Looking for Me

by Beth Hoffman

Descending the steps, I took Gabe’s outstretched hand. “My daddy would be delighted. He loved that old dinosaur. And the house looks wonderful.”

  “Thanks. We threw a painting party two weeks ago. A bunch of our friends showed up, and we got it done in a weekend.”

  Clearly proud of all he’d accomplished, Gabe smiled as he looked around. But his face grew serious when he turned his attention to me. “I’m really glad you came, Teddi. I still don’t know why you did this. I mean, I do because of what you told me about Josh, but I . . . I just don’t know what to say.”

  I leaned against the tractor and pointed toward the road. “A long time ago, a gentleman by the name of Jackson T. Palmer pulled up right there. He was crotchety and stubborn and had a heart bigger than Texas. He gave me an opportunity that literally changed my life. When he passed away, my dreams went up in flames. But before they burned out completely, another gentleman came into my life. His name was Preston Calhoun. He took a big gamble on me and cosigned for a hefty loan so I could have my own business. It took me years to pay it off, and some of them were pretty lean, but I never once missed a payment. When I asked Mr. Calhoun why he’d taken a chance on a farm girl who had a big dream and no money, you know what his answer was?”

  Gabe shook his head.

  “That one day he woke up in a real good mood.” I looked around the farm, willing myself not to get teary. “Anyway, I promised myself that one day I’d be in a real good mood, too. I didn’t know how, when, or what it would be about. Then I met you.”

  Gabe’s cheeks flushed, and I suspected that a plethora of emotions were hovering just beneath the surface. I tried to lighten things up when I said, “So why don’t you give me that private tour you promised?”

  Together we walked to the barn, and the first thing I noticed upon entering was the sweet aroma of fresh wood shavings. Lights glowed from new stainless-steel fixtures attached to the lower beams, the floor planks had been cleaned and oiled, and there wasn’t a cobweb in sight. Built along the left wall were eight large cages, each with a thick bed of wood shavings.

  Gabe was all puffed up with pride as he explained the kinds of animals each cage could hold and how he and a friend had made them so strong that nothing could break out or in. Inside one of the cages, a small raccoon stood on its haunches and seemed delighted to see us.

  “This is Ella,” Gabe said, kneeling by the cage. “She got snared in an illegal trap, but she did well with surgery. Her leg is almost healed. She’s gentle and really smart.”

  I knelt beside him and pressed my palm to the cage. “Hi, Ella. You’re a pretty girl.” I looked at Gabe and smiled. “What a sweet face. She’s adorable.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty much in love with her.”

  Beyond the cages was a newly constructed wall where more than a dozen framed permits, diplomas, and certificates hung. Beyond that wall was a pair of stainless-steel stationary tubs, a refrigerator, and all sorts of cupboards. The ladder to the hayloft was gone, and in its place was a brand-new staircase. I ran my hand over the varnished rail and looked into the dark opening of the loft. “What did you do up there, Gabe?”

  “Nothing yet. But Sally and I plan to use the front part for an office.”

  Walking deeper into the barn, Gabe opened a door to another newly constructed interior room. Three windows had been cut into the side of the barn, each one covered by wire mesh. On the opposite wall were seven cages, one with a tenant.

  I stepped forward and grinned. “A barred owl. Oh, I just love them. I’ve never seen one this close. He looks like a curious old man.”

  “That’s Oscar. He’s a really loud eight-hooter.”

  “Eight-hooter?”

  “Yeah, he throws out eight hoots, and it sounds like he’s saying, ‘Who looks at you . . . Who looks at you.’”

  I laughed. “I hope I get to hear him.”

  “Believe me, with all the commotion we’re expecting tomorrow, he’ll probably hoot up a storm. A car hit him over on I-64, but he’s all healed up. In fact, Oscar will be the star of the fund-raiser. We’ll do a release, and I’m hoping our guests will see how important our work is and dig deep into their pockets.”

  Gabe turned and went to the back of the barn. “And this is something I think you’ll really like.” He slid the latch on the door and moved aside. “Go ahead, Teddi. Open it.”

