Running Barefoot (12 page)

“I can see why you are enamored,” Samuel teased. He was relaxed and his mouth was curved in pleasure. “Now play me something you’ve written.”

I froze in discomfort. “I am not a composer, Samuel,” I said stiffly.

“You mean you haven’t made up any songs? Mozart was - how old did you say? Four or five?...when he started making up…what are they called?”

“Minuets,” I supplied.

“You haven’t even tried to compose a little?” He prodded.

“A little,” I admitted, embarrassed.

“So... let me hear something.”

I remained unmoving, my hands in my lap.

“Josie....all I know about music, I’ve learned from you. You could play something by Beethoven, say it was yours, and I wouldn’t know better. I will think whatever you play is wonderful, you know that, right?” He urged me gently.

I had been working on something. A few months back, a melody had shivered its way into my subconscious and I hadn’t been able to place it. It had lurked, pestering me, until finally I had hummed it for Sonja, fingering it on the piano, creating chords out of the single notes and embellishing the melody line. She had listened silently and then asked me to play it again and again. Each time I added more, layering and building until she stopped me, touching my shoulder softly. When I looked up at her from the piano, there was awe in her face, almost a spiritual glow.

“This is yours, Josie,” she had said.

“What do you mean?” I had asked, confused.

“I’ve never heard this music. This isn’t
something you heard…this is something you created.” She had beamed, joyfully.

I thought of the music now as Samuel sat next to me, waiting patiently, hoping I’d concede. The music had come to me after we’d quarreled about Heathcliffe and the meaning of true love. When I thought of the music, I thought of Samuel.

I brought my hands to the keys and exhaled slowly, letting the music seep into my fingers. I played intently - there was a yearning in the melody that I recognized as my own loneliness. The music never became powerful, but moved me in its simplicity and in its clarity. I brushed the keys gently, coaxing the song from my timid soul. It was a humble offering, not nearly worthy yet of Mozart even at a young age, but it echoed with the passion of a sincere heart. When the last note faded and Samuel had still not spoken, I peered up at him apprehensively.

“What is it called?” He whispered, bringing his ebony eyes to hold mine.

“Samuel’s Song,” I whispered back, staring at him, suddenly brave and unapologetic.

He turned his face away from me abruptly, and he seemed unable to speak. He stood and walked to the door. He paused there, with his hand on the doorknob, his head bowed.

“I need to go, now.” Samuel looked at me then, and there was a battle being waged in his eyes, turmoil on his face. “Your song…That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” His voice was
filled with emotion. And with that, he opened the door and walked out into the icy stillness, shutting the door softly behind him.

7. Dissonance

The last week in February, Samuel didn’t come to school. On Monday, I thought maybe he was sick or something, but after a few days I was worried about him. By Thursday, I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I came up with a plan to see him. Nettie Yates had given me a recipe for chocolate chip zucchini bread when we were canning the summer before. She’d shredded the zucchini into freezer bags and taped the laminated recipe to the pouches so that I could “just whip some up whenever I wanted to!” I had yet to make it. Zucchini and chocolate chips seemed like an odd combination.

I was grateful now for an excuse to go see her and, hopefully, find out what was up with Samuel. I pulled some shredded zucchini out of the freezer, made up a couple loaves of the chocolate chip zucchini bread, and headed out into the icy February evening, a loaf of the hot bread wrapped in a dish cloth and held against me, keeping my fingers warm.

Nettie Yates answered the door after a couple knocks and seemed glad to see me.

“Josie,” she exclaimed happily. “How nice to
see you! Come in, come in! Oh, it’s miserable out there! Did you walk?”

“It’s not far, Mrs.Yates,” I said trying to talk between my chattering teeth. “I made zucchini bread from that recipe you gave me and thought maybe you’d like to try it, maybe give me some pointers,” I lied smoothly.

“What a perfect day for warm zucchini bread! I’d love some! Come into the kitchen. You can put your coat and boots back in the mud room by the back door.”

I handed her the loaf, bound tightly like a baby in a blanket and pulled my coat and boots off. I didn’t see any sign of Samuel. I padded through the kitchen on stocking feet, trying to search without looking obvious about it. Samuel’s coat wasn’t hanging on any of the hooks in the mudroom. I turned to hurry back in the warm kitchen, when I heard someone coming up the back steps. The door whooshed open and Don Yates came tumbling in, nose and cheeks red, cowboy hat pulled low. I scurried out of the mudroom into the kitchen, not wanting to be standing there staring if Samuel was right behind him.

“Woo Wee! It is colder than a witch’s kiss out there!” Don Yates slammed the door closed behind him. I heard him pulling off his boots and unzipping his coat. Samuel wasn’t with him.

“Josie Jensen is here Don!” Nettie called out from the kitchen. “She brought us some nice zucchini bread. Come on in and I’ll get you some
hot cocoa to go with it.”

Don came tottering in, still bundled in thermals and plaid, rubbing his hands together.

“Hello, Miss Josie.” Don went to the sink and washed his hands and face while Nettie cut the zucchini bread and spread butter thickly over the top. I sat down, not sure how I was going to get the information I needed. Samuel obviously wasn’t here . . . unless he was sick in his room.

“Josie, the bread looks wonderful!” Nettie exclaimed. I took a big bite of the slice Nettie set before me, chewing it slowly, trying to buy myself some time to plot. It was really good. Who knew zucchini would work with chocolate chips? You couldn’t taste the zucchini - it just made the bread moist. The bread tasted like thick spicy cake, the chocolate chips imbedded around the edges. I felt a surge of pride that it had turned out so well.

