Amazing Grace (5 page)

“Did you have a good sleep?”

“Your pillows and mattress suck.”

“Didn't seem to stop you from sawing wood for twelve hours.”

She stares at Beulah. “She's my dog.”

“She's not going anywhere.”

Melissa slumps over and puts her head on the armrest. “Why do you want me here? How is this going to help anything?”

“It might not. It's purely up to you which way your life will turn out. We can't stop you from smoking up or drinking, but we can make it difficult.”

“Now I wish I'd gone to rehab. At least they have hot tubs and a spa.”

“Did you hear that, Beulah? Melissa wants us to fill the tub and stir the water.”

Melissa laughs for the first time in two days. “I always tell my friends that you're nuts and they think it's great.”

“You can always bring your friends here for the summer. We'd love to have you.”

“Here? I mean…not that it's not great, but it's…so small…you know…”

She's trying to save herself. I look around the living room. The ancient panelling is dented and the colour of tobacco. The wood chips around the stove, the tattered recliners, the television that's only twenty inches wide, with crocheted afghans thrown everywhere and the dogs' beds taking up major floor space…she has every right to be dismayed. Fletch and I don't see it anymore. It's just home.

“I wasn't thinking of this place. You might like to spend time at my farmhouse.”

“I didn't know you had a farmhouse.”

“I have lots of secrets. Your dad never wanted to stay there on his quick visits, as he and your mother preferred hotels, but I have a feeling you might like this old place.”

“Okay, when can we go?”

“Later on; there's no rush. Let's go for a quick walk before supper.”

Melissa races up the hill out back with the dogs. They bark their excitement as Beulah and I saunter behind. The cats think we're nuts. They're still in front of the fire.

When we get to the top of the hill, Melissa is thrilled to see there are two weathered Adirondack chairs under a huge poplar tree. “Are these yours?”

“This is my reward for all that hiking.”

“Good thinking.”

We both sit and turn our faces to the lowering of the sun. All around us are dark shadows and a chill that reminds us that winter is just out of sight. Everywhere you look there are shades of dark blue and grey splashed across the landscape.

“I wish I could paint,” I say. “Maybe I'll take it up.”

“Fletcher should build you a studio up here. When you're not using it, you could rent it out to writers or other artists who want to get away from everything. People need to be alone to think.”

I smile at her. “That's a very good idea. You are a clever girl.”

When we eventually wander back down the hill, I tell myself that the only thing I need to do for now is to make sure Melissa has good homemade food, plenty of exercise, and lots of sleep.

Imagine getting a Starbucks coffee for her breakfast. And having that damn laptop and phone in her bedroom at night. She's probably up till all hours staring at those screens. It makes me shudder.

Three days into my Melissa mission, I call Jon. “She's doing well. She's still cranky sometimes, but then, so am I.”

“What are you doing with her?”

“We baked a pie the other day, and I showed her how to make boiled icing. And I'm teaching her to sew. We're making more outfits for Beulah.”

“That sounds very Little House on the Prairie, Mother, but how is it going to help her when she gets back to the real world?”

“Believe it or not, Jonathan, this is the real world too. You should remember that.”

And then comes the day I take her to my farmhouse. I tell Fletch where I'm going.

“The old homestead, eh?”

“I'll just show her around. We'll be back by suppertime.”

“You and I both know that there are ghosts in that house. Are you sure you want to wake them up?”

“Where is this place?”

“In Marble Mountain.”

“Sounds like a Disney ride.” She leans her head against the side window of the truck.

“It's a very beautiful spot about forty minutes from here. They used to mine for marble in a quarry on the mountain. Hence the name. The beaches have white sand because of it.”

We drive down winding roads and pass two old churches. There are driveways that disappear into the woods, the houses too far back to see from the road. You'd think no one lived here, and not many do now; mostly summer residents.

At the bend of a blind hill, I turn and drive slowly down an overgrown dirt laneway. The tree branches close in and create a tunnel effect. Melissa looks nervous as we continue on.

“What is this? It's like the set of a scary movie.”

I remember feeling that way the first time I set eyes on this place.

An old farmhouse, crooked and settled into the earth, comes into view. The white shingles have faded and the paned windows are empty. The front porch runs the length of the house, with ivy and brambles covering a good portion of it. The front door was red at one time, but it's mostly peeling now. Trees are taking over what was once a garden and meadow.