  Flashing him a curious look, I pushed open the door and stepped into the sunlight. Before me was my great-grandfather’s cowshed, or at least what used to be. The entire structure had been rebuilt, reroofed, and enclosed in brand-new wire.

  When I moved closer and saw what was inside, I covered my face with my hands. Though I knew that Gabe surely had the best of intentions, I wasn’t prepared.

  Not for this.

  I tried to find my ballast—fighting, fighting incredibly hard to hold myself together. My face felt hot, my breath leaving me in little puffs.

  It’s all right. This is now. Stay in the present moment. Breathe . . .

  “Teddi, are you okay?”

  I lowered my hands, my arms falling heavily at my sides.

  He was perched on a tree branch, regal and unafraid. When our eyes met, he never so much as fluttered a wing, as if to make such a movement were cowardly and beneath him.

  Gabe spoke softly. “Teddi, this is Noah.”

  He was such a stunning specimen of his species that he almost didn’t seem real. Unlike Ghost, this red-tailed hawk was suited in full regalia: cinnamon-colored streaks across his pale chest, dark brown bars at his shoulders, the tip of his rusty-red tail accented by a black band.

  “He’s gorgeous. How did he end up here?”

  “A farmer found him lying in a puddle after a big rainstorm. He was soaked to the bone and disoriented. I think the wind probably tossed him into the side of the farmer’s house. We took a full set of X-rays, and he didn’t have any broken bones, but he got beat up pretty bad. Most likely he had a lot of internal bruising. He was lethargic for almost a week, and I had to puree chicken and hand-feed him out of a tube.”

  As I stepped closer, Noah watched intently. “Is he all right now?”

  “Yes. He’s almost ready for release.”

  “When?”

  “Soon,” Gabe said, smiling at Noah. “Well, I’d better get going. I’m working from noon to seven at the clinic. But feel free to stay as long as you want.”

  Together we walked toward the house, and I watched Gabe climb into his truck. “See you tomorrow, Teddi,” he said, cranking the engine. I smiled and waved good-bye as he drove away.

  And there I stood, with my feet on the land that no longer belonged to my family. I could hardly wrap my mind around the finality of it, and yet, in the oddest way, I felt a deep sense of peace. Opening the trunk of the car, I removed hiking boots from my suitcase, sat on the porch steps, and pulled them on. With an extra sweater tied around my waist and a bottle of water in my hand, I set off for my journey into the woods.

  The trail, once worn smooth by my brother’s passage, was covered in dense underbrush, but memory guided my footsteps. The deeper I went, the more it hurt—each step pressing against my family’s most devastating wound. Now and then I stopped to catch my breath and give a strong pat to the trees, many of which I’d known since childhood.

  Climbing higher and higher, I moved through the shadows until I reached a sunlit clearing. It was the place where Josh and I often sat when we were children. I lowered myself to the ground, wrapped my arms around my knees, and listened to the sounds of nature’s orchestra: the twitter of a wren, a squirrel foraging for food beneath the fallen leaves, the distant thunder of a waterfall. Closing my eyes, I imagined my brother sitting next to me, his hair a mess and the cuffs of his jeans dirty and frayed. Though I knew it was nothing more than imagination toying with memory, for a brief moment I smelled him—that unmistakable scent of woodlan
d boy—a sweat-dampened shirt, ripe with the aromas of rich earth and river. I smiled and breathed deeply, willing it to stay for just for a minute longer, but the scent of my brother evaporated into the wind, just as he’d done all those years ago.

  I drank the last of my water and shook out the bottle until the inside was dry. From the pocket of my jeans, I removed the letter I’d written the previous evening. Slowly, I unfolded the single handwritten page and read:

  My dearest brother Josh,

  It’s taken me a long time to accept, but I know you’re not coming back to run the farm. Daddy’s gone, but I suspect you already know that. Mama passed away last year. Without you here to handle things, I didn’t have any choice. I sold the fields to Joe Springer. The house, barn, and remaining land I’ve donated. I won’t bore you with the details, but I worked everything out so the Overman farm will always be a wildlife refuge.

