Heart of Glass

by Diane Noble

  I’d no sooner started to nurse when Zebbie let out a high-pitched screech, turning as red as Michela had a few minutes before. I weighed how I might feed both at once, then quickly dismissed the idea. There wasn’t a chair big enough to support my arms while I held them. And the beds were too dusty to lie down.

  Zebbie squalled on while I tried to relax and feed Michela. Around me the cabin seemed to get darker and close in on me.

  What could I have been thinking to come back here? Tears formed in my eyes. How could I manage? Two babies and no help.

  Michela sensed my mood and refused to eat. I propped her on my shoulder to burp her, but she cried louder.

  When both babies stopped crying to gulp for a breath before howling again, a cackling sound at the door caused me to whirl.

  Selah stood before me, grinning a toothless grin. “Dearly Forbes tol’ me ye’d come back, Fairy lass, but I had to see it with my own eyes.” She moved closer, almost yelling above the sound of the still-fussing babies. “So these are yer lap babies.” She scooped up Zebbie. His eyes opened wide, and his mouth snapped closed in surprise.

  She laughed into his eyes. “This here’s yer auntie Selah,” she said. “And who’s this wee lass?” Juggling Zebbie in one arm, she tickled Michela under her chin with the opposite hand.

  Michela stopped fussing in mid-cry and blinked at Selah.

  “They’re purtier than Dearly Forbes said. Purtier even than yer letters let on.” Selah didn’t read and write as capably as her sister Welsie, but she knew enough to read my letters from California and the one announcing the babies’ birth. She had even written back to me with a wide, childlike scrawl.

  Selah scooted a chair from beneath the table and sat with Zebbie in her lap, bouncing him and singing, while I leaned back in my chair to finish feeding Michela. The cabin was quiet again.

  I looked across the table at Selah, to find her studying me. “Yer shorely not plannin’ on stayin’ here,” she said.

  “I came back to be with you. We’re blood kin. This is where I belong, where I need to raise my children. I want them to know their mountain kin.”

  “To take keer o’ me, I reckon.” She cocked her head and stared at me hard-eyed. “That’s why ye came back.”

  I feared I had offended her. “To be with you.”

  “I kin take keer o’ meself, Fairy lass.” She kept her gaze on me. “When was the last time you et?”

  I swallowed hard. “Yesterday sometime.”

  She wagged her finger at me. “Aye, lass. I knew ‘twas at least that or longer.” She placed Zebbie back in his basket. “I brung ye some eggs. Also some coffee. I knew thar wasn’t much here. Rats would’ve had it sure.”

  I smiled as she bustled around the house, gathering wood and lighting a fire, and brought in two pokes filled with supplies. From time to time she looked at me and frowned as if still upset I thought she needed taking care of. I couldn’t get enough of her bird-bright eyes. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d come to see after her, and she was rescuing me.

  “I brung Verily with me,” she said. “She’s ready fer milkin’.”

  Sure enough, when I glanced through the front window, the scrawny milk cow looked back, eyeing me nervously. My stomach growled at the thought of pouring myself a glass of thick, creamy milk.

  Within minutes Selah had set a place at the table, and presented me with a meal fit for a lumberjack: grits, eggs, berries, and cornpone covered with honey from her bee gum. I ate every bite, delighting in her vigorous, pleased nods.

  “Now,” she said when I was drinking the last of the milk, “tell me everything.”

  I blotted my mouth with the large checkered lap towel she’d brought in one of the pokes. I couldn’t put it off any longer. “I have some sad news.”

  “ ‘Bout my sister. ‘Bout Welsie True,” she said.

  “Aye.” I reached for her hand. “ ’Tis about her.” This was news I hadn’t wanted to send in a letter. I had to tell her face to face.

  For two hours we sat at the table, and I told her everything about my grandmother, about San Juan, the mission, the town, the barrio children. I told her about Micheil, Welsie’s friend and mine. Several times she wept as she talked about her sister and the years they missed together.

