Manroot (22 page)
Authors: Anne J. Steinberg
“
Hi, boy. He must really be old,” she said to Brad.
“
It’s not Rabelais; it’s his son, who is pretty old, too. You look very beautiful.”
“
Thank you.”
“
Shall we play chess, checkers, or just talk?” Brad asked.
“
Let’s talk. You always beat me at checkers, and I don’t know how to play chess,” she said truthfully.
“
Brandy?”
She nodded yes, taking
the chair nearest the fire. Brad sat across from her.
Her eyes wandered up and studied the painting above the mantel:
two deer, a doe and her fawn, peeking out of the trees, a woodthrush on the branch above. April even knew the nook; it was Castlewood all right – the place near the big rocks.
Brad followed her gaze and said, “
The man’s a genius. He is getting a worldwide reputation for being the finest wildlife artist alive. Ryan was always like that; he so loved them, the creatures. You could only paint like that if you really loved.”
April nodded.
“It’s amazing how he captures and holds that one moment, even though it’s gone.”
“
He’s coming home early, you know.”
“
No, I didn’t. Aunt Elizabeth said they’d both be home for Thanksgiving. I told her it was out of the question. I have my work,” April said.
Brad looked at her.
“This might be more important. She needs someone to wait on, worry about. Since William, she’s lost, and those damn letters, they keep coming.”
“
Letters?” April asked, puzzled.
“
Yes. I guess she hasn’t told you. A developer keeps hounding her. Seems they want to buy Hilltop and build condominiums.”
“
Condominiums?” April sputtered.
“
That’s the way Elizabeth feels, too – outraged. But they won’t leave her alone. They just think she’s holding out, and so they keep upping the price.”
Elizabeth
smiled through dinner. Hannah had outdone herself. The trout was perfect, as was the salad, asparagus, and hot buttermilk rolls, and the blackberries were prime and sweet. The meal was perfection! Elizabeth coaxed them to eat as if they were children, and she enjoyed their eager talk.
It was good to have people in the house.
April enjoyed herself. She took long walks in the woods, and Kack had invited her to the sang-hunt.
For this she donned khakis and a thick sweater, and met Kack on the porch by the cabin.
She was invited in for a brisk tea. Entering the cabin that was full of memories, she saw it was unchanged. Roots still hung drying in clusters, and pots of herbs lined the window-ledges. In the back under the bookcases stood the perennial wicker cages. Rustlings from within assured April that, as ever, Kack had some small furry charges that were mending there.
Idly she browsed through the bookshelf.
Surprise shone in her face as she read the titles. Here were all of the classics, as well as mythology of the world, the Bible, the Koran – and books on all manner of philosophy. The reading was eclectic. With new interest, she watched Kack pour the tea.
“
You’ve some wonderful books.”
Kack nodded.
“The Judge was very generous. He encouraged me. Most of those, he gave me.”
Surprise and shame at the same time coursed through April.
She hadn’t realized that her uncle and Kack had been friends. She remembered the Judge as conventional, busy, staid; she could not envisage any rapport between them. She felt dismay at her own prejudice. She, and she imagined everyone else shared her view, had always thought of Kack as uneducated, ignorant, and full of superstitions and quaint ways. A modern-day savage.
She looked at her with fresh eyes.
“Do you believe in precognition?”
Holding the tea in both hands, Kack slowly sipped.
Nodding her head, she answered the girl cautiously. “It’s possible.”
April pressed for answers, wishing that Kack were more verbal.
“Do you believe in dreams?”
Still sipping, she nodded yes.
April now leaned forward, her forehead creased with anxiety. “I mean, do you believe that a dream, a repeated dream of some event, can be precognition?”
“
Yes, it can be that.”
“
Oh, Kack,” April blurted. “I’ve had the same dream for years. Then it went away, and now I had it again last night. I dream…I dream that Ryan – no, Kyle –” She stopped in confusion. “I dream that one of them drowns in that horrible river.”