  Every day I wait for the phone to ring. Every night I pray for you.

  Love,

  Teddi

  I rolled up the letter, pushed it into the water bottle, and screwed on the cap. Stepping to the large cluster of rocks, I jammed the bottle into a fissure and then turned toward the path. While making my way into the shadows, I heard the unmistakable KEEERRRRRRRRRR of a hawk diving down the mountain.

  THIRTY-ONE

  After retracing my steps back to the farm, I took one last look around. Already I could feel a pulling-away, a letting-go. Pressing my hand against the side of the barn, I closed my eyes for a moment and then headed to Stella’s house.

  The minute I rolled in to her driveway and parked, she opened the front door and called out, “Thank heavens you’re here—I was startin’ to get worried!”

  “I stopped at the farm, and time got away from me. I’m sorry.”

  She came around the front of the car and pressed her palms to my cheeks. “You’re here now, that’s all that matters. C’mon inside, honey. Are you hungry?”

  “I’m famished.”

  I sat at the kitchen table and chatted with Stella while she fixed me a chicken-salad sandwich and poured a glass of iced tea. Being here was like spiraling back to my childhood—the maple kitchen set, the oilcloth patterned with bright red apples, the toaster hidden beneath a yellow quilted cover edged in faded blue rickrack.

  She set a plate in front of me and grinned. “There you go. I put in lots of sweet pickle and celery, just how you like it.”

  I took a bite and moaned. “Nobody makes chicken salad like you do.”

  Before I finished the sandwich, Stella slid a giant slab of chocolate cake in front of me. “So tomorrow’s the big day,” she said, taking a seat across the table. “I’ve seen flyers in the grocery and the dry cleaners. Loretta even has one in her beauty-shop window.”

  I dabbed the corners of my mouth with a napkin. “Gabe’s an exceptional young man. What he and Sally have committed to do is huge. I pray it works out.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Stella said with a nod. “Rita over at the bakery said they’ll give educational classes on wildlife. Is that right?”

  “Yes. That was the only stipulation I made when I offered Gabe the property.”

  I cut into the cake and took a bite. I swear my taste buds stood right up and sang. The frosting was so rich that after two more bites I put down my fork and leaned back in the chair, waiting for the enamel to melt from my teeth. “Oh, my gosh, this cake. I’ve never tasted anything so wonderful.”

  Stella’s eyes lit up. “I suspect the extra sugar and two cups of creamed butter have something to do with it.”

  “Two cups of butter! I hope I live long enough to finish it.” After taking one more bite, I raised my hands in surrender.

  Stella reached across the table and scooped the last piece into her mouth. While pressing the tines of her fork into the remaining crumbs, she asked, “So who’s takin’ care of your little dog?”

  “He’s staying with Olivia. And let me tell you, he was none too happy. You should have heard him cry when I left. I felt so awful I cried, too.”

  “Aww, he’s your baby,” Stella said with a wink.

  After we stood at the sink and did the dishes together, Stella refilled our glasses with iced tea. “Come sit with me in the living room. I’m making sachets for the church bazaar and thought maybe you’d help.”

  I followed her to the floral-slipcovered sofa, where an open cardboard box sat beneath the coffee table. Stella slid it out, lifted a plastic bag from the box, and held the opening toward me. “Smell this.”

  “I leaned over and took a whiff. “Ummm. I love lavender.”

  She removed a handful of brightly colored fabric squares from the box and set them on her lap. “Last week I sewed up these little bags. I scoop a cup of lavender inside and tie a ribbon around the top. They make nice gifts. If the lavender goes as far as I hope, I’ll make eighty sachets.”

  I took a sip of iced tea and set it on the table. “Wow, that’s a lot.”

  We settled in and began filling the sachets. Stella decided that I tied the ribbons better than she did, so we worked in assembly-line fashion, Stella filling and me tying.

  “Was it hard on you, cleaning out the house and all?” she asked.

  “Very hard. Not so much physically, though that wasn’t easy, but it was emotionally draining. And you know what upset me the most? I never found Daddy’s Bronze Star.”

