Kathryn Magendie (24 page)

I would ask Father if Sweetie could stay with us, and if we could stay in the mountains forever as a family. I’d never had a real home before, not one where we stayed and made roots grow beneath our feet as Zemry talked about. She needed me, or maybe I needed her more. I couldn’t figure it out. I looked over at Sweetie. She looked pale and tired. Underneath her eyes were purpled shadows. I’d never seen Sweetie without a big light shining from the inside out of her. What if the healer had taken away her magic and her mother had died anyway. I didn’t want to think about it. I wanted her magic and light back.

I said, “You can come live with us.”

She stopped shoveling, wiped her face with her shirt, and did not look up when she said, “Nuh uh.”

“If you don’t, they might put you in an orphanage.”

Her head snapped up, and her eyes had the fire again. “I will not leave this here mountain.
Never
. It is my Home.” She dug again, harder and faster.

I bit my lower lip so I would keep my mouth shut and went back to digging. When I thought I couldn’t dig another shovelful, Sweetie stopped and stared down at what we’d done. The hole we made wasn’t near deep enough. There were a lot of rocks and tree roots, too.

She said, “We best rest. Directly, I’ll break us some cornbread.”

“I can make us something to eat while you rest.”

“We both’ll just set here under the tree. Then we’ll eat, and then dig until it’s done.”

I sat on the grass and she did the same. We wiped sweat from our faces and waved away buzzing bugs. My arms were tired and burning from digging into the hard ground. I was glad. I wanted to hurt, wanted to feel the pain in my arms. I wanted to take the shovel and beat myself over the head with it. Sweetie lay back on the grass, and I lay beside her. We looked up at the tops of the trees, and the blue sky peeking out from the leaves. I let myself pretend everything was fine, since it was such a beautiful day. I could pretend very well; I was a great dreamer.

That was the last I knew until I awoke to shouts coming from the other side of the trail beneath Sweetie’s cabin. Someone said, “Over here!”

Someone else asked, “Do you see them?” It sounded like Father.

Sweetie jumped up and looked around like a wild animal. “They will not take me to no orphan place.”

“I won’t let them. It’s my father. I’ll talk to him.” I stood up and held my hand out to her. “Come on. He’ll help us, I promise.”

She looked down at the hole in the ground. She rolled her eyes to me, then back to the hole we were digging, down towards the cabin, and then cocked her head towards the sound of old leaves crunching and the rustling of bushes as someone scrambled up. Sweetie’s eyes bugged out. She pulled and yanked our some of her hair. Her body stiffened up. Through her gritted teeth she growled out, “Mama, I can’t let them take me off and lock me away. I’ll die, too.” She took off into the woods, fast as any wild animal. The soles of her boots kicking up leaves and dirt as she ran.

“Wait! Sweetie!” I stood over the grave, my hands held out, as if I could draw her back to me just by the pull of my wanting her. She was like the deer we’d seen, beautiful even in their fright. I knew she wouldn’t come back, and I knew if I ran after her, I wouldn’t catch up to her. She wouldn’t jump out from behind a tree and say, “Boo! Ha! Come on, I got something inneresting to show you.” And she wouldn’t say, “This here’s how you do it, Lissa. Watch me, Silly Brains.”
 
She wouldn’t say, “You got the fire inside you, Warrior of the Creek.”

I let my arms fall to my sides. I’d never felt as tired and lonely as I did right then. I stood over the dirt pile, the hole, our shovels, the indents in the grass where we’d fallen asleep. I picked up the shovel and began digging again. That was what I had to do. I had to bury Sweetie’s mother for her. That was what I needed to do. What they both wanted me to do.

TWENTY-TWO

Father walked up to where I was. I ignored him as I dug the shovel in the ground, pushed it far into the earth with my shoe, and lifted up a mound of dirt and rocks, then tossed it on the pile. He put his arms around me to hug me close. I tried to shake him off to keep digging, but he wouldn’t let go.

“Melissa.” Father tried to pull me away from the grave. “Melissa . . . stop it.”

“I have to bury Sweetie’s mom. I promised.”

He tried to grab the shovel, but I jerked it away.

“It’s against the law, Princess. And, well . . . the animals will get to her.”

I kept digging.

“Your mother’s been worried sick. Half the town’s in an uproar over what happened at the revival. They’ve arrested that healer, or whatever he is. Nothing but a shyster, a common criminal. The Reverend has some explaining to do, as well.” He pushed back his hair, and I noticed how long it was growing. He said, “And if it hadn’t of been for those kids seeing you and Sweetie digging . . . well, they went inside and saw . . . saw her, and alerted the sheriff. This is unbelievable in a civilized society.”

