“Bob, I can’t start that soon. My grandmother just had surgery. She needs me here.” Annie braced during the brief silence and waited for the eruption.
“Don’t give me that! You don’t know how hard I had to fight for you! How am I going to say that you want the job, but want to pick when you start? Do you know how many girls are standing in line behind you?”
Annie could almost feel the spray of saliva come through the phone.
“Bob, I appreciate it. You know I do. But you told me it would be three months and maybe longer. I’ve committed to helping my grandmother for another few weeks until she can take care of herself again. Can’t you please get me an extension? I’ll take whatever flights are available. Please give me more time.”
“Why do I bother to stick my neck out for you?” he grumbled.
“Because you’re a kind and caring boss. Please, see if you can get me an extension.”
He exhaled a deep breath. “I’ll try, but I’m not in charge, so don’t get your hopes up! You’ll be lucky to keep the job.”
Annie turned her phone off and put it in her purse. It was the worst possible timing. Weeks of gardening and canning were ahead. The tomatoes were tiny and green. More beans were coming and the corn hadn’t even tasseled. It was too soon. If Bob didn’t come through with an extension, Annie would have to disappoint her grandmother yet again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Another storm had blown in Monday around noon and the hard rain hitting the roof told Beulah there would be no gardening done this afternoon. Even if you could stand the mud and wet plants, messing in a garden while it was still muddy could spread disease, she had always heard.
The rain had made her nap soundly and there had been no need for any pain pills. In fact, she had a notion to quit the stuff anyway, them being a magnet for dopeheads intent on a home invasion.
Annie had gone out to see what the garden looked like while Beulah made her way to the kitchen to look at the rain gauge positioned on the plank fence beyond the kitchen window. Joe had already called and reported eight-tenths of an inch. Evelyn said they got nearly nine-tenths. They were all hungry for the rain after such a dry spell.
Reaching the sink, she held on to it and looked at the gauge. A good eight-tenths. She called Joe to report, and then Evelyn. It never ceased to amaze them how one farm might get a substantial amount of rain, while another connecting piece of land might only get a drop.
Annie came in the back door from inspecting the garden, looking mighty disappointed.
“You might be able to get in it tomorrow if we get sun and a little wind,” Beulah said.
“I was hoping to start canning beans tonight,” Annie answered, washing her hands out in the sink.
“That’s farm life. Everything around here depends on the weather, and we’re not in charge of that.”
Annie went back upstairs, and Beulah debated on another cup of coffee, even though it was midafternoon. Why not? she thought. She poured another cup and slowly moved to the back porch to enjoy her coffee outside, where the sun was finally making an appearance.
Finally, she decided there was no more putting off those exercises. Her therapist was coming this evening and she would ask Beulah if she had done her exercises, and Beulah didn’t want to tell her no. Sitting down on the side of her bed, she looked at the sheet and went through them one by one.
The phone rang when she was nearly done, but she was glad for the interruption.
“Camille got lost! Jake left to pick her up.” Evelyn sounded exasperated.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. His directions were clear as a bell, but when she got off the interstate, somehow she took a wrong road and ended up in Renfro Valley. She called Jake, and he tried to talk her through the directions, but she was tired and upset, so he said he would go and get her.”
“Bless her heart,” Beulah said.
“Now they’ll have to see if they can find a place to leave her car over in Mount Vernon, or maybe she’ll follow him here.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Beulah said. “Can we do anything to help?”
“No, I just thought I’d let you know.”
After her exercises, Beulah turned on the five o’ clock news, a habit she was quickly falling into, since there was little else she could do during the day.
“There is late-breaking news coming from Lincoln County, south of Lexington.”
Beulah leaned forward.
Could it be Jake and Camille, a wreck maybe? She prayed that whatever it was, it was no one she knew. But was that right to pray for? Whoever it might be was loved by someone. Finally, the anchor came back on to fill in the details.
“Several people were arrested in a drug ring this morning in the Poplar Grove community of Lincoln County.” The camera spanned over to a group of men and women in handcuffs, herded into the state police vans like livestock.
“They are charged with making and distributing methamphetamine, a highly addictive drug. Meth is known to be flammable and dangerous while being made. There have been three explosions in the state of Kentucky alone this past spring from meth laboratories.”
The camera showed the inside of the house, where pots and pans were set about to make the drug.
“Two children were removed from the scene by police with potential burns from the chemicals. Chemicals used to make meth are household items, but when combined they make a drug that is so powerful, a onetime user can become an addict.”
The camera showed the outside of the house. Beulah didn’t recognize the site, but Poplar Grove was clear on the other side of the county.
“Drug makers attempt to hide their activities by covering the windows.” A close shot of a window showed a sheet draped in front of it. “Kentuckians should report any suspicious activity to the state police. From Lincoln County, this is Buzz Adcock reporting live.”
“Thanks, Buzz. In Bourbon County today, a freak accident left a man hanging upside down in his car from a tree. The man was released without serious injury, and a crane is now attempting to dislodge the car.”
