by Lin Stepp
“You left your daughter and moved away,” he reminded her, knowing the words were deliberately cruel. He saw her wince.
“I had to leave at that time. And now I’m back, in part to reestablish a relationship with her again . . . and perhaps with you.” She leaned over the chair, her eyes sorrowful. “But in all this time, John, you have never made one effort to stay in contact with your sons—never sent them a letter, never called them, never sent them a Christmas present or a birthday card, never acknowledged their graduations or drove down to see them.”
He flinched. “After they drove off in a huff, they never came back here, either. They never called me, wrote to me, remembered me at Christmas or on my birthday.” Seeing her raised eyebrows, he added, “Oh, I know you sent gifts from all of you and you sent cards, too, on special occasions. But I knew they weren’t really from the boys.”
“Yes, I sent gifts, cards, and I tried very hard to keep up the family ties. But you never even tried, John. How do you think that made those boys feel, not to even get an acknowledgment from their father at important moments of their lives or for them to see my birthday come and go without even a card from you? Your behavior was more than cowardly. It was often cruel.”
“I sent you a check every month—to buy things the boys needed, to get gifts and special things. Did the boys know I sent money every month to help?”
“Yes, and they appreciated the help, but it’s not the same. A check sent in the mail every month is impersonal. They needed to know you still loved them, even though they chose to live with me. They needed to know you cared, and you never let them know that. It hurt, John.”
“I’m not good with picking out gifts and cards and such. You know that. You always did those things. Or my mother did.”
She laughed. “And well I remember the horrible gifts your mother chose for all of us at Christmas.”
John felt his face flush. “They were no different from the gifts I received growing up.”
“Well, then poor you—and poor Holly, too—to always get only socks and a plain sweater for Christmas.” Her voice had dropped and John hated the sound of pity in it.
“We did all right. We turned out okay.”
“Yes, and it’s a blessing and a miracle you did and with no less scars than you both have.”
His temper rose. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—scars.”
Lydia propped a hip on the chair arm. “Holly told me she went to therapy for years to help her get past her upbringing. You probably could have used some, too. It might have spared all of us some sorrows.”
“I don’t like this conversation. It’s insulting.” John stomped toward the door. “And no matter what you’ve said, nothing justifies how J. T. talked to me today or that he hung up on me.”
“John.” Her soft voice caught him as his hand pushed open the screen door. “We can have no future together until you work things out with your sons. I want a united family.”
He turned to glare at her. “Making threats and conditions now?”
“No.” She shook her head sadly. “Just stating facts.” She walked toward him and then stopped. “You’re happy that Mary Beth and I have reestablished a relationship. I will be equally happy when you work to reestablish a relationship with your sons.”
“The street runs both ways, Lydia.”
“Yes, that’s true.” She gave a deep sigh. “But you’re the grown-up in this. The father and, supposedly, the wiser one. The expectation is that you will do what is right and set the example. That you will take the initiative. That’s what’s expected of parents—to put aside their pride and personal feelings to do what is best for their children and for their family.”
He banged out of the door without responding, afraid of what he might say next. Wanting to get away from the guilt and condemnation she layered on him.
Needing to work, he drove his truck down to the Side Orchards, where he’d left the men working earlier checking the trees for aphids, scab, or rust and then repairing fence lines after.
Eugene Sheppard saw him get out of his truck and waved. “We’ve found where them little Peter Rabbits have been getting through the fence to get at the young trees.”
John nodded and set to work rolling out fencing and nailing it snug against the posts. He worked furiously, saying little.
During their next break, Sam walked over to John. “I think some of the early Lodis are about ready to pick.” He pointed toward a row of mature apple trees on the hillside above them. “Probably the Pink Pearls and the Parmers, too. Why don’t you go check? We’ve got this fencing job about done.”
Charlie looked their way with a grin. “Maybe the fence will hold this time. Seems like this is the third time we’ve fixed this fence since spring.”
