The Story Keeper (27 page)

“Well, after our talk the other day, I was afraid there might not be much.” I bit back the rest. Now wasn’t the time.

“Don’t get mad.” Coral Rebecca knew what I was thinking. It was probably written all over my face. “It wasn’t
that
much money. Marah Diane and Roy wanted to give the girls a special birthday. And with both of us goin’ in halves, Levi and I only had to borrow a little bit to get Sissy a bike and pay our part a the food.”

“You and Levi had to borrow to do this?”

“It’s okay. Levi’s got some knives for sale with one of his buddies up at Warrior Week. They already sold one, so when somebody buys the others, we’ll come out all right.”

“What if the knives don’t sell? What if you and Levi end up in a bind?”

“It’ll be all right. It’s always all right.”

Then why do you send me letters whenever a kid needs a tooth fixed or a vehicle breaks down or somebody’s three months behind on their payments?
I couldn’t say it, and even that frustrated me.

My sister looked like an animal pinned in the corner of a cage. Trapped between me and the net wire. “Come on and say hi to Daddy and see everybody. Join the party, Jennia Beth. My kids have been so excited ever since Marah Diane told them there was gonna be a birthday get-together after all. The girls are about to have a fit to hop on those bikes. They never get anythin’ new. It’s always some ol’ junk somebody had before them.”

I followed her to the picnic tables and tried my best to pretend I didn’t notice the tension in the air, the looks trailing my every move, the disapproving women surveying my clothes and my hair, which was hanging in a loose ponytail rather than a proper plait.

My father didn’t budge as I passed the circle of lawn chairs. “Jennia Beth,” he said flatly. The words were meant as an acknowledgment, I guessed, but they sounded more like a rebuke.

“Hi, Daddy.”

He returned to his conversation with the man across from him, either a church member or a distant cousin.

That was it, after twelve years away. I sank down on one of the picnic benches near the food, just . . . numb. In some remote corner of my soul, the little girl in me had imagined this moment so differently. I hadn’t been ready for the truth.

When would I get used to the fact that my father didn’t
car
e
? He didn’t want to know where I lived or what I did or who I was. He was just indifferent to me.

One of my nephews
 
—Marah Diane’s youngest
 
—toddled by, stumbled over a twig, and bumped his head on the table leg. I rescued him from underneath and bounced him in my lap, glad for the distraction. Relaxing against me, he fingered my keys, then pressed the button on the remote, laughing when the car horn beeped in the parking lot.

“Twain! Twain!” He giggled. “Is a choo-choo!”

“Push it again.” I guided his chubby thumb. “Oh! There it goes. There’s the train!” The soft tickle of his foamy baby curls and the smell of soil and little boy reminded me of Joey. He’d been such a fussy baby, colicky and sickly. Countless nights I’d sat out on the porch with him, watching the full moon and letting him take in the cool, moist air to stop the coughing and crying. No one had ever loved me like my little brother loved me.

Resting my chin on the baby’s head, I closed my eyes and let the memory wash over me. There were times in the quiet of midnight, our small home filled with breath and stirrings, that the blanket of family covered and surrounded me and made me feel warm and safe. There were times when I’d thought my life would be here on this mountain
 
—find a man, raise kids, scratch out a living somehow. It’d seemed like something to look forward to, occasionally. A right kind of life.

And then there were times when I looked at my mother, when she shrank into corners as my father belittled, berated, yelled and threatened, grabbed and twisted, and deposited my beautiful mother crying in a heap on the floor, the red slashes of the rod across her skin. Properly subjugated. There were times when out-of-control anger took things even further than that. During those times, our home was pure terror.

Those were the nights I knew I’d rather be dead than spend the rest of my life here. Like this.

There had to be something else in the world. Some other way.

But now, smelling the scent of Marah Diane’s little one, I felt the surprising pull of my sisters’ lives, of the future I’d left behind here. There was a part of me that wanted a baby like this one, a home, a family, and all the things that didn’t fit inside the busy, demanding routine I had created.

That yearning seeped in while I was still reeling from the blow of my father’s greeting, and the effect was surprisingly powerful here, among the familiar sights and smells of family.

