The family was laughing about some silly joke Georgey had told when they pulled up to Grampa John’s front porch. Hank had squirmed through every word of the sermon and kept checking his wristwatch. For whatever reason, he was concerned about the old man and was anxious to check on him. The kids thought it was funny. Grampa John never needed anything. Elle didn’t sing a note. A few times, she even shifted uneasily in the pew.
Hank turned off the ignition but paused before getting out. The hesitation was long enough to replace the laughter with an eerie silence. The scene looked no different from a thousand other lazy afternoons. Grampa John was sitting in his chair. His body was still and, without a doubt, he was sawing enough wood to beat a chain saw.
Climbing out of the truck, everyone took on Hank’s wide-eyed stare. There were no snores. They walked closer and still, there was silence. As if they knew, everyone stood back a few feet, while Hank approached his napping father. “Pa,” he said, shaking him. “PA!” The word got louder and the shaking more violent. The old man refused to open his eyes. Just then, the wind chimes sang out in the still air. “He’s gone,” Hank whimpered. “He’s gone to be with Ma.”
“No!” Tara squealed.
In one loud bang, Hank dropped to his knees and wept like a child. As he hyperventilated, he kept repeating, “I’m sorry, Pa. I’m so sorry for what I done.” Except for Hank, no one could have possibly fathomed the many reasons for the heartfelt apology. Hank’s chest felt constricted, as though he’d just smoked a sheep.
Hank’s pain was contagious and with desperation, the family grabbed for each other. As they stood weeping, consoling each other in the warm rain, an invisible tornado tore through each of their hearts. There was only one Grampa John. He was no longer with them and he was never coming back.
CHAPTER 20
Almost seven months to the day Alice had passed away, John decided to join her. The townsfolk said, “He died of a broken heart.” Although Elle humored each similar comment with a smile, she knew better. The truth of the matter is that when Pa fulfilled his purpose in life, he wasn’t about to stick around for just the loneliness and sorrow. Elle knew much better. Pa’s death was nothing more than a decision.
Two full weeks had crawled by after the old man’s funeral before Elle dared to enter the house. It was so quiet and humble, with no frills and just the bare essentials. Most of the walls were covered with yellow, dog-eared pictures of the family, creating a museum of sorts. Slowly climbing the stairs, she took in many of the pictures that cluttered the walls. So many memories were made in this house, she thought, so many wishes cast from its windows. She sighed. So much love knitted to make a family. To her, it wasn’t sad at all. They’d been lucky to have Grampa John for as long as they did. In fact, because he was so needed he probably stayed around longer than he wanted to. He lived with a broken heart at the end, she thought, and all the pain of his loss is easily worth the wisdom, peace and love he gave so generously. She wouldn’t have traded it back to spare a moment of the intense grieving. Broken hearts or no broken hearts, our family’s been blessed.
Just inside her in-law’s bedroom, Elle stopped. For people who had so little, the McCarthys had so much to be thankful for. Elle could still picture Alice lying in the big bed, playing with the small rag doll she’d given her. She could envision Pa sitting at his small table, writing by candlelight. The thought stuck and became a question: What was he writing anyway?
Elle continued to scan the room. The furniture was old and scratched but even that had character. Suddenly, she saw it and her eyes filled. Pa must have seen his own death, she figured. On an ancient mahogany chest of drawers, his every worldly possession had been placed in a nice, neat row. Everything that meant anything to him was just sitting there. Collectively, if sold, it wasn’t worth enough to pay for a decent dinner. Yet, when Elle’s eyes caught it, it was as though she discovered the most precious treasure on earth. “Oh, Pa,” she whispered. Like her late mother-in-law, she could only giggle.
There was his jackknife, pocket watch, harmonica, leather-bound Bible and another book—his journal. Elle picked it up and skimmed through it. It contained the old man’s deepest and most intimate thoughts. Many were his last thoughts. She felt like she was intruding on his privacy and almost put it down when she caught her husband’s name; Hank. It had been written over and over. She took a seat at the edge of the bed and began to read.
