A knock on the studio door abruptly stopped the negative thoughts. It was Michael. “Who’s that?” Mike asked, frowning.
“I’ll get it, Dad,” Dexter said, getting up. He opened the door to his brother, a chortle escaping his lips. “Oh my God.” Michael’s body language said volumes.
“I had a rough night,” Michael said softly. “Where’s the old man?”
Dexter stood aside so Michael could pass.
“I feel a conspiracy,” Mike said, not happily.
“Yeah, well, maybe if you invited your children over once in a while, it wouldn’t seem like a gang-up,” Michael said, walking over to him.
They embraced, Michael putting his hand under his father’s chin.
“You don’t need an invitation to come over,” Mike said nervously.
There had been an incident, but just one, in which Michael had come over unannounced and Mike was otherwise occupied. It was innocent. He was painting a nude, and the model was in the studio at the time. Michael was the most aggressive of his children and wouldn’t hold back if there was anything to say.
“What’s going on, Dad? Dex tells me you were too tired to get home,” he said gently. “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s amazing you walk that eight-mile trip twice a day. The only thing concerning is why all of a sudden you can’t.”
“I think the weather is taking its toll,” Mike said. “When I got up this morning, I told your mother I would probably call one of you to bring me home. If I had cell service out there, I’d have done it from the cabin.”
“Why walk up Wiley, though, Dad?” Dexter asked. “That’s what has concerned me.”
“Truthfully, I just forgot,” he admitted.
Michael frowned at his brother. “Wait, you’re telling me he walked up that hill? Dad, give me a break.” Michael started to laugh. “No wonder you’re tired!”
“I think I’ll live.”
“Dad, maybe lay off the pot for a day or two, too.”
Mike pushed at him to move away. “Mind your own business. If I need your advice, I’ll ask.”
“Whether you like it or not, while I’m here I’m taking your vital signs and doing a quick neuro assessment,” Michael said. “And we’re getting a phone out at the cabin whether Ravenna wants one or not.”
He got a small blood pressure cuff out of his jacket pocket and pulled a stethoscope out, too, putting the earpieces in his ears and listening to Mike’s heart first and then his lungs. He laughed when he took his father’s blood pressure. “Better than mine.” He got a little flashlight out and looked at his father’s pupils. Then he tested the strength in his hands and felt pulses in his feet and leg.
“You’re fine. When’s the last time you went to the doctor?”
“Never,” Mike said, and the boys laughed.
“Well, you should probably make an appointment next week, Dad. You seem like you’re in fine shape to me, but because of this incident today, you better get checked out. That way, the doctor will have a baseline to work with in case you have any more changes.”
Dexter’s phone beeped, and he took it out and looked at the screen. “Text from April. We’re being summoned to the cabin this afternoon.”
Michael yawned, shaking his head. “Oh no. I’ve got things to do today,” he said. “What is it? More White Plains bullshit?”
“Probably,” Dexter said, Mike snickering. “Just show up. You can address the phone thing while you’re there.”
“Dad, you probably shouldn’t be alone this weekend in case something is developing,” Michael said. “You can come home with me if you want.”
“I thought I’d bring him to the lake,” Dexter said quickly. “He can set his easel up in the living room.”
Michael nodded his head, smiling.
“I’d like to spend the day at the lake. No offense, son, but the last time I was in your apartment, I had to sit on a case of beer. I’ll gather up my things.”
Mike scooted to the edge of the chair and hoisted himself up. Both men watched as he left the room, saddened. Their father had suddenly grown old.
“I wouldn’t mind a day at the lake myself,” Michael replied, whispering, “What does Faye have to say about this?”
It was known in the family that Dexter had it tough at home with his prima donna wife.
“She doesn’t know yet,” Dexter said, frowning. “She doesn’t have anything to say about it, regardless.”
“If it doesn’t work out, let me know. He’s welcome to come home with me.” He rolled up the blood pressure cuff and jammed it back in his pocket. Mike came out with his paint box and portfolio. “Dad, I’ll see you at the cabin later, if I must.”
The men watched as their father moved slowly around his studio, packing up. When did it happen? When did their father become an old man? Michael turned away, afraid the sadness would show on his face, sorry he wasn’t stoned. He’d make sure to take care of it as soon as he could, definitely before he had to go to the cabin.
Chapter 20
John Wynd was working in a frenzy. His dead wife’s ghost was yelling at him to sit down and give it a rest. In five days, he’d cleaned out all the closets in the house, boxing up everything he couldn’t bring himself to throw away, hauling it to a storage locker. It had only taken a week to depersonalize thirty years of clutter and ephemera. Papers, photos, notes and letters he was unable to pitch were going to his daughter. She could sort through everything and decide to toss or keep; he was going to leave it up to her.
“Dad, just send it to me if you can’t make a decision.”
“What about all this stuff in your bedroom? I feel strange going through it.”
“Same thing,” she’d said. “Ship it here.”
