Friday, February 17, 2012

The Good Ship Confidence 1638


Augustine Bearce, my relative on Mother’s side, was born in a Gypsy camp just outside London. He sailed to Massachusetts on the Good Ship Confidence in 1638. He was twenty years old. He went to Barnstable, MA in 1639 with the first company of settlers. His settlement placed him in the midst of the Wampanoag villages on the Cape. He married Mary Hyanno at the Mattaches village of Cummaquid (Barnstable). Mary was the daughter of Iyannough and granddaughter of Highyannough. With this relationship Augustine gained large amounts of land in the area. His home still stands and is believed to be the oldest in what is now Centerville, MA. Augustine and Mary had eleven children. Their son James, married Experience Howland, whose family came to the New World on the Mayflower. Those are the facts. The voyage maybe went something like this:
          Augustine didn’t know on which day they lost sight of land. He spent most of his time trying not to fall down as he made his way to the side of the ship to throw up. He wasn’t alone at the railing; most of the other passengers joined him. His nausea lessened about the same time he got his sea legs. Augustine had made an agreement with the Captain to work his way across the ocean to the new world. The Captain was kind enough to wait until the sea sickness past before assigning him his duties. Gypsies weren’t well received, even on a ship, and he was always trying to avoid a beating. One day he decided to carry a club under his shirt and when a crew member swung at him, Augustine hit him over the head. Twice. He didn’t have much trouble after that. He wished he had thought of it sooner.
          He was busy from sunup to sun down. There were decks to swab, chamber pots to empty, food to prepare and dishes to wash. The only domestic animals on board were cats, which helped keep the rat situation somewhat under control. There were cows, chickens and goats. The cows dried up within the first week, but the chickens were laying and nothing bothered the goats.
          The only free time Augustine had was last light and break of day. On calm mornings, the water looked like sheets of blue shimmering glass. He stood at the bow scanning the water.
          “Let me see you one more time,” he whispered. As though they heard, the whales rose like giant mountains, their wet skin shining with streaks of blues and yellows; they looked like floating rainbows. Each slap of their enormous tails sent water across the deck before they plunged again into the deep. Augustine could have moved away from the railing, but enjoyed the whale’s waltz more than wanting to stay dry; he hadn’t been dry since he boarded ship.
           Augustine was used to the fog of London, but the fog at sea cloaked the ship with misty vapors so dense it was suffocating.  The whale’s mournful call floated over the still water like a whispered echo. The muted sails embraced the trembling resonance within its limp damp folds as though trying to catch a breath.
          With the seas dreaded calm, the ship sat helplessly on the still water. Sometimes days would pass in quiet desperation. Serenity became the enemy. Eventually, prayers were answered and the passengers would cheer as the wind caressed the sails. The first day land was sighted Augustine was standing at the bow. His heart fluttered at the first sight on his new home.
          “I hope the Indians are friendly,” he thought.
       
1639 One Year Later   

John Lothrop was ordained in the Church of England, but renounced his orders in 1623 to join the Independents. Disagreements over Baptism were the main issues. Complete immersion or sprinkling? Baptize when babies or adults? He spent time in jail, but was granted a pardon if he left England. He arrived in New England in 1634. In 1639 he moved his church to Barnstable. Augustine went with him. Those are the facts. Maybe it went something like this:
          The long beach grass quivered in the light wind as Augustine walked along the shore admiring the wild flowers last burst of color before the embrace of winter’s white cape. He sat on a sand dune running his hands through the soft grains watching them fall slowly through his fingers, each grain of sand a story, each small pebble an event. He was thinking about all that had occurred since he arrived in New England. Before the first year ended he had changed his name to Austin, discovered he was good at farming and was shunned by all the young girls because he was a gypsy. Austin wanted to marry, but now that it was out of the question he had determined to accept his fate… that is, until he saw a certain Indian girl. Her name was Mary Hyanno, she was fifteen and an Indian Princess. Austin had noticed her the first day they arrived in Barnstable. He saw her now walking toward him.
          Her delicate nose had a splash of small freckles across her white skin. Her long red hair cascaded down a slender back. Austin had never seen anyone so beautiful.  He stood as she approached. Unsure she would understand, he spoke, “I would not have known you are Indian but for your clothes.”
          “My father calls me Little Dove,” She replied in near perfect English.
          “Rightly so. You are fair and speak well.”
          “Your people wanted to teach me their religious customs and I wanted to learn English. It was a just arrangement.”
          She sat on the sand, Austin joined her. “May I ask why you are not married? It is common for the young men who come from the other side to marry quickly.” 
          Austin didn’t answer.
          She continued, “I know I speak boldly. The women in my tribe are plainspoken. Some of the English find it offensive. Do you feel the same? Is that why you do not answer?”
          Any hope of gaining her approval fled as he replied, “The English girls know I have Gypsy blood and will have nothing to do with me.”
           “I have heard Gypsies are good with horses,” Mary replied.
           “The English think Gypsies have less value even than a horse.”
          Austin saw Mary’s father walking up the beach. “Will your father be angry with you for talking to me?”
          “English girls are foolish. Do not worry about my father. He has been watching you. He thinks you are very brave.”
          Austin gazed into Mary’s blues eyes. She was the future he hoped for, yet he had nothing to offer. “How am I brave?”
          “You left your family, and all that was familiar, to sail across the ocean in search of a new home.” She smiled and added, “You came to a hostile land with Indians. You were brave enough to face the unknown.”
          “Many have done so,” he replied.
          Mary lowered her eyes and answered, “My father is not concerned with the many.”






