The Liberation of Ravenna Morton

by Suzanne Jenkins

  Having listened to Esme describe the life Maria had with the Greek people in White Plains, Ravenna was saddened that it appeared that she’d been better off there than she’d have been in the cabin. It was too late to change the way she’d raised her family, but the truth was there, staring her in the face. It could have been better.

  She’d made an effort not to compare Mike with her own father. Robert was wonderful. Every second that he was home, he was engaged with his children. One summer day, the older children played stickball with him, staying in the front yard so the ball wouldn’t keep getting hit into the river. Ravenna needed to use the outhouse, so she ran around to the back of the cabin, and Peggy was there, working in the kitchen garden.

  “Make sure to drink while you’re out there in the heat. Take a bucket of water to the rest of them when you go back,” she’d said.

  Ravenna went to the pump to fill the bucket when she came out of the outhouse.

  “My father never played with us,” Peggy said.

  Ravenna looked up at her mother while pumping the water.

  “He was always sitting on that stump.” And here, she pointed with her spade to a stump near the woodpile. “Smoking a pipe and looking at the river running. He never even lifted a fishing pole. My mother did all the food gathering, fishing, farming up on the hill—my mother and us kids.”

  Ravenna wasn’t sure what to say in response. “Who hunted, then?”

  Peggy shrugged her shoulders. “When my uncles went out, they’d sometimes talk him into going along. But usually he refused. They shared what they got with our family. Back then, the families took care of each other. It’s not isolated like it is today, with families split up and living upriver twenty miles away.”

  If a man didn’t hunt, it meant his family might not eat that winter. After Robert died, Ravenna remembered how they just took it for granted that they’d fish all winter. The boys were too young to hunt, and Robert’s brothers moved to Missouri with their families. They got chickens, instead. Peggy made sure that a certain number of eggs were set aside for chicks. They had a huge number of chickens back in those days, and Ravenna was good at killing and plucking. Fish from the tainted Kalamazoo River and chickens sustained the Morton family. Life in the cabin after Mike returned and the children were born continued to be her jurisdiction. His daily contribution was a hunk of meat from the butcher in Douglas and cash for the extras in the children’s lives. The essentials were provided by Ravenna.

  As the water started boiling, she reached for the pot to pour water into the funnel. Rarely, thoughts about her father, how involved he was with his family, came into her mind. Today it happened because she was thinking ill of Mike. It was yet another thing Ravenna had to deal with since Esme had arrived. Comparing Mike to Robert, nitpicking. It wasn’t helpful, it was detrimental. But Ravenna was unable to stop. Experiencing a process that she needed to see through to the end, the key as both a woman and a lover was to find that balancing act between truth and forgiveness. When did it no longer matter what a person’s past behavior was?

  “I smell coffee,” a voice said behind her.

  She turned to see Mike coming from the longhouse, where the cabin’s only indoor plumbing was. After coffee, he’d be on his way before sunrise. A woolen overcoat and hat, scarf and gloves were over one arm, his other hand holding on to his cane. Ravenna studied his face while he was preoccupied with arranging his belongings over the armchair. It hit her; Mike was an old man. Dependable as clockwork, he’d never disappointed her, and she was able to count on him over the years. It was ridiculous to be critical of him for issues that weren’t important to her.

  “Here you go,” she said gently, placing the familiar pottery mug down in front of him. She watched as he pulled the chair away from the table, the effort it was taking. Why hadn’t she noticed how feeble he was getting? He’d deny feeling poorly if she questioned him, but she decided to get in touch with Michael as soon as she could for his nursing opinion. “It’s going to be a cold walk this morning.”

  “I was just thinking I hope I can continue to visit this winter,” Mike said, shocking her. “It’s never been a problem, hiking in the snow. But I feel washed out.” For him to admit a weakness was frightening.

  “Washed out? Do you mean tired?”

  “No, not tired exactly, just blah.”

  Ravenna sighed. “I think it is the aftermath of stress, of dredging up and tension. It’s not healthy.”

