Beyond the Carousel

by Bette Lee Crosby

  * * *

  Two months later Christine quit the job she had waiting tables at the Copper Kettle, and together she and Laura headed for Richmond. They checked into the Algonquin Hotel on a Tuesday and stayed for twelve days.

  They lived as they had not lived for more than fifteen years, sleeping late and ordering breakfast from room service, sitting lazily by as the bellboy poured steamy coffee from a silver pot and served pastries. Every afternoon they took tea in the grand salon and afterward strolled Gerard Street shopping for souvenirs to bring home. Together they selected a fisherman’s knit sweater for Emory, and Laura bought a gold locket for Christine.

  “What about you, Mama?” Christine said. “We haven’t yet found a gift for you.”

  “I already have everything I need,” Laura replied, but in the end she selected a box of perfumed soaps tied with a lavender ribbon.

  On three different afternoons they visited the park and rode the carousel, the same carousel Christine had ridden as a child. The tall wooden stand with an arm that held the coveted brass ring had been taken down, but most everything else was the same. The princely white horse had a chunk of his hoof missing and the painted flowers on his harness had dulled, but the magic was still there. Christine climbed astride and laughed gleefully as the music played and the carousel circled around.

  “I can’t imagine a vacation more wonderful than this,” she said.

  Laura answered with a smile. “When your daddy was alive it was always this way. I’m so sorry you didn’t have enough time to really get to know Franklin.”

  “I do know him,” Christine replied. “I know parts of Daddy that most daughters never get to see. You’ve given me all these wonderful memories; how could I ask for more than that?”

  Laura wrapped her arm around her daughter and brushed a kiss across her temple.

  “You’re right,” she said. “How could we ask for more than what we’ve already got?”

  They walked to the edge of the small lake and sat side by side on the bench.

  “Did I ever tell you about the time it turned chilly and your daddy…”

  Christine smiled. Yes, she knew that story just as she knew all of the other stories, and she treasured each and every one.

  It was late when they got back to the hotel and Laura was overtired, so she stretched out across the bed and fell asleep. When she woke long past suppertime, they ordered roast beef sandwiches from room service. Months later Christine would wonder if back then her mama knew what was happening.

  Laura mentioned it for the first time on the drive home.

  “On Thursday I’ve an appointment to see Doctor Moriarty.”

  She said it in an offhanded way as if it were nothing to worry about.

  “Why?” Christine asked.

  “I’m just not feeling myself lately.” Laura left it at that and said nothing more.

  Christine insisted she go with her mama.

  “I might as well take advantage of this time,” she said, “because next week I’ll have to start looking for a real job.”

  The waitressing job at the Copper Kettle had been a fill-in, something she’d taken the summer she graduated high school. It was a lively environment and the tips were good, so she’d stayed. One month led to two, and before Christine knew it she’d been there for over a year.

  “I’d like to get a secretarial spot,” she said, “working in a law office or maybe a bank.”

  “Here in Wyattsville?” Laura asked.

  Christine laughed. “Well, of course. Why would I go anywhere else when my family is here?”

  “I just thought maybe…”

  Laura left the thought unfinished.

  * * *

  Doctor Moriarty had his suspicions the moment Laura told him about the two episodes she’d had.

  “I threw up something I couldn’t remember eating. It was grainy, bitter tasting and black as week-old coffee grinds,” she said.

  Christine slid a sideways glance at her mama. “You never said anything—”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” Laura looked to Doctor Moriarty and added, “Right?”

  He gave a noncommittal shrug. “We’ll see. I’ll need to examine you, draw blood, take some x-rays and do a few other tests.”

  He looked down, concentrating on his notes and avoiding eye contact with Laura.

  Christine sat in the chair as Laura leaned back onto the examination table. The doctor felt the sides of her neck then moved to the high part of her abdomen. He spent over fifteen minutes prodding and feeling his way across her stomach. As he moved his hands from one spot to another, his eyebrows knit together and his mouth grew taut as if he was holding back something he needed to say.

  “What is it?” Christine asked nervously.

  There was no real answer, only the same vague sounding, “It’s too early to tell. We’ll have to wait for results of the tests.”

  When they left the doctor’s office, Laura drove directly to the hospital for the tests he’d ordered. It was after five when they finally left.

  “Let’s get Granddaddy, and we’ll all go out to dinner,” Laura said. She tried to sound casual, but her voice was thin and unconvincing.

  That evening they all had dinner at the Copper Kettle and Laura tried to act as happy and lighthearted as the environment, but Christine already had a lump of fear settling into her heart.

  * * *

  Christine put off looking for a job, and two weeks later she went with Laura to find out the results of the tests. This time there was no smile on Doctor Moriarty’s face.

  “I’m afraid I have bad news,” he said. He went on to explain that Laura’s pancreas contained a tumorous mass.

  Christine’s eyes filled with tears. “Now what? Does Mama need an operation or radiation treatments?”