Stretching packing tape to seal box after box, he had printed out address labels: Esme Wynd, Green Leaf Inn, Saugatuck, Michigan. Her address was beautiful, a sign that she’d done the right thing. Not worried about the cost of sending so much to her, he wasn’t thinking about anything but clearing out the house, getting rid of it, and running away. Friends and relatives were upset, advising him of the danger of leaving the marital home before a year after the death of a spouse passed. But John couldn’t wait. He felt the oppression of living alone with the memories of Maria, and the mounting depression would be irrevocable if he didn’t deal with it immediately. Thoughts of suicide kept popping into his head. A premature real estate mistake was bound to be less traumatic for Esme than his death.
The trip to Michigan, a place as alien to him as any foreign country, loomed ahead as a safe haven because his daughter was there, but not just because of Esme. Those he referred to in his mind as the Indians, Maria’s real flesh-and-blood relatives, had taken on an importance in his life that he didn’t think possible after his earlier animosity toward them. He needed to be close to Maria’s DNA. Memories were quickly fading; he needed new stories, new life, to keep him engaged.
Every time he spoke to Esme, he became more convinced he needed to follow her. He wanted to hear what she was hearing, meet the people she was meeting. Making flight reservations to join her, he knew he only needed a one-way ticket. He wasn’t coming back to White Plains unless it was to sign the final sale papers for the house.
***
Esme and Wiley arrived at the cabin just as the first few snowflakes of the season started to fall. “Oh, how pretty,” Esme said as they drove down the dirt road through the woods. “The river looks larger from a distance, with the snow falling. I’m not ready for snow yet.”
“It’s too early to have real snow. See how blue the sky is east of us? The snow is just a reminder of what’s coming. It won’t last long. The river looks larger from here because you’re seeing the entire width of it. I take a small tributary that leads to Morrison Bayou, where Miss Morton’s cabin is,” Wiley explained. “There are a lot of interesting streams you can only get to in a small boat. Stick with me, and I’ll show you places no one else has seen.”
“Is that right
?” Flirting was out of Esme’s comfort zone, but she was so relaxed she slid into the role without effort. “I’m ready for another adventure.”
Wiley laughed, looking over at her as he navigated the back roads. “You haven’t had enough yet?”
“I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment,” she answered.
“Well, I promise to make it fun, okay?”
She nodded and smiled. “Fun is good,” she said. “It feels like a while since I had any fun.”
“Okay, I am going to make it my goal to show you fun before you go back to New York,” Wiley said.
Esme turned to him. “I think I’m going to stay. My dad is coming Tuesday; he put the house on the market. We might never leave.”
“Wow, really? That’s a big decision to make based on a week,” he said, trying not to preach. “I mean, it’s great, but you must be scared.”
Esme sighed, looking out the window. “I feel sort of numb, to be honest. I have no idea where this is going. Confidentially, Ravenna’s children aren’t too thrilled with me being around. They started it, but I bet they’re sorry now. Except for April, they act like they can hardly stand the sight of me.”
“Well, I can tell you Miss Morton is very happy you’re here. You really did this for her, didn’t you? Travel halfway across the country? I wouldn’t worry at all about the kids.”
Esme stole a peek at Wiley. He was sounding defensive on her behalf, and it pleased her.
A divot in the dirt road led to where others had parked before. They’d arrived at the cabin. Wiley walked around the front of the truck to wait for Esme. Unexpectedly, his feelings for her were growing after a long time without a relationship. “Before we go inside, can we talk about this afternoon?”
“Sure,” Esme said, heart falling. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“No, not at all. But it will take less than an hour to get back to town after sunset. Would you have dinner with me?”
“Yes, I’d like that,” she said, heart racing, trying not to appear too eager but then thinking, Who am I kidding? “I’d love it.”
Wiley resisted taking her hand; he was sure Ravenna was peering out the window at them and didn’t want her questions about Wiley to embarrass Esme.
Ravenna was returning from her hike through the woods along the Kalamazoo River. Property owners were used to seeing her, and in all the years she’d hiked along the banks, no one had ever come out to inquire how she was doing. They accepted the Indian lady who lived in the cabin.
The isolation didn’t affect her until Esme had arrived. She longed to tell someone, anyone, the story about the baby daughter taken from her, who’d died last summer before they could meet, and now her granddaughter was here. It was the kind of information she imagined church friends would share, and she fantasized about a group of well-wishers knocking on her door with baskets of food and greeting cards. Her own family was tired of it already, some odd jealousy or discontent that Ravenna didn’t understand had been stirred up by Esme’s presence.
On the ground, something white caught her eye, glistening in the light from the rising sun, and she bent over to get it, picking through not-quite-frozen mud. It was the skull of a tiny vole. She crouched down without effort and carefully dug through to see if the entire skeleton was there, and it was. Reaching into her pocket with muddied fingers, she brought out a square she’d cut from Mike’s Sunday paper and placed the bones upon it. Folding it into a neat package, she straightened up and stuck it back in her pocket. The finding inspired her to look for more treasure, and she ended up staying out longer than she’d planned, as feathers and spent nests and pieces of glass got her attention.