From the very first word, she felt a peace that could only be described as redemption. The tears let loose; they were tears of joy.
An hour later, Elle emerged from her father-in-law’s soul and did what she could to regain her composure. Placing each item that sat on the bureau into a pillowcase, she headed out like a burglar in the night. She held the loot close to her chest. She’d been given the great responsibility of watching over the most valuable items on earth. She couldn’t help it. Big John McCarthy really was a good man, she decided, and began crying again. It felt good. It had been years since she’d allowed herself the luxury.
The following morning, to Hank’s surprise, Elle said, “If there are no objections, I’d like us all to gather together on Grampa John’s front porch after breakfast. I have something that I need to show all of you.”
Everyone looked to Hank—who was curious about the request. He nodded, threw his napkin into his plate and followed his wife.
Once the entire family was on the porch, she revealed a bulging pillow case. They were confused. She was beaming with joy.
Turning to Georgey first, she reached into the bag and pulled out Grampa John’s jackknife. It was the very knife that had carved their names into the seat of the rocking chair, the knife that had spent years whittling everything from Christmas ornaments and toys to overgrown toenails. Best of all, it was a reminder of the love that worked behind it. Elle broke through the urge to mumble. “Grampa John left this for you. He said, ‘Go on and use it to cut away the pain of the past.’”
George grinned through his haze of tears.
Elle shrugged. “He said you’d know what that meant.”
Georgey nodded and looked skyward. “Thank you, Grampa John,” he murmured, and then turned and walked off. He undoubtedly needed some time alone with his grandfather.
Tears streamed down Evan’s face. He had no idea what the gift meant, but judging from the look on his older brother’s face, it meant the world. His tears had shifted from his own loss to Georgey’s gain.
Elle removed the pocket watch and looked at Evan. “Your grandfather said to tell you there’s little time to make the difference you’re intended to make. He said, ‘Only you can do it. Now, get goin’!’” The last three words were the best impression she could give of Grampa John. It wasn’t very good but the lump in her throat wasn’t being fair.
“I will,” Evan replied. “I promise.” Soon, he was also lost in the shadows of the morning. He, too, needed the privacy to say a proper thank you.
Tara hovered over the bag like a kid at Christmas.
Trembling, Elle pulled out the harmonica and cried, “Grampa John said your most important job is to make beautiful music with your children.” Wrapping her arms around her daughter, she squeaked, “He claims that he and Grandma will be dancin’ to every note.”
Tara and her mom hugged for what seemed forever. When they broke apart, Hank handed Lila to her mom. Hand in hand, the two walked off. The twang of the harmonica could still be heard long after their silhouettes had vanished.
Hank waited his turn. Elle turned to him and explained. “Pa left me his Bible … said it meant the world to him and that he wanted me to have it.”
Hank nodded. “It’s only right,” he mumbled.
She placed her hand against his cheek. “And he left you everything else, Hank … the land, the farm, the house. He said although you may have forgotten, it was always yours anyway.”
Hank’s head snapped back at her but he said nothing. It was an old story. Instead, he ran his fingers through
his thinning hair, pulled his pants over his paunch midsection and nodded. In their souvenirs, Elle and the kids each got a piece of Pa’s heart. Hank’s gift was less personal. But he guessed it only seemed proper. That’s just the way things were between us, he thought. How can I complain? I got the whole damn farm!
Without a word, Hank collapsed into the rocking chair. To his surprise, it felt comfortable.
For the first time since his childhood, Hank scanned the land from his pa’s view. Everything looked different from the chair. Better yet, it felt peaceful. The towering mountains no longer lurked like prison walls. They actually offered a sense of safety. Hank couldn’t get over it. Struggling to make sense of this new perspective, he looked up to find Elle standing over him. She was holding a book.
For a time, she couldn’t speak. Emotion had muted her. Finally, she said, “I wanted to wait until the time was right … until we were alone and you were ready. But I think you’ve already waited too long to hear it …”
Hank’s curiosity cut off the babble. “What is it?” he asked in a soft, scratchy voice.
