Authors: Anne J. Steinberg
It was Hannah who hinted, then remarked, then blatantly said to the Missus, “Why not let Kack come and see to the Judge? Her potions and remedies can’t hurt none. Why, the medicine from the doctors don’t seem to do no good, and I know he’s hurtin’.”
Elizabeth
cringed; she didn’t like to hear unpleasant things. Still, she was unsure. The doctors had said he was ‘terminal’ – that was a harsh and terrible word, she thought, and took to her bed to rest and watch soap operas.
She gave into Hannah
’s request to send for Kack. She knew Katherine would come bearing leeches, herbal infusions, vinegar-soaked rags…what difference did it make? Her husband was dying.
Katherine came with nothing.
She was led up to the green room. It was just as she knew it to be, though she had never been inside it. Every piece of furniture, the paintings, the glowing embers in the fireplace, the huge rosewood bed…and William. She did not see him as he was now.
She bolted the door, dropped the loose dress to the floor, undid her braided hair, and slid into the crevice where she had lain on many nights before.
She fitted herself to him, and his cold flesh warmed.
“
I love you, Kathy.” His voice was a hoarse, tired whisper.
“
I know.” She pressed her fingers to his lips to still him, and they slept.
She was allowed every day, and she came and really tried, with compresses, salves, and tonics…
and they heard the lock slide, and no one dared disturb them.
Hannah saw the visible signs of fatigue in Katherine when she left after hours of ministering to the dying man.
It was the sight of him that changed – like looking at him through waves of water, distorted, altering. Katherine felt the strain of this. Sometimes he was very clear – a thin husk of a man, breathing harshly, his thin veined eyelids fluttering like a moth against a screen. Then her vision would change, and he was smiling, unchanged, himself – like the other times when she had been here in this room, in this bed with him.
It was while she held him, willing her strength to flow into his body, that she dreamed of it
– the Oh mu, and for days she struggled with the thoughts and the idea that the dream had produced…
Eventually, she decided that the dream was a sign, and when she came bearing the tiny sleeping rabbit, wrapped in her cloak,
Elizabeth commented, “This is too much! It’s unsanitary. It’s, it’s---” She struggled for a word.
And Hannah, when
bringing his tray each day, the tray that was left untouched, knew he was very near the end. She said gently to the mistress, “It doesn’t matter now,” and she patted the hand of the childish woman.
“
Oh,” Elizabeth expelled the word in surprise. She never wanted to face facts. Then, biting a nail nervously, she asked, “Do you suppose we should send for the children?”
“
Yes, ma’am, I think that would be a good idea.” Hannah knew how they must hate being referred to as children. Why, they were in their twenties now.
Like an afterthought,
Elizabeth looked up into Hannah’s broad open face and asked, “Is the owl still there?”
“
No, ma’am. He flew away this morning.”
“
Thank God,” she exclaimed, and got up and bustled to her room. Maybe now without its annoying hoot, she could concentrate on a new book that had arrived today from the book club.
The shades in the green room were pulled halfway down; the day being overcast kept the room in shadow.
Katherine put one log on the embers; the fire flared up, then died down, filling the room with a warm, soft glow. She took the slumbering rabbit over to the bed. The two-week-old animal was soft and pliant; unbuttoning his pajama top, she laid the creature on his chest. In a matter of minutes they synchronized and seemed to inhale and exhale together.
She watched them as tears ran down her cheeks.
“How long,” she whispered. “How long has he been given?” In a moment would it stop – in a week? Or would the shallow breathing continue? How could she know?
Gently she lifted the rabbit off and placed it on the chair next to the bed, then she climbed in beside him.
He stirred and reached for her, fighting to emerge from the tranquilizer. She smoothed his hair back from his damp forehead, ran her fingers gently over his hollowed cheeks. She touched him as one would comfort a sick child.
He turned toward her, not able to press her close enough, and she realized that in this moment, she had created out of the mere shell of him desire.
Gently she rolled him back and climbed atop him, aware of the fragile shell beneath her.
