Threads

by Patsy Brookshire

  Well, I've got to go now. Wherever we are going it must be important. The Brass is closed mouthed but we have our ideas. I will probably be all right. I've been lucky so far.

  Please write soon if you would like to see me. Even if that's not possible I would like to hear from you.

  Love,

  Jon S.

  There were no later letters from him. No clue as to whether she'd replied, or not.

  I set the mail aside and drank my cold cocoa, staring into the flames of Sophie's stove. I sat there for a while before opening the next letter. It was from Jon, the one he'd written at fourteen.

  April 4, 1933

  To Miss Elm,

  As you can see it's my birthday. I'm 14 years old now. Do you care? Don't think that just because you send me a card and some money once a year that I care anything about you! If you really cared about me you would come see me. You could at least send a present but I guess it's too much trouble for you to find out what a 14 year old boy likes and it's certainly too much trouble to write and ask me. But I guess you are too busy. I wouldn't write back anyway.

  Probably you just don't care, so I don't either!

  Do not send me any more money! Just forget about me like I have forgotten about you. I have my own Mother, and Father to give me money. They love me to. But you don't know about that because you are just a phony mother.

  Don't send me any more cards either.

  Your ex-son

  Jon S. Smithers

  Children have a good sense of where to hit to hurt--near the same place where they feel their own pain.

  I was relieved to see that the next envelope was a Christmas card signed, "All our love, David, Amy, Sampson and Lily."

  Written on the back was simply:

  Hoping you are well. We are all fine here, we are very busy. Found these photographs, thought you might like to have them.

  Love, Amy

  p.s. I took the one of David and the children last summer on the beach, the other we had taken when David sold a painting a few years back of some tourists (should I say 'summer visitor's?'? ha ha) poking around the tide pools at Haystack.

  Between my books and David's paintings we sell enuf to keep body and soul together and once in a while do something special, thus the studio photograph. --Amy

  The pictures and the last two envelopes all looked as if they'd been handled often, yellowed and finger marked. I searched the photos closely. The studio photo revealed little of the personalities of the people, only that they were all very attractive. The photos had been studio tinted, giving them a liveliness not in most black and whites of the time. Amy looked more stern than Aunt Sophie had described her, but then so do most photos from that time. She looked contented, secure. Her eyes were clear and looked directly into the camera. David appeared to be a normally attractive man with interesting bushy eyebrows that Aunt Sophie had never talked about. Maybe they had gotten bushy with age. His eyes had a twinkle that came through the photo and caught my attention.

  As they had for Sophie.

  The children were young, probably eight and nine or so; they were childishly attractive. Sampson resembled his father but had the black, black hair of Aunt Sophie's youth.

  The other was more revealing of their personalities. The three of them wore bathing suits, mid-30's style I'd guess. David stood in the middle holding a beach ball high in the air and the children on either side were reaching to grab it. Though obviously posed as all three were looking into the camera, their casual attitudes revealed more than a studio seriousness. All were grinning broadly. I stared at David. His hair was wild about his head, his face was tanned and his grin was heart-stopping--and he was at least fifty by then. Jon and Lily looked like him, full of fun, but fresh, eager. Lily had long blonde braids, brown eyes, and a perfect figure. Jon was no taller than his dad but more muscular, and he still had the black curly hair that marked him as Aunt Sophie's. Most remarkable was the full, good-natured intelligence shared by the trio and caught by the camera.

  I finally put the pictures back in the card and added them to the pile.

  There were only two envelopes left. The first was another letter from Jonathan Sampson when he was only seven.

  April 4, 1926 Dear Mommy Sofie, How aur you? I am fin. Mommy show me yur pixure toda Daddy drew me an you wen i was a babi. Mommy say i growed in yur timi. Thats funni! Mommy say you luv me. i luv you to. i in skool now. Secon grad. Mommy say i spel awfl. Daddy say i to smart! Well, got to go now. Mabe i see you ths sumr. i 7 yers old toda. Thank your four car and too dolar. Luv JONATHAN SAMPSON SMITHERS

  Last, and explaining much, was a letter from David.

  October 12, 1921

  My dearest Sophie,

  It's been over a year now since you left and I still miss you terribly, especially when the sea is stormy and I walk lonely on the beach. Amy comes sometimes but with the children it is hard for us both to get out together. Getting them to sleep at the same time is hard. They both sleep in your old room and when it's daytime they just keep jabbering at each other and won't take their naps until we put one of them in our bed. And when they do sleep and we go out, Amy is nervous the whole time that they will wake up and fall down the stairs or something so we don't get many walks alone.

  Love, are you ever coming back? I didn't believe you when you said you wouldn't return but it's been so long. You can't know how much I miss you or you wouldn't stay away. Surely you would be happier with us than with your sister. If you want children to take care of we certainly have them here! Sampson kept looking for you after you left. And so did I. My heart aches with wanting you.

  Are you still making your beautiful quilts? The Haystack one is on our bed now and Amy often says how lovely it is and how nice it makes the room look and wants you to know we are taking good care of it.

  It's cloudy and stormy today. One of the kind you didn't like too much but that I like best.

