Backwater (6 page)

I felt puny and unprepared to face the physical rigors of winter wilderness. I mumbled that I wasn’t sure I wanted to go.

“Why not?”

“Premature death, frost bite, mountain delirium, avalanches, appalling food, stark loneliness. I’m a historian. Historians don’t have adventures. We learn about people who do. We take our chances in libraries.”

Egan rocked back in his chair and didn’t say anything.

I mentioned that Josephine might not appreciate company.

I mentioned that Dad would kill me if he knew I’d taken things this far.

Egan, the silent man, considered this.

“What are you really afraid of, Ivy?”

“I’m afraid of everything and I thought you were against this!”

“Shhhh!” It was the librarian.

Egan studied me. “Are you afraid that you’re like her?”

“No!”

I turned the page in the wide, wide world of hermits book. Saw another emaciated man with a knee-length beard standing at a great expanse of mountain range, arms open, communing with nature.

I was terrified I was like her.

“I think you’ve got to find her, Ivy.”

“Why me?”

“Because Fiona won’t have anything about her in the video and everyone will read yours to find out what Josephine said.”

Occasionally, Egan showed depth.

“Library’s closing,” said the librarian, her hat on.

We shut our books, put on our coats, lumbered out the door.

A cold blast of night air hit us.

I mentioned that I was freezing now. I’d never survive without central heat.

We stood on the dark street. Egan pushed up his collar like some shadowy character in a mystery novel and uttered the words that have sent countless disenfranchised heroes off to find missing lovers, friends, and relatives.

“If you don’t try to find her, it will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

*    *    *

I told Tib about Josephine and she threw her cane in the air, smashing a floor lamp, and shouted, “Glory be, we’ve been given another chance!”

Then I told Tib about Mountain Mama, and she made a call to her friend, the Chief of Police, while I picked up shattered light bulb pieces on my hands and knees. The Chief of Police told her that he’d trust Mountain Mama to guide anybody anywhere in these mountains.

“Well,” Tib said, laughing, “all we need now is for your father to agree.”

That definitely bought me some time.

*    *    *

“Of course you have to go!” Octavia Harrison shouted this over the phone to me. “Do you realize that trying to find a hermit aunt is the ultimate experience to write about for your college entrance essay? You could get in anywhere with that story!”

“I’m only a junior, Octavia. I can’t think about college entrance essays now.”

Octavia, a junior, too, thought about college constantly. She was convinced that her life was achingly boring and that admissions
officers would have a field day burning her essays and yawning.

“I’m desperate, Ivy. My life is a blank page. I know kids who are going on white water rafting trips just so they can write about them.”

“That’s absurd.”

Octavia said if I didn’t care about getting into a good college,
she
could use the story. She shifted into sociologist gear.

“Just do a few things I would do, Ivy, in case I need to borrow it. See if she has kept any links to society, even though she lives alone.”

“You can’t have my experience, Octavia. It’s not honest.”

“Promise me you’ll ask her what it was about traditional society that she found so repulsive.”

“I might rephrase that.”

“Observe her entire culture. What she thinks, believes, and does. Pay close attention to her habits.”

“Octavia …”

“Find something that will really impress the admissions people at Stanford.”

“You can’t have my story!”

Tib rammed her cane on my door. I opened the door to her determined face.

“Will you be joining me to face your father, young lady, or do I have to slay the dragon myself?”

*    *    *

“Listen up, Daniel, I’ve got something to say!”

Dad put down his paper and looked at Tib standing there—a blind woman with a big cane who wasn’t going to take any
guff. This was the wrong approach with Dad, in my opinion. You needed to ease into these conversations with him. Start discussing something innocuous, then dance slowly around the main theme before he knew what hit him. But Tib had a sense of urgency about everything since her eyesight went bad. She’d given up segues.

“Ivy’s found out where Josephine is. She’s living up in the mountains, Daniel. I want Ivy to find her. Ivy wants to, too. We’ve got a good guide who knows where Jo is and will take Ivy up there and protect her.” She said it without taking a breath.

