“What does your dad do for a living?”
“He farms, but it isn’t exactly pulling in the cash. We come from the Heartland of rich, black soil. Corn and beans, you know? It’s not the same down here.”
“He isn’t farming corn and beans, is he? That’s a terrible crop for this area.”
“Pimentos.”
“The little red thing inside an olive?”
“Yes, the little red thing in an olive, which is actually a red pepper.” My cheeks burned. Pimento farming sounded ridiculous when I said it out loud. “If we don’t figure out something, all our work would be wasted. Five acres is too much to farm by hand, and I have no idea how we’re going to harvest it all.”
I pushed off the railing. “Let’s walk... ” He didn’t hesitate to follow. I continued, “See, Mom comes from a family similar to yours. Well, they’re not millionaires, but old German blood that runs back to the homeland. My great-grandfather never learned English, that’s how embedded they were in old tradition. So, I understand what you mean about your grandmother. It isn’t any different up North – it’s just a different settlement of people. Anyway, they had high expectations for who Mom married. I still don’t exactly understand what happened. Dad and I talked about it once and he said he needed to be his own man, whatever that means.”
“Money doesn’t make the man,” Tyler said.
As we walked across the road back to The Sunken Trail, his comment lingered in my mind. He wasn’t self-conscious of how his affluence made him appear, but every time we talked about money, his demeanor would change, as if he carried some secret knowledge about the burdens of wealth. Whether it was by his father or someone else, he had obviously been groomed to understand the responsibility that came with privilege.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Sure.”
“Is Nana awful to your mom?”
I bristled. “Um... I plead the Fifth.”
“Seriously, I know what kind of woman she is. And she hates everything from the North. You seemed freaked out when we first met.”
“I had no idea you were there!” I laughed. “That was so embarrassing.”
“No, that was hilarious.”
“You scared the shit out of me,” I said. “Anyway, I don’t think your grandmother likes me. Just being there puts me on edge. I feel like if I look at something the wrong way, it’ll break.”
“I hear ya. I still won’t touch anything in the great room.”
“I know, right?”
We walked a little further in silence. Even though I’d lied to Mom, I was compelled to make sure he knew the truth about my situation. Telling him might not have been fair, but deep down, I guess I sought absolution from someone.
“Mom doesn’t know I’m with you. She’s afraid that if we hang out, she’ll get fired.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to put you in a bad position.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I wanna be here. I’ve had a great time.”
“Me, too. I understand Claire needs her job. I won’t threaten that, not on purpose, anyway. Nana’s just... stuck in her old ways.”
“We know we’re the staff or whatever, but she... ” I couldn’t get the words out. He had no idea what Mom went through almost every day.
“Go ahead, tell me. She, what?”
“She likes to mess with Mom. She’ll leave money lying around – like wads of cash. Mom thinks she’s being tested, so she puts it back where it should be or doesn’t touch it at all. Mrs. Vaughn even docked Mom’s pay once because she accidentally broke a jar of pickles. The woman, literally, counted the money – to the penny – in Mom’s hand. She just belittles her all the time, like Mom’s some sort of idiot or something.”
“That’s ridiculous. Nana’s a snob. I’ve said it for years.”
I stopped in the middle of the trail. “Please keep this between us. Mom will kill me for saying something. She’s already told me to stay away from you.”
He flinched. “Why? She hardly knows me.”
“Not because of you. We’re, you know... just housekeepers. It’s not hard to figure out.”
He stepped back. “I must be slow because I don’t see a housekeeper. I see a fine young lady I’d like to get to know better. And maybe, help her get in better shape.”
I laughed, looking down. “I could use some exercise.”
“I don’t mean your figure. You’re gorgeous. But maybe we could build your strength while I’m here.” He pointed down the trail. “You made it just past the bridge over there, not far, I must say. So tomorrow, I expect you to make it here.” He turned around, picked up a stick, and pushed it into the ground next to the trail. “There, now we know your goal.”
