by Kim Boykin
He rolled over and pulled me close to him and breathed a heavy sigh.
“Love you,” he said.
29
It’s easy to look back now and see things the way they were, the fact that on any given day, Winston started drinking anywhere between noon and four. He’d eat a late supper and then drink steadily until he passed out. Somewhere in all that, he managed to make Sara Jane’s notion of “whiskey dick” an old wives’ tale before he reached for a bottle of Scotch or bourbon, or whatever was handy, and finished himself off for the night.
I’ve often wondered how he could go to bed drunk like he did, night after night, only to wake up the next morning, horny as a goat, never feeling a lick of pain. I remember seeing my daddy suffer most mornings so that the only cure for him was a little hair of the dog, but Winston wasn’t like that at all. He was up every morning and out the door to work like he’d had nothing but a little sweet tea with dinner the night before.
Maybe if his body had chastised him more, he might not have taken to drinking. But he did, and drinking had become a part of who he was. Waking up with him pressed up against me, I never liked the sour smell of alcohol that came off his skin. The way he rested his chin on the crown of my head, he’d breathed on my hair all night so that it smelled like the bottom of a whiskey barrel. I didn’t mind it so much on that particular morning, because I was still high off of the words he mumbled in his sleep the night before. I lay there with his arm draped across my waist replaying them over and over again in my mind, putting an “I” in front of the garbled “love you.”
He woke up around seven, we showered together and went downstairs to a dining room that was full of people who must have come to “America’s premier mountain resort” to graze from buffet to buffet. I thought it was crazy for folks to eat like they were, it being Thanksgiving Day and all. I told Winston I thought I’d just have some juice and a piece of toast, but I don’t think he heard me, because he ordered an omelet for himself and a toasted pecan Belgian waffle one of the cooks recommended for me.
Those two fellows got to work on our order, dipping and flipping and sautéing all kinds of good things. The short, jet-black-skinned fellow handed me a pretty china plate with the biggest waffle I’d ever seen. He ladled some hot syrup over the top, plopped on a scoop of butter, and sent me on down the line where a tall, good-looking man with pretty skin the color of coffee with a good bit of cream was making three omelets at a time. He piled a big southwestern one onto Winston’s plate and moved on to the next person.
After breakfast, we walked down to the barn where the stableman had two horses ready to go. Winston’s horse was a fine black Tennessee Walker, and the man said the bay mare he saddled for me was, too. I don’t think she was a Walker because she was a rough ride. Winston’s horse, Jim, had the smooth gait of a merry-go-round horse.
“Have you ridden much?” the man asked as he showed me where to sign the liability waiver. I shook my head, and he looked at Winston like he had been told different.
“Her name’s Ariel. She’s a good girl. She won’t get away from you if you pay attention. She does get a little excited when you start back to the barn, but they all do.”
“We’ll be fine,” Winston said as he mounted his ride.
The man helped me up on Ariel’s back and tightened my saddle a little more. “They’re all good trail horses. If you get lost, just give them their head. They know the way back. You’d better watch her on the steep trails,” he told Winston, and I knew he wasn’t talking about Ariel. He looked like he wanted to say something else but didn’t; he patted Jim’s neck and walked off toward his little hole-in-the-wall office, most likely to pray for me.
We started out past a bunch of folks dressed in fancy red coats on horseback. Between them they must have had twenty-five dogs that barked and yelped like they thought they were going to die.
“They’re fox hunters,” Winston said over the noise.
It seemed unfair, that little fox being outnumbered like he was and all those serious hunters looking like they were going to war.
I wondered if any of them had even seen a mountain fox close-up before. A little vixen came into the yard one summer day, just as tame as you please, like she was coming to supper with the rest of daddy’s hunting dogs. With her acting the way she was, I knew she was rabid and yelled for Daddy. He was sleeping his toddy off in that old recliner on the front porch and fell all over himself, hollering at me to stay put while he got his gun.