  Doctor Moriarty allowed his eyes to meet hers as he shook his head ever so slightly.

  “The disease is too far progressed. Radiation would be ineffective at this point. Right now pancreatic cancer is something for which we have no cure. Scientists are working on a drug—”

  Christine gasped. “No cure? How can you say there’s no cure? Surely there’s something…”

  He again shook his head. Looking to Laura he said, “What I can do is give you medication to ease the pain. As the need becomes greater, we’ll increase the dosage. You won’t have to suffer.”

  Christine brushed back the stream of tears rolling down her cheeks. “Not suffer? How can we not suffer knowing—”

  Laura reached across and placed her hand on Christine’s arm.

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  There was no explanation of what “okay” meant, only the reassurance of those all too imprecise words.

  * * *

  Christine gave up all thoughts of finding a job. She spent every moment at her mama’s side. Throughout the summer they sat on the front porch swing, pushing back and forth with easy strokes and talking; not of the cancer but of the good times gone by.

  In the fall they took one last trip to Richmond and stayed for just three days. On that trip they didn’t visit the carousel but instead strolled through the quiet neighborhoods where brownstones and small apartment buildings lined the streets.

  “Wouldn’t it be lovely to have an apartment in one of these places?” Laura mused. “Imagine living in Richmond with the magic of this city right here at your fingertips every single day.”

  “We could move here if you’d like,” Christine replied.

  Laura gave a saddened smile.

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for me,” she said, “but you could—”

  “Mama, you know I’d never leave you and Grandpa,” Christine cut in.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Laura said and heaved a great sigh.

  They walked on, but as they rounded the corner she turned and took one last look back.

  “Living here in Richmond would be a wonderful life for a young woman.”

 
In November Laura’s skin took on a yellow cast, and Doctor Moriarty said it was jaundice.

  “Your liver is starting to shut down,” he said and gave her a prescription that hopefully would slow the process.

  A few days later she was too weak to get out of bed, so Christine sat by her side. That afternoon she pulled a worn copy of Little Women from the bookshelf Emory had made and read aloud. Before she was halfway through the first chapter, Laura was sound asleep.

  It was that way for three weeks. Then on a Thursday morning, Laura never woke up. She spent three days in a comatose state and on Sunday evening simply stopped breathing.

  The following Wednesday she was laid to rest alongside Franklin.

  Christine Wilkes

  Yesterday Granddaddy and I buried Mama. He stood next to me with his face set in that same hollow-eyed expression he had when Grandma died. He was trying to hide the pain in his heart, but I saw the tears rolling down his cheeks and disappearing into his beard.

  When we left the cemetery and came back to the house, I went to Mama’s room and sat on the side of her bed. I thought maybe being there I’d feel closer to her, but when I looked at the pillow still dented with the place where she’d laid her head all I could feel was the pain in my heart. I picked up her pillow and held it to my face just to breathe in the smell of her lavender soap.

  Underneath her pillow was the picture of Daddy and me on the carousel. I’m guessing she kept it there all these years. It was crumpled and creased, but I could see how much she’d loved it.

  For a long time, I sat there thinking how that picture was all Mama had left of Daddy. One small piece, and yet she hung on to it all these years. I wish I’d known about the picture sooner; I could have slipped it in beside her so she would have it with her when she got to heaven.

  I’d like to believe she doesn’t need the picture anymore, that she’s with Daddy now and he’s got his arms wrapped tight around her. Hopefully he’s kissing her face and dancing her across the clouds.

  If that’s how it is then I know Mama’s happy, and I’ll have to be happy for her. I’ve got to trust that’s exactly how heaven is, because if it isn’t there’s just no sense to life or death.

  I’m trying to be as brave as Mama was when she lost Daddy, but right now all I feel is a misery that’s like a knife sticking into my chest.

  The Legacy

  In the weeks following the funeral, Christine ambled through the house like a walking ghost. Her cheeks were pale and her eyes reddened from tears. The months of watching her mama slip away piece by fragile piece had taken her spirit and left behind a shattered heart.

  Near the end Laura saw this happening, which is why she left the letter. The envelope was addressed to “My Darling Daughter” and placed in the top drawer of her nightstand where she knew Christine would be sure to find it. Her instructions were spelled out clearly.

  “I know you are grieving now,” she’d written, “but better times will come. When your daddy died the two of us had to make a world of our own, and once I am gone you will have to continue on without me. It will be difficult but not impossible. Look hard enough, and you will find a pathway to happier times. Once that happens, build a place for yourself in that world.”

  The letter went on to say the box of jewelry Christine should keep, but all of her other personal possessions were to be packed up and taken to Saint Michael’s Thrift Shop.

  “Please,” the note continued with the word underlined, “do not cling to these things thinking they are what you have left of me. They are only things. I am with you now and forever. When you feel sad or lonely, close your eyes and whisper my name. I’ll be there for you just as your daddy was always there for me.”