“I can do that,” I said, and then I gasped and grabbed his arm. His watch read 9:30. I’d forgotten all about Mr. Smith. “I’m late!”
“Where do you have to go?”
“I was supposed to be at Mr. Smith’s at nine. Mom’s going to freak out if he calls her.”
“Jack Smith in Savannah?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Yeah, you know him?”
“Sure, I know Jack.” He took an extra-long stride to catch up with me. “He gets coffee up at the restaurant. Kind of sleazy. You’ll be there by yourself?”
“I’ve been going with Mom for over a year. I’ll be all right. His house is gross, though. I think he has Mom clean just to ogle her.”
“Ogle, huh? That’s creepy. Hey, if you ever need...” He put his hand on my shoulder to stop me. I turned around. “If you ever need someone, you can call me.”
“Seriously? You want to help me clean?”
“You’re stubborn. ”
“I know what you mean.” I waved my hand. “It’ll be fine. He’s old.”
“He’s a perv.”
“I have to go.” I jogged across the road, slipped in my car, and rolled down the window. “Hey, Mom gave me a cell phone last night. Let me give you my number.” I rattled off my digits. “Text me, then I’ll have yours.”
“Will do,” he said as he typed on his iPhone. “Meet me tomorrow at seven?”
I hesitated like I had to think about it, then giggled and said, “Yeah. I’d love to.”
“Good,” he said with a wave goodbye. A few seconds later, he disappeared behind the black tinted windows of his Mercedes.
What an amazing morning. I couldn’t wait to get back.
As I drove down Confederate Road, a shadow on the concrete caught my eye. I slowed down to look out my window. The eagle soared high above the tree line, circling the battlefield like a watchman in the sky. A perfect ending to a perfect morning.
Chapter 6
I slid through the back door of Mr. Smith’s house almost an hour late. Hurrying to the sink, I flipped on the hot water. Then, I bounced from task to task – washing the dishes, straightening the counters, sweeping the floors. Normally, I hated the work, but Mr. Smith was gone, and I was flying high. The way Tyler kissed the back of my hand... my heart still skipped at the thought. I shouldn’t read too much into it, but he did it right after I asked him what he wanted.
Two hours later, I grabbed Mom’s paycheck off of the table and headed outside. The front door slammed. I froze on the back step.
“It’s me, Mr. Smith,” I squeaked. “Elsie.”
“Ell—Sie,” he yowled out my name like the cow commercial. “Y’all get in here.”
“I’m all done, sir,” I shouted through the screen. “I have to meet Mom.”
“Ya know,” he said, appearing out of the shadows, “you’s late this morning.”
“Yes, sir, I’m sorry about that. I lost track of time.”
“I called your momma. She said you’d be here soon. Staying out of trouble?”
His leathered cheeks, dotted with age spots, jiggled around his beady eyes. Whiskey wafted off his breath, tainting my nose.
“Great,” I said, stepping back. “
I’m sure she isn’t happy with me.”
“Na, she’s fine,” he slurred. “Come in and have some tea. I gots a special treat I add.”
“No, thank you. I definitely need to go.”
“Didn’t mean to get youse in trouble. Let me mend it for you.”
I started down the steps. “It’s okay, Mr. Smith. I’m good.”
“Your daddy doing all right?” he shouted.
“Um, not that great. I’ll see you next time.”
I hurried around the house and climbed in the car. Mom expected me at the hospital no later than eleven. Glancing at the clock, it was almost a quarter after twelve. I grabbed my cell phone. No missed calls. Why didn’t she call me? I knew she would chew me out for being late. The first time I meet Tyler and I almost blow my cover. What was I thinking?
Ten minutes later, I stood in the elevator, taking deep breaths to calm my nerves. Ding. The doors slid open. Walking down the stark white hallway, I braced myself for Mom’s lecture. I stepped in the waiting room and scanned the faces.