  “You mean his war medal? Your mother gave it to his friend, Max Walker.”

  “What! When did she do that?”

  “Well, when Max and Claudette got your letter about your daddy’s passing, they felt awful. Drove up here as soon as they could. Of course it was too late to attend the funeral service, but they wanted to come and pay their respects. When they arrived, your mother called and invited me to come down to the farm. You’d just left to go back to Charleston earlier that morning. They were real sorry they’d missed you.”

  “I remember Mama telling me they’d driven up, but she never mentioned giving Max the medal.”

  “It wasn’t but a few days after they’d gone that she felt like maybe she’d made a mistake—that she should have given it to you.”

  I looked away. Damn it, Mama. How could you?

  “Honey, are you upset?”

  “Yes!” I said, louder than I intended. “I can’t believe she’d do that without asking me. I would have loved to have Daddy’s Bronze Star. Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now. At least I know it’s not lost.”

  We sat for a few minutes, quietly making sachets as I calmed down. While tightening a ribbon, I asked, “Do you know why Mama decided to visit me? It seemed odd, because I’d been begging her to come for years but she always said no.”

  A sad smile crept to Stella’s lips as she reached out and smoothed her hand down my ponytail. “Your mother wanted to see your shop and spend time talking with you. And she wanted to apologize.”

  “Apologize?”

  Stella scooped lavender into a bag and handed it to me. “She’d been doing a lot of thinking. We all do when we get to be this age, believe me. Last summer when you and your little dog left to drive back to Charleston, your mother called me in tears and asked if she could come over. We sat right here where you and I are now and had a long talk. She felt real bad about some things—said it was time to stop holding a grudge and start being a mother.”

  I snipped off a length of ribbon and set down the scissors. “She really said that?”

  “Yes, she did. I’m heartbroken that Franny never had the chance to visit you.”

  “So am I. I even ironed her sheets because I knew how much she loved it.”

  Stella leaned back against the cushion and sighed. “You know, the older I get, the more I think life’s a lot like those card games we used to play. We never know what we’re gonna be dealt. Seemed no matter what your mother did or
didn’t do, she always ended up with a bad hand.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Stella took a slow drink of iced tea and rested the glass on her knee. I watched the condensation from the glass drip onto her apron.

  “First she lost her pa, then she lost all hopes of being a nurse. When she fell head over heels for your daddy, it seemed like she’d finally found some happiness. But when he came home from the war, something was wrong with his mind.”

  I tied a bow and set the sachet between us. “That’s what Grammy said, but I thought she was exaggerating.”

  “Oh, no, it’s true. That man was skinny as a fence post, and he’d all but stopped talking. Franny said days would go by without him sayin’ a single word. She got so worried that she packed him up and drove him to the VA hospital. But the pills they gave him didn’t help much. Some days he wouldn’t even leave the house . . .”

  I sat, speechless, while Stella described how Mama worked the fields when Daddy was at his lowest. How she tossed bale after bale of hay until the twine cut through her gloves and into her fingers, how she sat with Daddy at night and tried to get him to open up and talk.

  “Finally he got a little better. That’s when he took to working long hours, and then he built that workshop on the side of the barn and started takin’ in repairs. But he wasn’t the man your mother married.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Daddy was the most wonderful man I’ve ever known.”

  “Henry was wonderful. But the man your mother fell in love with was fun and talkative, always joking, telling stories, and surprising her with little gifts. Before the war he used to take her dancin’ on Friday nights, and every Sunday they’d go for a long drive and stop at her favorite restaurant for dinner.”

  I thought about what Stella had just said and had to admit that never once did I remember my parents going out to dinner or to a movie together. I had always assumed they just liked staying home.

  “Sometimes I was a little jealous,” Stella said, pulling more bags from the box and plopping them between us. “My George was a good husband, but he wasn’t romantic like that, at least not after we married. Anyway, the man you knew as your father didn’t have much to say, and he didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. It was hard on your mother, especially when she was young. But over the years she eventually got used to it and made her peace.”