Nobody's Child (4 page)
Authors: Austin Boyd
No one spoke while she cleaned up the dishes, set out coffee, and dashed some whipped cream on the pie. When at last she sat down, ready to enjoy her first dessert, Uncle Jack was finished, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, he smiled.
“I met a man today, Laura Ann,” he said, his voice unnaturally pleasant. “Land buyer. Super opportunity.”
“You told me you went hunting.” Auntie Rose's voice rose in pitch, her fork of pie stopped halfway to her mouth.
“Today's Monday, Rose. It's a work day in my book.”
“You had to work on Christmas?” Laura Ann asked.
He looked down at his pie, then over at Rose. “You should be glad.” He turned back to face Laura Ann.
She held his gaze, counting the seconds in silence, waiting for him to look away. She learned the trick from Daddy, staring down bad dogs. The skill paid dividends, particularly with her uncle.
“Glad?” Laura Ann asked, pouring coffee but never breaking the lock with his eyes. She listened for the sound of the liquid, judging her filling of the cup by ear.
Uncle Jack got up from the table, coffee in hand, waving toward the window. “I found you a buyer, Laura Ann. A solution to your money problems. You're one lucky girl.”
She set the coffee pot down hard on the table, jarring the dishes. Auntie Rose jerked when the pot hit the tablecloth, spilling some of the hot drink on her blouse. Laura Ann huffed, then crossed the kitchen for a wet rag.
“I've got it,” Auntie Rose insisted, her eyes on her husband. Uncle Jack's faked smile never faded.
“What money problem?” Laura Ann asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
His chest swelled and he walked about the room in a slow circle, waving occasionally toward a window. “This. This problem. You can't afford the place, Laura Ann, but I've found a solution.”
“I own it, Uncle Jack.”
“No,” he insisted, shaking his head, staring out the kitchen window toward the Middle Island Creek. “The bank owns this farm. You mortgaged it for all that medical care â a lot of good that did your dad. A mortgage you can't pay, by the way.”
He turned from the window, pointing his coffee cup at Laura Ann. “The state wants to buy your place.” He stopped his walk, sipping from the cup. “It's a good deal. You should take it.”
Laura Ann shook her head. “I don't need your help â or the state's.”
He chuckled, then let out a long breath. “Oh, yes, you do.”
Laura Ann stiffened and crossed her arms, feet spread. Her fighting stance. “Why are you here on Christmas, anyway, Uncle Jack? Why not head out there tonight on the best holiday of the year and sell some more crop insurance? Or go shoot a buck out of season. You're pretty good at that.”
“I'll pretend you didn't say that, young lady.”
“I did say it. You don't care about Christmas, or this family,
except what it gets for you. Don't pretend you're doing me some kind of favor. It's all about you. It always has been.”
“I
am
doing you a favor, Laura Ann. I've got a buyer all queued up and ready to pay.” His face went red like her truck, arteries swelling in his temples. “You need my help.”
“No, I don't,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “Don't need it, and don't want it.”
“Stupid girl.”
“Stupid
what?”
“Girl. You're a kid, for crying out loud. Barely twenty, you don't have an education, and you've never held a job. No means of support. You'll be at the Social Security office begging for handouts inside a month.” He waved the coffee cup like a lance, slicing her with his imaginary rapier.
Venom rose in her throat, hot words she'd heard from her daddy, ready to spew in Uncle Jack's face. Words about his broken marital vows with Daddy's sister, his tightfistedness, and his stream of lies. All words that would pierce Auntie Rose, words she dared not vent.
Uncle Jack took a step toward Laura Ann. Auntie Rose gasped, her knees buckling where she fell into a kitchen chair. Laura Ann set her stance and found her voice, all her pain pummeling him with one commanding word. “No!”
He stopped midstride and cast a puzzled look at her, then at Auntie Rose, who wrung her hands, eyes wide.
“I can and will run this farm, Uncle Jack. I've worked here my whole life and I'll make it pay. So clean that wax out of your ears and hear me. This farm is not for sale.”
