The Liberation of Ravenna Morton

by Suzanne Jenkins

  “They were really lovely people, Nicky. They loved my mother. She was the only child they had,” Esme said sadly.

  It was a sentinel moment for the women. Another woman, someone Esme had loved, had taken Ravenna’s place in Maria’s life, showering her with love and affection. They may have been ignorant, careless even to keep the truth from Maria, that she was half-Native, if in fact they even knew. It would have made her life so much easier.

  Ravenna reached over the table and grabbed Esme’s arm again. Her hand was soft and strong. “Of course they did. Please forgive me. I’m grateful they took care of her, gave her a good life. At thirteen, what kind of life could I have provided?” It was another regret; the knowledge that she wasn’t able to give Maria the life that strangers could.

  Esme was thinking of how she could change the subject when she heard a soft “hoot!” coming from the front of the cabin.

  “Oh, it’s my daughter, Regina,” Ravenna said. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and went to open the door.

  The rain was coming down now with no clearing in sight. Regina stepped in and glanced over at Esme but didn’t say anything, shaking her umbrella off and closing it up. She reached into her pocket for a tissue and wiped her face and hands off before she came forward to shake hands. Esme remembered her from the craft show. Regina was an older, smaller version of April. She was shorter, almost tiny, with blue-black hair cut into a pixie cut and big black eyes that she must outline with kohl. Esme thought she must be wearing false eyelashes, too, but had watched her wipe her eyes with that tissue. Her eyes looked like that naturally.

  “Regina Morton,” she said. “You must be Esme.”

  “Yes, nice to meet you, Regina,” Esme said. “Your eyes are wonderful!”

  They laughed while Regina shook her arms out of her coat with her mother’s help. Ravenna excused herself to go out to the woodpile for more wood to burn.

  “Thank you. I have my father’s side of the family to thank for the eyes,” Regina said. “When did you get here?”

  Esme explained the story about meeting with April the previous night and Wiley bringing her in the boat. It was a pleasant change from the other, gut-wrenching talk. But before long it would have to come back to Maria.

  “I’m sorry about your mother,” Regina said. “It must be so difficult. I can’t imagine losing Mama.” Regina reached forward and grasped Esme’s shoulders for a hug. It was the wrong thing to do because Esme lost it and started to weep, trying to extricate herself from the stranger’s arms.

  “Forgive me,” she said, sniffing. “It’s been building up all day. I’m really okay. This is just very emotional.”

  Regina patted her back. Then she looked down at the table, and seeing the eagle bones, took a step back. “Oh no, Mama has that fucking skeleton out,” she said, clicking her tongue. “You can be having the best day ever and it will all go to shit when she brings that damn thing out. It’s a buzz killer for sure.” She shook her head in exasperation.

  “We were trying to get to know each other,” Esme explained, trying not to laugh at Regina’s reaction to the skeleton.

  “Well, get the kids’ wedding pictures out then, or the awards for the baskets you’ve made,” Regina said. “Instead, leave it to her to bring the most depressing thing in the house out to show our new niece. I apologize for her.”

  Ravenna came in with an armload of wood, and both women went to her to help. “It’s awful out!” she said, pulling her rain poncho off.

  “Nimaamaa, what’s with migizi okunnug?” eagle bones, Regina said. “Put that thing away, will you? Get the photo albums out.”

  Ravenna gave her a look but obeyed and walked back to the bedroom while Regina fed logs into the cookstove.

  “Did you know we met at the White Plains Craft Show?” Esme said. “Well, not exactly met, but my mother and I bought baskets from you. My mother was a more voluptuous version of me. You might remember we bought an acorn basket and a larger hat-box basket.”

  Regina looked at her wide-eyed and stopped feeding the fire. “I met Maria?” She stood up and wiped her hands on her pants, pulled out a chair, and sat down with a thud. “No, I didn’t know.” Regina looked up at Esme. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you. Those shows are so crazy busy, I just try to make the correct change. I’m trying to take names and email addresses so we can do a mailing before a show. I go alone unless I can talk April or my partner, Gloria, into going.”