With the sound of nails still pounding, John walked up through the orchard rows to check on the trees Sam had mentioned. He found some of the yellow Lodis nearly ready to pick, as Sam had said, and some of the Parmers close to season, but not the Pearls yet.
“Them Pearls need a little more time,” Eugene said, coming up behind him. “One or two might be near ready but not the bulk of ’em.”
John nodded, walking along to examine the other trees in the orchard. With July here, many of the early apples would soon be ready to harvest, although the bulk of the crop wouldn’t come in until fall.
Eugene hobbled to catch up with John while he stopped to pull down an Ambrosia branch to examine the ripening fruit. “That anger you’re a nursing makes you walk too fast for an old man to catch up to.”
John tried to ignore him.
The old man put a hand on his arm. “You stop and let me set a spell on this old stump.” He dropped himself slowly to sit on a broad tree stump and sigh. At eighty-two, he tired easily.
“I didn’t ask you to come along with me, E. C.” John propped a foot on a smaller stump nearby.
“Yeah, but somebody needed to come along with you and see that you didn’t bring yourself to harm.” He grinned up at John. “You were whacking away at them nails down there on the fencing so fierce we were afeared to get near you. We all know you only work in a frenzy like that when you’re put out about something.” He ran his hands down the twisted wood on his walking stick. “You wanna talk about it?”
“Not particularly.” John picked a ripe Early Joe off a nearby tree, turning the small red and yellow apple over in his hand.
“That looks like a good ’un.” Eugene held out his palm. “Maybe you’ll pass it along, seeing as you seem only interested in lookin’ at it. I like the flesh of the Early Joe—tender, juicy, and flavorful.”
John passed the apple to the old man and watched him bite into it with pleasure. Then he turned to examine the tree again. “I think we can come pick a bushel or two of these today or tomorrow. Mary Beth can sell some in the store and the women can use the rest for pies and applesauce.”
Not deterred from his purpose, Eugene caught John’s eye. “You used to talk with me, Son, when you had a problem.”
“I know.” John put a hand on the old man’s shoulder fondly. “But this is something I’ve got to think through and work out on my own.”
“Yeah, there’s problems like that.” He scratched his head under the rim of his battered straw hat. “You might want to take a good walk up toward the mountain to clear your mind. I’ll tell the men you went to check around the lodge. It’s worrisome knowing that ghost is still on the loose and the culprit behind it not found.”
“Yes, it is.” John’s eyes moved over the rolling hillsides to the wooded ridges above. “Maybe I will walk up above the lodge and check around.”
Since the men had picked up on his anger and irritation, he wasn’t too eager to rejoin them right now and be quizzed further. “You tell Sam where I’ve gone, all right, Eugene?”
“Sure.” The old man pulled himself up on his cane. “And I’ll shoot up a prayer on my way back that you’ll get some help from the Big Man on your proble
m. When you ain’t comfortable dumping out your worries to a friend, the Big Man’s always there for an ear. You remember that.”
“I will.” John patted Eugene Sheppard on the back before he headed down the fields to join the other men.
An hour later, after walking the wooded trail past the rental cabins to Garretts Gap up on the mountain and back—and praying at length—John still had found no peace. Coming down toward the Lodge Road, he saw the Crowe boys playing around below the hunting lodge.
He waved to them. “You boys be careful playing around the ridge and creek. The sheriff’s had more sightings of that ghost prankster around here.”
“You don’t think it’s a real ghost?” the older boy, Nalin, asked him.
John shook his head. “No, I don’t. But someone pretending to be a ghost can be just as dangerous.”
Davy walked closer as the boys came out of the woods. “Maybe there really is a ghost—Nance Dude or that old Indian who got killed on the ridge long ago. Maybe the ghost don’t want no one messing around this area.”
John noted the worried brown eyes of the younger boy. “Well, maybe that’s more reason for you boys to head on back toward home. Your mom might be worried.”
