Justy didn’t understand his words and looked at the picture of Jake playing the fiddle. He must have been a year or so older than Justy was now. She tried to imagine Jake receiving the picture of Kyle in the jeep, thinking about his daddy off in some islands.
Kyle sighed and tacked the jeep picture back in place. He pointed to the fiddle picture. “Jake still playing?”
Justy nodded.
“Good. Keeps a man sane.” He reached to the picture of himself, Lila and Jake. She was so much darker than he was. Her hair now kinked and almost fuzzy, Lila barely looked like the girl standing outside the shack with her sisters.
Kyle stood. “Gets to be too much. All those memories.”
He took the picture from Justy and tacked it back. She worried that Jake would be able to tell the pictures had been touched, but Kyle brought up some old hay from the floor. He blew on the straw, motes whirling in the air. He sneezed and laughed.
“That ought to cover our tracks.”
They stepped back, and Justy felt something inside leap toward this man. He might be able to help her bring Jake and Dale back together. They closed the barn door and then he stood looking around. Justy tried again to imagine how he might see the corrals, which were nothing but rotting poles held together by baling wire. She knew Jake and Kyle had once worked cattle together. They’d logged in the woods during the week and tended cattle on the weekends. Their branding iron still hung inside the barn. Kyle sighed, and Justy felt a sadness creep into her chest. Most things felt so empty, as if the Colbys had already moved somewhere else but had forgotten where.
“Hear that?” He tilted his head and Justy stretched her hearing.
She heard a faint rustle in the breeze.
“That’s what they call rattlesnake grass. That’s because the dry seed pods look and sound like a rattlesnake tail.” He pointed to the grass on the far side of the wrecked corral. The grass talked to itself in the wind, a calm voice soothing the air. Kyle placed a hand on her shoulder.
“We got work to do.”
***
Kyle drove to the house and Justy walked, shaking her head at his offer for a ride. She’d noticed the guitar sitting on the passenger side of the truck and wondered if Dale might sing now that he’d returned. The motorcycle strapped in the back of the truck jolted in place as he rolled away.
She closed the barn door, thinking about Jake and Dale and their old music, stuff she knew only from inside the womb. As she walked through the blossoming twilight, she kicked a rock that skittered in front of her until it veered off the road into a winter-dead blackberry bush. The cold stung her eyes. The bare branches of the oaks made the trees look cold, too, especially the huge oak leaning out over the pond. She stopped at the tree and shimmied up its length so she hung with it out over the water. The pond was full but murky, like the Eel. Catfish and turtles snuggled deep into the mud bottom. The turtles remained curled into their shells to keep in the known. Come warm weather, they’d be out of the mud, crawling from the water to sun their bodies. It made her think about Ochre’s dad, the blond man she’d seen at the bar.
Justy pressed her face to the tree, feeling its scratchy bark, its spring moss. She heard muted sounds from the house, knew Dale and Kyle were greeting each other with careful hellos, delicate questions, furtive looks to see what new pains had been endured. A twig dropped from the tree, hitting the pond’s surface with a splash.
Justy watched the rings of waves moving out and away from the original circle. She watched until the waves hit the shore and the water was calm again.
***
Her grandfather, Lacee and Micah sat at the kitchen table, peeling oranges, Kyle’s cowboy hat now off. On the table sat a box full of fruit and vegetables. The colors hit Justy and she smiled. She loved how very orange the oranges were, how the banana curved yellow and the broccoli was two different colors of green. It felt as if Kyle had brought a piece of early spring to them. Lacee and Micah chatted with Kyle while he peeled oranges. Citrus and baking bread filled the small house.
“You’d like some, Dale.” Kyle held out a peeled orange. She looked at her children from the kitchen, lips thinking about a smile, and shook her head. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, making her look younger, showing the delicacy of her ears. Kyle watched her play with the edge of her black T-shirt and then held out the orange to Justy. She tried to compose her face like Dale’s and shook her head.