“In national news, a missing persons report out of Chicago shows …” Beulah clicked off the television and stared unseeing at the gray screen, her mind racing.
Stella Hawkins had covered the windows of the stone house. Could she be involved in something so terrible as making drugs? Beulah hated to even think such a thing of another human being, but she hadn’t fallen off the turnip truck yesterday.
With her walker, she hobbled over to the phone number list stuck between two out-of-date phone books and searched for Jeb Harris. He had given her his number a year ago and told her to call if she ever had need. What would be the harm of asking the young detective simply to drive by?
Trying not to sound overly concerned, she told him about the blankets over the windows and the electronic eye at the bridge that let Stella know who was coming in or going out. Jeb was such a nice boy, he said he would drive by this afternoon and check it out. She felt better now, knowing it was in the hands of the police.
“Who was that?” Annie asked, coming into the room dressed in shorts and sneakers.
Beulah told Annie about the news story and her conversation with the detective.
“Did he seem concerned?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with people like that who are used to dealing with so much. He said he would check on it.”
“I’m glad you called.” Annie stood on one foot and bent the other leg back behind her—stretching, she called it. “I’ll take another look around tomorrow.”
“Well, don’t go snooping around. Let the police handle it.”
“I want to see the old cemetery anyway. I haven’t been there since I’ve been home. And then, I hope it will be dry enough to pick beans,” Annie said.
“Don’t forget the groceries. I’m nearly out of butter.”
“I’m headed there now,” Annie said, gathering up her purse.
; Chapter Twenty-Six
Hugging the fence line between the Wilder and Campbell farms, Annie swung her arms back and forth to the rhythm of her steps. The rain left the air pure and clean, the lines of color between the green hills and the blue sky crisp with contrast. The rock wall that provided the fence between the two farms also served as the back wall of the family cemetery, another half-mile beyond the crossover place.
When she reached the rock steps on the stone fence, she sat down to take in the beauty of the morning. For a moment, she wished for her sketch pad, but it was nice letting her arms swing freely. Annie was enjoying these walks back on the farm, so much so that she had given up her running to hike over the uneven farmland, up and down the gently rolling hills.
When she got to the wall crossing, she paused for a moment. This spot would always represent Jake to her, since it had been their meeting place for so many years. They had fallen into an easy intimacy that had evaded them in the later years of high school and into college. Different friends and interests had pulled them in separate directions. There had never been a fight. It had just happened. To be able to pick back up now, years later, was such a gift. It was as if the distance after childhood never happened; yet the relationship had grown mature, supportive.
“It’s an opportunity,” he had said during one of their early talks about her breakup and the layoff. She was starting to believe he was right. It had already afforded her this priceless chance to come home and reconnect with people who loved her and whom she loved.
She leaned back and held her face up to the sun, enjoying the warmth on her skin and the light that, even through her closed eyes, seemed to fill her soul. Stuart had been so little in her thoughts lately that she almost felt guilty. By staying next to the fence, Annie avoided the stone house, only catching glimpses of it from the wooded hillside where the fence led through a stand of locust, maple and oak trees. From the crossover place, she followed the fence up and over one hill covered with hardwood trees, then up the side of another wooded hill. At the top of that hill lay the May family cemetery.
The cemetery was marked off by a dry-laid stone fence with a rusty iron gate that was never locked. It creaked and groaned when she pushed it open. The area inside was neatly mowed and trimmed. The older stones were in the back, the newer ones in the front. In the front row, the larger granite stones stood straight and even, whereas the older, smaller stones cocked slightly to the left or right, the result of the ground settling over decades.
Her mother’s grave was the first she came to. Kneeling on the soft grass, Annie touched the cold granite and wished for the hundredth time she could feel her mother’s arms around her. Lavender drifted through her senses as if she smelled a bouquet. It was what her mother had grown in their back yard, and it had scented the stone house, sitting in bouquets in the kitchen, dried and crumbled in sachets for their clothing drawers. If she ever had a house with yard, she would grow lavender, like her mother.
Next to her mother’s grave was her grandfather’s, its grass still not even with the rest, his only two years old.
Grandpa’s silent but gentle ways included secret winks he shared with Annie when he was teasing her grandmother and extra dollars he slipped her for a movie or music, on top of the money she earned by doing extra chores. He worked long hours in the field, in the barn, in the garage, but he was home every night. Other than games of Rook with the Gibsons and church functions, he had no interests that took him away from his family and the farm.
On the other side of her mother’s stone was the small grave of her grandmother’s newborn son, Jacob. He would have been older than her mother, had he lived. She had always known about Jacob, but now she imagined the pain that must have caused her grandparents to lose an infant child, with so much promise and so many hopes left unfulfilled. And then to later lose a daughter.
In the next row were her great grandparents, Lilah and William May, and her grandmother’s brother, Ephraim May, who was killed in Italy in World War II. There was a military stone at the foot of the grave. Annie read the words aloud: “Ephraim May, PVT US Army, World War II, December 14, 1923-February 1, 1944.”
