by Rosa Sophia
The black haired, cheerful young man of twenty-five, with his carefully trimmed goatee, knocked on the front door of the Maslin house. Phillip was out tending to the livestock, so it was Julie who answered the door.
“Hello, beautiful,” Jacob whispered. “The old man’s not around, is he?”
“He’s out by the barn.” Julie was looking down at the wooden floor and watching the tips of her feet. A rosy hue crept across her porcelain cheeks. Jacob shut the door behind him, bowed to the lady, and showed off his row of pearly teeth.
“You’re not saying much, my Jewel,” Jacob intoned, after a long moment of silence.
“I just wouldn’t want you to think that you’ve got me where you want me, Mr. Haisley.” She looked in his eyes for one moment only, then lost all of her courage and stared back at her feet. Jacob’s bright smile disappeared. He reached out and took Julie’s hand. She was too nervous to take it back.
“I’ve told you again and again, ever since we met back in fifty-seven, that if you want me to, I can take you away from him. You’ve never told me, Julie, but I see it in your eyes. You’re unhappy.”
“Jacob.” She jerked her hand away, but he had held it long enough to know that it was trembling and so was the rest of her. “You obviously don’t know much. I love my husband and your flirting will get you nowhere.” She turned and headed toward the stairs. “I’ll go get Sleeper for you.”
“Any chance you could just call him Frank?”
She shot him a look that could have killed a rodent and then hurried up the steps. Jacob couldn’t tell whether she was trying to escape from good feelings or bad. He merely stood there and waited. He had never explored the Maslin house because Phillip hated guests, even if he’d known them for years. On top of that, Phillip enjoyed isolation. David was home-schooled, by his father’s orders. The child had no friends. That was the way his father preferred it.
Jacob couldn’t stand Phillip. The man’s house frightened him in ways he could never describe, but he kept coming back because Frank Ruth was a man who needed a good friend, especially since he was stuck here.
He knew he was coming when he heard his cane tapping the top of the stairs. When he was halfway down, Jacob turned to him and smiled, even though he knew he couldn’t see him. Frank was twenty-eight years old, uncommonly younger than his sister, who was thirty-six. Their father had been in the Army and away from home for a long period of time. After that, Frank had been born, to his sister’s disappointment. They got along now, but Julie had been extremely unhappy when her brother stole away all of their parents’ attention on the day of his birth.
His parents hadn’t seemed to mind that Frank had been born without sight. They still loved him despite it. It was a shame their love for each other deteriorated. The wife, at one time so sweet and tender, ran away from home. The husband, always too dependent on his spouse, became lazy and decided he could no longer care for his children. He put them up for adoption and went back to the only structure that had ever given him comfort in monotony, the Army.
When Julie married Phillip, she begged him to take in her brother, so she could look after him. Frank agreed to live with his sister and her husband, but deep down, he wanted to be somewhere else and Jacob knew it. Every night, he dreamt of the city. He told Jacob Haisley of his dreams, but every time he got the chance to leave the Maslin house, he always declined it.
“I worry about Julie,” Frank had told Jacob. “She always said she would watch over me, but I’m really the one who watches over her.”
As Frank stepped down the flight of stairs that led to the small foyer, Jacob was sure the only reason Julie kept her brother here was pure selfishness. He had always had bigger dreams than his sister, and Jacob was certain that if Julie were to see Frank fulfill his desires, she would only perish in her prison, watching from afar in the Maslin house, like a mouse trapped in a corner.
“How are you, Frank?” Jacob inquired, once his friend had managed to reach the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh, I’m all right.” Frank smiled and turned his head in the direction of Jacob’s voice. His eyes were sunken and pale as death, false cheer on his chapped lips.
“Come on, old friend. Let’s go sit on the back porch.”
***
Earl Woodworth was a farmer who’d lived two miles down the road from the Maslin house. He was an honest worker, a man of thirty-three, who had inherited his home from his late father. He never really wanted to be a farmer and had always felt there was something else out there, something wonderful that was waiting for him. With his luck, it probably wouldn’t wait for much longer.
On the morning of July fourth, 1954, Earl stepped out on his front porch and looked across the street at the few houses that stood under the maple trees. Last year, he had sold part of his land for residential areas in order to pay off some other debts. Now there were little white houses, three of them, sitting in a row along the street. He didn’t mind. His neighbors were kind folks and they were all families with two or more children. There was a post office a mile to the south, then a doctor’s office, but nothing was ever too crowded.
Earl, as strong and masculine as he was, with a dwindling hairline and a glare that could cut flesh, shivered when he remembered the look on Phillip Maslin’s face the year before. His neighbor had a false kindness that could reel you in, then leave you sitting bewildered when he screamed in your face and left. Phillip was easily angered, but it was an innocent sort of fury, the way a child has a tantrum when his mother won’t buy him a soda at the drugstore.
In ’53, when Phillip was on his way to town in his Ford truck and decided to stop at the Woodworth house, Earl just stood there on the front porch, said hello, and lit up a cigarette. Phillip didn’t even bother with a greeting.
