Read Waltzing In Ragtime Online
Authors: Eileen Charbonneau
Waltzing In Ragtime (35 page)
Matthew Hart closed his eyes against the pain every breath was taking. The next time he opened them, he saw his grandmother slumped in a chair. She looked frail for the first time to him. She was getting too old for this, he thought. He was cold, but too weak to even pull up the coverlet at the bed’s feet. The green coverlet. Lavinia’s.“Gran,” he called with the rasp that was left of his voice.
Annie Smithers woke. “I’m here, darlin’ boy,” she whispered, tucking the coverlet into the empty space against his heart. The woman in the shadows, the one with Seal Woman’s blue and red spiral hem. Why hadn’t he looked at her? He shuttered, coughed. The rattle was moving up from his lungs. He felt like he was breathing through broken glass. He would not always feel like this, he realized. He was not dying. He would recover, if he wanted to.
His eyes scanned the narrow bed, the small cell for signs of how long he’d been there. The small mission room was full: bedding, Annie’s tinctures, salves, decoctions, his mother’s woven nightshirts in a stack, photographs and drawings of all the men from their mantle. A crucifix. No mirror. His hand went to his face. Expecting stubble, he felt a beard.
“How long?”
“Six weeks.”
Her voice broke over the two words. Tears. He could count how many times he’d seen his grandmother weeping on one hand. Fractured images flooded through him, then left him empty.
“I’ll be all right. Go to bed now,” he demanded, afraid that if she didn’t, he’d lose her as well to this cold, dark, night.
Matthew came home to the bed in the borning room, to his daughter’s haunted eyes, his mother’s marred beauty. Farrell was doing his work for him, and proceeding with his patient, tenacious courtship.
Farrell filled in gaps of his lost weeks, when Matthew had questions he couldn’t bear to ask the women. He’d come soon after the shooting, willing to bribe the local law so that his grandmother would not have to leave his side for an inquiry. “But it never came to that, Matty. Your sheriff, he stood over her there at the mission watching you wheezing what little life was left to you. Stood concocting a story full of an unknown assailant laying siege. That man’s as honest as the day is long, and there he was, spinning tales. Good Lord, Matty, you’ve got a powerful family!”
“Town owed Gran a few favors,” he explained. “After all the good she’s done, the sheriff wasn’t in time to stop a band of vigilantes from hanging her boys.”
“Boys?”
“My uncles. The sons she had with Joe Fish.”
“How many?”
“Five.”
“When did this happen, Matty?”
“Years back, when I was in the Klondike. They were none of them angels, but they were not killers.”
“Well, the sheriff, he made it so your women could pull you out of the dead, and your lady could go home and bury that snake
husband of hers and tend to her father, all without a sidestep to a hearing.”
husband of hers and tend to her father, all without a sidestep to a hearing.”
Matthew closed his eyes, felt Farrell’s hand on his shoulder. “Matty. Let me send Olana word that you’re —”
“No!”
“But son —”
“Nothing. Swear it!”
“All right.”
Matthew leaned back in the pillows, worked on making his breathing regular again. The alarm began to recede from his friend’s expression. “Farrell? I don’t think my gran’s looking well,” he whispered.
“Annie? That lady’s built of iron, son.”
“Around the eyes, I see it. She’s caving in.”
“Matty, the woman’s nearing eighty. She’s entitled to a little caving in!”
“Goddamn it, Farrell —”
The coughing. Again. “Now, Matty. Your mama’s only allowing me to chat with you while we ‘remain serene and without blasphemy.’” Farrell tilted his head as Vita’s form glided by the open doorway.
Matthew smiled. “So. She’s made you keeper of the grammar and morals, has she?”
Farrell filled many silent, lonesome nights with stories that brought even Possum away from her favored spot by the fireplace. He pressed San Francisco bank statements into Matthew’s hands. Their numbers made his head ache, as did talk of the prosperity of his and Mr. Amadeo’s fruit market business.
Farrell brought in Mr. Amadeo himself. The small man stood at Matthew’s bedside, filled with plans of expansion and further investment. Farrell and Amadeo overlapped each other’s explanations of a new enterprise — a bank for people who wanted homes for their families, and for small, useful businesses, not for those seeking favors from fellow members of the club. Matthew understood
that much. But when they talked of loan interest rates, land appraisals and surveys, he couldn’t even find the questions that might cut a path through his confusion. All he wanted to know was how the Amadeo children were thriving in San Francisco.
that much. But when they talked of loan interest rates, land appraisals and surveys, he couldn’t even find the questions that might cut a path through his confusion. All he wanted to know was how the Amadeo children were thriving in San Francisco.
Matthew’s first walk was to the gravesite on the hill above the mission. He sat, exhausted, by his mother’s side as Possum kept spiraling away from his grandmother’s care.
“Why is she doing that?” he asked.
“I don’t know. She’s been wary since —” Vita touched the scar on her cheek absently. “She saw, Matthew.”
“What?”
“Everything.”
“Christ, Mama.”
Vita didn’t chastise him for blaspheming. She even leaned over and loosened his collar as he felt his breath tighten at the vision of bloodstained floorboards, and his little girl’s stunned eyes. Vita’s scar was still red, ugly. He took her hand.
“It’s been hard on you, I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, bit her lip, then regarded the small gravestone fondly with him. “We thought Seal Woman might like a little one to look after. Was it all right to bury her here, Matthew?”
“Wasn’t for me to say.”
“Why not?”
“Vinnie was ’Lana’s.”
“She was yours, too.”