Kyle grinned and split the orange in half. “Get over here and eat this, girl.”
She took it from him. Lacee reached for a second orange and told Micah she’d split it with him. He said yes through a full mouth. Justy considered the orange half in her hand, then split it again, walked to Dale and placed the orange sections on the counter. Dale looked at Kyle and smiled. He shrugged. Dale took the fruit and sat at the table. Justy studied Kyle, filling in the empty space she had for her grandfather.
“So, how old are you, Lacee?” Kyle asked.
“Fourteen.” She ran a hand through her straight black hair, leaving a bit of orange in her part.
“Thirteen? That’s a good age. Do you remember me?” Kyle grinned at her and winked at Dale.
Lacee nodded. “I’m fourteen, and you took me on my first horse ride.”
“And you showed me the catfish in the pond,” Micah said.
“That’s right,” Kyle said, and Justy wondered what he had heard.
“I’m eight,” Micah said.
“Well, little man, that’s a good age to be.”
Micah smiled, his fair face riding a wave of pink.
“Aren’t they good-looking?” Dale said, pride raising her face.
“You said it, woman. Spitting image of their grandfather, if I do say so myself.” Kyle winked at Lacee.
“And I remember you and Jake used to play music together,” Lacee said.
“Music? Yes, Jake and Dale and me, we used to raise some ruckus.”
Kyle sang a line from a spiritual, about the Lord taking a body up. His sweet, deep voice filled the room, and then he smiled. He looked at Dale with a tilt of his head, waiting. Her fingers found their way to the bottom of her T-shirt again. The fabric soothed her, and she tried to smile.
“Mama don’t sing those songs anymore,” Micah said.
“What do you mean?” Kyle asked, looking at Dale like she’d hit him in the stomach. She opened her mouth, closed it, then left the table to check the bread in the oven. Kyle reached into the box, pulled out an apple and began cutting it with his pocketknife.
“She just sings at meetings now,” Lacee said.
“Well, I’ll be,” Kyle said. “If that ain’t a crime in this world, I don’t know what is.”
Dale still wouldn’t look at him. The house grew quiet, and Kyle seemed faraway. He finally said, “And how old does that make you these days, Dale?”
She turned to meet his gaze and shrugged.
“Mama’s thirty-one,” Lacee said.
“Hard to believe that.” Kyle offered Justy a piece of apple and she took it. She thought maybe part of how she had learned to be quiet came from watching and hearing people answer for Dale.
“I think little Justine must be six or seven,” Kyle said.
“She’ll be seven in a couple of months. April twenty,” Dale said.
“She likes to be called Justy,” Lacee said, and Justy flashed her a smile. “She’d tell you herself but something made her grow so quiet a while ago that we can’t hear her anymore. At least not right now.” Lacee looked at Justy as if they’d just met, considering this silent sister and her strange but forgivable ways.
“Justy, then,” Kyle said. “Or maybe we should just call you string bean.” He winked and said, “We’ll have us a birthday party with some good old chocolate cake and homemade vanilla ice cream.” He grinned, and Justy could see that he and Jake had the
same teeth, maybe even the same cheekbones. But Jake’s eyes and nose came from Lila, what Justy considered his Indian features. She thought she had the same nose as Jake.
Micah and Dale shook their heads. “We don’t celebrate birthdays,” Micah said. Lacee bit into another orange section and rolled her eyes.
“Oh.” Kyle looked at Dale. “You really took that Jehovah stuff seriously, didn’t you?”
Again she opened her mouth to explain all the changes she’d made since he’d left. She wanted to tell him that Jake had been good because of those changes, not once laying a hand on her in the seven years Kyle had been gone, not if she didn’t count the other day at Sullivan’s and those times she’d run away to escape. But he hadn’t hit her, and she knew it was because of her decision to dedicate herself and her voice to Jehovah. And the joy she felt from knowing the Truth filled up every empty space she’d ever had. She swallowed, and Kyle turned from her.