  * * *

  Twenty-one days after the funeral, Christine and her granddaddy were summoned to the office of Albert Barkley, attorney at law. It was in a small brick building in the center of Wyattsville. When they pushed through the heavy wooden door, Barkley’s secretary led them back to his office.

  Christine, still red-eyed and weepy, perched on the edge of the chair.

  “I didn’t know Mama had a will,” she said through her sniffles. “It seems as though she would have—”

  “Your mama and I have been friends since before your daddy died, Christine,” Barkley said. “She was a strong woman and felt there were things you’d be better off not knowing until the time was right.”

  He pulled two envelopes from his desk, handed one to Christine and the other to Emory.

  “Before you open your envelopes, we need to go over the terms and stipulations of Laura’s will.”

  Reading through the document on his desk, Barkley said that the house would go to Emory and Christine would receive all of the money in Laura’s bank account: a total of $4,527. But it came with the stipulation that she must move out of the house and find an apartment in Richmond.

  Christine sat stunned for a moment then burst into sobs.

  “I don’t understand. Why would Mama want me to move out of the house I’ve lived in all my life?”

  Emory leaned his lanky frame against the back of the leather chair and gave a grunt of dissatisfaction.

  “What in the world was Laura thinking? Christine’s too young to be off on her own.”

  These reactions were exactly what Laura had warned Barkley about, so neither came as a surprise to him. He waited until the initial shock settled then said, “Go ahead and open the envelopes.”

  In Emory’s envelope there was the deed to the house and a letter written in Laura’s own hand.

  “Daddy, this is my way of paying you back for all you have done for us over the years. You gave up your house to live with us, and although it is far from an even exchange I now give you mine. Please don’t argue or challenge my choice. I made it with an open heart.

  “I believe you will be happy here. You are an independent man with strength far beyond what I could ever understand. I know you can easily care for yourself, because after we lost Mama you did it for five years before coming to live with us. Now it’s time for both you and Christine to have lives of your own. Please do that, Daddy. Christine loves you as much as I did and if you ask her to stay she will, but it is my dying wish that you don’t ask.

  “She is young and has so many years ahead of her. Let her go so that she can be free of these burdensome memories and find a love of her own, just as you and I once did.

  “Your loving daughter, Laura.”

  In Christine’s envelope there was a cashier’s check for the amount Barkley had mentioned along with another handwritten letter. It spoke of how loved Christine was and what great joy she had given her mama during their years together.

  “I know how much you love your granddaddy and me,” Laura had written, “and that’s precisely why I have chosen to do things this way. I don’t want you to sit around mourning my death. You need to get out and experience life. Do all you can do, and be all you can be.

  “You have a big heart, Christine, one that is capable of loving, and I want you to find someone as smart and wonderful as your daddy. You’ll never do that if you remain here buried in worry and sorrow. Your granddaddy is a strong man, stronger than you or I. He can manage fine on his own, and once he no longer has to wipe away our tears he just might find a happiness of his own.”

  The letter concluded by saying she was to go to Richmond and discover new adventures for herself.

  “Don’t just do the things we did; instead find the magic of your own life.”

  She’d signed it, “Forever loving you, Mama.”

  * * *

  After the reading of the will, Christine spent weeks sorting through her mama’s personal belongings. Someone with less of an attachment could have done it in a day, possibly two, but Christine stopped to shed a tear over almost everything.

  The lace-trimmed hankies brought a memory of how Laura dabbed them with a spot of lavender cologne before dropping them into her purse. A pair of worn slippers resurrected me
mories of an icy cold Christmas morning. Every dress was linked to an occasion, some special and some as ordinary as an afternoon of baking cookies. Even things like petticoats and bed socks had memories clinging to them.

  It took almost three weeks before all of Laura’s personal belongings were packed in bags or boxes and loaded into the car. That Sunday Christine walked into church carrying a shopping bag with the coat and hat Laura often wore to services.

  “This is the last time I’ll have a piece of you here with me, Mama,” she murmured and placed the bag next to her in the pew. On Monday morning she added the shopping bag to the other packages in the trunk of her car and drove to Saint Michael’s Thrift Shop.

  That evening she told Emory it was time for her to leave and find an apartment in Richmond.

  He knew this moment was coming but dreaded it. Pushing down the lump rising up in his throat he said, “It’s for the best. Richmond is a fine place for a young person to live. Your mama had some of her happiest times there.”

  “Yes, but she had Daddy or me with her.”

  Emory set his fork to the side of his plate and looked into her eyes.

  “You know you’ve always got me. If you need me, I’ll be there. This is what your mama wanted, and I intend to respect her wishes.”

  He picked up the fork and carved off another chunk of the meatloaf she’d made.

  “Why, if Laura looked down from heaven and saw me keeping you here, she’d send a bolt of lightning to fry my butt.”

  He gave a forced chuckle then stuffed the meatloaf in his mouth.

  Christine looked down at her plate and pushed a mound of mashed potatoes to one side.

  “So if I call and say I need you, you’ll come to Richmond?” she asked.