percussionist’.”
“I’d definitely agree with Thomas. But they were cheap which was one of the main criteria for hiring them. And I don’t think it’s the music that has everyone all giddy. It’s whatever is in those little flasks they’re passing around. And there’s probably a woodsey later on tonight, too.”
“A ‘woodsey’? What’s that? A local colloquialism, no doubt.”
“Oh yes, very local. I don’t think you’d find it in Webster’s. But let me see. Hmmmm.” She thought for a minute, trying to assimilate a proper definition. “It is when a person or persons, usually minors, procure large quantities of liquid refreshment, usually cheap beer. And said persons meet at some pre-arranged site, usually in some secluded, wooded area, and consumes said beverages and engages-- er, well-- in whatever extracurricular activities which might ensue.” She finished a little red-faced, but Luke was laughing.
“Beer, huh? You ever tasted it?”
“Beer? Oh, no. Aunt Betty would have a fit. Her father drank all the time and she’d kill me if she ever found out I came near the stuff.”
“Well, it is pretty foul. My dad lets us taste a little sometimes. He claims it’s an acquired taste, whatever that means.” They sat and watched a little longer until suddenly Luke stood up, took her hand to lead her out. “C’mon, I know where there’s more beer than these punks could ever dream of, and it’s not cheap, either. My dad won’t miss a can or two. Miss McDuffy, how would you like to taste your first can of beer? What your Aunt Betty don’t know, won’t hurt her, right?”
Margaret knew she should protest, but she didn’t want to. Luke escorted her to her car and motioned for her to slide over. She handed him the car keys without a second thought. “It can’t be too much different than driving a tractor, can it? I’ll be careful, honest!” She didn’t care. He could have said let’s hop a jet to Tahiti and she would have said yes. She felt him sitting close to her, flashing that wonderful grin of his. She hoped there was at least someone who noticed them speeding away, sitting there side-by side, like all the other couples.
They drove out of town talking easily about beer and beer drinkers they have known. When they arrived at Luke’s place, he turned into the driveway slowly and turned out the lights as he drove up the hill. He whispered for her to wait while he ducked inside his dad’s office and took out a six-pack from the little refrigerator. When he came out, he took her hand again and lead her to the gazebo. Leaning on his arm, she hopped along, taking off those awful shoes. The cool stone felt refreshing to her tormented feet. Luke made a big show of dusting off a place for her to sit, and then popped open a can for her and one for himself.
“We should make a toast,” he said in mocked solemnity, lifting his can. “To new experiences! To ‘Springtime in Venice’!” They clicked cans, saying, “Here! Here!” and then Luke leaned back against a post with a cute little smirk and watched her take her first swallow. He laughed when she gagged and nearly spit it out.
“Oh, that’s awful!” she cried. But she took another sip, determined to drink the vile stuff.
They both looked up and noticed the moon, which was nearly full and shining so brightly that they could see the outlines of the buildings and the timber shrouded in a hazy glow. It seemed to Margaret that the whole world was enchanted. It was a warm evening, but her nervousness and the cold beer made her shiver a little. He took off his coat and wrapped around her shoulders.
“I didn’t know this little gazebo was here,” she said. “I’ve lived next to this place all my life and always imagined that the inside must be beautiful.”
“Nah, it’s pretty old and creaky, but it’s home sweet home. Everything needs work – everything. My poor sister has lists of things that need fixing. But Pop and Sonny just keep putting her off. All they’re concerned with right now is getting the planting done.” He reached up and shook loose a board that was hanging above him. “This should be white with thick green vines growing all over it, don’t you think? Well, maybe someday.”
“So, you’re staying? I mean, the talk around town is that you’re a bunch of discontented, rich people who came out here on a whim. Everyone’s wondering if you’ll stay.”
“Ha!” laughed Luke. “Anyone who says that has never met my father. He’s serious about staying, all right. And he’s stubborn enough to pull it off. Oh sure, this place is a dump right now but he’s decided it’s what he wants whether we like it or not!”
“But you do like it here, don’t you, Luke? I mean, I’ve never heard you say anything like you hated it or that you wanted to go back East – right?”
“No, no, I like it here, really. But I’m in the minority, I think. Not that it really matters what any of us think. My dad’s not listening to any noe,” he said, sounding resentful.
“Didn’t you know? My aunt and your father belong to this exclusive club – the I-know-what’s best-for-you-club. At least you’re lucky cause you’re graduating in four weeks. What are you going to do then? You’re not going away to school or anything are you?” Shy, wistful hope was ringing in her voice, although she was trying to sound casual.
He didn’t answer at first. The sudden clouded look on his face frightened her. “I’m not sure I have much choice,” he said. “I’ll be eighteen in two weeks.” The reality of that didn’t need explaining.
Margaret’s heart seemed to skip a beat at that instant. Vietnam had always seemed unreal to her. But here it was, crashing down into this night of nights. “Oh Luke, not you!” she cried. “You couldn’t do it, could you? Go to war?”
“Somebody had to do it, don’t they? Isn’t it like a duty? That’s what my old man says. Where would we be now if his generation hadn’t fought World War II?”
“It’s not the same, and you know it. We have no business over there.”
“I don’t know what I believe. Here’s my dad constantly preaching all this patriotism stuff, but Mack says its all a bunch of bull. He’ll never go. And Andrew – he can’t go. He’s going to be a priest. So that leaves me, I guess.”
“So all of this is because of your dad? What do you want, Luke?”
“I have no idea. Guess that comes from being born into a family with money. I don’t have any driving ambitions. Or at least I didn’t think so until we came out here. I really like the idea of farming, living out here in the country.”
His mood changed suddenly then and he leaped to his feet. “Hey, you want to see a really cool spot I found back in the timber? This is supposed to be a woodsey, isn’t it? C’mon,” he insisted, pulling her to her feet. “What about your dress?”
“I have some jeans and sweater in the trunk. And sneakers.” She got her things out of the trunk and soon her dress was laying in heap on the backseat.
He started up the car and drove down the bottom road until he spotted his secret trail. He lead her down the pathway until they came to a creek. He flashed the light on the plank bridge he had built. Bowing deeply, he announced, “The draw bridge is down, my lady.” She curtsied and danced across. He took her hand and helped her up a short, steep incline until they stood in a large clearing.
“See, it’s a huge rock surface,” he said, pounding his foot to punctuate what he was saying.
“Guess some glacier dumped it here. I found it one day when I was looking for those damn cows. I don’t know if you can see it but there’s a wide break in the trees so you can see all the way to the river.” He took the blanket he brought from the car and spread it out so they could sit. He opened two more beers. “I think this would be a great spot for a cabin -- a nice A-frame cabin with lots of windows and fireplaces.” He knelt on his knees and stretched his arms out dramatically. “This could be my private kingdom. Wouldn’t need to go anywhere or do anything else – just live out my days right here and live happily ever after.”
“King Lucas, aye? Just live here in your castle and slay any dragons or Trojan horses that try to cross your moat. Well, let me tell you, sir, the local aristocracy does not look kindly upon strangers laying claim to parcels of our kingdom. First, you must be deemed suitable. Come hither and be knighted.” She picked up a nearby stick. With a great dramatic flourish, Luke knelt before her. “Sir Lucas, because you have proven yourself to be a Doer of Good Deeds, rescuer of maidens in distress, and chivalrous and kind, I pronounce you King Lucas, King of the Realm of the, er-- Rocky Castle.” She touched his shoulders softly as she spoke. And the deed having been completed, they both collapsed onto the blanket, laughing. “Oh God, I’ve never acted so silly in my whole life. You got another beer?”
“Sure do. Here you are, madam. Sure didn’t take us long to acquire the taste, did it?” He rolled over onto his back and stretched out, looking up at the heavens. Margaret was looking up, too, thinking that if she had wished upon a million stars, she could never have wished for anything more wonderful than tonight.
“What about you?” he asked after a long pause. “Now that my future has been settled and I’ve been solidly installed as Lord and Master of my kingdom here, what are your plans?”
“Me?” she said hedging. “I do think about it a lot. I want to go to college, obviously. I’d love to go to someplace like Berkeley or Radcliffe – just go as far away from here as I possibly can. But I won’t, of course. I have to stay close to my Aunt Betty. I’m all she has. She raised me, you know, so I have to take care of her now.”
“You big hypocrite! You give me hell because I feel I have to do something for my dad. But you’re doing the same thing. It’s a bunch of bull anyway, you know. If you were free – totally and completely free, to do anything or go anywhere you wanted, where would you go? You’d be scared shitless – we all would.”