  Sampson is well. He had a couple of colds last winter but that's all. He is talking up a storm and we have to watch him all the time he is awake or he is out the door and down the hill to the water. But don't worry, we put a lock high up on the door so he can't do that anymore!

  We take L.M. with us to Puffin's and I think she's helping our credit there. Puffin is as proud of her as if he had done more than just drive her mother to Seaside!

  Amy says to say hello and tell you to come visit anytime. She means come back soon, like I do. She is working now on a story about a little girl named L.M. (guess who) who travels about the world with her parents and has a special affinity for communication with dogs and cats which of course leads her into all sorts of adventures. Amy hopes to work it into a series like the Sampson books.

  Please write us and tell us how you are. If you can't come now at least let us know how you are doing.

  Miss you awfully!

  All my love, David

  I read the letter twice. I didn't know whether Aunt Sophie had answered but since none of the other letters had any reference to seeing her, and there were no other letters from David I guessed he'd failed to win her back with emotional calls.

  How strong she was. Or was it just stubbornness? I knew from the way she looked and sounded when she talked of him that her love had not died. Nor had her love for her baby left her. So what had she done with it?

  That answer I knew. It had gone to Boyd most directly, and to the others of us who were rocked in her arms and warmed in her bed and listened to when we had long complicated dreams and stories to tell. And later on, our loves were brought before her, the pain and joy shared in return for a soft shoulder or a sharp comment that we resented at the time but that would come back in the dead of night and focus our own questions on his, or her, or our, actions. Once we married though, her advice and soft shoulder disappeared. In fact, if she voiced an opinion at all it was in favor of the other person.

  "I think you could perhaps try patience. You've never been very patient. Now that you're an adult it's way pas
t time you stopped thinking of yourself so much."

  With advice like that we soon stopped asking. After all it was obvious she didn't know what she was talking about. She'd never been married.

  As far as we knew she had never even been in love. We teased her to find out but she would only say, "There's some things for me to know and you to wonder about."

  I wasn't married yet, but I planned to be soon. I knew Aunt Sophie didn't approve of Len. She worried about his temper. We argued constantly about every little thing and he didn't like my new job either. Since we were going to be married why did I need a career? She warned that a possessive man before marriage can become even more jealous after the vows are taken, and...

  I'd stopped talking to her about him. She'd never been in love. She didn't know how his eyes, his hands, and his concern about me made me feel.

  Now, in the dark, I wondered at her reason for exposing her story, the deep self she'd kept hidden all these years. Why to me, now? Sure, I'd always listened better than the other cousins to her stories and had spent more time with her, but there was more to it than that.

  I decided to think about it tomorrow after I left. Right now I was going to put on a couple more pieces of wood to the fire, close it up, and go to bed. But first I put everything back in the box, locked it and returned it to its place in the drawer and left the key on the table.

  There was the boy to have the answer about tomorrow, too. Cannon Beach? Could it be that he still lived there? He would be old, impossibly old. An old boy? As much as the answers intrigued me, I dreaded asking her the question. I didn't want Sampson to be old, but neither did I want him to be dead.

  29. No Escape

  The next morning dawned bright and clear. Sun through the kitchen window reflected off the chrome edging of the table. The key was gone.

  Perhaps we could forget the whole thing. She had left them all and I was sure the reason could be applied to my situation in some oblique way. Why else had she told me her story? Almost everyone was dead and gone. It was morbid to rehash old wounds. What happened fifty years ago couldn't have any relevance to me.

  Now, with my senses alert to a reason behind the telling, I was eager to be gone. I was not going to listen to unwanted advice, however indirect. I'd just grab a cup of coffee and be gone.

  But she was quicker than I. "Well, good morning, sleepyhead." It wasn't even seven o'clock yet.

  Before I could finish saying, "Just a cup of coffee please, I've got to run," she was at the stove.

  "Get some bacon and eggs into you and then I have a favor to ask before you go."

  "Well, Aunt So," I hedged, "I just wanted to get some coffee--"

  "Nonsense. You need more than coffee. I'll make you a good breakfast."

  I kept quiet. She was herself again, full of energy and hustle, not the old woman I'd seen the night before.

  "Now, if after breakfast you could stay for awhile and help me with these windows, I'd sure appreciate it."

  "The windows? But you always told me not to wash them when the sun is shining on them 'cause they streak."

  "That was when I didn't need any help and could wait until a cloudy day. But..." She bent her head to look feeble, "When a strong body that can reach up, and isn't afraid of breaking old bones from falling off a chair comes around, I just have to grab it and make use of it. "

  I was wearing short sleeves. She laughed and squeezed the muscles in my right arm. Her fingers were softly rough, a contradiction but there she was, defined by the feel of her skin. She was pulling out all the stops again so I gave in. After all, maybe she was telling the truth.

  "You know," she said, as she put the coffee in front of me, "I always did like clean windows."

  I'd never particularly noticed it.

  "In fact I was washing windows the day I decided to leave."

  There it was. She was going to continue with the story despite the fact I'd not brought it up.