I pull the truck right up to the front porch and turn off the engine.

Melissa gives me a horrified look. “I thought the trailer was bad, but this? It's the house time forgot.”

“This is a special house.”

“It looks cold, damp, and mouldy. Why would you want me and my friends to stay here?”

“It wasn't always like this. Come inside.”

It takes a few seconds for the key to cooperate and open the front door. A loud creak accompanies the motion.

“I'm not sure I like this place,” says a small voice behind me.

“It's just old, like me.”

When I open the parlour door, my heart skips a beat. It always does. The old-fashioned furniture bring back so many memories. The voices come rushing into my ears. “We're still here....”

Melissa pokes my arm. “Gee?”

“What? Sorry.” I try and gather myself. Melissa looks unsure and that's the last thing I want her to be.

“Come. I'll show you around. This is the parlour, or at least that's what my aunts called it.”

Melissa looks about. “You had aunts? I didn't know that.”

“I had parents, too. I didn't just drop out of the sky.”

The stuffed sofas in their big-blossomed patterns look shabby against the worn rose wallpaper. Nothing matches and everything clashes, but I personally love this look. A chintz cottage, Aunt Mae once called it. Two armchairs flank the small fireplace in the centre of the room, the white scrolled mantel chipped and covered with old candle sticks and porcelain figurines. There are a pair of tiger salt and pepper shakers, a Humpty Dumpty egg cup, two cow creamers, and a donkey hauling a wagon of wooden matchsticks. I've thought about taking them home with me, but they firmly told me they like it right where they are.

Beside one of the armchairs is a floor lamp and a frilly lamp on a walnut side-table. The dusty braided rug covers most of the linoleum, which is a blessing. Faded lace curtains hang like cobwebs at the dirty windows.

Seeing the house through Melissa's eyes makes me aware that I have neglected this property for far too long. Everything is neat and tucked away, but its heart is in a deep sleep. I should never have let that happen.

We explore the kitchen, with its imposing wood and coal stove on one side of the room, and the large farmhouse sink on the other. There is even wallpaper in here, a village scene with peasants, wooden shoes, and Swiss cuckoo clocks. A large strip of wallpaper over the stove is hanging on for dear life.

Melissa points to the right. “What's that small room for?”

“That's the pantry. It's where my aunts would bake. Cans and jars of all kinds lined the shelves, and flour, brown sugar, and molasses were stored in big barrels under the counter. It always smelled like cookies in here.”

My granddaughter loves the old claw tub in the bathroom and gets a kick out of the elaborate metal headboards on the beds upstairs. I show her the quilts that are stored in the trunks, and she falls in love with Aunt Pearl's old vanity dressing table with a round mirror and a plush stool sitting underneath. The handles are made of ivory and Aunt Pearl's brush and comb set are still on the mirrored tray, along with her perfume atomizer.

“This looks like one I saw in Vogue! They were doing a piece on the thirties! That was such a glamorous era. Were you born then?”

“Thanks a bunch. Don't they teach you math at school? If I'm sixty, then when would I have been born?”

“In the fifties?”

“Bingo. Now come downstairs and I'll show you how to light a fire.”

We sit in the armchairs, with wool throws over our shoulders. I don't want to turn on the oil stove to drive away the damp—the fireplace will do for now. There is no sound other than the flames crackling. This is so far removed from the place Melissa calls home, but if you want to know who you are, you need to stay very still and very quiet.

“Is this a solution?” she finally says. “Keep me away from civilization in the hopes that I'll forget about my life and be a farmer and milk cows?”

“No.”

“So what are you trying to prove? Eventually my mother will be back from her perfect honeymoon with the boy wonder and she might notice I'm gone.”

I sip tea out of a thermos. “So you don't like her new husband?”

“He's only ten years older than I am.”

“Yikes.”

“Exactly.”

“Is she happy?”

“I'm assuming so. I don't see her all that much, and when I do she's usually on her phone with him.”

“It must get lonely.”

She takes a gulp of hot chocolate. “I know what you're doing. It's not going to work.”

“Melissa, I know kids your age mess around with alcohol and weed. It's usually a phase they grow out of. But I want to know, why the Melissa show on the computer?”

“It's none of your business.”

“Perhaps not.”

