Twisted Roots (22 page)

"It just occurred to me. This is the first time you and I have slept under the same roof. It's nice," he said. smiling. "Very nice."
I smiled through my teary eyes of happiness. "Yes, it is. Uncle Linden. Good night."
"Good night," he said. turning.
Heyden looked as if he was already asleep. I went into the bedroom and changed into the nightgown I had bought, and then
I
got into my bed. too. I had the window opened as wide as it could be to air out the coach, but that stale odor lingered. Tomorrow,I'll do a better cleaning and disinfecting
^-
of the place,
I
thought.
For a long time
I
just lay there with my eyes open, not really thinking of anything in particular, just staring up at the stained yellow ceiling.
Was Mommy going to sleep?
Was she ranting and raving or was she crying in Miguel's arms?
Had I done a very terrible thing, something for which I would go straight to hell?
My two men were sleeping with far more contentment than I could find. For me it was doomed to be a night of tossing and turning in a bed of regret and fear. When I finally did fall asleep.
I
dreamed about little Claude. and
I
woke up and felt tears on my cheeks. How wonderful it would have been to have had
a
little brother after all. Every note of jealousy I had sounded in myself was another pin of guilt sticking in my heart. I felt so miserable and so confused. I wished I could disappear.
Sleep did not return easily. It came on the back of total exhaustion, and what woke me was not the sunlight pouring through the small window, but the sounds of Heyden and Uncle Linden preparing the breakfast. Every part of me groaned a complaint when
I
rose and went to the door. The two of them were at the small table having coffee and talking. The map was spread before them again. They looked up with surprise.
"Morning, sleepyhead." Heyden called. "So
I
overslept."
"Hey, there are no schedules to follow here, no bells ringing and sending us from one room to another, except the bells in our own heads. The shower works," Heyden added. '"Sorts.'"
"I slept well." Uncle Linden said. "I think it was the best night's sleep I've had in years."
He and Heyden returned their attention to the map and I worked at waking myself up. Heyden wasn't exaggerating when he used the word sorta for the tiny shower. It dripped out and it was not even warm.
"It's like being in the army," Heyden told me when
I
complained. "The famous two-minute shower."
''I didn't last one minute!"
"Well, soon we'll be able to afford a decent hotel," he promised. "Time to go on. We have many miles to cover."
Uncle Linden was already in the passenger's seat. anxiously waiting. Minutes later we were heading back toward the highway and north, creating more and more distance between home and ourselves. How appropriate it was for us to have parked near the space shuttle. It's how I felt this morning: jetting out into the great beyond. with all that once tied us to Mother Earth dropping away every passing moment. When we crossed into Georgia, we stopped for lunch and found a place for Uncle Linden to get most of his art supplies. He had possessed art supplies most of his adult life, even when he was in a mental clinic because the work was considered therapeutic, but just because we were on our awn. I think, with no one to supervise us, no rules to follow, no one to please or displease, he was like a little boy who had been given his first erector set or set of electric trains.
Both Heyden and
I
could see he was chafing at the bit in his anticipation of doing his first picture on the road, so we decided to have a picnic at the first opportunity to pull off the highway and enjoy the river itself. When we did that Uncle Linden was too excited to tat. He set up his easel and began to frame out a picture.
You two sit down there." he said, pointing to a clearing. "Spread your blanket out and just enjoy your lunch."
But how about you. Uncle Linden?" I asked. "I'll eat later. Go on. Don't worry about me," he commanded.
Heyden and I smiled at each other and took our food and blanket to where Uncle Linden wanted us. Heyden brought his guitar along. too. It was a magnificent day with just a few clouds that looked like egg whites pouring slowly over a blue skillet. As we sat and had our lunch. Uncle Linden worked away. We began to rehearse songs we thought we might do in any performance. After we sang each two or three times. Heyden decided whether or not we would keep it in our repertoire.