“I would not! I’d go to some exotic place, let my hair grow and walk around bare-footed. I’d follow my instincts and be open to new experiences and ideas.”
“How come you can’t do all that here?”
“It’s not possible. Nothing spectacular could ever happen to me here cause I could never get out of the rut I’m in. None of the kids here like me cause I’m too smart. But school is easy for me and it’s the only thing that keeps me from being totally bored. I can’t change my hair or anything cause I’ve looked like this for so long everyone would just laugh at me if I tried to change now.” She sighed deeply. He seemed interested, so she continued.
“And besides, you can’t believe how strict my aunt is about everything. I mean, I love her dearly but she just doesn’t understand. I’m always gonna be remembered as the girl with the thick glasses, dumb clothes, and sensible shoes.” Her exasperation was almost comical, and she knew it. She started giggling again, the beer making her feel a little giddy and dizzy.
“God! I must be a real creep to even be seen with you!” Luke teased. “But you know what I think? I think you’re probably suffering from the grass-is-greener syndrome. It’s not an uncommon phenomenon, you know. It’s like your life is on hold. You just can’t wait to get out in the big world and prove something – to yourself, mostly.”
“How come you aren’t anxious to get out on your own and try out your wings? You’re so sensible and practical all the time. I thought artists were supposed to be romantics.”
He laughed softly. “So, that proves it once and for all – I’ll never be a great artist. I’m the down to earth sort. I paint only what’s real.” He shrugged his shoulders, still smiling. “Well, anyway,” he said. “It’s getting late. We probably should go, Maggie – you don’t mind if I call you that, do you?”
“No, I don’t mind,” she purred softly. “That was my dad’s pet name for me when I was a baby. Just don’t say it around school. I think ‘Margaret’ probably fits my image better.” She gathered up her things as she talked. But when she looked up, he was suddenly very close and she realized he wanted to kiss her. She could scarcely breath when he reached out and drew her nearer. And then their lips touched. It was not a long kiss, but a kiss just the same. She felt a wild flutter in her stomach like she had just gone over the top of a Ferris wheel.
She didn’t know how she was supposed to react or what to say, but he handled it masterfully. He took her hand and helped her to her feet. They both laughed as they found they were a little drunk. He put his arm around her quivering shoulders and they stood for a moment, gazing out over the misty countryside. It was bathed in silky moonlight, looking like a still-life painting of some mystical place. But then they returned to the real world.
_ _ _ _
Maggie was so happy and excited that she hardly slept that night. She played the wonderful events over and over again in her mind, trying to memorize every word and gesture. It was the night her first love had given her a first kiss and taken her to a place every young girl dreams of going. And for days and weeks, even months afterwords, whenever she thought of their night together in their stony kingdom, there was one special song that kept playing in her mind:
In truth there’s simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily ever-aftering
Than here in Camelot”
Chapter 21
_ _ _ _
Chapter 19
_
Luke wasn’t sure how it happened, but somehow he and Margaret McDuffy were going to the prom together. He really hadn’t planned on going at all but Margaret had mentioned it off-handed several times while they were working on the mural. Things got twisted around until it seemed he asked her. He didn’t mind really and she’d be devastated if he tried to back out now. Besides, he genuinely enjoyed her company and they were certainly spending a lot of time together. The mural had turned out to be a tremendous job, taking many hours to complete, especially since the rest of the co-called artistic committee were less than dedicated. Luke had managed to spend some time after school and as it neared completion, he was surprised how professional it looked.
One morning about two weeks before the prom, Margaret waited for him outside the art room, looking very red-faced and breathless as she always did when she was nervous about something. She began blurting out her request as though she had rehearsed it many times. “My Aunt Betty is insisting that she meet you before we go to the prom. She wants you to come over for supper some night soon. Anyway, don’t worry, I already told her you’d probably say no.” She paused then to take a breath, finally allowing him a chance to say something.
“Yes, I can come over and give her a chance to look me over,” he said, grinning.
Margaret was shocked, obviously surprised he actually said yes. Arrangements were made for him to come next Friday night. “But remember,” she kept saying, “you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
_ _ _ _
On the appointed night, he was more curious than nervous. The elderly Miss McDuffy had quite the reputation around the community for being difficult at times. Everyone gave her credit for at least attempting to raise her grandniece since infancy after her parents were killed in a car accident. The fact that the girl had always been a bit strange was believed to be the aunt’s fault because of her refusal to accept modern changes in fashion and attitudes. My goodness, everyone whispered, she didn’t even let the poor girl shave her legs.
Luke was aware of all this as he made his way to their place that night. The McDuffy farm bordered the Winston’s place along the southern ridge. Luke knew of a path that led up the bluff to their backyard. Thomas teased him that he took the shortcut through the woods because he didn’t want anyone to know he was seeing such a ugly girl. Luke ignored him. He knew the rather plump, round-faced girl was no Miss America but he liked talking to her and was not at all put off by her aunt’s request that he present himself for her inspection.
Margaret was in a state of sheer befuddlement when she answered the door, more red-faced than usual. She was perspiring so heavily that her glasses appeared to be steamed over. Luke grinned, trying to reassure her as she ushered him into the kitchen. Miss McDuffy instructed him to sit down across from her at the kitchen table so they could talk while Margaret finished supper.
The young girl bristled. “Aunt Betty, why don’t you go sit in the living room?”
“Oh no, this is fine,” said Luke. “We can sit here.”
“She’s just nervous, ya’ know,” Miss McDuffy whispered. “She’s afraid I’m gonna say somethin’ foolish. Well, I’m an old lady so I’ve got an excuse, don’t ya’ think?”
Luke liked his hostess immediately. It was easy to see where Margaret got her short, angular frame and those bright, intense eyes.
They had baked fish for supper because Miss McDuffy believed in the old ways. “If we were supposed to give up meat on Fridays for all those years, I don’t see no reason to stop doing it now,” she said. After the meal, Luke helped Margaret clean up the dishes while the old lady asked him blunt questions about his family and background.
“Well,” she said, “that old house finally got what it was built for – a family with a whole bunch of kids.”
“Really,” Luke asked. “What makes you say that?”
“Cause I can remember when that house was built like it was yesterday. I was just a little girl and I was very interested in the watching them put up such a grand house. Me and my brother, Freddy, would sneak over there – probably the same back trail you took comin’ here tonight, Luke. We’d go over there and just watch ‘em for hours. Old Cap’m Weatherly brought in the best carpenters and materials upriver from St. Louie. I can still see him pacin’ back n’ forth with his hands clinched tight behind his back. He saw to every detail. To be sure, his house was going to look like those big plantation houses in the South. And it was beautiful all right, but it never brought him the happiness it was s’pose ta. Talk was, the place was doomed since the day he first laid eyes on it. Some even said he was in league with the devil himself so he’d never find any peace – not in that house anyway.”
“The devil? In my house?” Luke gulped.
“Yes, you see, that place already had a history by that time. Different people owned the place since the time of early settlement in these parts, but no one ever made a go of it. There was always some kind of trouble so it was sold a lot. But in the spring of 1905 – I remember that exact date because that was the year I started school – three families of Fox Indians arrived from a reservation out West somewhere. When they got here they said that the land, the place at the top of the hill where the house is now, had been some kind of special holy place for their tribe for generations, right up to the time their people got chased off the land. They were supposed to be direct descendants of the old chiefs or somethin’. I guess they worked and saved for years until they had enough money to buy the place. And that’s what they did.”
“Indians brought our land? So what happened?” Luke settled into a chair across from his host.
The old lady paused a minute, gathering her thoughts, remembering things she hadn’t thought about in years. She turned her mind back to a time when she was a small child, running and playing in the endless woods. “Those poor people were mistreated and blamed for everything that went wrong in the whole county,” she continued. “They were snubbed and ridiculed so they mostly kept to themselves. They were called heathens and all sorts of awful things. Us kids were forbidden to go near the place. But me and Freddy, well, we didn’t have any idea what any of that meant and we made friends with the Indian kids. Ah, they told such great stories and taught us wonderful things about the woods and the wild animals -- things my dad didn’t even know.” Once again her voice faded as remembered the little Indian children’s stories why the timber wolf cries so or why the leaves on the trees turned upside down when the rain is coming.
“Anyway, those three years they were here were bad times in these parts. Bad floods ever’ spring, real hard winters. Some of the folks got it in their heads that the Indians were somehow to blame – that their strange chants and dances were evil. People started saying the Indians were aimin’ for all the farmers to fail so they’d be forced to sell. And then new Indian families would buy up more and more land, until pretty soon this town wouldn’t be no place for decent Christian folks to live any more.” Miss McDuffy struggled to find the words to explain to these young people, born in a different age of scientific technology, how people 60 years ago could be so desperate and frightened that they could blame their misfortunes on something so mysterious.
