Just Over The Mountain (17 page)

Chris looked completely perplexed. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times in a silent stammer. His hands moved in futile gestures that said nothing. He lumbered unsteadily toward her truck and, placing his hands on the door at the opened window, leaned down. “June,” he began.

“How many times in one life do you plan to break my heart? How many women will you cheat with, you oaf?” she yelled. He looked stunned, and that made it all the harder to keep a straight face. She might have felt a little bit bad about the way the attractive young women went pale, her eyes as huge as saucers. Of course, she thought she was the only one.

“June…” he attempted.

“Don’t you
ever
speak my name again, you… you…
monster!
”

“Hey, June-bug, I was just—”

She pressed the heel of her hand against the horn for another long, loud blast, causing him to jump back from the truck and put his hands over his ears. “Bye now,” she said, and drove away. She laughed all the way back to Grace Valley.

Birdie had stayed up late working on the festival quilt because there was only one week in which to finish, so she was tired and perhaps a little cranky. Then she was up early, as usual, on Friday morning. Judge was in a foul spirit over this Myrna Claypool thing,
Chris had showered and left the house as quickly as possible, and she was stuck with the noise and mess of her grandsons. And their insolence. She was just about at the end of her tether.

The Graceful Quilters had decided, unanimously, not to converge on Blythe. Birdie would go to her first, Corsica and Ursula would be backup if Birdie failed to make headway, and June was to be the last line of defense. Philana and Jessie were excused—Philana for her shyness and Jessie for her inexperience.

Birdie said a quick prayer for patience as she drove her big yellow sedan up the road toward Culley Stables. No one answered the door, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Birdie went out to the stable closest to the house. She heard a scraping sound and called out, “Blythe?”

Shovel in hand, Blythe stepped out of the shadows. “Mrs. Forrest?” she said in surprised confusion.

“I’m sorry not to have called first, Blythe. I must talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

“What is it?” she asked, worried. Birdie Forrest was about the last person Blythe ever expected to see in her stable. “Is anything wrong?” Would Birdie be sent to the stables to inform her of Daniel’s death? Surely not.

“I think everything is going to be fine, Blythe, if we can just talk a minute. I’ve had such a rugged week. Could we go to your porch? I’m done in. And Lord knows, I don’t want to go back home and face those little delinquents my son is raising…or rather, sticking me with.” She lifted a hand to her forehead and tried to
push her silver curls into shape. “They’re going to be the death of me, Blythe.”

“Well, mercy, come on then. I’ll get you some lemonade.”

“Would you? That would help so much.” They walked together toward the house. “It seems unusually quiet around here, Blythe. Where are all the hands?”

“We’re not real busy right now. Only doing some boarding. No training or breeding. We’re down to just a couple of hands.”

Birdie looped her arm through Blythe’s. “Is that because Daniel isn’t here?”

They made an odd-looking couple, Birdie in her wool plaid skirt, sweater and brown lace-up shoes and Blythe in jeans, flannel shirt and cowboy hat. Plus, Birdie had almost twenty years on Blythe. But they walked along like girlfriends, and when Birdie asked about Daniel, Blythe dropped her gaze and looked down. “He’s had a heart problem, you know,” Blythe answered.

“Indeed. From what I understand, you’ve had a heart problem, too. The three of you have.”

“It sounds like you’re here on a mission. You should save your breath,” she said.

“Whatever you want in the end, Blythe. But can I please have that lemonade? I’m completely exhausted. And you know that thing you did to Daniel with the buckshot? If I had any skill at all, I’d nail those two sassy, disrespectful grandsons of mine in the same place.”

“They must have gotten the best of you,” Blythe said.

“Not yet, but they shall soon.” Birdie sank into a porch chair. “You’re kind to indulge me, Blythe. I promise to return the favor someday.”

“Sure,” Blythe said tiredly, going for the drink she’d promised.

Birdie could tell it was hard for Blythe to patiently sit with a glass of lemonade and listen to an old woman say her piece, but to her credit she didn’t squirm or wiggle.

“So. I hear you’re planning to run away before it gets out that you and Daniel are brother and sister and have only pretended to be husband and wife for convenience’ sake.”