           
         



And Then There Were None


Martha stood at the brick pathway leading to the back of her property; she was looking for her husband. He wasn’t lost she just couldn’t find him. “How far could he get in five minutes,” she mused. “He never stays put.” She yelled across the yard, “Bill, where are you?”
          “By the grapes,” Bill answered. Martha walked slowly down the path tossing bread crumbs along the way.
           “I’m not happy about this,” he growled.
          “Hmm, I wonder what’s eating our grapes,” she whispered.
          “You know perfectly well what’s eating our grapes. Your squirrels, and if we don’t do something soon they’ll get every single one. Again.” Martha knew what was coming, but played dumb.
           “Well, what can we do?”
          “We haven’t had a grape in three years.” Bill answered.
          “We’ll pick them earlier this time.”
          “We’ve tried that, they’re sour.”
          “So, what you’re saying is we’re full of sour grapes?” Martha joked.
          “Very funny. What I’m saying is, I would like to have some of the fruits of all our labors.”
          “I don’t want to kill them,” she moaned.
           “So, all our efforts, the watering, the pruning, the digging, are all so the squirrels can eat the grapes?”
          “We can buy grapes from the store.”
          “I want our grapes, fresh from the vine.”
          “I guess we’ll have to kill the opossum, too.”
          “I guess we will.”
          “And what about the birds? They like grapes too.”
          “We can net the grapes to keep the birds away, just like we did with the peach trees.” Bill was starting to get hopeful for the first time.
          “And the bunnies? What about the bunnies?”
          “Bunnies don’t climb.”
          “Good. I’d hate to kill the bunnies, I like watching their little white polka dot tails hop across the lawn.”
          “So, we’ll keep the bunnies and the birds, but the squirrels and opossum have to go,” Bill confirmed.
          “I don’t want to kill the squirrels. I love listening to their chatter.”
          “They’re calling all the other squirrels to dinner! In our vines!”
          “I wonder… if we feed them other food---”
          “That’s what got us into this mess in the first place! You feeding the squirrels!”
          “But the fires. I had to. What were they going to eat?”
          “Each other for all I care.”
          “That’s disgusting.”
          “Not as disgusting as losing all our grapes.”
          “Don’t be such a meany.” Martha took a another handful of bread crumbs from her apron pocket tossing them on the lawn as she made her way back to the house.   
          “Where are you going?” Bill called out.
          “To the store,” Martha replied.
          “What for?”
          “We need grapes.”
          “I give up.”  
         


Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Going Home


                                                                                         
                                                                                                                          