“It’s gonna be ten below tonight,” Don muttered to himself. I’ve got the horses inside, but it’s gonna be miserable for ’em all the same. I hate February . . . most miserable month of the year,” Don grumbled under his breath.

“So…Mrs.Yates….I noticed Samuel wasn’t on the bus....is he sick?” I stunk at subterfuge.

“Oh, heavens no!” Mrs. Yates declared, covering her mouth as she tried to answer between bites. “Samuel went back to the reservation.”

Time stopped, and I stared at Nettie Yates in horror.

“For good?” My voice rose with a squeak,
and I stared down at my half-eaten slice of bread, my mind spinning. “He’s not coming back?” I said in a more controlled tone, though my heart was constricting painfully in my chest.

“Well, we don’t know exactly,” Nettie said carefully, sharing a meaningful look with Don.

“What does that mean?” My fear was making me impertinent.

“Well,” Nettie started every sentence with ‘well’, especially when she was trying to be discreet.

“Samuel’s mom wants him back home.” Don’s gravely voice was blunt as he wiped the back of his hand over his lips, checking his mustache for crumbs.

“But....” I tried to proceed gingerly, not wanting to give my feelings away. “Won’t it be hard for Samuel to finish school if he leaves now?”

“His mom said he doesn’t need to finish if he’s just going to herd sheep. She says they need him there.” I could tell Don was none to happy about the situation. “Samuel is eighteen years old. Legally, he’s an adult, and nobody can make him finish.”

“But, I thought she was the one who wanted him to come here!” I was angry and confused, and my face probably showed it.

“She did!” I must have hit a nerve, because Don’s voice rose emphatically. “She talked to him on the phone last week. She said he sounded good and decided he ‘was cured’.” Don lifted up his fingers and waggled them, making quotations in the
air as he repeated the words Samuel’s mother had used.

“But…what about the Marines?” I was trying to keep my composure. I couldn’t let them know how much this conversation was upsetting me. “He’s worked so hard! He’s even learning how to swim!”

Nettie set down her cup of hot chocolate and looked at me in surprise. “How did you know about the Marines?”

“Samuel and I are assigned to the same seat on the bus, Mrs. Yates,” I confessed. “I’ve talked to him a little bit. He’s been trying so hard to get good grades, too . . . I can’t believe he’s just going to quit school.”

“Samuel’s bein’ pulled in two directions, Josie.” Don shook his head and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know that he feels like he has a lot of say in the matter.”

I needed to get out of there. I was going to burst into tears and there was no way I was going to do it in front of Don and Nettie. I bit my inner cheek hard, the sharp pain postponing my rising emotion.

“Well, I’d better get on home. Dad’s going to be wanting something hot to eat on a night like this.” I headed to the mudroom and grabbed my things, not letting myself breathe too deeply, not releasing my soft inner cheek from my back teeth.

I yanked my boots on and zipped up my coat frantically, pulling the hood down over my messy
curls. Don made a move to get up, maybe to see me home.

“Don’t worry about me getting home, Mr.Yates. I can see our front porch light from here. It’s only a block. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, thanks for comin’ by, Josie.” Nettie seemed a little stumped by my erratic behavior - I’m sure she thought my interest in Samuel was a little peculiar as well.

I took my dishtowel from her outstretched hand and turned to leave.

I stopped, torn between my concern for Samuel and my wish to vacate the kitchen before I dissolved into a howling puddle.

“If you talk to Samuel soon.....will you tell him I came by and asked about him? Please remind him about his umbilical cord.”

Nettie and Don stared at me like I’d lost my marbles. “Just tell him, okay? He’ll understand.”

I fled through the house and out into the frigid February evening.

Another week passed. March came, and Samuel didn’t come back to school. I didn’t return for updates from Don and Nettie. It would only
raise questions, and I’d raised enough already. I had started making him tapes of all the music we had been listening to. I had made him a ‘collection’ of greatest hits from all the composers I loved. I had 10 tapes of my favorites, everything from Beethoven to Gershwin. I had put my absolute favorites on one tape and entitled it Josie’s Top 10. I had included Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C Sharp Minor that Samuel had loved. It had not been among my top ten before, but it always would be now. Each cassette case had the titles neatly labeled next to the composer. I didn’t know how I was going to give him the gift now.

Then one morning, about two weeks after he left, I climbed on the bus, and he was sitting there waiting for me like he’d never been gone. I rushed to him and sat down, grabbing his hand in mine and holding on for all I was worth.

“You’re here!” I was whispering, trying to be discreet, but I felt like laughing out loud and dancing. He turned his face toward me, and I saw that the left side of his face, from his eye to his chin, was covered with a mottled green and yellow bruise, most likely a few days old.

“What happened? Oh, Samuel, your face!”

Samuel let me hold his hand for a moment, clasping mine tightly in his as well. Then he gently extricated his fingers and folded his hands together, like he was afraid he might take my hand again.

“I’m here until I graduate, which is going to be harder than it would have been two weeks ago. I
have to go to my teachers and beg them to help me. I missed mid-terms and big assignments in every class. I have to read Othello.” He grimaced and looked at me. “I might need your help with that.” I nodded my head willingly as he continued. “When I graduate, my grandparents are going to take me to San Diego for Marine boot camp. I don’t think I’ll be going back to the rez any time soon.” Sorrow bracketed his mouth and his lips turned down slightly.

I reached up with my right hand and gently touched his bruised cheekbone. “What happened?” I repeated softly, hoping he wouldn’t pull away.