Leading him, it was slow and gentle, and neither of them saw reality as it was.
It was love, it was lust, it was everything between a man and a woman. He smiled the briefest smile. She turned aside and could not bear the struggle within herself.
What should she do?
The dream – it led, it warned.
She heard the rustle on the chair nearby and saw the newness of the rabbit; its freshness so heady.
She looked at William, who seemed no longer there, but a shell, a husk. Crying hysterically, she took the pillows, flung herself across him and felt the stirring beneath her.
Closing her eyes, she wished herself away and lay catching sunbeams under the bed in
Gallup, as he struggled feebly beneath her and was finally still. She heard the wail of the Oh mu and knew this was a sin, but she loved the Judge, so she had saved him – to touch, to hold, to love in a small bundle of fur.
She left him, picked up the rabbit into her lap, and stroked it gently.
She could hear the shallow breathing in the room so loud; it was her own breath, coming ragged and edged with fear and surprise at what she had done.
In an hour, she called them.
They came, Elizabeth hovering in the doorway. She looked at Katherine, who now held the bucking rabbit. “I hope the animal hasn’t soiled anything.”
Elizabeth
then commented that it was good they had sent for the boys. Her mind reached, turning and tossing. Who else, who else should she send for? There must be someone who could help her. It wouldn’t be right asking all the servants what to do.
The plane approached the airport; swirling clouds rushed past the windows.
The captain had informed them that they would have to circle as the fog had created a wait for the runways.
A tenseness hovered among the passengers; it would only dissolve when they sensed the bump of the wheels on the ground.
April felt nervous and excited. It had been many years since her last trip to Castlewood, and she hadn’t seen her cousins in all that time. She had been grateful that her aunt and uncle had come to her mother’s funeral. They had invited her to come back and stay with them then, but she had refused, wanting to return to her work at the hospital as soon as possible.
Whenever she thought of her mother it was with such regret; Jenny Brookshire
’s had been such a hard life. Widowed young, always working at a menial job, Jenny had been so proud when April graduated and became a registered physical therapist. Somewhere a resentment lived deep within April against her aunt, for her mother’s and her Aunt Elizabeth’s lives had been so different.
Life
’s not fair – she knew that. Now she felt irritated by the cryptic note that she had been sent. She knew its short message by heart.
Dear, dear April,
Come to Castlewood now, I must see you. I need you.
Aunt Elizabeth
She couldn’t imagine what this was all about; she had tried phoning several times and was told by Hannah, “The Missus is lying down. The Missus is asleep – please come if you can.”
Finally she arranged for a leave of absence, booked the flight, and now was circling t
he airport in St. Louis.
She wondered who would meet her.
Would her cousins be there? She blushed with the thought of how she adored them, Kyle and Ryan. She loved them and the times they had spent while growing up. As a child she had daydreamed about marrying one of them. They were so alike, yet different. If Kyle was nice, then Ryan was awful – or vice versa. In her memory she recalled the fun and mischief of all those wonderful summers of growing up.
On the ground, her small suitcase next to he
r, she looked through the crowd. It was Tom, grown heavier, his hair a shock of white, unmistakably his broad face looking through the crowd. His eyes passed hers and went on looking.
She came forward.
“Tom.”
He looked at her, examining her, noting the bro
wn hair that curled about her heart-shaped face, eyes blue-leaning-to-violet. She had grown into a beautiful young woman. “Miss April---”
“
Yes, it’s me.”
Awkwardly he withstood her embrace, took the suitcase.
She almost had to run to keep up with him.
He o
pened the back door of the Mercedes, so she had no other choice but to get in. She would have preferred sitting in front so they could talk. He had established the division – clearly she was the guest and he the servant.
She leaned forward.
“How is everyone?” she asked.
“
Fine, just fine.” A classic answer to a classic question.
Still talking to the back of his head, she went on:
“I mean Aunt Elizabeth. How is she, since the Judge’s death? I certainly would have come to the funeral, but she didn’t write till after.”