“Your pa also left you his journal. He’s been writing in it for quite some time.”
Hank threw his frustrated head into his hands. “But I can’t read!” he cried, and bowed his shaking head. Looks like the last laugh’s on me, he thought.
Ever so softly, Elle replied, “But I can.” She grabbed his arm and brought his attention back to her. “Hank, Pa never knew you couldn’t read. And you knew even less about him.” Ignoring Hank’s defensive posture, she began to pronounce each word clearly.
“I’ve had dreams of Alice callin’ me home and I reckon my time is close. But I’d leave a pig-headed fool without makin’ a few things clear. I reckon I’ve lived a life most men could only hope for. I had folks that taught me right. I found a woman that loved me right. I worked a farm that treated me right. But none of it ever added up to the love I had for my boy, Hank. Even if I owned words fancy enough, I couldn’t start to say how much I love that stubborn boy.”
With a swollen Adam’s apple, Hank looked up at Elle and whispered, “You must be pullin’ my leg, Elle.” The oldest hurts began pushing to the surface. It was like a tidal wave preparing to break. Elle shook her head and she wasn’t smiling. Hank’s entire body began to shake.
She continued sharing the old man’s heartfelt words. “I don’t figure a man knows love without conditions ’til he sees his own blood runnin’ through a smaller body. It just so happens my blood turned out wilder than the wind. To tell the truth, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. From the time my boy Hank came into the world, I never stopped smilin’. There wasn’t no room for brothers and sisters. I figure the good Lord knows what He’s doin’. After Hank, there wasn’t no room left in my heart for more young.”
Elle paused to wipe her nose. It was running at a sprint.
Hank was bent in half, the tears cleansing out the blackness of his soul. The stains were old and deep, so he cried—without restraint.
She read, “He grew strong in his body and his mind. He bucked to find his own way, so I let him be. Maybe I let him be too long ’cause when I went back to fetch him he wasn’t there no more. I ain’t never known a pain worse than that.”
Elle’s voice had turned to a whine but she continued.
“Elle and him had their young and did a real fine job raisin’ ’em. Figurin’ I must have had somethin’ to do with that, it made me prouder than anything I’d ever done myself. Hank was a good provider. He’s a good father. He’ll make a great grampa.”
Hank’s body convulsed at each word. Years of anguish were being purged from his soul. Finally and quite mercifully, he was being healed.
She read, “Bein’ at the end of the road, it’s a wonderful thing to look back and remember. I suppose that’s the only reason folks even bother to travel down it. Most pictures of yesterday are good. But in my life, there’s always been one regret that’s made me squirm in my sleep.” Elle paused and met Hank’s eyes. “I never had the guts to tell my own blood how I felt about him.”
Elle stopped.
Hank rubbed her leg to go on. “Please,” he whimpered. He’d always needed to hear it.
“Hank …” It was as if the old man was right there talking to him. “I love you, son. I always have. And I’m so proud of the man you turned out to be. But if you need to know one thing I never taught you, it’s this. Don’t wait ’til you’re toes up to tell people how you feel. If you love ’em, then tell ’em. I did my best every day to show you how I felt but I learned the hard way. It ain’t enough. Swallow that fool pride you got from me. Tell your wife what you think of her. Tell your kids. And no matter how old you get, Hank, never forget that your pa loves you deep.”
Hank didn’t think a man could cry as much as he did. Elle matched his every tear. Catching her breath, she giggled. “There’s a P.S.”
Hank couldn’t speak, but managed a grin and waited.
She cleared her throat. “And enjoy the rockin’ chair. There ain’t no better place in the world. I’ll be seein’ ya soon. Love always, Pa.”
Slowly, Elle closed the book and bent to kiss the top of her husband’s head. Wiping her eyes, she turned to go into the house. Hank had carried the weight for years, so it was going to take a few hours to get used to it not being there.
