Lily frowned. “Artemas isn’t a Yankee ’cause he’s from New York, is he?”
“No, I’m sure the shame’s worn off by now,” Mama said. “Anyway, Elspeth’s sons were grown men then, important farmers with wives and children of their own, and they had duties to the town they’d started.”
“MacKenzie? Just like now?”
“Uh-huh. So they had stronger roots here than Old Artemas, and besides, there’s no accounting for people’s politics. Anyway, the war made the MacKenzies and
Colebrooks enemies. Bad times, bad blood. Elspeth’s sons got a big gang of men together and rode over the Smoky Hollow Trail late one night when the moon was dark, and they set fire to Old Artemas’s house, and his china factory, and everything else he owned, ’cept his corn mill, which folks around here needed.”
“That was mean.”
“I guess that’s where you get your temper from,” Artemas quipped. Lily elbowed him again.
“Yes, it sure was mean,” Mama continued. “And Old Artemas, he came over to their farm the next Sunday, when they were at church in town, and he brought his own gang of men, and they kept the field hands back while Artemas cut Elspeth’s trees down. He burned them—burned them to the roots. It was his way of saying her boys had broken the bond between him and them.”
“What did they do then?”
“Nothing. There was no mending the terrible breach between them and Old Artemas. He said he’d leave and not come back until he could lord it over every MacKenzie in the county. So he took his money and his Yankee wife, and he went to New York. And he bought clay quarries, and that led to buying iron mines to get the blue cobalt from, and pretty soon he and that woman had grown sons who knew how to buy things and make money, and the Colebrooks sold the best china in the country besides owning all sorts of businesses. And in those thirty years they became rich as Midas and began struttin’ like bantam roosters.” Mama’s eyes became wide with drama. “But you know what?
The
willows
grew back
. They couldn’t be killed, because Elspeth’s love was too strong!”
Lily squealed and clapped her hands. “Because they’re
magic.
”
“Yes.”
Artemas had grown silent and withdrawn. Now, he took his arm from around Lily’s neck and, propping his arms on his legs, stared at the floor. Lily worriedly poked him on one knee. “I like you anyway, you rich rooster.”
“Thanks for nothing.”
“Hmmmph.” Mama scowled. “Well, the MacKenzies never got rich, not by Colebrook standards, but they were always the best farmers in north Georgia, and on top of that they became county-court judges, and sheriffs, and preachers—and moonshiners, but that’s another story.”
Lily bounced. “Tell me, please!”
“No, no. I only meant to tell the bear story It’s gettin’ late.”
“Can’t you tell her how the Colebrooks came back?” Artemas said, raising his head slowly, his eyes somber. Mama looked down at him for a minute, then sighed. “Oh, well, all right.” Sitting down on the floor by Lily, who gazed from her to Artemas with puzzled sympathy, she said, “You know that sign under the big willow up on the estate road?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Well, your great-grandparents gave that tree to Artemas’s great-grandparents, when they came here in 1895. Johnathan Colebrook was rich, richer than all the other Colebrooks, because he inherited most of the family money. He came down here from New York to build Blue Willow and reclaim his grandfather’s—Old Artemas’s—home.”
Mrs. MacKenzie cleared her throat. “But when ol’ Johnathan said, Why, I think I’ll buy everything for miles around here and build one of the biggest houses in America,’ the grandsons of Elspeth’s boys said, ‘You’re not lording it over us. Have at it, but we’re not selling.’ Johnathan saw there wasn’t any getting around the MacKenzies—except to buy the land around ’em. So that’s how Blue Willow came to be, and the MacKenzie farm came to be in the middle of it.”
Lily studied Artemas. “But how come you left?” She leaned in and peered at his face. “Aren’t you a rooster anymore?”
“Stop making fun of me.”
“I’m
not
. I think you ought to stay. I want you to stay. You promised to come back and stay.”
“Shut up.” He bounded up from the couch. “I’m going to sit in the pasture a little while.” The front door screen slammed loudly as he stomped onto the porch. Lily scrambled after him. “Artemas, Artemas,” she called plaintively. Her mother grabbed her by the back of her overalls and swung her into her arms. “Shush, Lily,” she whispered. “He’s sad. He needs to be alone for a little while.”
“Why is he sad?”
“Because his family isn’t what it started out to be, and he’s ashamed. Don’t you ever tell him I said that. He’s a fine boy.”
