by Ann Tatlock
chapter
41
Sitting on my bed, leaning back against the headboard, I held Wally’s book in my hands, the one he gave me the night he ran away. I wished he were there now, sitting at his desk in the next room, his finger scrolling over the pages of On the Road as though he were carefully studying every line.
I wanted Wally back, but I didn’t want him to be the Wally he was right before he went away. No, I had to go back farther, back several years, back to the days before . . .
But that was the hard part. I shut my eyes and squeezed the book tightly with both hands. I wanted to go all the way back to my earliest memories, when life was quieter and Wally and I were friends. But I couldn’t rewind the years without seeing the bad parts too. I couldn’t look backward without bumping up against that one event in particular, the thing that happened when Wally finally got big enough to fight back.
Valerie was about a year old. A series of colds and ear infections had kept her crying day and night for weeks. We were tired, all of us, a weariness made worse by the humid heat of the summer evening. All the windows in the house were thrown open and fans blew relentlessly in nearly every room, but nothing gave us much relief from the heat. Between the weather and Valerie’s cries, we were all on edge.
Mom went to Valerie’s day crib, the one set up in the den just off the kitchen. Before she could reach into the crib, Daddy was there, yelling, grabbing Mom’s wrists, telling her to leave Valerie alone, to let her cry it out so she would sleep from exhaustion. Mom pulled away and they began to argue, hurling harsh and ugly words at each other. I crouched in the kitchen watching, clutching my doll, fighting back tears. I was afraid for Mom, afraid of what Daddy might do. Usually I didn’t see the fights, only the aftermath: Mom’s black eye, her bloodied lip.
Daddy raised a fist and I screamed, my own fist pressed hard against my mouth. Turning to flee, I unlocked my knees and started to rise, but even before I was fully upright, I heard Wally’s bare feet slapping against the kitchen floor. He sprinted past me and into the den, head-butting Daddy in the gut like a linebacker making a tackle. He knocked Daddy off his feet and dove on top of him. Pinning him down, Wally began slamming his fists into Daddy’s face over and over again. Finally Daddy was able to throw Wally off, but the fight went on, the two of them swinging and punching until they were both dripping huge drops of sweat and blood. Mom screamed and pleaded with them to stop, but they ignored her, leaping at each other like wild animals, prompted by a rage so thick it hung in the air. I put my hands over my ears, but I couldn’t drown out the sounds: Valerie’s wails, Mom’s cries, the smack of flesh against flesh, the crash of bodies against furniture.
I cried and prayed to God, asking him to save my brother, as I was sure Daddy would kill him. Wally was tall, but he wasn’t muscular like Daddy. When Daddy pushed Wally up against the wall, both hands around his throat, Mom reached for the phone. Her hands shook so hard she could scarcely dial zero for the operator. Even before the call went through, the front door flew open, and Uncle Joe was there, pulling Daddy off Wally and wrestling him to the floor. Daddy was big, but Uncle Joe was bigger, and he managed to hold Daddy down till his anger subsided.
“That boy tried to kill me,” Daddy said amid a hail of oaths. He wiped at his bloodied nose with the back of his hand.
“Looked to me like you were killing him,” Uncle Joe said, “and let me tell you something, little brother, that ain’t right. It ain’t right.”
That was the night Wally became permanently angry. I suppose that was the night too that Mom began to think of leaving. Daddy disappeared for a couple of days after that, and when he came back, his arms loaded with gifts, he begged for another chance, even from Wally, who refused to forgive him.
We stayed with Daddy for one more year, and then we left.
“What are you doing, Roz?”
I looked up and saw Mom standing in the doorway. She was smiling.
“I was just thinking about Wally,” I said.
“Oh?” She stepped across the room and sat beside me on the bed.
“I miss him.”
She nodded, her smile fading. “I do too.”
We were quiet a moment. Then Mom asked, “What were you thinking about?”
I looked toward the window and drew back one corner of my mouth. “I was thinking about how he used to fight with Daddy.”
When I turned back, her expression turned grave, and I saw the sadness in her eyes. “That’s not a very pleasant thing to think about, Roz. Why don’t you think about something else?”
