Unto These Hills (38 page)

“Can I sit down, Sunny?”

I looked up. Doretha stood there, uncertain, as forlorn as any Dickens’ street urchin. From years of affection, my heart responded. “Sure. Take a load off.”

“Thank you,” she said softly and lowered her thin self into the chair next to me. “I appreciate you lettin’ me come,” she said. I heard her swallow. “I’ve missed you. You don’t have to say nothin’. I just appreciate bein’ here with y’all. I won’t bother you none. That’s all I wanted to tell you.” She arose, eyes downcast, hands clasped before her. “Oh,” she looked at me then, “I let Alvin come home.”

My eyebrows shot up to my hairline. “Yeh?” She was a bag of surprises.

“Yeh. I figured that if you could forgive Walter and Daniel could forgive me, I could forgive Alvin.” She cast her gaze down again. “Anyways, what I done to you and Daniel was as bad as anything Alvin coulda done.” Eyes locked with mine again, those age-old, wizened gray eyes. “S’funny how you can forgive when you need forgiveness yourself, you know?”

I nodded slowly. “Yeh. I do know, Doretha.”
It’s called mercy
. I stood, gathered her skinny person into my arms. and hugged her tightly. Tears puddled in her eyes.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. “Let’s go sing to Walter.”

We sang
Happy Birthday
as Daniel and Lee Roy wheeled the cart carrying the titanic birthday cake to Walter’s bedside. “Look at how old you are, Walter,” Lee Roy crowed. “Them candles could light up a whole danged block.” Then he valiantly blew out the candles for Walter, whose breath had grown shallower with evening’s passage.

Muffin fed her daddy a bite of cake, after which he refused more. She crooned to him and washed his face with a damp washcloth. A knot formed in my throat. I looked away. He was her whole world. Envy, I realized, had given way to dread.

Dread for when he would no longer be there for her.

After which I would lose her for good.

~~~~~

The party left Walter in a comatose exhaustion. At least I thought it was exhaustion, till he remained that way for the better part of the next week. I called Dr. Wood and described his symptoms.

“Do you want to bring him back to the hospital, Mrs. Stone? We could make him as comfortable as possible. Or do you think he’d do better at home, surrounded by family and friends?”

“So — you’re saying….”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Stone. There’s nothing else that can be done except keep him as comfortable as we can.”

It was a no-brainer. “Home. I’d like him to be home.”

So, in the end, that’s where he passed away, peacefully, in his sleep, only two weeks later. I called Muffin as soon as I found him early that morning. I’d awakened suddenly at 4 a.m. and felt strange. Something was amiss. Walter had had a good day and drifted off to sleep with a contented look on his features.

But — that morning, something in the atmosphere didn’t set quite right.

I dashed to his room. He hadn’t moved. I leaned over and whispered, “Walter?” I touched his hand. I jerked back my fingers, scalded by his skin’s iciness. I whiffed feces and I knew.

“
Oh, my God
,” I moaned, rushing to the phone to call Muffin. Before the words could all spill from my mouth, her phone had clattered to the floor. I called Libby in Summerville and wept with her. She and her family would be in by late that night. Muffin burst through my door within minutes, as shattered and fragile as a battered little bird, weeping and wailing and rocking, holding her daddy, oblivious to death’s fetid odor.

I called Fitzhugh Powers, our now retired village policeman, friend, and guardian all through the years. He’d come by regularly to check on Walter and lift his spirits. His sweet wife, Pauline, would lift mine. “Don’t you worry, Sunny,” he said today, hugging me. “I’m here if you need anything.”

Doretha and Emaline, whom I’d called after my daughters, stood by quietly and unobtrusively, oblivious to the import of their very presence. Daniel propped against a kitchen counter, arms and ankles crossed, eye and ear tuned to need. My, how they all buttressed me.

Dr. Fleming had pronounced Walter dead an hour earlier, having been summoned by Daniel, who’d taken over and, along with Emaline, was seeing to calling Wood Mortuary and all the other things death entails.

Lee Roy huddled in his easy chair next to the bed, face in hands, weeping inconsolably. Daniel moved to place soothing hands on his quaking shoulders.

A lump the size of Africa throbbed in my throat and chest. I tried to console Muffin but she brushed me away as she would a mosquito. So I moved to the window and stared helplessly past the roof lines to the river flowing beyond and thought how much I’d lost on these, her hilly shores, wishing my sweet Libby were already here. Having her around always made whatever load of the moment a little lighter.

When Emaline rushed to comfort Muffin, my daughter fell into her arms and surrendered her trust. An arrow pierced my heart. I was glad Emaline was there for Muffin. Still, the arrow gouged and burned.

Today’s loss transcended all others. After all Walter had been my best friend for many years. But his death triggered another loss that rendered me without hope.

I gazed over the hills of my village, clinging to them, tearless and desolate and resigned because I
knew.

Muffin was gone. It was just a matter of time.