After I add another log to the fire, I gaze into the flames. The smoke rising from the chimney makes it feel as if the house has started to breathe again.

“This is almost the last of the apple wood. One of the apple trees was blown down by a wild storm years ago and I cut it up and stacked it in the back shed. Do you smell it?”

She nods.

“Imagine. Even though it's been here for years drying out and forgotten, it's still here for us to enjoy. No matter how deeply we bury ourselves, our true essence stays with us, even when we think it's gone.”

Melissa makes a face. “You're talking like a shrink again.”

I don't respond.

“But you're better at it than most.”

“Have you been to a psychiatrist?'

“Once, when Mom and Dad got the divorce. They thought it might help, but it made me furious.”

“Why?”

“They could have just asked me how I was. Instead I had to sit with this old guy who had bad breath.”

This makes me smile. She sees it.

“What?”

“You're an awful lot like me.”

“I'm more fashionable.”

“So true.”

I poke at the fire once more. Melissa watches me. “Why did you bring me here?”

“To the farmhouse?”

Melissa nods.

A deep sigh escapes my lips before I can stop it. “This house, and the women in it, saved me. It is one of the only places where I feel truly safe, and what I'm about to tell you is terrifying.”

Her eyes get big.

“I brought you here to tell you the story of a little girl named Amazing Grace.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THEN

The first time my sister and I go to the bog, our mom takes us there. She makes us run faster and faster, telling us to hurry up. I laugh with delight as we tear through the woods, stumbling on the wet ground as we wave branches out of the way.

“Over here!”

We hide behind an outcropping of rock and then sit, leaning against the warm, hard surface.

My heart races. “Did I do good, Mama?”

She nods. “You're the fastest.”

“I can run faster than the devil himself.”

My sister turns on me. “Shut up, Grace. You can not.”

“I'm Amazing, thank you very much! Amazing girls can do anything!”

Mom puts her hands on our shoulders. “Hush now. We don't want anyone to find out about this spot. We can have picnics here and play cards. Would you like that, Gracie?”

“No. I hate playing cards. It's too boring. Remember?”

“Okay then, what about cops and robbers?”

“I hardly think so,” Ave Maria tsks. “I am twelve.”

I forget what we played that first time, but it's a place we return to often, just to get away from the others. I'm not sure who all the others are. Mom's always vague with her answers and Maria, who thinks she knows everything, doesn't tell me a thing because I'm only nine. Who does she think she is?

One thing I know is that my mother loves hymns, and that's why my sister is Ave Maria and I'm Amazing Grace. My name is so much better than Maria's, but I don't tell her that, because she's usually grumpy, but I'm always happy. Mom calls me a chatterbox.

“Your mouth will get you in trouble one day.”

We live on a farm with a lot of buildings. Some of the adults call it a compound, others a camp. I'm not sure who my father is, but I must have at least forty brothers and sisters. Everything is the same day after day. We play outside, we come indoors for school, and every night we sit together in the barn and the man talks about God and Satan. Then we sing hymns, sway our arms, and praise Jesus before we go to bed.

It's a pretty good life. Mom, Maria, and I share a bed, and that makes me feel safe. But some nights the man comes in and makes my mother get up and leave us. She comes back after a while, but she must get tired of that.

Sometimes I wake up first and I watch my mother and sister sleep. They look very much alike, with pale skin and silky hair. I'm afraid that I'll turn over in my sleep and smother them, since I'm pretty clumsy.

One night my mom goes with the man and comes back with a red line around her neck. That happens a lot. I reach out to touch the dark skin and she flinches.

“Sorry, Mama.”

She takes my hand and holds it against her chest. “Promise me something.”

“Okay.”

“Don't believe everything you're told, no matter who says it. If something doesn't feel right, don't do it. Trust yourself.”

“All right.”

“You are amazing, Grace. Don't forget that. I forgot it and look where we are.”

“Where are we?”

She pulls the blanket over our heads. “We're in our own cocoon. Someday you'll be a butterfly.”

I giggle.

“A butterfly with a big mouth.”

Then she giggles too.

My friend Helen is either my sister or cousin. It depends on who you talk to. We have a tree fort at the edge of the property and we like to pretend we're spies. The man who comes at night, the one who talks a lot about the devil, walks over to our tree and asks us if we'll do something for him. I'm sort of afraid of the man, but I don't let him know that. Helen is a softie. She trembles beside me.

