The Language of Sycamores (10 page)

Ben elbowed me in the side. “Come on, Karen, let James do Elvis for us.”

“Ya, Aunt Ka-wen, let James do Elvis,” Joshua chimed in. “Pweeese.”

I realized that everyone was looking at me, and they really thought I might say no—Karen the killjoy. The family stick-in-the-mud. The realization hurt my feelings. Was that what I had become—the one who went around dredging up the past, hauling out old resentments, and bragging about how successful and perfect my life was? Did they really think I couldn’t laugh at James’s Elvis impersonation?

But then, that was the persona I had created. A straightlaced, impatient, demanding caricature that worked to my advantage in my career—no-nonsense, always on top of things, not too social, tough, slightly superhuman. The only problem being that the mask had become who I
was
. Until now. Now I didn’t know who to be.

I started to say something, but James beat me to it. “Well, as much as I’d like to do Elvis tonight, little man,” he said to Joshua, “it’s been a long trip and I’m wiped out. How about we do a little Elvis in the morning before church?” The look on James’s face spoke volumes. He wasn’t tired; he was worried about things, about us and our future. He didn’t feel like socializing. He wanted to go off by himself and brood.

Joshua frowned. “Al-wite. Can we play pilot?” He held out his arms and James scooped him up, flying him expertly around the room. I realized again that James had a routine here that I knew nothing about. I was jealous of his comfort level. Even more than that, I was jealous that everyone liked having him around. He was part of the family. Seeing him with Joshua hurt, and I knew why. I wanted that too—I wanted to be part of something that no failing economy or crumbling corporate structure could take away. I wanted to love something that could love me back.

How do I get myself to feel that?
I thought.
How do I let go of all the baggage and the jealousy and just feel the good stuff? How do I love instead of compete?
Competition came naturally to me and blind love did not. I’d learned from my father that love had strings. It had requirements. To be loved, you had to prove yourself. How could I banish that idea from my life?

James patted Joshua on the back, then set him down. “You know what? I think I’m just going to get a shower and maybe turn in early, if nobody minds.”

Kate glanced from James to me and back, her expression acute, suspicious, slightly worried. She could tell something was going on. “Sure, James.” She shifted Rose from one hip to the other, pointing to the downstairs bathroom. “You two really are welcome to stay in here.”

“No, that’s all right,” I rushed.

“It’s fine out there,” James echoed. “Thanks, Kate.”

“Sure,” Kate said, studying both of us one more time.
Something is going on between Karen and James, and it doesn’t look good.
That’s what her face said. “Just let me know if you need anything.” She handed Rose to Ben. “If you’ll take her to bed, I’ll finish the dishes.”

Ben quickly took her up on the offer, grabbing Rose, giving her a sloppy kiss, and winning a giggle.

“I’ll help with the dishes,” I offered, because I didn’t want to go to the little house with James and either watch him brood or be forced to talk about the next logical step.

“Good night, all.” James waved over his shoulder, then started out the door, looking like he had a hundred pounds strapped to each shoulder.

Jenilee stood up and started to carry dishes to the counter, but Kate took them out of her hands. “Karen and I can do this. Why don’t you two go out and enjoy the stars? It’s such a nice night, and you said yourselves you don’t get out of St. Louis much.”

Jenilee and Caleb exchanged moon-eyed smiles and quickly agreed, then walked out the door holding hands. Kate sent Joshua upstairs to his dad, and with that final exit she had managed to clear the kitchen of everyone but her and me. That, no doubt, wasn’t an accident.

I could tell there was something she wanted to discuss as we cleared the dishes and made small talk about meeting Jenilee and reading Grandma Rose’s old letters to Augustine.

“I never knew Grandma was such a writer,” I said. “I guess I just never pictured her as the poetic type.” Even as I said it, I knew that wasn’t exactly true. While Augustine spoke of fairies and dreamlike secret places in the wood, Grandma saw the poetry in ordinary things. She mused on the meaning of life while her hands were busy with everyday chores. Anything else would have been far too impractical to suit her.