A huff of chagrined laughter blew out of Blythe and she shook her head. “Well, hell. There isn’t much more to it than that.”

“Oh, but there is. First, you were frightened children when the assumption was made. Frightened children on the run. Second, how would your life have been different if you’d admitted to being siblings from the start?” Blythe frowned in confusion. Birdie pressed on with a shrug. “Seems to me you would still have built this house and stables, still have worked as partners, side by side. You’d still have been successful. He’d still have fallen for Sarah. I can only think of one difference in all this.”

“Which is?”

“You wouldn’t be threatening to run now.”

“Mrs. Forrest, it’s nice of you to go to all this
trouble to try to convince me to stay, but I don’t think the rest of the town is going to be as understanding. I don’t think—”

“I don’t think they care near as much as you think they do, Blythe. And if you go, you’ll never find out if you could have just as easily stayed in your own home, with your own business, in your own family.”

“There will be talk. Maybe vicious talk.”

“It’s so unlike you to scare easily,” Birdie said. “Even less like you to be ungrateful and self-pitying.”

A little fire crept into Blythe’s usually warm eyes. “Ungrateful? Self-pitying? How can you accuse me of things like that when you know what I’ve gone through? When you know how humiliating this has—”

“Let me tell you something, dear girl,” Birdie said, not for one second thinking it strange to call a woman in her fifties a girl. “When I was just a girl, I buried my mother. I was ten and had to take over the house. Then my father went soon after, leaving us impoverished and living on the mercy of neighbors. Then I lost two brothers in the war. Nine years ago my very best friend’s heart gave out while I held her hand. I have a friend whose wife is dying of cancer, a husband who’s trying to keep an old friend from going to jail for a murder she never in a million years would have committed, and my son has saddled me with two thieving, lying, incorrigible brats in the winter of my life. And you’re worried about
talk?
”

Blythe’s eyes clouded with unwanted tears. “Horrible talk,” she said in a breath.

“Well, lift your chin, girl! I’m here to tell you that, in addition to a family who loves you, you have friends in town who will stand up for you! And if you need more than that to get by, then you need more than anyone can give!”

It took her a second to respond. “But, Mrs. Forrest—” she said through a hiccup of emotion.

“Yes, I know. You’re hurt and embarrassed. Perfectly understandable. Now it’s time for you to be brave, Blythe. Daniel deserves his chance at happiness, too, you know. And Sarah is a good woman who loves you. You can have the best of all worlds if you’ll just summon some inner strength.”

Blythe looked into her lap. “It might be I just can’t.”

Birdie reached for the hands folded into Blythe’s lap and gave them a strong squeeze. “But of course you can, dear. You’re much stronger than all this.” Birdie stood. “If you go in spite of all the people who are pledging their support and begging you to stay…well, there’s no help for you.”

When Birdie got home, the house was blessedly quiet. By the clock she had another half hour before those hellions burst upon her. She’d done her part for Blythe and more than her part for her son. She lay a cool cloth on her forehead and reclined on the sofa. Within seconds, she was deeply asleep.

It was the sound of whispering that woke her. She remained still and listened raptly. “She keeps it in here,” one of them said.

“It’s not here!” said the other.

“Dig around a little. That’s where I saw her put it.”

“Okay, okay…”

“Under the tea bags maybe…”

“Got it!”

“Hurry. Let’s go!”

The shuffle of footsteps, the squeak of the screen door, then quiet.

Birdie slowly rose from the sofa, pain dragging down her spirit. Did they not know how this hurt her? How ashamed she was of them? How could they steal from her, their own grandmother? And for what? Were they driven by some drug-crazed addiction, or just out for a good time in any naughty way they could find?

She went to her kitchen canisters and opened the smallest one. She lifted out a half-dozen tea bags and pulled out a small fold of bills—her Christmas money. She clipped her coupons, scrimped by making soup out of chicken wings, and put by a few dollars every week. She’d spent a nice chunk on Judge’s birthday last summer and had, since then, saved eighty-four dollars. She unfolded the bills and counted…fourteen.

She went to the phone and called the police department. Deputy Lee Stafford answered. “Hello, Lee, it’s Birdie Forrest. I’d like to report a theft.”

