Chapter 17

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Lori said Dr. Abe Adams was a “horse and buggy doctor,” referring to his circuit of offices located in three other small villages besides Shannontown. That fact that there was a “D.O.” after his name instead of “M.D.” was of no consequence to the people he attended for the last 40 plus years. But Annie was apprehensive as she struggled to get her brother and sister into his office. She was grateful when Ellen, the receptionist/medical assistant/pharmacist, rushed out to help her and ushered them into the examining room.

“Miss Winston?” Dr. Adams asked as he followed them inside the small cubicle. “I understand we have some sick children here.” He took Becky and began undressing her, cooing and smiling as he worked “C’mon, sweetheart, lets take your temperature.” He loosened her diaper, gently slipped the thermometer in place.

Annie stared at him in utter amazement. She had never seen a doctor do that before. He began asking questions about their recent symptoms. “They had runny noses for a couple of days and Joey started running a fever last night. He's not eating or drinking.”

Doc Adams took out the thermometer and held it at arm’s length, trying to adjust his bifocals so he could read it. “102.6°” was the verdict. He took down the otoscope and carefully looked in the infant’s ears. The problem was identified shortly. He glanced at the folders of medical records and then rolled over to where Annie was sitting with Joey. He tried to make friends with the little boy but finding that impossible, he had to go ahead with the examination while the others held him down. He confirmed Annie’s suspicions that Joey also had an ear infection with a very inflamed throat.

He scribbled a prescription and handed it to Ellen who stepped out of the room and soon returned with two bottles of the cure-all pink medicine. Meanwhile, the doctor weighed and measured both of the children and made initial entries in the charts of his new patients. Annie explained how their mother had died of cancer shortly after Becky was born. They talked for quite a long time. Most of his questions were regarding Joey, such what specialists and therapists had seen the boy.

“My mother always tried to protect him,” Annie said. “He gets sick so easily. She hated to see him in pain so she kept him home. Joey was very special to her.”

By this time, Joey and Becky each had their initial doses of antibiotics and another patient, an elderly gentleman who was evidently hard of hearing and arthritic, was shouting his displeasure of having to wait. “Well, I guess we should go,” Annie said, but Doc Adams was no hurry to dismiss them.

“Ann,” he said, “I am sure your mother loved Joey very much and wanted to take care of him the best way she knew how. I can tell by the way you speak of her that she was a wonderful mother. But Joey is growing. If he’s this difficult to manage now, what about when he’s ten or twenty? He won’t fit in your lap much longer.” He paused to allow her to comment or ask questions but she said nothing.

“Dubuque County has wonderful facilities to help young people like your brother. You should consider it, maybe for next fall. A van would transport him every day. You think about it over the summer and let me know.”

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Annie was irritable throughout the evening. She had some well-rehearsed snide remarks ready for Sonny. But he never came in for supper so her father received the brunt of it.

Later, when she was too tired to be angry, she wandered the house, searching for Andrew and Luke. She was in need of solace and advice. Climbing the stairs to the third floor, she followed the faint glow of light down the dark, narrow hallway to the end room. Her beacon had been furnished by a propane lantern hanging from the ceiling.

Luke stood at his easel painting, and Andrew sat at a small table, reading, of course. Both were absorbed in their work and did not hear her footsteps. She cleared her throat and when that didn’t work, she knocked. They both smiled when they saw her. Neither one seemed annoyed at the interruption.

“What brings you up here, my dear?” teased Luke, with a heavy Transalvanian accent as he rubbed his hands with mocked fiendish delight.

Since Andrew’s chair was the only one in the room, he offered it to her, bowing deeply. “Would madam care for some refreshments?” he asked, opening the window to reveal some juices and soda sitting on the outside ledge in the cool night air. He tried to hide the large bottle of wine but she saw it. Instead of admonishing him, she said she’d take a glass, too.

“Makes it easier to relax sometimes,” Andrew said, looking somewhat embarrassed.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. We’re entitled.”

She told them the details of her meeting with Dr. Adams that afternoon, trying to describe his demeanor, not only what he said. She also told them about the conversations she had with Sonny about Joey, too, and how angry and defensive she felt.

“C’mon, Annie, didn’t it ever occur to you that Mother was too over-protective of Joey?” asked Andrew. “Her approach was pretty unrealistic, don’t you think?”

Annie stared at him, unable to answer at first. “Are you agreeing with them?” she stuttered. “You think they’re right, and Mother was wrong?”

“Annie, don’t look so shocked,” Luke said. “It’s not a matter of right or wrong. None of us know how to help him. His behavior is so out of control, what’s going to happen when he’s older?”

“We all know how much Mother loved him, in spite of everything,” Andrew added. “But I believe that eventually she would have sought some professional help for him. Her way just wasn’t working.”