“I want you two to tell me if you see your mothers talking to the new man, the one with red hair. Can you do that?”

Helen nods.

“Why do you want to know?” I ask.

In an instant he has a tight grip on my arm and shakes me really hard. My neck is going to snap.

“Don't you dare talk back!”

Helen wets her pants. I can see the pee run down her legs.

His black eyes stare at me. “You have a demon in you.”

“I do?”

Next thing I know, I'm on the ground, not quite sure how I got there. My nose is bleeding, and as the man walks away, I gather up the bottom of my shirt and stuff it against my nostrils.

Helen is shaking. “You shouldn't talk to him.” She runs away.

My afternoon is spent in the tree house, looking up through the cracks in the wood planks, to catch glimpses of the fir trees waving in the wind. There is a lot I don't understand and I find if I stay still, a bubble of air grows around me and I'm protected.

Coming on dark, Maria finds me.

“What happened to your face?”

“The man hit me.”

Maria licks her fingers and rubs the skin under my nose. “What did you say to him?”

“He wants me to spy on Mom and I asked him why.”

Maria closes her eyes. “Please don't talk back to him.”

“Is he God?”

“No. He's the boogeyman. Stay away from him.”

“Don't tell Mom he did this. She'll be sad.”

Maria nods. “I saved you some supper.”

Mom keeps me close to her in the circle that night, even though I didn't tell her a thing. She pretends to sing with the others. The man keeps looking at her. That's when I notice the red-haired man. He's very enthusiastic, but the new ones always are.

The man stands up and we have to look at him. I only watch him with one eye. The other eye doesn't want to.

“There is evil here,” he says softly. “Do you feel it? Do you see it? Be on your guard. Only your father knows how to keep you safe. You must listen to the father.”

I can't help it. “Which father? You or the one in heaven?”

Mama catches her breath and Maria pokes me in the ribs. So I say, “Sorry. I didn't mean that.”

The man with the slicked black hair grins. “It's all right, child. A good question. What father am I talking about?”

Lots of kids put up their hands. “The one in heaven!”

“The one in heaven is correct, but who represents the one in heaven?”

“Jesus,” I say. “And maybe cows. They were with Jesus the night he was born.”

There's a smattering of laughter from my brothers and sisters.

The man shouts, “Who else? Who does Jesus rely on in this compound?”

Everyone shouts back, “The Master.”

“And I am the Master. Those who follow my rules will have a place in heaven. Those who do not, will burn in hell.”

Not for the first time do I wonder where hell is. Once I thought it was the furnace that comes on at night and then I wondered if it was the big bonfire that the men build to get rid of brush around the property.

That night the man comes into our room. At first I think I'm dreaming, because instead of taking my mother, he takes Maria. He has his hand over her mouth as he leads her away. Maria tries to kick him and my mother throws herself at him and grabs his leg. “No. No. No. No. No. Not her! Take me!” He drags my mother across the floor and kicks her in the face before he slams the door shut. She weeps by the door and can't get up. I run over to her. She grabs me and holds me in her lap.

“I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault.”

“It's not your fault, Mama. He's a bad man.”

“We need to get away.”

My stomach turns over. “Leave here? Where do we go?”

“I don't know, child. I have to think. Let me think.”

That's the last I remember.

When I wake in the morning, my mother is sitting on the side of the bed trying to rub my sister's forehead, but Maria is turned to the wall and slaps Mama's hand away. “Don't touch me.”

“I'm making a plan, Maria. I'm going to get us out of here.”

“I don't believe you. You've said that before.”

“I mean it this time. The three of us will go away and he'll never find us.”

“What did he do?” I ask my sister.

“He married me.”

“Why did he do that?”

“Because that's what we're here for. Isn't that right, Mommy? You knew he'd come here one night and you just let it happen.”

Mama looks desperate. “Where's my duffel bag? My mother's address and phone number are written on the inside of it. That's where we'll go.”

“What's her name?” I want to know.

“Rose Fairchild.”

“Our last name is Church, isn't it?”

Maria sits up. “It's a fake, like everything else. What's your real name, Mama? Is it Church, or Fairchild, or Smith, or Webster? You don't even know who you are. You're a nobody!”

