September Again (September Stories)

by Jones, Hunter S.

  The tears run down Liz’s face. Mom. My sweet mother. She always supported me, but she never completely recovered from losing Charles. Now, with Zelda gone from me, I understand the depth of my own mother’s sorrow. At least I have hope that Zelda will return to me one day. That hope was taken from my mom by a drunken driver.

  Mrs. T continues, “You’re the only child, Liz. Your father says you need to come home and spend some time there. He needs your support. He’s very much in shock, as you can understand. Also, your mother named you as the executor of her estate. You have to go to Georgia to take care of your family.”

  “Liz, me and Mrs. T. can keep an eye on Nook Manor for you. You know that. You need to be with your family for a while. It will take you maybe three months. We’ve handled Nook Manor that long for you and Jack many times.” Malachy gives her hand another squeeze. “Go, Liz. Marlowe will meet you at the Atlanta airport. We have a plane for you. You leave in three hours. We have lots to do before you leave.”

  The reality hits like waves batter the shoreline, each wave becoming first a ripple, then building strength until the tidal wave of the full emotional impact hits. Mom is gone. She is gone forever. Just like my granddad, Charles and Jack. The tears feel like rain until the first storm passes. At least Zelda has spent time with her grandmother. Liz thinks, I haven’t been the best daughter since losing Jack.

  Her heart flew. Zelda. I will get to see Zelda. Maybe she will forgive me for whatever is hurting her.

  “Right. Let’s get everything started. I’m going back home for a while.” She has just had a shock, yet she is functioning full on as the adrenaline pumps through her veins. Mrs. T and Malachy look at each other, understanding that Liz is in shock. “While I bathe, if you two can get my luggage and bring it down, that would be great. Let’s plan on only needing two bags. I can always shop in Atlanta or Chattanooga if I need something.

  “Also, let’s review the accounts before I leave. If you think of anything else, we’ll discuss it over breakfast.” Taking their hands in each of hers, Liz whispers, “Thank you two for always being here for me.”

  Mrs. T. responds, “Liz, it’s our job. It’s what friends and neighbors do for each other.”

  “No. You are much more than that. When I married Jack, I married you all at Nook Manor. We are a family. It’s the way he wanted us to be.”

  They smile and Malachy says, “We’ll see you downstairs in a few, then.”

  While looking in the locked closest or, as Jack called it, the cupboard, Liz couldn’t find the oldest part of her diary. The later leather diaries were all there, but the first few were missing. How could that be? No one knows of this secret closet except for Jack and Liz.

  Zelda. Somewhere in the back of my muddled mind, I recall her saying something about finding this. Have I been so numb that I didn’t even hear what my own daughter said? Reality hits for the second time as the neurons in her brain strike as a squillion lightning bolts. Zelda has discovered my diaries. That’s how she knew about Pete Hendrix. The shock runs through her the same as it had when they told her about her mother an hour ago. Zelda was to receive the diaries on her next birthday. That way, Liz could explain Charles and what her uncle meant to her life.

  That way, she could also explain the difference between falling for a man like Pete and falling in love with a man like Jack. How to fall in love the wrong way and the right way. Only, Zelda has discovered them before Liz had the chance to explain it to her.

  This is the problem. Zelda has read about Pete. She hasn’t taken the diary that relates the story of her father and me. Zelda thinks I seduced Jack. That explains why she idolizes Indie so much. She thinks I took advantage of her father’s feelings. I know her like a book. My poor baby. I have to find her and explain everything. Make it right. Just as Jack always told me to do.

  ~ ~ ~

  Although Pete Hendrix goes willingly into the creek, the chill of the water catches him by surprise. The rush is immediate. He enters the creek to be baptized. All his sins will be washed away. He will rise from the water a new man, redeemed in the eyes of his God.

  ~ ~ ~

  Hands cover my nose and mouth, but they are not mine. My feet come out from underneath me and I float, effortlessly, for only a moment, but it is actually an eternity. Then, I need to breathe. As I tense, the very moment before I begin to flail, the strong arms behind my back pull me upright from the watery depths.