  “Are ye goin’ back, lass?” she asked, her voice unusually gentle.

  I looked away from her bright eyes. “I don’t know.” Thinking about the question, I stood and walked to the window. Selah was a connection to my past, just as Welsie True had been. I turned back to her, a wave of affection filling my heart.

  “Tell me about your childhood,” I said. “About you and my grandmother. There’s so much I don’t know about my family. I want to learn about your momma and da, about where you lived before moving here.”

  She patted my chair, looking pleased. “Sit yerself down again, Fairy lass. ’Tis a long story.

  “Well, you see, long ago and faraway, came our people to these mountains …”

  We bathed the babies, put them to bed, rocked them and fed them, and put them down again while Selah talked. The sun was on its downward slope when she finished.

  “Will it ever change?” I asked. “The hatred and feuding?”

  “I hain’t been back thar since I wed,” she said. “Nigh onto fifty years back. I’d be shunned yet.”

  “Have you ever thought of going back?”

  “Most are gone, I reckon. Left the mountains for the mines. Spread out all over God’s creation, they are.” She looked hard at me then, her little round eyes piercing. “You hain’t thinking of goin’ thar to try to patch things up among ‘em, are ye? That’s not why ye come back?”

  I shook my head and laughed lightly. “I have to admit it’s crossed my mind. But from what I know about the Marches and the Trues, it’s going take more energy than a widow with baby twins can muster up to fix what ails those folks.” I reached for her hand. “I only want to make things right about my momma and da. I came back to see you and to take care of them. That’s all.”

  “How’re ye fixin’ to do that?”

  “I’ll start with the graveyard. I want to see to it that my da’s grave is marked, and that my momma’s proper married name is on hers.”

  Selah grinned. “I’ll help ye, Fairy lass. I been carin’ fer that graveyard long as I kin remember. ‘Twill bring me pleasure to set things right for the Trues.”

  Later we sat by the cook fire while the babies slept. A bubbling stew scented the room. Selah’s bright eyes met mine. “Ye canna stay here, lass. Ye know it, and I do. There’s nothing here fer ye now.”

  “You are here.”

  Her voice softened. “I won’t be forever, lass.”

  I leaned forward, a grin spreading across my face. “When we’ve finished with the graveyard … have it in order, the right stones made, my da’s in its rightful place …”

  Her eyes seemed to glow as if she knew what I was about to ask.

  “Would you consider coming to California with me?” Outside the crickets sang and the tree frogs croaked. A hoot owl called from near the meadow.

  “So ye kin take keer o’ me?”

  My grin widened. “How can you think such a thing after today? You were the one caring for me and my babies.” My eyes turned moist. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “That a fact.” Her wizened face broke into a wreath of smiles. “That a fact.”

  “ ‘Tis.” I couldn’t stop smiling.

  She sighed. “Well now, Lettie’ll have to come up to see after Verily. Gather the eggs and pick the berries so’s the birds don’t git ‘em all.” She smiled at me. “Unless you think Verily might come with us.”

  “I don’t see why not,” I said. “I know of a ranch up in the mountains above the sea. It’s called Saddleback, and it once belonged to Welsie. I think Verily might just think she’s gone to heaven with all that nosing around in the tall California grass.”

  “Well then, it’s settled,�
�� Selah said with a nod. “I’ll go!”

  Blackberry Mountain

  September 25, 1888

  Dearest Micheil,

  I’m on my way to California! Selah, the twins, and I are leaving tomorrow for Dover Town. We’ll be in San Juan by the first of October. Oh, how I hope this letter reaches you before you sail. I would love to see you once more before you leave … Please, please, tell me it is possible!

  Dear friend, what a joy it will be for me to see you with Michela and Zebbie! And I can’t wait for you to meet Selah. Something tells me she is so like Welsie True in spirit.

  I await seeing you again—my dearest hope!—with joyful anticipation!