She was so sweet that it seemed wrong to kill her, but it had to be done. The rabies had made her just crazy enough so that she wasn’t afraid of people anymore, and if Daddy hadn’t killed her right then, she would have been foaming at the mouth in a couple of days. She was a pretty thing, though, and smart, too. Even with the rabies, you could see that in her eyes.
A horn sounded, jerking me back from my daydream. The dogs barked even louder as they led the riders toward the woods. They all galloped at full tilt, which made Ariel wheel around and take off with them. I pulled back on the reins as hard as I could but she still cantered, which sure seemed more like an all-out run to me. Winston had to catch us and hold her bridle until the excitement passed. He leaned over in his saddle and talked to her in low, hushed tones that made her ears twitch back and forth with excitement.
That was the nicest time I ever spent with Winston, riding all day like we did, only stopping to eat a sack lunch from the saddlebags. Sometimes, if the trail was wide enough, we rode side by side and held hands. We rode as far as the trail went and got off to stretch a bit. Winston was different around horses. I guess he must have been around them a lot growing up, but he never said so.
I lay on the brown meadow grass that was soft and thick, and watched him tend to them before he lay down beside me.
“Last night,” I whispered, “what you said…”
He smiled and laid my head on his chest. “Champagne makes me crazy, throw in a little cognac and…I can’t imagine what I said.”
“Well, you said you loved me.”
He didn’t move, but I could feel his heart beating fast, and his breath was crazy like he was failing a lie detector test. I didn’t say anything. I let the silence make him talk.
“You know I care about you. That’s why I brought you here,” he said. “I like what we have, I like being with you and having you there when I wake up in the morning, but right now, that’s all I can give.”
I should have sifted through all those words and noticed that he never mentioned the word “love,” but I didn’t because we fooled around a little bit. We didn’t do it right there in the meadow. We just did enough to make everything, even with the absence of love, seem romantic. The ride back to the stable was easier than when we started out. It helped that Winston was in front of me so that Ariel stayed behind Jim. Both were anxious to get back to the paddock, so when we reached the clearing by the barn, the horses cantered a little bit and would have run if we hadn’t held them back. Ariel went right to her spot at the hitching post and waited while I slid off of her back. I thanked the stableman, who looked relieved I’d come back in one piece. Winston kissed me on the forehead and told me I rode well for not having ridden much. He put his arm around me as we headed back toward the hotel.
On the way up the mountain, between stops at the scenic overlooks, Winston had told me about the history of the resort that was built around a hot spring and the legend of the Indian brave who they say discovered it. He said there was an important gathering of tribes, and each tribe was supposed to send one representative. One young brave was eager to get to the gathering, so he ran and ran until he collapsed in exhaustion in the springs. The soothing waters revived him and gave him extraordinary powers, so that when he reached the tribal conference, he spoke so eloquently that he was chosen to lead all the tribes. There were other legends, but that’s the one I remember the most.
I was sore from all that riding, so we went swimming in one of those hot springs The
Homestead is famous for. I was amazed at how good I felt when I got out, so good that I think the legend of the Indian brave must have been a true story. I went back to the room, ran a hot bath, and soaked for a little while until Winston came and joined me. It was around six o’clock, I think. He’d been sober all day, but he must have gotten into the mini bar. I could smell Scotch on him, but he wasn’t drunk yet.
It was odd dressing for dinner at night, but I kind of liked it. Winston looked so good in his coat and tie, and I loved the way he made over me in my new dress as we walked down to the Grand Dining Room and waited to be seated. We walked to our table, and the maître d’ smiled at me and told me how lovely I looked, and he wasn’t just saying it. Everybody was looking at us because we were so beautiful.
Winston ordered a Scotch for himself, champagne for me.
“I really don’t like champagne much.”
He looked totally surprised and ordered a bottle of Cabernet instead.
“For my red girl,” he said, as he approved the wine before I tasted it.