But I didn’t want to let it go. I still had so many questions. “Is that why we moved away from Daddy?” I asked.
“That’s part of it. A big part of it, yes.”
“Because they didn’t get along very well.”
Mom sniffed at that, looking almost amused. “No, not very well, I’m afraid.”
“When Wally comes back from being a soldier, will he live with us again?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Mom cocked her head. “He’ll probably get a job and start living on his own. He’s all grown up now, you know.”
I nodded. If Wally didn’t live with us, Daddy would have less reason to get angry.
“Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Did Daddy love me?”
Mom hesitated only a moment before saying, “Of course he did, Roz.”
“You know, he never got mad at me the way he got mad at Wally. He was good to me.”
Mom sat up a little straighter and looked at me a long time. “Roz,” she said finally, “we’ve talked about all this before. I know you have some fond memories of your father, but that’s all in the past. You need to leave that behind you and move on. Your father isn’t with us, but we’re still a family, just the way we are.”
“But . . .”
“But what?”
“It doesn’t feel like a real family without a father. You know, without Daddy. Are you sure we can’t ask him to come back?”
“Yes, Roz. I’m very sure.”
I thought then about my conversation with Mara, how she’d said, “I think you should tell your mom.”
“Tell her what?” I’d asked. “That Daddy’s here?”
“Yeah. I think she needs to know.”
“But Daddy said not to tell her.”
“Maybe that’s all the more reason to tell her.”
I wanted to tell her. I was aching to tell her. Daddy’s here! He’s here in Mills River. He’s promised to change. He’s promised to stop drinking and to make us a family again.
But when I looked at Mom’s eyes, the words fell apart, like ash rubbed between a thumb and a finger. I was afraid. Afraid of her reaction. Afraid of ruining Daddy’s plans. Afraid of ruining my own dreams.
And then she said something I didn’t expect. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell you this, Roz, but your father has moved to California.”
For a moment I was left speechless as I tried to make sense of it all. Finally I managed to whisper, “He has?”
Mom nodded.
“How do you know?”
“Uncle Joe told me. In fact, your father left Minneapolis shortly after we did. He told Joe he wanted to start over, that he might as well look for work where it’s warmer. He was tired of the winters, tired of working outdoors for months in the snow and cold. Anyway, it seems he’s accepted the fact that he’s not a part of this family anymore. You need to accept that fact too.”
“But . . .”
“But what, Roz?”
That’s a lie! I wanted to say. Daddy’s not in California. He’s here. I’ve seen him!
I shook off the urge to tell. I looked at Mom, and with heart thumping, I asked, “Can I have a stamp?”
“Sure. Are you going to write to Wally?”
“Not tonight. I think I’ll write to Uncle Joe.”
“Uncle Joe?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, since you mentioned him I realize I hav
en’t written him since we got here.”
Mom found her smile again. “Well, that’d be nice. I’m sure he and Aunt Linda would appreciate hearing from you.”
Why hadn’t I thought of Uncle Joe before? I’d write and tell him everything that had happened since we got there. How Daddy had followed us down and how he was calling himself Nelson Knutson and how he wanted to be with Mom and me and Valerie again. Uncle Joe would know what to do. After all, he was Daddy’s brother. If he thought I should tell Mom that Daddy was in Mills River, then I’d do it.
When Mom left to get the stamp, I found some paper and started writing.
chapter
42
Some days later, at five o’clock in the morning, I was startled out of sleep by the ringing of the telephone and by Tillie’s cry of “Merciful heavens!” that followed soon after. Slipping out of bed, I tiptoed to the door of my room and stood there listening as Tillie talked into the extension in the hall. Mom appeared in her doorway too, hugging herself against both the cold in the house and the fear brought on by an early morning phone call from who knew where.
Tillie’s face was pale and her hair, let loose from its bun, hung in wispy gray waves all the way down to the shoulders of her white cotton gown. In her rush she hadn’t bothered to throw on her robe, though she’d wiggled her feet into the blue fuzzy slippers that always waited for her beside the bed.