“So, when Cap’t Weatherly landed in town one day and announced he was here to buy that same land the Indians had, the people acted like he was their deliverer. He was really something, so handsome with all his fine ways and pockets full of money. He had his new bride along --a frail, pretty young thing from down South somewhere. He said he had been piloting on the river for twenty years and had often noticed that rocky hilltop shinin’ in the sunlight when he came around that sharp bend in the river north of your place. And he knew the bottomland around here was the best there was. So when he decided to leave the river and settle down, he knew the perfect spot. He wanted many children so he planned to build a grand mansion. He had such wonderful plans.”
“But the Indians wouldn’t sell. Wouldn’t even consider it, which of course, infuriated the Captain. So, him and his wife took up residence in town and spread his money around. He paid the merchants to stop doing any more business with the Indians. The rumors became more vicious than ever, probably started by Weatherly himself. They blamed ever’ thing on those poor Indians, from the mayor’s arthritis to babies being stillborn. Well, that next spring, one of the Indian children died and two of the families went back to the reservation. Maybe they were planning to get more money or supplies, I don’t know.
“They left one family behind? By themselves?” Margaret asked. “Knowing this town, I bet there was trouble.”
“Yep, there sure was. That spring, my father and some of the other farmers were missin’ cattle. They were sure the Indians were stealing ‘em so they called a town meetin’. I was afraid for them Indians and I laid awake, waitin’ for my dad. He came back late and his words were slurred. I knew he’d been drinking. The next day in school I heard that the Indian man had been beaten real bad but he wouldn’t admit to stealin’ no cattle. When I asked my papa about it, he looked me straight in the eye and said he had nothin’ to do with it. And then he spanked me hard for bein’ so disrespectful to 'im. Never could figure out why he did that – the spankin’, I mean. It was the only time he ever did that.”
“The next night the church burnt to the ground and human remains were found. It was ol’ Charlie Dorfmann, the town drunk. He probably wondered in there to get out of the rain since his woman wouldn’t let him in their house ‘til he was sober. The town went crazy. They said the Indian did it. Ol’ Charlie probably did it hisself but nobody said nothin’ about that. By the next night, people were out of control -- they came on our yard with torches and big talk. They yelled for my father to go with ‘em but he said no. He’d had enough.”
“So they went over there, hollerin’ and screamin’ for the Indian to come out. And when he didn’t, they burned down his barn and were aimin’ to torch the cabin, too. They dragged him out and hanged him – right there on that big oak tree by the bluff. His poor wife and three little boys were standin’ there watchin’. Can you imagine such a thing?” She shuddered as though the whole horrifying spectacle had just happened yesterday.”
“Oh, my God, Aunt Betty. They hung him? How come I never heard this story before?”
“Because most of the people around here were ashamed. It was cold-hearted murder, it was. His poor wife signed over the deed in return for some money and a guarantee of safe passage for her and her three children out of town and back to the reservation. Captain Weatherly got the land and started building his big house. His wife was sickly – couldn’t tolerate this climate very good, I guess. She was never able to give the Cap’t any children. She lost three sons – some folks said they were like the three little boys who watched their papa hang that night. She died in childbirth with the third baby. After that the Cap’t went rantin’ and ravin’ crazy. That big ol’ house never hardly had no lights on anymore and the servants told stories of how the Captain saw demons and ghosts.” She stopped then. There were more stories about the captain and his house but then she remembered that her young guest now lived there. “ ‘Course, I never did believe any of that. Anyway, one day the Captain just up and got on a riverboat docked in town and was never heard from again.”
“And let me tell ya’ somethin’, Luke, I’ve lived here all my life. And I’ve seen people come and go. That place was sold time after time. ‘Course, so have a lot of other farms around here. But one thing I know for sure ‘cause I seen it with my own eyes – that next spring when all the trees leafed out, nothin’ grew on that branch where they hung that poor Indian. It was deader than a doornail, but the rest of the tree was fine. The Captain ordered it cut off. But you can still see the scar on that tree.”
_ _ _ _
Luke repeated the tale to his family late that night. The younger ones were already in bed and Matthew had gone into town for a couple of drinks after supper. They sat spellbound as he told of the Indian families forced off the land and the building of this house by some seedy, mysterious riverboat captain. They tried to deny it but the story left them feeling uncomfortably cold. Even Sonny seemed restless and uneasy as he listened.
“C’mon, lets go see it,” whispered Mack, grinning. He made it sound more like a challenge than an invitation.
“Mack!” Johnny cried. “It’s dark out there!” They were all suddenly aware of the whining winds and creaking timbers.
“Nah, come on!” pushed Mack. “You guys aren’t scared, are you?” He grabbed the flashlight and out. The others followed him, staying close together. They knew exactly which tree Miss McDuffy was talking about. When they stood beneath it, they gazed up at the massive thing with renewed amazement. Mack scanned the trunk with the light and there it was – a knarled scar where the fabled branch had been.
“Look!” Thomas said. “You can see a Indian’s head, like on those old nickels.”
“Oh, come on!” they all groaned. “That’s going a bit far. You’re seeing things.”
A gust of wind seized the tree and its branches seemed to bend toward them. All of them fairly ran back to the safe haven of their kitchen. They sat around the table for a long time. No one seemed to be in any hurry to go upstairs to bed.
“But you know what?” Andrew said. “Sometimes I do feel a sort of presence here, but it's never frightened me.”
“Sure,” added Luke. “I’ve read stories about this sort of thing. Ghosts don’t have to be bad. Maybe our ghosts are of the friendly variety.” Everyone laughed, though a bit anxiously.
“At least this explains some of the weird questions we’ve been getting around town,” Mack said after a long period of silence. “You know, like, ‘Heard any strange noises?’ or ‘Seen any ghosts lately?’ I thought they were just trying to give us a hard time.”
“Well,” Andrew remarked quietly. “Regardless of what anyone says – ghosts or no ghosts, it’ll take a lot to get our father out of this place.”
“Yeah, ghosts,” Mack called, talking toward the ceiling as though addressing unseen spirits. “You got quite a fight on your hands if you think you’re gonna scare off our old man!” Everyone laughed again, this time a little more easily.
But everyone lingered around the table late that night and when they did finally go upstairs, they went in pairs.
_ _ _ _
Much later, when the wind was full of night noises and the moon shone so brightly that any passing cloud cast an especially dark shadow across the house on the hill, a solitary, statuesque figure stood at the edge of the bluff. The half naked phantom defied the cold night air, his long dark hair whipping wildly in the wind, standing unafraid and unyielding, until the wind quieted and the clouds no longer interfered with the soft shroud of light glowing upon this place.
_ _ _ _
It’s amazing how, in the warm reassuring light of day, a tree is merely a tree, and the frightening sounds of the night are washed away, nearly forgotten. At breakfast, Luke told Matthew an abbreviated version of the story Miss McDuffy had told him the night before. It sounded much less mysterious over eggs and bacon. Matthew laughed, of course, saying he had picked up inferences of the storied legacy of their new home. He dismissed it all as harmless, small town folklore. But he did take his second cup of coffee outside and sat beneath the old oak tree. The others followed him, gazing up at it as it swayed harmlessly in the gentle breezes. They sat perched on the felled logs, sister trunks of their infamous tree.
“Wonder how old it is,” Andrew asked. “It had to be a sizable tree sixty years ago so it has to be over a hundred years old.”
“If this tree could talk.” Matthew sipped his coffee. “Think of the stories it could tell.”
“It felt like it was talking last night,” Mack said, laughing.
So another tradition began. On warm mornings, with already a couple of hours’ work done, Matthew would lead his troupe to the rocky place. They’d share a few quiet moments of respite under the matronly tree. They would sit and plan the day’s work and survey the fruits of their labor of days gone by. Matthew never grew tired of gazing at the fields that stretched before him, acres of freshly plowed ground that they had painstakingly cleared and tended. Straddling the rough, splintery perch, he felt like a king on his throne, surveying his kingdom.
He was getting more and more impatient for the planting to begin. Sonny explained that even though much of the preliminary work was completed they still had to wait for the soil to warm, a purely natural phenomena that could not be altered or rushed by Matthew’s money or his persistence.