Involuntarily, Kack
’s hand went up and clutched her breast. Recovering her composure, she tried to ease the girl’s mind.
“
It’s natural for you to fear the river, after almost drowning in it. I know the Judge meant well, when you were all children, but I’m not so sure he should have shown you one that had been claimed by the waters.” She reached across and patted April’s hand.
“
So you’re saying it might be those things that are the basis for the dream?” April asked hopefully.
“
Yes.”
They both felt relief and welcomed the exercise of walking, climbing through foliage, crawling under brush, seeking out the manroot.
When the sun was high in the west, they picked their way home slowly through the dense wood, dragging the full burlap sacks behind them.
Parting at the path to the cabin, they saw a rabbit loping up the worn track toward them.
“It seems tame,” April remarked.
“
Yes, it’s one of mine. The cages are not always secure.” She reached down and clutched the animal to her breast.
As April turned toward the house, she heard the soft humming, a happy uplifting sound, so unlike Kack.
From that day forward, April discarded the name Kack and her image of the modern savage.
The woman was someone else.
She had always been Katherine – or maybe, when she was younger, even Kathy.
It was subtle and swift how quickly the house, the grounds had gotten their grip upon April.
It reminisced of the times as a child when she expressed the longing to her mother: “I wish I could stay here forever.”
The days were slow, easy.
She grew interested in the greenhouse, which had been ignored since the Judge’s death. She coaxed the wilted plants till small green heads peaked suspiciously out of the withered brown.
She found seeds and planted strawberries.
How wonderful to have them ripe and luscious in the winter!
Always Aunt Elizabeth encouraged her to stay another few days, one more week.
Finally, April called the hospital to extend her leave of absence.
Whenever she mentioned going back, Aunt Elizabeth burst into tears.
“You can’t leave me now, dear. I need you. There’s plenty to do. Why, the greenhouse – you’ve done wonders with it! April, hospitals are depressing. I know, child, you’re a poetess at heart. I remember your mother reading me all those wonderful poems that you wrote when you were little. We have notepads in William’s study. It seems with all the solitude it would be a wonderful chance for your poetry.” She finished, looking hopefully at her niece.
April realized the depths of her loneliness, and for the first time saw her aunt properly
– as a spoiled, childish woman who couldn’t bear to have the house empty. The luxury at Hilltop made it easy for April to give in. It was so different from her hectic, harried life. She had put herself through college and had managed on her own after Mother’s death, but it wasn’t easy.
So, sighing, she gave in, and happily
Elizabeth began planning Thanksgiving. She was especially excited because Ryan was bringing from Africa a photographer from
Life
magazine, who had accompanied him on the safari.
“
A fascinating woman, I’m sure,” Elizabeth pronounced. “As for Kyle, perhaps he will bring someone from the Capitol – one of his political friends, maybe.”
And,
‘Good, good,’ Elizabeth pronounced every time a new item arrived from St. Louis. A silver punch-bowl – they’d need it for both occasions. New monogrammed napkins. The house would be full of voices, footsteps, music – it would be good. Maybe then she could drown out the humming that she heard at night, from within the green room.
Elizabeth
spent the afternoons looking through catalogs, yelling from time to time, “Hannah, quick! Come here!” Hannah would come and peer at the book on her mistress’ lap.
“
There, Hannah, look – isn’t that marvelous? I think we need one of those. Well, on second thought, maybe two, in case we break one.”
Hannah carefull
y wrote down the numbers of each item that the mistress wanted today. It gave Elizabeth something to do. She could listen out for the bell and then call down to the kitchen: “Is that the bell, Hannah? Maybe it’s a delivery!”
“
No, it’s Bruce about the brooms. He got locked out and came around front.”
“
What brooms?”
“
You know, ma’am, he makes them brooms. He’s wantin’ Tom to take him to Castlewood to sell some.”