  30. Nightmare

  When they brought Lily home I was so happy to have them back. I laughed and teased David about his obsession with the child. But the problem wasn't him. It was in me, and in the situation. I was possessive and jealous, not unlike your Len.

  Aha! This reference to him confirmed my suspicions. She questioned his character.

  Before Lily came, Sampson was the center of our attention. We all loved him, but because I'd given him to David, I felt we had a special closeness. I never saw resentment in Amy of that closeness. She accepted it, with an occasional envy that I saw now and then, but she wasn't mean-spirited. She seemed as happy for David as he was. But their baby brought a change to our lives.

  David paid more attention to Lily and Amy than he did to Sampson and me. I was still nursing Sampson, but David didn't crowd around and crow over us anymore. Now it was Lily and Amy who got this attention.

  Then Lily got the colic. Sampson had never been sick a day in his short life, so when Lily cried in pain David couldn't stand it. For weeks he walked the floor with her at night. He wouldn't let Amy or me do it.

  "You have enough to do in the day taking care of these babies," he said. "I'll take care of Lily at night. You both need your rest. You can't get worn down."

  Her crying and the long nights were exhausting for all of us. Even through my sleep I could hear her when she woke up and started crying.

  During the day we were all tired, but only my temper got short. They'd waited so long for a baby, no sacrifice was too tiring for them. Amy kept saying, "This will pass. We just have to wait it out. Think of poor Lily. It's harder on her than us."

  I wasn't sure. They were spoiling her terribly, but I said nothing.

  Somewhere in her fourth month Lily's colic eased, but it was already too late for me. Probably if it hadn't been that straw it would have been something else. I couldn't share someone so close to my heart. Amy and David could, but I couldn't. They had each other and Lily in a way that would never include me. I wanted David and Sampson to be all mine. To care mostly about me.

  That was never going to happen. David was a good talker. He'd convinced me this could work for all of us, but the reality was that it worked well for him--and Amy too in some ways. Would she have Lily if not for me and Sampson?

  I was extra. I wasn't needed. David had manipulated me. I knew I had to take some responsibility too. I'd gone along with David's scheme because it was the only way I could get what I wanted: David. I kept my thoughts to myself but inside I seethed with anger and tears.

  I couldn't take my frustration out on Lily--she was so tiny--or Amy or David--I was too afraid of losing him. So I took it out on the one person I had who was mine. Sampson.

  I decided he was going to be potty trained and weaned. And that he'd stop pulling things from tables and bookshelves. And would mind my every word. He was going to be a perfect little man.

  He wasn't ready for the sudden change, and my anger toward him made it worse. You would think my experience with Mandy's kids would have taught me that children move slowly or quickly according to their own pace. Forcing your schedule on them, it seldom works. But they'd been Mandy's children, not mine. I'd had to accept doing things her way which, since we had the same upbringing, was not all that different from mine. But I saw things that I would do different if they were mine. I wouldn't have put up with half the nonsense she did.

  The difference was that she had four little ones close together. I had only one. He was all mine, and now my full attention went to him.

  When he wet his pants I spanked him and shamed him. "You big baby! Naughty dirty boy!"

  "He's only a baby," Amy said, almost crying.

  David just looked at me and took Sampson away, holding him on his lap and rocking him. "It's all right. You'll do better next time."

  Sampson not only didn't do better next time, he got worse. He started wetting the bed again, something he hadn't done since he was about a year old. I put him back in night diapers, which he fought because I shamed him so about it. "No, no
," he'd cry, trying to wiggle away.

  It got to the point where only Amy could put him to bed because he ran away from me.

  Weaning him was awful, too. If I'd just eased into it, he might have given in, but one morning as he started to climb into my lap I just said, "No, you're a big boy now. Eggs and cereal and a cup for you."

  He fought it. He threw up. He knocked the cup to the floor and reached for me. Soon that didn't work because there was nothing there. At first my breasts swelled and hurt, and I'd say--I remember it and am ashamed--"This hurts me more than you. You hurt Mommy."

  David got very angry when I said that. "You have no right. Can't you see what you're doing to him? What is the matter with you?"

  "Don't interfere. He's mine. You take care of Lily, I'll take care of Sampson."

  I didn't look at his face when he said, "He doesn't belong to anyone. He is his own."

  Thus I brought screaming and crying to what had been a peaceful house. The matter with me was that I was blind jealous. The sharing didn't work for me. Maybe it would of if I'd been brought up to it, but I wasn't.

  It didn't work for me in our little Cannon Beach family.

  As long as I, through Sampson, was the primary recipient of David's attention I was happy. Only I had been able to provide him with a child. But now I had to share this glory, and be happy about it. It wasn't in me.

  When it comes to our own child most of us are blind. The child must be perfect. We all go about trying to make perfect children in our different ways. One believes in the belt, another in a kiss, another counsels a mixture between the two. Perhaps one method will work, but when you have three people, three ways in conflict, the mixture doesn't work.

  It certainly didn't work with Sampson. He became impossible. Now we had two crying babies, and three exhausted, tense, and angry adults.

  Maybe if I'd still had David's physical love I'd have been different, but it was gone. Even the hugs and kisses disappeared.