Dad froze.

Tib told Dad this meant more to her than anything in the world, it meant more to the family than anyone knew.

“Josephine’s a member of this family whether she’s here with us or not, Daniel. We all have a piece of history with her and I think it’s time we stopped pretending that’s not the case. You were close as children; don’t you forget that. Now Ivy would like to say something.”

I would?

Tib shoved me forward.

“Ah … well, Dad … on the subject of … Josephine … I’d just like to say that … I mean, it would appear that …” I groaned.

Dad stared ahead, visibly shaken, not speaking.

When you’ve silenced a lawyer, you can probably do just about anything.

*    *    *

He wasn’t silent for long, and by now he had company.

At the mention of finding Josephine, a great earth force was
unleashed and the kitchen filled with sputtering, opinionated Breedloves.

Archie said it wasn’t safe, Josephine might need medical treatment.

Whit said she’d always needed it.

Three cousins said we should find her.

Seven cousins said we shouldn’t.

Dad said if Josephine was still alive, she obviously didn’t want the family to know, so why take it any further?

Fiona said that dysfunctional family members always took time away from others.

I tried mentioning that Josephine was obviously an important person in this family because without even being present, she could throw the whole lot of us into conflict and confusion, but everyone was arguing so loudly, they didn’t pay attention.

Dad said, “You don’t seriously expect me to go along with this?”

Tib leaned forward—her face was flushed. “If you shut the door on this opportunity, Daniel, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life!”

Egan looked smug and nodded.

“Tib, any thinking parent would have grave concerns about Josephine’s ability to behave responsibly.” He said that sad as it was, his sister was stuck in the backwater in a God-forsaken place, and he wasn’t going to subject his daughter to
that.

Several Breedloves muttered
“stuck in the backwater”
in unison.

“You’re stuck in the backwater yourself, Daniel, with your
bitterness and pride. Any place where Jo is, I can promise you, God won’t forsake.”

“Tib, she’d lock herself in her room and our father would have to get the tall ladder and climb up the side of the house sometimes just to get her to come down to dinner!”

“She was always happier by herself, Daniel. You know that.”

“She talked to animals and believed they talked back. She kept snakes in Tupperware containers. She taught her turtle to
fetch.”

“That was a good one, Daniel. You’ve got to admit it.”

“She’d walk through the park and wild pigeons would sit on her lap and she’d tell them
stories
. She was never
normal.”

“Now who’s to say what normal is these days, Daniel? If you kept seeds in your pocket you might have more of a crowd around you, too.”

The murmuring crowd of Breedloves was turning into an angry mob. Most of them were content to let Josephine stay right where she was. They didn’t want to understand why she left or why she was different.

But I had to move forward. I had to understand.

Still, history teaches that not everyone appreciates a person who’s ahead of her time. Take Luwinda Breedlove, a midwife in the 1850’s who washed her hands before delivering babies long before it was scientifically advisable. She had a better delivery success rate than the local doctor, and when he confronted her and asked what she was doing that was so all-fired special, she stared him right down and said, “I wash my hands, genius.”

So I stared them down.

“I have to do this! When history opens a door for us, it’s never advisable to shut it!”

Then I shouted that there were times in life when we’ve got to go for all the gusto we can.

I wished I could have taken that back—I sounded like a beer commercial.

I added that it wouldn’t cost much except for supplies, but I wasn’t getting anywhere.

“Listen to me,” I shouted. “I think she came here at night and decorated the graves. I think in her own way she’s trying to reach us.”

A hush filled the room.

Finally, Dad spoke. “Do you understand, Ivy, that you’re talking about visiting a person who is mentally ill?”

“Is she mentally ill, Dad, or is she just different?”

“It is exceedingly clear that Josephine is—”

“What? Psychotic? Emotionally impaired? Isn’t she part of this family, too? A family history can’t just be about the people we understand. You’ve got to let me find her, Dad, and see if we can learn from what she has to say!”