Kate put a stack of dishes in the cabinet and turned to face me, resting her hands casually on the countertop. “She didn’t have time for nonsense. I think that made it seem like she didn’t care about things when actually she did. It made her seem harder than she was. You know, she regretted that in the end. She wished she had been a little more open with people instead of being so stoic all the time.” I wondered if she was talking about Grandma or about me. “Did you ever read her journal—the one with the stories she wrote before she died? Remember, I sent it to you for your birthday last year?”

I pretended to think about it, but in reality I knew exactly what book she meant. It had arrived with a birthday card, last summer, and an invitation to come to the farm for a visit. It was waiting in the mail the day I came home from a big job overseas. I’d glanced at the card, then flipped through the book, my eyes skimming writing that trembled, running downward across pages. I could feel the end of my grandmother’s life, her slow decline in those pages, in the changes of the
handwriting as the book progressed. When I looked at it, I saw her on her deathbed, watching me with that silent message in her eyes.

I couldn’t bear to read the book, so I put it away where I would be guaranteed not to stumble across it. In the piano bench under the old sheet music.

“I didn’t read it, Kate.” I realized I had stopped wiping the table, and there were tears pricking behind my eyes. “I just didn’t . . .” There was so much more I should have said, that I should have explained to my sister. I should have told her that I appreciated the thought, but it was too hard to look at something Grandma had written so close to her death. Instead, I said, “I just didn’t have time right when it came, and you know, after that I forgot it was there.” I knew Kate would be disappointed in that answer. I knew it even before I turned around and saw her looking wounded. Why was it so hard for me to admit my weaknesses to her?

“Well, just don’t lose it,” she snapped, then seemed to catch herself and softened. “I mean, I think she would have wanted you to read it. I learned a lot from that book. It was such a tough time for us when we came here—new baby, job problems, Joshua’s heart surgery, and Ben and I were having problems with each other. Grandma was watching all of that, and she wrote the stories down as advice, I think. She wanted me to see what things really matter when you’re ninety years old, looking back on your life. I’m not sure if I would have ever figured it out without her.”

Kate’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, all of the barricades fell away. “You’re lucky, Kate,” I said quietly. “You’re really lucky you had that time with her.”

“She wanted you to be here, too, you know. She understood why you weren’t, but she wanted you to be.” Kate looked down at her hands. Something about the curve of her cheek in that moment reminded me of the past. She was my little sister again—my sweet, perfect, brilliant little sister, who had figured out algebra, calculus, physics, and now the meaning of life before I did.

How could I let anyone know that?

“You’re just more forgiving than I am, Kate. I’m sorry.” I felt my defenses going up brick by brick. The old chip was weighing heavily on my shoulder. “You do the family thing much better than I do. You know, to this day, I still can’t stand to be around Dad. He knows
everything,
and
nothing
is ever good enough.”

Kate smiled slightly. “So what?”

So what?
I thought.
What kind of an answer is that?
“It doesn’t matter how hard you try, Kate. You’re never going to get what you need from him.”

She shrugged again, regarding me very directly when she replied, “Life isn’t all about getting what you need from people. Sometimes you’re put with someone because you have what they need.”

I crossed my arms over myself. It all sounded very philosophical, but not very much like Kate, not very much like our family. We had always been every man for himself. “So your theory is just be nice and keep taking whatever he dishes out.” It sounded more bitter than I meant it to.

She shook her head, which surprised me. In the past, the one thing that Kate and I always had in common was resentment of our workaholic parents. We could count on that to bind us together, in a twisted sort of way. “No, my theory is to move on. What other people do is out of my control. I only have control over what I do.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. “Did you learn all of that from Grandma’s journal?”

“Some of it. I’m still working on getting it right, but I know that I don’t want to end up ninety years old, alone in this house for years on end because I’ve driven everyone away.” She held her hands in the air between us, pleading. “Karen, Grandma Rose had so many regrets. She wanted us to do better. The one thing she wanted before she died was to piece this family back together.”

I sighed, feeling Grandma in the room with us, standing at the old Hoosier cabinet, listening while she measured out the ingredients for bread. “I know. I know she did.”

“It’s possible,” Kate whispered into the still air. “Anything’s possible.”