Annie tried to repulse what they were saying as some kind of terrible sacrilege, but they kept talking to her in soothing, matter-of-fact tones until some of what they said began to penetrate. She knew they were trying to convince her because the decisions regarding the little boy were largely up to her now. Their father would consent to whatever she asked.

She had a lot to think about. Late that night, unwanted tears began streaming down her cheeks. Everything was too hard, and she was so tired of trying and failing. She tried to pray, pleading for guidance and strength, but a restless and fitful sleep was her only reprieve.

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April came and there was a real feeling of spring in the air. The days were still cool, but never that terrible, bone-chilling cold like before. The temperatures at night seldom dipped below freezing.

Everything that was going to be done in the house in the foreseeable future was finished. Most of the completed work was functional, not cosmetic. Electricity, heating, and plumbing were restored, and all the windows and doors were repaired or replaced. At Lori’s urging, Annie had managed to convince her father to complete a family room in one section of the cavernous basement with a TV and furniture for the boys. Another bathroom was installed down there, too. But elsewhere, little painting or decorating of any kind was attempted so the house remained drab and inhospitable.

Clearly, the decor of the house was the least of Matthew’s priorities. There was only one thing on his mind – planting the first crop. There was so much preparation involved and he did not hesitate to buy whatever he thought would facilitate the venture. One day, three giant shinny green tractors rolled onto the yard, followed by two semi-truck flatbeds loaded with plows, disks, and planters. Teaching the intricacies of the mammoth machines was, of course, up to Sonny. Not only did he have to deal with Matthew’s zeal and impatience, but also Mack’s total disinterest and constant arguing. And then there was Andrew’s total ineptitude with anything involving more than two moving parts. He nearly drove one of the big tractors through the kitchen wall, saved only by the large cement step by the doorway.

The contractors Matthew hired came with bulldozers and graders to work on the “bottom road”. With passable access down to the fields, they were able to begin the preparatory work. They used the tractors and heavy chains to drag away the debris. The river level was monitored closely and the weather reports for the entire northern Midwest was of keen interest. The guys at the Pub said Matthew must be their good luck piece because it appeared there would be no late spring flood this year. But still, they said, he shouldn’t worry about planting until at least mid-April because he might end up re-planting if high waters still came. Floods were a part of life here, the price they paid for the rich, high-yield bottomland.

Annie was taking interest in the earth herself. She wanted a garden. The boys just laughed at her but she was very resolute. It started one afternoon she spent with the Gibson's, when Jake showed her his garden. It was time to put in the early peas, he explained. He pointed with his cane to where everything would be planted – rows of beans, carrots, radishes, lettuce, and Ginny’s herbs and spices. Annie had seen their “fruit room” in the basement, which was lined with shelves loaded with canned goods. Ginny’s homemade pickles were the best Annie had ever tasted.

The question of where she should plant her own garden was answered when she stumbled upon a place where she guessed there had been one before. From her kitchen window she could see some spindly pink blossoms on a few scrub fruit trees. One warm afternoon she decided to go exploring. The ruts on the field road were dry so she followed it toward the cherry blossoms. Past the house and barnyard, the road curved sharply and followed the crest of the ridge until it disappeared into the timber. Annie could imagine what the grounds must of looked like when the hillside between the road and bluff was mowed and trimmed with shrubbery and flower gardens.

She found the few remaining trees where once a fine orchard had been and also a large rectangular area of uneven ground. The perimeter of the garden was easily discernible as the ground was rutted and gorged where the topsoil had laid exposed for several years. It wasn’t far from the house and the big stone barn was just across the road. All the traffic to the bottom would go past here so she would be able to keep track of everyone’s comings and goings. The bluff dropped off sharply at the timberline so she even had full view of the fields below. It was perfect. However, she knew she couldn’t do it alone. Now all she had to do was convince Sonny and her father.

As she expected, Sonny looked at her as though she was crazy. “Look, you have enough to do around here,” he exclaimed. “It’s a lot of work and I don’t have the time.”

“Who says you’ll have to do it? You just have to help me get started,” she pleaded. “All you have to do is run that big plow through it once or twice. Jake says that’ll break it up pretty good. And maybe that thing with those big steel round plates? That would really help, and it would only take a couple minutes, right?”

“Yeah, right,” he muttered.

“What about rototilling, the planting and weeding?” Matthew chimed in.. “You would have to work out there every day with the mosquitoes and hot sun. Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I am. It’s a lot of work but I want a garden. Just help me get started.” She glared at Sonny as she spoke. She hated having to constantly ask him for help.

Sonny was still very skeptical, but one morning he plowed her garden spot and disked it several times. Annie stood there beaming as she watched the unsightly weeds disappearing under the black blanket of soil.

He jumped off the tractor and came over to talk to her. “Do you see how bad it is?” he yelled over the roar of the engine. “I’ve disked it four times but the crust is harder than it is in the bottom.”

