Nothing Gold Can Stay (8 page)

Luther latched the front door before crossing the room to the fireplace. He lifted the poker but, instead of poking the fire, nested the prod in the flames.

“You go on out and get your horse some water from the spring, Rafe,” Luther McDonald said.

Wilson watched as Barafe hesitated, then gave his erstwhile charge a shrug and stood. Molly unlatched the door, locking it back after the old man passed through.

“This song,” the old woman said, “it’s called ‘The Snows of Glencoe.’ Be it one you know?”

“I do not, madam,” Wilson stammered.

Wilson did, however, know about the Glencoe massacre. He had been roused from his usual classroom stupor when his don mentioned Clan
Campbell
’s involvement. That had sparked enough interest in Wilson to ask his mother about the event. It’s all in the past, his mother had told him, and refused to say more.

“The previous ballad really will suffice,” Wilson said. “I have another appointment and must be going.”

“Sit down and listen,” Luther McDonald said.

Wilson did as he was told and the beldame began to sing.

They came in a blizzard and we offered them heat

A roof o’er their heads and dry shoes for their feet

We wined them and dined them they ate of our meat

And slept in the house of McDonald.

Some died in their beds in the grasp of their foe

Some fled in the night and were lost in the snow

Some lived to accuse them who struck the first blow

That slaughtered the house of McDonald.

They came from Fort Henry with murder in mind.

The Campbells had orders Prince William had signed

Put all to the swords these words were underlined

And leave none alive named McDonald.

The old woman’s lips tightened into a mirthless smile. For a few moments no one moved. Then Luther retrieved the poker from the fire, placed his free hand close enough to gauge the heat. Wilson withdrew a wallet from his back pocket.

“I wish to make payment for the songs as well as your hospitality,” he said, and rapidly began pulling out bills.

“We’ll take no money,” his host answered. “No man, not even a king, can buy off a McDonald.”

When his ship docked in London harbor six weeks later, Wilson’s tongue had not fully healed. Months passed before he was able to convey his thoughts aloud, and during those mute months he showed little desire to do so with pen and paper. Nevertheless, the previously unknown ballad Wilson brought back caused a sensation, in part because its purveyor had placed himself in such peril to acquire it. One London newspaper proclaimed James Wilson worthy of mention with Sir Walter Raleigh and Captain John Smith, those earlier adventurers who also left their civilized isle to venture among the new world’s Calibans.

Twenty-Six Days

I
t’s almost twelve thirty when I’m done sweeping the front steps, so I go inside to stash the broom and dustpan and lock the closet. In the foyer, there’s a crisis hotline flyer and a sign-up sheet beneath. Professor Wardlaw has volunteered for Friday, her usual night. I walk out of Cromer Hall and into a November day warmer and sunnier than you usually get in these mountains. The clock tower bell rings. In my mind I move the heavy metal hands ahead ten and a half hours. Kerrie is already in bed.

Over at the ATM, students pull out bank cards like winning lottery tickets. Probably not one of them ever thinks that while they’re sitting in a classroom or watching a basketball game kids their own age are getting blown up by IEDs. I think again about how we wouldn’t be in Afghanistan if there was still a draft. You can bet it’d be a lot different if everyone’s kids could end up over there
. Just a bunch of stupid hillbillies fighting a stupid war,
that’s what some jerk on TV said, like Kerrie and the rest don’t matter. There’s times I want to grab a student by the collar and say you don’t know how good you got it, or I tell myself I’ve given my daughter more than my parents gave me. That’s easier than thinking how if I’d had more ambition years back and gotten a welding certificate or degree at Blue Ridge Tech, made more money, Kerrie wouldn’t be over there.

I cross the street separating the campus from town and go into Crawford’s Diner. Professor Wardlaw’s in a booth with Professor Maher and Professor Lucas, who also have offices in Cromer Hall. Ellen brings my plate quick as I sit down at the counter. She has it ready, since I get just thirty minutes for lunch. I eat free, a perk, like Dr. Blanton letting us use his computer. Ellen pours my ice tea and gives me a fork and knife and napkin.

“Not a good morning?” I ask, because Ellen’s waitress smile looks frayed.

“It’s been okay,” she answers, speaking softer as she nods at the professors. “That one with the black hair is who said it, ain’t she?”