  “There’s no other way,” Mike said. “If we want to know about Maria, it’s what we must do. By the way, have you learned anything? Because so far, I don’t think I know anything more than before the girl arrived.”

  “She’s coming today, I believe, and I had planned on asking questions. I’ll take notes for you.”

  Mike laughed. “You do that, woman,” he replied. “I might stay home tonight, if you are in agreement with it.”

  Ravenna put her teacup down. Mike, not come to the cabin? “Why won’t you come?” It took her back a notch, confused her. His coming and going was never an issue. Night fell and Mike was there. It was the rhythm of their life together.

  He chuckled, but she could tell he was struggling. “I know it is not our way, but I might need to wind down tonight.” He wouldn’t ask her to come to Saugatuck; Ravenna hadn’t been to town in years unless it was in the canoe.

  Maybe she needed to offer. Share the inconvenience, if that was what visiting her was becoming. “I’ll come downriver this evening, in the canoe,” she said, but Mike frowned.

  “No, it’s too cold. I’d be worried the entire time.”

  Ravenna got up from the table, more abruptly than she meant. “Okay, well, we are going to bring our children into play, if that’s the case. One of the six can pick you up and drive you here. I’m not willing to sacrifice a second of time away from you, and if you can’t get here on your own steam and don’t want me to do it, then the only alternative is getting Ozzy or Regina to do it. They are off work earlier than the others; let them do something nice for us.”

  Mike shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you say, woman. I’m too tired to argue.”

  Ravenna snickered. “Smart man. I’m younger than you are and have more energy.”

  “I do have a concern, though,” he said softly.

  Ravenna paused, watching, knowing.

  “With everything being exposed, I need to know the truth myself. I need to know, Ravenna.”

  Her ears started to ring, a roaring really, a buffeting of pressure, the smell of wood smoke suddenly nauseating, her gorge rising. He was asking a question of her that had never been asked before, but she would not answer it even now. “It’s not something we need to worry about, is it? Let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “Ravenna, it’s me, Mike. Look at me. I need to know.”

  But she was shaking her head, refusing him. What he was asking of her was inhuman, unconscionable.

  “After all these years, you still don’t trust me,” he said sadly.

  He stood up and picked the overcoat up. “I might call one of the children this morning, once I’ve reached a place where my phone starts working. Get them to pick me up on Wiley Road.”

  Ravenna walked with him to the door, her heart pounding at what had just happened.

  “I might see you tonight, and I might not. Thank you for an interesting life,” Mike said, reaching for her. They hugged and kissed gently on the lips.

  “Yes, to you as well,” Ravenna replied. “Thank you for my children and for stimulating conversation over the years.”

  Mike laughed out loud, a rare and wonderful sound to her ears. Starting to calm down, she reached for a knitted shawl hanging on a hook near the door and put it around her shoulders.

  “It’s too cold out,” he protested, but Ravenna was walking with him to the edge of the property. It was still pitch black out, not a hint of sunrise in the east.

  “Come on, sun, I’m ready to start my day,” Ravenna said as they walked sl
owly down the path to Riverside Road.

  On reaching the pavement, he turned to her again. “See you later, old woman.”

  She waved, watching him walk toward Douglas. He didn’t appear as stooped as he had earlier, and there was a little spring in his step. Hopefully, he had just needed to wake up. She turned and hurried back to the cabin. It was still too dark to do any foraging, so she’d get some weaving done instead. It would help her recover from the few seconds of strife they’d just encountered, two people who never fought.

  Basket weaving was a contemplative task. Each component of the basket went through a different process to arrive at the finished vessel. The current project was a wall basket in which Ravenna would sew marsh grass over sweet grass. Lifting the bundles of grasses down from a hook in the ceiling, the scent filled her with emotion.

  “Thank you for basket weaving,” she said to the universe. “I’m so grateful my mother taught me to weave.” Remembering her little granddaughter Amy and daughter-in-law Becky wanted to learn, and then Esme’s face popped into her head, she added, “Thank you for my granddaughters who want to learn.”