HAPTER 4
Dear Daddy,
It's Christmas night and this is my first letter to you using the wonderful leather journal you gave me. I promise to write a letter every year. I miss you dearly. Being close to you, even with the cancer, was so much more joyful than the life I've lived since you left.
It's after midnight. My fourth try at this, and lots of tears on this page. I'm trying so hard to write you a letter, but these words are like sparks around gasoline. They ignite so many feelings, so many memories.
Your funeral was beautiful. Simple, just the way you wanted. Preacher said some nice things about you, and about Momma. He talked about reuniting with loved ones, and about the impact you made in our church. It was so cold. I wanted to throw a blanket over your casket to warm you up, but I knew you weren't there.
I thought that losing you would be the hardest thing I'd ever have to deal with. But it's not. Now I understand why you always protected me when Uncle Jack came to visit. He didn't wait long to show up. It was bad tonight. He's not a nice man, Daddy, and I wish he'd leave Auntie Rose alone. She and I cooked an amazing Christmas dinner together here at the house. Uncle Jack started arguing with
her after dinner and tried to hit her when she was washing the dishes. When he swung at her, she raised the biscuit skillet out of the soapsuds to shield herself. He slammed his fist into cast iron, broke his hand, and then drove himself to the hospital, cursing. You'd be laughing, I guess, if you'd been here. Auntie Rose is spending the night at the farm. She's terrified to leave him â but scared to go home.
That's not all. Uncle Jack is pushing me to sell our land and somehow he stands to profit. I'm sure of it. You've only been gone a few days, and he's already had a man here taking pictures of the farm. The state wants to buy our property to extend the wildlife management area to the end of The Jug. He's promising enough money to pay off the mortgage and the medical bills. I told him, “No sale. “
The cold snap hasn't broken yet, but the cows are fine. We have plenty of hay right now, but I might have to buy some more before February. It's wicked cold. I named one of the black cats “Lucky” because he's fortunate not to sleep in the barn in this weather. He comes in the house at night and sleeps with me on my bed.
Granny Apple is coming over tomorrow. She and I will take some of your things to the shelter to help them through this cold weather. She has been so nice, calling on the phone at least twice a day. We'll probably cook when she comes over.
I keep telling you boring stuff about my day because I don't want ⦠can't seem to put my feelings on paper. Please forgive me. It might take me a while to be able to write about what I feel. Right now, it's all very raw.
There are two things I need to say. First, I promise I won't break the chain. I know how much the farm means to you, Daddy. How it came down from your family so many years ago. I wish I could give our family name to a son, but
I know you're happy that I am who I am. I won't let Uncle Jack or anyone pressure me. It won't be easy, getting by. But God will provide. He always has.
The other thing is much harder for me to tell you. I've done something you probably wouldn't approve of, and I hope you'll forgive me. When you were sick, I did something to make some money. A lot of money. Preacher would never approve of what I've done and I don't dare tell anyone around here. But my body paid for your medicine until we mortgaged the farm to pay the bills.
What's done is done. I can't bring myself to write about what I did. I know it sounds crazy, maybe like an unspoken prayer request or a secret sin. You told me once that a person can do the wrong thing for the right reason. I know what I did was wrong. I sold a piece of myself. But doing that kept you alive and that's the right reason. You raised me to make good decisions, Daddy. I decided that if my body could give you life, whatever I could do was worth the sacrifice. No matter what Preacher or Auntie Rose might say, I'd go through that humiliation and pain all over again, just to have you here with me again, even for a day.
I love you.
D
ECEMBER 26
“No welfare. Ever.” Laura Ann rubbed her eyes, raw from her tearful night with the journal, a restless three hours of sleep, and an early feeding in the barn. Bent over the kitchen table, her head pounded with each blink. Life spiraled down and joy fled with it.
“It's not welfare, honey. It's help,” Granny Apple said, a hand on Laura Ann's forearm. “Lots of people need assistance at some point in their lives.”
Laura Ann shook her head. “Daddy would never want me to do that.”
“Angus didn't want to leave this life so early, either,” Auntie Rose said, gripping Laura Ann's hands hard and pulling them toward her. “He raised you to be a survivor, sweetheart. But that doesn't mean that you cheapen yourself to accept help when it's offered.”