“He likes you.”

I looked up, and Lily Clarette was standing over the bench, watching me.

“That baby never goes to nobody he don’t know. Not without cryin’. He’s a lil’ pill worm.” She made a face at the baby, and he giggled, reaching for her. “No, no, I don’t want ya. You just stay right where you’re at.”

I wouldn’t even have known Lily Clarette, but for Coral Rebecca’s occasional photos of family events. My youngest sister was practically a woman now, her body tall and slim, her hair a darker brown than when she was little, her skin a smooth, slightly olive tone, her eyes a clear, golden hazel like mine and Marah Diane’s. I hadn’t realized from the photos how much she looked like Mama . . . and like me.

I wondered how my father felt about the resemblance that had grown as Lily Clarette did.

She stood a few feet away as if she were uncertain whether she should get too close, but she was curious nonetheless.

I wanted to open my arms and enfold my little sister in a greeting, but I was afraid I might frighten her off or cause her trouble with the Brethren Saints later on. “Can you sit a minute?” I said instead. “I haven’t heard from you in forever. I think the last time you sent me an e-mail was . . . what . . . maybe a couple years ago? You had some kind of big project in the science fair, and you asked me to proofread your research paper.” It was wrong that I hadn’t kept up since then. I wasn’t even sure how the thread of communication had died
 
—whether it was on my end or Lily Clarette’s. It was easy for me to become so caught up
in work that weeks and even months went by, and I never made it to the bottom of my personal e-mail box. Maybe she just got tired of waiting.

“Oh yeah, that.” She rolled her eyes and the reaction was so delightfully teenage that I found myself smiling at it. Lily Clarette had a surprisingly spunky personality. “I just ended up makin’ it to the state science fair, but I didn’t win there or get the scholarship money, so it wasn’t no big deal.” Her shoulders rose and lowered, and her gaze darted toward the lawn chair circle in a way that made me wonder what my father’s opinion of Lily Clarette’s achievement had been.

“Are you
kidding
? That’s awesome. You’re probably the first Gibbs to ever make the state finals in anything.” I was joking, sort of, although it was true. Kids who are fighting issues at home aren’t prone to being standouts at school.

“It’s not good to be boastful.”

The muscles along my spine stiffened. Those words could’ve come straight from my father’s mouth.
Just who d’you think you are, girl? The queen a Paris? That Culp woman been puttin’ big ideas in your head again?

“It’s okay to be proud of yourself when you’ve achieved something.”

“Pride’s a sinful thing.”

“Abilities come from God, Lily Clarette.”

“Not always.” She studied her hands, picked at a frayed fingernail uncomfortably.

The baby relaxed against my chest, his breaths lengthening. I shifted to keep his head from slipping. The movement was natural, old, familiar. Like a nursery school song you realize you can still sing by heart. “If they don’t come from God, where do they come from?”

I imagined what must’ve happened during Lily Clarette’s run at the state science fair. No doubt there was a Wilda Culp or a Mrs. Penberthy out there who wanted something better for my youngest sister and knew she could achieve it. I pictured the conflict between my father and the teacher. My father pulling one way, the teacher pushing the other. My father trying to keep Lily Clarette in her place, to make her feel guilty for having a brain and wanting to actually use it.

Now I realized there was a reason Lily Clarette had written to me from school that year and shared the news of her success. She was looking for support, and I was so busy chasing my next big project, I hadn’t plugged in like I should’ve. And it was almost too late. She was in her senior year of high school and thinking about dropping out to marry a twenty-one-year-old . . . with the family’s blessing.

“Anythin’ comes from the devil if it tempts us from the righteous way,” Lily Clarette answered by rote.

I paused to think. As with most of the things I’d been told in my childhood, there was just enough truth to wind around the subject and hold it prisoner, slowly strangling the life out of it. “Who’s to say it
isn’t
God’s plan for you to use your talent for science? Maybe become a doctor and do something in environmental research? There are so many issues with the timber companies and old mining slag heaps and contamination of the groundwater through runoff. Isn’t that what your project was related to?”

Another noncommittal shrug. “A little.”

“Have you thought about going on to study
anything
?”