“Y
ou’re crazy, right?” Chris shouted at his mother.

Birdie sat at the kitchen table and gently massaged her temples. “I
was
a little crazy,” she said. “I’m not now.”

“You’ve had my children locked up!” he yelled. “What were you thinking?”

“Relax, Christopher. They’re in Tom Toopeek’s police station. It’s not the federal penitentiary.”

“It’s jail!”

“They stole seventy dollars from me, Chris. I heard them sneak in the house and prowl around, whispering and searching for it. Aren’t you even a little worried about where this is all leading?”

“I’ll give you the goddamn seventy dollars!”

Her hand came out like a shot and slapped his face. The minute she’d done it, she wished to recall the act, but it was too late. It was like he was fourteen himself, and she wouldn’t take that kind of talk from him. And
how dare he defend thieves. How dare he try to make this her fault.

He stared daggers at her, his cheek reddening, then he turned and stomped out of the house.

Where have I gone wrong? she asked herself. She would not have allowed Chris to get into the kind of trouble these boys did. She and Judge were disciplinarians, perhaps too much so. She had always worried they were too strict, but Chris turned out all right. He didn’t have a fancy job, but he made a decent living. And except for his divorce, he’d had a good adult life. Divorce wasn’t the worst thing. It happened to good people.

But these boys! Stealing their grandmother’s pin money! What was he thinking, to want her to just let it go?

Well, she wouldn’t.

Chris was back, stomping through the house to his room. He began throwing his things in a duffel bag. She followed him and stood in the doorway, watching.

“So, now you’re going to punish me by packing up and running away. Just like a boy.”

“Mother, don’t start with me. I’ve been through enough and I don’t want to argue with you. The house isn’t quite ready, but it’s close, and we can stay there now. It’ll be like camping. I think the boys are just plain too much for you.”

“They definitely are. And they’re apparently too much for you, too!” And with that, Birdie went to her bedroom and slammed the door.

Birdie sat on her bed for a long time while the sounds from without indicated that Chris was packing to leave.
On the one hand, she hated to see him go. It made her feel as though she’d failed him. On the other, he couldn’t go soon enough. She was exhausted with trying to do a good job, to make things right. And the fact that he’d have quite a lot to do to organize his sons’ messy room enough to pack almost made her smile in sinister delight.

He never should have run off and married Nancy. He had complained about his wife and his marriage on and off since the beginning. In remembering, Birdie thought he’d been miserable more often than happy. Nancy, he said, had a temper. She spent frivolously, though he worked hard to provide. She spoiled the boys, then expected them to behave as if disciplined. She—

Now wait, Birdie thought.
Nancy
spoiled the boys and didn’t discipline them? That may have been, but clearly, Chris was no disciplinarian. He was in such denial about their behavior, even his best friend catching them red-handed as they stole couldn’t get his attention. Those twins hadn’t even been grounded after all the trouble they’d been in.

Nancy had called a few times to talk to her sons and the boys had called her a few times, but Birdie hadn’t talked to Nancy in over a year. She had not been surprised by the divorce and, in typical motherly fashion, had gone along with the notion that her son, her good-natured and always upbeat son, had been a victim of a poor matrimonial choice.

She could still hear him out there, probably in the boys’ room now, gathering up belongings. Unintimi
dated by the fact that he was still in the house, she picked up the phone and dialed. Nancy answered on the second ring.

“Hello, Nancy, it’s Birdie Forrest. How are you, dear?”

A moment of silence answered her, and Birdie thought, fervently, Don’t hang up, please don’t hang up even though it’s what I might do if I were in this situation.

“Well, Birdie. What a surprise. I guess I’m all right, under the circumstances. And you?”

“I’m not very well, dear. That is, I’m not ill, but awfully disappointed in my son. I felt an urgent need to talk with you. It’s about the twins.”

A huff of laughter came first. Then, “Quite a handful, aren’t they, Birdie?”

“To say the very least….”

“Maybe you can understand my ultimatum then. I honestly couldn’t take another second without a little support. I was getting nowhere. They need an intervention—and fast. Or they’re going to end up in
jail!
”

Birdie was overwhelmed by confusion. “Jail?”

