The Sawatassee River wound through Davis Corners. Its slow but consistent current was made of eddies and backwaters that picked up objects along the way and carried them downstream, snagging them later with deadfalls or just eventually laying them gently back on the bank. In a way, it was like Jim Frank’s, a place for the disconnected trying to be rejoined to something. Some things never made it back to land, but either sank to the river bottom or just kept spinning in the whirls and eddies until they eventually ended up in the ocean. There, they were lost forever.
The day after school let out for the summer, Nate’s mother packed his suitcases, and his father drove him out Gray’s Road across the Sawatassee River Bridge and deposited him at Grandmother Tillman’s. Nate was relieved to be away from his own household for a while, where hardly a word was spoken between his parents and him, except to conduct such necessities as passing the salt or saying goodnight. Nate could hear his mother and father talking after he went to his room and assumed they were talking about him. His mother’s voice had that hurt and shocked quality her face had shown the day the policeman had come. Even though Nate couldn’t make out her words, that tone was unmistakable.
Grandmother Tillman put him in one of the bedrooms on the second floor. Her own room was downstairs, so it was like having his own apartment, at least that’s how it felt to Nate at thirteen. From his window, he could look out over the garden and see the Sawatassee River working its way around the edge of the farm and disappearing under the wooden bridge on Gray’s Road. Because of the steep banks, one usually couldn’t see the river’s water until one was almost to the edge. But from Nate’s vantage point on the second floor, he could make out the brown current and its lazy whirls. The constant tug of the current on low branches made them move back and forth in a rhythmic palsy, as if they were giant hands seeking comfort in the cool water. This was better than any room he’d ever had. Even if Grandmother Tillman preached to him out of the Bible for eight hours a day, Nate was glad to have such a place to eventually get back to and be alone.
Nate unpacked his suitcases into the chest of drawers and closet. The room also had an old, oak table with a ceramic washbasin and pitcher on it and a modest table and chair arranged to serve as a desk. Nate examined the pile of books neatly arranged there. Moby Dick, A Tale of Two Cities, Macbeth, and a biography of Winston Churchill had been assembled, apparently for him. As Nate was thumbing through the books, Grandmother Tillman showed up at the door with a cardboard box in her hands.
“This was your mother’s and your Aunt Hattie’s room,” she said. “You can use any of the others, but this one has the nicest view.”
“No, this is great. I can see the river.”
She laid the box down on the makeshift desk. “There’s no TV here,” she said, in no way apologetically. “I found your Uncle Gabriel’s old radio. You might want it up here with you.”
“Thank you.” Nate pointed to the stack of books. “It looks like you’ve put together a suggested reading list.” He grinned and rolled his eyes, as if the task before him were of Herculean proportion.
“Yes.” She smiled back and said, once again without a hint of apology, “You have this active mind. You can start to learn something about life this summer.”
“You and Uncle Henry certainly put a lot of stock in books,” Nate said.
Grandmother Tillman seemed a little pained by the association. “Yes, well, I’ll give Henry that. He has an active mind too, he just needs to grow up.” She snickered. “Now that you’re up here with me, I wonder who he’s going to play with this summer.”
Nate thought wistfully about his Saturday trips to Jim Frank’s place and knew he would miss them. Grandmother Tillman turned her attention back to the books.
“I don’t think you’ll find these as daunting as you think, young man. There’s plenty of adventure here.” Her face got serious and she put her hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Great literature, history, and life itself are written in the valor of heroes and the infamy of villains. You’ll find plenty of both in these books.” She walked to the door and turned around. “Morning is chores. I have lots of things for you to do this summer, but I want you to spend two hours reading after lunch everyday. The rest of the time until dinner is your own. After dinner, we’ll talk about what you’ve read that day. There’s plenty of old magazines and jigsaw puzzles around, and as a part of your education, I intend to teach you two-handed canasta. That and the radio and whoever happens to drop by will be our entertainment at night.” She abruptly turned and left.
Nate almost yelled “Yes, drill sergeant,” but thought twice and wisely chose not to.
Nate slipped into the routine of life on Grandmother Tillman’s farm without too much difficulty. He fed chickens, gathered eggs, knocked down an old outbuilding and piled the lumber up by the chicken coop. He moved dirt from places God had put it to places Grandmother Tillman wanted it and did a host of other things that needed doing. Grandmother Tillman seemed to have an endless list, and Nate wondered what she would’ve done, had he not gotten into trouble. Throughout most of the day, his constant companion was Old Redemption, who seemed to have adopted Nate as his newest best friend. He was too old to be frisky, but his company was protective and comforting.
Nate found out that Grandmother Tillman had been right about the books. He was amazed how readable and engaging they were. She’d help him with Macbeth, reading the passages out loud, so he could hear the words flow. And as promised, valor and infamy abounded in all.
Perhaps the best, though, Nate learned to shuffle double decks of cards and cut a deck with one hand. Once, after Grandmother Tillman had shuffled the deck, Nate waived the right to cut.
“Always cut the deck.”
“You’re my grandmother.”