  “It must be a lot of work,” Esme said, trying to soften the shock. It was clear Regina was not taking it well.

  “When was this again?” Regina asked.

  Esme could see that Regina was struggling, that unless she was able to remember something, she would inflict punishment on herself.

  “Last summer, in August. My mother asked for the entire basket-weaving experience in one minute, and you gave it to her,” Esme explained.

  “Nimaamaa, come sit down,” Regina called.

  Ravenna walked out of the back of the cabin with an armload of photo albums.

  “Did you know I met Maria and Esme at a show?” The women discussed the amazing coincidence and shed a few more tears.

  They’d spend the next hour looking at Ozzy, April, Dexter and Walter’s wedding pictures and photos of Regina and Gloria and, finally, Michael. Esme involuntarily gasped when she saw Michael’s picture.

  “Yeah, he’s something, isn’t he? You outta see him in person,” Regina said, Ravenna laughing.

  “He’s a big baby, Michael is,” Ravenna said. “I don’t know where he got it because I certainly didn’t coddle anyone.”

  “Ha! Mama, you are in denial,” Regina said, getting up. “I’m getting a beer. Do you want anything?”

  Esme shook her head no. She stifled a yawn. It had been a long, emotional day. She knew Ravenna wanted her to stay for dinner, to meet the rest of the family, but she thought her saturation point may have been reached.

  Regina caught it. “I can drop you off at the Green Leaf.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, that just slipped out,” Esme said. “But that would be nice.”

  Ravenna looked up from an album. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

  “Yes, definitely,” Esme said. “I need to sleep on everything I learned today.” She smiled and the other women smiled back, Ravenna nodding her head.

  “I won’t beg you to stay, but you are welcome to stay here,” she said.

  “Oh, thank you, but I better get back. Give you a chance to regroup, too,” she said.

  Ravenna shook her head. “No need for regrouping. If you wanted, you could move in now with me. I have the entire longhouse empty.”

  “I paid for a month at the Green Leaf,” Esme answered, thinking, I’ll know by then what the next step will be.

  “Come, Nimaamaa, don’t get carried away,” Regina said. She got up and put her empty beer bottle in a barrel by the door. She stretched with her arms up over her head, trying to stifle a yawn. “She’ll be back tomorrow, won’t you, Esme?”

  “First thing in the morning, if that’s okay,” Esme said, Ravenna hugging her. “Thank you, Nicky.”

  Esme fought to keep her eyes open on the ride back to the inn. Regina chatted about the area, pointing out buildings of importance as they passed by, but not asking questions or saying anything that required a response. As the car pulled up to the inn, they said they’d see each other the next day. Esme got out and closed the door, then waved. The urge to escape was strong, and rather than try to read too much into it, she let it go, chalking it up to a combination of exhaustion from the trip and the emotionally draining afternoon.

  Chapter 11

  Back on the riverbank, Ravenna was moving around the cabin, pensive. There was a break in the rain, and she opened up the window over the sink to let some cold air in. The wood fire burned down to glowing embers; she opened the door and fed more split logs into the firebox. She was going to put a pan of water on to cook manoomin, the wild rice she grew near
the cove in the marshy area near the cabin.

  While the rain subsided, she decided to hike along the river before Mike showed up. She pulled on Wellingtons and a sweater to wear under her yellow slicker. Winter was on its way; she could feel the difference in her bones. Walking by the little garden behind her house was melancholy. She’d pull most of the plants that might be coaxed into offering a little more food before they took their last breath. One thing she didn’t like was to watch the garden die; it was better to finish it off herself and place everything that wouldn’t make it in the compost heap. All of the herbs and medicinal plants she dug up and repotted. Mike rigged a glass shelving unit in front of one of the windows in an unused back room; the cabin’s design of a longhouse was handy to hide farm animals from tax men in the old days and provided lots of room now to store food.