“Yeah,” I say, “but she didn’t mean nothing by it, not really.”

“When they came in, I had a notion not to serve them at all,” Ellen says.

“You know she does a lot of good,” I say.

“That still don’t excuse her saying such a thing though,” Ellen answers, and takes the water and tea pitchers off the counter.

I watch in the mirror as Ellen fills glasses and makes small talk, except at Professor Wardlaw’s booth. Ellen lifts her eyes as she passes so that even if they do want something she’ll not notice. I shouldn’t have told her what Professor Wardlaw said, or made it worse by pointing her out in the parking lot. Ellen’s as good a wife as a man could ask for, but she’ll hold a grudge.

I check the wall clock. It’s 12:50 so I finish and take the plate to the kitchen. Ellen’s there changing an order and we talk a minute about Kerrie’s application. I come back and the professors are going out the door, backpacks hanging from their shoulders. A single one-dollar bill is on the table. I follow them back to Cromer Hall. Someone’s spilled a drink near the entrance, ice cubes scattered like dice across the floor. There’s a folding yellow caution sign by the entrance, so I set it up. I’m walking down the hallway to get my mop and bucket when I hear my name. Professor Korovich is standing by her office door, a stack of books in her hands.

“I have these for Kerrie,” she says.

I thank her and put them on the closet shelf beside the paper towels and disinfectants. I lift the mop bucket to the sink and fill it, pour in the Lysol and head down the hall. Professor Wardlaw’s office door is open but she’s alone. I think about last month when Professor Korovich gave me some books for Kerrie. When I came back up the hall, Professor Wardlaw was in her office talking to Professor Maher.
Nadia doesn’t realize that he’ll just turn around and sell them, but better the flea market than the outhouse.

I mop the foyer and put the caution sign back up. I get my broom and dustpan and sweep the stairwells, then empty the bathroom trash cans and clean the toilets and sinks. When the 3:30 bell rings, the last classrooms empty so I sweep them. Since tomorrow’s a holiday, most of the faculty’s gone home. I get out my master key and empty their trash cans. When I get to Professor Korovich’s office, the light’s still on. She’s been at the college only since August and all her family is in Ukraine. Sometimes we talk about how hard it can be when you’re separated from your loved ones.

I knock and she tells me to come in.

“How is Kerrie?” she asks, saying the name so the first part’s longer than the last.

“She’s doing fine,” I tell her.

“Less than a month now?”

I nod as I empty her garbage can.

“Not so long,” Professor Korovich says, and smiles.

I ask about her family. She tells me her mother’s home from the hospital and I tell her I’m glad to hear that. I thank her again for the books and close the door. By the time I’ve done all the offices, the hall clock says 4:20. I check the bathrooms a last time and punch out.

There’s a note tucked under my windshield wiper from Ellen saying she’s working till five. I think about going over to the café and having a cup of coffee but decide to wait in the truck. Sometimes I’ll find a magazine in a trash can to bring home, but I don’t have anything like that so I look over the books Professor Korovich gave me. Three are about teaching but one is called
Selected Stories of Anton Chekhov
. I open it and start reading a story about a man whose child has died. He tries to tell other folks what’s happened but no one wants to hear it so he finally tells his horse. You’d think a story like that would be hokey, and maybe it is to some people, but when Ellen gets in the truck she asks if I’m okay. She says I look like I’ve been crying.

Before I can answer, Ellen raises her hands to her mouth.

“Kerrie’s fine,” I say quickly. “It’s allergies or something.”

Ellen’s hands settle back in her lap but now they’re woven together like she’s saying a prayer. Maybe she is saying one.

“Kerrie’s fine,” I say again.

“You’d figure it would be soothing that she’s made it this long,” Ellen says as I pull out of the lot, “but the closer we get to her coming home, the scareder I am.”

I put my hand on her shoulder and tell her everything’s going to be fine. When we pass in front of the quad, we both check the clock.

“A bunch of folks came in for early supper and Alex asked me to stay,” Ellen says.

“We’ll be on time,” I say.

“I did make an extra nine dollars just on the tips.”

“That’s good,” I say, and smile. “You must have given them better service than I saw some folks get at lunch.”

