by Lisa Wingate
She pauses, and I feel myself dangling on the precipice where she’s left me. “What did happen?”
“I learned that you need not be born into a family to be loved by one.”
“So they welcomed you back?”
A smile teases the corners of her mouth. “Yes, they did. Papa Sevier, and Hoy, and the other men had been out searching the swamps for us for weeks. They knew we must have left in the jon boat with Arney. By the time we came back, they’d given up hope that we would ever be found.” She laughs softly. “Even Zuma and Hootsie hugged us that day, they were so relieved to see us alive.”
“You were happy with the Seviers after that?”
“They were understanding of what we had done, after they knew the truth about the Arcadia, that is. Or what I could bring myself to reveal of the truth. I’d made up my mind never to tell them that there were other siblings beyond just Fern and me. I suppose in my twelve-year-old heart, I was still ashamed that I’d failed to protect Camellia, and Lark, and Gabion. I feared that the Seviers wouldn’t love me if they knew. The Seviers were good people––patient and kind. They taught me to find the music.”
“The music?”
She reaches across the table. “Yes, the music, darling. You see, there is one thing I learned from following in Papa Sevier’s footsteps as I grew up. Life is not unlike cinema. Each scene has its own music, and the music is created for the scene, woven to it in ways we do not understand. No matter how much we may love the melody of a bygone day or imagine the song of a future one, we must dance within the music of today, or we will always be out of step, stumbling around in something that doesn’t suit the moment. I let go of the river’s song and found the music of that big house. I found room for a new life, a new mother who cared for me, and a new father who patiently taught me not only how to play music, but how to trust. He was as good a man as ever I’ve known. Oh, it was never like the Arcadia, but it was a good life. We were loved and cherished and protected.”
A sigh lifts her shoulders, then releases her. “To look at me now, you would think I’d never understood the secret. This music of old age…it isn’t made for dancing. It’s so…lonely. You’re a burden to everyone.”
I think of my grandmother, of her empty house, of her room in the nursing home, of her inability to recognize me most days. Tears well up in my eyes. The music of old age is difficult to hear when it’s playing for someone you love. I wonder if my grandmother will recognize May when they’re finally together again. Will May even consent to coming with me? I haven’t asked her yet. Trent is waiting down the hall. He’s driven up from Edisto. After discussing the possibilities, we decided it might be better if I talked to May alone at first.
“Did you ever see Silas again?” The question pops out, and at first it seems random. Then I realize I’ve asked it because I was thinking of Trent…and of May’s tale of first love. Strangely enough, that’s been on my mind lately. Trent’s smile, his silly jokes, his nearness, even just his voice on the phone stirs something in me. The fact that it matters not a whit to him what my family history may be or what decisions I make about it touches me in a way I’m not prepared for. I don’t know how to categorize it or fit it into my life.
I only know that I can’t ignore it.
May’s countenance bores through me. It’s as if she’s digging in and following the veins of ore all the way to my soul. “I wished for it, but some wishes don’t come true. Papa Sevier moved us over to Augusta to protect us from Georgia Tann. Our family was quite well known there, so I imagine he felt that she wouldn’t dare trifle with him across state lines. Silas and Old Zede wouldn’t have known where to find us. I never learned what became of them. My last sight of Silas was through the tangles of my new mother’s hair as she hugged me close. He stood at the edge of the trees where I had been only moments before, and then he turned and went back to the water. I never saw him again.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I always wondered what he might’ve become. Perhaps it was for the best that I never knew. I was growing into a different life, a different world, a different name. I did hear from Arney again years later. A letter came just out of the blue. My mother had it waiting for me when I arrived home from the college term. I’d always imagined that perhaps Arney and Silas had married, but they hadn’t. Zede had found a place for Arney on a dairy farm soon after I left them. Arney was made to work hard, but the people were fair with her. She eventually took a job in a bomber plant and married a soldier. They were living overseas when she wrote to me, and she was quite happy to be seeing the world. She never thought she’d have that sort of opportunity.” Even now, the story brings a smile.
“I’m glad things turned out well for her after such a rough start in life.” Given that May is ninety and Arney was older than her, it’s unlikely that Arney would still be alive now, but I feel a warm sense of relief. May’s story has made Arney and Silas and all the people of the river real to me.
“Yes.” May nods in agreement. “She gave me a fire in my belly for all those young, dewy-eyed women who found themselves taken advantage of by the playboys in Hollywood. I met so many during my years there, and I made it my business to help them—to provide a place to sleep or a shoulder to lean on. It happened very often, girls ending up in terrible situations. I always thought of Arney’s words to me at the end of her letter.”
“What did she say?”
“She said that I saved her.” May dabs at a sheen of moisture near her eye. “But of course, it wasn’t true. We saved each other. If not for Arney taking me back to the river, if not for what happened on the Arcadia, I could never have released Briny, and Queenie, and the river. I would’ve reached for that music all of my life. By taking me back, Arney brought me forward. I told her that in my reply.”
“I imagine that meant a lot to her.”
