When I awoke, I was greeted with a funereal silence. Mommy had let me sleep and it was well into the early evening. Through my window I could see the last vestiges of daylight were clinging to the horizon like the hands of a drowning person hoping to be pulled back up. The yellow shafts of thin light against the inky sky resembled fingers, reaching, searching for help.
I sat up, scrubbed my face with my dry hands and sighed so deeply, I thought I would crack my spine. I listened again for any sounds, but I didn’t even hear the drone of the television set or anyone’s footsteps or muffled voice. For an additional few moments I sat there, resurrecting the terrible moments at the pond. I saw Chandler’s expression of terror and shock again and again. Surely, he would not want to have a thing to do with me now. He must believe I came from madness.
I rose and went downstairs slowly, still listening for someone. I found Mommy sitting on the front porch in her rocking chair. She had a knitted shawl wrapped around herself and her eyes were closed.
“Mommy?” I said, and she sat up.
“How are you, Honey? Hungry?”
“No. What’s going on? Where’s Daddy and Grandad?”
“Daddy and Grandad had a very bad argument after what happened,” she began. “I thought they would come to blows. Actually, I thought Grandad would swing that machete at him. Your uncle Simon stepped between them and just stood there like a wall, and they stopped.
“It calmed down. They ate some dinner and then went out to work on the grain combine. That’s where the two of them are. Simon went up to his room. He’s got a bad cold, probably from having only cold water to bathe in and sleeping in that dank, dark place.”
“Did he get his dinner?”
“I brought it to him,” she said. “Why don’t you have something to eat now, Honey?”
“I was so embarrassed, Mommy,” I moaned. “Chandler will probably have nothing to do with me now.”
“Oh, I’m sure he will,” she said.
“You weren’t there. It was terrible. I was never so frightened myself.”
“I know. Let me make you something to eat,” she insisted, rising. “At least some hot soup.”
She put her arm around me and we went inside.
After I ate a little, I picked up my violin and began to play. More and more lately, I was finding it helped me express my innermost feelings. The music always revealed what was truly going on within the caverns of my heart. I didn’t play that long, but when I gazed out my window, I saw Uncle Simon had been sitting by his, listening. He had a light on, and he looked different because his head was slumped. I supposed he had fallen asleep. I waited to see if he would wake and wave good night, but he didn’t, so I put away my violin.
I was feeling very, very tired myself. The emotional drain was deeper than I had imagined. Maybe I was just very depressed, but almost before I let my head fall back on the pillow, my eyes closed, and the next thing I knew, the light of morning was brightening my room.
The house was quiet. When I glanced at my clock, I saw it was well after nine. We usually left for church between eight and eight-thirty. I rose, washed, and dressed as quickly as I could. When I descended the stairs, I found Mommy had left a note for me on the refrigerator door.
Daddy and I decided to let you sleep this morning. There’s pancake batter in a bowl in the refrigerator. Eat a good breakfast. We’ll see you after church.
I wondered where Grandad was. I was certainly not in the mood for any of his hell and damnation speeches and had made up my mind that if he started on me and Chandler, I would either walk away or tell him to mind his own business. My indignation fueled my courage and fired up my anger. I marched around the kitchen, slamming pans and silverware harder than necessary. I needed noise. The silence made it feel as if the world was closing in on me.
I ate deliberately, chewing hard, swallowing and digging my fork into my pancakes as if I had to kill each one before I could eat it. All the while I had my eyes fixed on that doorway, anticipating my grandad’s entrance, but he did not come. Winding down, I finished eating and washed and put away my dishes, the pancake skillet, and silverware. By the time everything was cleared away and cleaned, I heard Daddy’s truck pull up in front of the house. I stepped out to greet them.
“Morning, Honey,” Daddy called.
“Did you make yourself some breakfast, dear?” Mommy asked immediately.
“Yes,” I said. “Sorry I slept so late.”
“That’s all right. We were glad you got whatever rest you needed, dear,” Mommy said.
She looked very pretty and fresh this morning, and I thought Daddy was very handsome in his sports jacket, tie, and slacks. Mommy paused to kiss me on the forehead. Then her eyes got small and dark.
“He bother you any this morning?”
“I haven’t seen or heard him.”
“Grandad’s up in the west field, probably,” Daddy said. “There’s a wooded place there he’s used on Sunday as his private church for years.”
I knew the place. Because Grandad Forman put such a holy stamp on it and because it was his private place, I stayed away from it.
“He’s been troubling,” Mommy told Daddy. “And I don’t mean just the incident yesterday with Honey and Chandler, Isaac. There’s a new madness in him. When he came at you yesterday, I thought he would swing that machete for sure,” Mommy said. “He’s mumbling to himself and talking to the shadows more than ever. It’s not good.”
Daddy nodded and gazed toward the west field.
“I know,” he said. “He and I worked together as usual afterward, but he would barely speak to me and kept reciting phrases from the Bible. It gave me the creeps the way he turned his head when he spoke, as if some invisible person was there beside him.”
“It’s troublesome. Very troublesome, Isaac,” Mommy emphasized.
“I’ll try to talk to him some more and get him calmed down,” Daddy promised. “He should be back soon.”
“I haven’t seen Uncle Simon this morning either,” I said.
“Oh, Simon’s still quite under the weather today, Honey. He’s been developing a bad chest cold and I told him to make sure he rests himself well,” Daddy said.
“Did he have his breakfast?”
“I brought him some hot oatmeal before we left for church,” Mommy said. “Well, I guess I’ll go change into something more ordinary.”
“Me, too,” Daddy said.