I stop at a crosswalk and a group of college students pass in front of us.

“Alex said something to me about that,” Ellen says.

“They complain?”

“No, but Alex don’t miss much.”

Ellen nods at the books between us.

“Professor Korovich gave us some more?”

“Yes,” I say. “Remind me to tell Kerrie.”

We get lucky on the lights, three greens and one red, but once we pass the city limits sign a car is piddling along and I’m stuck behind it. The road’s curvy and the driver’s going thirty in a fifty-five zone. It’s two miles before the road straightens and I can pass. By the time we pull into the lot that says
PATIENT PARKING
,
we’re running late but Dr. Blanton’s car is still outside. We hurry in and I tell him we’re sorry to be late.

“Don’t worry about that,” he says. “I’m just glad you won’t miss your call.”

He nods at the waiting room floor. There’s a red stain wide as a tractor tire.

“A logger nearly cut his arm off this morning. Tonya and I got a lot of it up but the floor needs a good scouring.”

“Yes sir,” I say, and check the clock.

“I left five more dollars, for the extra work on the floor,” Dr. Blanton says, and takes out his keys. “Tell Kerrie the man that brought her into this world says to be careful, doctor’s orders.”

“We’ll tell her,” Ellen says.

Dr. Blanton leaves and Ellen goes in to make sure the Skype camera works and that the chat is set up. I go to the storeroom and fill up the mop bucket, then add the bleach and set it in the lobby. It’s time for Kerrie to call so I go into Dr. Blanton’s office. Ellen’s in the chair and I stand behind her. When the box comes up, Ellen clicks “answer.” Kerrie appears on the screen and it’s like every other time, because a part of Ellen and me that’s been knotted up inside all day can finally let go.

Since it’s already Thanksgiving over there, Ellen asks if they’ll have turkey and dressing for lunch and Kerrie says yes but it won’t taste nearly as good as what Ellen makes. When I ask how things are going, Kerrie says fine, like she always does, and tells us she has two more days before she has to go back out. Ellen asks about a boy in her unit who got hurt by an IED and Kerrie says he lost his leg but the doctors saved the sight in one eye.

For a few moments, nobody says anything, because we all know it could have been Kerrie in that Humvee one day earlier. Ellen asks about school. And Kerrie says the head of the education department at N.C. State is matching up the tuition costs with the army’s college fund. They’ve been really helpful, she says. I tell her about the books and Kerrie says to be sure and thank Professor Korovich.

Maybe it’s because the picture’s a little blurry, but one second I see something in Kerrie’s face that reminds me of when she was a baby, then something else reminds me of her in first grade and after that high school. It’s like the slightest flicker or shift makes one show more than the others. But that’s not it, I realize. All those different faces are inside me, not on the screen, and I can’t help thinking that if I remember every one, enough of Kerrie’s alive inside me to keep safe the part that isn’t.

We stay on awhile longer, not saying anything important, but what we talk about doesn’t matter as much as seeing Kerrie and hearing her voice, knowing that she’s made it safe through one more day and night. Afterward, we clean up the office, mopping the waiting room last. The bloodstain’s a chore. We get on our hands and knees, rubbing the linoleum so hard it’s like we’re trying to take it off too.

We finally get done and Ellen picks up the two twenties and the five on the receptionist’s desk. The money we get from Dr. Blanton goes into an envelope we’re giving Kerrie the day she gets home. It’ll be nearly two thousand dollars, enough to help her some at college. On the way home I turn on the radio. It’s a station Ellen and me like because it plays lots of songs we heard while dating, songs we listened to when we were no older than Kerrie.

Several stores already have their Christmas decorations up, and they brighten the town as we drive through. As I wait for a light to turn, I think about Ellen being more scared the closer we get to Kerrie coming home. It’s like Kerrie’s been lucky so long that the luck’s due to run out. I can’t help thinking that we can still get a phone call saying Kerrie’s been hurt. Or even worse, a soldier showing up with his cap in his hands.

The light turns green and I pass the clock tower, behind it Cromer Hall. The office windows are all dark, but there are lights on at the student center. Some students won’t be going home for the holidays, and because of that someone in town has a phone close by, ready if it rings. I think about a young woman who’s hurt and scared making that call, and how someone will be there to listen.