  Ravenna walked down to the cove and examined the area for anything new to find. Her collection of bird’s nests and eggshells, shed antlers, turtle shells and other animal remains were slowly taking over all of the spare room.

  She collected grasses and reeds from this area for basket weaving, but not tonight. Uncertain, not able to pinpoint exactly what was causing her angst but knowing the presence of the young woman named Esme was partly responsible, she attempted to keep her thoughts inconsequential. Spying a glint of purple, she bent over to pick up an ancient Nehi bottle cap. Sticking it in her pocket, she imagined who had left that behind, groups of teenagers maybe, having a party at night by the river, or a fisherman popping the top off a bottle of the grape soda with a rusty metal bottle opener.

  She walked downriver a mile and turned back before it started to get dark; she wasn’t afraid, but Mike would be there, worrying. She adapted her life to his only where it might cause him pain if she didn’t, not doing anything that might lead to concern, taking good care of herself so she wouldn’t die first, keeping truths from him that might be too much for him to bear. He had an unhealthy fear of being left alone, in spite of the children. Women were different; their partners could die and they’d go on alone and be fine. Men needed companionship.

  The walk had accomplished what she intended it to, clearing her head and not thinking of Esme anymore. As she got closer to the cabin, droplets of rain started to fall again. She saw a beige raincoat in the falling light of dusk and knew he’d be there, waiting for her by the back door.

  “Hoot,” she said.

  He answered, and she could hear his chuckle. When she stepped out of the brush, he saw her and started walking toward her.

  “Good evening,” he said, leaning over to kiss her on the lips. “Tired of the rain yet?” Mike knew Ravenna tried to go with the flow of weather but that anything that kept her in the house for too long got on her nerves.

  “The girl was here all day,” she answered.

  He looked over at her and frowned. “Oh? What exactly does that mean?” He knew she was agitated and didn’t want to have to dig too much to get at the reason.

  “Wiley brought her in the morning. It was okay, and then it wasn’t. I can’t explain it. I had the feeling she wasn’t thrilled with what she was learning about me,” Ravenna said, trying in vain to keep the whine out of her voice. Mike knew better than to suggest she might be imagining it.

  “It’s a lot for her, too, ikwae,” he said. “If you can, don’t think you have to love her right away. You have to grow into these things. It’s not like giving birth,” he said gently.

  “Gi zah gin, inini,” she said. I love you, man. “But what you don’t know about women is a lot.”

  Mike laughed. “Oh, I got it.”

  They reached the cabin door, and he opened it for her. The water was simmering away on top of the stove. Ravenna took off her slicker and shook it outside, hanging it on a peg inside of the door. She slipped her wellies off and went to the shelves for the jar of rice.

  “I need to plant more rice,” she said. “My supply is low. The harvest was not good this year.”

  “Climate change,” Mike said, taking a paper out of the inside of his raincoat. He opened it up and spread it on the table. “It’s a real threat.”

  “It was the drought,” Ravenna answered. “It’s cyclic.” She put the teakettle on. “Do you want coffee?”

  Mike said yes, and Ravenna got the bottle of coffee beans out and measured some into a small wood grinder she kept out on the counter for him. Into a tall, pottery pitcher she rested a funnel lined with filter paper. The ground beans went into the funnel, and she poured boiling water over it. As she was preparing his coffee, the lights dimmed.

  “What’s going on?” Mike asked, forgetting where he was.

  “Not much sun the last few days,” Ravenna said, reaching for an oil lamp to light.

  “I’m getting another panel installed,” Mike said, referring to the lone solar panel Ravenna consented to have. The family wanted electricity for the well and for lights, and she’d resisted it for a long time.

  “Whatever,” she said.

  He looked up at her and laughed again. “Your daughter wants to get you a computer device.”

  Ravenna moaned, but didn’t answer. It was a long-standing disagreement about her refusal to have technology. But they were chipping away at her resolve. She was curious about the information she’d have at her fingertips. A small-screened thing might be nice to have.

  “We’re alone tonight,” Ravenna said. “Just you and me.”

