A Thousand Voices

by Lisa Wingate

  In Ukraine, the burning need to answer the larger questions, to find out who I really was and where I’d come from, was eclipsed by the small challenges of everyday life—getting enough food and water, living in a building with an aging electrical system that seemed to have a mind of its own, the difficulty of teaching important lessons from ragged textbooks, and from the heart.

  When the obstacles are that basic, you realize how much of life is only window dressing. Climbing into the shower at the campground, I was aware of that fact again. Even this facility was more than what was needed, more than the girls at the orphanage could expect, more than I’d expected as a child. At Granny’s house, water came through the faucet in a rust-colored trickle, when it came at all. If the turkey farms farther up the rural water line were washing chick barns that day, you had to wait, or go clean up at the river.

  When I was like those girls in the orphanage, I’d learned to accept life as it was, to seek contentment in small things—the cool river currents swirling around my legs, leaves whispering overhead, sunlight so warm it enveloped my body and soaked down deep inside me during long afternoons lying on sandbars, or exploring far down the riverbank because I had nothing better to do. I dreamed of running away down the river, of becoming someone else. I started that journey a thousand times, but I never had the courage to go beyond what I knew.

  I didn’t want this trip to Oklahoma to end that way, with me standing at the edge of the known world, afraid to take a step into whatever might be waiting outside. Closing my eyes, I let the water wash over me and promised myself, This time I’ll have the courage to follow the river….

  When I stepped out of the shower, the bathroom was full of Reid women getting dressed, washing, and putting clothes on squirming kids. The air was alive with voices and laughter. Lana brushed by me, muttering about the water being out in her camper, and everybody taking way too long in the park showers. With a pointed glance at me, she disappeared into one of the showers.

  If the rest of them thought I was in the way, they didn’t show it. As I stood at the mirror, the conversation continued pleasantly around me. Eventually I was called upon to tell the tale of the early-morning skunk encounter.

  When I reached the part about the skunk running up the dryer hose, Shasta’s mom laughed so hard she doubled over. “Lord o’ mercy. I wish I’d gotten out of my tent in time to see that.”

  “Well, if you wouldn’t sleep buck-naked, you’d get out quicker,” one of the other women hollered.

  “I’d of gone out there buck-naked if I knew a skunk was gonna run up her vent pipe. God bless Brother Skunk.”

  “Maybe she’ll pack up her stuff and leave,” Shasta snapped as she pulled a shirt over Benjamin’s head, then tucked it into his shorts. “I’m so sick of her giving us dirty looks and calling the dadgum park ranger. She’s such a witch.”

  “Stupid white lady,” one of the younger girls muttered.

  “Hush, now,” her mother murmured. A blond woman and a little girl had just come in the door. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. The woman hustled her daughter toward the restroom stall and waited by the door, her arms threaded uncomfortably over her stomach.

  I knew exactly how she felt. In my mind, I saw myself standing in a room full of people who were different from me, feeling conspicuously unlike them, unwelcome.

  “Here, you can have my sink. I’m done,” I said as her little girl came out of the stall. For just an instant, her face and mine were in the mirror, our gazes connecting momentarily. She had pretty eyes. Blue eyes. The kind I’d always wanted.

  “Thanks,” she said as I turned away.

  Lana, exiting the shower area, huffed and leaned against the wall, waiting for a spot at the mirror. The woman with the blue eyes hurried her little girl through washing her hands and left the restroom without even stopping to grab a paper towel.

  I threaded my way past the crowd of Reid women, then grabbed my duffel bag and went to sit on the bench outside to brush my hair. Shasta came out and sat beside me. “You have to ignore them sometimes. Some of the family can be a little redneck about things, but they don’t mean any harm. They just get used to being around their own people, you know? That’s why Cody and I are gonna move over to McAlester, as soon as I get done having this baby. Cody’s got a friend who can get him on with the sheriff’s department over there. Mama will have a fit, but she’ll just have to live with it. I don’t want my kids growing up thinking there’s not a whole other world out there. In our family, everyone’s born here, and they die here, and in between they teach at the Indian school, or work at Arrowhead Resort, or at the Choctaw Casino.”

