A Far Piece to Canaan (45 page)

I was about to say yes, when I thought better of it. I had failed Ben and Fred, and I had failed myself. If I was to salvage any of my honor, I needed to meet Fred's granddaughter without anyone's help. “No ma'am. I'd rather do my own introduction.”

Jenny nodded, then the smile left her face. “Mr. Zelinker, Lisa June is a sweet girl, but she's been hurt. Sometimes she comes off kinda hard. What I'm saying is, she might not take t' you right off. If I was you, I'd be gentle in my approach. It's going t' take a while t' get t' know her, and you're gonna have some bumps in th' road.”

“Yes ma'am,” I said, and got up from my chair. “Well, thank you all for the wonderful hospitality and the information. I have to get back to Lex—”

Melvin interrupted. “Don't think that's a good idea. You've had five a them things,” and he pointed toward my bourbon glass. “State patrol loves throwin' people in the jug nowadays for less'n you've drunk. Stay here with us t'night and get a cold sober start in th' mornin'.”

I decided Melvin was right. There was also something I wanted to do before meeting Lisa June. “Melvin, I'd like to visit Fred's grave tomorrow. Where's he buried?”

Melvin got up from his chair, stuffed his hands in his pockets, walked to the screen of the porch, and stared out. “He was cremated, Samuel. Alfreda scattered his ashes and wouldn't say where. That gal just wudn't much. I know this is botherin' you and I wish they was somethin' I could of done t' make hit easier but I knew you didn't want stuff gussied up.”

When he turned back toward me the sadness in his face pierced my chest. “Hope I done right?”

“You did fine,” I answered, hoping my voice wouldn't break. “Thank y'all for everything. Think I'll turn in.”

Jenny nodded. “Good night, Samuel. I'll pray for Fred t'night.”

“Thanks,” I said, then my voice cracked. “If you're of a mind . . . me too, huh.”

I didn't sleep much. Thoughts of Fred, broken and humiliated and dying by his own hand while a simple visit from me might have helped, haunted and shamed me. How many times had Fred come through for me, but when he needed me, I had let him down. And tomorrow, I was going to meet his granddaughter. What would I tell her? What in the world would I tell her?

T
he hours that followed were the worst since Nora died. I couldn't sleep and at 3:30 in the morning left the house and walked back to the ridge. The air was cool and laden with the smell of hay. Freshly mowed clover. In my mind, I could hear the clatter of Dad's old horse-drawn mowing machine, see the swath the blades made, hear him talking or singing to Daisy and Gabe as his team and his mowing machine served as backup.

I began to feel a little more peaceful as the early light filled the eastern sky and birds began to twitter. Thank God for nature. I returned to the Langleys' and bed.

It was nearly ten o'clock when I was awakened by Jenny, who said breakfast was waiting.

Melvin was already at the table when I arrived in the kitchen. He eyed me as he sipped his coffee. “Mornin'. Heard you get up and leave th' house little after three. Looks of your pants legs I'd say you hit some dew.”

“It was like walking through fields after a rain,” I answered.

Jenny set a plate of eggs, a small steak, and a giant mug of coffee in front of me. Melvin had been eating bacon. The steak meant Melvin had told her I was Jewish.

“How you doin' this mornin'?” she asked, standing beside me.

“Okay. I'm doin' okay,” I answered.

Jenny smiled. “We're glad t' hear that. We were both pretty worried last night. Where you headin' this mornin'?”

“Back to my hotel for a little more rest, then I'm going t' call Lisa June. Jenny . . . Melvin, I thank y'all so much for your hospitality and honesty. You've been wonderful to me.”

“Been great for us too, 'cept for th' hard part,” said Melvin. “I never see anybody from our class. Those who ain't moved away have moved on, y' know. Hit's too bad what I had t' tell.”

“You did everything right. Both of you.”

I drove to my hotel about noon, showered and shaved, then went back to bed. I didn't rest. All I could think of was Lisa June. Fred was dead and Lisa June was as close to him as I could get. But what would meeting and helping Fred's granddaughter do to set my failures right? Lisa June never even knew her grandfather. Regardless, I was determined to meet her.