“
Oh, all right. But while Tom’s there he could buy…he could buy---” She felt irritated with herself. There must be
something
they needed. “Tell him they can go, as soon as I finish my list.”
She got the pad, wet the pencil-tip on her lips, saying aloud, “
There must be something we need.” She began thinking in earnest. Soon the pencil worked busily on the list. “Hannah, it’s ready!” Good, she felt satisfied there was something to do today. She would need to unpack the things when they got back, check the list; maybe the bell would ring and they would get a delivery today.
She sighed, then strai
ghtened up with purpose. She’d find April and send her outside to gather fall flowers or greenery – if nothing else, pretty leaves, for all the vases were empty. That just wouldn’t do.
She went outside on the terrace and began calling, “
April! April, honey.”
The smell of food cooking began filling the house as early as 6 a.m.
Elizabeth had sent Tom to Castlewood twice. She had forgotten the cream for the frozen strawberries, and she was sure they needed more beer. “Boys drink beer, don’t they?” Her forehead knotted in concentration. She couldn’t remember – did the boys drink beer?
She hushed Tom
’s protest about the stores not being open on Thanksgiving, especially this early.
“
Nonsense, Tom, just knock. Kirby’s Grocery – they live right upstairs. Tell them the Judge---” She stopped. It was a habit of many years – just mentioning the Judge had always gotten her what she needed. “You know, Tom. You know what to tell them about the beer. Get Sheriff Mosley to ask them to open up. Run along, Tom – there’s so much to do.”
Elizabeth
rushed back and forth to the kitchen, peeking in pots, not sure what she was looking for, and anxiously asking Hannah, “Is there enough room?”
“
Yes, ma’am, there’s plenty.” She nodded toward the kitchen table where the leaf had been put in to make it bigger.
Counting out loud,
Elizabeth pointed, “Hannah, Tom, Bruce, and Kack.”
“
Yes, ma’am, there’s only the four of us.”
“
Good, good,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “It would be so awkward. The Judge always insisted on her eating with us on special occasions.”
Hannah wiped her hands.
“Kack’s more than welcome here. We have plenty of room.”
Satisfied,
Elizabeth left the kitchen to inspect the dining room, which Hannah had prepared the night before.
The centerpiece waited.
Elizabeth knew that April was planning something from the greenhouse. She better tell her pink would be best, to go with the rose damask curtains and the forest-green napkins. Yes, pink should be the dominant color.
Going to the hall, gently she called up the stairs, “
April! April, honey.” Getting no answer, she went back to the study and sat, leafing through her notebook, convinced she had forgotten something. She was the sort of woman who enjoyed the planning and preparation far better than the actual event.
When April awoke at eight and had eaten a quick breakfast, she went out to the back sun-porch
to retrieve the centerpiece she had arranged yesterday.
The unheated porch had been a perfect storage place for the flowers, which looked crisp and fresh.
They were primarily Thanksgiving colors – spotted orange day lilies, yellow carnations, russet and red mums. She was satisfied that the arrangement was perfect. She felt pleased at how appropriate it was, without being overdone.
Elizabeth
, on seeing her carrying the arrangement into the dining room, followed her in. “April, honey,” she began. April knew that tone. It was a request – no, not really a request – it was usually a quiet, whining demand.
Elizabeth
sighed. “It’s real pretty. Fits the occasion all right.” She stopped, then tilted her head from side to side. “It’s beautiful – don’t get me wrong.”
April gave her an indulgent smile and said patiently, “
It’s not what you wanted?”
Glad that the asking was over,
Elizabeth moved to the drapes, picking at the cloth. “Well, I thought pink or dusty rose or whatever the color is---” She rushed on, “That one we’ll put in the Judge’s study. They all sit around and smoke in there. Why, with the Governor smoking those terrible cigars of his, I think that these flowers might still hold up.”
“
The Governor?” April said quizzically.