“You’re such a positive thinker, Kate.” Even as I said it, I wondered
if she might be right. Inside, I felt a growing need that hadn’t been there before—a need for this place, these people, a family. This family.

With everything else in my life spinning out of control, I needed something solid to cling to. When things around you change—where you are, where you’re going—the one fact that remains constant, the one anchor that holds fast, is where you have been.

Chapter 10

I
n the morning, Kate was up early fixing breakfast, so that we could eat together before heading off to church. By the time I got to the kitchen, she had already fried bacon and eggs and was putting biscuits on the table. She sent Joshua to gather the family, and we ate a quick breakfast, during which Kate and Ben shot questioning glances at James and me. Even Jenilee and Caleb seemed aware that there was an undercurrent at the table. Caleb rescued us by filling the conversational gaps with various news from town. Because his grandfather was the Baptist preacher, he knew who had died and who’d had a baby, who’d built a house or started a new business or gotten a divorce.

When breakfast was over, I went out to the little house to finish packing my suitcases so I could head for the airport after church and Sunday dinner at the café. My mind hadn’t quite settled on the idea of returning to the corporate jungle, but I knew I didn’t have any choice. The world would start turning again on Monday, and I had to jump on or be left behind. No more time for wallowing in self-pity. I had to get out there and circulate résumés before the job pool filled up with Lansing’s castoffs. It was the logical next step, and I knew I needed to face it.

“I can trade out the rest of my trip and go back with you,” James said as he came into the bedroom.

I realized that I was sitting on the bed beside my suitcase, silently
crying. “No, it’s fine.” Feeling stupid, I wiped my eyes. James was supposed to be in Kansas City until Tuesday morning, then fly several legs before coming home. “Go ahead and finish the rest of your trip. You’ll be home Wednesday.” I knew that was what he wanted to hear.

Stopping in the bathroom doorway, he studied me with obvious concern. For just an instant, I could tell he was wondering,
Karen, is something else wrong? Is there something more?

I didn’t give him the chance to ask. “Guess we should go.” Closing my suitcase, I stood up and dabbed at my eyes. “Sounds like everyone’s out in the yard already.”

“Let me get my wallet,” he said, and by silent mutual agreement we dropped the subject.

“Aunt Ka-wen . . . Aunt Ka-wen,” Joshua called from the porch, and then the screen door squeaked as he peered inside.

“Who’s out there?” I peeked into the living room, then walked through the door, wheeling my suitcase behind me.

Joshua gave the wheelie suitcase a look of fascination. “I can pull it.”

“All right.” I slipped the handle into his tiny fingers, holding open the screen door so he and the suitcase could get through. “Sure it’s not too heavy?”

“Nope,” he replied confidently, as the suitcase bounced down the porch steps sideways, dragging him with it. He and the suitcase landed in a pile at the bottom, and he scrambled quickly to his feet, laboring to roll the suitcase back onto its wheels. “I can do it. It’s not hebby.”

“I can see that.” I ruffled his hair as we started down the path, Joshua walking backward with both hands on the handle, lugging my suitcase over the uneven stones, determined to be my helper no matter what. I was suddenly filled with a rush of affection for him. “Hey, big man, you gonna miss me?”

He nodded, his big blue eyes soft with the unashamed love of a child. “I’m gonna mi-iiiss you!” he said, dropped the suitcase, and threw his arms around my knees. Suddenly, I wanted to cry again, which, of course, was silly.

“Next time I come, we’ll do something fun,” I promised.

“Okeydokey.” He punctuated that with a curt nod and hugged me again as James came out of the little house, then walked with us to the gate.

Dell appeared on the river path as we met up with the rest of the family by the yard gate. She dashed across the gravel driveway barefoot, wearing a wrinkled blue cotton dress and a choker of blue plastic beads. We waited while she pulled a pair of shoes out of a Wal-Mart sack and chewed off the tags.

Kate gave the shoes a double take, and Dell glanced up as she slipped into one of the stringy sandals with three-inch stiletto heels. “Uncle Bobby brung me some new shoes. These kind make your legs look long.”

Kate frowned at the footwear and then at me, obviously thinking the same thing I was.
Who would buy leopard-print stilettos for a little girl?