A string quartet played songs I’d never heard before, classical, but beautiful. For the first time since I’d set foot though the door of The Homestead, I felt like I was part of the grandeur and not just a poor mountain girl pretending to be somebody. Winston reached across the table and held my hand. He looked at me, not so much with wanting, but with a look in his eyes that said he was comfortable with me. I ate my dinner almost giddy about the changes I was seeing in him.
“Winston Sawyer?” I heard a man behind me say. “My God, man, it is you. Sloshed, of course, but then I’ve come to expect that of you.”
Winston’s smile disappeared; he nodded at the man.
“And who might you be?” the stranger said to me, like he was better than everybody there.
“Zora May Adams,” I said, extending my hand like a grande dame who’d had too much to drink.
I’d never listened to myself before that night, never thought that I sounded like some hick from the holler, until then. But as soon as I said my name, Winston winced. He knew what was coming.
“Zora May Adams? Oh, well, dear, let’s not leave out the May. It gives your name such a mountain-esque ring, don’t you think?” The man laughed at me and then turned his attention to Winston. “Tell me now, did you find this one wandering the woods, or is this an Eliza Doolittle experiment from one of your classes?” He put his hand under my chin and I pulled away. “Really, Winston, I know your drinking is a disgrace to yourself and the department, but I can tell you, no matter how much Scotch you drink, this one will never be a fair lady.”
He might as well have punched me in the stomach. I trembled with anger and hurt. My stomach pulsed hard, keeping time with my racing heart. I was going to throw up. Winston just sat there, with a smart-ass look, and snagged the waiter for another drink.
“Zora, this is John Ridgeway, God of the English Department.” He reminded the waiter for a second time in less than a minute that he needed another drink. “Fuck you, John. Mind your own goddamn business.”
He nursed his new drink like nobody else was there, including me. John Ridgeway turned away, and walked out of the dining room toward the elevator.
“Asshole,” Winston said. Then he looked at me and tried to reach for my hand. “I’m sorry, did you want another drink?”
I know Winston saw me leave but didn’t come after me. He probably couldn’t have even if he had wanted to. I took the elevator to our floor, packed my things, splashed some cold water on my face, and carried my bag down to the lobby.
I scribbled a note on a piece of paper and then wadded it up. Winston deserved nothing, not even an explanation.
“Ma’am, it’s late. This is no time to be on mountain roads.”
“Just throw this away for me.”
“Ma’am, please don’t leave.” He took the note and tossed it into the trash can. “It’s really not a good idea for folks to go out in the mountains this late at night.”
“I am mountain folk.” I said it and walked out into the night.
30
Thank God I had the presence of mind to change clothes and put on some good walking shoes before I left because I wouldn’t have gotten very far in high heels and a sequined dress. I must have been a sight, walking down that country road crying like I was, with my suitcase in one hand, the contents of the mini bar stuffed in a shoe box. The closer I got to the main road, the harder I cried. When I finally reached the highway that hugged the side of the mountain, I threw those tiny liquor bottles as far and as hard as I could. Most of them went tumbling down the mountainside; the rest scattered in pieces across the pavement.
I remember the moon being nearly full, and I could see a little house in the distance. It wasn’t my home, but then it was, not the same exact home I had left, but a mountain home. I couldn’t tell how far away it was or exactly how to get there. All I knew was that I felt like I was going to die if I didn’t get to that house.
I started walking faster toward the light and would have run all the way if it weren’t for that blame suitcase. It took about an hour before I finally stumbled up the steps. There was a commotion inside as the porch lights suddenly came on and a hard-looking old woman opened the door.
“My Lord, child.”
I couldn’t say a word. I just fell into a heap on her porch and cried so hard, I almost passed out. She hollered for her husband to help get me inside, but the words were muffled. I was inside of a cocoon; the whole world was far-off and distant to me as they wrapped me in blankets and smothered me with mountain love.