Lily swiveled her head and looked out the window, tracking Artemas’s tall, rigid form as he walked through the distant pasture in the moonlight, her small heart throbbing with bewilderment and compassion.
Late that night he sat by Grandma Mackenzie’s bed in a narrow room smelling of old wood and spring air and read her Bible to her, feeling awkward because no one in his family had ever expected him to do anything more religious than sleep in church. His ancestors had built one of the biggest Episcopalian churches in New York. Father said they’d bought all the blessings they needed.
Mr. and Mrs. MacKenzie went to their bedroom upstairs. Lily slept on a cot in her grandmother’s room, but she crept out of it and snuggled on the bed beside the old lady, her mop of curly red hair brushed to a smooth mane, a big T-shirt of her father’s swallowing her to her skinned knees. She curled up with her head on the soft lap covered in quilts, watching Artemas with gentle, curious eyes.
Grandma MacKenzie fell asleep. Artemas put the Bible on her nightstand and told Lily with all the big-brother firmness he used on his siblings, “You go to sleep too.”
“I play on the loggie at the big house,” she told him.
“You mean the loggia?”
“Uh-huh. The big porch. I wish I could see inside. Will you take the boards off the windows?”
“I can’t.” He looked away sadly. “I would, though, if it was up to me.”
“What’s inside?”
“Nothing. It’s all empty. Everything was sold.”
“Mama says it’s like a castle in a fairy tale.”
“I guess. I liked it.”
“How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
He frowned at her change of subject. She wasn’t predictable. He liked for people to be predictable. “Yeah. Five.”
“I wish I did.”
“Why don’t you?”
“The doctor says Mama can’t. She tried.” Lily yawned. “One came out last year, but it was dead as a rock.”
“Geez! What a way to say it!”
“Well, sometimes animals have trouble, and they die. I’ve seen ’em. The cat ate her kitten. I found its tail.” She shut her eyes and sighed.
Artemas got up, feeling miserable and lonely. “Shit.”
She gasped. Her head wobbled up. “You’re going to hell.”
“Good.”
He burrowed his hands under her, then carried her to the cot. She snuggled into the soft old mattress but opened her eyes as he put the sheet and quilt over her. “I won’t let you go to hell. I’m strong. I can look out for you.”
“That’s good. I’ll leave it up to you.”
“But you gotta stay here and live with us.”
“I can’t do that. Could
you
run away and leave your family?”
“No, ’cause
my
family’s not mean to me.”
“Parts of my family aren’t mean either. That’s why I have to go back.”
“Make them come here.”
Tears stung his eyes. “You just don’t understand
anything
, do you? Go to sleep, you little apple-throwing monkey.”
He left the room, flicking the light switch on the faded rose-papered wall. She lay in the darkness, wrestling with her conscience and her sorrow. Mama and Daddy said family matters were private, that the family was something
to be proud of—to fight for. And that meant holding the truth close to your heart and keeping your head up when stupid girls in kindergarten teased you.
So she never told anyone how ashamed and angry their teasing made her.
But Artemas needed to know he wasn’t alone.
She scooted out of bed and tiptoed through the house, into the living room, where he lay on the couch in the darkness with one of Grandma’s quilts over him and a pillow jammed under his head. Lily crept to his side, sat down cross-legged in the floor, and poked him on the shoulder.
“Go back to bed, for God’s sake,” he muttered.
Tears slid down her face. In a small, choked voice she said, “Don’t feel sad, Artemas. At kindergarten they call me Monster Head, because I’m so big. I bet it’ll be even worse in first grade.”
He turned on his side. She could feel him looking at her. “They just wish they were like you.” His voice was soft, friendly.
She sniffed in surprise. “Why?”
“Because you’re a MacKenzie, and MacKenzies are special.”
That was too easy. She persisted. “And a boy in Sunday School said Daddy is …
is a cripple
. And that Mama is …
a nobody
, because she was poor and nobody wanted her when she was little.” She bowed her head, tears falling freely on the undershirt wadded in her lap. “I hit him with a rock.”
Artemas gave her a kind little shove on the shoulder, to get her attention. “Listen to me. Don’t
ever
let anybody make you feel bad. I wish my mother and father were just like yours.”
She stared at him, her tears evaporating. “You do?”