The next day Dad stood by the fireplace shrouded in sadness.

He examined the sprig of holly in the silver vase on the mantel. Holly was my mother’s favorite plant because she said it reminded her that pain and beauty co-exist in life.

I’ve never understood why Dad never remarried, except that his father never remarried after his wife died quite young, and his father before him died a broken-hearted widower. It’s not something we’ve ever talked about—Dad talked about the law and golf. Aunt Tib said it’s because he’s afraid of loss.

I couldn’t imagine him being afraid of anything.

“Just because a person knows how to hide something doesn’t mean they don’t have it,” Tib told me. “I don’t believe your father’s ever forgiven himself for letting your mother die.”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“Let me tell you something about lawyers, Ivy. All day long they’ve got people looking to them to make things better. When a man who can move mountains can’t move a stone to help his dying wife, that’s a powerfully deep blow.”

Dad touched the holly leaf too hard, pricked his finger, and stood there as a little drop of blood dripped out. He sighed sadly. Then he turned to me and said that against his better judgement, against all that he held proper and good, I could go.

*    *    *

I called Mountain Mama, who said to be at her place at six
A.M.
Saturday morning. She said to dress warm and in lots of layers. I’d need serious climbing boots. “Remember,” she warned. “Whatever you bring you carry on your back.”

I had two days to pack and it wasn’t easy. I packed layers of clothing, boots, wool socks, too much underwear, my tape recorder, and remembering the emaciated hermits, I threw in twenty-four Hershey bars with almonds for strength.

*    *    *

Saturday, five
A.M.
I lugged my bag down the old, creaking stairs thinking of the generations of Breedloves who had climbed many mountains and forged many streams.

Tib had gotten up early to say good-bye. “You get her story now. Make me proud.” Her voice cracked with emotion.

“I will.”

I thought of the ancient teenage warriors who had to prove themselves in the wilderness before they could become full members of the tribe and receive the mantel of manhood.

Make that
person
hood.

I lifted my bag like it wasn’t heavy, gave Genghis a long, mournful hug.

Told Tib I’d see her soon and not to worry.

I didn’t mention that I was worried enough for the entire
universe, and walked out the front door with Dad, who said if I wanted to reconsider, it was okay by him.

*    *    *

It was a tough morning for Dad.

He almost turned the car around when he saw the Mountain Mama, Inc. billboard with the purple mountains majesty and the neon sun.

He almost dragged me back to the car when he saw Mountain Mama herself standing in her front door in full wilderness regalia—a huge aluminum frame pack on her back, a thin, pointy axe in a strap slung over her shoulder. She was chugging cranberry juice from a gallon jug.

I was getting my duffle bag from the trunk. “Stay here,” he ordered, and marched over to her. He and Mama had an animated talk which I couldn’t hear.

Finally, Dad’s shoulders dropped and he looked back at me like I was going off to war. He shook hands with Mountain Mama, who slapped him on the back so hard he almost fell down in the snow.

I guess it was time.

I gave him a hug, which we don’t do too often. “Thank you, Dad, for letting me do this.”

His face sank. He patted my shoulder, went back to the car, and drove off slowly down the snowy hill. It was still dark.

Mountain Mama and I watched the car disappear.

“What did he say to you?” I asked.

She sniffed. “He threatened to pull my license, prosecute me to the ends of the law, and destroy life as I knew it for me and future generations if anything happened to you.”

It was how Breedlove lawyers showed affection.

“Let’s get you a pack,” Mountain Mama said. “Think you can handle forty pounds?”

“I’m weak.”

“You look pretty strong to me.”

“I have a mutant DNA condition.”

She studied me. “We’ll begin with confidence building and move on from there.”

I dragged my bag after her. “How do we do that?”

“We put you in situations you’ve never been in before so the true sense of your grit and courage can come out.”

Mountain Mama threw an aluminum frame backpack at me. I tried catching it. Missed.