           
            The house looked the same; the yard hadn’t changed it was barren and dry. Cracks formed jagged lines through the top crust of dirt creating maps of different sizes and shapes throughout the yard. It looked as though it hadn’t rained for the ten years Carrie had been away.  The Eucalyptus and Chinese Elm trees provided the only beauty giving the house a touch of grace. Small patches of grass poked through the dry earth under each tree. Branches draped over the old tin roof sweeping gently down the sides. Carrie could see lights flickering through the screen covered windows.
            She walked up the stairs to knock on the door, but hesitated once she reached the last step. At one time there was a porch, not just five steps leading to a door, but her father had sold the porch making the house look even shabbier.  She headed back out the chain link fence careful that the gate latch didn’t clang. She remembered as a child waiting to hear the familiar sound of the gate closing waiting for her father to come home. Her parents quarreled, but at least he was home… safe.                                                                            
 She stood outside the fence looking in for a long time and had decided to leave when she saw the front door open. She waited for someone to walk out. No one did, but the door remained slightly open.                                                                                                            
  “I hope my brother is here,” Carrie thought. “And a tree, I hope there’s a Christmas tree. I hope when I walk in, the house is filled with the scent of pine.”                                                                          
 She knew her mom was waiting for her to make the first move. It was up to Carrie since she was the one who left in a huff ten years ago. The scene played again in her head.
            “You can’t tell me what to do I’m 18!”
            “Then you should act your age Carrie. Please listen to me, I know what’s best. He’s too old for you.” Her mother never raised her voice, but Carrie knew she meant every word she spoke. She always had, and there was no turning back. If Carrie made a stand, it would be the last one she made… in this house anyway.
            “Is that why you sent our father away? Because he wasn’t acting the way you thought he should?”
            “You know why he had to leave.”
            “I don’t, really. He didn’t drink that much. It was never a problem.”
            “It was a problem; I couldn’t allow him around you while he was drinking.”
            “And because of that we had to grow up living in a rat hole. I’ve been embarrassed my whole life living here!”
            “I’m sorry to hear that,” her mother replied. “It was the best I could do. You sound like an ungrateful brat.”
            “That’s it, I don’t need this,” Carrie stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Now here she was in front of the house she had called a rat hole, hoping her mother would welcome her in.
            Carrie knew her mother was right. She knew it then and she knew it now. Her father was a drunk and she was a brat, but for some reason she couldn’t admit the truth…so she left.
            Carrie walked over to the Chinese Elm to see if there was anything left of her tree house.  A few rotted planks were all that remained, but there was a piece of wood nailed to the trunk, ‘Tree house built with love in 1956, by Carrie and Lynn.’ The tears wouldn’t stay in their place any longer. Carrie wiped them away, but they streamed on. Memories flooded her thoughts as the tears flowed.  She remembered the songs they sang while she and her mom baked cookies. She remembered the aroma of fresh baked bread filling the kitchen when she got home from school. A bowl of soup and buttered bread, lovingly arranged on a flowered placemat, nourished her body and fed her soul. She remembered the long walks to the lake to catch pollywogs, her brother with a stick for a fishing pole slung over his shoulder. She remembered the time she had lost her only pair of good shoes at the lake and how her mother cried because there was no money to buy another pair.  
            Carrie realized how much she missed her mom and brother. With trembling legs she walked up the rickety steps wrapping her hand around the cold doorknob. She closed her eyes and pushed the door open. A scent of pine greeted her, but she kept her eyes closed. She heard movement inside, but still she refused to look. A furry nose nuzzled her hand as she waited and she knew it was Buddy the German Sheppard, she was happy he remembered her. Would she be as welcomed by her mother?  Carrie took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

A Love Story


                                                                                         