  Until then, I faithfully remain

  Your friend,

  Fairwyn True Deforest

  Thirty-Four

  Saddleback Ranch

  October 10, 1888

  Dearest Micheil,

  We arrived in San Juan just three days ago, Selah, the babies, and me. How saddened I was to discover you never received my letter telling of our return. I found it unopened here at the ranch.

  You are surely still sailing and will be during the coming weeks. I pray for your traveling mercies, my dear friend. I also pray this letter will reach you. I am sending it in care of your parish church in Ireland, knowing it is there you will likely head first.

  The train travel to California was wearying, much more difficult than my earlier crossing. You can imagine the troubles of caring for two babies in such a cramped space. The most joyous part of the trip was watching Selah’s face with each new modern discovery. She is quite the seasoned traveler now and proud of it, hankering—she says—to be on the road again. I do believe she is ready to load us all into a ship and sail for Ireland!

  That isn’t to say she hasn’t fallen in love with California. She settled into her sister’s cottage as if she’d lived there all her life. Already she’s made friends with the barrio children, promising to continue the tradition of baking little cakes and singing with them.

  The children and I are making ourselves comfortable here at the ranch. I’ve hired some young women from the barrio to help me with the everyday care so that I can find moments to myself to rest. Selah comes by often to help, but, feisty and headstrong as ever, she’s made it clear she is used to living alone and likes it that way.

  As for me, my friend, California reminds me of you at every turn, our long talks about God and his mercy, and the joy you brought to my spirit.

  Please write to me soon and advise that you have arrived safely in Ireland.

  Until then I remain

  Your devoted friend,

  Fairwyn True Deforest

  Saddleback Ranch

  December 4, 1888

  Dearest Micheil,

  Your letter arrived yesterday! I have read it at least a dozen times already! I laughed and cried at the same time when I read your account of going before the magistrate with your crimes. To think you had a witness on your behalf all along and that all was forgiven before your arrival! And joy of all joys, you are coming home to California!

  You said you have some business to take care of before sailing. I send this letter in hopes it reaches you before you leave. Though, on second thought, I would rather you miss the letter and sail into Los Angeles harbor sooner!

  Lest you worry about being displaced by this widow woman and her two infants, I will set your mind to rest. The ranch lands are large enough to split in two. Half will be yours—to build a school or quarters for those without family or home.

  It is yours, Micheil Grady Gilvarry! And I cannot wait to see you riding across it like the wind.

  I remain

  Faithfully yours,

  Fairwyn True Deforest

  Saddleback Ranch

  February 22, 1889

  Dearest Micheil,

  Such a long time has passed since your last letter. My heart is sick with worry. You mentioned you had business to conclude before you sailed out of Dublin. Yet you did not say how long it might take. Perhaps I expected your sailing to be sooner than you meant.

  I am praying that it was my mistake and nothing worrisome has overtaken you.

  If you receive this before you sail, please know that all is well here. Michela, your sweet namesake, took her first step yesterday. Zebbie is content to crawl, though he now says more words than she does. “Ba” is his favorite. It means everything from “ball” to “muffin.”

  Selah has utterly captured the hearts of the children in the barrio. Nita and Rosa have become her little shadows; they knock on her door at dawn and would likely stay all day if she would allow it. She’s bought a dozen laying hens, and Nando has made her a coop.

  Oh, I think I’ve forgotten to tell you the new addition to the ranch. Selah insisted on bringing her milk cow, Verily, from Blackberry Mountain. Though she refuses to be corralled, the old girl has made herself at home. Like me, she prefers the wide-open spaces.

  You remain in my heart and prayers, dear friend. I pray God’s comfort is with you wherever you may be—on the high seas or still in Ireland.

  Until we meet again, I remain

  Your friend,

  Fairwyn True Deforest

  Saddleback Ranch

  June 7, 1889

  Dearest Welsie True,

  It’s been over a year since my last letter, and truly I thought I wouldn’t need to write to you again. But something has happened, and I need to pour out my heart to you. I need to tell someone who understands a friendship more dear than the love of kin.

