Homefires (39 page)

Tillie moved to stand beside Callie and Moose for the trio selection
Because He Lives
. I saw her hand tremble as she took
the microphone and when our gazes met, I gave her a big smile. She straightened and began singing in a clear smooth voice, “God sent his so-o-n, they called him Je-e-sus....” On the chorus, Callie’s alto and Moose’s tenor mellowed out the melody and drew tears. On the last verse, the entire choir joined in and…

What was that sound? I angled my right ear and –
oh no!

Nick’s rust-gray head was tossed back in euphoric abandon and his caterwauling grew louder and louder... “
And then as death, gives way to vi-ic-tory...I’ll see the lights of glo-o-ry and I know He li-ives!”

Tillie’s startled chocolate orbs implored me,
“Do something!”

I gazed up to Heaven.
Lord, please.....

Nick gazed up to Heaven, too, and burst into tears, falling gloriously silent as tears rivuleted his lined cheeks. The last chorus swelled in praise to our celebrated Lord and my weak knees flexed and set themselves for the big finale, which recapped the beginning – a majestic, rousing rendition of
Crown Him with Many Crowns
. By now, Nick boo-hooed as unrestrained as he sang and my baton did battle for preeminence, its tip a fanning, dancing lariat whose circumference grew and grew until, stunned, I watched it fly through the air and hit Moose smack in the face. I only missed two beats before my fingertips flung imaginary water all over the rostrum, while Tillie burst into giggles and the entire choir sang with grins as wide as possum road-kill.

The baton mysteriously disappeared the very next day.

Friday of the following week marked the college choral group’s Spring Concert. I was surprised when, on the evening of our performance, I was nearly as excited as my singing peers.

Toby’s interest in another baby was becoming – well, a bit strained. Oh, he’d not resisted the idea at first, had sorta flowed with Heather’s enthusiasm. But as time passed, his excitement waned. I sensed he did not like to discuss this little stranger who would, in a few months time, usurp his cozy
family baby
rank.

Heather, on the other hand, was beside herself with joy, pampering me shamelessly, massaging my back, legs and feet
with lotion. Dawn’s first movements were celebrated with tears of elation while my teenage daughter’s fingertips gently pressed and probed. And as my abdomen rounded and swelled until I no longer saw my toes, Heather gave me pedicures, painting my toenails bright, sassy colors.

In July, Toby’s sole comment was, “You’re getting kinda fat, aren’t you, Mom?”

I hugged him every chance I got and spent time with him, hoping to dispel any hovering insecurities. In late July, we vacationed in the mountains of North Carolina. At six a.m. on the second day, I awoke and surveyed from my hotel window a golden sun slowly climb up over the purple Smoky Mountain range. I’d thought this change of scenery would make me forget.

It didn’t. Tears puddled, then coursed down my cheeks.
Ahh, Krissie...I miss you so.

I felt Kirk’s arms slide around me from behind. His cheek pressed against mine and our tears mingled. We shared silent moments of memory before Toby bounded from the other bedroom, ready for some adventure.

“We gon’ go to Ghost Town?” he asked, plundering an Oreo Cookie bag.

I wiped my cheeks and turned. “After lunch. The park doesn’t open till threeish.”

Toby gazed at me dubiously. “You not throwin’ up, are you, Mama?”

“No.” My smile reassured him his fun was not thwarted.

Heather and Dixie, her buddy, roused from their comatose slumber only after Kirk lured them with promises of the grandest breakfast of a lifetime at nearby Ma’s Restaurant. A meal of sausage gravy and buttermilk biscuits launched us on a tour of Maggie Valley gift shops. In one, I bought an oversized T-shirt emblazoned with mountain flowers for Callie. Kirk selected Moose a book of Redneck Jokes, then suggested I pick out something for Roxie. I finally settled on a little cedar jewelry box. I wanted to buy something for Kaye Tessner, but Kirk frowned.

“You can’t do for one church member what you can’t for all, honey.” We’d already established that our lifelong pals did not fit neatly into the ‘church-folk’ slot.

“I know.” I sighed, wishing life were different but knowing it simply could not be.

“Hey,” Kirk slapped another five dollar bill into Heather’s extended palm, “that’s
it
. I can’t fork out for everybody and his cousin, Heather. You’re gonna have to limit the gifts to a couple of friends. Okay?” We’d also decided to cut the kids some slack along the way, since their childhood was tied up almost exclusively with ‘church folk’.

Heather nodded as she turned away. She half-heartedly rolled her eyes but trudged on ahead with Dixie to the next shop, fully aware of her father’s generosity.

Kirk draped his arm around me as we trailed the girls and Toby, who loped along people-gaping.

“I saw Brad Chisholm last week.” Kirk said off-handedly. Brad was a local attorney with whom we’d discussed a lawsuit against Coastal Railway. I’d felt strongly that had there been a stop-gate at the trestle entrance, Krissie’s tragedy would not have happened. Still did.

“I still resent Homer Beauregard’s interference,” I said, feeling my hackles begin to rise.

Kirk’s hand tightened on my shoulder as we walked. “I know. But – many of these folks do have family who work for Coastal.”

“
Heaven help us,
” I hissed sarcastically. “I
know.
The
clan
has spoken.” I resented that Homer Beauregard didn’t hesitate for a moment to appeal to the pastor to not sue because of longtime family ties with the railroad. I hated then and still do the fact that folk will put pastors under bondage they wouldn’t dare impose on themselves or anyone else. A sort of spiritual blackmail. A
prove yourself
thing. It wasn’t
Homer’s
child who’d been lured onto a seemingly innocuous ramp, then slaughtered.