"We've got to get a good mix in here. Hannah," he instructed. "That way we can please more people." We included love songs, soft rock, a few country songs, and what Heyden classified as classic standards. We worked so long and hard at it that neither of us realized how much time had passed until
I
noticed how low the sun had gotten. We had even forgotten about Uncle Linden, who never took a moment out to rest himself.
"We'd better get going. I was hoping to make more distance today." Heyden said. "Time to move on, Uncle Linden," he called.
"That's fine, I've done just about as much as
I
need to here," Uncle Linden said and began to gather his materials.
I folded the blanket. Heyden picked up our other things, and we headed back to the motor home, pausing to look at Uncle Linden's picture. He had left it on the easel while he took in his paints and brushes. The scenery was done in a very interesting style, almost a Monet background, but the two people meant to be us were realistically depicted.
Heyden saw what I saw and leaned toward me to whisper as
Uncle Linden was heading back.
"I look like him," he said.
All I could do was nod.
I
looked like my mother,
"Well?" Uncle Linden asked. "What do you think of my first work on the road?"
"It's amazing that you did so much so fast," Heyden said quickly.
"It's beautiful. Uncle Linden."
"I'll have to call it View from a Motor Home or something," he said. laughing.
Heyden took his easel, and he carried the picture back carefully. He put it safely next to the small sofa,
"I've got to make some time." Heyden said. "I'm going to push it a bit. Mount up."
We started out again, and once we were back on the highway, he did go faster than he had.
I
kept warning him not to violate the speed limit,
"We don't want to be pulled over by a traffic cop. Heyden. There might be too much explaining to do, or there might be one of what they call an allpoints bulletin or something, right?"
"I know, I know, but it's getting dark fast. We should have paid more attention to the time." he said, angry at himself.
"I thought you told me there are no bells ringing to drive us," I chastised softly.
He raised his eyes at me. "We've still got to make distances. Hannah.
I
want to get us to the work as quickly as I can, you know."
'Then there are bells ringing for us. Heyden." "All right." he relented. "I can see you'll always be reminding me of reality."
"And myself." I said "And myself."
Just north of a city called Anderson in South Carolina. Heyden consulted the map and decided to take what looked like a shortcut.
"I'm sure we'll be able to find a good place to spend the night." he said.
I was nervous about leaving the well-traveled highway, but he was confident we would make better time and find a place to pull in for the night more easily this way. Uncle Linden was dozing on and off. He had taken something to drink, but he still hadn't eaten anything and I was worried. I wanted us to pull over so I could start dinner. We had been driving for hours and hours.
"Just let me go a few more miles," Heyden kept pleading.
I
was standing over him practically the whole time. The road wasn't bad, but without lights and us not knowing where the next turn would be and how sharp it might be. he couldn't go too fast.
"We're fine." he kept muttering, and then suddenly we heard this terrible metallic groan that was followed by a terrific grinding noise. Following that, the motor home's engine lost all power. "What the hell..." "What is it?" I cried. "I don't know. The engine just died on me. and the power steering has gone out."
He struggled to keep us straight and slow down the vehicle,
"Whaaa..." Uncle Linden said, stifling and looking out at the darkness before us.
"Engine trouble," Heyden muttered to him. We came to a stop.
"Oh, no. Heyden."
"Don't panic," he said. "It might not be anything serious. Maybe a wire broke loose or something. Damn." he added when he scrounged about the glove compartment and the cabinets, "We don't have a flashlight, and we forgot to buy one." "What are we going to do? How are you going to see? We can't light matches over a gas engine!" I cried.
"I know that. Don't you think I know that? Let me think." "I told you not to leave the main highway, Heyden."
"I was just trying to make up far some lost time." he wailed.
"I'm hungry," Uncle Linden said suddenly. It seemed so unexpected and was so out of place for the situation. I couldn't help but laugh.
"He's right," Heyden said. "Let's just stay calm. We'll have dinner and wait until daylight."
"Right smack on the middle of this highway?" "There's room for anyone to bypass us and see us."