  The tenor voice of Bro. Smith says softly, “You are now baptized and redeemed in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Let us now pray to our Heavenly Father and celebrate the salvation of our new brother in Christ.”

  As I crawl onto the stones, the tee shirt and jeans I wear are heavy with the water weight, but I am light. I am free. I am saved. I have asked God for forgiveness and I now forgive myself. I am a new man. Bro. Smith recites Psalm 51 as a prayer from my Bible while the sweet early summer sun begins to dry my body.

  Have mercy upon me, O God, after Thy great goodness

  According to the multitude of Thy mercies do away mine offences.

  Wash me thoroughly from my wickedness: and cleanse me from my sin.

  For I acknowledge my faults: and my sin is ever before me.

  Against Thee only have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight: that Thou mightest be justified in Thy saying, and clear when Thou art judged.

  Behold, I was shapen in wickedness: and in sin hath my mother conceived me.

  But lo, Thou requirest truth in the inward parts: and shalt make me to understand wisdom secretly.

  Thou shalt purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: Thou shalt wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

  Thou shalt make me hear of joy and gladness: that the bones which Thou hast broken may rejoice.

  Turn Thy face from my sins: and put out all my misdeeds.

  Make me a clean heart, O God: and renew a right spirit within me.

  Cast me not away from Thy presence: and take not Thy Holy Spirit from me.

  O give me the comfort of Thy help again: and stablish me with Thy free Spirit.

  Then shall I teach Thy ways unto the wicked: and sinners shall be converted unto Thee.

  Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O God, Thou that art the God of my health: and my tongue shall sing of Thy righteousness.

  Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord: and my mouth shall shew Thy praise.

  For Thou desirest no sacrifice, else would I give it Thee: but Thou delightest not in burnt-offerings.

  The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit: a broken and contrite heart, O God, shalt Thou not despise.

  O be favorable and gracious unto Sion: build Thou the walls of Jerusalem.

  Then shalt Thou be pleased with the sacrifice of righteousness, with the burnt-offerings and oblations: then shall they offer young calves upon Thine altar.

  As Bro. Smith, his wife, and an unidentified member of their congregation sing Amazing Grace a capella, the tears roll down my face. Please forgive me for everything I have done and for all the lives I have damaged. My family is finally beginning to recover. My kids have turned out okay in spite of me. They have their mother and my mother to thank for that. The families of the people I killed had years to heal, although nothing could ever replace what I had stolen from their lives when I crashed my car into those trains so many years ago.

  My senses are acute. I feel and sense the surroundings. Somewhere, a rattlesnake strike makes the dance begin. Three hawks float in the light blue sky overhead. Crows caw and the sweet seduction of lavender fills my mind. And she waltzes through my thoughts. That sweet beautiful girl that I hurt so long ago and so far away. Where has she gone? Will I ever be able to ask her forgiveness?

  The birds sing sweetly, the wild roses and flowers from my garden fill the air around the cabin with a fragrant softness. The creek gurgles and keeps rolling down the mountainside of Walden’s Ridge, into the Sequatchie Valley toward the river and ever onward to the sea. As if knowing my s
oul has been transformed and I need time to enjoy this new beginning, Bro. Smith and his group move along after singing. I have time to fire up the kiln and finish the Cherokee pottery I had started yesterday before going into Chattanooga later this evening to set up for this weekend’s craft show. With any luck at all, I will make it before sundown. And after that, tonight, I will sleep like a baby for the first time in many, many years.

  ~ ~ ~

  In the shadows of the trees, the ten spirits that followed him for years dissipate as they are set free. The hate, shock, and anger has been atoned. The feelings will remain. Hurt always remains, bad feelings will eventually subside, but love lasts forever.

  ~ ~ ~

  The Family Farm

  LaFayette, Georgia

  Dear Diary.