“They’re pretty well known in our neighborhood by now, and the police have returned them to us with warnings a few times. I can’t put all the blame on Chris, I’m sure I’ve made many a mistake mothering them…but every time they get in trouble, Chris wants to brush it off as if it’s just boys being boys, as if it’s nothing. Now, I didn’t know Chris very well when he was fourteen, but I knew him all through high school, and he didn’t steal and vandalize and cheat in school and
sass the teachers. Birdie, they’re at a very important crossroads, and if something isn’t done, I fear for their future.”

“But Nancy, they’re not doing very well here. And Chris—”

“Don’t let him off the hook, Birdie. It’s time for him to take some responsibility for his sons. He’ll be forced to take some action. That’s why I told him the only way I’d agree to a trial separation is if he’d take the boys with him.”

“Trial separation,” Birdie repeated softly.

“I won’t lie to you I miss them terribly…though I don’t know why I should. These past couple of months have been the first migraine-free ones I’ve had in fourteen years. But they can’t come back here until they’re changed. The juvenile services officer was very clear—anymore truancy, petty theft or vandalism and they’re going to be locked up. Perhaps moved to foster care.” Nancy sighed. “I apologize for what you must be going through, Birdie. It seemed the only way.”

“Trial separation,” she said again. He had lied. They were not divorced. “Nancy? What do you think is in the future for your marriage? Do you hope to reconcile with Chris?”

“I love Chris very much. I’ve loved him since I was a girl. And I would like to grow old with him, but I’m not sure that will happen, Birdie. It’s true, we were having a real hard time. Lots of fighting…and lots of it over what to do with the boys. Chris was ready to walk. If he’d had his way, he’d just leave us to work
things out as best we can while he moved on to his next life, found himself a new wife. One with fewer complications, I suppose. I thought the best thing I could do for my sons and my husband is to stop helping them. They’re going to have to take responsibility, once and for all. Does that sound cruel?”

Birdie was suddenly ashamed of herself. Once Chris and Nancy had married, Birdie accepted the marriage, accepted her daughter-in-law, but not without a small grudge that she hoped was her secret. All these years Birdie had had an impression of Nancy stalking Chris, trying to tear him away from June’s loving arms. And now she knew that this simply was not true. Chris had made victims of both these women—June, by leaving her, and Nancy, by wedding her.

All these years, Birdie had resented the fact that Nancy had taken him away from her, from Grace Valley. She often thought about how perfect life would have been had Chris stayed in their town and married June, who Birdie and Judge loved as much as if she were their own. Birdie thought the children would have been better behaved with a mother like June. Hah! It was a father like Chris that appeared to be their problem. All these years, though she’d tried to hide her true feelings and make Nancy feel like a cherished daughter-in-law, she knew she had held back a part of herself. And if Nancy were honest, she would admit to feeling it.

Oh, Birdie had amends to make. But that would have to wait. “Nancy, you mustn’t blame yourself. I know
you did your best. I’m calling to give you some bad news and you might be very upset with me.”

“What is it?” she asked, panic in her voice.

“It’s the boys, Nancy. I caught them stealing from me and I called the police. It’s the second time they’ve been caught stealing. The first time went practically unnoticed, so this time, despite very vocal protests from Chris, I’m pressing charges. They’re in Tom Toopeek’s office jail.” There was complete silence on the other end of the line. “They’re completely safe,” Birdie went on. “There aren’t any other inmates or prisoners or whatever they’d be called. But I’m unwilling to ignore this—this blatant disregard for the rules.”

“Birdie,” Nancy said. “You go, girl.”

Friday afternoon, just as the last patient was leaving the clinic, Jessie received a call from Valley Hospital. She listened quietly, made a few notes on a tablet, then put the caller on hold. When she turned around to look for someone to take the call, all three of her co-workers happened to be present. “June? John? I don’t know who wants to take this call—it’s Dr. Worth. It’s about Justine. She’s very bad. She’s dying.”

Everyone knew how really bad it was the day she went into the hospital. The cancer she’d been diagnosed with months earlier had spread. Justine’s immune system had been under attack and weakened long before she collapsed. And, of course, there was no pregnancy.