Mama grabs Maria by the arms. “My name is Trixie Fairchild. My mother's name is Rose Fairchild. She lives in Nova Scotia.”

“When was the last time you talked to her?”

“When I was pregnant. I didn't tell her about you—I was afraid she'd make me come home.”

“So she might be dead by now.”

“I am going to get you out of here, Maria. I promise you. I'm taking you and your sister out of here and we're not looking back. Start packing. I can borrow a bit of money from the crazy lady. And I'll gather some food. We leave tonight. Hurry!”

When she goes out the door and shuts us in, we look at each other. “Do you think she means it?” I ask.

“If she doesn't, I'm going anyway.”

Now for the first time I'm really frightened. I hug my sister. “Don't leave me here. I don't know what to do.”

She wipes my tears. “I'm not going to leave you behind.”

We get our belongings together and sit on the bed and wait. It's been too long. I'm hungry but I don't want to worry Maria. She spends her time peeking out the bedroom door and moving the curtains aside to see if she can see Mama coming.

Finally she says, “I can't stand this. What is she doing?”

“She wouldn't leave us here alone, would she?” I ask.

Maria turns to me. “I wouldn't put it past her. She only thinks of herself, Grace. It's always about her. And I'm sick of it.”

“Yeah! Me too!”

“I'm going to see where she is. Maybe she had trouble getting money together.” Maria points at the bed. “I want you to get under the covers and make it messy so you can hide under the blankets and no one will know you're here. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Both Mama and Maria leave me and now I'm alone. I get under the covers and stay alert, ready to spring into action. Now I just have to wait.

I wait for three days before someone notices that I'm not at school or prayer meetings or in the lunch room. I do my business in the wastepaper basket; if I leave the room, I might miss Mama and Maria coming to get me. There's a bottle of water on the windowsill and I drink that.

Nights are the worst. I think the man will come in and drag me away too, so I stay under the bed in the dark, with Mama's nightgown wrapped around my neck. When I close my eyes, I can pretend she's with me in a cocoon.

Eventually the woman who cooks comes into our room. She doesn't see me at first under all the covers.

“My god! What's that smell?” She goes over to the window, puts the blinds up and opens the window. “What happened in here?”

Then she sees my eyes peering at her from under the blanket. She grabs her chest. “Merciful God!” She pulls the blanket off me and I grab it back. “Grace, what are you doing?”

“I'm waiting for my mama.”

“Child, your mama's gone. I thought you were with her!”

When I try to stand up on the bed, I get violently dizzy and fall back against the wall. “You're a liar! My mama and Maria are coming for me! You're a liar!” I can't catch my breath.

“Here. Come here.” She tries to grab my hand but I won't let her touch me. I know I'm crying because I can taste the salt on my tongue, but there's no sound.

“Wait here.” She runs towards the door.

“NOOO!”

She turns back, grabs my foot and hauls me off the bed in one fluid motion. The last thing I remember is being carried in her arms while she hurries down the corridor.

When I open my eyes I'm on a bed in Helen's room with her mother, Iris, sitting beside me. Helen's brothers and sisters stare at me until Iris shoos them away. Helen hovers close by. Iris holds a bowl of something hot.

“I want you to drink this. Be a good girl now.”

I'm too hungry not to drink it and finish the bowl quickly. Then she tears up bread and feeds it to me a piece at a time. The food makes me sleepy but I try to keep my eyes open.

“You'll never guess!” Helen blurts. “Maria and your mom ran away!”

Iris slaps Helen on the wrist. “Be quiet, child.”

“They did not! You take that back!”

Iris looks sad. “I'm sorry, Grace. It's true.”

I push away the bread. “But what about me? Why would they leave me?”

Iris takes me by the hands. “I believe your mother knew we'd look after you.”

“But she wanted me to go too. We were all going to run away.”

“Then she was very foolish. Look child, I'm only saying this for your own good. Your mother was a very selfish woman…”

“Leave me alone.” I roll over and face the wall. I don't believe them. That couldn't have happened. They're lying.

No one knows what to do with me. I sleep on a cot in Iris's room, but I hear snatches of conversation between the women and children when they think I'm asleep. Even the man looks in the doorway from time to time. One day he tries to talk to me.

“Grace.”

“Amazing Grace.”

“Grace.”

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…”

“Stop it this instant.”

“…I once was lost but now I'm found, was blind but now I see.”