Woodrow’s wife, Ruby, was sitting next to Mark in the far corner, running her fingers through his hair like he was one of her own. She and Woodrow never had children, a residual effect of her brutal childhood. Regardless of her cruel upbringing, she had more love to offer than both of my grandparents combined.
She motioned me over with a hurried wave. Almost seventy-years-old, the woman still turned heads. Her chestnut hair was always set, layered around her face, her figure slender and fit from working and training the horses they kept in their stables. I’d never seen her without her makeup, and I’d put money down that Woodrow hadn’t either.
“Hi, Ruby.”
Mark stared at the floor.
“You need to go in there and see your daddy.” She waved her hand. “Go on... Go inside, now. He’s been asking for you.”
“He’s awake?”
“Don’t know for how long, honey. You’d better get going.”
I spun around and hurried out of the room.
After suiting up in a yellow gown and purple gloves, I stepped inside Dad’s room to the sound of machines beating their rhythm of life. Mom met me halfway inside. I could sense her urgency as she approached.
“Oh, thank God you’re here. Is Mark here, too?”
“Yeah, he’s in the waiting room with Ruby.”
“Good. I want both of you to see him. We don’t know if he’ll stay this coherent.”
“How long has he been awake?” I whispered.
“An hour or so. Go talk to him. I’ll get Mark.”
She hurried out the door. Turning around, I assessed the scene. Dad’s head was wrapped in bandages, skin gray and dry. They’d removed the tube attached to his mouth, but his face looked emaciated, and his eyes were closed.
I sat in the chair next to him and placed my hand on his. He slowly turned his head at the feel of my touch and opened his crystal-blue eyes.
Thank you, God, for not changing his beautiful eyes.
He tried to smile, but only the right side of his face would cooperate.
“My sweet girl.” His voice low and raspy.
“Hi, Daddy.”
His lids went heavy again, shutting me out.
I stared at our hands, doubt pushing down on my spirit. The reality of our future was clear. The tumor had won. All poetic ideals of death were gone. His pain and suffering was cruel, and I craved the power to stop it. He had to wake back up. I needed to say I love you. I needed him to know. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes.
“Elsie, you’re here,” I heard. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I immediately opened my eyes. “Hi, Daddy. I’m here.”
“Guess I’m down for the count.” He swallowed, then a tear dropped from the corner of his eye. “I’m so sorry.”
I’d never seen Dad cry. My eyes welled along with his. He’d always been so strong, confident, determined, but he’d been transformed into a broken soul in no time.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” I said.
“It’s happening to you, too.”
“We’ll be okay.” My voice cracked. A tear fell. “I just want you to get better.”
“My sweet girl... ” he said, “that’s not going to happen.”
“Oh, Dad, don’t leave us. Please.”
I stood up and sat on the bed next to him, and laid my head on his chest.
All the possibilities being robbed from us flooded my mind. He wouldn’t get to scare a boy taking me out on a date. He’d never see me graduate. He wouldn’t get to walk me down the aisle in my wedding dress. He’d never meet his grandchildren.
He gently stroked my hair with his right hand. “You’re so talented, Elsie. Don’t ever stop dreaming. Even when your dreams seem impossible, you have to believe in yourself.”
I sat up and wiped my face. “Thank you.”
“I love you, my sweet girl.”
His face was blurred behind my tears.
“I love you, Dad. I love you so much.”
He let out a quiet sigh, and then he closed his eyes. My stomach flipped in fear that he’d died, but that only happens in movies or cheesy books. I sat next to him until I saw Mom through the glass door. Taking her signal, I went outside.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I nodded, wiping my wet face.
“Mark needs a ride home after he sees your dad. Please wait for him.”
I slumped. I’d rather she chewed me out for being late to Smith’s.
“Elsie, I love you. Cut me some slack.”
Mom looked a hot mess, and I wasn’t helping. She needed a shower and a good night’s sleep, but she had me to contend with, plus Mark, and the brain tumor killing her husband.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That was so hard. I think it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
I broke down and started to cry again. She pulled me into her arms.