  Carefully arranging the same tools Peggy had used, and her mother before her, she spoke out loud as she worked, preparing for that day when a lesson in basket weaving would really happen at the cabin. She wished she could call Becky or Esme right then, and the value of having a phone suddenly became clear. Laughing, Ravenna could see technology was sucking her in unless she fought it. But it no longer seemed important to keep the old ways if they thwarted her progress. She’d speak with April soon about a phone, forgetting about what had just transpired between Mike and her.

  Chapter 19

  Dexter Morton teetered, pushed to the edge of his mattress, confused. Opening his eyes as the very early gray light of dawn peeked through the drapes, he carefully turned his head and saw Faye sleeping next to him on his single bed. Then he remembered; he’d failed to drug her last night because they were actually having fun drinking wine and laughing, and he thought he’d let nature take its course. He kissed her goodnight, and five minutes after he turned the light out, she crept into the bed with him. They had what he’d later decide was marriage-saving sex. It was the best sex they’d had in a long time, at any rate, and when it was over, she actually said she loved him.

  “Good morning,” she whispered. She winced at the light coming in. “At least I think it’s good.”

  Dexter snickered. “You probably need to hydrate. Me too. Too much wine last night.”

  She sat up in his bed, and as the sheet fell away, the sight of Faye naked in his bed just made him happy. No matter how much of a bitch she was, Faye had great breasts, and great breasts hid a multitude of sins.

  “I’ll get you some water.”

  She nodded her head, not sure of what had happened to her that she’d spend the night in Dexter’s bed.

  He came back shortly with a bottle of water.

  “Why am I here?”

  “We made love, and you spent the night,” he said, incredulous, laughing, but not because it was funny. “Did you forget?”

  She handed the bottle back so he’d get the top off. “I’m not sure. That must have been some wine,” she said, but she looked at him suspiciously. “You didn’t add anything to it, did you?”

  He frowned at her, but wondered for a second if he had, in fact, put her Xanax in the wine. “I’m sorry you don’t remember, because it was great,” he said, disbelieving. “I think it might have been the best we’ve had in a long time. That really sucks.”

  “Hand me your robe, please,” she said, pointing to his white terry bathrobe hanging from a hook on the bathroom door.

  He grabbed it and tossed it to her. Suddenly, nice breasts or not, the redeeming qualities of their lovemaking no longer seemed like enough. She was winding up to blast him with her usual caustic personality, and he didn’t have the strength for it. Then, salvation, his phone rang. It was so rare for the phone to ever ring, especially that early on a Saturday, that they both looked at it for minute.

  “Better answer,” Faye said, and Dexter grabbed it.

  “Is this Dexter?” It was Mike!

  “Dad, are you okay?”

  “Yes, of course, son. But I was hoping I could take advantage of your location. I’m having coffee at the Lakeside. Can you come take me home?”

  “I’ll be right there,” Dexter said, worried. It was a first. Mike had never asked for a ride from him in his life.

  “That was my father,” he explained unnecessarily after hanging up.

  “Is he okay?” Faye asked, pulling the robe on. “Do you want a cup of coffee before you leave?”

  Dexter turned to look at her. Who was in that body? “No, thanks. I better get him home.”

  Dexter pulled clothes on and went through the mudroom to the garage. It felt so strange to be doing something out of the ordinary. Saturday activities were set in stone, but not today. The excitement over a change of routine overshadowed the worry for his father. Why would Mike call him? He visualized where the Lakeside was on Blue Star, and their house on Lakeshore Drive. Regina’s condominium was down the street from the Lakeside. Mike had obviously forgotten. It didn’t make any difference to Dexter, though.

  Pulling the car out, this was the first time he’d driven his father. It made Dexter nervous, and he glanced around the interior, grateful that Faye was such a stickler for neatness. As he drove into the parking lot of the Lakeside, he could see him, debonair in a hat and overcoat, standing at the counter talking to the clerk. Should he go inside? Let Mike know he was there? Or wait? He didn’t really know his father as the others did. His brothers and April went to church with him every Sunday. He was often a guest in their homes. It never occurred to Dexter to invite Mike over; he’d ask Ravenna first if they were inclined to entertain. She was the real parent in the union. She was the one who made all the sacrifices.