  “Heaven,” Mike said and picked up his coffee to drink, smiling.

  ***

  Regina pulled away from the inn, and Esme didn’t look back, hearing the car rounding the corner, going through the puddles and over the wet leaves. The anticlimax of the day confused her. She thought things were going all right until Regina showed up. There was tension in the cabin after that, and no matter what was said, it didn’t go away. The story of the eagle was so sad, and she felt she was on the cusp of gaining some important information from Ravenna when they were interrupted. She took off her soaked leather boots when she entered the inn. Rhonda looked up from her computer.

  “You don’t need to take them off, Esme,” she said. “The floors are clean, but you’ll ruin your stockings.”

  “It’s too late,” Esme said. “I’ve been shoeless all day.” She took her coat off; the wool covered with the glint of moisture. She reopened the door and shook the coat off outside.

  “How’d it go?” Rhonda asked, looking at her with concern.

  “Okay,” Esme answered, reluctant to share, afraid the front desk clerk at a bed and breakfast might be a gossip.

  Rhonda came over to her. “Would you have dinner with me tonight?” she asked. “The night clerk called in sick, so I’m staying over. I’d love to eat with you and give you some of my unasked for wisdom about Ravenna.” Rhonda’s honesty raised her curiosity.

  “I’ll have dinner with you, but I wonder if I shouldn’t wait to hear anything until after I’ve had time to reach some conclusions myself,” Esme answered.

  “It’s nothing negative, I promise. Just facts,” Rhonda said.

  “Okay, give me a few minutes. I need to go up and check my email in case my dad has been trying to reach me. There’s no cell phone service out there at Ravenna’s, and now my battery has died,” Esme explained.

  They agreed to meet back in the dining room at six. It was just nearing five. Esme trudged up the stairs, feeling older than her years. The thought crossed her mind that she might be coming down with something, she felt so tired.

  The computer was sleeping, so she moved the mouse, and the screenshot of the late family dog sprang into life. She moved the mouse around to navigate to her email, and although she had a lot, there wasn’t anything from her father.

  ***

  The first snow was falling in White Plains. Early in the season, John Wynd was glad for the distraction, and even though nothing was sticking to the ground yet, fine white flakes drifting down as soft as petals, he put his winter gear on and went to the garage to get ever
ything he’d need for snow removal. Flipping the garage light switch on, the perfectly aligned garden tools and detritus necessary for home ownership stared back at him, the organization of all of it a testimony to his empty, boring life. In the past, he’d prepared for the seasons like a surgeon for a case, lining up his instruments and supplies in symmetrical order.

  He went to the tool rack holding the wooden handles of various-sized shovels and rakes lined up by size, and at the end, grasped the largest there, the snow shovel. He picked up an unopened bag of snowmelt salts and carried both to the doorway. Suddenly, he turned and looked at the expanse of junk and knew he couldn’t spend one more day alone in the house he’d formerly shared with Maria without some kind of plan. He put the shovel and bag of salt down and closed the door behind him, walking back to the house.

  Cousin Nick was a realtor and he’d been after John and Maria for ten years, ever since Esme graduated college, to move to a smaller place. Slowly, younger families were reclaiming the houses they’d all lived in, and John and Maria were one of the last holdouts.

  Except now, he’d knew he’d rather die than move into one of those retirement villages—ground-level ranches with wheelchair-accessible bathrooms and counters low enough for a four-year-old to prepare a meal. He’d lost his wife, and until her death, they’d managed just fine with stairs. When she became too weak, he carried her to the bathroom. He remembered placing her tiny body on the white plastic shower chair, and watching her immodest bath ritual, lifting her breasts to wash under, not being embarrassed, forgetting to joke about the pendulousness of them, and he had to turn from her to cry. They were just in their twenties; where the hell did the past forty years go?

  He leafed through a pile of mail and lists on the table where their old-fashioned telephone rested, a wireless model but with a six-inch antenna. He found Nick’s card and punched in the numbers.