"You hope."
"Well, what else do you want me to do? We'll leave some lights on."
"I wouldn't mind a good hamburger." Uncle Linden said.
Heyden looked at me. He knew what I was thinking: Uncle Linden wasn't just acting like a little boy from time to time, he was a little bay in so many ways. Almost all of his adult life, someone had taken care of him. Responsibility was always a word with a small r. What we had done was taken on that responsibility but with a capital R.
"Just take it easy. Relax. It'll all work out," Heyden assured me.
"Sure," I said and went to the refrigerator to get same of our meat out of the small freezer. When the light didn't go on. I felt a surge of new panic. "Heyden."
"What?"
"I think the electric went off. too."
"No." He jumped up and looked at the refrigerator. "Damn it." he said.
"All our food is going to spoil. We can't just stay here. Heyden," I said when he didn't reply. "I know. I know, Don't you think I realize that? I'm not stupid."
I felt the tears come into my eyes. How terrible this was going to be: broken down on some country road, both of us runaways who took my uncle out of a residency. How could we be so naive and foolish to think we could do this? I had permitted so many emotions to block out my sense of reason.
I
had permitted my anger and my self-pity to possess me. As if to bring an exclamation point to what I was thinking and what I had finally realized, we heard a loud clap of thunder. Somehow, neither I nor Heyden had noticed how quickly the sky had become overcast and how we had been driving right into the impending storm.
The first drops hit like a warning, and then they grew big and pelted the motor home, sounding like nails, slapping into the sides, the roof, and the front of the vehicle.
It
was a deafening sound.
I put my hands over my ears. "It's horrible!" I screamed,
"Easy," Uncle Linden suddenly said, as if he had just woken from a deep sleep. "Everything will be all right. Willow.
I'm
here."
Heyden looked at me with shock and fear scribbled madly over his face.
The next clap of thunder came from my own heart.

11
Casa de la Luna
.
Even though we didn't have a flashlight.

Heyden went out as soon as the rain let up to see if he could feel around the engine block and discover anything that he might be able to repair. I was too neryous to prepare any dinner, and Uncle Linden had gone back to sleep.
I
decided to go out and see if there was anything
I
could do to help. Just as I stepped out of the coach, a pair of headlights washed its light over us, and a pickup truck appeared, slowed, and came to a stop. It was so dark, it was hard to see who had driven up beside us. I joined Heyden and waited as the door opened and shut. A very big African-American man in a pair of coveralls came around the front of the truck. He looked to be at least six feet seven or eight. I wouldn't have called him fat. but I was willing to bet anyone he was well over two hundred and fifty pounds.

"Yes, sir, we do," Heyden said. "and we were foolish enough to leave home without a flashlight."
"I'm forgetting more and more myself these days." he said and reached into one of his deep coverall pockets to produce a flashlight. "I leave everything I can in these here coveralls so I don't forget stuff."
When he drew closer. I could see what hair he had was salt white. The stubble on his face was a mixture of salt and pepper. He had big features and the largest hands I had ever seen on a man.
"How's your battery?" he asked Heyden. "It wasn't showing any problem."
"Well, go on and give her a turn or two and let me listen in," he said.
"Right." Heyden started away and then paused and looked at me. I could see he was concerned about leaving me alone with a stranger.
"I'm all right,"
I
said. "Go try it."
He nodded and hurried back into the cab. A moment later we heard the engine grind.
"Whoa!" the man cried. Heyden stopped and then came out "I know that sound. You deal with these things long enough, you learn what every tinkle means."
"What do you think it is?" Heyden asked.
"It sure sounds like you've blown a head gasket. I'm afraid."
"Is that a big thing?" I asked quickly.
"Big enough."
"Damn," Heyden said. "Expensive to fix. huh?"
"Somethin' like this. yeah. I imagine it ain't just one bail of cotton, as my daddy used to say."