“People don’t come into our lives by accident.”
“No, they don’t.” Again, I think of Trent. Again, I feel the tug-of-war between my own feelings and the hopes and plans my family has always held for me. The plans I always thought I held for myself.
“Arney and I kept in touch over the years,” May continues, and I try to slip into her story again, to leave behind the worry over how the rest of this day will go. “She was a very inspiring woman. She and her husband started their own construction company when they came home. She worked right alongside him, right alongside the men, and she held her own. I imagine those homes were as solidly built as can be. They’ll outlast us all.”
“No doubt they will.”
May turns to me with purpose, stretches intimately close as if she plans to impart a secret. “A woman’s past need not predict her future. She can dance to new music if she chooses. Her own music. To hear the tune, she must only stop talking. To herself, I mean. We’re always trying to persuade ourselves of things.”
I’m struck by the profoundness of what she’s saying. Can she sense that, since visiting the cottage on the river, since learning about my grandmother, I’ve questioned everything about my life?
I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I want to find my own music. May makes me believe it is possible. Which brings me to my real purpose for visiting her today. “I’m wondering if you’ll come somewhere with me this afternoon,” I say finally.
“Might I inquire where?” But she’s already pressing out of her chair, her hands gripping the armrests.
“Are you willing to go if I don’t tell you ahead of time?”
“Is it outside these dastardly drab walls?”
“Yes.”
She’s surprisingly spry getting to her feet. “Then I suppose I don’t care where we’re going. I am all yours. As long as you’re not bringing me to some political event, that is. I despise politics.”
I laugh. “It’s not a political event.”
“Excellent.” We start down the hall together, May pushing her walker with surprising speed. I half expect her to throw it aside and start sprinting toward the
door.
“Trent’s waiting outside to drive us.”
“The handsome one with the blue eyes?”
“Yes, that one.”
“Oh, now I really am looking forward to this.” She frowns down at her pajama-like cotton shirt and pants. “I’m not dressed very nicely. Perhaps I should change?”
“I think you’ll be fine in that.”
She doesn’t protest when we reach her room. In fact, she stops only long enough to grab her purse.
Trent rises from his chair when we reach the front entrance. He smiles and gives me a thumbs-up behind May’s back as she informs the attendant that we’ll be taking her out for the afternoon. She turns the walker over to me and opts for Trent’s arm as we pass through the door. I’m left to fold the apparatus and put it in the trunk while Trent gets May settled. Fortunately, I’ve had some experience with this sort of thing.
May tells Trent her story while we drive—all of it, not just the parts she shared with us after our first foray through the workshop behind Trent’s house on Edisto. Trent catches my gaze in the rearview mirror repeatedly, shakes his head with a sad sort of awe. It’s hard to believe that, not so many years ago, orphaned children were little more than chattel.
May is so lost in the tale or so smitten with Trent that she doesn’t notice where we’re going. It’s not until we’re drawing closer to Augusta that she bends toward the window and sighs. “You’re taking me home. You should’ve told me. I would have worn my sneakers.”
Trent glances at May’s flat slipper shoes. “It’ll be all right. Your neighbor mowed the grass.”
“Hootsie did raise the sweetest children. Hard to believe. She was such a rotter herself. I tangled with her more than I ever did my sisters.”
Trent grins. “After getting to know her a little, I don’t find that hard to believe.” He’s spoken with Hootsie about today’s trip. She and Bart have moved heaven and earth to help make it possible.
May notices the difference when we drive past Hootsie’s house on the farm lane and the road is cleared all the way through the woods to the cottage. We park on new gravel near the gate.
“Who did all of this?” May looks around at the freshly mown grass, the newly trimmed gardens, the porch with chairs waiting behind the screen.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to make the trek down here,” I tell her. “This seemed like the best way. I hope you don’t mind.”
She only wipes her eyes, her lips pressing together hard, trembling.
“I thought you might want to visit more often, after this. My grandmother had a standing appointment with the cab company. They know the way here.”
“I’m not sure if they’ll…let me.” A whisper is all she can manage. “The nursing home. I don’t want them calling my grandchildren and bothering them either.”
“I’ve been talking about that with a friend, a man who runs a group that advocates for senior citizens. I think we can get some help for you with some of those issues. You’re not a prisoner at the care facility, May. They’re just trying to make sure you’re safe.” I’ll let that sink in for now. Later we can talk more about the suggestions from Andrew Moore, including his idea that May might gain a sense of purpose by doing some volunteer work for the PAC. Andrew is an amazing person, filled with ideas. I think May would like him.
Right now, she is too mesmerized by the scenery to talk about anything else. She leans close to the front window, tears spilling forth. “Oh…oh, I’m home. I never thought I’d see it again.”
“Hootsie and her granddaughter have been keeping it clean for you.”
“But…I haven’t been able to pay her…since…” Tears interrupt the words. “Since they took me away.”
“She says she doesn’t mind.” I reach for my door as Trent walks around the car. “She really does love you, you know.”
“She didn’t say that?”