The weather was at the stage where it was still autumn, because the leaves hadn’t fallen completely off the trees, and the squirrels were still hoarding acorns, and the river was still running. But every so often a tiny dot of snow would fall. Ravenna looked up at the sky and uttered a prayer. “Thank you for the solid water that falls from the sky.” Each drop of water was important for the earth. She arrived back at the cabin at the same time Wiley and Esme got there.
“Hoot!” Wiley called. They were standing at the back door, waiting with smiles.
Ravenna was happy her granddaughter had returned. The way the children behaved the last time they were together needed to be addressed, but maybe not right now. The little break they’d had from each other helped Ravenna to regain her perspective about what Esme was, and she wasn’t a replacement for Maria. The others would have to find their own way with it, but Ravenna was embracing Esme. She wanted her in her life and would do what she had to, to facilitate it.
“Hoot,” Ravenna called. Patting her bulging pockets, she smiled a conspirator’s smile. “I’ve got loot. The foraging was good for bones today.”
“What kind of bones?” Esme asked, remembering the eagle skeleton.
“Nothing like the eagle,” she answered, reading Esme’s thoughts. “A vole, and a snail shell, and some other things.”
Bringing out the bundles, she chose a smaller one and unfolded the corners. In the center lay a spider web of snail shell, the elements having dissolved the thinner keratin, leaving behind a gossamer swirl.
Esme stepped closer. “Oh, it’s lovely.”
“I have an idea for a basket,” Ravenna replied. “I can’t wait to try it out. Come inside, you two. I need my tea.”
“Miss Morton, if you’ll excuse me, I better head home. But I’ll be back in a boat at four for Esme.”
“April or one of the others can take her home,” Ravenna said.
“We’re going out to the big lake to watch the sunset tonight,” he answered, certain that would put an end to the questions.
Ravenna turned and looked at him with no expression but for a slight grin. She rattled something off in Ojibwe, and Wiley answered her back.
“She’s teasing me,” he said, looking at Esme.
“Someday I’ll invite myself to go along, but not the first time,” Ravenna said, smiling. “Good-bye, Wiley Hoffman. Move on so I can talk to my granddaughter.”
Ravenna fixed tea while Esme took off her coat and hung it up on the peg where the other coats hung.
“Today I want to hear about your mother,” Ravenna said. “I want to know what kind of a childhood she had, if you are able to tell me. What were your yiayia and papou like, that sort of thing.”
“I’ll be happy to tell you what I know. But even better, my father is coming Tuesday. He’s flying in and staying at the inn.”
Ravenna walked to the table with the cups of tea. The father was coming to strangers? She tried to imagine what his purpose might be. Why leave the marriage house so soon after Maria’s death? All of those memories left behind.
“He’ll get homesick,” Ravenna stated.
“Well, he’s selling the house, so he’ll have to get used to it.”
Selling the house? Ravenna looked around the cabin. She loathed having to leave it for any length of time and, even on her expeditions through the woods for an hour, couldn’t wait to return. How could he sell the house?
“I can’t imagine selling my house,” Ravenna admitted. “I was born here. My mother was born here. All my children, too.”
“I think my dad believes he’ll be closer to mother here, around me and you. The house is just a vessel. It doesn’t mean anything to him now. He told me he could hardly stand waiting to leave. I hope he can find mother here. This place holds no memories for me, nor would it for her, so I don’t understand his logic.”
But Ravenna was beginning to see what John Wynd might have in mind. “I bet when he sees you and me and, of course, April, he’ll think of your mother. He probably misses you, Esme,” Ravenna said softly. “Did it occur to you that you could go back to New York and save him the trip?”
“No, actually it didn’t, and if it did, I’d fight it. There is nothing there for me without my mom.” She sipped her tea. “Do you want me to leave?” Now here was a new thought.
>
“Oh no, no, no. You being here might have opened a can of worms, but it must be dealt with.” She sighed.
Esme felt badly that her presence wasn’t going to allow the Mortons to stay put. They would be moving along whether they wanted it or not.
***
Thankfully, Ravenna didn’t notice George Patos’ package Esme brought into the cabin. She’d stashed it under a bench along the wall and kept reminding herself not to forget to give it to April.
Chapter 21
Dexter pushed the garage-door opener button while he sat in the driveway with his father. Waiting to gain entrance, he saw Faye in the living room window, watching. It scared him to have to face her, but he’d be shocked when he discovered what she was really thinking.
She was confused. Dexter bringing his father home was so out of character it was in the same category as Faye deciding to get pregnant and starting a family, disrupting their perfectly arranged lives. Not that she wanted children. When the idea floated through her mind, usually each month as she waited for her period to start, she entertained it for a few days, and it seemed parenthood would suit her, maybe. Two months ago, she was late, and by the sixth day, she was convinced she was pregnant. The gynecologist she went to no longer did obstetrics, but she would see Faye to find out why she was late. Faye had already scoured the internet for obstetricians and was excitedly planning who she’d transfer her records to when her doctor finally came into the room to examine her.
“I see you’re on the pill,” she said, reading Faye’s chart. “Chances are very slim that you’re pregnant.”
Lying back on the exam table with her legs in the cold metal stirrups, Faye was hopeful. “But not impossible, correct?”
The Liberation of Ravenna Morton Page 18