The address Jenny gave me was only a few blocks from UK. I drove through the maze of streets, the new and utilitarian merging with the narrow, beautiful, and in some parts, antebellum. Eventually I came to block after block of apartment buildings. Young men and women were everywhere, walking, bicycling, and jaywalking. Students.

I found the address, parked across the street, punched her home number into my cell phone, and got an answering machine. All I could do now was wait.

An hour later, an aging Chevrolet pulled into a parking space in front of the apartments. A tall, slim, dark-haired young woman got out. Her face was oval with high cheekbones, and framed by short hair arranged in an ear-hugging French cut. She wore a white, rose-covered blouse, open at the top button, white slacks that fit snug, but not overtly sexy, and black, low-heeled shoes. Her only jewelry was gold earrings and a simple gold necklace. She was lovely, maybe even beautiful. She didn't look anything like Fred. I decided not to approach her and watched as she ascended an outside staircase and entered the second floor.

A few minutes later, the young woman came out of the building and walked toward the car. She had changed clothes and was now wearing a simple white blouse, black hip-hugging skirt that extended just below her knees, and modest high heels. The jewelry was unchanged. Since she was the only person who had entered or left the building, I decided to ask if she was Lisa June. I got out of my car and walked toward her. “Excuse me, I'm looking for Miss Lisa June Winchester. She lives in this apartment building.”

The girl cocked her head to the side and fixed me in her gaze. Her pose shook me. How many times had Fred looked at me the same way! “Who are you?” she asked suspiciously.

“My name is Samuel Zelinsky. If you're Lisa June Winchester, I was a friend of your grandfather.”

The revelation brought a cold look. “I'm late for work,” she said, then continued toward her car.

I played my only trump. “Jenny Langley gave me your address and telephone number.”

By this time, the girl had gripped the door handle of the car. She let the hand slide free and turned toward me. Her face remained expressionless and she folded her arms. “I'm Lisa June Winchester. I've never heard Jenny Langley speak of you.”

“I just met Mrs. Langley. Her husband, Melvin, and I went to school with your grandfather. His name was Fred Cody Mulligan. He had a sister named Annie Lee.”

Still no smile. “What was th' name of the team you and Melvin Langley and my grandfather played basketball on in high school?”

“Fred didn't play high school basketball. He dropped out of school, and I moved away.”

Perhaps ten seconds passed, then Lisa June turned, opened the door to her car, and spoke unemotionally with her back toward me. “I get off work at ten. There's a coffee shop on East High called Hot Java. Meet me there at 10:15.”

Lisa June's response was in keeping with Jenny's comments. I hadn't been greeted like a returning prodigal; then again, I hadn't been turned away either. Besides, what should I expect?

I arrived at the Hot Java several minutes early, got a booth, ordered a cup of coffee, and sat sipping as I watched the door, ruminating on what to say when Lisa June arrived. I didn't want to push hard. Perhaps the most I could hope for was to connect her to her family and make them relevant to a woman who was essentially an orphan.

Then the door to the coffee shop opened and Lisa June appeared. She glanced about, her whole demeanor emanating mistrust. I went to meet her. “Good evening, Miss Winchester,” I said, then smiled and extended a hand.

Lisa June barely shook it. She said nothing.

“I got us a booth. We're in the corner over there,” and I motioned toward our table. “I appreciate the chance to talk. I know you must be tired.”

She still didn't speak. Instead, she walked ahead of me, sat on the side of the booth with its back against the wall, put her purse beside her, and fixed me with a suspicious stare. “How was your coffee?”

“Awful,” I said.

Lisa June smiled slightly. “Aunt Jen said you seemed like an honest sort. What do you want with me?”

This was to be a no-nonsense meeting. “Sixty years ago, I was your grandfather Fred Mulligan's best friend. My family sharecropped the farm where the Mulligan family lived. I knew your great-grandfather, your great-grandmother, and your great-aunts. Knew them well.”

Lisa June blinked slowly. “Why should I care, Mr. Zelinsky?”

The question caught me off guard. “Th . . . they were good people. I think it would be worth your knowing about them. How much do you know about . . .?”