"We're on sort of a budget." Heyden said shyly.
The big man glanced at the motor home and nodded. He probably thought, who else but someone on a budget would be driving something like this?
"I understand. Well," he said, dropping his flashlight back into his pants, "if I had the parts. I could fix it. This is an old engine in here. I recognize it. Done enough of them in my time."
"Could you really fix it?" Heyden asked.
"Sure. We get everything we need back at Casa de la Luna."
"Casa de la Luna?" I asked. "That means House of the Moon. What is it, a hotel?"
"Oh, it's just the old farm. Mrs. Lilliann Stanton named it that a while back and she gets awful mad if I don't call it that. It ain't but another half mile or so down the road. Y'all get in with me.
We'll use the phone and see if a friend of mine back in Anderson can help. He's in the car cemetery business."
"Car cemetery?" I asked,
"Fancy name for junkyard. miss. C'mon," he beckoned and turned to the pickup truck.
"It's not just us." Heyden said.
"Pardon?"
"My father is in the motor home," I said.
"Oh." He looked back at the cab.
"He's been sick," I added quickly.
"Oh, that's too bad with this breakdown and all."
"I can ride in the back." Heyden said. "You go get Uncle Linden."
I
turned away from the big man and made a face.
"We can't drag Uncle Linden someplace." I told him under my breath.
"You have any better ideas?" Heyden said. "Look where we are and what's happened.
^-
"He's so confused as it is."
I
moaned. "Calling me Willow instead of Hannah."
"Confused is better than stranded," Heyden said. "But what if he gets confused in front of strangers?"
"We'll have to take the chance. Hannah. We don't have much of a choice."
I looked back at the man.
"You need any help with him?" he asked, seeing my hesitation. "No, sir. Thank you."
"Y'all don't have to call me sir. My name is Charles Anderson Dawson, but folks round here have always called me Chubs, except for Mrs. Stanton, that is. She won't call me anything but Charles. My own momma got so she called me Chubs. I was a big baby. My mamma said I weigh close to eighteen pounds when I was born."
"Eighteen pounds!"
"I believe it," Heyden said. "Course, that was more than eighty-one years ago now." Chubs added.
"Eighty-one?" Could he be telling the truth about anything? I wondered.
"Yes, ma'am. I can name all the Presidents during my lifetime. too."
"Go on, get Uncle Linden." Heyden said sharply, It could start raining hard again any minute,"
"Chances are it will. She ain't finished dumpin' her load yet." Chubs said, looking up and into the inky sky.
"Oh. I'm Heyden Reynolds, and this is my cousin Hannah. My uncle Linden is in the motor home."
Chubs nodded.
I
went back in and nudged Uncle Linden. His eyes fluttered open. He looked up at me so strangely that for a moment I thought he was so confused, we were going to have new problems. Then he smiled,
"Time to eat?" he asked.
I
released my trapped breath. At least he wasn't calling me Willow, and he'd remembered where we were.
"No, Uncle Linden. Someone came by and is willing to help us with the engine problems. We're going in his pickup truck back to his house to make some phone calls. We can't leave you here, and with our electric out, too, it makes no sense to stay here at the moment."
He just stared at me.
"You understand?"
"Oh. Sure. Let's go," he said, rising out of the seat.
"Wait." I said, turning before we stepped out. "I had to tell him you were my father, so just call you Daddy in front of him and anyone else we meet. okay?"
"Of course you will," he said, smiling again.
It made me feel uneasy. but
I
just wanted to get all this over with as quickly as we could. He followed me out of the motor home,
"This is my father. Mr Montgomery." I said, introducing him to Chubs.
"Pleased to meet you," Chubs said. His hand all but swallowed up Uncle Linden's. "Let's see if we can get you people back on your way."
"Yes, well, thank you." Uncle Linden said.
"You get into the truck with Hannah. Uncle Linden." Heyden instructed.