“
It was private,” Tom said, “just the Missus and the boys. She wanted it that way.”
“
Oh.” April leaned back. It was awkward trying to talk to him from the back seat.
She directed her attention out the window.
So much had changed. The buildings, the hotels, the roads…she remembered nothing on the twenty-minute ride until Tom turned onto the river road. The city had crept so close. It was only on this road that the subdivisions dwindled, as the road turned and dropped sharply, coming closer to the river. Only the swift blanket of trees, in the myriad of fall colors, sailing past them seemed familiar.
The city sounds faded, and you could hear the soft, gentle buzz of the forest.
On the right, the general store still stood. A dilapidated truck was there, with two men loading hay.
The orange, yellow, and reds of the trees dazzled her, and she found herself searching the undergrowth for the familiar plant.
It was the season for the ginseng.
On a tree closest to the road, a hand-lettered sign
caught her attention:
No hunting.
The road still dropped swiftly, and the tires of the Mercedes squealed as he came to The Crossroads.
To the left was the river; ahead of them the road said
Private
. Further down the sign still hung there, rustic, brown, swaying in the dusk.
Castlewood
.
She could see in the distance the old pool and the clubhouse, now a camp for disabled and disadvantaged children.
The car slowed and swayed on the road, which was rock, and through the pin oaks and scrub elm, April saw the house.
Gray stone, sturdy, meant to last forever.
The ivy still clung to the stone, and in several places it threatened to cover the windows, which were unlit; only a weak light gleamed through the portico around the massive door.
It reinforced April
’s feeling that something was wrong. She stood waiting nervously on the stone porch as Tom retrieved her bags from the trunk.
He opened the door, and they entered the hall.
It was the same as she remembered; the quarry-tile floor, each piece cut in a beautiful, intricate design that fit into the next like a puzzle. Tiles from Italy. Above, the crystal chandelier, gleaming with a hundred tiny lights. The portrait of William and Elizabeth and the twins hung in its usual place to the right.
April felt a
twinge of sadness. Uncle William not being here was something she’d have to get used to. She studied the portrait; it was familiar and dear.
“
April,” Elizabeth called, and April turned to face her aunt. She ran to her and the two women embraced. The scent of lavender and lilac surrounded them.
Elizabeth
pushed her gently away. “Let me look at you, child.” She studied April’s face with pleasure. Her niece’s brown hair curled around the delicate oval face. It was the dimple in her chin that made her face appear heart-shaped. Her skin was a delicate baby-rose pink, her eyes violet-blue.
“
You’re positively beautiful,” Elizabeth pronounced. “You were as a child. I so hoped you wouldn’t outgrow it.”
April
’s cheeks flushed with pleasure and embarrassment. “Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth.”
“
Hush, my dear – you mustn’t thank me for speaking the truth. Come along,” she took April’s arm. “We’ll eat in the kitchen. The house is so big, so dark.”
April agreed, looking into the huge gloomy rooms o
n either side of them. The kitchen, in contrast, was warm and cozy.
“
Hannah,” Elizabeth called. “April’s arrived.”
Out of the pantry, Hannah emerged, round and placid as ever.
“Welcome home, Miss.”
“
Thank you,” April said.
“
We’ll eat in the kitchen,” Elizabeth announced, as she pulled out the stout maple chair.
“
Very well,” Hannah agreed. Her total discomfort at their presence in the kitchen was obvious. She dropped a pan, which startled them. The fire sputtered, and they heard her plaintive “Ouch!” as she burned her hand on the stove.
April could see why
Elizabeth had chosen the kitchen. A fire roared in the fireplace, and the warmth of the stove made the room cozy in its steaminess. The window-ledges were lined with potted plants; yellow flowers bloomed cheerfully on the dark windows.
It was impossible for April to broach anything personal with Hannah bustling among them.
Then she wondered if this, perhaps, was the real reason her aunt had chosen the kitchen.
“
Where are the boys?” April asked.
“
Oh, Kyle is in Jefferson City. You know he has his heart set on being a Senator someday.”