When all the test results were complete and the extent of the disease confirmed, Justine, Sam, her
sisters and her father had made the decision—she did not want to prolong the pain. There was a Do Not Resuscitate order in place on her medical chart.

John took the call at Jessie’s desk, learned the facts and repeated them to June. “It’s really just a matter of saying goodbye,” he said.

“Does Dr. Worth say how long?” June asked.

“A few days, a few weeks,” he said with a shrug. “She’s in very bad shape.”

“Well then,” June said. “I’ll go tonight and—”

“This is just stupid!” Jessie snapped. “Why was she so stupid? I don’t know if I can be a doctor if people are going to waste good medicine and sign a damn death certificate!”

John dropped an arm about her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “There are several things you need to think about right now,” he said patiently. “One is, Justine might not have made it even with treatment. Another thing is, there are often no symptoms until ovarian cancer is advanced, so undetected and untreated, she might not have had even the last few months. But finally, Jessie, what you have to know is that each patient is allowed the dignity to decide for herself, for himself, what kind of life they want to have, be it short or long, be it filled with the struggle to survive or the peace of letting go. We’re only here to help, not to remove choice.”

“First, do no harm,” June said.

Jessie let a tear drop. “Well, it really sucks.”

“Doesn’t it just,” John said, hugging her.

Pretty soon Susan and June joined their hug and the four of them stood embraced in the center of the office for a long time.

Miles away in Rockport, near the ocean, on the third floor of the hospital, Justine’s family took turns sitting vigil at her side. Sam left her rarely, though her father and sisters pleaded with him to take breaks. Justine drifted in and out of consciousness, due to the weakness of her body and the high doses of morphine used to dull the pain.

On that Friday evening, June, John and Elmer all dropped by, patted her hand, wished her well and embraced those who would mourn her. On Saturday a few people from Grace Valley stopped by, reminding Sam and the family that they were not really alone. And although the doctor would not have guessed it would happen so soon, she passed on Sunday, just a few days after being admitted to the hospital. Some would find it shockingly fast, others would give thanks that she did not suffer long.

Justine had requested that her ashes be scattered from the rocky coast out over the Pacific Ocean, something that could be done whenever the family could find a gathering place and put together their few words. Sam told the sisters to come and collect whatever of Justine’s they wanted. The door would be unlocked.

Sam had not done too much fishing since marrying Justine. In the first place, he had only been trying to help her get over a broken heart by being complimentary and friendly. And, oddly enough, she took to him.
In the second place, he could see they were good together, so there was no point in knocking good fortune. He knew when they married that they were both on borrowed time—he was seventy and her cancer had been diagnosed before they were wed. He thought it more likely they could cure her cancer than his age, so this loss came hard. Harder still because he felt she’d been robbed more than he; she was just a girl.

He fetched his pail and pole from his gas station and drove his old truck out to his favorite stream. He’d rather fish at dawn than at dusk, but he could think of nothing better than fishing to help him deal with the ache in his heart. He was there less than an hour when he heard rustling behind him. Through the trees they came—Lincoln Toopeek, Elmer Hudson, Burt Crandall, Judge Forrest, George Fuller and Harry Shipton. Each one gave Sam a nod, put down his pail and baited a hook. They lined up along the river, three on each side of Sam, their lines in, and fished. In a little while there was more rustling, and Standard Roberts walked up behind them. There was some shifting at the edge of the river as they made room for Stan next to Sam. Stan clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder, Sam clapped a hand on Stan’s back.

They fished a while, and in the way that men fish, they took great comfort in the fact that they were friends and they were never intended to bear any pain alone. When the sun was nearly down, Harry Shipton said, “May each fish thank God for the time he has given them to swim in the river.” And all the men said, “Amen.”

Jurea Mull was not an educated woman. In fact, her husband had taught her to read, a pastime that had become a passion for her. She lived for the used books, magazines and newspapers Clarence would scrounge and bring to their little shanty in the woods. And when they had moved to town and Jurea learned of the library in Rockport, not far from the hospital where she’d had her surgery, she was giddy with excitement. Imagine, a place where you could borrow the books for free and keep them for up to four weeks in your own home!