Waving, they headed off down the Lodge Road toward the creek. John sat on the porch steps of the hunting lodge, trying to settle his thoughts. He kept hearing Lydia’s words echoing over and over in his mind, especially some of the ones she said near the end: We can have no future together until you work things out with your sons.
Did she mean that? And was it true what she added later, that it was his responsibility to make amends with the boys and not theirs to come to him? He’d always comforted himself that he’d be ready to make peace whenever they felt ready to come home again. But Lydia seemed to think it was his place to take the initiative and go to them. That he’d let them down, let her down, by not going to them all these years.
John dropped his head in his hands. “Dang woman. Makes a man doubt all he’s come to believe, all he thought was right.”
He thought about J. T., talking so hateful to him this morning. Hanging up on him. He’d have given the boy a long lecture in the past for behavior like that, probably walloped him if his attitude hadn’t improved in the process. Now he was a grown man and far away. And saying he didn’t want to talk with his own father.
John seethed at the thought. “Well, we’ll see,” he said at last, getting up from the steps and kicking at a pinecone in the path. “We’ll just see.”
He set off at a steady pace down the Farm Road. Letting himself in the back door of Main House, he headed up to his bedroom. There he dragged out his travel duffel, threw some clothes and toiletries into it, then changed out of his work clothes into slacks and a clean shirt. He looked up some addresses and phone numbers in a tattered black book in the drawer by his bed, Googled on his computer for map directions, and headed out to his truck less than thirty minutes later.
Manu, trimming some shrubs near the back porch, looked up when he saw John throw his duffel in the truck. “Going somewhere, John?” he asked.
“Yep,” John told him, climbing into the front seat of the vehicle. “I’m taking a little trip for a few days. Need to clear something up and check on some things. You tell Ela, Mary Beth, and Sam I’ll be gone a day or so. Maybe the weekend, but I’ll be back by Monday, I reckon, at the latest.”
Manu nodded.
“You’ve got my cell phone number—Sam does, too—if there’s any problem that can’t be handled until I get back.” John started the truck.
“Drive safe,” Manu said, not asking any more questions.
An hour down the road, John punched a long distance number into his cell phone and heard a familiar woman’s voice answer, “Martha Howard, Career Services, Georgia Tech.”
“Martha, this is John Cunningham. I know you’re at work and this might not be the best time for a call, but I need a favor.”
“What can I do for you, John?” she asked.
“Could you put me up at your place tonight in Atlanta? And could you get my sons together at your home for a talk? It seems like it’s overdue between us, and I thought it might be best if we got together at some neutral place for a visit.”
“You can certainly stay at my place, John, and I’ll do my best to get your boys over to my house, too.” She paused. “If you don’t mind my candor, I’d say this visit is long overdue.”
“Well, better late than never, like the old saying goes.” He slowed the truck around a mountain curve. “I ought to be there about five.”
“Fine. I’ll make some calls, use some clout. Fib a little if I need to. You be careful in that Atlanta traffic.”
He snorted. “I’d rather deal with a rattlesnake.”
Martha laughed and it felt good to hear the sound. “I assume you have the directions, but if you need help call me later when you get closer.”
“I will. And thanks, Martha.”
“Don’t thank me too soon. You’re on your own with this one. I’m just the organizer.”
“I understand.” He passed a slow-moving vehicle as he swung onto the highway.
“Oh, and John,” she said before he could hang up. “I’m ordering pizza for everyone and you can foot the bill.”
“Sounds fair, Martha. Good to talk with you. See you soon.”
CHAPTER 15
On Sunday afternoon, Lydia sat in a lawn chair outside with Mary Beth, watching the twins play in a plastic wading pool.
“That little pool you bought proved a hit with the boys and has sure kept them busy this afternoon.” Mary Beth pushed down her sunglasses to wink at Lydia across the top of them. “It’s given me a needed break, too.”