He looked at her. “’Lana said —”
“You couldn’t see? Couldn’t count the days in the Yurok way, from that night before her wedding?”
“I didn’t think to. ’Lana said, back when she first came to us, she said —”
“She lied to you! Why? Why did she lie?”
“I don’t know, Mama.”
“She didn’t give you the pleasure of knowing that baby as your own child for the little time we had her!”
Vita turned away, weeping in that silent way of hers. Matthew looked for his grandmother. She’d finally gotten a hold of Possum’s
hand and was walking toward the shore. Hands full, no time to mediate between him and Vita. He touched his mother’s arm.
hand and was walking toward the shore. Hands full, no time to mediate between him and Vita. He touched his mother’s arm.
“Mama. It doesn’t matter now. I couldn’t have loved her any more if I’d known. Could you?”
“No.”
“There’s enough pain already.”
“You’re right, of course.”
“I ain’t right, I’m just …”
“What, Matthew?”
He tried to escape her eyes, but in their new intimacy, she was becoming as hard to evade as Annie. “Lost. Mama, I’ve never felt so lost in my life.”
She squeezed his arm gently. “I’ll tell him it’s not a good idea for me now. There’s so much need here, between keeping up the farm, and Possum’s aversion to Mama, and, Matthew, you’re not nearly well enough —”
“Wait. Tell who what? What’s not a good idea?”
“Marrying Mr. Farrell.”
He smiled slowly. “So. That’s why he keeps showing me his receipts. You love that blarney soaked scoundrel, Mama?”
“Yes. But I’ve been alone so long. And he wants the wedding trip to be a cruise.”
“Cruise? Where?”
“Around the world.”
“Around the — Is his business that good?”
“Oh, Matthew. Mr. Farrell has been a gentleman of substantial means since before you were born.”
“He has? But why —”
“He didn’t wish it to spoil all his fun, he says.”
“But he’ll use it to foster his intentions on my mother.” She was not fooled by the growl in his already rasping voice. She laughed behind her hand, like a girl.
“Matthew Hart, you’re failing miserable as your mama’s daddy,” Annie Smithers announced.
“That’s what I been telling you for years, Annie,” he countered,
successful enough at putting a Georgia crack in his voice to make her narrow her eyes.
successful enough at putting a Georgia crack in his voice to make her narrow her eyes.
“I’m losing her to that tale-spinning Irishman, ain’t I?”
It had been such a long time since anyone in his household had laughed, the sound his women made together sounded foreign.
“The cruise will take a year I should think,” Vita said, still worried, “and I couldn’t bear —”
“You always wanted to see the world.”
She cleared the hair from his forehead. “Oh Matthew, I don’t know.”
“This family could use a wedding,” he said.
Matthew gave his mother away, trying not to think of the other times the house was full of roses, trying to stand all day on his slack muscled, atrophied legs. He was barely strong enough to ride with them to the train station, to hold her a moment before she and Farrell set off. The shade of green in his mother’s hat almost trapped him then. It would have, if his grandmother had not begun to cry once the train pulled out.
“She’s still my little girl, Matthew.”
“They’ll take good care of each other, Gran.”
“I know. But she’s still my little girl.”
“Sure she is.”
He released his walking cane, put his arms around her. How did she get to be so small? Where was Possum? He called out for her, turning, stumbling.
“Shit,” he muttered, as the purple spots appeared before his eyes.
A man took his arm. A man with iron gray hair, like Olana’s father’s. “Here’s a seat for you, son, and the lady.”
“My daughter —”
“My wife’s gone to fetch her. Rest a moment.”
“Thank you.” Matthew closed his eyes and wondered how he
was going to be able to get these two females home, never mind pulled together as a family.
was going to be able to get these two females home, never mind pulled together as a family.
It was that day, when the house was so quiet, so empty of Vita and Farrell and their few wedding guests, when Possum refused to come in for supper, that he grabbed up his stick, and went out along the sand to find her. She was in her mother’s cave, clutching the doll he’d brought her from San Francisco.
“Possum? Want to eat?”
She looked away. “Not her food.”
He sat on the rock beside her. “You’d get sick of mine pretty quick, even if Gran were to let me near her pots.”
“Why did Mana leave? I can’t watch you by myself! I’m only a little girl!”
“You don’t have to watch me, darlin’.”
“What if Gran hurts you again?”
“Gran didn’t hurt me.”
“She did! She did!”
Her voice echoed off the glistening walls of the caves. Matthew caught his daughter’s wrist, felt her rapid, birdlike pulse. Then it all came back to him. His own firstborn had started him on that journey. He held her now against his heart, stroking her glossy hair as she stroked her doll’s.
“Listen,” he spoke the first words that came to him, trusting them. “When I was little, like you, I lived in the desert, in a horse soldier’s fort.”
“Where was Mana?”
“With me, taking care of me, like she did for you. She loved me. I could feel the strength of it. But she couldn’t keep bad things from happening, Possum, like I can’t for you. My father was a horse soldier. And he was at war. I saw things sometimes, terrible things that come out of war. Like what you saw, the day the man came, the day you were inside the fireplace.”
She broke from his hold, staring. “He said he was your friend,
Daddy, said he brought presents. But I would not get mine if I spoiled his surprise. I’m good at keeping still, that’s how I got my name, I told him. He did not speak the truth. He brought hurt. Gran made him dead, then she caught his madness and cut you open.”
Daddy, said he brought presents. But I would not get mine if I spoiled his surprise. I’m good at keeping still, that’s how I got my name, I told him. He did not speak the truth. He brought hurt. Gran made him dead, then she caught his madness and cut you open.”
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