Annie looked at the cemetery with her grandmother’s eyes. Her parents were gone, of course, but she had also lost her brother at a young age, then her newborn baby, her daughter and her husband. Annie was all Beulah had left.
The reality stunned her. She had never thought of the losses from her grandmother’s point of view, only from her own. And yet, she had run from home as soon as she could get out. Hadn’t that been another grief for her grandmother?
Though no one was around to see, Annie felt a hot flush in her face, ashamed yet again at her self-centeredness. But she had dealt with her own pain for some of those years, and how could she have done differently? Her need to get out and away from the loss had propelled her like a jet engine.
Annie moved to the back and read the names on each stone in the cemetery. They were all relatives going as far back as the pioneer days of Boone, Logan and Whitley and Shelby. Each represented heartbreak for those left behind and, for some, heartaches multiplied.
Annie sat down next to her mother’s grave and allowed understanding, like a photographer’s sepia tone, wash over her. She could do nothing for the dead, only the living. Out of the whole family lying under the hillside, only she and Beulah were left, the last of the May family. She knew why Beulah couldn’t let go. It wasn’t merely land to be traded whenever the right opportunity came along. It was their heritage.
The wrought-iron gate creaked again as she shut it. Coming off the hillside, Annie was lost in her own thoughts as she walked along the rock fence toward home; but when she heard a man’s voice, and then a woman laughing, she edged closer. Annie could see the clearing, the crossover place, and Jake holding a woman in an embrace.
His back was to her, but Annie knew Camille had arrived. She stepped behind a tree and watched, feeling like a voyeur, yet wanting to see this woman before making her presence known.
The young woman had straight, blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, which swung from side-to-side when she moved her head. Smiling at him with full lips and an upturned nose, she reminded Annie of a petite Barbie doll.
Size two or maybe zero, Annie thought, judging the girl’s fitted jeans. Not good child-bearing hips, she could almost hear her grandmother saying. Camille had on a crisp, white long-sleeved shirt, the collar open and loose around her neck.
Camille had her arms around Jake’s waist. He held her and listened to her talk, and then he laughed at something she said. Camille lifted her chin as if waiting for a kiss. Annie turned then, not wanting to see anymore. Unexpected anger flashed through her. Why did he bring Camille to the crossover place of all the places on the farm?
Annie started back up the hill at a near jog. It was shrouded by shrubs and trees, obscured from view by the lovers in the clearing below. Why did it matter to her, she wondered, the anger adrenaline fading. She shouldn’t have been watching. What was it to her where he romanced his girlfriend?
From here, she could either take the longer route back by the cemetery and take the lane out to Gibson Creek Road, or she could take the shortcut by the old stone house below and stay near the creek until she was close to the horse pasture. An urge to be home as soon as possible settled the decision.
The hillside led down into the extended backyard of the stone house. She was on the outside of the plank fence, which encircled the yard itself. Sheets covered the back windows, and Annie shivered at the thought of living in darkness.
With the windows covered, no one could see her, she mused. She might not have another opportunity like this. On an impulse, Annie moved close to the back door. When she did, she heard a long, low moan. She moved even closer and listened.
“Ooooohhhhh,” the voice cried from inside the house.
Chills ran down Annie’s back. She knocked on the door. “Hello, do you need help?” The moaning stopped immediately.
Silence. “Stella, do you need help?” She knocked on the back door, louder this time. Silence, and then a voice, close to the door, yelled back, “Leave me alone!”
Annie drew back. “Sorry, I just thought you were hurt!” Her hands trembled as she pushed her hair back off her face, elbows suspended, waiting. When no response came, she turned and left.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When she reached home, Annie called Lindy and told her about the exchange with Stella Hawkins. “Something strange is going on inside that house!”
“Do you have a solid reason to think she’s involved in something illegal?”
“No, but she’s acting very odd and what with the windows covered, it seems like something is going on. Grandma thinks she might be involved in some kind of drug lab.”
“You need ‘reasonable basis’ to go in without her consent. Suspicion of illegal activity would certainly qualify, but you would need some basis for the suspicion in case she filed a lawsuit,” Lindy said.
“You’re right. We don’t know anything. But if you could have heard that cry … something is wrong, I just don’t know what.”
Annie made hot tea before going to bed that night. She poured two cups and carried them into her grandmother’s makeshift bedroom.
“How about some tea?” Annie said, setting a cup down on the nightstand. Her grandmother was propped up in bed, reading her Bible.
“That would be real nice,” she said, closing the book and reaching for the cup.
“Grandma, when I went to the cemetery today, I saw things in a way I had never seen before. I realized how much you have lost over the years. I want you to know things will be different from now on. I’ll come here more often and maybe you can come to New York for a few days. We are all each other have and I won’t let that slip away.” Annie felt tears well up in her eyes and her throat close on the last words.
“Now, now,” her grandmother said, patting her hand. “I’ve done my share of making things hard between us too. I will come to New York if you promise not to make me ride on that subway.”
Grounded Page 18