“Elle,” Hank called out, stopping her. “I love you,” he whimpered. “And I’m so sorry for …”
“I know,” she sniffled. She was crying again. “Me too.” As he stood, she stepped up to meet him. For a long while, they hugged. “I really do love you, Hank,” she whispered. “And things are going to be okay now. I just know they will.”
Time passed by as it always does. Hank could tell by the coolness on his skin. He opened his eyes. The sun was diving down and so was the air temperature. Looking back onto the farm, he caught George stepping out of the barn. Three Speed’s mud-stained legs were stuck to George’s shins like magnets. Their eyes met. George waved. Hank waved back and thought, Look at him. He’s already workin’ the land. It was then that Hank realized his eldest boy never had to leave the farm to meet his fate. Georgey’s always been a farmer at heart.
Looking east, Hank caught Evan sitting under the new shade of an apple tree. His head was buried in a notebook and his hand was moving like lightning. He must be workin’ on his book. Hank couldn’t have been more proud and made a mental note, I’ll tell him at supper.
Hank then looked over at the new barn and smiled. Thank you, Pa, he thought, and looked skyward to add a nod of appreciation.
Tara and Lila’s voices spilled through the screen door. The baby was asking for candy but Tara stood firm. “You’ll ruin your supper,” she insisted. There was mumbling and then laughter. The echoes made Hank beam. It’s been too long since there’s been any laughter in this old house.
Hank removed his own jackknife and began carving into the rocking chair’s seat. He wasn’t past the letter L when the screen door flew open. It was Lila. She jumped into his lap, while Hank folded up the knife and put it away. There’ll be plenty of time to add her name later, he thought.
Catching him off guard, Lila looked right in his eyes. “I love you, Grampy,” she said.
Without batting a puffy eye, Hank broke the long and heavy chain of a family burden. “And I love you too, sweetheart,” he said. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he handed her a mint and then placed his finger to his mouth. “Shhhh,” he whispered.
She popped the candy into her puckered lips and giggled. “Grampy?” she asked, through a sucking sound. “Tell me a story.”
Hank eased back in his chair, searched the blessings of his memory and smiled. Pa was right, he thought. Just bein’ able to recall my yesterdays has made ’em all worthwhile. With a sigh of wisdom, he said, “Sweetheart, I remember when …”
The Rockin’ Chair
On a porch, beneath the shade,
the good ol’ days when we just played;
; Grampa in the rockin’ chair,
pouring ice-cold lemonade.
Autumn leaves, the church bells rang;
our Sunday’s best, off note—we sang.
Standing guard, the rockin’ chair,
waiting for our sinless gang.
The icy wind, the woods—it tames.
Inside, the warmth of winter games
One snow-covered rockin’ chair
conceals the carvings of our names.
The robin’s chirp, a daffodil.
On a butterfly’s wings,
our screams would spill.
Daddy in the rockin’ chair,
sawing wood, his body still.
The calendars change,
along with our sizes.
A blue ragtop, with flipped-up visors.
The creak of an empty rockin’ chair
expects no more surprises.
Another hot sun, a lazy noon nap.
A mosquito’s bite,
too late with the slap.
In that faded rockin’ chair,
I dream with my son in my lap.
Evan McCarthy, Author (10 years later)
OTHER NOVELS BY STEVEN MANCHESTER
We hope you enjoyed The Rockin’ Chair. Please let us know your thoughts at [email protected]. Meanwhile, we thought you might like a sample of the author’s two other novels.
TWELVE MONTHS
Don DiMarco has a very good life—a family he loves, a comfortable lifestyle, passions and interests that keep him amused. He also thought he had time, but that turned out not to be the case. Faced with news that might have immediately felled most, Don now wonders if he has time enough. Time enough to show his wife the romance he didn’t always lavish on her. Time enough to live out his most ambitious fantasies. Time enough to close the circle on some of his most aching unresolved relationships. Summoning an inner strength he barely realized he possessed, Don sets off to prove that twelve months is time enough to live a life in full.
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