So what, she thought. What did he expect her to say – forget it? Hell no! Her expression must have said it all because he stomped off without waiting for a reply.

Later that day, Charlie Bean delivered a rototiller, several hand tools, and bags of seeds. Tiny, nagging feelings of doubt began welling up inside the pit of her stomach when she saw the assembled paraphernalia, but she stubbornly pushed ahead. She wrote out a check and asked Charlie to unload everything by the garden. The wave of doubt was a little stronger this time, and for a minute she thought she was going to cry. But that would be pointless and a waste of time, she told herself.

One quick walk across the garden spot quickly verified what Sonny had said that morning. The ground was still very hard. She turned to glare at her new machine. Charlie had given her some quick instructions. He even put gas in it and started it up. Looked simple enough. Over and over she pulled on the starter rope. The engine would almost start, then cough, spit a little, and then die. Annie became incensed that a new brand new machine was so difficult to start.

It was John who came to her rescue. He sat nearby and read the manual. “It’s the choke,” he called to her. He described where the small lever was located and instructed her how to pull it out. She was amazed when the thing started running with one pull of the rope. Her hopefulness was short-lived, however, because she soon found that her problems were only beginning.

She had been told that the machine was self-propelled, meaning it pulled itself along, but the steering was quite another matter. She headed into the garden and started the blades churning. She was quite unprepared for the tremendous vibrating and pounding it caused as it tried to claw its way through the cragged ground. Try as she might she was unable to control the beast. She strained and struggled, trying to at least make it go straight. It was no use. Tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks, mixing with the dirt so that she could hardly see. She freed one hand to wipe away the mud on her cheeks but just that quickly the rototiller jolted and slid over onto its side, the blades spinning furiously. She strained to get the throbbing machine upright but it was too heavy and sent her reeling to the ground. She sat sobbing uncontrollably in the dirt and ruts until her face and front of her shirt was covered with a very unlady-like, black paste.

That’s just how Sonny found her. Coming up from the bottom, he must have seen both Annie and the machine on the ground so he stopped the tractor and raced over. “You ain’t hurt, are you?” he asked as he reached over to turn off the machine. He extended his hand to help her up, but she jumped to her feet unaided.

“Do not say a word!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare say any of your I-told-you-so’s. I said I would do it myself and I will. But get rid of this damn machine! It’s a stupid, worthless, noisy, horrible piece of junk! I’d rather do it the old-fashioned way!” She stomped over, picked up a hoe, and started hacking away. She realized she was making a fool of herself so she threw it down and ran to the house, every bit of her self-respect in shreds.

Sonny didn’t come in for supper that night. After chores, he went back to the garden, started up the rototiller and began working it back and forth until the ground lay level like fine sand on a beach. Ann could see him working, walking slowly behind the dreaded machine until sundown. She felt like even more of a failure, but at least she’d have her garden.

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Spring meant Easter. Back home in New York, the stores teemed with beautiful clothes with matching wide-brimmed hats and purses. The stores and boutiques were filled with the wonderful aroma of huge bouquets of fresh flowers. Annie was intent on carrying on the tradition of decorating eggs and Easter baskets for the young ones. Mother always insisted on daily Lenten vespers but Annie didn’t attempt it. Those prayer sessions had never been popular, and she felt she already faced enough unpleasantness and grumbling from her family.

Andrew, too, thought about initiating them, but he had enough problems getting everyone to be still long enough for a quick blessing at mealtime. Besides, family meals became less frequent with the older boys’ extra-circular activities at school and the men worked until after dark nearly every day. There was always an under-current of constant urgency in their home now. Andrew sometimes ached for the well-mannered orderliness they had known back in the brownstone. What he missed the most was the quiet.

He was already involved in the parish. The priest, Father Fritz as everyone called him, was a pleasant, middle-aged man who tended his flock like a wise and kindly shepherd and seemed to fully enjoy his life. He did admit that he once dreamed of leading a larger flock. “I guess every priest dreams of being a bishop,” he joked.

Andrew did not understand. To him, dealing with the politics of a large church seemed to be the least appealing aspect of the priesthood. Being in a small parish like this seemed much more gratifying. Fr. Fritz had total control as he struggled to make the mortgage payments, get the organ tuned, and the grass cut.

Andrew was especially excited about the preparation for the Easter services. It was the community’s fifth annual ecumenical sunrise service because after all, Easter belonged to all Christians. And if they combined services, then everyone could worship at the riverside park without forcing the other two congregations to go elsewhere.

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The world was beset with strife and tragedy that Easter in April, 1970. The Sunday newspapers tossed onto Shannontown’s front lawns chronicled the facts that many places were not nearly as tranquil and serene as their little corner of the world.