Chapter 20
_ _ _ _
Luke wasn’t sure how it happened, but somehow he and Margaret McDuffy were going to the prom together. He really hadn’t planned on going at all but Margaret had mentioned it off-handed several times while they were working on the mural. Things got twisted around until it seemed he asked her. He didn’t mind really and she’d be devastated if he tried to back out now. Besides, he genuinely enjoyed her company and they were certainly spending a lot of time together. The mural had turned out to be a tremendous job, taking many hours to complete, especially since the rest of the co-called artistic committee were less than dedicated. Luke had managed to spend some time after school and as it neared completion, he was surprised how professional it looked.
One morning about two weeks before the prom, Margaret waited for him outside the art room, looking very red-faced and breathless as she always did when she was nervous about something. She began blurting out her request as though she had rehearsed it many times. “My Aunt Betty is insisting that she meet you before we go to the prom. She wants you to come over for supper some night soon. Anyway, don’t worry, I already told her you’d probably say no.” She paused then to take a breath, finally allowing him a chance to say something.
“Yes, I can come over and give her a chance to look me over,” he said, grinning.
Margaret was shocked, obviously surprised he actually said yes. Arrangements were made for him to come next Friday night. “But remember,” she kept saying, “you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
_ _ _ _
On the appointed night, he was more curious than nervous. The elderly Miss McDuffy had quite the reputation around the community for being difficult at times. Everyone gave her credit for at least attempting to raise her grandniece since infancy after her parents were killed in a car accident. The fact that the girl had always been a bit strange was believed to be the aunt’s fault because of her refusal to accept modern changes in fashion and attitudes. My goodness, everyone whispered, she didn’t even let the poor girl shave her legs.
Luke was aware of all this as he made his way to their place that night. The McDuffy farm bordered the Winston’s place along the southern ridge. Luke knew of a path that led up the bluff to their backyard. Thomas teased him that he took the shortcut through the woods because he didn’t want anyone to know he was seeing such a ugly girl. Luke ignored him. He knew the rather plump, round-faced girl was no Miss America but he liked talking to her and was not at all put off by her aunt’s request that he present himself for her inspection.
Margaret was in a state of sheer befuddlement when she answered the door, more red-faced than usual. She was perspiring so heavily that her glasses appeared to be steamed over. Luke grinned, trying to reassure her as she ushered him into the kitchen. Miss McDuffy instructed him to sit down across from her at the kitchen table so they could talk while Margaret finished supper.
The young girl bristled. “Aunt Betty, why don’t you go sit in the living room?”
“Oh no, this is fine,” said Luke. “We can sit here.”
“She’s just nervous, ya’ know,” Miss McDuffy whispered. “She’s afraid I’m gonna say somethin’ foolish. Well, I’m an old lady so I’ve got an excuse, don’t ya’ think?”
Luke liked his hostess immediately. It was easy to see where Margaret got her short, angular frame and those bright, intense eyes.
They had baked fish for supper because Miss McDuffy believed in the old ways. “If we were supposed to give up meat on Fridays for all those years, I don’t see no reason to stop doing it now,” she said. After the meal, Luke helped Margaret clean up the dishes while the old lady asked him blunt questions about his family and background.
“Well,” she said, “that old house finally got what it was built for – a family with a whole bunch of kids.”
“Really,” Luke asked. “What makes you say that?”
“Cause I can remember when that house was built like it was yesterday. I was just a little girl and I was very interested in the watching them put up such a grand house. Me and my brother, Freddy, would sneak over there – probably the same back trail you took comin’ here tonight, Luke. We’d go over there and just watch ‘em for hours. Old Cap’m Weatherly brought in the best carpenters and materials upriver from St. Louie. I can still see him pacin’ back n’ forth with his hands clinched tight behind his back. He saw to every detail. To be sure, his house was going to look like those big plantation houses in the South. And it was beautiful all right, but it never brought him the happiness it was s’pose ta. Talk was, the place was doomed since the day he first laid eyes on it. Some even said he was in league with the devil himself so he’d never find any peace – not in that house anyway.”
“The devil? In my house?” Luke gulped.
“Yes, you see, that place already had a history by that time. Different people owned the place since the time of early settlement in these parts, but no one ever made a go of it. There was always some kind of trouble so it was sold a lot. But in the spring of 1905 – I remember that exact date because that was the year I started school – three families of Fox Indians arrived from a reservation out West somewhere. When they got here they said that the land, the place at the top of the hill where the house is now, had been some kind of special holy place for their tribe for generations, right up to the time their people got chased off the land. They were supposed to be direct descendants of the old chiefs or somethin’. I guess they worked and saved for years until they had enough money to buy the place. And that’s what they did.”
“Indians brought our land? So what happened?” Luke settled into a chair across from his host.
The old lady paused a minute, gathering her thoughts, remembering things she hadn’t thought about in years. She turned her mind back to a time when she was a small child, running and playing in the endless woods. “Those poor people were mistreated and blamed for everything that went wrong in the whole county,” she continued. “They were snubbed and ridiculed so they mostly kept to themselves. They were called heathens and all sorts of awful things. Us kids were forbidden to go near the place. But me and Freddy, well, we didn’t have any idea what any of that meant and we made friends with the Indian kids. Ah, they told such great stories and taught us wonderful things about the woods and the wild animals -- things my dad didn’t even know.” Once again her voice faded as remembered the little Indian children’s stories why the timber wolf cries so or why the leaves on the trees turned upside down when the rain is coming.
“Anyway, those three years they were here were bad times in these parts. Bad floods ever’ spring, real hard winters. Some of the folks got it in their heads that the Indians were somehow to blame – that their strange chants and dances were evil. People started saying the Indians were aimin’ for all the farmers to fail so they’d be forced to sell. And then new Indian families would buy up more and more land, until pretty soon this town wouldn’t be no place for decent Christian folks to live any more.” Miss McDuffy struggled to find the words to explain to these young people, born in a different age of scientific technology, how people 60 years ago could be so desperate and frightened that they could blame their misfortunes on something so mysterious.
“So, when Cap’t Weatherly landed in town one day and announced he was here to buy that same land the Indians had, the people acted like he was their deliverer. He was really something, so handsome with all his fine ways and pockets full of money. He had his new bride along --a frail, pretty young thing from down South somewhere. He said he had been piloting on the river for twenty years and had often noticed that rocky hilltop shinin’ in the sunlight when he came around that sharp bend in the river north of your place. And he knew the bottomland around here was the best there was. So when he decided to leave the river and settle down, he knew the perfect spot. He wanted many children so he planned to build a grand mansion. He had such wonderful plans.”
“But the Indians wouldn’t sell. Wouldn’t even consider it, which of course, infuriated the Captain. So, him and his wife took up residence in town and spread his money around. He paid the merchants to stop doing any more business with the Indians. The rumors became more vicious than ever, probably started by Weatherly himself. They blamed ever’ thing on those poor Indians, from the mayor’s arthritis to babies being stillborn. Well, that next spring, one of the Indian children died and two of the families went back to the reservation. Maybe they were planning to get more money or supplies, I don’t know.
“They left one family behind? By themselves?” Margaret asked. “Knowing this town, I bet there was trouble.”
“Yep, there sure was. That spring, my father and some of the other farmers were missin’ cattle. They were sure the Indians were stealing ‘em so they called a town meetin’. I was afraid for them Indians and I laid awake, waitin’ for my dad. He came back late and his words were slurred. I knew he’d been drinking. The next day in school I heard that the Indian man had been beaten real bad but he wouldn’t admit to stealin’ no cattle. When I asked my papa about it, he looked me straight in the eye and said he had nothin’ to do with it. And then he spanked me hard for bein’ so disrespectful to 'im. Never could figure out why he did that – the spankin’, I mean. It was the only time he ever did that.”
“The next night the church burnt to the ground and human remains were found. It was ol’ Charlie Dorfmann, the town drunk. He probably wondered in there to get out of the rain since his woman wouldn’t let him in their house ‘til he was sober. The town went crazy. They said the Indian did it. Ol’ Charlie probably did it hisself but nobody said nothin’ about that. By the next night, people were out of control -- they came on our yard with torches and big talk. They yelled for my father to go with ‘em but he said no. He’d had enough.”
“So they went over there, hollerin’ and screamin’ for the Indian to come out. And when he didn’t, they burned down his barn and were aimin’ to torch the cabin, too. They dragged him out and hanged him – right there on that big oak tree by the bluff. His poor wife and three little boys were standin’ there watchin’. Can you imagine such a thing?” She shuddered as though the whole horrifying spectacle had just happened yesterday.”
“Oh, my God, Aunt Betty. They hung him? How come I never heard this story before?”