Mom and I exchanged worried glances as she talked, unable to pick up any clues about to whom she was talking and what they were talking about. She didn’t say much other than “Uh-huh” and “All right,” until finally she said, “Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can,” and hung up.
She looked at Mom and then at me to make sure she had our attention. We were way beyond giving her our attention and aching to know what was happening.
“That was a nurse down at Riverside Hospital,” Tillie said. “They’re just about to wheel Lyle into surgery. His appendix is inflamed and about ready to burst.”
I heard Mom gasp. “Oh, Tillie,” she whispered, lifting a hand to her mouth. To my surprise, her eyes glazed over with tears, as though one of her own children were about to go under the knife. She hadn’t cried when I had my tonsils out, though, so I was annoyed to think she’d get teary-eyed over a man we hardly knew. “I wish I could go to the hospital with you,” Mom said.
“You can come tonight, after it’s over.”
“Is he going to be all right?” I asked.
From the look on Tillie’s face, I knew it was the wrong question to ask. After a moment she let out the breath she’d been holding and said, “He will be if we pray for him, Roz. Anyone care to join me?”
Tillie moved toward her room, and Mom and I followed. Reaching her bed, Tillie eased herself down to her knees and folded her thick hands on top of the quilt. Mom kneeled beside her. Not wanting to be left out, I joined them at the foot of the bed.
Tillie closed her eyes but kept her face turned toward the ceiling. Speaking loudly, she said, “Heavenly Father, I need to talk to you about Lyle and what’s about to happen down there at the hospital. Now, you know, Lord, that I’m old and ready to die. Soon as you call, I’m coming on up, and I’ll be glad to finally get there and see the face of my Savior Jesus, and Ross too, in that order.”
Mom and I both opened one eye and peeked at each other.
“But Lyle – now, he’s got a whole boatload of good years left, and if you don’t mind my saying so, it’d be a shame if you didn’t leave him here for now and let him finish up his work. So if you’re dead set on taking someone home today, Lord, I pray it’s me and not Lyle. I’m asking you, Father, to let my son live. And I’m asking in the name of your son, Jesus. Amen.”
“Amen,” Mom echoed.
Tillie opened her eyes, nodded, and slowly pulled herself up.
“Can I make you some breakfast before you go, Tillie?” Mom asked.
“Just coffee, thanks, Janis. I want to get there as soon as possible. In fact, I’ll call Johnny and have him go with me, or at least drop me off.”
“Listen, take the car. I can walk to work.”
“Thanks, but Johnny needs to know anyway, and he may very well want to stay at the hospital with me.” She marched back out to the phone in the hall as Mom and I followed once again. “We can’t have Lyle all alone at a time like this. The nurse said someone from the boardinghouse brought Lyle in and stayed with him through the night, but he had to leave for work this morning, so now nobody’s there.”
Tillie hurriedly dialed Johnny’s number. She spoke with him in short, clipped sentences while Mom rung her hands, and I looked on anxiously. When Tillie hung up, she said, “He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll get your coffee,” Mom volunteered. “And Roz, you go ahead and get ready for school.”
“If you go see him at the hospital tonight, can I come?” I asked.
“Let’s talk about that later,” Mom said as she moved toward the stairs.
“He may not be up to seeing too many visitors at once, Roz,” Tillie said. “But your mother and I will be sure to give Lyle your love.”
That said, she dismissed me with a wave of her hand and went back to her room to get dressed.
Esther Kinshaw was called to watch Valerie and me while Mom and Tillie were at the hospital. Mrs. Kinshaw was our next-door neighbor, the one with the award-winning hot dish recipes and the twin granddaughters in Sausalito named after flowers. She was already there when I got home from school; she had, in fact, been there all day, Mom having called her over before she left for work in the morning. Mrs. Kinshaw met me at the door wearing an enormous bibbed apron over her floral print housedress and a delicate hairnet over her silver bouffant. One sure way to ruin a casserole, she told me, was to allow wayward hairs to slip in unnoticed. No cook was going to win any blue ribbons if one of the judges ingested a hair.
While Valerie napped, I sat at the kitchen table doing homework and watching Mrs. Kinshaw putter around the kitchen. “Did my mom say when she’d be home?” I asked.
