Unto These Hills (33 page)

Nausea. Pain. Small bus bathroom…vomit all way to hotel. Virus.

Going to die.

Pass out in bed. Morning. Walter’s face blurs overhead. “You going to Disney World today?” I groan, “No way.” Alone. Float in and out of feverish oblivion until late evening. I survive. Weak and bored. Miss Walter. Bus rescues me. We eat late dinner.

GREAT TO BE ALIVE!

Next dawn: return trip begins. Window seats ignored. Blanket brigade exposes only snoring faces. Leftover Christmas goodies treasures to kill for. Cracker Barrel traumatizes so I opt for Hardees across highway. Stop and load up with Florida oranges, grapefruit, and Vidalia onions.

Cold! Keening for home and warmer temps. Sunset. Reach parking lot…familiar cars. Ahhhh. At last. Disembark bus. Brrr! Freezing. Walter jogs to van. Engine dead. “Cables, anybody?” Lot nearly deserted now. Cables appear. Crank up….

Thank God! Wave bye to friends, to sister Francine, whose grin below red nose revives visions of Santa and elves. “Let’s do it again!” she calls.

“Yeh!” I holler back. “When hell freezes over!”

That column drew more attention and kidding than any of my others. Only thing was, Walter wasn’t the hero who did the Heimlich maneuver on me. It was Daniel who reacted promptly in the crisis. Neither did Walter jog to the dead-engine car. Lee Roy charged the dead battery and got the car going. But Walter was the only
hero
my readership, by now, accepted.

“Hey!” Daniel shushed me when I tried to explain the omission of his name the week the column appeared in the Tyger River Times. He’d dropped by to see Walter. On the trip, they’d formed some incredibly warm bonds.

The day I’d lain sick at the hotel, Daniel had taken Walter and Lee Roy under his wing and shown them a marvelously good time at the Disney Theme park. “You don’t owe me an apology, Sunny. I understand how folks think about these things. You do satire and are entitled to take certain liberties with its creation.” He grinned and tweaked my nose. “No problem.”

I gazed at his straight back as he disappeared into Walter’s room, juggling his cup of coffee, spouting men’s humor and blending. I’d added another easy chair in recent days since Lee Roy was quite territorial of his perch. Small sacrifice, seeing as how the three men were virtual Three Musketeers.

Lee Roy had not, a month later, quit talking about the Magic Kingdom. “Them ‘ar costumes was the purdiest thangs I ever saw,” he told Daniel yet again.

“
Weren’t they, now?” Daniel responded warmly, spinning Lee Roy off into rhapsodic musings.

I smiled, warmed by it all. Muffin was slowly thawing toward Daniel since he’d been hanging out with her daddy. He and I remained spotless in our behavior so her shrewd vigilance had eased a bit. Sheila’s girls continued to rally for their mama during her health crisis. In fact, the entire family was wonderfully
there
for Sheila.

I rolled my eyes upward.
Thank you for peace.

Little did I know that it was the calm before the storm.

Chapter Eighteen

Over the next months I helplessly watched cancer ravage my little sister. It angered me. I prepared to fight dragons for her, to shield and coddle and do
whatever
to make her feel, for once in her miserable lifetime,
safe.

And then she stunned me by cloaking herself in dignity and raw courage. I watched that beautiful, burning blaze of a woman slowly shed the luminosity that had always set her apart. I watched in horror the big C stealthily suck away her substance, leaving only an emaciated, skeletal shell.

We who loved her acted blind, like we didn’t notice a thing.

She kept on a’smilin’ because, even as she suffered pain and debilitation, Sheila was thrilled to have her girls back. And I think she could smile because — this is awful to say — the attention she had always so desperately craved was now hers. Provocation-free, the affection she’d thirsted after now gushed freely over her.

It was Emaline, sweet, sweet Emaline, who, without fail, daily visited the village house Sheila and Johnny now habitated. Johnny wasn’t one of the money-guys Sheila had so hankered after but he made fair wages at the nearby BMW plant. And his obvious love for her made up for all Sheila’s other formerly desired romantic-spoils.

