Color the Sidewalk for Me (36 page)
At five-thirty, when we would normally be eating supper, Granddad cutting his meat while recounting a war story, his eyes suddenly popped open, animation flicking across his face. “Adele!” he exclaimed, his voice hoarse, tremulous. “You're so beautiful!”
In the next instant his cheeks sagged. His mouth relaxed. Light faded from his eyes like the last yellow waning of a spent flashlight. He exhaled once with a shudder.
Then he was gone.
The funeral took place two days later, Wednesday, March 12. School was canceled, the auditorium opened for the service, our church being too small. The whole town came. Flowers, fragrant and lush, covered the casket and the entire stage floor beneath Pastor Frasier's feet. Many people offered eulogies, both funny and poignant. Lee Harding spoke of the lumber mill being Granddad's legacy, still providing work for so many local men. Mr. B. talked about his wisdom. Mrs. Clangerlee said he always had a funny story down at the IGA. Mr. Tull wept for the empty chair under his awning.
Danny and his mama came, slipping into a back row. I longed to have him beside me. Instead I sat down front between Daddy and Kevy, who patted my arm consolingly. There were moments when I could not cry and moments when the tears wouldn't stop. I had never before experienced true grief and was overwhelmed by how greedily it consumed my heart.
Afterward we drove in a long, silent procession to the cemetery beside our little white church to watch the casket being lowered into the ground. Mama threw a handful of dirt upon it first, collapsing in sobs as it fizzled against the brown wood. Daddy threw dirt in next, then Kevy. Scraping up a fist of dust, I brought it to my mouth and kissed it, then dribbled it over the grave. “Choose your battles, Granddad,” I whispered.
When it was all over, there was one more thing I had to do. Granddad's third request. Breaking away from my family, I wove through dozens of consoling arms to Jake Lewellyn's side.
“Mr. Lewellyn.” I slid a hand into my purse and brought up a small bundle covered in one of Granddad's old hankies. Unwrapped it. “Granddad wanted me to give you this.” I held out the cracked play teacup. The marble lay inside, glinting black and silver in the chilly sunlight. “He said to tell you”âmy voice brokeâ“that you win.”
Jake Lewellyn bawled like a baby.
T
wo days after Granddad's funeral our family gathered in Mr. Quince's office to read the will. Mama was fearful, her tension spilling out in dueling bouts of sentimental tears and caustic anger. Mr. Quince read the document matter-of-factly, eyes not leaving the paper. Granddad had dictated letters for each of us, signed and sealed in separate envelopes. We were to read them later.
The rest was short and straightforward. His medals and military insignia Granddad gave to me. To Kevy, his German canteen. His material possessions, clothes and the like, he wanted donated to a veterans organization. And then there was the issue of money, which I didn't know he'd possessed. From his savings account at the Bradleyville Bank, which had been steadily growing with interest ever since he “sold the sawmill for a hefty profit,” five thousand dollars was to go into an account for Kevy, and fifteen thousand dollars was to be given to his sweet daughter, whom he dearly loved. The balance, over sixty-five thousand dollars, was left to his grandgirl, Celia Marie Matthews, to be kept in the account until she was eighteen and graduated from high school, then released in total.
Mama moaned. The look she turned on me as I sat in stunned silence dripped with pain and betrayal and bitterness. I knew she believed that Granddad had reached out and slapped her from the grave. I understood none of it until I could retreat to my room, locking the door and sinking onto my bed, his letter in my hand.
Dear Celia,
Now you know what my decision was. I've hoarded the money all these years, planning on giving it to your mama, knowing she in turn would be generous to you and Kevy when it came time for you both to leave home. Things are different now. You and Danny have alife to build and she won't help you. If Danny owned anything, I wouldn't have needed to do this. But he has struggled all his life and has nothing to give you but himself. So take the money with my blessing.
One request, missy. Don't tell him about this yet. You may think it will ease his mind in the coming year while you two are apart. I think it would make things worse. He has his pride. He'll be hesitant to ask you to leave your family once you graduate, afraid that you'll believe he wants you only because of the money. A stupid thing to think, but people can convince themselves of stupid things about those they love the most. So wait till you're together again, then surprise him.
There's something else, very, very important. Always remember what I told you about praying to heal things with your mama. Because God promised me something yesterday after I talked to you. I'm ashamed to admit I was right mad at him, demanding to know why he never answered me about my problems with her. Something inside me told me to pick up my Bible, and it fell open to Matthew 11:28.