“
He’s not the Governor anymore. He’s not been for some years. He was a dear friend of the Judge’s. I think he’s taken to Kyle. Poor man, his wife died last year, and he’s getting on in years. It was mighty sweet of Kyle to invite him. Nobody should have to spend Thanksgiving alone.” Elizabeth reached over and carefully lifted the centerpiece and was off to debate where to put it in the study.
April grabbed a sweater and ran down to the greenhouse to cut new flowers, carefully selecting carnations and
mums in ranges of pink. The greenhouse was now vibrant and alive under her care.
Within an hour, the new centerpiece was done.
“Perfect,” Elizabeth pronounced. “You’re so talented. How’s the poetry coming?”
Rather than tell her she hadn
’t written any, April answered, “Just fine.”
“
You know about the typewriter in the Judge’s study?”
“Yes.”
At noon both Elizabeth and April went upstairs to bathe and dress for the guests, as Tom was due at the airport in
St. Louis at one o’clock to pick up Kyle and the Governor. He would barely have time to bring them out and return to collect Ryan and his guest at three.
The Thanksgiving meal was planned for six that evening.
Under Hannah’s capable hands, everything would be ready.
Two o
’clock found both women dressed and sitting in the formal living room.
The peal of the doorbell startled
Elizabeth, set her nerves tingling. “Darn that boy. I always give him an extra set of keys. I hope Hannah doesn’t answer with her apron on.” The second impatient ring had April volunteering. She hurried to the hall.
She opened the door and Kyle, charming and vibrant, embraced her.
“Cousin April! How nice!” He held her at arm’s length. “Oh, you’re a beauty all right. Mother said you were.” Graciously, he turned and introduced her to the rumpled old gentleman behind him.
April barely recognized the small boy grown so tall.
Kyle was impeccable in an Italian gray silk suit. He was over six feet; a shock of wheat-colored hair fell across his forehead, and his eyes, clear and sparkling, appeared gray-blue. His jaw was angular and straight, his smile dazzling. He had the charisma of a born politician.
He led the tottering Governor into the living room.
Before he was seated, the old gentleman was already searching in his pockets for the predictable cigar that Elizabeth had mentioned.
“
Mother, how nice you look.” Kyle twirled her around, then grabbing her in a bear hug, planted firm kisses on her cheek. She blushed and was terribly pleased.
Patting her hai
r and smoothing her pearls, she led the Governor to the leather armchair by the fire. It was several minutes before she realized that she had to sit closer to him, for she was shouting and he still couldn’t hear her.
Kyle had gone to the kitchen, untied Ha
nnah’s apron and lifted her off her feet and danced her around before putting her down before the stove.
“
You’re in high spirits,” Hannah laughed.
“
Ah, woman, after a few bourbons I’ll be higher still.”
“
Mister Kyle, you don’t need to be in any higher spirits.” She felt a twinge of nostalgia for days gone by that would never return.
He slapped her playfully on the rump and winked.
“Hannah, burn the turkey. I dare you. It would be worth it just to see Mother’s face.”
Slapping a dishrag at him, she commanded,
“Git – now you git!” She loved it, the boy’s teasing.
Like the perfect host, Kyle poured wine for the ladies and straight bourbon for the Governor and himself.
Looking from April to his mother, Kyle explained, “The Governor’s on the zoning committee for the county. Now that could be real helpful for the acreage.”
The older man nodded and sipped his whiskey, relighting the cigar that had gone out.
“Oh Kyle, later on I must tell you about the letters, the offers. That holding company – it upsets me so – keeps pestering me about the acreage.”
Her son
’s face grew grave. “Mother, I don’t want you talking to any of those people.” His jovial mood was gone.
“
Oh, I haven’t!” she exclaimed. “I throw the letters away. Why, they have upped the offer twice.”
Like a
sunbeam, his smile returned. “How clever of you, Mother.”
Her face was puzzled and her voice trailed.
“But…”
He ignored her feeble protest and turned to April.
“I hear you’ve been a superb gardener and have Father’s greenhouse in shape again.”