Besides, she’d received that big settlement from the sexual harassment suit and didn’t need Johnny’s money. She could have bought a big ol’ home anywhere but, in her final days, she wanted to nest here on the mill hill, her
home,
surrounded by those who loved her.

Tonight, Emaline served a wonderful dinner she’d prepared at home and hauled over to Sheila’s house. She’d invited us all, family and friends, to the feast, knowing how it would buoy Sheila’s spirit. “Where’s your ol’ lady, Lee Roy?” asked Francine while munching on Doritos and salsa appetizers.

Lee Roy took a careful sip of steaming coffee I’d perked especially for him, catering to his partiality to the stuff. “It’s like this, Francine,” he drawled, “Sal, she works all the time.”

Francine’s eyebrows shot up. “Why don’t y’all all get off your lazy tails and go get jobs so Sal won’t have to work herself to death?”

Nonplussed, Lee Roy took another noisier slurp and shrugged. “Heck, she
likes
t’work, dontcha know? And me? I owe so much back alimony that I won’t never get it caught up. Won’t pay me t’work full time.”

“Why hadn’t they put you in jail?” asked Aunt Tina, more than a little aggravated with Lee Roy’s dispassion. She had it in for deadbeat dads and alimony dodgers because of Talley’s no-account desertion, leaving her to raise their son, Alvin, alone. Oh, he’d been court-ordered to pay alimony and child support but he’d moved so far away, it would’ve taken the FBI to find him. Disgusted, Aunt Tina had simply let go and got on with her life.

“My ex done give up on me,” Lee Roy drawled. Then he grinned, baring teeth, gaps and all. “Can’t squeeze blood outta a turnip, dontcha know?”

Emaline uncovered a humongous baking dish that emitted a heavenly aroma. “
Law,
Emaline,” Sheila shrieked, as energetic a gesture as I’d seen from her in recent days. “You cooked that Inflation Cornbread! Ohhh, it looks so good. Mmm.”

Emaline’s eyes lit up like candles. I could tell that seeing Sheila so excited over the layered meat, cheese, onion concoction, topped with crispy cornbread crust was reward in itself for the time and effort of preparation. Days earlier, Emaline had found the colorful picture and recipe in a magazine and showed it to Sheila.

And I thought what a clever way to whip a near-dead appetite back to life like that.

Daniel and Pastor John arrived with folding tables and chairs we’d borrowed from the church, followed by Alvin, Doretha, and their Tammy. Seating arrangements were snug and spilled over into other rooms but everybody was festive and
together.
Sheila’s girls hovered about her, fetching food and drink for their Mama and it did my heart so good. Daniel was the last to be seated, managing to squeeze another chair in beside me.

I tried to ignore how my breath caught in my throat. Felt like I was gulping for air. To cover it, I raised my iced tea glass. “To Sheila!” I said and everyone followed suit. Her sunken eyes teared up. Then she smiled like a beauty queen and I loved her so my heart hurt and the pain mingled somehow with that of being so close to Daniel.

And yet so far away.

Like Muffin, who chose to sit at another table with Gracie, without so much as a ‘howdy’ to me. She ignored my salute to Sheila, a sly snub only I detected.

At least the moisture in my eyes was justified with no one the wiser because when I looked around, everybody else’s eyes puddled, too.

“Thank you, Sunny,” Sheila said, her voice hitching. “And thank you, Emaline, for making this possible. We’re all
sisters
now, us Acklin girls and Emaline. We adopted Emaline, did you know that, Daniel?” I watched tears slide down her pale face. I also saw a new Sheila, one radiant with love and openness. Emaline went to her and hugged her long and gently, her own eyes red from weeping.

I heard Daniel’s soft gulp and knew that he, too, was moved. “That’s great, Sheila,” he said hoarsely. “Just great. Nothing like family.” He looked at Doretha.

Doretha, sitting across the table, gazed at him, a bit startled to hear him speak so of her. Then she smiled her Mona Lisa smile. And when Daniel’s gaze swept to include Walter, well, everybody’s eyes grew bright with new tears.

Me, after the first gush of pain, my emotions quickly withered and I was left with the same old flat, familiar sense of nothingness.