  The last two months have been torture for me. I’m doing my best for Dad, but he has really gone to pieces since losing Mom. He is difficult to deal with, and that’s on a good day. I am exhausted. The shock of mother’s death hasn’t worn off yet. The funeral is a blur. Zelda refused even to enter a room if I was there. I need to grieve Mother, even though it seems as if I am still grieving Jack after all these years. The bizarre dreams continue with no beginning and no ending. I go to Chickamauga Park, but the memories of Charles linger. When visiting Chattanooga, he crosses my mind sometimes. No matter how hard I fight, I still catch myself thinking about Pete.

  If…maybe…because…it seems my entire life has been lived on the balance of those three words. Wonder if he had managed some type of life maybe after the mess he caused because of me. And, now my beautiful daughter hates me because of him. It was supposed to be so different, somehow. I loved him so much. Too much, really. It’s not realistic to love another person that much. Jack was a dream, a dream come true, but a realistic dream. Pete was nothing but raw feelings clouded in a sexual haze. Nothing real, except a real fantasy turned into a too real nightmare. Part of the nightmare of my life without Jack.

  That crazy dream again last night, I believe I now understand it. The Cherokee spoke. “One day, someday, you will understand. That day is today.” The pain in my body and soul is too overwhelming. I’m exhausted. “Liz you need to do this.” “You have to let them to that.” I am tired. I am hurting and today is the day I will finally do the one thing that will ease my pain. I wrote the note to her.

  Zelda, I love you and always have. But it’s time to do what must be done. The emotion is too much. Just like the old song says…Too much pain, too much sorrow, too much time alone.

  I Love You ALWAYS,

  Your mum

  Removing the diamond from her left hand, Liz places it on the note.

  ~ ~ ~

  Liz spends the remainder of the day in Chattanooga, Tennessee, working with attorneys to get her mother’s estate settled and her father’s affairs in place. Jack’s illness devastated her, but the sudden death of a family member is catastrophic. She has to ensure her father is secure. He has no one now except for the family in the area and an occasional visit from Zelda or Marlowe.

  Driving into Chattanooga, she is reminded of how very beautiful it is. The natural surroundings should lift her spirits. A hawk even flies overhead as she drives Highway 27 into town. The hawk, the Cherokee symbol of a safe journey, should make Liz feel that all is as it should be. Instead, Liz is hypersensitive. Once she arrives in Chattanooga, at every corner, the ghost of Pete Hendrix haunts her. Even through all the years, she is uncertain how she feels about him. She can’t really forgive him or forget him. At the core of every problem she suffers today, there is the thought if Pete and I would’ve worked out the way I wanted, none of this would be happening. It tears at her heart and mind and she scratches it like an open wound.

  As the day comes to an end, Liz leaves the final appointment. A faint breeze is blowing as she walks outside. The delicious aroma from 212 Market Street Restaurant drifts through the air, mingled with the musty smell of the Tennessee River. There is plenty of time for her to walk to the river and watch the sunset from the Walnut Street Bridge, as she had done many times with Pete. It had all been her fault. Why did she allow him into her life and body so easily? As she steps onto the well-preserved planks of the old bridge, now used as a pedestrian bridge, she looks upward to see three hawks circling in the sky above her. What could that mean? I’ve never seen three hawks dance together in my entire life. It must be an omen that she is on the correct path and should carry on today’s plan.

  As the sun sets over the river gorge between Lookout and Signal Mountains, most of the pedestrians leave the bridge. It is actually illegal to be on the bridge after sundown. She doesn’t have much time left.

  The sun finally dips below the river gorge and night falls over the Scenic City. Sounds set the tempo with the insects and frogs singing from the river bank. As always, the temperature drops almost ten degrees once the sun vanishes and takes most of the humidity with it. The breeze blows stronger, the way night breezes do. She feels the calming sensation of the air on her face. Once the water of the river is on her face, it will almost be over. Once she goes under the water, she will be saved from this life of pain and heart break. Going under the water will save her. At this time of evening, with no one on the bridge, her plan will be successful. Everything is lined up now. Zelda, her father, and Marlowe would never want for anything as long as they live. They would now be rid of her and free to live their own lives. This is the only way to make everyone happy - including Liz. She can’t go on. She is just too tired anymore.