~~~~~

Muffin took to her old room to grieve. I’d long ago purged it, propelled by sheer revulsion. Knowing she’d be gone for awhile, the reward of knowing it would remain sparkling clean for a spell was well worth all the back-breaking/sweaty exertion. I peeked in on her, sprawled face down on her bed, clothes already strewn hither and yon. She didn’t move when I said quietly, “Muffin, do you need anything?”

“Yeh,” she said flatly, her voice as rough as dried corn husks. “My daddy.”

I softly shut the door and immediately heard something solid and hard hit with a loud
thud
from the other side. I flinched. A shoe, no doubt. Doretha, lingering outside the door, jumped, startled. “What was that?”

I shrugged, not bothering to answer. I’d handled worse. For now, Muffin was reclaiming her comfort zone. It helped her cope. And when she coped, I could handle everything else.

“You okay, Mama?” Having witnessed the little scene, Libby was at my side in an instant, her arm around my shoulders. She and Kara had driven up early, leaving Scott to wrap up loose business ends before he trekked to upstate for the funeral the next day.

I nodded, reassuring her, then moved to the kitchen where neighbors already appeared. Somber-faced, aproned genies loaded tables and counters with food and drink, answered phones, received visitors, and saw to the bereaved with military precision.

The Southern way. Bereaved folks do one thing:
grieve
. This rite intensifies on the mill hill where bonding is near-visceral, where grief’s MO ranges from mindless weeping, such as Muffin’s in the wee hours, Lee Roy’s sporadic, quiet sobs, my white-faced, tearless desperation, to the good ol’ boys’ quiet humorous reminiscences and ribbing of each other, to the outside smokers brigade of total denial. It all fit. All deemed appropriate.

I acceded to Muffin and Libby’s wishes for the funeral. It was the one time Muffin did confer with me, albeit formal and distant. Emaline’s husband, Pastor John, conducted the simple service at the Methodist Church, where Walter had, in later years, attended with me. In his own childlike way, he’d accepted every sermon as gospel.

Muffin wept at Pastor John’s recollections. She’d strategically placed herself between Gracie and Jared, with me to Gracie’s left and Libby next. That was okay. Gracie was so
there
for her mama. So was Jared. I marveled at the beautiful adults they’d become.

I smiled to myself.
See Muffin? I’m not a total washout.
Gracie’s hand squeezed mine in that moment, as though she read my mind. We gazed at each other and smiled, sharing a timeless blood-related connection. Emaline stood and sang a benediction song,
Amazing Grace,
Muffin’s choice. The distance between my daughter and me seemed infinite but warmth filled me that she’d loved her father so.

After the funeral, family and friends returned to the house, where more food burgeoned from the table and fridge. Church ladies moved silently about, seeing to every need, unobtrusive and gracious and kind. While cousins visited all over the house, Libby, Emaline. and Pastor John mingled, filling in conversation and greetings, enabling me to collapse in a chair and move not a hair nor utter one sound for the duration of the meal.

“Mama,” Libby knelt to hug me good-bye,” I hate to leave you but Kara’s got classes tomorrow and —”

“You go on now, y’hear? I don’t want you driving late into the night. I’ll be okay.”

I touched her hair and her cheek, soaking up the love flowing freely from her generous heart. Her eyes misted and she hugged me again. “I love you so, Mama,” she whispered in my ear.

“I love you, too, darlin’ daughter. Be careful driving.” After Kara’s warm embrace and kiss, they departed, leaving a Grand Canyon void.

Francine pulled up a chair beside me and sat down, rousing me from the stupor that gripped me. I blinked back misty webs of lethargy and peered into her red, puffy eyes. Oh yes, she grieved full-throttle for Walter, the perfect
sexy
man of her younger heyday. Even now I didn’t have it in me to disillusion her with the whole truth.