Buckling the sandals, Dell stumbled around on the gravel, trying to get her balance. “These are kinda hard to walk in.”

“They’re awfully high,” Kate said, then bit her lip to keep from adding that the shoes weren’t at all appropriate for a twelve-year-old girl, who shouldn’t have been worrying about whether her legs looked long.

Jenilee stepped from behind the gate and held her own foot up next to Dell’s. “I think we wear about the same size. Want to trade me? Mine are flats.”

Thinking over Jenilee’s offer, Dell tried a few more steps in the high-heeled shoes. Finally, she took the shoes off and set them on the post by the gate. “I think I’ll just go get my flip-flops.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and dashed to the porch, then came back wearing red plastic flip-flops that didn’t match her dress, but were still an improvement.

“I guess we should get going.” Kate glanced at her watch.

Caleb and Jenilee headed for Caleb’s truck. “I went ahead and loaded our stuff,” Caleb told Kate as he passed. “My granddad’s going to have a fit if we don’t stay at his place tonight. Jenilee wants to do some visiting in Poetry tomorrow, too.”

Kate finished buckling Rose into her car seat, then stood up and
stretched her back. “I wish you two could stay longer, but I understand. We have to share you with everyone else. We get to have you over Memorial Day weekend, though, right?”

“Sure.” Jenilee paused to smooth a stray wisp of blond hair back into her hair clip. “I hope all my family being here doesn’t drive you too nuts,” she added self-consciously.

Kate glanced at her watch again. “No, it’ll be great. We’d better go. There’s probably some special penalty for making the preacher’s grandson late for church.”

Caleb chuckled. “Well, when I was young, he’d make me do the opening prayer. It didn’t matter if I walked in thirty seconds late or five minutes late—he’d stop me wherever I was, and say, ‘Caleb, would you open us in prayer?’ There I’d be, halfway in the door, and all the old ladies would turn around and give me
the look
. If that doesn’t break a kid of diddling around in the Sunday school rooms, looking for leftover doughnuts, nothing will.”

The rest of us laughed, then turned around and headed for our cars, because we weren’t entirely sure Brother Baker wouldn’t do the same thing to us. He had been known to put latecomers on the spot.

“I’m gonna ride with James and Karen,” I heard Dell say behind me. She didn’t wait for an answer, but caught up with James and me and started talking about music. “Can we come home and play the piano after lunch?”

I felt something twisting inside me. More than anything, I wanted to be able to say yes. “I can’t,” I admitted. “I have to head for Kansas City after lunch so I can catch a flight home.”

“You’re goin’ already?” she asked, the sparkle of excitement fading.

“Yes.” I turned to her as we reached the car. “But I’ll be back in a couple weeks for Memorial Day. James is going to be here until Tuesday. Maybe he could show you a few things on the guitar. I bet you’ll be just as good at that as you are at piano.” James gave me a distracted look. All morning he’d been brooding, mentally adding up the emergency fund and seeing how long it would carry us if I didn’t get another job right away.

“You think I could play the guitar?” Dell asked, turning to him with
her heart on her sleeve. I hoped he would wake up and pay attention. “Is it hard?”

“Not as hard as piano,” he answered, shifting out of brooding mode and starting to look interested. “I think you could do it. Let me see your hands.”

Dell’s eyes lit up with instant adoration, and she held up her hands.

James chuckled, raising his hand next to hers, measuring the size. “I think you need something with a smaller neck. See, my fingers are quite a bit longer than yours. It’d be tough for you to manage my guitar, I think.” Pulling the car door open, he ushered her in. “Tell you what. We’ll try a few things on the guitar that I have here, and if you decide you like it, I’ve got an old youth-sized guitar at home in the attic. I’ll bring it next time I’m down. Comes complete with
The Partridge Family
logo and the whole deal. It’s pretty rad, man.”

“Cool!” Dell bounced to the middle of the backseat and sat leaning through the front console so she could talk to us. “What color is it?”

Sliding into the driver’s seat, James closed his door. “All colors. Haven’t you ever seen the big bad Partridge bus on TV? It’s like that.”

“Cool,” Dell said again.