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing, selling out to those bastards?” He pointed over at the newly built houses on the other side of the street. He was yelling so loudly that the blond lady in her front yard became frightened and rushed into the house with a pile of freshly dry sheets bunched up in her arms. Earl Woodworth stopped paying attention after the first sentence, but it didn’t change the fact that spit was flying everywhere and Phillip’s face was getting redder by the second.
It took Phillip several minutes to finish his tirade. When he was done, he took a deep breath and stared at Earl, who enjoyed a long puff on his cigarette, despite the fact that he was all shaken up on the inside. Earl nodded.
“Have a good day, Phillip.”
“That’s Mr. Maslin to you, you good-for-nothing son-of-a bitch.” Phillip had already turned around halfway through his comeback. He lumbered toward his truck, smelling of cow manure and wiping the sweat off his head of blond and gray hair. Earl nodded casually and went back inside.
Other times, Phillip’s kinder side had shown, to the surprise of most of those who lived nearby and saw him whenever he drove into town. For that reason, when Earl felt fear wrack his body when his neighbor was around, he usually relaxed relatively quickly. He had once seen Phillip Maslin tend to a puppy with a sprained limb, so there was certainly something to be said for this tough-as-a-nail macho.
When Earl had seen him cradle that puppy from afar, a smile on his rugged, leathery face, he realized this was probably the man Julie had been so eager to marry. After Earl decided that Phillip was probably a lot nicer than he seemed, he stopped being so frightened of walking or driving past his house. There was something about the looming Maslin farmstead that always made him feel as though someone’s thin, chilly fingers were running up and down the back of his neck.
A few days after July fourth, Earl went for a walk, his yellowish mutt following happily behind him. It was sunny and beautiful. Earl and his wife were going to pick tomatoes that day, since they sold their harvest to the Campbell’s soup company in New Jersey, but he was putting it off for now. He would take a stroll down to the creek so that Deacon, his dog, could go for a swim and wash off the summer humidit
y. He could hear chickens clucking behind him, the sound moving across the land from one of the small houses across the street from his farm. Earl didn’t see Julie until he was only a few yards away from her.
“Hello, Mr. Woodworth.”
Earl jerked to his right, and saw her checking the mailbox.
“Good morning, Mrs. Maslin. How are you today?” Earl thought she was a striking creature with smooth, soft features and dark brown eyes. She was wearing one of her usual housedresses, except this one didn’t have long sleeves. Julie shrugged and looked down toward the ground. She always had trouble making eye contact, though he couldn’t imagine why. She had nothing to be nervous about. She spoke in a soft voice, with a tone that was just as flawless as the rest of her.
“I’m fine. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes, very lovely.” He hadn’t been referring to the day. Julie was beautiful.
Neither had known someone was watching them.
In July of 1954, Earl never made it to the creek. His body was never found, and only his dog came home.
***
Frank was thinking about Earl Woodworth as he and Jacob sat on the back porch of the Maslin homestead. The barn could be seen from here and was hugged closely by a thin line of young trees. Beyond the barn, cows grazed and the family’s two horses were out to pasture.
The only time Frank ever went out on the back porch was when Jacob came to visit. It gave him an excuse to come outside, since he wasn’t normally allowed out. His sister said it was to keep him safe, but he knew better.
“I got something for you, Frankie.” Jacob opened a small box and took out the object inside. Frank extended his hand, smiling despite the horrid thoughts that plagued him. Jacob set the gift in his palm.
“What is it?” Frank felt its smooth edges and then the limbs that extended outward on each side.
“Black sunglasses. I saw Ray Charles in concert last week. It reminded me of you, so I got you a pair. I know how much you like him.”
“I’ve always wanted to be a musician.”
“I know. But this way, you can be just as cool as one. Maybe next time I’ll get you a piano.”
Frank laughed. He felt the heat of the day on his skin and heard the birds around him, the scurrying of tiny animals by the trees and in the vegetable garden. He wished he could see everything he was hearing. If he were able to see, he would have left the Maslin house by now. But it would be much too dangerous to leave, especially for a blind man.
Jacob and Frank had been friends for years. All Frank had ever talked about was becoming a musician. He had never known what he wanted to play or where, or even why, he only knew that music was inside him. He listened to records all the time in his bedroom, playing them over and over until Phillip’s mother, Anne, decided she’d had enough. She yelled more viciously than anyone would ever expect from an old woman.
Frank’s favorite record was a compilation of Ray Charles songs. He listened to it all the time as he sat by the window in his bedroom, his arm on the windowsill and his face to the open breeze.
“Why do you let them tell you what to do?” Jacob suddenly inquired. He was wearing all black and lounging in his chair rather lazily, even though it was hard to do in this hard-backed wooden thing that Phillip had built several years ago.
“Who?” Frank asked stupidly. He already knew, but he hated discussing these things. He would get scared, and his best friend could guess about it all he wanted, but he would never really know the truth. Jacob leaned in closer to Frank in case anyone was listening from a nearby window.
“Phillip and his mother, who, frankly and, forgive that little joke,”—Frank chuckled—“are two of the most horrible people I’ve ever known.”
“How can you talk about them like that?”