            “I’m not sorry that I loved you and I wept the day I left,” Beth whispered.
             She watched as the rain disappeared allowing the sun to peak through gray clouds. Brilliant radiant beams of light filtered onto the deserted street. Clouds parted for the rainbow that arched across the rain washed sky. Turning on the open sign she watched her husband walk slowly toward her passing through the sun streaked morning.  Six months ago she had left him and she wasn’t sorry. He was here now and her heart leapt.  Beth knew he was here with hat in hand, asking her to give him one more chance. She turned from the window. Her old boyfriend sat at a nearby table.        
            “What are the chances both of them would show up on the same morning?” She thought.
            Beth’s husband entered the diner. Walking to Beth he took her hands in his and spoke softly.   
            “I haven’t had a drink since you left. I’ll never take another drink as long as I live. I want you to come home. I’ll work it out. I promise.”
            She had missed the melody of his voice; the timbre touched her, her heart mourned.  He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His wrinkled clothes hung loose on his 6’3” frame. She remembered the first time she saw him. A tingle went up her spine and she actually trembled when they shook hands. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
             “I’m in trouble with this one,” She remembered thinking. When they touched a part of her soul felt as though they were two magnets being drawn together. Another part felt the magnets turn, with the force going in opposite directions, trying to separate them. Beth deliberately turned her magnet to accept his. She wanted him.  He was vibrant and Beth adored him immediately. She fit perfectly under his left arm.
             In the beginning she didn’t notice he drank to excess, but as time passed she realized he had a problem. She made it hers and tried to keep him busy and happy so he wouldn’t drink, but that soon failed, as all other efforts did and when she was two months pregnant she left him. She had managed somehow these past six months. Working in the local diner kept her close to her small apartment and they didn’t care she was pregnant. The odds that her husband stayed sober weren’t good, but she missed him with every breath. She was going to need help soon so she had to make a decision where that help was going to come from. She didn’t want to saddle her old flame with a baby and a drunken ex-husband, even though he said he loved her enough to accept the child and whatever trouble followed.
             She knew she wasn’t going to allow him to fix her life. She made the mess and she would clean it up herself. Hadn’t her grandfather taught her well enough? She would hear a rumble from his grave if she put her problems onto someone else before trying every option she could think of. She wished she was 12 again back on the farm. She longed for the days she sat at the piano playing as her grandfather sat on the porch on a Maine summer’s eve, the aroma from his pipe tobacco drifting through the open windows.
             “You go home now,” Beth replied softly.  “I’ll come over after work and we can talk.”
             Lee had no choice but to leave. Leave knowing the old boyfriend had a good chance of getting his wife. He had more money, a house, and a better track record. Lee had spent most of his adult life drunk; the old boyfriend had spent his life earning money and an education. Lee thought himself a fool for even trying to compete. He was a loser, had always been one and saw no reason to think he could make a change now. But, he had to change; he had to have her back with him. Back in his arms, back in his life, back in his bed. He needed to able to reach for her in the night and have her lying next to him, her body close to his, her warmth surrounding him, caring for him, loving him.        
            “Leave and wait. You want me to leave and wait?”
            Beth gently touched his arm. “Yes, I’ll see you soon.”
            Lee didn’t think she would come home, he didn’t think she believed him. He had imagined his life a whole lot differently when he ran away from home at 14. He never wanted to be like his dad, but here he was finishing out a life his dad died too young to complete. Lee watched Beth from outside the diner a few minutes before walking down the middle of the empty street. He carried his burden with heavy steps, his head down, his heart sick and his destiny in her hands. 
            Lee knew he had no control over her decision, but he had control over his… He lifted his head, straightened his shoulders and picked up his step. The clouds parted bathing him in the warmth of the sun as he made his way home.
            Beth sat next to Mark, the man she didn’t choose. The man she realized would have made her life easier, better, more stable. But, she didn’t feel drawn to Mark the way she was drawn to Lee. Her soul didn’t yearn to be a part of him the way her soul yearned to be with Lee. Mark loved her, Lee loved and needed her. Mark would take care of her; she would take care of Lee. She would be safe with Mark. Her heart would soar with Lee. Beth took Marks face in her hands, kissed his cheek and whispered,  “Thank you for helping me, for being here beside me, for loving me.”
           
                       



Skid Row Dad



                    
          The stench of wet cardboard forced Carl awake. He pushed his soggy room aside trying to ignore the laughter and whispers.
          “We told you to leave Portland. Snow’s comin. We to-o-o-ld you.”
          Carl pressed his hands against his ears. “If I leave they won’t know where I am.”
           “No one is lo-o-o-o-k-ing.”
          Carl had been trying to make peace with the voices in his head for years and every once in awhile they quieted down, but mostly everyone was screaming at the same time. Carl draped plastic around his shoulders, picked up his garbage bag and bottle of wine, then headed down the rain soaked street. All the familiar doorways and alcoves were occupied; he had to walk all the way to the bridge before he found shelter. Clearing a spot close to the cement walls, Carl built a small fire, hoping the cops wouldn’t drive by and make him put it out. He hung his socks on a stick, careful not to burn his only extra pair.
          He finished off the last of his wine. “If I’m not careful I’ll get sober,” he mumbled. “No, no,” Carl replied to the voices’ concern, “I know it’s not funny. Can’t you take a joke?”
          A police car stopped under the bridge. The officer rolled down the window. “How’s it going Carl?”
          Carl kept his distance. He never knew what they would do and he didn’t want to get locked up again.
          “Not bad, thanks. How’s the family?”
          “Just fine. Hey, Carl?”                                               
          “Yes?”
          “Aren’t you tired of living on the street?”
          “That I am, Officer that I am.”                    
          “You’re better than this. With your education you could do anything.”
          “I’m still working a few things out. Would you do me a favor?”
          “Sure.”
          Carl took an envelope from his garage bag. “If I don’t make it this time, will you see that my family gets this?” Carl tossed the letter through the window, then stepped back.
          “Sure, Carl, but will you do me a favor?”
          “I’ll try. What is it?”
          “Get yourself straightened out and get off the street. I don’t want to find you dead in a ditch. I mean it. Get out of here.”
          “Doing the best I can, sir.” Carl turned away, walking slowly to his fire. After the policeman left, Carl found the familiar paper bag on the ground. It contained a sandwich, coffee, a bar of soap, and a small towel.
          “Faith, it’s a beautiful thing,” Carl whispered as he removed the lid from the coffee.
          The voices giggled with delight. Carl ignored them as he dumped the contents of the bag in his lap… a card fell to the ground. Crape paper was glued to the card in the shape of a heart.
          “Please, Daddy, come home soon. I need you. Love Amy.”
          The voices laughed so loud Carl could no longer hear the pounding rain. He ran into the downpour… The voices followed. Thunder clapped as lightning flashed across the sky, then in an instant the rain stopped. The clouds separated as the sun streaked brilliant overhead then offered Carl a rainbow’s promise as it arched across his world. The voices screamed with delight as he fell to his knees.
           