That I so easily slid back into nothingness struck me as weird.

On another level, I was glad.

~~~~~

It was Emaline who rallied when Sheila’s condition, after that night, plunged. It was Emaline who caught her before she hit the jagged rocks of death’s shoals and daily comforted her with her presence and words of wisdom and validation. Who cooked whatever Sheila felt she could ingest, then when my little sister could no longer tolerate solids, kept steaming bowls of chicken or beef broth on the bedside table. She who reminded Sheila to sip liquids through a straw and spoon into the reluctant, pale mouth just one more swallow of broth.

Emaline led my sister to find peace with her Maker and with life. It was a hard fought battle because Sheila had so lived and breathed strife that she’d been oblivious to the other side of life’s coin. Emaline’s love for Sheila demonstrated that other side and made it possible for me to truly get to know the real Sheila, the little girl inside her who had no angry agenda, no scores to settle, other than those with her girls, from whom she begged forgiveness.

“Mama,” Cassie grasped Sheila’s thin hand as my sister lay like a wounded bird upon her bed, as white as the sheets with no shades of color to indicate lips or nose, thin as a sapling and head shiny-bald. “We’ve already forgiven you.” She gulped back a sob, then whispered. “I love you, Mama.”

Sheila’s pale lips moved ever so slightly, emitting a mere huff of sound. “Love... you… too.” Her fingers squeezed Cass’, white in intensity. The lips moved again. “E…maline?”

In a flash, Emaline settled on the edge of her bed, gently capturing the bony fingers. “I’m here, Sheila.”

“Sing,” rasped the weak voice. “You… know…”

Emaline smiled, her lips wobbled but with remarkable fortitude she reined in her galloping emotions and began to sing in a clear, sweet soprano, “
Amazing Graaace, how
sweet the Sound…”

Francine fled the room. I found her outside the bedroom, plastered to the wall, sobbing quietly. Dry-eyed, I hauled her into my arms. Francine pulled back for an instant, peered watery-eyed at me and groaned, “I’ve treated her just
awful
, Sunny.” Tears splashed over and the head fell heavily upon my shoulder once more. “A-awful.” Her body shook with remorse and despair.

“Go to her, then,” I heard myself say. “Tell her you love her.”

Francine pulled loose and went back in, where Emaline was finishing the 23
rd
Psalm. “…
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever
.”

Sheila squeezed Emaline’s fingers and wheezed, “Thank…you.”

Francine approached the bed, her gaze pinned to Sheila’s still face, beautiful in repose, as death hovered, so close I felt its chilling presence, its tenacious intent, one that grew stronger by the moment.

I shivered and felt Doretha’s frail arm slide around my waist. I gazed into her deep set, hazel, wise old woman’s eyes and saw that she felt what I did, only she was meeting it head-on. I’d already, days ago, pushed that hidden
denial
button inside me. Suddenly, I wished for feeling. For grief. I closed my eyes and willed it to come. But nothing stirred that thick blankness inside me.

In that moment, I yearned desperately for something else.
Please God, let me feel your presence.
That too, eluded me. Alarm frissoned over me, then dissipated.

Francine dropped to her knees beside the bed, heaving with pain and regret and lay her head on Sheila’s bosom. “I’m sorry, Sheila,” she said hoarsely, gravely. “I love you so much, you know. Don’t know why I never said that to you. Just stubborn, I guess.” The white-blonde head raised and she stared into the face, willing the once spring-grass green eyes to open. They remained shut.

But the lips moved, just barely. “I… know. Love…you, too… Francine.”

“Forgive me, Sheila, for all those times —”

“Shhh,” The eyes slitted. “I … jus’ as mean. All…in...past. Don’… matter.” A tiny, tiny smile. “We…sisters.” The lids lowered again. But one bony arm slid around Francine’s neck and my older sister lost it. She bawled like a baby, soaking the front of Sheila’s gown but it didn’t matter because it was right and overdue and healing for all of us of little faith.

The dark presence I’d felt earlier seemed to ebb and I moved to my sister’s side, lowered myself on her bed, took her cold hand and whispered. “My baby. I love you.”