April nodded.
“He’d make a good one. Kyle was always very diplomatic.”
Elizabeth
beamed. “And Ryan, of course, is in Africa. They’ll both be here for Thanksgiving. You’ll see them then.”
“
Thanksgiving!” April exclaimed, her surprise making her direct. “I won’t be here for Thanksgiving. That’s a month-and-a-half away, and I only have two weeks’ leave.”
“
Oh, I’ll take care of that,” Elizabeth shrugged. She reached in the pocket of her robe and handed April a small piece of folded paper. It was then April registered that her aunt wasn’t dressed. Elizabeth was wearing a silk robe over a gown.
“
Are you ill, Aunt Elizabeth?” she asked, a small frown pleating her forehead.
“
Not really. That’s what it’s all about,” she said, and pointed to the paper. It was a prescription.
“
I’m only a physical therapist. I can’t read prescriptions.”
“
That’s all right. That’s what it’s for. It’s a prescription from my doctor for occupational therapy,” Elizabeth said, looking very pleased with herself.
Before April could comment, or question, the room became very still.
Elizabeth stiffened visibly.
Tom, who was filling the woodboxes, dropped a log and was cursing softly under his breath.
April looked at Hannah, who glanced fearfully toward the windows.
Elizabeth
jumped up and flung open the back door, peering out into the darkness. The ‘
Whoo, whoo
’ of an owl was heard clearly in the room.
“
He’s back,” Elizabeth said tersely.
“
It might not be the same one,” Tom answered, as he grabbed the shotgun and went out on the porch.
The gunshot ricocheted through the trees and the woo
ds.
Elizabeth
shivered. “I’m tired, and I suppose you are too, dear, with all that traveling. You could eat in your room.”
“
Yes, I’m tired,” April agreed.
“
Tom has put your things in your old room. Hannah can bring up a tray.”
It was the first ti
me April noticed how old her aunt had grown. The slim shoulders were bent, and deep lines creased her forehead. She was still a handsome woman, her beige hair mixed with gray, small and slender, with the bearing of someone who has spent her life with the best of everything.
She reached for April
’s arm, and they went silently up the back staircase.
At the bedroom door,
Elizabeth reached for her. She crushed her tightly and said, “I’m so glad you’ve come.”
April returned her embrace and lied, “
Me, too.”
April let herself into the room.
It was like an echo of a familiar tune – parts of it well-remembered, while others seemed new and strange.
The canopied bed was fresh, with the white eyelet covers.
The French provincial furniture was placed as before – two chairs in chintz with tiny violets sprinkled among the fabric. The windows were done in Austrian shades, with pale satin drapes in the quietest of purple. It was a woman’s room totally. White with all shades of violet and rose.
April seemed made for
the room. She took off her jacket, kicked off her shoes, and felt the deep plush of the carpet. Shortly afterwards, Hannah knocked and swung open the door. She set the tray on the marble table.
“
I’ll be back for the tray later,” she said. A cloth in her hand absently dusted the table that was immaculate. Hannah was like that, plump, placid, forever in motion. It was hard to imagine her being still.
April ignored the food.
“Is my aunt ill?” she asked, searching Hannah’s face for the truth.
Hannah looked down, not meeting her eyes.
“I don’t think so. It’s just that she’s restless since the Judge’s gone.”
April was all set to question Hannah further when it came again
– the distinct
‘Whoo’
of an owl, somewhere close in the night outside the window.
Hannah, as before, was frozen, the dusting rag still.
“What is it?” April demanded. “It’s only an owl.”
“
I know, Miss, but Miz Elizabeth insists it’s the same one.”
“
Which one? What do you mean?” April asked.
Hannah walked to the window and pointed.
“There in the tree, that banyan tree. It sat there every night for five nights and hooted. Then the Judge died.”
“
Banyan tree?” April said.
“
Yes. It’s the same fool tree that Ryan brought from Africa or one of them foreign places he goes. It was that foreign tree the owl picked to sit in and hoot,” Hannah finished.