  The door to the convenience store opened, and Mike walked out, smiling. Dexter leaned over and opened the door for his father. “What’s up, Dad? Talk about a surprise.”

  “Yes, yes, I hear you. You’re the closest, or maybe April is, but I thought of you first. The walk was too much for me today.”

  Dexter frowned, scared. “What’s wrong? Do your legs hurt?” He looked down at Mike’s pants and realized how thin he’d gotten.

  “No, no pain to speak of. I made the mistake of walking up Wiley instead of going down Water Street, and I think that hill was too much for me.”

  “Dad, my sports car has trouble getting up that hill. And there are no sidewalks on Wiley down that far. What’s going on?”

  Mike was nodding his head. It would be a tough admission to make. “I think you children are going to have to start taking me out to your mother’s cabin.”

  “Well, that’s no problem at all, Dad. I’ll do it, and if I can’t, I’m sure April or Regina or one of the others would be more than happy to drive you around town. We don’t need to discuss it anymore, okay?”

  He could see Mike was getting very upset. Something organic was taking place; he’d had either a stroke or something else was brewing. He’d call Michael up as soon as they got to the studio.

  They arrived at the studio in Saugatuck. “I’d like to see your latest work, if that’s okay,” Dexter asked. He hadn’t seen the inside of Mike’s studio in years. Grateful that it was neat and tidy, that was at least a good sign.

  “I’ll make coffee,” Mike said.

  While he was puttering around the little kitchenette, Dexter called his brother Michael. It was clear he’d still been sleeping.

  “Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Dexter said. “This is sort of an emergency, though.”

  Michael got up on his elbow and tried to turn the light on. “What’s wrong?”

  Dexter explained his concerns about Mike. “I was hoping you could come over to his studio and take a look at him. There’s something not right here.”

  He agreed, saying he’d be there in a
half an hour. Dexter played the scenario out in his head. Mike would come to live with him and Faye. He’d take care of his father and let him live his last years out in that beautiful house. It would finally make the expense and stupidity of such a grand place worthwhile.

  Mike walked toward him with two cups of coffee. He was shaky, but thankfully, he appeared to be doing okay. “I’m afraid I put too much into yours.”

  Dexter stood up and took the cup from him. “Dad, you make the best coffee,” he said in Greek, sighing.

  “It’s imported, of course,” Mike said, pleased his son remembered the words. “My brother sends it to me from Chicago, but he gets it from Greece.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t know your family,” Dexter said. “Or Mom’s.”

  He wanted to go further, to ask why they weren’t part of their lives, but decided to wait to bring up any emotionally charged topics until he was sure his father was okay physically.

  “Other couples couldn’t make a move without consulting with their families. We never needed ours, and they weren’t interested in us. I think if they were, they probably fought it, because we were an embarrassment to both sides,” Mike said, snickering. “Of course, it’s probably not funny to you children. But we were strong and proud of our family. We lived exactly the way we wanted to live with no pressure from society.”

  Or thoughts of what it would do to your kids, Dexter thought, taking a sip of coffee to try to control what he wanted to say to his father.

  Looking around Mike’s beautiful studio, he remembered what it was like as a kid to be in town, there to get bait from the shop next door, and have his friends know that up the staircase at the side of the building lived Dexter’s dad. The questions were always forthcoming. “Let’s go see your dad,” and, “Why don’t you live with him?” He’d ignore it. “Are we fishing or not? Let’s get bait.”

  But he wondered, too, how different his life would be if he lived in the studio. Looking around now, it was hardly posh, not suitable for raising a family. Life on the river’s edge wasn’t that bad. The middle child, his life in school society was certainly easier than Regina’s and Ozzy’s had been. It was that pervasive feeling that he wasn’t good enough that even a six-figure salary and a lavish house on the lake couldn’t shake.