Cheapen myself?
The words pierced her. She dared not tell her aunt why.
Laura Ann shook her head again. “I'll find a way to get through this.”
Granny Apple smiled, crow's-feet wrinkling into a leathery landscape of skin that reminded Laura Ann of a plowed field. Little girls ran from Granny sometimes, scared of the “Wrinkled Lady.” Laura Ann knew better. Every fold in that face was a book in her friend's encyclopedia of wisdom, years of experience ready to be unearthed over a glass of milk and a biscuit.
“It's not about you,” Granny Apple said in a slow raspy voice. “So don't do this alone. Lean on us. And lean on Him.”
Laura Ann nodded, glad for the support and the counsel from her mentor. A woman of the woods.
Auntie Rose took a deep breath and let it out slowly. For her, understanding took a little longer, the McGehee independence and courage beaten out of her after so many years.
Granny Apple touched the joined hands of Laura Ann and Auntie Rose, a heavenly huddle at the farm's kitchen table.
“Good thing you had that skillet, dear.”
Auntie Rose shrugged.
“You can't go home, can you?” Granny Apple's grey-blue
eyes locked on Auntie Rose like a mountaineer microscope. She never missed a hint, a twitch of the mouth or a misty eye.
Rose shook her head, lowering her gaze, no doubt to avoid Granny Apple's knowing look. “It's worse than you know,” she said, her voice cracking.
Granny Apple exhaled patience. No words, just a loving smile and a squeeze of Rose's forearm. Together, they waited for Auntie Rose to share more. She looked up at last, lip quivering when she spoke to Laura Ann.
“Jack wants more,” Auntie Rose volunteered. “Not just the farm. He wants the tobacco too â the allotment. He demanded that I get it back.”
Granny Apple nodded as if she could read minds, a gesture that seemed to say, “I could see this coming.”
“I don't understand,” Laura Ann said, their hands clasped tight together.
Auntie Rose took a deep breath, as though steeling herself for some pain she could not avoid. “He's got him a lawyer. Gonna sue for the allotment, if he has to.”
“He can't. Not without your support,” Laura Ann said, her pulse quickening.
Auntie Rose looked up, years of grief bound in wet eyes, her lips pursed tight. Words fought to release themselves, but she bit them back.
“I don't understand,” Laura Ann said again, releasing her aunt's hands. She ran fingers through her hair, then propped her chin on laced hands.
“Daniel Whitt â the lawyer â is an old friend of your uncle Jack,” Granny Apple said, patting Auntie Rose on the forearm. She stood and moved to the stove, picked up a coffee pot, then returned to the table. She freshened Rose's cup, and pointed to Laura Ann's water glass. “More?”
She shook her head. “I don't know him. Is Mr. Whitt local?”
“Yes,” Granny Apple replied, replacing the pot on the stove. She returned to her seat. “He has an office over in Culloden. He and your uncle were friends in school.” Her last words had an edge on them, as though the story they hid was still raw for her. Or for Auntie Rose, whose head hung, her face without expression.
“Your tobacco allotment must be farmed every year to keep it active,” Granny Apple said, looking at Laura Ann.
“I know. And I told Uncle Jack last night that I had no intention to farm it. Tobacco killed Daddy and I'll never grow it again.”
“I admire your pluck, sweetheart. But your uncle doesn't.”
Auntie Rose smiled the briefest of grins and took another long breath, remaining silent.
“I heard about this some time ago,” Granny Apple said, patting Auntie Rose on the forearm. “Jack knew you hated what tobacco did to your father, but he's determined to keep that allotment alive, no matter what. Word in the valley is that he'll sue for a review of your father's will and ensure that the allotment passes to his sibling. Your aunt.”
“What difference would it make, Granny Apple? That allotment's not valid anywhere else. Whoever farms it has to grow the tobacco on my land. And I won't let that happen.”
Granny Apple shrugged, raising an eyebrow. “That's why he has a lawyer, child.”