“Kyle,” Dale finally said. He tapped his fingers on the table in a lively rhythm. “There’s no way we can thank you for the food.”
He shrugged and opened his arms wide.
“And the check. We were able to get the lights back on, and that was nice, having hot water again.”
“I don’t want you to worry about it,” he said after a while, something sad blowing into his voice.
“But I do.” She did not look up.
“I know, Dale. I know you worry.”
Beneath his words, Justy felt an acknowledgment of all the other worries Dale carried: whether Jake and Kyle would get along, where they’d go if the mining company got their permits, if the jobs Gaines had promised would be enough. All of it passed between them quickly.
“I’ll show you the cabin.”
“I know where it is, Dale.” Kyle stood.
“It just seems like the proper thing to do.” Dale walked to the back door.
“All right, then.”
Justy followed them both, feeling more like a shadow than a person. They walked the fifteen feet to the slick ramp spanning the creek and leading to the cabin. The creek ran high and fast, full with the snowmelt. Justy dropped a bit of orange into the water, wishing it well on its journey. The room had no electricity, so it was dark and damp and had the rich, musty smell of redwoods and moss. A small stove hunkered in one corner, and two tiny windows faced each other from opposite walls. Cobwebs tangled in the ceiling corners, gray strands almost black in the dim light. Justy looked and saw a tiny brown spider balancing on its web, waiting. The cabin was cold, tucked into the shade of the trees.
“It isn’t much,” Dale said, playing with her shirt once more. Two days after Jake had told her Kyle was returning, she’d swept the floor and stacked kindling and wood by the stove.
“Seems grand to me,” Kyle said, and rocked on his toes. She sighed and walked to the tired mattress sitting on rusted box springs. They creaked when she sat, and she rubbed her arms against the chill.
“Dale, them logging camps up in Washington and Oregon, they seem like hell compared to this.” Kyle watched her face. She held her chin in her hands.
“How’s it been, Dale?” His voice was low and calm, and he glanced at Justy, She studied him, trying to decide whose side he was on or whether he knew that the way out was not to be on anyone’s side.
Dale looked away and shook her head. “Fine. You know…” She took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry, Dale.”
She sat up and said, “Don’t feel sorry for me, Kyle. I’ve made my choices and I’m sticking by them.”
Kyle turned and tried to open the west window. It stuck and he rested his elbows on the sill, looking out at the valley and the mountains on the far side of the river canyon. “I didn’t mean it that way, Dale. It’s just that, well, I’m the one that taught him to fight.”
Dale continued to look at the floor.
Justy felt a downpour of confusion. She knew Kyle’s words were part of the puzzle, but she didn’t know where or how to fit them in. His sadness filled her and she tried to keep it out. He stared through the window and finally said, “It’s a sin to age, Dale. And I’m not even talking about how your physical body starts breaking down on you. It’s a sin that my memory can’t even hold on to the good days.”
It seemed that he was struggling to find words.
“I remember when Jake first came to stay with me, when Lila sent him north. I remember building him a rope swing so he’d have something to do when we were in the woods all day long.” Kyle’s eyes were closed. Dale slumped on the bed, and Kyle floated in his memories.
“Next thing I can remember, he’s seventeen and got more attitude than I know what to do with, and we got into it, over something that escapes me now, and I hit him, like a man, and he was still just a boy. He fell to the ground, crumpled like rag doll, and then he was on his feet, fists up, ready. It was raining, dead of winter, and that house out at Reese Ranch grew smaller every day and we just fought…I blame myself.”
He opened his eyes. “That wasn’t the only time, I have to admit.”
Justy wanted to run, but the story held her. Dale reached a hand toward Kyle and then stopped. Justy felt too small to contain everything that swirled in the room. The sound of the creek swelled.
“Anyway, did I mention in that last camp, there were black widow spiders in all the bunks, every night a fellow went to bed?” Kyle winked at Justy, suddenly seeming to see her. His voice had changed, smoothing the space left by his earlier words. He turned to Dale, a grin riding his wrinkles. “One guy, he took to sleeping in his truck, he got so sick of them spiders.”