The lips smiled just a tad but I knew. A tear appeared at the outer corner of one eye and slid down the waxen cheek. I watched it span the skinny neck and disappear into the pillow. “Sunny,” came the wisp of sound. “Like… my…mama. Always… good … me. Loved… me…always.” Her hand grew limp after those words and the chill returned. Her breathing grew more labored. A part of me wanted to breathe for her.

Another part had already let go.

I released her hand, arose and left the room and settled in a living room chair that gave me a distanced view of the bed. All three of her daughters surrounded her and softly crooned words of love to their Mama. “Please don’t leave us, Mama,” moaned one after the other, “We need you.” And I thought how their pleas were but echoes of the ones uttered all through their lives.

Difference was, this time when Sheila left, she had no choice.

I watched in amazement as Emaline pulled them outside the door where I sat and told them. “Girls, your mama’s tired. She’s put up a brave battle. Now, she wants to go home to a better place, where she won’t hurt like you’ve seen her doing recently. You need to give her permission to go, Cassie,” she addressed the leader of the three.

“She’s worried about Ginger, isn’t she? She’s afraid you two will give up on her.” She gazed expectantly at them, a silent plea in her eyes. “You need to reassure her. Tell her to follow the bright light.” Cass nodded and led the others back to the bedside.

On her knees, Cassie said, “Mama, just go to the bright light. There, you won’t hurt anymore. It’s okay. Me and Michelle, we’re gonna take care of Ginger. Don’t you worry about her.” Sheila’s breathing grew shallower as Cassie spoke. Tears now ran down the girls’ faces, everyone’s faces.

Except mine. I felt numb. Dead inside.
How I hungered to grieve.

“Just follow that light, Mama.” Cassie hand-swiped her damp face and leaned to kiss her mother’s cold cheek. She looked shocked for a long moment. Then she peered around the room, searching for and finding Emaline’s face. “She’s gone.” Her features, so like Sheila’s at that age, crumpled in grief. “Mama’s gone.”

The girls’ wails followed me as I arose and quietly walked out of the house. I sat on the front steps, gazing down over the housetops at the river, high from recent rains. It no longer held terror for me. The old dam, structured from earth’s large gray boulders. still stood, proud and strong and invincible. One of the few remaining landmarks.

At least it’s safe.
The thought gave me a moment’s comfort as I lounged amid death and devastation.

I stirred, pushing away the intrusion. A hand lightly touched my shoulder. Startled, I gazed up into Daniel’s concerned, pale face. “You okay?” he asked and plopped tiredly down beside me, hands dangling between knees. Walter, tiring more easily in recent days, had hours ago left with Lee Roy, who would keep him company until I got home

Muffin had already come and gone, staying longer than I’d expected, actually, surprising me with the depth of her concern. She’d brought Cokes and a cold meat and cheese tray from Spartanburg’s Beacon Drive-In and put them in the refrigerator before quietly sitting awhile with family.

I nodded firmly. “Yeh. I’m okay. She’s better off, Daniel. She really suffered, you know.” He gazed back at me, his turquoise eyes pained, heavy with sadness.

“I know,” he said hoarsely, looked as though he’d reach for my hand, stopped mid-motion, then clasped his fingers tightly around his knees. “Still hard to accept. So young…beautiful. Such a loss….” I felt his gaze roam over my features but I didn’t look at him. “Like so many other losses.”

The words hit me like a mallet, penetrating my Novocaine-deadness, spreading over me like warm oil, driving away….

Abruptly, I stood and loped down the steps. “I’ve gotta go check on Walter,” I called over my shoulder.

I didn’t wait for his reply.

~~~~~

Sheila’s death spiraled me downward, into a spinning, bottomless plunge, one devoid of light or hope. I couldn’t even label it. Depression? It surpassed that. Anxiety? One had to
feel
to have anxiety. My thick cocoon blocked out sights, sounds, and sensations. Suspended, I waited. For what, I hadn’t a clue. Death, maybe? At times, I thought I would welcome it. I was neither happy nor unhappy, neither angry nor joyful, anticipated nothing, feared nothing, loved nothing, hated nothing.