Carl felt a tap on his shoulder. He forced himself to his feet, his cold legs stiff. He turned to the policeman, he knew was there to arrest him, and came face to face with the sweetest person on earth… his wife, Lorna. The first horrible thought that crossed his mind was, “You didn’t bring Amy did you?”
          Lorna removed a tissue from her purse, allowing Carl to see what she had hidden, then gently dabbed the tears from his eyes as she whispered,
          “No of course not, I know you don’t want her to see you this way. Let’s sit down so we can talk.” Lorna led him to his small fire under the bridge. She added a few twigs before sitting down.
          “I’ve met with him in worse places,” she thought.  “At least the stench of urine isn’t as strong here.” Carl had silently followed, silently sat and silently waited, but Lorna knew he was listening to the voices in his head. She could see the struggle on his face. She took his hand, holding it to her breast, “Who will win this time, Carl?”
          He didn’t have to ask who she was talking about; he knew she meant the voices. “How I’ve wished them gone,” he mumbled.
          “The time for wishing is over. You must insist.”
          Carl stood and started pacing, “You think I haven’t tried? You think this is what I want?” He spread his arms, “You think this is where I want to live?” His voice softened, “Don’t you know how much I love you? My heart aches that I can’t hold you. And Amy. How I miss my baby girl.” Lorna went to Carl forcing him to look at her.
           “You can hold me and you don’t have to miss me, or Amy.” She took his face in her hands and kissed his mouth. “I miss you. Please try again. You’ve been gone too long. I’m afraid.”
          Carl gently removed himself from her embrace and walked back to the fire where he sat pressing his hands against his ears.
           “Can you believe she’s trying again?” the voices whispered, “Can’t she take a hint? We want to be left alone. Tell her, Carl. Tell her we want to be left alone. Go on. Do it.”
          Carl rested his head on his knees and replied,
          “Thanks for whispering. I don’t think I could take a screaming match right now.”
          “You know we’re looking out for you,” The voices added.  Carl could hear some of them snickering at the back of his skull, like they were standing in the back of a theater enjoying a comedy. Carl decided to try something. Once in awhile it worked, but he hadn’t been able to keep it up for more than a few minutes. D {x (2x + 3)} 3 = x (2x+3) – 1.  Maybe that would be enough time. If they found out he could keep his thoughts separate, there would be hell to pay. Lorna walked over and sat next to him.
          Carl turned to her putting his finger to his mouth, “Shhhhh.” {x (2 x + 3)} = x (2x + 3) – 1. Lorna understood and started talking about Amy’s school as she removed the syringe from her purse. Carl rolled up his sleeve as he concentrated on the math. {x (2 x + 3)} = x (2x + 3) – 1. He could hear the voices grumbling and spoke to them, “Don’t worry, she’ll be gone in a few minutes.” D {x (2 x + 3)} = x (2x + 3) – 1.  D {x (2x + 3)} 3 = x (2x+3) – 1
          They happily replied, “Good boy Carl. We knew you’d take care of us, just like we’ve taken care of you… all these years.”
           {x (2 x + 3)} = x (2x + 3) – 1  D {x (2x + 3)} 3 = x (2x+3)
          Carl walked with Lorna to the car, getting in before the sedative took affect. Lorna tucked a blanket around his shoulders. The voices screamed in agony… but Carl could no longer hear them.