Auntie Rose looked up. “He doesn't think he can win.” These words came out different than any others that day. Words of defiance, of strength. “That's why he got me involved. He threatened me if I didn't get you to support the deal. But I don't want that allotment. I hate it. I hate what that horrible plant did to my brother, and now it's dividing our family.”
Laura Ann shook her head and placed a hand on Auntie
Rose's. “Tobacco will not split us up.” She put her best effort into a smile. The pain between her eyes screamed for relief. For sleep. Or aspirin.
“Jack will be tough to beat,” Granny Apple said. “He's got experts.”
“But I've got time.” Laura Ann stiffened, then stood, and pointed out the window toward the barn and a fallow field beyond it.
“If a tobacco allotment isn't farmed every year then it expires. And you have to get the tobacco in the ground by June.” She crossed her arms, staring out the window. “I only need to keep him off balance for six months. Then it's too late.”
“That could work,” Granny Apple said, picking up a pair of used plates from the table. “What did your daddy's will say?”
“Everything passes to me, except for some family mementos that go to Auntie Rose. Grandmother's things.”
“Then you'd better stiffen your back, girl. Your uncle's coming after you with a vengeance. And he won't be easy to beat.”
After Aunt Rose left, Granny Apple followed Laura Ann out to the barn to help with chores. “Thanks for coming over,” Laura Ann said. “I'm worn to a frazzle and it's nice to have some company.”
Granny Apple bent and broke open a bale of hay, tossing flakes to pregnant Angus mothers below. They stomped with heavy hooves on a manure-layered concrete floor, jostling for position as new hay fell into their feeding area. Feed the cows and shovel manure through the winter, then struggle through calving season in the spring. Turn them out the rest of the year and raise the crops to feed them. Never relax.
“There's a story you need to hear, Laura Ann. Something
that you need to understand.” Both women exhaled clouds of fog in the frigid air, busting apart bale after bale to fuel the crunching jaws underneath them. “A story about your uncle. And your mom.”
Laura Ann stopped her work, a hank of twine wrapped about her hand, one loop of hemp still holding the bale together. Flakes of hay sprang open as far as the cord would allow, creating a fan of dried grass.
Granny Apple never looked up, continuing her work. “Jack Harris loved Hope Sinclair. Your mom. He set his eyes on her in middle school, and she's all he ever talked about. I can remember that boy shoveling manure for me one winter and all he did was recite her name. Every time that shovel scraped concrete, he shouted out âHope!' I thought he was trying to motivate himself to move slop. I guess he was, in a way.”
Laura Ann pushed her bale toward Granny Apple, and then sat on another to listen. The elder woman kept up the feeding process, happy, it seemed, to work and talk.
“Jack asked your momma to the prom every year throughout high school, and she turned him down every time. Hope only had eyes for Angus McGehee. Your mom and dad were courting from ninth grade on, and no surprise to most of us when your dad asked her to marry him after they graduated.” Granny Apple stopped her labor and looked at Laura Ann, curled up on a pile of hay. “When they got engaged, Jack was devastated.”
Granny Apple pushed the last flake down to the cows and took a broom to sweep the loose hay off the floor. “Jack decided to get revenge. Leastwise, that's the way I see it.”
“How?” Laura Ann hung up the broom when Granny Apple finished sweeping, and together they walked to the stair.
“He took advantage of your father's sister.”
“Auntie Rose?”
Granny Apple nodded and frowned, then headed down the stair to the corncrib. Together they shoveled cobs into the troughs, no words between them for minutes. Laura Ann waited, determined to match her mentor's patience.
“They had to get married, Laura Ann. Fast. We pretended to be happy for them, but I worried it might not last.” She held a cob in her hands for a long time, studying it carefully. “It's a wonder they're still together.” She tossed the cob to a waiting cow that crunched the end of the hard corn as soon as the grain hit the feeder.
“No, it's not.”
“Pardon?”
“It's not a wonder they're together. That's because of Preacher,” Laura Ann said, staring blankly at the tall pile of corn. Immense, like the unspoken burden she carried. “You don't have to listen to him every Sunday, Granny Apple. Preacher's put an incredible fear in her. She'll never leave Uncle Jack.”