“I know it was. I’m sorry, sweetie. I know.”
A few minutes later, I tossed my gown and gloves in the trash can across the hallway. As I started toward the waiting room, I stopped outside Dad’s door. Mark sat beside the bed with his head hung, tears streaming down his cheeks. Dad lay motionless with his eyes closed. A pang of guilt stabbed me that he’d given all his energy to me and didn’t have enough left for his son. Maybe if Mark waited, Dad would wake up again. The last thing I wanted was for either of them to miss the chance to talk. I could barely breathe watching my brother’s pain. Hurrying out to the lobby, I waited until he was ready.
When we got home, I rummaged the refrigerator while Mark went straight to his room. We still hadn’t spoken, stubborn as two bulls. I’d sworn to myself that I wouldn’t be the first to give in.
I sat on my bed, staring at my sketchpad, wishing for some inspiration. I was too preoccupied thinking about Dad to even attempt to draw.
I remembered how I used to ride on the tractor with him while he tilled the fields. I’d hold his strong arm, watching the dust fly around us. The first few years after his diagnosis, I thought the cancer would lose. Dad was a fighter. But all of my hopes had gone into the trash with the yellow gown and purple gloves.
Last summer came back to me like I’d pressed replay on a movie. Dad and I had just finished walking the rows and we were surveying our hard work. The plants were healthy, and small peppers had started to show. The sun sat low on the horizon, casting golden rays over the treetops. Cedar filled the evening air. I’d helped Dad all day, pride swelling inside me for completing the job. Arms crossed, Dad looked across the weeded crops.
“Elsie, you need to understand why we came down here,” he’d spoken without looking at me. “I had to get away from your mother’s family. A lot of people accuse me of running, but I don’t see it that way. I’m my own man, and your grandparents refuse to accept it.”
Mom’s maiden name was Diefenbach. Off-the-boat German heritage and devoted to Martin Luther, her parents had insisted Dad convert fro
m Catholicism to Lutheranism before they could marry. Dad always laughed and said it was a lateral move as far as his faith was concerned. Regardless, he’d done what they’d asked – learned their religion, and attempted to fit in. The Diefenbach dynasty of corn and beans had more power than the modest, well-manicured farmstead conveyed. In the flatlands of Illinois, Mom had grown up in a complex web of farm families that thrived and prospered in traditions. Many of the older generation still spoke Low and/or High German, secretly plotting and controlling the politics of the area in their native language. Nobody dared set themselves apart from the inheritance of the generations that came before. There was plenty to respect of such privilege, but Dad was an outsider who fell in love with the family’s prize daughter. They’d wanted Mom to marry a tool, preferably a German tool. Someone who would do as he was told and be grateful they were willing to let him in. But Dad was a mutt, Irish/English of sorts, and most of all, he wasn’t a tool.
He was an independent thinker who wanted to provide for his family in a different way. Mom had stood by him through all his choices, and I’d never heard her complain. Their love was all that mattered. Everyone could see it... with the exception of my grandparents. They didn’t care about love. They cared about what everyone thought, and how it made them look. Dad always said that was their problem, not his.
When we moved to a different community, he started farming on his own, and then he found God in a new way. Despite the detriment to his future, he walked away from the family farm and the church, and they shunned him faster than a criminal.
By the time I’d turned twelve, he’d packed us up again and washed his hands of Illinois for good. Sadly, within weeks of settling in our new home in Tennessee, he was diagnosed with a brain tumor. No matter how hard he’d tried, he just couldn’t win.
“You’re a descendant of things you don’t understand,” he had said, kicking the dry dirt. “The wills are written, practically set in stone. No matter what happens, Elsie, you’ll be taken care of. Your grandparents own half the farmland in the County, and one day it will be passed on to you and Mark. But I need you to understand, no matter what anyone says about me, I walked away because I couldn’t let them control our lives anymore.”
Life Happens on the Stairs Page 5