I closed my eyes for a moment, then breathed deeply. “If Krissie had seen anything that said
STOP-Danger,
especially with a gate forcing her to crawl under, she’d
never
have gotten on that ramp. Why – she wouldn’t even completely shut the bathroom door for fear it would stick and entrap her. You know that, Kirk.”

“I know. It’s not fair,” Kirk said quietly. “But I
do
have an obligation to the flock. And – money won’t bring Krissie back.”

“No,” I said, “but insisting that Coastal put up those gates would ensure no one else’s child would get trapped like Krissie and Zach did.”

“Well, it’s too late to rehash it. We settled with the railroad.”

“For a pittance. What’s ten thousand dollars in the face of our Krissie’s death?
Nothing.
Not counting potential tragedies as a result of the railroad’s neglect to install those gates.”

“I agree. But it’s out of our hands now, honey. As Brad said, we didn’t have the resources to fight Coastal. They have the finances and the lawyers to fight spending what it takes to install those gates everywhere. It boils down to money. According to Brad, if we’d sued, the case would be tied up in litigation till Jesus comes and nothing would be accomplished anyway. We never had a chance.”

It was true. Besides, I didn’t want Coastal Railway’s money.

What I wanted couldn’t be had.

I wanted Krissie.

I took the next semester off. Kirk and I began Lamaze classes at Summerville Medical Center in October. Up until then, I’d mostly seen my midwife Marjorie Wellon, a young married woman, whose intuitive care and knowledge amazed and calmed me. Now, Dr. Jennings added a touch of paternal care by seeing me every other visit.

With extra time on my hands during Heather and Toby’s school hours, I busied myself with projects. Since Krissie’s death, the importance of family photos shot right up there beside oxygen. I purchased endless bound albums and filled them from boxes stacked on closet shelves. One featured Krissie, another, Heather and another, Toby. I meticulously labeled and filed them. Once done, I immediately searched for something else to consume my time.

And my mind.

My body thickened and slowed, limiting my busy-ness. Then agony set in. My abdominal muscles gave way and pressure from the baby caused excruciating cramps and pain in my back and legs. I was bedridden most of the time. Other times, I only managed to get to the bathroom by crawling. Kirk begged me to let him carry me. I explained that it wouldn’t help. I had
to let the baby’s weight – lodged against my sciatic nerve – drop forward to relieve teeth gnashing when I moved. This could only be accomplished by crawling on all fours.

When I went in for check-ups, Marjorie met me at the car with a wheelchair.

My hormones were still crazy and my moodiness settled down to ‘low’ melancholy and ‘high’ melancholy. Only difference being that I could function a bit more with the high. Weepiness plunged me from high to low in a wink. Yet – it was an automatic process, a chemical entity not connected to my thinking.

Pregnancy was but another reminder of Krissie. I grew desperate to reach a place of refuge, one that
“time will help
” had promised. Where the terrible longing would abate to bearable. Seemed the only thing time did was to separate me from my child’s
being
and torment me with her
non-being
. A deep, deep part of me wailed at the inhumane deprivation.

Another part of me thanked God for what I had left.

For at least a month after our warm bedtime talk, Toby daily carried water to Krissie’s pond, as soft sand rather quickly soaked it up. Of course, I knew this could not continue indefinitely. As his ‘do something’ grief phase ebbed, Krissie’s little pond eventually dried up. Toby moved on to yet other healing and acceptance stages.

For months, I allowed the banner and the rough-hewn bridge to remain on our yard’s secluded back corner. I couldn’t bring myself to part with it. Rain faded the letters and the wood began to crumble, but the message remained alive. Time passed, and it continued to comfort me.

Late one warm October afternoon, during a short respite from the horrible muscle spasms, I stood on the ramp in the silence. And then birdsong penetrated my haze, sweetly transporting me to a plane of peace. I knew in that moment that though Toby’s grief was not always as visible, his tribute to Krissie surpassed all others. I knew also that his gift extended to me.

If Toby could turn loose, so could I. A soft breeze ruffled my hair and drew my damp face upward. I looked beyond the tall pines into frothy white clouds and infinite blue.

I realized this visit to the pond would be my last.

Because I knew what Toby, with a child’s simplicity, already knew: in the Lord, we never truly lose someone we love. Their essence remains forever in our hearts.

I placed a hand over the growing mound inside me.
This is your baby, my sweet daughter.

I blew a kiss and whispered. “I love you, Krissie.” I turned and walked away.

PART THREE

1975-80

CHAPTER TWELVE

Dawn’s birth created a royal Crenshaw stir. On the drive home from the hospital, my swaddled infant swished to and fro, the prize in Heather and Toby’s tug-of-war. Kirk kept sliding me warm glances. “Thank God, you got through the delivery okay, honey,” he said so quietly only I heard him.

I knew he referred to the moment in the labor room when I’d whispered to him that I felt my heart had nearly stopped during the last contraction. I still remembered how his face, already pale, had blanched even more when he took both my hands in his and squeezed them, tears shimmering in his eyes.

“I wanna hold ‘er, Mama,” Toby wailed at yet another Heather victory.

“Why don’t you pass her up here to me, Heather?” I asked wearily, taking charge of the newborn for the remainder of the drive.