I
led Uncle Linden to the truck, and he got in. Heyden leaped into the back. I got in and closed the door. and Chubs started up, shifted, and pulled away. I looked back at the crippled old motor home. To me it resembled a corpse that faded back into the darkness as we drove an.
It
probably belonged in Chub's friend's car cemetery.
"I've lived here all my life." Chubs began. "Worked for Mr. Stanton and his daddy from the day
I
could lift a hammer and hold a saw. We was once the biggest peach orchard round here. The farm then was a little more than 250 acres. We growed cling, semisweet, and freestone peaches, harvesting cling all of May. Semisweet, May and June, and freestone midJune to the end of July. After Mr. Stanton Senior passed, we struggled along and eventually had to sell off about 170 acres to some land developers who wanted to build custom homes. Times got harder and harder for us, and without a son to take over, Mr, Stanton Junior just decided to let it all go. He sold off another fifty acres,
"Made me feel like the world was closing in on us from all sides. We had to let all the farm workers go until there was just me left to keep things up at the house and such. We raise all the vegetables we need, gat some chickens, pigs and some cows, but it ain't nothin' like it once was."
"Casa de la Luna is an interesting name for
a
farm." I said.
"Is that what it's called?" Uncle Linden asked.
Chubs laughed. "During the good days. Mr. and Mrs. Stanton used to do a European trip every year. One year she come back from France throwing them parlezyous's around and decided they just had to rename the farm Casa de le Luna cause of the way the moon spills itself over the place when it's full and such. Mr. Stanton, he just smiled at me and told me to go make a sign. He was always tryin' to please her until the day he died. He did what he could to make it seem as if they was still ridin' high.
"Where you folks from?" Chubs asked without pausing for a breath.
"We're from West Palm Beach." I said quickly. "This was supposed to be
a
little vacation for us."
"Well. it'll still be once we get you fixed and back on the road." he said optimistically. "What sort of work you in. Mr. Montgomery?"
"Work?"
"My father's an artist."
I
said quickly.
"An ar-teest? No foolin'. You make pictures end up in museums and such?"
"No, not museums." Uncle Linden said. smiling. "Galleries."
"Oh, that right?" Chubs said. but
I
could tell from the hesitation in his voice that he didn't quite understand. "Well, long as you make a livin' at what you like to do, you're a lucky man in this world. Yes. sir."
"That's very, very true." Uncle Linden said. "Most of the people I knew who ended up where
I
am were depressed and upset about the way they had spent their lives."
'Don't say? Where is that?"
"What?"
"Where is you at?"
"Oh, my father means old friends he's known, People his age,"
I
quickly explained.
"I don't have any old friends left. I'm afraid," Chubs said. "Left 'em behind, pushin' up daisies and such. as Mr. Stanton Senior used to say."
"Chubs is eighty-one, Daddy." I told Uncle Linden.
"Eighty-one? Remarkable. What's your secret?"
Chubs laughed. "Ain't got no secret. sir. I just get up every day and say, 'Hello, sunshine!' no matter what kind of day it is."
"That's your secret," Uncle Linden said. "You refuse to be unhappy and say no to gloom and doom. I haven't felt that way for a long, long time, but
I
feel that way now, now that we've left."
"That so? Well. I guess that's mighty good then,
a
mighty good thing. There she is ahead. Casa de le Luna!" Chubs cried. nodding.
I looked out at the two-story home. As we drew closer.
I
saw the barns, pigpen. and chicken coop, but the house looked as if it had been lifted out of a historic neighborhood in same city like Charleston and plopped right down in this farmland.
It
had a twotiered entry porch with more slender Roman columns above. The home just looked too dainty and fancy for what was once a working farm home. It looked more like a home in which elegant parties were held for men in tuxedos and women in long gowns. I could almost hear the music and see the servants circulating with trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne. No wonder Mrs. Stanton wanted to call it Casa de la Luna, I thought.