          The afternoon sun cast shadowed light across the small room. Lorna noticed how the stripes from the barred windows flickered on the bare floor then flashed across the pale green walls. She touched Carl’s newly shaved face with tenderness and whispered, “Don’t be afraid when you wake up. You’re safe.”
          Lorna walked to the window praying, “Please let it work this time. I’m afraid it’s his last chance…our last chance.” She heard a rustling and turned to find her husband sitting up in bed, his hands pressed against his ears. She went to him.
          “I think the voices are gone.” She looked into her husbands face as she held his hands. “Aren’t they? Or at least very quiet?  Don’t try and talk right now, give yourself a minute; I’ll tell you what’s happened.” She went to the table and poured two cups of coffee, offering one to Carl. He didn’t take his eyes off her face as the warmth soothed his throat.
          “You had a bad reaction to the medication, but the doctor made some changes and you’re doing better. Your throat is sore because a tube had to be inserted. You had some trouble breathing. We kept you asleep to give you time to adjust to the medication and to rest. You’ve been on the street a long time and we wanted you to regain some strength.” Lorna kissed his palm.
          Carl silently stared at his wife. How I love you. You’re trying. I know you’re trying. Carl sipped his coffee. Pssst…pssst…pssst
          Lorna’s soft voice soothed him, “The doctor said if you continue your medication---
          “Pssst pssst pssst.”
          “Carl? Look at me. Listen.”
          “They are quieter.” He whispered. “Do you think they’ll ever go away?”
          “The doctor said the medication will keep them at bay.”
          “What happens when I think I don’t need the medication any more? I start to feel well and do well, and then Pow. I’m on the street again with only the voices to hold. What do we do then?”
          Lorna kept her voice firm and replied, “There have been some improvements with the medication. You no longer have to take pills every day. Once a month you get a shot. That’s it. We just have to make sure you get your shot once a month.” She held his hand firmly. “And believe me Carl; you will be getting that monthly shot.”
          Carl saw the resolve in her face and felt hopeful for the first time in years. “You up for this? We haven’t lived together more than a few months since we’ve been married. I’m really hard to live with. Sane or insane. It won’t be a picnic for you, or Amy. Even without the voices I’m well… nuts. Sort of.”
          “We just need to keep your mind busy. Your sense of humor is already coming back. Those brains of yours are a blessing and a curse.”
          “Don’t I know it,” Carl mumbled.
          There was a gentle knock on the door. “There’s someone waiting to see you.”
          “Wait!” Carl moaned as he pulled her close. “Do you really think I can do it this time? I don’t want to put her through this if it isn’t possible.”      Lorna kissed his cheek. “It’s very possible… if you want it. Do you want it, Carl?” She looked into his sad face. “Do you want us?”
          “I do,” Carl replied.
          The door burst open. “Daddy.” Amy ran to her father. Carl wrapped his arms around both his girls, hugging them close… holding on as though his life depended on it. 
          “Pssst….pssst.” 




Sunday, February 12, 2012

Th Neighborhood


The Hydrangea bush had grown to five feet high and just as wide providing the perfect hiding place. Giant blue flowers with large green leaves surrounded Rose. She cautiously moved one of the dark green branches peeking through, careful to stay hidden. She hoped her father would give up trying to find her. Twice a day they played hide and seek, he, trying to get her to come in and pray, she trying not to. Her Russian father and German mother had been in the United States ten years, but still clung to the religious practices from the old country. An altar dominated one corner of their front room with a three tiered table filled with candles, crosses and pictures.                                                                                                                                                
Rose didn’t see how all that praying helped; they lived on borscht and bread, and still had second hand everything. Her father was a junk dealer and what he couldn’t sell he brought home, including other people’s clothes, furniture and anything else he could get for a good price, or free. The clothes were always too big, but her father would say, “You will grow in.”  So Rose learned to sew and by the time she was 11 she could make new clothes out of the old.
                  
Her brother, sister and she weren’t allowed to use the shower or bath tub. Her father insisted they use the galvanized tub that was kept in the shower they couldn’t use. Twice a week it was hauled out and filled to wash three children. Hot water was conveniently available through the faucet, yet they had to heat the water on the stove in a kettle. Rose complained to her mom about these old fashioned ways, but was told in German to be quiet. If she complained to her father he told her the same thing, only in Russian.                  
             
 If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Smith, a neighbor who had befriended them, they would have had an even harder time adjusting. Rose’s parents spoke with thick accents making them difficult to understand, but Mrs. Smith never seemed to have any trouble.
          Mrs. Smith didn’t get upset when Rose’s mother, Ina, woke her up in the middle of the night because her husband, Frederick, had locked her out of the house. Mrs. Smith would walk Ina home and talk quietly through the door until Frederick opened up. She would make coffee in the familiar kitchen and visit until they were calmed down. Frederick would walk Mrs. Smith home, singing softly in Russian. 
          Once a month Frederick and Ina would take off in his big truck and be gone all day, leaving Rose in charge of her brother and sister. This frightened her at first, but after a few times she had it figured out. If there was a problem she would go get Mrs. Smith. Her parents always came home by supper time usually with presents or a lollypop, and since they were alone all day, the children each got a hot bath in the bathtub.
                     