“Because most of the people around here were ashamed. It was cold-hearted murder, it was. His poor wife signed over the deed in return for some money and a guarantee of safe passage for her and her three children out of town and back to the reservation. Captain Weatherly got the land and started building his big house. His wife was sickly – couldn’t tolerate this climate very good, I guess. She was never able to give the Cap’t any children. She lost three sons – some folks said they were like the three little boys who watched their papa hang that night. She died in childbirth with the third baby. After that the Cap’t went rantin’ and ravin’ crazy. That big ol’ house never hardly had no lights on anymore and the servants told stories of how the Captain saw demons and ghosts.” She stopped then. There were more stories about the captain and his house but then she remembered that her young guest now lived there. “ ‘Course, I never did believe any of that. Anyway, one day the Captain just up and got on a riverboat docked in town and was never heard from again.”
“And let me tell ya’ somethin’, Luke, I’ve lived here all my life. And I’ve seen people come and go. That place was sold time after time. ‘Course, so have a lot of other farms around here. But one thing I know for sure ‘cause I seen it with my own eyes – that next spring when all the trees leafed out, nothin’ grew on that branch where they hung that poor Indian. It was deader than a doornail, but the rest of the tree was fine. The Captain ordered it cut off. But you can still see the scar on that tree.”
_ _ _ _
Luke repeated the tale to his family late that night. The younger ones were already in bed and Matthew had gone into town for a couple of drinks after supper. They sat spellbound as he told of the Indian families forced off the land and the building of this house by some seedy, mysterious riverboat captain. They tried to deny it but the story left them feeling uncomfortably cold. Even Sonny seemed restless and uneasy as he listened.
“C’mon, lets go see it,” whispered Mack, grinning. He made it sound more like a challenge than an invitation.
“Mack!” Johnny cried. “It’s dark out there!” They were all suddenly aware of the whining winds and creaking timbers.
“Nah, come on!” pushed Mack. “You guys aren’t scared, are you?” He grabbed the flashlight and out. The others followed him, staying close together. They knew exactly which tree Miss McDuffy was talking about. When they stood beneath it, they gazed up at the massive thing with renewed amazement. Mack scanned the trunk with the light and there it was – a knarled scar where the fabled branch had been.
“Look!” Thomas said. “You can see a Indian’s head, like on those old nickels.”
“Oh, come on!” they all groaned. “That’s going a bit far. You’re seeing things.”
A gust of wind seized the tree and its branches seemed to bend toward them. All of them fairly ran back to the safe haven of their kitchen. They sat around the table for a long time. No one seemed to be in any hurry to go upstairs to bed.
“But you know what?” Andrew said. “Sometimes I do feel a sort of presence here, but it's never frightened me.”
“Sure,” added Luke. “I’ve read stories about this sort of thing. Ghosts don’t have to be bad. Maybe our ghosts are of the friendly variety.” Everyone laughed, though a bit anxiously.
“At least this explains some of the weird questions we’ve been getting around town,” Mack said after a long period of silence. “You know, like, ‘Heard any strange noises?’ or ‘Seen any ghosts lately?’ I thought they were just trying to give us a hard time.”
“Well,” Andrew remarked quietly. “Regardless of what anyone says – ghosts or no ghosts, it’ll take a lot to get our father out of this place.”
“Yeah, ghosts,” Mack called, talking toward the ceiling as though addressing unseen spirits. “You got quite a fight on your hands if you think you’re gonna scare off our old man!” Everyone laughed again, this time a little more easily.
But everyone lingered around the table late that night and when they did finally go upstairs, they went in pairs.
_ _ _ _
Much later, when the wind was full of night noises and the moon shone so brightly that any passing cloud cast an especially dark shadow across the house on the hill, a solitary, statuesque figure stood at the edge of the bluff. The half naked phantom defied the cold night air, his long dark hair whipping wildly in the wind, standing unafraid and unyielding, until the wind quieted and the clouds no longer interfered with the soft shroud of light glowing upon this place.
_ _ _ _
It’s amazing how, in the warm reassuring light of day, a tree is merely a tree, and the frightening sounds of the night are washed away, nearly forgotten. At breakfast, Luke told Matthew an abbreviated version of the story Miss McDuffy had told him the night before. It sounded much less mysterious over eggs and bacon. Matthew laughed, of course, saying he had picked up inferences of the storied legacy of their new home. He dismissed it all as harmless, small town folklore. But he did take his second cup of coffee outside and sat beneath the old oak tree. The others followed him, gazing up at it as it swayed harmlessly in the gentle breezes. They sat perched on the felled logs, sister trunks of their infamous tree.
“Wonder how old it is,” Andrew asked. “It had to be a sizable tree sixty years ago so it has to be over a hundred years old.”
“If this tree could talk.” Matthew sipped his coffee. “Think of the stories it could tell.”
“It felt like it was talking last night,” Mack said, laughing.
So another tradition began. On warm mornings, with already a couple of hours’ work done, Matthew would lead his troupe to the rocky place. They’d share a few quiet moments of respite under the matronly tree. They would sit and plan the day’s work and survey the fruits of their labor of days gone by. Matthew never grew tired of gazing at the fields that stretched before him, acres of freshly plowed ground that they had painstakingly cleared and tended. Straddling the rough, splintery perch, he felt like a king on his throne, surveying his kingdom.
He was getting more and more impatient for the planting to begin. Sonny explained that even though much of the preliminary work was completed they still had to wait for the soil to warm, a purely natural phenomena that could not be altered or rushed by Matthew’s money or his persistence.
Chapter 20
_ _ _ _
Chapter 18
_
The letters slide off the tongue rhythmically: M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I. The word conjures visions of freckle-faced Huck Finns with fishing poles and corncob pipes, or shifty-eyed riverboat gamblers and pale-skinned ladies with pink parasols and hoop skirts. Gone are the days of the paddle wheelers and minstrel shows. Gone are the slaves whose prayerful spirituals once echoed across the waters as they sang to their God and to the river.
The Golden Age of the Mississippi was but a moment of its timeless existence. This “Father of Waters” was born not of clear blue lakes and streams, but of ice – massive plains of flowing glaciers that reached out like the hand of God to sculpt the land and divide the waters. Prehistoric people buried entire households in huge animal shaped mounds on its banks, perhaps worshiping the great mysteries of their time – the sun, fire, and the river.
Later, their less-primitive descendants lived and died on these same shores. The Sioux, Ojibwa, Sauk, and Fox stood beside the beautiful cascading waterfalls and ate of its plentiful bounty. They lived their lives to the rhythm of the river.
There is still a kind of cadence to life here. Many of the new sights and sounds are mechanized and seemingly obtrusive, like the roar of the diesels straining to push a quarter million tons of coal or grain up stream, and the red and black buoy channel markers bobbing as guideposts on this great watery highway. But swimmers still swim and fishermen still fish in the muddy waters. Owls, hawks, and cranes still circle lazily overhead. On gorgeous spring days, the river mirrors what is good about the earth and the blue of the heavens is pale by comparison. Anyone who knows the river – really knows it – refers to it as “she”, like a willful, beautiful woman who flirts, teases, and lies serene and tranquil in the moonlight, and then suddenly rises up in a terrible fury, capable of consuming and destroying. Those people know you can love or hate her, bridge or dam her, pollute, ride, curse or revere her, but no one can ever possess her. Rather the river remains an implacable, unrelenting marker of time and space, a natural backdrop for human dramas, serving to remind those she touches how obscure and limited humanity is when compared to the boundless power of the river.
So it is that the sight of the first tow and barges making its way upriver is as much a part of the spring ritual as tulips, robins, and warm spring breezes. The Winston's had been told to watch for it. There was a pool at the Pub as to the exact day and time the first one would go past.
The cry went out one Sunday morning just as the family dressed for Mass. Peter and Danny, their good pants already dirtied, ran onto the porch and yelled excitedly through the open window. “It’s coming! It’s coming!” Matthew grabbed the binoculars and hurried down to the rocky place, with everyone close behind. They had seen pictures and heard stories of the mighty tows with upwards to fifteen barges cleated together. But what a sight it was to see. Even from this distance, it looked like a small island inching its way upstream.
“It’s the Sarah E. Thomas,” Matthew reported, looking through the field glasses. “She’s got 9, no, 12 barges. Looks like she’s running empty ’cause she’s riding high.” Reluctantly, he handed over the binoculars to be passed around. After a few minutes, he said, “C’mon, lets see if we can beat her into town.” Everyone ran for the bus.
The Winston's were not the only ones who came to watch. There was a small gathering at the park. Billy was there with the ledger of this year’s wagers.
“Here she comes! Here she comes!” the children squealed.
Billy was looking over the ledger carefully and checking his watch. When the flagpole of the lead barge passed before him, he declared it official. “It is 9:32, Sunday morning, April, 19th. That means Charlie O’Leary is the winner – again! I swear that man must know somebody in St. Louie!”