I dropped the shovel. “What’re you talking about? What kids?”

“From your class, I guess, I don’t know.”

My stomach turned inside out with the thought that maybe T. J. and his Posse had been in Sweetie’s house, seen her there. Maybe they’d followed the red yarn. I wanted to fall on the ground and never get up. I kicked a piece of root I’d dug up.

“Adults need to be involved
 
now.”

I thought how Father would find a way to write about everything in his books, or make it a science project for his students. He could go and examine Miss Mae’s poor body and talk about how everything shut down, how even now her cells were decaying away. That’s what he did; he watched people, studied them, used them.

“They won’t let you put her here, love.” He added, “And you know it.”

I picked up the shovel and threw it as hard as I could. It landed on a rock and the sound of metal against rock echoed all around me. I sat on a log and put my head in my hands.

Father sat down next to me. “It’s a wonder they let her stay up here with a mother as sick as she was. I guess they didn’t know how bad things were.”

I felt wet on my face, even though I didn’t think I’d been crying. It seemed like with the sweat, snot, and tears, I’d be dry as the desert. That there’d be nothing moist left in me and I’d fall flat to the ground, nothing but dried up skin and bones.

More shouts from Sweetie’s cabin. I asked, “Who’s down there?”

“They’re good people, Princess. Let them do what they can to help.”

I gave my father a sour look. “Like they did at the tent?”

“That’s a small part of the community, Melissa. It’s not representative of the whole.”

There was a part of me, an inside part of me, that felt safe with my father there. A part that knew he was right. A part that wanted him to fix everything and make it all better. Like when I tossed with fever and he brought me hot lemonade. I looked up at him. It was better to think of him as handsome and strong instead of the other way.

“Can’t we just bury her here without them knowing it? You and me?”

He shook his head back and forth.

From below, I heard a horse whinny. I stood, began walking back down to Sweetie’s place.

He followed alongside me. “Everything will be okay. We’ll get it all sorted out.”

“It’s not like one of your books, Father.”

He grabbed my arm to make me look at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want Sweetie to come stay with us. We can live here and not have to move again. That’s what I want.” I was strong. I was ten feet tall, taller than my father, taller than the trees. I felt as if I would get whatever I wanted right then.

“That’s not something to decide right here and now.”

“Why not?”

“When you’re grown up, you’ll understand better.”

All that meant was he didn’t understand either. I jerked from him and started down. I was going to get Miss Mae if I had to carry her all by myself back up to the dogwood tree.

Mr. Tanner was there, two women from mother’s ladies club, and a couple of men I didn’t recognize. There were hoof and tire track marks cut into the pretty garden. I pointed to them. “Look what they did!”

“They had to pull a wagon up here. It was the only way to get Sweetie’s mother down to . . . take care of her properly.”

I stopped and looked down at the tire grooves. “They ruined the garden.”

Father put his arm around me. “They had to.”

His arm was heavy on my shoulders, as if it would take all my strength to shrug it off. Maybe I’d go down down into the ground until I was buried far below. The dirt over my head, in my nose and ears, the worms eating my brain. I moved away from his arm.

He again ran his hands through his hair until it stuck up on end, and the long pieces flipped out like a woman’s. He asked, “Do you know where Sweetie is?”

“No, I don’t.” Turning my face away from him and towards Sweetie’s cabin, I closed my eyes. The people standing around and the ruined garden made me even sadder. The inside of my lids were red, shades of red, like blood. That’s what I wanted to see, nothing but red, like Grandmother Rosetta’s burning barns.

I let myself imagine how I could move up to the cabin, fix the garden, and wait for Sweetie to come back. Opening my eyes, I said, “I left something in Sweetie’s house.”

Father put his hands in his pockets and stared up at the trees. “Okay, be quick, though.”

I went into the house and looked around. Already it felt too full of the townspeople, with their footprints, and someone’s pipe smoke, pipe smoke that was familiar—the green-eyed man? In Miss Mae’s room, the bed was stripped down to the feather mattress. I hated thinking about Sweetie coming back to see the empty bed, the bare mattress, the dirt all over their clean floor. I touched the hairbrush Sweetie used to brush her mother’s hair. Long strands of the blonde were in the bristles and it made it seem as if she was still alive, as if she’d come in the room, pick up the brush and pull it through her hair. The brush smelled like sweet oil and herbs.