Lydia watched her daughter stretch out her legs in the sun. “Is running the store with the boys so young too much for you?”
“No.” Mary Beth smiled at her. “I love the store. I love running it and I love visiting with the customers. And Ela is great about watching the boys for me while I work. But, as you know, two small twins at once can be a handful.” She turned to her mother. “How did you manage it with J. T. only a toddler, when Billy Dale and Parker were still small?”
“You adapt.” Lydia laughed as she rubbed suntan lotion over her arms and legs. With her red hair and fair skin, she had to use care when out in the sun at any length. “The boys played together well, too, especially when Neal was over at the house so much, making an equal foursome. J. T.’s and Neal’s personalities clicked well, like Billy Dale’s and Parker’s did.”
“You’re right. J. T. and Neal were like two peas in a pod, and I remember they argued very little.” Mary Beth looked thoughtful. “You know, looking back, I think Neal spent more time at our home growing up than at his.” She picked at a nail. “I guess that’s why it feels so funny being with him like a boyfriend.”
Lydia raised an eyebrow. “How’s that going?”
She saw her daughter blush. “Pretty good,” she answered evasively.
Bucky turned his squirt gun on her and fired a stream of water her way.
Surprised, she gasped. “Buckner Dean, if you or Billy Ray squirt me or Nana Lydia again, I’m taking that squirt gun away from you, do you hear?” She wiped the water off her face.
“Aw, Mom, we were just havin’ fun.”
She tossed her head. “Well, you have fun squirting each other or squirting at that target we set up.” She pointed to the tin cans they’d lined across the fence top.
The boy turned to squeeze off a stream of water toward the row of cans. “When’s Daddy John coming home?” he asked, climbing out of the pool to put the can he’d blasted back on the fence.
“He said by Monday at the latest.” Mary Beth rolled her legs so she would tan more evenly.
Lydia made no comment. No one knew she and John had quarreled the day he left, or that she’d worried herself sick since he took off wondering where he was, what he was thinking, and why he went off on his own without telling anyone ex
actly where he’d gone.
Billy Ray looked up from the set of boats he pushed through the water. “He didn’t tell nobody where he was going.”
“He didn’t tell anybody.” Mary Beth corrected his grammar.
“Anybody,” he parroted. “I wish he’d taken me and Bucky. We never get to go anywhere.”
Bee rolled her eyes at this typical summer complaint of her boys. She used to voice the same complaint herself when small. “Manu told you Daddy John had to go take care of some sort of business. You can’t take small boys on business trips.”
She got up to adjust her chair and lay down on her stomach this time. “Besides, you’ve gone a lot of places this summer. Neal and I took you over to Cherokee to the Oconoluftee Village. You got to see the Indians dance and we shopped downtown. We hiked to Mingo Falls one day, too. And Nana took you to the arboretum and to the college so you could see where she’s going to work. She and Daddy John took you hiking in Cataloochee, too. . . .” She would have gone on, but the sound of a truck coming distracted them.
“Daddy John!” The twins hollered in unison as John’s truck pulled up into the driveway and to a stop. They raced toward him, dripping water behind them as they ran barefoot across the grass.
“Whoa!” John said, getting down from the cab. “Don’t be leaping on me soaking wet like that.”
The boys danced up and down around him. “Come see the pool Nana Lydia got us. We’ve got squirt guns and boats, too.”
John nodded at the women and followed the boys to properly examine the pool and toys and then watched them squirt tin cans on the fence line.
Mary Beth rolled out of her chair to stand and give her father a hug as he walked back their way. “Hey, Daddy. We missed you. Where’ve you been? Manu said you had some business to take care of.”
“I did, in Atlanta.”
Lydia knew her mouth dropped open.
He grinned at her. “I drove down to pick up the rest of Lydia’s things and had a visit with my boys.”
Mary Beth’s eyes widened. “You visited with J. T., Parker, and Billy Ray?”