It was a magnificent sight. It passed so closely that they could see the captain waving through an open window on the bridge. There was a great torrent of churning water left in its wake so that the waves beat on the shore like the tide on an ocean beach. Then it was gone.
Spring was officially here. Annie and her brothers were aware of the changing seasons before but they had never witnessed a spring so intimately as this. Daily, the landscapes changed as the spindly stark branches of the trees suddenly burst with green foliage. The lilacs bloomed and pastures were the playgrounds for newborn lambs, calves and squealing little pigs. All those whose chosen work it was to toil over the land were hard at work.
Driving his machines back and forth beneath his own patch of sky, Matthew marveled at the dozens of different shades of blue and the ever-changing clouds. The sun beat down relentlessly to warm the earth. The birds soared overhead. The constant roar of the tractor, which seemed so obtrusive at first, now seemed to settle into his mind, blending into every facet of his existence, even his sleep.
Matthew expected everyone to share his enthusiasm for this twelve hour a day job. Sonny doggedly labored beside him, working longer and harder than was expected. That angered Mack and even Andrew, because they resented being expected to keep up this torrid pace. They had aching backs, blistered hands, and sunburn faces to show for their efforts.
The other boys could at least escape their father’s demands while they were at school, which created more problems as they became more involved in time consuming extra-circular activities. Old wounds were made deeper when it became evident that Matthew did not view each son’s commitments with equal validity. Thomas was very frustrated when his father scoffed at the mention of the upcoming band contest, while John’s track meets and practices were heralded events. Matthew and Mack even attended the first one. Annie sympathized with Thomas and tried to make him understand that it rained that whole day so they couldn’t work in the fields. “Thomas, don’t worry. I bet you’ll be able slip away for the day and everyone else could cover for you.” But Thomas was not easily appeased.
John, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. At long last he had some place to channel his competitive drive and athletic skills. He was amazed how much credence was given to members of the team at school, even in the community. The high school had been without a winning tradition for many years now, and everyone was hungry for victories.
The track team had been working under the watchful eye of Coach Nick Stevenson since mid-March. He had just been through a humiliating season as the head coach of the boys’ basketball team and was determined not to allow his track team to likewise finish in the basement of the conference.
John Winston did what he was told without complaint. He pushed himself to the limit so he might finally discover exactly where that limit was. He and his new best friend, Kenny Beyers, challenged each other as their prowess on the track improved.
The day of the first track, the rain fell all morning and threatened to cancel the four-school event. But by mid-afternoon the storms passed and the team reported to the locker room as directed. As he dressed in his faded green and white uniform and laced his shoes, John had a queasy, uncomfortable feeling in his gut.
“That’ll go away as soon as the first gun went off,” Kenny said as they finished warm-ups together. That would be soon enough, as John was entered in four events: the 200-yard dash, low hurdles, and the 400 and 800 meter relays.
He crouched down in the starting blocks for his first race, trying to concentrate on everything the coach had taught him – coming out of the blocks, escalation, breathing techniques. But there was only the deafening pounding of his heart and the single-minded thought of running and winning.
And he did win, but only once. However, in the minds of the coaches, coming in second or third was a victory in itself. Kenny, John, and two other fleet-footed sophomores won the first relay. That was good enough for the team to finish second overall, and no Shannontown High School track team had done that in recent memory. The sophomores were the heart of the team, which meant the coaches had bona fide hope for the future. John and Kenny whooped it up in the locker room with the other boys. They had tasted victory and it was sweet. They came out of the locker room together and found their fathers chatting and congratulating each other on their sons’ accomplishments. Luke lounged nearby, having completed his work on the mural. Someone suggested they have supper together at the Pub.
_ _ _ _
Kenny’s dad, Harry Beyers, was a very likable man. He was, of course, very aware of the background of the man sitting across the table. Harry, for one, was not intimidated by this eccentric millionaire who spent his family’s money like water. As far as he was concerned, they both had the same dirt under their fingernails.
“Your son tells me those garbage trucks I see on the roads around here are yours,” Matthew said. “That’s quite an operation you have there. Kenny says you designed and built most of the machinery in the re-cycling plant yourself.”
Harry flashed a quick smile toward his son. Of all the things he strove for in his lifetime, the respect and admiration of his only son was one of the most important. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he answered modestly. “What I did was travel ‘round a bit and visited some of the big operations out East. Most of it is just good ol’ common sense. Why should I pay some huge amount of money for machinery I can weld together myself?”
“You make it sound so easy,” Matthew said, “ but you’re talking to someone who finds it difficult to pound two boards together.” They both laughed then. The boys cast relieved glances at one another. The conversation rolled along nicely.
Then, just as they were finishing their meal, Walt Jaminson sat down at their table. “Hey Harry,” he said. “Did you hear the news tonight? They got those astronauts back.”
“Who?”
“Those Apollo astronauts – they were supposed to go to the moon but something happened. Man, I didn’t think they had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting’ back alive!”
“Yeah?” Harry pushed away from the table. “Do you realize that little fiasco cost over a billion dollars of yours and mine money? I’m glad they got, back but those stupid sonofabitches shouldn’t have been up there in the first place.”
“Now, Harry,” Walt started. “They say the Russians are gonna beat us if—”
“Beat us at what? Who can spend the most money the quickest? Well, I tell ya’ we’re way ahead there. I just read the Russians already got a goddamn spaceship ready to go up this summer that is unmanned and cost a third as much. Couldn’t we have used that money somewhere else? Like in Vietnam -- end that fuckin’ war!”
Walt Jaminson shut up then. Harry Beyers’ views on Vietnam were well known around the Pub. It was useless to try to argue.
“But the government don’t care much about our money or our boys,” Harry continued. “I’ll tell you what, if this thing keeps goin’ much longer and they want my boy, I’ll tell those sonofabitches to stick it up their asses.”
There were murmuring both for and against his statement at neighboring tables. “Yeah,” said another man, sitting across the room. “I read that Nixon wants to do away with deferments for married men and maybe even doctors and such.”
“Nah, haven’t you heard?” someone else said, sounding very sarcastic. “Nixon says he’s gonna withdraw 150,000 troops by next spring. So don’t worry – all our rich doctor and lawyer sons won’t get drafted.” A ripple of jeering spread across the room.
Matthew squirmed in his seat. He had heard these political discussions around the Pub before, but managed to avoid commenting. He learned that the people here had a good grasp of the complexities of politics and international affairs. Midwesterners turned on Walter Cronkite for the nightly news just like the high-rise dwellers back East.
It was also true that the people here had a different perspective. Most of them felt that they were sending their sons off to this war in far greater numbers than the college educated, upper class snobs on the coasts. And he knew that even though he and his family had been welcomed into the community, Matthew was still regarded as part of the privileged few. He felt their stares. Perhaps this would be a good time to speak up.
“You don’t mean to tell me that you’d let those Communists beat us over there? I hate to see young men dying over there, too. I know I did in Europe during World War II.”
Harry did not answer immediately. He ground his cigarette butt into the ashtray and said, “Your business back East, I heard it was shipbuilding. Did you have contracts with the Pentagon? And don’t you have several sons? Why aren’t any of them over there if you think it’s such a good idea?”
“My wife was quite ill for a long time before she died recently. I thought it was important to keep the family together at that time.” Matthew stood up then and threw some bills onto the table. He motioned for Johnny and Luke to follow him toward the door. “But now, since it does appears this thing won't be over any time soon, I do believe that one or more of my sons will be called. And they will go with my blessing.”
_ _ _ _
Two weeks and three track meets later, Thomas came down downstairs early on Saturday morning before anyone called him, which was extremely unusual for him. He flung his black woolen band uniform across the sofa and went to the window, scowling at the splendid blue skies. Damn! It was going to be a nice day and his father would have everyone outside working all day. Thomas had stopped talking about the band contest, hoping the day would dawn dark and rainy. However, he had made up his mind he was going, whether his father liked it or not.
He sprawled on the sofa, eating a candy bar from his private stash hidden in his room. He stared up at his brother’s track ribbons hung prominently above the mantle. God, he hated those things and the way his father strutted around, recounting what a magnificent jock his son was. And John was always so humble about it. It made Thomas sick to his stomach.
“Is that what you’re having for breakfast?” Annie broke into his thoughts. “I see you have your uniform all ready to go.”
“It’s ready, but I’m not going anywhere. It’s a nice day. Pop won’t let me go.”
“Oh, stop it Thomas. Why do you have to be so negative? I spoke to Daddy last night and he said you can go. What time does the bus leave?”