Closer yet. I could see mare detail. There was a prominent center gable and side gable. The center gable was embellished with a semicircular window. The front windows were all aligned horizontally and vertically in symmetrical rows. A set of a half dozen steps led up to the short entry porch. The house was covered in a faded pink cream tinted stucco.
"Here we are," Chubs declared bringing the truck to a stop. "Mrs. Stanton, she is set in her ways and more forgetful than ever these days, but she's never been anything but the queen of Southern hospitality."
We all got out of the truck.
"Everything okay?" Heyden whispered.
"Yes."
Chubs led us up the steps to the front entrance.
"I made this here door myself." he said proudly and ran his hand over the embossed heavy dark oak.
"It's a work of art," Uncle Linden said.
"Well, thank you. sir. You been' an ar-teest and all, that means somethin
^.
."
He raised and lowered the ball-shaped knocker made of iron. We could hear the deep, hollow thump traveling through the inside of the house.
"I coulda put in one of them electric door buzzers. but Mrs. LiDiann, she wanted everything to be old-fashioned. Casa de la Luna." he added, smiling and shaking his head.
He had to strike the knocker again, and finally, a few seconds later, the door was opened by a small woman who looked barely five feet tall. She had a pretty face with hazel green eyes and dainty soft features highlighted by her full lips and graceful mouth. Her Confederate gray hair was thin but neatly swept up in a French twist. Two diamond stud earrings set in white gold twinkled in the light of
an
entryway teardrop chandelier. The earrings weren't ostentatious. They were just enough to accent. In fact, everything about her was elegant and stylish, especially her dark green sundress with bare shoulders and side panels that covered her elbows and lower arms. The color brought out the color of her eyes as well.
She wore a pair of matching green flats.
I
saw she had a beautiful diamond wedding band and an expensive-looking jeweled oval-shaped watch.
She smiled. "Oh, guests," she declared.
"Yes, ma'am. These nice people broke down in the motor home 'bout a mile down Peach Tree Road. I didn't want to leave them there while I find out if we can get a enzint part they need."
"Of course you didn't. Charles. Please come in." she said, stepping back.
"Thank you," I said. "My name is Hannah. This is my father. Linden Montgomery, and my cousin, Heyden Reynolds."
"Why, I am pleased to meetya'll. Welcome to Casa de la Luna. Just go right into my sittin' room there. and I'll see thatya'll get something cool to drink first. Charles, you do what you have to do to help these people. hear?"
"Yes, ma'am. That's what I intend to do. I'm gonna call Billy Donald."
"Don't tell -me what 'you're going to do. Charles. Just da it." she said, whipping her
consonants. Chubs smiled at us, seemingly enjoying the way this tiny woman ordered him about.
"Yes, ma'am," he said and walked down the hallway and off to the left.
"Please go in," she said, indicating the door on our right.
It was a large sitting room with only two small Tiffany lamps lit at the moment, each throwing a pattern of color over the almond-colored walls. When she tamed on an overhead crystal chandelier, a wave of light brightened the room, and it was suddenly like an older woman who had been able to hide her age by using heavy makeup and staving mostly in shadows. The cold, cruel illumination revealed every wrinkle and imperfection. Like such a woman, the room was exposed far what it really was: a room full of very aged and tired furniture and worn area rugs.
However, looking about.
I
could see that it was truly once a very beautiful room. All of the cornices and moldings were elaborate. The grand fireplace was constructed of rich-looking fieldstone and had a dark cherry mantel upon which was set a miniature grandfather clock stuck on twelve, probably for years. Above it was a grand portrait of what had surely been the senior Mr, and Mrs. Stanton.
I
could tell from their early 1900s style of clothing and the fact that the woman didn't look at all like Lilliann Stanton. She had red hair and was much taller with coarser features.
Scattered about on tables and pedestals was a collection of small eclectic statuary that included cherubs, men in hunting outfits. Greek gods and goddesses, and one larger one that depicted a mother and daughter holding hands. Other pictures included landscapes in gilded frames.