  Rubbing her stomach, she squinted toward the lake as a speedboat roared by. “I want my kids to get out in the world.” Her eyes were far away, filled with the yearning I felt when I looked down the river. I was struck by what a paradox we were—me trying to find my way into this world, and her trying to find her way out.

  Drumming her palms on the bench, she turned back to me. “So, I guess your family—your adopted family, I mean—are white? I figured they were last night when we were talking, but you didn’t exactly say.”

  The question made me shift away uncomfortably. I sat cleaning long, dark strands from the hairbrush, pretending to be occupied. “Yeah,” I said.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I’m being too nosy.” Grimacing, she rubbed her stomach, then changed positions, sitting on the bench with her legs crisscrossed and her belly protruding. “Ouch. Gosh, this baby kicks sometimes. I hate being pregnant.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. I’m sorry? That’s too bad? It’ll all be worth it in the end? I considered telling her about Mrs. Bradford, and how she’d gone through years of infertility treatments, trying to get pregnant. It wasn’t something to be taken for granted. Some people yearned, and hoped, and wanted for years, and were never able to have a baby.

  And some people had a baby, and left it behind, and never thought about it again. Life was full of painful realities, for which there seemed to be no explanation.

  “This one wasn’t planned.” Bowing her head, Shasta slid her hands under her stomach, her hair falling forward so that she was cupped protectively around the baby. “But I’m not sorry about it. Benjamin’s such a doll, and he’s so much fun at this age. I’d take five more if I didn’t have to be pregnant with them.” There was a defensiveness in the comment, as if she were trying to convince not only me but also herself.

  “He’s really cute.” I looked around for Benjamin, then realized he must still be inside the building. “Your little boy, I mean.”

  She smiled tenderly. “He looks like his daddy.”

  We sat silent for a few moments, having run out of things to say. Finally, Shasta swung her legs around the end of the bench. “Guess we could start back. Nana Jo will be on the warpath if we’re not ready on time.” Leaning toward the restroom, she hollered, “Mama, we’re going to walk back down. Is Benji staying with you?”

  “He’s fine,” Gwendolyn replied from somewhere within. “Y’all go on.”

  Shasta braced her hands on the bench, preparing to push herself to her feet.

  “Here.” I stood up and held out my arm to pull her up. She grabbed my hand, and I stumbled forward, unprepared for her weight against mine.

  “I know. I’m like a Mack truck,” she muttered as we started down the park road.

  “You look good.”

  “Ffff,” she spat. “Hardly.”

  We laughed together, then continued along in silence until, as usual, Shasta restarted the conversation. “I didn’t mean to scare you off, asking about your family again and stuff. I just think it’s interesting—you know, you coming here looking for your biological relations. You’re like one of those people on Oprah, in search of lost loves.”

  “It’s not quite that dramatic.” I tried to imagine myself at the center of some fantastic story about a long-lost baby girl, a birth family who had been searching for year
s, counting every birthday, mourning an empty space at the table every holiday, stacking unopened Christmas presents in a corner somewhere, in hopes that one day the family would be complete again, and every gift would be opened. “I probably won’t find anything.”

  “You might.” I felt Shasta’s hand warm on my shoulder. “You never know. Nana Jo says there are lots of Clays around here. There’s even some in our family. We might be long-lost cousins.”

  I flushed at the idea that she’d mentioned my search to Nana Jo. “We might be.” But it was about as unlikely as snowflakes in June. Odds were pretty slim that, by pure luck or happenstance, I’d ended up camped next to members of my father’s family. Still, it was nice to imagine myself as one of the Reid clan.

  “Jace said he’d help you look for information later today, if you want,” Shasta went on. “He’s tied up giving tours at the Choctaw Museum this morning, but he could help you after that. He has his students do family genealogy all the time. They’ve even started a library at the school, and—” Arresting the sentence, she grimaced. “Was I supposed to keep that stuff you told me last night a secret?” Clearly, I looked as embarrassed as I felt.