“Oh, it’s way cool.” James chuckled. “Now slide back there and put your seat belt on, all right?”

Dell shrugged, still leaning through the console. “Uncle Bobby says I don’t need one.”

James started the engine, glancing over his shoulder with an obvious fondness. “Well, Uncle James says you do, so put on your seat belt. If we have a wreck, I don’t want you to end up as a little greasy spot on the dashboard.”

Dell huffed an irritated puff of air, disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to hang over the console and talk to us on the drive to church. “All
right.
”

“Because then,” James finished, “who would show me all the best catfish holes?”

In the backseat, Dell giggled and said, “O.K.,” again, more pleasantly this time, as the seat belt clicked into place.

By the time we reached Hindsville, Dell and James had shared an
entire conversation about playing the guitar, and how the notes were created on a stringed instrument. They talked about the chords and how they compared to the chords on a piano, and why some guitars had six strings and some had twelve, and bass guitars had only four. Dell was fascinated, just as she had been when we sat together at the piano. It was as if someone had turned on a switch, and she was so filled with enthusiasm, she forgot to be shy.

My mind drifted as we wound through the back roads of town, heading for the church parking lot. I thought of the weekend and everything that had happened since that horrible Friday night when the storm blew through and I sat playing the piano, trying to drown out the clatter of life. Friday seemed a lifetime ago now, and Boston a million miles away.

I tried to snap back to reality as we pulled into the church parking lot and walked into the chapel with the rest of the family. It felt strange to be there again after so long, but stranger still to be there without Grandma Rose at the head of our procession, shaking hands and kissing babies, making sure everyone saw that the granddaughters had finally come to visit.

Inside the chapel, the organist started the instrumental meditation as we slid into the usual pew, three rows from the front on the left. That much hadn’t changed. Grandma’s pew was still unofficially reserved. She had made certain of that at some time in the past, making a donation and having a plaque affixed to the end of the pew, which she insisted meant it was her spot.

My mind drifted between the past and the present as the music stopped and the service began moving slowly through the same timeless routine—greeting, hymn, prayer, offering, and finally Brother Baker’s sermon. He paused to smile at Caleb as he climbed to the podium. “So good to see my grandson Caleb here with his little girlfriend, Jenilee,” he said. Caleb did the parade wave, and Jenilee ducked her head as everyone turned to look at them.

Brother Baker went on. “And nice to have Karen and James Sommerfield visiting from out of town. We see James around here from time to time playing guitar on Shorty’s porch, but haven’t had the
pleasure of Karen’s company in quite a long while.” He smiled at me, and I’m sure I turned ten shades of red. I was tempted to stand up and defend myself—
Yes, I haven’t been here in a while, but we do go to church at home.
Which would have been a lie. Brother Baker knew that. It isn’t good to lie in church, so I waved like a visiting celebrity, wishing I could sink into the seat and disappear.

Fortunately, Brother Baker moved on to the sermon. “Yes, it’s so good to have Caleb here today. I’m constantly reminded of how much he’s grown up. I asked him the other day if I could talk about him during service, and he didn’t even hesitate; he just said, ‘Sure, Grandpa.’ Wasn’t that long ago, as a teenager, he wanted me to pretend I didn’t know him.” The congregation laughed, and Brother Baker chuckled with them, then turned serious again. “I have to tell you that seeing him sitting out there now, a young man, through his last year of college and about to start medical school, I want to fall down on my knees with gratitude. I think back to that awful day two and a half years ago, when we got the call that Caleb had been in a car wreck, and he was lying in a hospital in critical condition with internal injuries and serious burns. Most of you remember that. I stood here on the podium and wept, asking all of you to pray for him as I left for the hospital. It was a low time, a time when I questioned God’s reason for things.” He pointed a finger at the audience. “We all have times like that, times when we stumble in our faith. Anyone who tells you they don’t isn’t being honest with you or himself. It’s the lowest point in your life when it happens—the one time when you’re really, truly alone. I’ll raise my hand right here and tell you that I stood in Caleb’s hospital room alone that day. I looked at that bed. . . .” He paused, taking off his bifocals and wiping his eyes.