“I do.” He tugged lightly on a strand of her hair. “We’ll make everybody sorry they made us feel bad, won’t we?”
“Yeah!”
“And as long as we know what’s right, it doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks, does it?”
“No!” This was startling. He
understood
. Nobody else would ever understand better. Lily crossed her arms on the couch and pillowed her head on them, close to his side. He draped his arm around her shoulders, awkwardly at first, then relaxing. She gave a peaceful little sigh, and was asleep within a minute.
Mr. MacKenzie cranked the truck and sat in the driver’s seat, waiting. He wasn’t one for long good-byes, he said. Neither was Artemas.
“Here’s my address at school,” he said, drawing a slip of paper from his knapsack and handing it to Mrs. MacKenzie. “I thought, maybe, sometimes—”
“We’ll write to you,” Mrs. MacKenzie answered softly.
Lily, still wearing her nightshirt, whimpered, ran forward, and threw her arms around his knees. Looking up at him, she cried, “I want you to stay!”
Shaken, he dropped to his heels and gripped her shoulders. “I can’t stay, and I can’t come back. When you’re as old as I am, you’ll understand.”
“Why did you come if you won’t stay?” she insisted, tears sliding between the freckles on her round cheeks.
“Because I promised. Now, be a big girl and behave.”
“I love you!” She wiggled out of his grip and put her arms around his neck. Mortified, he sat rigidly still. Then, awkwardly, he put his arms around her for a quick squeeze. “Good-bye, Lily,” he said against her hair. “I love you too. Remember what I said last night. And if you ever need help, you write and tell me. Promise?”
“I don’t need help! I’m a
MacKenzie
!”
He gently pushed her away and stood, but held one of her hands. She bit her lip and looked up at him tenaciously. “You will come back. You
will
Christ almighty goddamn.”
“Lily!” Mrs. MacKenzie said. Pulling her aside, she swatted her on the rump. “Where did you learn talk like that?”
“From
him
, the big shit.”
Mrs. MacKenzie gasped. “I’ll deal with you later, miss.”
“I love you all,” Artemas said gruffly. His voice cracked. He turned and stomped out of the house. Lily ran behind him and stood on the porch’s edge, gripping the rail as he went to the truck. “You
will
come back!” she called. “I’m the Old Brook Princess, and I say so!”
He turned and bowed to her. Mrs. MacKenzie came out and took her by the shoulders, holding her shaking, furious little body against her legs. “Take care, Artie,” Mrs. MacKenzie called, crying now herself.
He sat straight-backed on the truck’s passenger side and stared at nothing, his jaw clenched, as Mr. MacKenzie drove out of the yard.
“I don’t need your help, I don’t need your help,” Lily muttered brokenly, her voice trailing off to a defeated whimper. “Come back.”
The neat brown box arrived in the mail a month later. Lily stared with avid excitement as Mama put it on the scarred old kitchen table. Daddy sat down and pulled Lily onto his lap. She curled her fingers around his metal hook, playing absently with the wire tendons. Mama stood over the box, clipping its tape with her sewing shears. “It’s from Artemas.”
She pulled a bulky object wrapped in thick white paper out of the box, set it on the table, and unfolded the paper slowly. She covered her mouth and stared at a small, perfect teapot. “Oh, Artie.” She drew a trembling finger over the rich blue design on creamy white. “See this, Lily? It’s the Blue Willow pattern. The pattern came all the way from China. See the willow and the bridge, and the little sparrows kissing each other? See how clean and pretty the blue color is, and all the little details in the pictures? Nobody made Blue Willow china as pretty as the Colebrooks. That’s how they became famous.” Picking up the delicate lid, she saw a piece of paper inside. She laid the lid down reverently and unfolded it.
Clearing her throat, she read, “This is old. It’s worth a lot of money. I took it for you when I went home for a weekend. Grandmother knows. You can sell it.’ ”
Mama sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. Daddy sighed. “The boy means well.”
Lily scowled at the teapot, a horrible realization growing inside her. “He thinks we’re
poor
? He thinks we’re trashy?”
“No, no, hush,” Mama said sternly.
Mortified, Lily was still stunned. Mama and Daddy looked upset, but they didn’t seem angry. “MacKenzies don’t take
welfare
,” she chirped, mouthing the terrible word she’d heard her parents use often, with so much loathing.