  “No,” I said, trying to put on an impassive mask, to hide the feelings of shame and guilt, the sense of forbidden territory that had always surrounded any mention of my biological family.

  “Oh, good.” Shasta blew out a quick sigh. “For a minute there I thought I’d messed up. Mama says I’m bad about being in other people’s business. Of course, she’s a fine one to talk, considering I learned it from her and Nana Jo.”

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  For better or worse, the Reid clan now knew my secrets.

  CHAPTER 11

  Lana caught up with us on the road and made some snippy comment about Benjamin throwing a fit in the restroom because he wanted to walk back to camp with his mom, rather than waiting for his grandmother. “I offered to bring him down here to you, but he wouldn’t go with me,” she said, giving Shasta a narrow sideways look. “He threw himself in the corner and had a fit. He certainly has a mind of his own.” Her body language added, What a brat.

  “He doesn’t know you, Lana.” Shasta barely even attempted to sound pleasant. “We’ve taught him not to go with strangers.”

  Lana straightened upward like a viper sizing up a mouse. “You’re such a good little mother, Shasta, I’m sure you have.” As Lana worked up the rest of her retort, it looked like we might be headed for what Grandma Rose always called a spit-and-claw hair-snatchin’ session. I planned to jump in on Shasta’s side, given that she was pregnant, and I already couldn’t stand Lana.

  Pursing her lips, Lana glanced back toward the restroom. “I just thought you might want to go back and take care of it, since you are his mother. I’m sure your friend can find her way back to her car on her own.” Blinking in my direction, Lana forced a smile. “Did you make it all right last night, sweetie? I heard you had a little adventure this morning. Guess I slept right through it.”

  “Oh,” I muttered, an old sensation clenching the bottom of my stomach, making it seem like I was shrinking. I felt like the little fourth-grade nothing getting on the school bus, watching kids whisper and giggle because my jeans were too short and smelled like musty house, dog hair, and river dirt. Come on, Dell, think of something smart to say, a part of me whispered now. That’s what Shasta would do. The other part of me, like always, wanted to get to the back of the bus and hide.

  “Yeah,” Shasta piped up. “It’s a good thing Dell was there. She probably saved Autumn and Willie from getting sprayed and, man, that would have ruined the campout. Dell put the kids in her car with her and they had a little party in there until help came.” Waving her hands in the air, Shasta feigned amazement. “Jace was so grateful, and the kids think Dell’s just about the coolest person they’ve ever met, isn’t that great?”

  Lana didn’t answer immediately, but paused to clear her throat, the side of her jaw clenching as she checked her watch. “I’m going to be late for work,” she muttered to no one in particular, then quickened her step and moved ahead of us.

  “’Kay,” Shasta called after her. “See ya. Sorry you can’t go to breakfast with us.” Convulsing in a withheld giggle, Shasta slapped the air in front of herself, then patted her chest, trying to catch her breath. “Oh, that was great. That was great. She’s been trying to get Jace’s kids to like her forever, and they know she’s a witch. I can’t figure out why Jace doesn’t see that they can’t stand her.” She watched Lana disappear into the campsite. “Good thing she’s working again, or we’d have to put up with her all day. The school finally got rid of her because she was, like, using the school phone and e-mail to harass her ex. How stupid is that? I can’t even believe anybody else would give her a job. I hope she’s working for city sanitation or something.” Shasta hooked her arm in mine like she’d known me all her life, and we moved on down the road, partners in crime.

  Shasta’s good mood didn’t last long after we reached camp. Her husband, Cody, a stocky, good-looking guy with burr-cut black hair and a round face that made him seem younger than twenty-one, had decided to take their truck and go fishing with some other men, which left Shasta without a vehicle and in charge of their son for the morning. She wasn’t happy about it.

  “It was your turn to watch him last night, Cody,” she complained as she wrestled a baby seat from the truck. “When you went fishing with Uncle Rube and Danny-Tom yesterday, you said as soon as you were done, you’d watch Benjamin. But when you got back, you went in the tent and crashed.”