 Every so often Ina would have a nervous breakdown. She would walk the streets wearing her heavy coat, no matter the weather, flailing her arms and singing in German to all who crossed her path. The neighbors soon got used to this behavior and just waved at her as she passed by. Rose would go get Mrs. Smith and she would drive Ina to the Norwalk Mental Hospital. After a few weeks Ina would come home and everything would get back to, well, as normal as it could get.
          Most of the families in the neighborhood were poor, yet the little community was close knit, mainly because of Mrs. Smith. Growing up there was like being part of a big stew filled with different cultures, customs and languages. Spanish, German, Russian, Polish and of course English could be heard every day, all at various degrees of intensity.  Even though Rose’s family wasn’t that different from anyone else’s, she always thought they were the weird family living on Bonquet Street.
 Rose realized, once she was an adult, that her childhood hadn’t been that bad. Plus, she could speak three languages, sew an entire wardrobe and had stayed sane in an insane family.

Flint Hills Kansas


Summer’s whisper kissed Jenny Mae’s cheek as the morning breeze danced across the field, caressing wild flowers along its way. Jenny sat on a large rock spreading her summer dress across the weathered stone. She lifted her face, allowing the warm sun to bless her. Hummingbirds darted from flower to flower, the crimson of their feathers in harmony with a Kansas sunset.
           She could feel the pull on her back to turn, but hesitated. Instead, she knelt in the prairie grass gathering yellow, blue and orange brilliance in her arms. She heard the bark of a prairie dog and admired the grace of a red tailed hawk as he landed on the old rock wall surrounding the field. Hours before, the land was ravaged by tornados, yet now peace and serenity filled the air bringing pure white clouds set on a canvas of dark blue.
          Jenny stood as her husband, Luke, walked to the edge of the field. She went to him, the hem of her dress brushing the tops of prairie grass, sending up scents of lavender. She inhaled deeply, wanting always to remember.
          Jenny traced her finger across Luke’s set jaw, then rested her hand in his. The field that once held their home lay empty. Crows filled the old oak that somehow survived, sending out loud cries that sent shivers up Jenny’s spine.  She slipped her arm through Luke’s as they turned their backs to the field, walking quickly away.
           Before getting into the truck, Jenny stood on tiptoe and kissed her husbands cheek, “I hear it’s always sunny in California.”

Saturday, February 11, 2012

It Was This Way

                                                                              
                                                                                                                       
          Isabelle ran into the field, not stopping until she was surrounded by the clover filled pasture. She loved the scent of a new spring, it arrived softly, cool, and invisible. The wind carried it as one would carry a delicate flower.  Everything looked new; the grass, the flowers, the blue sky. She felt so alive. Across the field she saw a man walking toward her, he was too far away to recognize… but she knew who it was. “I hoped you would be here,” she whispered. Isabelle knelt to pick wildflowers; tying blades of grass around the stems to make a small bouquet, breathing in the fragrance of lavender.
          Minutes passed like a gentle sigh; she lifted her face to greet the man, he was running toward her, waving his arms and shouting. A sudden heaviness fell, stilling the air. The earth rumbled. She stood panic stricken, not knowing what to do. She waved to the man, “Hurry,” she whispered. The ground rolled… she fell. The old Oak tree that stood in the middle of the field was thrown to the ground, its giant limbs spread as in a last wave. The earth shuddered again like it was trying to shake something off its back. Isabelle looked toward the street, telephone poles swayed; they looked like giant toothpicks, but went down like dominoes, one following the other. The power lines snapped like rubber bands. The ground moaned sending the poles rolling down the hill. She got on her hands and knees and started crawling toward the street.
          She heard someone calling to her, “Isabelle, stay where you are!” She could see her mother standing on the porch, and watched in horror as the house fell. “She’s okay, she made it out in time,” Isabelle groaned. The earth gave one last shudder before releasing its grip. The promise of spring returned soft and cool against her skin. “It’s like it never happened,” she thought.
          Isabelle stood when she saw her mother running toward her.  She took a few steps then felt something brush across her back, and she knew he was with her. She turned to face him, but only the gentle breeze of spring kissed her cheek.
          Isabelle’s mother put an arm around her as they walked out of the pasture. Isabelle stopped and turned… waiting for him, wanting him, “Where did he go?” she asked her mother. Something was slipped over her arms and a jacket was placed across her shoulders. “It’s not really cold,” she whispered. The jacket felt tight across her chest. She tried to remove it, but found that the zipper wasn’t in the front. She turned to face her mother and a strange man greeted her.
           “It isn’t much farther,” he said.
          Isabelle screamed and tried to get away. The man took a whistle from his pocket and filled the air with a loud blast. Two men came running toward them. She continued to scream,
          “Who are you? Where is my mother?”
          The other men approached. “I told you to keep an eye on her. Spring is difficult for Isabelle.”
          Isabelle tried to focus. Across the street, where her house once stood, she saw a four story building with barred windows. “What is that place?” she cried.
           “It’s your home.”
          Isabelle stopped. “That’s not my home; I’ve never seen it before.”
          He tightened the jacket then guided her up the stairs. “It’s been your home for 15 years now. You’ll soon remember you like it well enough.”
         