Marah Diane was looking our way now, her jaw clenched, her chin jutting forward. Whispers drifted from the lawn chair circle, but I couldn’t make out the words. A young guy with long
sideburns had stopped talking to watch us from beneath the brim of his Ford cap. I wondered if he was Lily Clarette’s intended.

“College or anything? Maybe WCU over in Cullowhee?” I pressed because I sensed that my time was running out. “There are so many scholarships out there, Lily Clarette. Not just the ones from the state science fair.”

Her eyes, a deep golden hue in the sunlight, rose and searched mine. Was she considering it?

“I’ll help you every way I can. Whatever you need, really. Materials to study for the SATs, help finding scholarships. If you need me to cosign on college loans, I’ll do it. I could make some contacts at Clemson for you. I don’t have clout there like Wilda Culp did . . .”
But Evan Hall undoubtedly does.
Would he help my sister? “But I’ll try.”

Lily Clarette’s lips pressed together. She swallowed hard. Blinked rapidly as if the picture stung her eyes. “Clemson’s so far away. . . .”

“Well, then maybe the community college to start off?” I was rushing now. Lily Clarette couldn’t see it because her back was turned, but something was brewing in the men’s circle. My father had called Marah Diane over, and it wasn’t hard to tell that the conversation was about me.

Judging by Coral Rebecca’s body language, she’d noticed as well and was concerned. Her eyes darted about as she whispered to Levi, who had forgone the men’s gathering to help his wife at the fryers. That frightened, agonized look was the one she always wore when she knew the fighting was about to start.

“I could help you find an apartment. Something close to campus so that you could walk.” None of my sisters even had actual driver’s licenses, as far as I knew. Navigating city streets would be a terrifying obstacle for Lily Clarette, just as it had been for me.

Her eyes were the size of the pale-green eggs from the exotic hen my father brought home when I was ten. When we went out to gather after that, it had been a game
 
—seeing who could find the green egg the gray hen had laid.

The look on Lily Clarette’s face was half terror and half fascination. “I don’t know. . . . I’d have to talk to Daddy.” She smoothed wisps of hair nervously into her plait. “And Craig.”

I laid my hand on hers almost desperately. “You don’t
have
to talk to anybody, Lily Clarette. It’s
your
life. You’re almost eighteen years old.” I did remember her birthday, even though I knew so little else about her. She was born the year a heavy snow came the first week in November. My mother had wanted to name her
Winter
, but my father refused. He’d never heard of anyone with that name. In reality, after two lost pregnancies, he was hoping for at least one more boy to go with Joey, and Lily Clarette was a disappointment. My father didn’t care what my mother named her, as long as it wasn’t something that would turn heads in the church.

“I’ll see what Daddy says,” she repeated, which was as good as giving up. “He’s been needin’ me more since the accident. He was in a real bad way for a while . . .” I could tell she wanted to add more, but the excuses weren’t coming fast enough. “Just because you turn eighteen don’t mean you’re not bound to honor your daddy. I got Mama’s nature in me . . . more’n most. I fight it, but it’s there. I don’t wanna stray down the wrong path like Mama and . . .”

“And me?” No doubt I’d been held up as an example of the path that shouldn’t be taken.

“I didn’t say that. Don’t be puttin’ words in my mouth.” Color stole into her cheeks, peppering the skin with a watercolor wash of pink pinpoints. “I’m not like Marah Diane and Evie Christine.
I understand why you went off to Clemson, Jennia Beth. I’m not sayin’ I agree with all of it, but I understand. And I know that Coral Rebecca wrote you for money lots of times, and you always sent it. Sometimes we wouldn’t’ve made it without that. I’m not dumb.” She slid her hand from mine, rested it in her lap, clutched it with the other one.

“I know you’re not. That’s why I want you to at least give this some thought. Your future is wide open, Lily Clarette. Get out in the world and
see
what you want to do. You can always come back here if that’s what you decide is right for you, but at least you’ll know what’s beyond Lane’s Hill.”

“I know what’s out there.” Her nose wrinkled in obvious distaste. “Big cities where people get mugged and murdered and they’re living stacked on top of everybody. I’d lose my mind in a place like that.”