In the land of many of the ancestors, Ireland, Britain was sending in five hundred additional troops into Belfast after a week of disturbances. There were reports of many causalities...

In Viet Nam, there were also reports of causalities, American boys killed when the North Vietnamese launched a major offensive throughout South Viet Nam, ending a six-month lull in the fighting...

In Massachusetts, the governor had just signed a bill challenging the legality of the war, stating that servicemen from their state may refuse to participate because of the absence of a declaration of war...

In the nation’s capitol, 50,000 people were gathering to march together to show support for that same war, preparing to clash with anti-war demonstrators...

But here, in Shannontown, Iowa, the day dawned chilly and clear. And those who chose to leave their warm beds on such a cool morn, came together to pray for peace and understanding between all peoples everywhere. They knew that their show of non-sectarian, inter-denominational fellowship would have little impact on a troubled world but they were doing it because it was a good thing to do.

Matthew told his children that attendance was not mandatory, although he himself was excited, the way he embraced everything new and different about this community. Mack graciously volunteered to stay home with the little ones. When Annie made the rounds that morning before dawn, Thomas resisted any attempts to be rousted out of his bed so she took that to mean he had no interest in going.

They drove through the still, dark countryside and met several cars and pickups turning up the road toward the little white church on the hillside. There was only a hint of daylight now in the east. The people filed in silently. The organ was still. Father Fritz, flanked by two sleepy-eyed alter boys, knelt at the alter. Then, at the appointed time, he picked up the heavy wooden cross that stood before him and lead the people out of the church. On the other end of town, Rev. Finney and his Lutheran flock left their church just as Pastor Grayson brought his small gathering of Congregationalists into the street. Slowly, quietly, they walked until the sects intertwined at the Riverside Park. The three men of God put down their crosses and took their places on the little bandstand, which was decorated with bouquets of flowers and purple banners, stirring in the breeze.

God himself provided the most stunning decoration of all. The sun chose that moment to rise above the treetops on the eastern shore and reached out to them with long fingers of gold and scarlet. The dark river was transformed by millions of brilliant diamonds that danced upon the water, as even the dew on the grass became lovely jade jewels. The three ministers could do nothing but stand in humble silence, knowing anything they said would be inadequate by comparison to God’s own handiwork.

But alias, the committee’s liturgy had to be followed. An opening prayer called the people to worship and the first song was introduced. Joe McGrundy, the sometimes fumbling bus driver and part-time janitor, stepped forward and waited for his cue. He began to sing in a rich baritone that drifted over the land and water.

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?...

The story of the Passion was read. The homilies were simple, calling for the message of the Risen Lord of peace and understanding to be heard throughout the world. The three ministers prepared the Eucharist, each in their own way as dictated by the practices of their churches. Those who watched closely saw that there were many more similarities than differences. Joyful songs were sung and a Benediction recognized by all was said.

Many lingered, chatting quietly. Annie was surprised when one of the guitarists who had participated in the service, sought her out. “Is Thomas sick or something? We really needed him today,” he said.

“Why, no,” she replied. “You’re Jim Mathers, aren’t you. Thomas has mentioned you several times.”

“Yeah, I bet,” the boy said, blushing a little. “He really helped us a lot, ya’ know. Taught us all the chords and helped us at practices. We kinda needed him – I guess he’s our leader. We thought he was coming.”

“Well, Jim, I thought you all did very well. The service was just beautiful.”

“It was real nice, it really was. I wish Thomas could have been here to see it. We tried to explain it to him.” He sighed deeply. “He’s really good, ya’ know. I never knew anyone that could play a guitar like him, ’cept on TV or somethin’. He gets sorta short on patience sometimes but I just hope he’ll teach us more.” The boy shrugged his shoulders and wandered off. Annie didn’t understand what Thomas found so offensive about the boy.

She had words with Thomas later that day after the ham was eaten and the eggs were hunted. She wanted to know why he didn’t go that morning since he must have known the other musicians depended on him.

He responded in typical Thomas fashion by shrugging his shoulders and not saying anything. But she pressed further. “You might be interested to know that I thought they did very well. But when I spoke to your friend, Jim Mathers, he said they needed you for leadership. I don’t think they have much confidence, which is further reason why you should have been there.”

“There was no way I was going to be caught dead with those creeps!” he retorted. “And don’t call Jim Mathers my friend. He’s a sniveling idiot who doesn’t know anything about music and certainly has no talent!”

Annie was taken back by her brother’s attitude. She started to argue but he walked away. She found herself wondering for the hundredth time how someone so young could be filled with such deep-rooted hostility. Mack was certainly opinionated and could be very troublesome, but he was basically fun loving and could be downright charming. Thomas was never pleasant and acted as though he hated the world. Maybe he’d outgrow it, she hoped. She made a mental note to speak to her father about it, but she never had a chance that day and then another busy week started.

Chapter 18


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