Dale shook her head and walked to the door. I’ll get to fixing dinner.”
They both stood quiet, and the sound of the water again filled the cabin.
“It’s good to see you, Dale,” he said.
She nodded and turned to him. “I hope it all goes well.” She walked down the plank and to the house. Justy felt herself cleave a little, the different water in her trying to run in opposite directions.
Kyle sat on the bed, his lean, tall frame folding in on itself. Justy turned to follow Dale, and Kyle cleared his throat.
“Where are your words, girl?” He smiled, resting his palms on his knees.
She studied the wrinkles on his face.
“Can’t be no harm in not talking if you don’t have nothing to say.”
Justy blinked. The softness in Kyle bent toward her, and she tried anew to keep him out.
“But I reckon with the way you listen, there’ll be a time when you will have something to say.”
She nodded.
***
Lacee, Micah and Justy helped Kyle bring his few things to the cabin. Justy carried his guitar and tried to absorb all the music he’d played. She wished Jake would let her touch his fiddle, even if just once, so she could feel the songs. Lacee and Micah asked Kyle about the motorcycle and when he’d take them for a ride. “As soon as your mama will let me,” he said.
Jake made his way home, confusion bleeding into a slow anger as he drove. A stop at the bar helped him ease the torque building in his guts about seeing Kyle. The alcohol allowed him to slide away from his anger for a window of time, just like the music did.
When all of Kyle’s possessions found a place in the cabin, he began arranging his clothes in the built-in closet while Lacee made a fire. He pulled three masks from one of the boxes and found nails to hang them on. The faces were carved from wood, and the lips were large and all curved upward. The last one Kyle hung had a piercing set of eyes, so that Justy had to look away. Kyle lit two candles, rigged up a tottering bench with pieces of firewood and a board, then took the guitar from Justy.
“Have a seat, my friends.” He tipped his cowboy hat.
The children settled on the bench, Justy in the middle. Kyle sat on the bed and tuned the guitar, his long fin
gers more graceful than Jake’s. He strummed and grinned wide. “Any requests?”
“How about ‘Tennessee Stud’?” Lacee asked.
“What a fine choice,” he said, and began to play, singing about two horses that brought a couple together. Micah and Lacee sang the chorus with him, and Justy wondered how they fell so easily into song with this man she still considered a stranger. She was used to feeling the ache to know Jake and Dale before she was born, but now she wanted to see Lacee on a horse with Kyle. And to see Kyle guiding Micah to the dark spots in the pond where the catfish lurked. They sang and she listened, hoping for clues in the songs.
Lacee curled an arm around Justy, closing her eyes and letting the words pour out. She had some of Dale’s voice in her and was beginning to realize it, but she kept it guarded. Heat from the stove started cutting into the chill, and their voices made Jake’s return ease down in Justy. The children clapped when the song ended, and Kyle beamed. “Jake’s been doing his work, I see.”
“We really don’t sing with him,” Micah said, looking at his tennis shoes.
“But we still know all the songs,” Lacee said.
“A family should have its songs,” Kyle said. “And its stories.” He adjusted the cowboy hat. “Okay, Mike. Lay a choice on me.”
Micah squirmed, causing the bench to rock forward. He tossed his brown bangs. “I don’t know the title.”
“Say the words, boy.”
“You know, the one about the storm across the valley.”
Kyle said, “Another good one.” He sang about the clouds rolling in and ain’t it good to be back home again.
Jake had just hit the dirt road leading to the house. Dale was making dumplings to go along with the venison stew, hands grateful for a task as she heard Jake’s truck.
The song finished as Jake pulled the Willys up next to Kyle’s Chevy. They all heard the quiet after he turned off the truck.
“Sounds like Dad’s home,” Lacee said. She got up and added wood to the fire. Kyle set the guitar on the bed, stood, then sat back down. “Well, string bean. We didn’t play you a tune.”
By Way of Water Page 7