Still, I couldn’t speak. All I could do was cry. She must have recognized me as one of her kind because she held me close and rocked me in her arms. Her husband made some warm milk and handed it to her to give to me. She held the cup up to my mouth, making me take little sips when I could.
“Drink it now, child. It’ll help you sleep.” Then she pressed her lips together and looked like she didn’t want to ask the question that was on her mind. “Did somebody hurt you?”
Well, that was all it took, and I went to sobbing again.
“Should we call the sheriff?”
When I shook my head, she knew it wasn’t that kind of hurt. They stayed up with me until I finally stopped crying.
“Rachel, I’m going on to bed. Are you going to be all right with her?”
The old woman reached out, touched her husband’s hand, and smiled at him in such a way that it made my heart ache.
“I been sick with the flu,” he said. “Ought not to be around nobody with this old fever. I didn’t think about it when I was helping you inside, sure hope you don’t get this mess.”
I nodded, and she smiled at him like a young thing and waved him on to bed.
“Do you want to call somebody?” She pulled the telephone over to where I was sitting.
“It’s long distance. I can pay you.”
“I don’t care, and you ain’t paying nobody nothing.”
She dialed the number, and when I heard the person on the other end, I started to cry again. As the woman took the phone from me, I could hear the worry in the voice coming from the receiver. “Hello? Hello?”
“Ma’am, this is Rachel Blevens. I’m calling from Ashwood, Virginia. I got your girl here. She’s hurting bad.”
“Sara Jane?” I heard her cry out.
I shook my head.
“No ma’am, your other girl.”
“Zora?” she said, loud enough for me to hear.
The woman looked at me, and I nodded.
“Yes ma’am. She’s all tore up about something and showed up at my doorstep. Me and my husband been caring for her.”
They talked back and forth, but I couldn’t tell you what was said because by that time I was so exhausted, I could hardly hold my head up. I lay back down on the little settee and was soon asleep.
There is so much in this world I’ll never know, that I’ll never understand, but one thing I know for certain,
there is a bond of sisterhood and friendship that overrides all things. It came to me before sunup the next morning as a ready-made rescue with tears and hugs that drew me in, almost suffocating me with its warmth and safety. It came with a knock at the door, after I’d been asleep for a good while. The woman peeked out the little window and opened the door. Sara Jane and her mama came into the room like a whirlwind, with their coats over their bathrobes. They had not even stopped to dress.
We all stood there huddled up, crying, although they had no idea as to exactly why. They were crying for me because I hurt so badly, because they loved me and would never let me bear the pain I felt alone. The sisterhood had driven two hundred and twenty-five miles to my rescue in no time flat, and not even the Rapture itself could have kept them from getting to me.
“Thank you for taking care of my girl,” Mrs. Farquhar said.
“I told you she could stay the night. This sweet one’s no trouble. Ed’s harder to nurse with that old flu than this pretty young thing.”
“I just couldn’t stand the thought of her hurting and me and Sara Jane not being with her. Thank you for letting us come at this late hour.”
“It’s near three o’clock. We don’t have but one other bed and the settee; you all are welcome to it.”
“Thank you, but we’ll head home. We stopped at a quick shop on the way here, and Sara Jane went in her bathrobe, of all things. She got us both a huge cup of coffee, so we have enough caffeine in us to last us all the way back to Davenport. But thank you so much. You’ll have stars in your crown when you all get to heaven for taking care of my girl.”
Sara Jane wrapped me in her coat and was standing there in her bathrobe. She put her arm around me. “I love you,” she whispered. “We’re here now; everything’s going to be all right.”
We got into the car, which was still warm. It felt good. They didn’t ask me what happened right off. Mrs. Farquhar and I sat in the back and she laid my head in her lap and let me sleep. I guess we were about an hour from Davenport when I woke up. I was ashamed for all of the trouble I’d caused them, which made me close my eyes and start crying again.