  “I took him in the tent with me,” Cody argued, loading fishing poles into the back of the truck.

  Shasta snorted. “He wasn’t tired. He got back up, and it was almost midnight before I got him down. I can’t do everything, Cody.” Yanking the child seat out with the seat belt still attached, she sent the buckle snapping back against the doorframe with a resounding clang.

  “Hey, Babe, easy on the truck.” Licking a finger, Cody attempted to rub away the impact mark, then kissed Shasta’s cheek. “I’ll meet you at the festival by eleven o’clock, and I’ll take Benji around and do the rides and stuff. Promise.”

  “Don’t even speak to me,” she shot back, waddling away with baby equipment on her hip.

  Cody shrugged, then gave a high sign toward Camp Reid. Dillon and Uncle Rube quickly emerged from behind the tents and jogged toward the truck. As they climbed in, they gave Cody atta-boy shoulder punches.

  “Man, she’s postal.” Dillon tossed a crumpled Coke can in the back.

  “She’s always postal,” Cody complained. “It’s a pain in the butt, being around a pregnant woman.”

  “Well, you know what causes that…” The rest of the comment was drowned out by the engine as Cody backed out of his parking space, and the truck rumbled past a crowd of Reid women, returning from the bathroom. Shasta’s mother braced her hands on her hips and gave the departure a dirty look, while Benjamin waved cheerfully at his daddy.

  Halfway between my camp and hers, Shasta stopped, spun on her heel, and came back. “Can I ride with you?” She glanced toward the road, where her mother was still glaring after the truck. “I don’t even want to hear what Mama has to say.”

  “Oh…ummm…sure.” I had the unwelcome sense of being a foxhole in an ongoing firefight. Gwendolyn looked mad enough to chase down the truck and drag Cody out with her bare hands. I opened my car door and took the baby seat. “Here, I know how to do this. I have nieces and nephews back in Kansas City.”

  “That’s cool.” Stretching her shoulders, Shasta rubbed the small of her back, then cupped a hand beside her mouth and called for Benjamin to come on. Pulling away from his grandmother, he started toward us in a stubby-legged run.

  Next door, the owners of the motor home were loading suitcases into their minivan.

  “I’m not stayin’ in this camper with that thing in the vent pipe, Raymond.” The woman threw a pink patent-leather makeup
case into the van. “All this camper foolishness was your idea. I told you I didn’t want to go tramping all over the country, staying in tacky trailer parks with wild animals, white trash, and other minorities. We should have bought the time-share in Florida. At least there, you know who your neighbors are.”

  Scratching his rear end through droopy zip-up coveralls, Raymond yawned and glanced at the vent hose with a lack of concern. “Oh, Irene, for heaven’s sake. That thing’s probably crawled out already.”

  Irene faced him with venom in her eyes. She’d exchanged the housecoat for a Hawaiian-print nylon jacket and parachute pants that made her look like a magnolia tree with two sturdy blue trunks. “I doubt that, with all the racket going on over there in that camp.” She fired a visual cannon shot at Camp Reid, where Jace and two teenage boys were securing coolers and plastic bins of food in the pickup camper. “Did you hear that gibberish they were talking earlier? Spanish, or something. Like they think they’re too good for all the rest of us. Somebody ought to tell them this is America—speak American.”

  Raymond gave his motor home a weary look, then closed the minivan tailgate as Irene flounced into the passenger seat. Coming around the van, he shrugged apologetically as I got into my car.

  Shasta, waddling up with her son in tow, gave the van a sneer. “Up you go,” she cooed as Benjamin climbed into the baby seat. “You’re such a big boy.”

  “Where Gammy?” he asked, trying to see around his mother to the group of women approaching on the road.

  “Gammy’ll be along in a minute with Nana Jo and everybody else.” Shasta ducked her head like a teenager trying to sneak out before her parents could stop her. “We’re gonna ride to the café with Dell, so we can show her the way, all right?”