“7:30 – er, he did? How come? He doesn’t care about my band contest.”
“You’re unbelievable, Thomas. I just told you some good news. Get out there and get your chores done early. Mack will bring you into town.”
So it was that the Shannontown High School band’s star percussionist was delivered to the bus on time. As Thomas exited the car, Mack called, “Knock ‘em dead, kid,” almost as an after thought.
“Yeah, sure,” muttered Thomas. He just wanted it to be over.
_ _ _ _
There wasn’t much fanfare when he came home late that night, either. Annie came out of the kitchen, asking how it went. “It sucked!” he cried as he slammed upstairs. The band got a II rating, but it should have been an I. They played better than they ever had before. Even the 1812 Overture was decent. Yes, it was somewhat labored in some parts, but Mr. Moore was counting on the judges taking into account the difficulty of the piece.
Thomas tried to dismiss the whole thing as ridiculous. He was quite unprepared for the carnival-like atmosphere. He was used to the recital halls back home where competitions were approached with the utmost seriousness. But today, the crowded hallways were buzzing with spectators and participants directed by cardboard signs to libraries-turned-rehearsal halls and gymnasiums-turned-concert-halls. A gym? The thought of it still incensed him. Maybe those cavernous echo chambers were all right for basketball games, but not for judging the finer minutiae of classical music.
And Jim Mathers drove him crazy all day, following him around and talking non-stop. And then to make matters worse, Mrs. Mathers insisted on taking Thomas home. Jim’s mom was a plain woman with a nervous, pinched face. The only time she smiled was when Jim told her that Mr. Moore told him he played his solo well.
“What did Dad say when he saw I was gone?” Jim asked but his mother only clinched the steering wheel tighter and said nothing. Thomas thought the whole family must be as uptight and dull as Jim. Thomas couldn’t stand that bushy-haired kid anymore. Maybe he could rid of the little parasite now that the competition was over.
Monday morning, Mr. Moore read the comments from the three judges to his musicians. There were some favorable comments, but the reports sited particular measures of missed notes and specific passages that dragged. As he closed the session, he challenged his students to try harder and do better next year. “We’ll be ready for ‘em, that’s for sure!”
“Oh, boy!” whistled Jimmy under his breath. “We thought he pushed us before! I have a feelin’ we ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
Maybe you, sucker, Thomas thought, but not me. He did not plan to be around a year from now. When he turned to say something snide to his fellow drummer, he noticed a large bruise on the Jim’s forearm and cut on his lip. When he asked him about it, Jim shrugged his shoulders and said he fell. Thomas knew Jim was a klutz but he surprised he had hurt himself that badly. He would have pursued it but he didn’t want it to appear to care.
Chapter 19
_ _ _ _
The letters slide off the tongue rhythmically: M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I. The word conjures visions of freckle-faced Huck Finns with fishing poles and corncob pipes, or shifty-eyed riverboat gamblers and pale-skinned ladies with pink parasols and hoop skirts. Gone are the days of the paddle wheelers and minstrel shows. Gone are the slaves whose prayerful spirituals once echoed across the waters as they sang to their God and to the river.
The Golden Age of the Mississippi was but a moment of its timeless existence. This “Father of Waters” was born not of clear blue lakes and streams, but of ice – massive plains of flowing glaciers that reached out like the hand of God to sculpt the land and divide the waters. Prehistoric people buried entire households in huge animal shaped mounds on its banks, perhaps worshiping the great mysteries of their time – the sun, fire, and the river.
Later, their less-primitive descendants lived and died on these same shores. The Sioux, Ojibwa, Sauk, and Fox stood beside the beautiful cascading waterfalls and ate of its plentiful bounty. They lived their lives to the rhythm of the river.
There is still a kind of cadence to life here. Many of the new sights and sounds are mechanized and seemingly obtrusive, like the roar of the diesels straining to push a quarter million tons of coal or grain up stream, and the red and black buoy channel markers bobbing as guideposts on this great watery highway. But swimmers still swim and fishermen still fish in the muddy waters. Owls, hawks, and cranes still circle lazily overhead. On gorgeous spring days, the river mirrors what is good about the earth and the blue of the heavens is pale by comparison. Anyone who knows the river – really knows it – refers to it as “she”, like a willful, beautiful woman who flirts, teases, and lies serene and tranquil in the moonlight, and then suddenly rises up in a terrible fury, capable of consuming and destroying. Those people know you can love or hate her, bridge or dam her, pollute, ride, curse or revere her, but no one can ever possess her. Rather the river remains an implacable, unrelenting marker of time and space, a natural backdrop for human dramas, serving to remind those she touches how obscure and limited humanity is when compared to the boundless power of the river.
So it is that the sight of the first tow and barges making its way upriver is as much a part of the spring ritual as tulips, robins, and warm spring breezes. The Winston's had been told to watch for it. There was a pool at the Pub as to the exact day and time the first one would go past.
The cry went out one Sunday morning just as the family dressed for Mass. Peter and Danny, their good pants already dirtied, ran onto the porch and yelled excitedly through the open window. “It’s coming! It’s coming!” Matthew grabbed the binoculars and hurried down to the rocky place, with everyone close behind. They had seen pictures and heard stories of the mighty tows with upwards to fifteen barges cleated together. But what a sight it was to see. Even from this distance, it looked like a small island inching its way upstream.
“It’s the Sarah E. Thomas,” Matthew reported, looking through the field glasses. “She’s got 9, no, 12 barges. Looks like she’s running empty ’cause she’s riding high.” Reluctantly, he handed over the binoculars to be passed around. After a few minutes, he said, “C’mon, lets see if we can beat her into town.” Everyone ran for the bus.
The Winston's were not the only ones who came to watch. There was a small gathering at the park. Billy was there with the ledger of this year’s wagers.
“Here she comes! Here she comes!” the children squealed.
Billy was looking over the ledger carefully and checking his watch. When the flagpole of the lead barge passed before him, he declared it official. “It is 9:32, Sunday morning, April, 19th. That means Charlie O’Leary is the winner – again! I swear that man must know somebody in St. Louie!”
It was a magnificent sight. It passed so closely that they could see the captain waving through an open window on the bridge. There was a great torrent of churning water left in its wake so that the waves beat on the shore like the tide on an ocean beach. Then it was gone.
Spring was officially here. Annie and her brothers were aware of the changing seasons before but they had never witnessed a spring so intimately as this. Daily, the landscapes changed as the spindly stark branches of the trees suddenly burst with green foliage. The lilacs bloomed and pastures were the playgrounds for newborn lambs, calves and squealing little pigs. All those whose chosen work it was to toil over the land were hard at work.
Driving his machines back and forth beneath his own patch of sky, Matthew marveled at the dozens of different shades of blue and the ever-changing clouds. The sun beat down relentlessly to warm the earth. The birds soared overhead. The constant roar of the tractor, which seemed so obtrusive at first, now seemed to settle into his mind, blending into every facet of his existence, even his sleep.
Matthew expected everyone to share his enthusiasm for this twelve hour a day job. Sonny doggedly labored beside him, working longer and harder than was expected. That angered Mack and even Andrew, because they resented being expected to keep up this torrid pace. They had aching backs, blistered hands, and sunburn faces to show for their efforts.
The other boys could at least escape their father’s demands while they were at school, which created more problems as they became more involved in time consuming extra-circular activities. Old wounds were made deeper when it became evident that Matthew did not view each son’s commitments with equal validity. Thomas was very frustrated when his father scoffed at the mention of the upcoming band contest, while John’s track meets and practices were heralded events. Matthew and Mack even attended the first one. Annie sympathized with Thomas and tried to make him understand that it rained that whole day so they couldn’t work in the fields. “Thomas, don’t worry. I bet you’ll be able slip away for the day and everyone else could cover for you.” But Thomas was not easily appeased.
John, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. At long last he had some place to channel his competitive drive and athletic skills. He was amazed how much credence was given to members of the team at school, even in the community. The high school had been without a winning tradition for many years now, and everyone was hungry for victories.
The track team had been working under the watchful eye of Coach Nick Stevenson since mid-March. He had just been through a humiliating season as the head coach of the boys’ basketball team and was determined not to allow his track team to likewise finish in the basement of the conference.
John Winston did what he was told without complaint. He pushed himself to the limit so he might finally discover exactly where that limit was. He and his new best friend, Kenny Beyers, challenged each other as their prowess on the track improved.
The day of the first track, the rain fell all morning and threatened to cancel the four-school event. But by mid-afternoon the storms passed and the team reported to the locker room as directed. As he dressed in his faded green and white uniform and laced his shoes, John had a queasy, uncomfortable feeling in his gut.