“I got somethin’ to tell you.” She reached to take my numb hand, surprising me. She gazed at our linked fingers, long and slender appendages so alike I now marveled at the heritage from our long-gone mother.

“I done something I shoulda done long time ago. You know that house Tack wanted his sister to have, that he put in his last will? Well, I decided to sign it over to Elaine last week and —” Her face crumpled and she bit her lip. Francine hated mushy emoting, denigrated anybody who did it. But I watched in amazement as she did just that. I squeezed her fingers.

She snuffled stoically, stuck out her chin, still a fairly tight, pretty one even on an older woman. “Anyway, I told her after the funeral I wanted her to have the house and she was so grateful and happy she said she wanted to dance a jig.” She snorted. “‘Course she didn’t. It’s not in ‘er. She’s still too whacked-up by that deadbeat, Gene.” She rolled her eyes upward, “God rest his sorry soul.” She gazed at me again, eyes ablaze with anger. “‘Course Junior took up the slack his daddy left and robs ‘er blind. The house is somethin’ he can’t take.”

I felt a trickle of warmth and embraced her for long moments. “I’m real proud of you, honey. You did the right thing. At least Elaine won’t have to worry about rent now. She’ll have a nice, warm place of her own. Was it all right with Martin?”

“Oh,” she waved a hand, “my darlin’ husband does what I want, doncha know, Sunny?” She winked slyly at me.

“You’re lucky, Francine,” I said, meaning it. Not many men would delight in Francine’s quirks and love her to high heaven, unconditionally. Hers did.

Most everybody’d left by now. After Francine departed, the last of the church ladies packed away leftovers, wiped and swept up every last stray crumb in the kitchen, then vanished. I sat there in that easy chair for a long time, eyes closed, mind shut down except for the lingering good feeling about Francine’s turn of heart.

At first, the sound didn’t register. From upstairs the female voices could have been a too-loud television volume. Then I realized it wasn’t coming from a TV. I got up and made my way up the carpeted stairs, dreading a possible clash with Muffin but feeling compelled to check out the racket.

As I drew near her closed door, I recognized Doretha’s voice. Something in it halted me mid-stride, hand on doorknob. Muffin wept and moaned.

I opened the door. They both looked at me with red, swollen eyes. Muffin appeared dazed, out of it. I stepped inside, in one sweep of eyes taking in the slowly encroaching clutter, empty closets, and bulging suitcases readied to vacate.

I’d been expecting it but had hoped she’d stay at least a few days to acclimate to her loss. “You don’t have to go, you know, Muffin,” I said quietly. “You can —”

Abruptly, she stood. “Oh, but I do.” She lazily slid her purse over her shoulder. “I can’t stomach another hour in this house. With Daddy gone, I’m outta here for good.” I’d thought myself toughened to Muffin’s gibes. But now, facing an endless estrangement, her words slashed me to threads.

“You can’t do this,” Doretha stepped forward and gripped Muffin’s arm. “Muffin, you don’t know ev —”

“Doretha!” I spoke so sharply even Muffin looked startled.

Doretha peered imploringly at me. “But she needs to —”

“Don’t you
dare,”
I literally snarled.

“Don’t dare
what
?” Muffin demanded, eyes darting from one to the other, baffled and curious. “What don’t you want me to know, Mama?” Her eyes narrowed. “What’ve you done now?”

“It’s not what
she’s
done,” Doretha snapped, defying my challenge.

“Doretha, if you say one more word, “ I fairly hissed, “I’ll never speak another word to you as long as I live. And you can carry that to the bank.”

Muffin caught my arm and spun me nose to nose with her. “What’re you hiding from me? What horrible thing are you keeping from me now? Huh?” Her mouth flattened into a tight slash of cynicism. “Spit it out, Mama. Nothing can top the evil I’ve seen in you.”

A sad smile slid over my lips.
Ah, honey, you just don’t know.

“That’s probably true,” I said quietly, shot Doretha a warning look and left the room. I’d cleared three stair steps when it happened.

It was so sudden I had no time to react. One moment, Muffin grabbed my shoulder, shrieking, “Don’t you
dare
walk away —
keeping secrets
from me!” The next moment the world became a blur of head-over-heels, tumbled, grotesque images as muffled
whumps
pummeled my moving body parts.

From faraway, screams pierced the air.