“If you won’t cut your grandmother’s shuffle, you risk insulting the one whose deck you do,” she said. “If you always cut, even your own grandmother, no one can ever take offense.”
So the summer was passing with generous doses of hard work, literary masterpieces, and the finer points of card etiquette. The whole family still visited on Sundays, and things were relaxing a bit between Nate and his parents. His mother would call during the week and they would chat. Nate missed Saturdays with his Uncle Henry and Jim Frank, though. Something else had gotten broken along with the statue. Nate felt that his going to Jim Frank’s would be too awkward. Besides, his uncle never asked him to come any more. It seemed he was barred from the dis-sanctuary—he was in the camp of the righteous now.
Toward the end of June, Nate was in his room reading and watching the first summer thunderstorm building off in the distance. Dark clouds piled on top of darker clouds until it looked like they’d just fall down and squash everything. Nate heard the phone ring downstairs and waited for Grandmother Tillman to answer it. It just kept ringing and ringing, until whoever was on the other end lost patience and gave up. Nate walked apprehensively downstairs. Old Redemption was lying, sort of cowering, in the front hall, and Nate called out tentatively to Grandmother Tillman. The house was deathly silent, yet the memory of the ringing phone seemed to linger in the air, as if someone could have walked into the house at that moment and know the phone had been ringing seconds before.
Nate walked into the kitchen, and there was Grandmother Tillman, staring out across the garden through the back door. Her hands were slowly wringing the apron she was wearing and her lips were trembling.
“Grandmother?” Nate looked past her gaze, over the garden, and could see the hills beyond the farm. Those dreadful looking black clouds came over the hills like a menacing giant that couldn’t be kept at bay, even by so massive a wall. He was frightened by the clouds and by Grandmother Tillman’s agitated state, along with the dead air and the lingering echo of the unanswered phone.
“Grandmother,” he said with his agitation evident in his voice.
She turned and looked at him. She didn’t act startled, like someone who had just been pulled out of a trance. It gave Nate the oddest sensation that he’d been pulled into hers instead.
“How it rained that day,” she said, returning her eyes to the oncoming clouds.
Goose bumps came over Nate when he realized where her mind had been, and he shivered.
“Rabbit run over your grave?” She turned her eyes back to Nate and away from the ghastly clouds.
“I’m sorry.”
“It was so long ago, but when I see those clouds like that, I remember it as if it were yesterday.” She looked at Nate apologetically. “I never went to see him up there. I had the children and all. I could have, someone would’ve looked after them, but I couldn’t bear to see him trapped like that.”
“From what I hear, you wouldn’t have been able to get down there.” Nate didn’t know how else to comfort her.
“That’s what Jeremiah told me. Still...” Her eyes got distant again.
“Why’d granddaddy want his gun?” It was a question only a thirteen year old would be insensitive enough to ask.
“Jeremiah said your granddaddy wanted it in case animals got into the cave when he was alone,” she said in a flat voice.
“That makes sense.”
“Jeremiah and I pretended it did then, too,” she said with a sharp, rebuking glance at Nate. “Never mind that animals don’t go that deep into a cave. Never mind that your grandfather was never scared of any animal in his life. It was a good lie and we pretended to believe it.”
“Then why?”
“The only thing in this world your grandfather was scared of was...” She clutched her apron to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. “Drowning.” She started to cry. “He was afraid of water, of all the stupid things, and he was terrified of the idea of drowning. I knew it was wrong to, but I put that Colt of his in his satchel and sent it to him, knowing full well what he intended to do with it, God forgive me. I did a sinful thing and I let that sinful thing loose into the world and now it’s come back. What goes around comes around and that gun’s loose out there because of me.”
Suddenly, Nate understood everything. The gun Grub Hanley had used to shoot at him was the gun Grub’s father, Luther Hanley, had stolen at Iron Hoop. It was the gun that had been sent on an immoral mission almost forty years ago and now had returned to do its evil deed. Only it was seeking out Nate, instead of his grandfather. Nate now realized Grandmother Tillman hadn’t insisted on his coming to stay with her at the farm just for his reformation. She was protecting him from Grub Hanley and the gun she set loose a generation ago. Old Redemption wasn’t just keeping Nate company whenever he went out, he was guarding him.
Grandmother Tillman sat down and watched out the kitchen window as the rain started to come in sheets. “I let slip that dog of war,” she said, “And now it’s come back after my own. God forgive me.”
The phone rang again and Nate went into the living room and answered it. It was his mother. She sounded worried and said she’d called earlier and no one had answered. Nate assured her everyone was okay. She asked about Grandmother Tillman and said she could get melancholy during rainstorms. Nate reassured her that Grandmother Tillman was okay and told her he looked forward to seeing her on Sunday. They said good-by and hung up.
Nate left Grandmother Tillman alone in the kitchen. He went to his room and watched the storm rage and the Sawatassee River fill up and surge. For the first time he realized how cruel and frightening the world could be and how easily someone could be caught up in its current and be lost.
Chapter 14
Copyright (C) 2009 Michael A. Hughes
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