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” The next verse says it again, even betterâ“Ye shall find rest unto your souls.” God was telling me plain as could be that I can rest now because I've done all I can and he'll take care of it. And then he told me something else, Celia, clear like a bell. He told me that you are the one on this earth who's going to reach your mama, if you'll just follow his leading. You two are going to learn how to love each other. You can imagine I sure felt better after that. It may take awhile for you to see this happen. But don't ever give up. Just keep asking the Lord how to go about it and he'll tell you. One thing I knowâthe Lord don't go back on his promises. If you don't turn to him for help, though, you'll never manage it by yourself.
One more thing. In my letter to your mama I told her that a lot of prayer went into my giving you so much money. I'm praying she'll understand that and not harden her heart. I also told her many, many things that I hope she'll finally begin to hear.
You're the best grandgirl a man could have. It was a blessing to watch you grow. I loved taking walks with you, and fishing and swimming, and most of all going to Tull's.
All my deepest love,
Your Granddad,
Thomas Bradley
P.S. Don't forget to give that old henpecker Jake Lewellyn his marble.
H
ow I wished for my wise granddad's guidance as I struggled with my growing feelings for John Forkes. He had begun to haunt my thoughts. Visions of his hand over mine swirled with my ancient ache for Danny. The visions did not lessen the old loss. But in the midst of living with Mama and cheerleading Daddy through seemingly endless therapy sessions, John's image sent a warmth through me that I had not felt in a long time. I imagined that he was thinking of me as well. Since the day we met, an inexplicable communication had flowed between us. I pictured Carrie talking about Andy and remembered the quickened senses of a woman desired.
But John wasn't free, as Andy was. John was engaged. Planning a wedding. He was Daddy's doctor; that should have been our only connection. And I was no longer a teenager, too self-absorbed to realize the tragedy of poor choices.
Our talk over iced tea happened on a Friday. The following Tuesday John would return. I waited for the day with impatient dread, as I once had waited for Saturday and my next visit to the river after Danny had not shown up.
I
“
Mama,” I asked as I set the table for supper Monday, “I was thinking of painting the living room. What do you think?”
She was stirring rice on the stove. “Paintin' it? With us right here?”
“I'd just do a wall at a time, so it wouldn't be too disruptive. It really needs it.”
“Well, I know, butâ”
“Let me do it for you, Mama,” I pressed. “I need a project to keep me busy anyway.”
She hemmed and hawed but ultimately acquiesced, even smiling at me briefly. I smiled back. For Daddy's sake we had been trying harder to get along ever since he became so upset at the supper table last week. I knew, however, that solving our differences would not be as simple as painting a room.
After Daddy's therapy Tuesday morning I drove to Albertsville, ostensibly to buy the paint but intent on other business as well. Reaching the south end of town, I followed the familiar streets that led to Sledge's Farm Equipment. Many times when I was a child, I had driven with Granddad to pick Daddy up from work on the days Granddad had needed the car. How Granddad used to fly over the hills, my stomach bouncing into my giggling throat as he trumpeted that we were “streakin' into battle for the Allied Forces.”
My mission today was just as important, as far as Daddy was concerned. I had to reverse the damage Mama had done. His boss was not expecting me; I could not have risked Mama's overhearing a phone call. I hoped that the element of surprise would work in my favor.
To my relief, Mr. Sledge greeted me heartily, asking about Daddy and saying how much he was missed. “That's good to hear,” I replied, “because I'm here to talk to you about how we can best get him back to work.”
He didn't blink an eye. “Of course, of course.”
Ushering me into his industrial office, he bid me to sit in an old wooden chair opposite his gray metal desk. Boxes, papers, invoices, and supplies littered the room and the sill of its one grimy window. From the showroom outside filtered the sounds of a salesman testing a tractor motor and another calling for a serviceman to “pick up that doggone phone!” Mr. Sledge nodded to me apologetically. “It's always pretty noisy around here. Your daddy amazed me, the way he could work the books in the middle of all the commotion. He had a knack for filterin' out what he didn't want to hear.”
I thought of Daddy when I was a child and found that easy to believe.
However, he was no longer so distant from his surroundings. I wondered if that would change his ability to perform here. It had certainly changed his tolerance for my fighting with Mama.
“You told my mother a temp is replacing him right now?”
“That's right. He knows he's most likely got two months here; after that we'll see.”
“Mr. Sledge”âI leaned forward in the chairâ“I'm handling Daddy's therapy. We work very hard at it twice a day and he's improving. The improvement is slow; it's likely to take all of those two months. It might take longer, though, and that's why I'm here. To ask you early on to grant him some extra time if we need it. He's worked for you a lot of years and I know you value him. So it seems to me that if you have to employ a temporary accountant for a few more weeks, it's worth it for you to wait.”
He regarded me indulgently, light from the overhead bulb reflecting off his glasses. “You came from outta state to help your daddy, didn't ya? Left your own job?”