  You see, Welsie True, in Dublin on Christmas Day last, there was an Irish uprising against the British rule. It was part of the Irish troubles, and I’m certain now it had something to do with the business that Micheil wrote he had to attend to.

  After I wrote to the shipping company he sailed with last fall, they checked the manifest for his name and found it but wrote back that he never claimed his passage.

  They also said I might be interested to know that in Dublin that very day, many had been killed, and many more arrested and sent to prison for the uprising. Several others went missing that day, they said, and were thought to be hiding out.

  It’s the not knowing that troubles my heart. If he were in an English prison, I might know how to pray. If he lost his life, then I would grieve for him, but also rejoice in his new life with his Father in heaven. It’s the uncertainty that is hard to bear. And to think that I might never see him again causes a heartache like none I’ve ever known.

  As I pen this letter, though, I can almost hear what Micheil would say, the same words he comforted me with when I grieved over your passing:

  Aye, lass, ’Tis God’s light we need in dark times like these—in tragedy and in joy—for ’Tis the One who walks with us who sustains us.

  We need to remember, he said, ’Tis God who brings others to meet us on our life journeys, to help, to love, andto guide us. When he moves two wayfarers onto a different path, both are richer for their meeting.

  Yes, riches beyond expression have been mine—in you, Welsie True, my precious friend and grandmother. And in Micheil Gilvarry.

  I’ve seen the face of God in you both.

  Forever, I will remain

  Your loving granddaughter,

  Fairwyn True Deforest

  Saddleback Ranch, March 19, 1893

  Of the four years the children and I had attended the festival of the return of the swallows to the Mission San Juan, only twice had the flocks arrived on the right day.

  Today, as I rode with the twins across the golden poppy-drenched ranchlands, I wondered if the swallows would indeed delight us with their presence.

  Within the hour it would be time to leave for the festival. Zebbie and Michela had recently learned to play their first Appalachian folk songs on their dulcimers. They would join the other children from the barrio to sing and dance in the glow of torchlight in the balmy evening air. Nando, now twelve years old, had been practicing his solo for weeks. And
though Rosa and Nita sang better than they played their dulcimers, their giggling enthusiasm made up for their lack of fingering skills. Carlos had decided he wanted nothing to do with music, but he loved to tell folk tales of Mexico and Spain with brightly attired Juan and Jaime acting out his stories.

  The informal music and instrument-building classes I’d begun at the mission were a resounding success. Seven of the children had finished their own dulcimers, and three more were nearly completed. We had recently begun a new project with the help of the children’s fathers. All the children, including Zebbie and Michela, were learning to play Spanish guitar with the patient help of the barrio musicians. As usual, when they performed, the music would combine the best of their cultures.

  During the festivals, I was so taken by the rich heritage of the folk songs that a year ago I began work on a book of American folklore and folk songs. Zeb’s work had covered only the connection of the Irish, Scots, Welsh, and English in the Appalachians to the lands of their heritage. I plunged heart and soul into the riches of the Spanish and Indian songs and stories. I planned that, after this book was done, I would begin work on other heritages that already captured my imagination: the Germans, the Scandinavians, the French, the Africans, and beyond.

  I rode on, leaving Zebbie and Michela lagging slightly behind, looking for Verily, who as usual had wandered away from the confines of the ranch.

  The sun had burned off the mists from the ocean, leaving the sky filled with streaks of buttermilk clouds. A breeze brought the saltwater scent inland and swept it across the ranchlands.

  I halted the bay mare and stared skyward with a smile as a few swallows dipped and wheeled in flight on their northward migration. Though I had no way of knowing if they would light at the mission, their soft burrs carried across the sky, filling my heart with their music.

  Memories came with the sight of even these few, just as they did every year. Sometimes they brought regrets for choices that hurt and harmed others; sometimes they brought fresh grief for those I’d lost—Poppy, Zeb, Welsie True, and perhaps Micheil. But joy always filled my heart at last. Joy in the knowledge that no matter my mistakes, there was One who walked with me on my journey, loving me, accepting me just as I was, through it all.