           


A Journey



                                                                                                  
             The setting sun rested its crimson rays behind snow capped mountains. Soft breezes rustled the aspen leaves creating whispers on the wind as embers floated gently on the evening air rushing skyward as the camp fire dimmed. Rick pulled the blanket close.  “You can’t be serious. It’s freezing.”
            “Don’t you want to see the world from a mountain top? Imagine the colors we’ll see, the shapes of the trees, the rocks forming a rugged floor beneath our feet. It will be like climbing to heaven, the thin air filling our empty breasts.” Maggie’s throat was tight with urgency.                                                                                                                                                   “We aren’t equipped for a hike, if I had known that was your plan we would have stayed below.”
            “We have feet, how much more equipment do we need?” Maggie unwrapped herself from the blanket and stood facing the mountain. “If I can make it to the top I can do anything, survive anything.” She whispered. Hugging her chilled arms she turned to face Rick, her eyes filled with excitement and pleading. Kneeling beside him she rested her head on his knee.  Rick gently stroked her curly brown hair. He didn’t want to lose her, not this way, lost on a mountain, frozen to death. He didn’t want to lose her to disease either. If she thought climbing a mountain was the cure who was he to say differently? Maggie seemed to have a line to a God Rick had never met. Silent tears fell, dampening Maggie’s soft hair. “Don’t you think we should at least wait until morning?” Maggie didn’t answer and Rick hoped she had fallen asleep. He covered her with the blanket pressing his body to hers until he could feel warmth return to her chilled bones.
            “Oh how I love you,” He whispered.
             “If we leave now we can greet the morning sun. I know we can make it, I know it.” Maggie looked deep into his eyes, searching, begging. “Please let me go.” Her silent heart pleaded.
            Rick held her face in his hands memorizing each curve, kissing her pale freckled cheek.
             “Such an innocent. You are so sure about everything. Even when you got sick you were sure God would heal you. When He didn’t you knew He wanted something from you, wanted you to do something, be something you weren’t. Do you really think He is telling you to climb a mountain? Risk your life? Possibly die? How can you be so sure?”
            Rick had been pleading for two years. “Please have the Chemotherapy.” Rick knelt beside the hospital bed pressing his fists deep into the rough sheets.
            “It’s too late. I won’t survive the treatment. Maybe if we had caught it sooner, I don’t know. I do know my body couldn’t take it.”
            Rick thought about the deals and promises people make with God. Did the ones who bargained for their lives or the lives of a loved one, keep their end of the deal? Or once the tragedy passed, whether by miracle or medicine, did they forget the promise to God and go on with their lives? He wasn’t going to bargain, but he would plead. Plead with a God he wasn’t sure existed. Plead with the saints his mother prayed to. He would plead with a rock if he thought it would save his wife.
            Maggie tapped his knee. Rick looked across the camp to see a wolf sitting, panting, waiting. His saw his rifle leaning against the log, right where he left it, now beside the wolf; he would never get to it in time. Rick pulled Maggie in close; he knew one of them wasn’t going to make it. “Isn’t he beautiful?” Maggie whispered. Rick held the wolf in his stare. Maggie stood, her clothes hung loose on her thin body.  Rick followed holding tightly to her arm. She tried to pull away, he held fast. “He isn’t here to hurt us; he’s my guide.” Rick shook his head in wonder. Maggie sat down to tighten the laces on her boots. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and buttoned her jacket.  “Please let us go.” Maggie spoke softly as though the moment were sacred.
            “Us? This wolf is going to lead you up that mountain?” He kept his eye on the rifle.
             “Of course, why else would he be here?” Maggie pried his hand from her arm lifting one finger at a time until she was free. Rick knew he had to let her go; this was her journey, her life, maybe her destiny. His stomach ached; he knew it would be her beginning… or her ending.
Maggie’s faced glowed as she walked slowly toward the wolf.
            “I’m ready.”