Mrs. Kinshaw shook her head. “She just said I was to feed you supper, so I’m assuming it’ll be sometime in the early evening.”
“Did you talk to Tillie at all today? Do you know how Mr. Monroe is doing?”
“No, she hasn’t called. But it’s only his appendix, and Lyle is a strong little boy, so I don’t think we need to worry.”
I wrinkled my nose at her and said, “He’s not a little boy, Mrs. Kinshaw.”
She looked thoughtful as her hands kneaded a batch of biscuit dough. Then she laughed. “No, I guess you’re right about that. But I’ve known Lyle since he was about so high” – she held a hand to her knee – “and sometimes I still see him in my mind that way.” She sighed and clicked her tongue. “Seems like only yesterday Curtis and I moved in next door to Tillie and Ross. We were both young couples then with small children. My, how the time has flown.”
I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. Not quite four o’clock. Time was not flying for me. Mom hadn’t even left work yet to go to the hospital. She didn’t get off till five, and then she’d probably spend a couple hours with Tillie and Lyle Monroe before she finally came home. We hadn’t had a baby-sitter in a long time, not since Minnesota. Ever since we moved to Mills River, Tillie had been around to stay with Valerie and me.
Sighing, I went back to my long division. But I couldn’t concentrate because Mrs. Kinshaw kept chattering on about Tillie and Ross and what wonderful neighbors they were and how they had such fine sons and it was just a pity Lyle had never gotten married, because he would have made such a nice husband and father. . . .
I didn’t care. I just wanted Mom to come home. And Tillie too. I just wanted everyone to be where they belonged.
It wasn’t until almost nine o’clock – and somewhere around chapter 52 of Mrs. Kinshaw’s tedious life story – that Mom and Tillie finally got home. When I heard the key in the kitchen door, I flew to Mom and threw my arms a
round her waist, pressing myself happily against her stiff wool coat.
“Why, Roz,” she said, “I expected you to be in bed by now.”
Mrs. Kinshaw waved a hand and hooted in amusement. “I’m afraid we lost track of time, Janis, dear. Roz and I have just been talking away like a couple of chatterboxes.”
Speak for yourself, I thought. Aloud, I said, “I’m glad you’re home, Mom. How’s Mr. Monroe?”
“He’s just fine. He was sleeping soundly when we left.”
“Thanks be to God,” Tillie added as she slowly unbuttoned her coat. “Both Lyle and I are still alive and well. Lyle came through the surgery just fine and should be out of the hospital in a couple of days. As for me, I’m tired. I feel as though I’ve been broadsided by a train.”
“It’s been a long day for you, Tillie,” Mom agreed. “Why don’t you go on upstairs and get some rest.”
Tillie nodded. “I’m not going to argue with you there, Janis. My feet are yelling ‘Traitor!’ and my bones are begging me to lay them down for the night.”
“Well, you go on then,” Mom said with a small, wan smile. She looked pretty weary herself. “Esther, thanks for taking care of the girls. Can I reimburse you for your time?” She unsnapped her purse and dug around for her wallet.
Mrs. Kinshaw shook her head. “I wouldn’t hear of it, Janis. What are neighbors for, if not to help each other? No, I’m just glad to do it.”
“Well, thank you. You’ve been a huge help. Can I at least walk you home?”
“You don’t even have to do that, dear. I don’t imagine I’ll get lost between here and the house next door.”
Mom wiggled out of her coat, then walked to the hall closet to help Mrs. Kinshaw on with hers. As they stood at the front door a moment and talked, Tillie moved to the kitchen sink to get herself a drink of water. “Oh, Roz, I almost forgot,” she said. When the glass was full, she turned off the faucet, took a long drink, and settled the glass on the counter. “Lyle said to tell you it was a friend of yours who drove him to the hospital and stayed with him last night. Nelson Knutson. He said something about your meeting this fellow at the library. Anyway, Lyle wanted you to know he thinks the world of Mr. Knutson now. He says Mr. Knutson stuck with him just like a brother right up to the minute he had to leave for work this morning.”