“Not much. Why should you care?”

Again, her question was unnerving. I hedged. “Well, you're my childhood best friend's granddaughter. He's gone now, and you're the closest I can get to him. I guess that's it.”

Lisa June's eyes moved about my face. The eyes weren't hard, more like . . . curious. She glanced at her watch. “I'm sure my grandfather was a good friend of yours, but I never knew him and really can't see the point of learning about someone who doesn't mean anything to me. But Aunt Jen asked me t' see you, so I will. I'm tired and have two classes to prepare for. I'd appreciate if you'd keep it short.” Then she waved to the waitress, who took our orders. She requested separate checks. When the waitress left, Lisa June said, “Go ahead.”

I tried to convey a coherent understanding of my relationship with the Mulligan family, but what came out was a haphazard tangle of disconnected memories. My frustration edged toward anger. This kid, whom I had never seen before, and was beginning not to like, was reducing me to a babbling idiot. Lisa June listened through a cup of bad coffee, then checked her watch.

“I have to go, Mr. Zelinsky. Thanks for telling me about my folks. Have a nice trip back to your home.” With that she got out of the booth, shook my hand, put a dollar on the table for a tip, paid her check at the register, and left the coffee shop.

I struggled to my feet, stunned that she had simply walked away. I couldn't leave it like this. There had to be something more! I ran after her, putting a ten-dollar bill on the cash register as I passed it. By the time I got outside, she was opening her car door. “Lisa June,” I called, “Wait up. Please wait!”

When I reached the car, Lisa June was in the driver's seat with the door ajar.

“Miss Winchester . . . Lisa June . . . I'd like to talk to you again.”

The eyes that stared into mine showed frustration. “Why? Mr. Zelinsky, I don't care about my folks. They didn't give a damn about me. Something is on your mind and I get the feeling it's your problem and not mine.”

Lisa June must have seen a look of desperation on my face because she looked away, then turned toward me again and sighed. “Look, it's a really busy time in my life right now.”

I could feel my chances of saying what I needed to say slipping away. I felt I had to see her again or this issue would haunt me forever. “What you've said about something being on my mind is true, but it doesn't only concern me, it concerns you too. You're part of a decent family. You need a connection with them. I just touched on the people and did a very poor job of conveying their character. I haven't had a real chance to tell you about them, their lives, what they meant to each other. You're shortchanging them and shortchanging yourself!”

Not a flicker of emotion showed on her pretty face.

I pushed again. “You can't tell me you've never wondered about your family . . . wanted some kind of connection to them! No one wants to go through life alone!”

Lisa June sighed again, then took her phone out of her purse. “What's your number?”

I gave my cell phone number and she entered it. “I'll think about it,” she said, then started the engine, backed out of the parking space, and drove away.

“Thanks,” I said to the empty parking space.

T
hree days passed and no call. I was deeply disappointed. How could I go back to New Hampshire and leave my life dangling after everything I had so recently experienced? Fred ran through my mind in a continuous loop. Whole conversations burst into my consciousness, so real my senses experienced the moment. I could hear the inflections in his voice, like the first time we hunted frogs with slingshots and I had spooked my prey.

“Hun'ney, you got t' slow down. You ain't a-drivin' sheep.” I could feel my frustration as I told him I wanted to watch and learn and I could hear his stubborn response. “You ain't ever gonna learn watchin'! You got t' get one or I don't shoot another frog.” The deadfalls . . . the moments in the Mulligans' front bedroom when our mutual confessions strengthened the bonds between us . . . the pounding of my heart as we ran from Ben's melon patch with Fred holding his shirt tourniquet around my bleeding arm . . . that terrible winter and our final parting at the gate behind the barn.

Between the flashbacks, I tried to understand the situation. I wasn't sure what I wanted to happen in my relationship with Lisa June, but she was my last connection to Fred. I felt powerless. There was nothing to build on without her cooperation. Then, as I was wandering around a horse farm, my cell phone rang.

“Mr. Zelinsky, this is Lisa June Winchester. Tomorrow is Saturday and I'm off during the day. If you would still like to meet, we could have lunch together.”