“I’m only being honest. And I know you can handle it. You must be able to handle a lot of things. After all, you live with them.” Jacob smirked when Frank finally put on his new sunglasses. “I see you like those.”
“I only wish I knew what they looked like.” Frank felt Jacob’s hand on his, and his lips twitched upward into a smile. “Thank you,” he added.
“Anytime. Am I right to assume you are attempting to change the subject?”
“Probably.” Frank heard Jacob sigh heavily. They had gone over this many times. Frank always refused to answer his questions.
“Why don’t you just leave?”
“You asked me that before. And before that. And before that,” Frank noted. “Every time I say…”
“It’s private, I know.”
“Sometimes even friends can’t tell each other things.”
What Frank said was true, but he knew Jacob was hurt whenever he repeated it, as though the record player in his room had broken and the same note was being played over and over again.
***
Katherine decided to stick with her claim that she couldn’t remember anything. It was the easiest way to remain there, at least until she could figure out what was going on and how to get back to Jake. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, and tried not to think about it, but she knew he would be calling the police. Her mother. Their friends. He had to be searching for her, frantic.
Regardless, she had always wondered about this side of the Maslin family. Now she was sitting at the dinner table with them, trying not to ponder what had brought her here. And whether or not she’d lost her mind.
Phillip was saying grace. Kat kept her eyes open and noted that when he spoke those holy words, his right eye twitched and his face grew slightly red, as though he were powerfully intending those phrases to knock against the doors of Heaven.
When it was time to eat, Kat almost said Grandma when she asked her to pass the butter. The taste of the food brought her to the conclusion that this was reality. She didn’t know how it had become reality, but she hoped that when she returned to her own world, Jake would be waiting for her. After all the loyalty he’d given her, she was almost certain he would be there when she got home, ready to accept her with open arms.
“So, Katherine—that’s your name, isn’t it?” Phillip’s gruff voice distracted Kat from her thoughts, and she looked up.
There was another boy at the table tonight. He had dirty-blond hair and dark blue eyes, just like David, though he seemed to be a few years older. Who was he, a friend of her father’s? Kat hadn’t seen him until now.
“I’m talking to you, Miss,” Phillip said, his tone stern.
“I’m sorry.” She forced a smile. “Yes…I’m Katherine.” Everyone was looking at her. She held her fork poised over her plate, but she didn’t dare shovel food in her mouth while this man was speaking to her.
“And you don’t remember anything about where you came from, even though you’ve somehow managed to recall your first name?”
“Phillip, please don’t upset her,” Julie mumbled. Her spoon clinked against her plate as she scooped up some peas.
“I’m not upsetting anyone. Am I, Katherine?”
Kat shook her head. Yes, you are upsetting me, but only because you keep staring at me. In fact, everyone is staring at me. Your mother is glaring at me like I just threw baked potato in her face. If Frank over there weren’t blind, he’d be staring at me, too.
Jacob Haisley hadn’t stayed to eat dinner with them. He had gone back to the city rather quickly, and Kat wondered if his presence might have made things less awkward.
This was the first time Kat had seen Anne Maslin. That woman almost never came out of her bedroom. Just like Sleeper—Frank, Kat corrected herself. She decided she wouldn’t use that ridiculous nickname. Phillip took a bite of corn and chewed it up, his wide jaw moving slowly. Then he looked back at Kat as he wiped his fingers on his napkin.
“Do you remember anything?” he asked. “What about your last name?”
“I—I remember falling in the woods. I can’t recall much more than that. I can’t even figure out why I only remember my first name. Maybe my name isn
’t even Katherine. Maybe it’s something else.” Good save, Kat thought triumphantly.
“You be sure to tell me if you remember anything, then. I put up a sign at the store describing you. That way, somebody in your family might come and fetch you.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Kat said, forcing politeness. She wondered why he didn’t suggest she go to the hospital, or the police.
Phillip surveyed her with his cool blue eyes. They weren’t like David’s at all. They were much lighter, like the sky’s horizon on a very clear day.
“Until you remember where your family is,” he said, “you’re welcome in my home.”
For a moment, Kat couldn’t understand why she was surprised to hear this.
***
The days melted together, and Kat lost track of time. Each morning, she hoped to wake up beside Jake. Each morning, she was disappointed and perplexed. She thought of the road trips she’d been on, and how well she adapted to changes. Sleeping in the car in parking lots. Meeting new people she’d never see more than once. Every journey was an adventure. So was this.
Rather than try to explain it, she allowed herself to become a part of it. She would discover its meaning. And perhaps then she would be able to return to Jake.
She was afraid to ask questions, but one morning she decided that fear had to go. Asking questions was the only way she would figure out why she was here.
She helped Julie scrub the floors in the kitchen as the sunlight streamed in from the wide windows. She didn’t mind doing it, because it gave her a chance to spend time with the grandmother she’d never known. To learn about this side of the family.
“Who’s that boy who hangs around the house all the time?” she asked. “The one with the dirty-blond hair. Is that a friend of David’s?”
Julie paused for a moment as she worked, staring toward her calloused hand which held a scrubber as they knelt on the wood floors.