Modestl
y, April said, “I’ve enjoyed it.”
Taking her hands, he pulled her up.
“You must show me. I’m from Missouri,” and the charming Kyle was back.
She grabbed a sweater, and they walked down the brick path, crisp leaves crunching under their feet.
Once inside the greenhouse, the moist, heavy perfume surrounded them.
He pretended interest in the flowers; he snapped off a miniature rose, pink with a hint of purple.
Reaching down, he trailed the velvet softness across her cheek. “Almost as lovely as you.” His eyes smoldered, looking deep into hers.
Feeling uncomfortable with his intimacy, she turned and began rattling off the names of some of the new plants she had started from seedlings.
He touched her shoulder and leaned over her. She felt his warm breath on her neck, and if he hadn’t been her cousin, she would have felt he was definitely making a pass at her. A smug smile sat on his face, and he was amused at her discomfort. “How long are you staying, little cousin?”
The word
‘cousin’ acknowledged their relationship; she felt better.
“
I don’t know. I’ve already been here longer than I intended. Your mother can be very persuasive.”
“
It runs in the family.” She saw the mischief in his eyes.
He took her hand and she felt comfortable now walking with him.
“I hope Mother hasn’t seated you next to the Governor at dinner. He’s deaf as stone, you know. He’s still part of the old establishment; he’s been a big help. Why with Dad’s old cronies, I’m a shoo-in for Governor, even Senator someday.”
“
That’s wonderful.” April squeezed his hand.
As they came up the driveway, they saw the Mercedes pulling in.
April shivered in the wind, holding her sweater closer.
Ryan jumped out first.
The brothers embraced with much whooping, hollering, and punching each other companionably.
April had a chance to quietly observe Ryan during the exchange.
The twins were both the same height; Ryan’s hair was shorter, leaning more to blond, his skin bronze. When he turned to her, it was the same square jaw, the eyes icy blue, and he gave her a shy smile reluctantly.
Then with recognition he burst out, “
April, of course!” He came and hugged her, rocking her back and forth. Holding her at arm’s length, he looked deeply into her eyes. “I’m so glad to see you.” They nodded, smiling at each other.
“
Now, who’s this?” Kyle’s playfulness returned as he bent his head into the car.
Ryan, regaining his manners, helped Monica out of the car.
She was sleek, thin to the point of gauntness, tall, willowy, her blonde hair pulled severely back. She, too, was golden-bronze from the sun. She wore a stylish tight pants suit, cinched at the waist, her large dark eyes were immaculately made up and her jewelry was bold – huge gold earrings and on her arm, a jungle of bracelets.
She looked as if she had come off the
cover of an exclusive fashion magazine. Her voice matched her appearance. It was low, soft, with a distant flat, bored accent.
In the house
Elizabeth was pleased to see them. She brightened at the glamorous woman; she yearned to move away from the Governor, at whom she had been shouting for the last half hour.
Monica Mason was the well-known photographer who had been assigned to Ryan for his African trip.
Together, they had produced the hundreds of slides from which he had worked when compiling the series of wildlife paintings for a company in New York, who would make numbered prints of his originals. It had been an important commission for Ryan.
Ryan was dressed casually in tan slacks and a V-neck sweater.
Monica sat on the arm of his chair leaning possessively against his arm.
“
Kyle,” Elizabeth said. “Pictures – we should have some pictures of this occasion.”
Kyle looked across the room directly at Monica.
“With a world-famous photographer here? Mother, I’m an amateur, you know that.”
In the bored, flat voice Monica said, “
My equipment is in the luggage.” She continued caressing Ryan’s arm, making it clear she didn’t intend taking any pictures.
“
Looks like I’m it.” Kyle left the room to get a camera.
The Go
vernor, who had been napping, awoke with a start when the flashbulbs popped.
Kyle went about the room, taking random shots.
Elizabeth was pleased, as she liked looking at photographs and pasting them in the books.