  Looking around, she sees no one else on the bridge. All is quiet except for the music from the club, Rhythm & Brew, down by the river, and an occasional dog bark in the distance. She sits on the rail, then straddles it for a moment before moving both legs to the ledge on the outside of the rail. She stands up. The breeze is blowing stronger through her long, blonde hair. Holding out her arms as if to welcome the fall and descent into the muddy river, she raises herself onto her toes. It is time to leap. This act will finally make my daughter love me, idolize me the way she does Indie Shadwick.

  As Liz leans to fall forward, she feels an arm go across her stomach while another reaches across her chest. “Oh no, you don’t,” a man’s voice says as he picks her up and pulls her across the railing to the bridge side.

  At the same time, Liz sees two people approaching them in the darkness. As they move closer, she sees it is Marlowe and Zelda.

  “ZELDA,” Liz utters as a sighed scream.

  “There you are. We’ve been looking all over the River Park for you. The police scan picked up your cell location, then you must’ve turned off your phone when you started walking the bridge. What are you doing here anyway?” says Marlowe. Zelda looks sheepish and stares at her shoes. “Liz, Zelda has something to tell you.”

  “Liz?” the man’s soft voice says again. “LIZ?”

  The three women look at each other, then turn to look at the tall, rugged man who is standing behind Liz, wearing a clean white tee shirt, jeans, and old boots.

  Holding her hands to his scruffy face for an excruciatingly long moment, Liz whispers only one word before fainting.

  “Pete.”

  9.

  Give Anew

  While Liz sleeps in the adjoining hospital room, Marlowe and Liz’s attorney sit in the chairs opposite Pete in the small visitor’s chamber.

  “Can you tell us where you got these?” Marlowe asks.

  “The Poet and I had a correspondence before he passed away. These are all the letters he sent me,” Pete says.

  “Some are in Liz’s handwriting,” Marlowe states and the attorney agrees.

  “I don’t know anything about that. All I know is that he sent me these letters. I am giving you everything he ever sent me so that you can give them to Liz and their daughter. I had no idea that The Poet had married Liz Snow.”

  “Yes, she has always been a very private person,” the attorney says.

  “After your, um, accident, Pete, Liz wanted to escape e
verything to do with you and her past. You can understand that, right?” Marlowe asks.

  “Of course I understand. Who wouldn’t want to get away from the mess I caused? That’s the other reason I’m here,” Pete says.

  “What do you mean?” Marlowe questions him.

  “There are poems in here that Jack wrote for his wife. Personal poems he said he had never shared with anyone. He trusted me to keep them private. It’s all there in the letters. He wrote something about leaving verses scattered all over the world. He wanted me to keep these because he knew I was from the Tennessee Valley, same as his wife. Go ahead; read them. I know they’re not going beyond those of us here.”

  “But this one is from you,” says Marlowe.

  “Yes, I was going to just leave the verses for her before I bumped into you guys here. Go ahead; read. I’ve nothing to hide. My only hope is the verses may help Elizabeth feel better.”

  Marlowe reads aloud:

  “Dear Elizabeth,

  “I hope you are recovering as speedily as possible after your ordeal on Walnut Street Bridge. Life is indeed puzzling in the way it puts us through stuff.

  “I'd best keep this simple. It is impossible for me to meet you because of what happened between us all those years ago. But I have to contact you because I have something important to give you.

  “I suspect you know that I was lucky enough to enter into quite a long correspondence with your beloved husband, Jack O. Savage, God rest his soul. I swear to you I did not know you were his wife when I first wrote to him. Nor did I expect him to reply to me. But he did. And we became friends. We exchanged letters about poetry and life. I was truly shocked to my core when he became ill. I am sorry about the loss you suffered when he passed.