There was a broom in the corner, and I used it to sweep up the dirt that had been tracked in. I took the pan from the counter, poured out the herb water, wrung out the cotton cloths and hung them over the sink. After rinsing out the pan, I dried it and hung it on the hook. The sweet oil bottle was still uncorked, so I pushed the stopper back in and set it back on the counter. There was cornbread wrapped in a towel and I sliced up pieces of it, in case Sweetie came home hungry, all she’d have to do was pick it up and eat it. I thought maybe later I could bring some of Mother’s food back to the mountain. And once she had eaten and rested, she would feel better, and be ready to live with us. I made plans all inside my head, where all kinds of things could grow into lives and people and places and things.

Father appeared at the door. “Let’s go before your mother sends the rest of the town up here after us.”

“What about Sweetie’s things? Will they be safe?”

I knew from the way Father looked around that he didn’t think there was anything worth taking. “I’m sure everything will be okay. Let the authorities take care of the rest.”

“Wait, just one more thing.”

“Melissa.” Father sighed.

I grabbed my satchel, ran upstairs, and took out our diary and a pen. I tore out a page, and wrote Sweetie a note explaining everything, told her to come to my window, and put the note on her bed with one of her rocks to hold it down. Then I scooted the chest into the corner and put the quilt over it so maybe it would be out of sight in case T. J. and his Posse came snooping again. Maybe they’d miss it in the dim light, or if not, think it full of junk. Or not. I didn’t know. It was all I could do right then, until I could figure out things.

Father climbed the stairs. He had to stoop over to fit in the small space. “Let’s go. Now.” He put his hand on my waist and gently pushed me towards the stairs.

Down the stairs, out of Sweetie’s front door, and through the woods I let the day and what could have been and what I could have done and should have done and what others did, ran over and over in my head like a fast waterfall. And I had a burning anger rush through my bones, so that they creaked as I walked beside Father. My bones creaked and strained inside my skin. All the marrow had drained out. All my tears drained out and dried up. I was a creaky boned dried up stupid selfish girl.

None of us deserved Sweetie. I clenched my fists until my fingernails dug into my palms, then I pressed my nails in until I felt my skin puncture. Harder I pressed, until I knew I was bleeding. I wanted to feel pain, and at the same time, I wished I were like Sweetie and felt nothing. I heard Sweetie in my head.
That’s not the same pain I’m feeling, Miss Lissa
.

***

Mother rushed up to hug me tight enough to push out all my air, then stepped back. “What in the world were you thinking?”

I didn’t answer her.

“Look at our daughter.” She grabbed my hands. “And she’s bleeding! Can you explain this to me?”

“Just shut your mouth for once, will you?” Father answered.

“Don’t you even think about using that tone of voice with me. Well, I tell you what’s what. We’re not staying here next semester. You can find another job.”

“This town is fine. Just like the last one was. And the one before that. Yet, every time I find a little bit of heaven to write in, you find fault with it.”

“Don’t you place this on
my
shoulders! Don’t you dare.” Mother’s face was flushed and her chest heaved. Her face turned blotchy. “Dear husband, what about the times some girl catches your eye, and I’m humiliated? You want to tell your adoring daughter about that? About your girls? Huh? Do you?”

I stared at Father.

Father reached out, grabbed Mother by the shoulders, and shook her. “That’s quite enough.”

Mother jerked away from him and slapped away his arms. “Get your hands off of me before I cut them off. Don’t you
ever
touch me like that again!”

“
Stop it
.
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it
.”

“You think I like leaving places that inspire, just because you get embarrassed at your ladies’ clubs and rose clubs and book clubs, and whatever kind of nose in the air society you’re after?”

“Oh, but we’ve lived off my father’s money and that’s fine with you. What would your life be like if you had to work at regular jobs? Tell me that.”

“You spend money faster than anyone could possibly earn it. My money would never be enough.”

“All I got from you was promises about your novels making it big. Yeah,
big joke
.”

I turned and crept away. I was too tired to care. I went to my room and from my chest of drawers I took out pajamas, robe, and clean underwear.

In the bathroom, I drew a bath and from the basket of Mother’s bath oils and soaps and beads, I took the lavender bubble bath and poured half of it under the running water. I undressed and climbed into the bathtub. My hands stung in the soapy water. As I soaked, I imagined Sweetie hiding, scared, sad, and alone.

A door slammed, and then another one. I lay in the tub thinking, until all was quiet. I then dried off with one of Mother’s good guest towels she forbade me to use. I planned that if Sweetie didn’t come, then I would find her. I’d go to Zemry’s, he’d know what to do. I dried off with Mother’s fancy guest towel, and hung it back up. I then put bandages on my hands without putting anything else on them. Maybe comas weren’t so bad, after all. I put on my pajamas and robe, put my hand on the bathroom doorknob, but hesitated when I heard a door open, and then another. I listened as my parents made their way down the hall to the kitchen.