“That’ll go away as soon as the first gun went off,” Kenny said as they finished warm-ups together. That would be soon enough, as John was entered in four events: the 200-yard dash, low hurdles, and the 400 and 800 meter relays.
He crouched down in the starting blocks for his first race, trying to concentrate on everything the coach had taught him – coming out of the blocks, escalation, breathing techniques. But there was only the deafening pounding of his heart and the single-minded thought of running and winning.
And he did win, but only once. However, in the minds of the coaches, coming in second or third was a victory in itself. Kenny, John, and two other fleet-footed sophomores won the first relay. That was good enough for the team to finish second overall, and no Shannontown High School track team had done that in recent memory. The sophomores were the heart of the team, which meant the coaches had bona fide hope for the future. John and Kenny whooped it up in the locker room with the other boys. They had tasted victory and it was sweet. They came out of the locker room together and found their fathers chatting and congratulating each other on their sons’ accomplishments. Luke lounged nearby, having completed his work on the mural. Someone suggested they have supper together at the Pub.
_ _ _ _
Kenny’s dad, Harry Beyers, was a very likable man. He was, of course, very aware of the background of the man sitting across the table. Harry, for one, was not intimidated by this eccentric millionaire who spent his family’s money like water. As far as he was concerned, they both had the same dirt under their fingernails.
“Your son tells me those garbage trucks I see on the roads around here are yours,” Matthew said. “That’s quite an operation you have there. Kenny says you designed and built most of the machinery in the re-cycling plant yourself.”
Harry flashed a quick smile toward his son. Of all the things he strove for in his lifetime, the respect and admiration of his only son was one of the most important. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he answered modestly. “What I did was travel ‘round a bit and visited some of the big operations out East. Most of it is just good ol’ common sense. Why should I pay some huge amount of money for machinery I can weld together myself?”
“You make it sound so easy,” Matthew said, “ but you’re talking to someone who finds it difficult to pound two boards together.” They both laughed then. The boys cast relieved glances at one another. The conversation rolled along nicely.
Then, just as they were finishing their meal, Walt Jaminson sat down at their table. “Hey Harry,” he said. “Did you hear the news tonight? They got those astronauts back.”
“Who?”
“Those Apollo astronauts – they were supposed to go to the moon but something happened. Man, I didn’t think they had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting’ back alive!”
“Yeah?” Harry pushed away from the table. “Do you realize that little fiasco cost over a billion dollars of yours and mine money? I’m glad they got, back but those stupid sonofabitches shouldn’t have been up there in the first place.”
“Now, Harry,” Walt started. “They say the Russians are gonna beat us if—”
“Beat us at what? Who can spend the most money the quickest? Well, I tell ya’ we’re way ahead there. I just read the Russians already got a goddamn spaceship ready to go up this summer that is unmanned and cost a third as much. Couldn’t we have used that money somewhere else? Like in Vietnam -- end that fuckin’ war!”
Walt Jaminson shut up then. Harry Beyers’ views on Vietnam were well known around the Pub. It was useless to try to argue.
“But the government don’t care much about our money or our boys,” Harry continued. “I’ll tell you what, if this thing keeps goin’ much longer and they want my boy, I’ll tell those sonofabitches to stick it up their asses.”
There were murmuring both for and against his statement at neighboring tables. “Yeah,” said another man, sitting across the room. “I read that Nixon wants to do away with deferments for married men and maybe even doctors and such.”
“Nah, haven’t you heard?” someone else said, sounding very sarcastic. “Nixon says he’s gonna withdraw 150,000 troops by next spring. So don’t worry – all our rich doctor and lawyer sons won’t get drafted.” A ripple of jeering spread across the room.
Matthew squirmed in his seat. He had heard these political discussions around the Pub before, but managed to avoid commenting. He learned that the people here had a good grasp of the complexities of politics and international affairs. Midwesterners turned on Walter Cronkite for the nightly news just like the high-rise dwellers back East.
It was also true that the people here had a different perspective. Most of them felt that they were sending their sons off to this war in far greater numbers than the college educated, upper class snobs on the coasts. And he knew that even though he and his family had been welcomed into the community, Matthew was still regarded as part of the privileged few. He felt their stares. Perhaps this would be a good time to speak up.
“You don’t mean to tell me that you’d let those Communists beat us over there? I hate to see young men dying over there, too. I know I did in Europe during World War II.”
Harry did not answer immediately. He ground his cigarette butt into the ashtray and said, “Your business back East, I heard it was shipbuilding. Did you have contracts with the Pentagon? And don’t you have several sons? Why aren’t any of them over there if you think it’s such a good idea?”
“My wife was quite ill for a long time before she died recently. I thought it was important to keep the family together at that time.” Matthew stood up then and threw some bills onto the table. He motioned for Johnny and Luke to follow him toward the door. “But now, since it does appears this thing won't be over any time soon, I do believe that one or more of my sons will be called. And they will go with my blessing.”
_ _ _ _
Two weeks and three track meets later, Thomas came down downstairs early on Saturday morning before anyone called him, which was extremely unusual for him. He flung his black woolen band uniform across the sofa and went to the window, scowling at the splendid blue skies. Damn! It was going to be a nice day and his father would have everyone outside working all day. Thomas had stopped talking about the band contest, hoping the day would dawn dark and rainy. However, he had made up his mind he was going, whether his father liked it or not.
He sprawled on the sofa, eating a candy bar from his private stash hidden in his room. He stared up at his brother’s track ribbons hung prominently above the mantle. God, he hated those things and the way his father strutted around, recounting what a magnificent jock his son was. And John was always so humble about it. It made Thomas sick to his stomach.
“Is that what you’re having for breakfast?” Annie broke into his thoughts. “I see you have your uniform all ready to go.”
“It’s ready, but I’m not going anywhere. It’s a nice day. Pop won’t let me go.”
“Oh, stop it Thomas. Why do you have to be so negative? I spoke to Daddy last night and he said you can go. What time does the bus leave?”
“7:30 – er, he did? How come? He doesn’t care about my band contest.”
“You’re unbelievable, Thomas. I just told you some good news. Get out there and get your chores done early. Mack will bring you into town.”
So it was that the Shannontown High School band’s star percussionist was delivered to the bus on time. As Thomas exited the car, Mack called, “Knock ‘em dead, kid,” almost as an after thought.
“Yeah, sure,” muttered Thomas. He just wanted it to be over.
_ _ _ _
There wasn’t much fanfare when he came home late that night, either. Annie came out of the kitchen, asking how it went. “It sucked!” he cried as he slammed upstairs. The band got a II rating, but it should have been an I. They played better than they ever had before. Even the 1812 Overture was decent. Yes, it was somewhat labored in some parts, but Mr. Moore was counting on the judges taking into account the difficulty of the piece.
Thomas tried to dismiss the whole thing as ridiculous. He was quite unprepared for the carnival-like atmosphere. He was used to the recital halls back home where competitions were approached with the utmost seriousness. But today, the crowded hallways were buzzing with spectators and participants directed by cardboard signs to libraries-turned-rehearsal halls and gymnasiums-turned-concert-halls. A gym? The thought of it still incensed him. Maybe those cavernous echo chambers were all right for basketball games, but not for judging the finer minutiae of classical music.
And Jim Mathers drove him crazy all day, following him around and talking non-stop. And then to make matters worse, Mrs. Mathers insisted on taking Thomas home. Jim’s mom was a plain woman with a nervous, pinched face. The only time she smiled was when Jim told her that Mr. Moore told him he played his solo well.
“What did Dad say when he saw I was gone?” Jim asked but his mother only clinched the steering wheel tighter and said nothing. Thomas thought the whole family must be as uptight and dull as Jim. Thomas couldn’t stand that bushy-haired kid anymore. Maybe he could rid of the little parasite now that the competition was over.
Monday morning, Mr. Moore read the comments from the three judges to his musicians. There were some favorable comments, but the reports sited particular measures of missed notes and specific passages that dragged. As he closed the session, he challenged his students to try harder and do better next year. “We’ll be ready for ‘em, that’s for sure!”
“Oh, boy!” whistled Jimmy under his breath. “We thought he pushed us before! I have a feelin’ we ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
Maybe you, sucker, Thomas thought, but not me. He did not plan to be around a year from now. When he turned to say something snide to his fellow drummer, he noticed a large bruise on the Jim’s forearm and cut on his lip. When he asked him about it, Jim shrugged his shoulders and said he fell. Thomas knew Jim was a klutz but he surprised he had hurt himself that badly. He would have pursued it but he didn’t want it to appear to care.
Chapter 19
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