“Well, no, but it’s obvious.”
May puffs out a skeptical breath, and once again I see the precociousness of a river gypsy. “You had me worried that Hootsie might be losing her marbles.” She smirks at me, allowing Trent to help her from the car. “Hootsie and I have always kept one another sharp. It’d be a shame to ruin it by going sentimental now.”
I look through the trees toward the ruins of the plantation house as I stand up and stretch. It’s hard to wrap my mind around the complexities of the relationships between these two women over the years. “You can tell that to Hootsie in person if you want. She’ll be over later. I asked her to give us some time to ourselves first.”
May casts a suspicious look my way as she moves through the gate, her hand crooked in Trent’s elbow. “What was it that you were planning to do here? I’ve told you everything this time. There is no more to the story.”
In the distance, I can already hear another car grinding along the farm lane. May hasn’t noticed it yet, which is probably for the best. I’d intended to get her to the cottage and settle her there first. But the timing may not work out as I’d planned. Leave it to my mother to show up early, even though she has no idea where she’s going or what she’s arriving for.
“I’ve asked my parents to come.” I can’t think of a way to make them believe all of this that would be better than just showing them. Otherwise, I’m afraid they might think I’ve completely lost my mind.
“The senator?” May’s face widens with horror, and she immediately starts patting her hair.
Trent tries to move May through the gate, but she catches the post and holds on like a grade-school kid being hauled to the doctor for a shot.
“Good heavens!” she says. “I asked you if I needed to change clothes. I can’t meet them like this.”
I sense my best intentions bumping up against the barriers of propriety, and those walls crumble for no one. Getting my parents to cooperate with my mysterious plans for this Sunday afternoon has been nearly impossible. I’ve told them it has to do with a favor for a friend, but my mother can smell a fib a mile away. She’ll be on full alert when she gets here, particularly considering the strangeness of the request and the remote location.
This thing is happening, whether any of the parties involved want it to or not, and deep down, I know I’ve arranged it this way on purpose. I was afraid if I didn’t roll it like a downhill snowball, I’d lose my nerve.
“Well, hurry!” May starts toward the house, yanking Trent off balance. “The rest of my clothes are still in the closets. I can find something decent in there.”
Through the trees, I can see the cab company’s white limo. “There isn’t time. They’re coming up the road.”
May’s nostrils flare. “Did Hootsie know about this?”
“Yes and no, but it was my idea. Please. Just trust me. I really do think this is for the best.” After today, we’ll either be bonded, or May will never speak to me again.
“I believe I’m going to faint.” May sags against Trent. I’m not sure whether it’s a performance or not.
Trent slips an arm around her, prepared to hold her up. “How about I take you to the house?”
She moves along, too stunned to protest.
I wait at the gate. When the limo pulls up, my mother exits on her side without even waiting for Oz to get out and open the door. Honeybee is hopping mad. “Avery Judith Stafford, what on earth is going on here? I thought for certain the driver was lost or we’d been kidnapped.” It’s evident in her red, slightly shiny face that she’s been working up to a dither for miles, probably complaining to my father and harassing poor Oz, who’s only been drafted into this operation because he knows the route. “I’ve called your cellphone at least fifteen times. Why didn’t you answer?”
“I don’t think there’s any reception down here.” I have no idea if that’s true. I’ve had my phone turned off all morning. If Honeybee couldn’t get in touch with me to cancel or alter the plans we’d agreed upon, she would have no choice but to come. Honeybee never falters on a commitment.
> “Now, girls.” My father is in a much more accommodating mood. Unlike Mama, he enjoys the rugged outdoors. Now that the intestinal bleeding has been stopped by the laparoscopic surgery, his blood counts are better, and his strength is returning. Functioning at almost full capacity, he’s a match for his attackers on the nursing home issue. He’s begun to systematically put it to rest. He’s also building support for legislation that will prevent care facility owners from using shell corporations to avoid lawsuit payouts.
He gives the river an interested look. “It was a lovely Sunday drive. We haven’t been over toward Augusta in a while. I wish I’d brought along a fishing pole and some tackle.” He smiles at me, and instantly our life together flashes through my mind, from little-girl visits to his office, to ill-fated fishing trips, to proms and cotillions and graduations…and more recently briefings and strategy sessions and public events. “It’s not often that she asks anything of us, Honeybee.” He adds an indulgent wink that’s just for me. “Not this one.”
He means to reassure me that, whatever I have planned today, he’s up for it, but it only reminds me of how much I have to lose here—my father’s favor being chief among those things. I’m his favorite. I’ve always been his golden girl.
How will he handle the fact that, for weeks, I’ve been sneaking around, digging up information that my grandmother had kept hidden to protect the Stafford legacy?
What will happen later, when I tell him how this journey has changed me? I don’t want to live the life my grandmother lived. I want to be who I am at the core. That may or may not mean that the Stafford political dynasty ends with my father. Chances are, he’ll be well enough to continue in office for some time. In full health, he’ll master this nursing home controversy, and some good will come of it; I’m convinced of that.