I looked at the barn. It was so rare for Uncle Simon to be under the weather and incapacitated. I thought he was invincible. If he was sick enough to stay in his claustrophobic room, it had to be serious.
“Maybe Uncle Simon should see a doctor and have some medicine,” I said.
“You know how he is about that,” Mommy replied. “I’ll make him some chicken soup for lunch.”
She and Daddy went inside. I stood there thinking awhile and then I went in and fetched my violin and the box of music Chandler had bought for me.
“I’m going over to see Uncle Simon,” I shouted to Mommy and Daddy, who were still changing clothes.
I went to the barn and then up the stairway to Uncle Simon’s room. He didn’t reply when I knocked on his door, so I opened it and peered in. He was in bed. I thought he was asleep, but as soon as I started to back out and close the door, his eyes opened.
“Honey,” he said, followed with a flow of coughs. “Something the matter?”
“No, Uncle Simon. I was just coming over to practice my violin and see if you needed anything.”
“Oh,” he said. He wiped strands of hair off his forehead and propped himself up. He wasn’t wearing any shirt, and there was a patch of redness at the center of his chest.
“Do you have a fever?” I asked him.
“No,” he said, shaking his head vigorously. He coughed again.
“That doesn’t sound good, Uncle Simon.”
“It’s nothing,” he insisted.
“Mommy’s making you some chicken soup, but if you don’t feel better soon, you should go to a doctor,” I said firmly.
He nodded, but with no real conviction.
“You’re going to play the violin for me?” he asked, finally showing some light and excitement in his eyes.
“I wanted to start on some of the music my friend Chandler Maxwell gave me yesterday. I’m going to audition for a special school in New York City,” I explained.
His eyes widened with amazement.
“New York City?”
“Uh-huh.”
I took my violin out of its case and pulled one of his two chairs up closer to the bed. Then I sat, opened the box of music, and sifted through the sheets, deciding to start with Bartok’s First Sonata.
“I’m just learning this,” I explained.
He nodded, looking fascinated. It warmed my heart to see how I was cheering him up and helping him feel better already. He propped himself up a little more and waited. I tuned up and warmed up and then I started on the music. Every time I stopped to start again, he nodded enthusiastically.
“I really shouldn’t do this without Mr. Wengrow. It’s hard judging yourself.”
I started again and I played for quite a while before stopping. When I glanced at him, I saw that he had closed his eyes. The music appeared to have soothed him, but his face was very flushed. I set the violin down, and he looked at me with some surprise.
“You look like you’ve got a high fever, Uncle Simon,” I said.
I went to him and put my lips to his forehead. It was the way Mommy always tested for a fever.
I had barely done so when Grandad’s cry made me jump and turn quickly toward the doorway where he stood, clutching his Bible. I hadn’t heard him come up the stairs.
“Jezebel!” he screamed. “Get away from him.”
“He’s sick, Grandad.”
Grandad nodded and smiled so coldly it sent a chill across the room and into my heart.
“Yes, he’s sick,” he said. “Sick with the strain of evil that’s in you both. You’ll bring down the Lord’s vengeance on me! Whore!” he cried.
Tears flowed so quickly and freely from my eyes, I couldn’t flick them away fast enough.
Suddenly Uncle Simon rose from his bed, and to my shock, he was naked. He waved his mallet of a fist at Grandad.
“Get out of here with your garbage talk,” he roared. It felt like a crash of thunder.
Grandad stared wide-eyed, as if he was looking at the Angel of Death. He pointed at him.
“Sinner!” he shouted, turned, and fled.
Uncle Simon quickly realized he was uncovered and seized the blanket to wrap around himself.
“You better go,” he said.
My heart was pounding a hole through my chest and back. I shivered and trembled, gathering my music, putting my violin back into its case.
“I’ll tell Mommy what happened,” I promised. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Uncle Simon was back under the blanket, his eyes shut, his thumb and fingers pressing on his temples.
“You need a doctor,” I insisted and hurried out, never so frightened. I checked the yard for signs of Grandad and then rushed to the house.
Mommy was in the kitchen working on her chicken soup when I burst in. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. She looked at me, saw how upset I was, and dropped the knife she was using to cut up a carrot. It clattered on the floor.
“What’s wrong?”
“Grandad…Uncle Simon,” I blurted. “It was a terrible scene!”
Daddy heard the commotion and hurried down the stairs.
“What happened?”
As quickly as I could get out the words, I described what had occurred, how just as I had innocently checked on Uncle Simon’s temperature, Grandad appeared in the doorway and called me names. Without saying Uncle Simon was naked, I told how he had jumped up and threatened to bash Grandad with his fist. I spoke so quickly, it turned my throat into a tunnel with sandpaper walls. Mommy had to give me a glass of water to finish
“Isaac,” Mommy said. “It’s come to pass. I feel it. I know it.”
“I’ll get out there,” he said. He went for his boots.
“Be careful,” she cried after him.
“What’s come to pass?” I asked.
Mommy shook her head and sat hard on a chair, lowering her forehead to her propped hand.
“Mommy?”
She shook her head and sighed. Just as she lifted it to speak, we heard the most ghastly, animal scream. The look in Mommy’s face matched my own terror.
“Isaac,” she cried and the two of us ran out of the house.
The shouting was coming from the area behind the barn where Uncle Simon had his wonderful garden. Mommy reached for my hand as the two of us ran across the yard. When we turned the corner of the barn, we saw Uncle Simon. He was barefoot, wearing only jeans and holding a scythe in the air, poised to bring it down on Grandad, who was sprawled on the ground.
Flowers everywhere had been slashed with that scythe. The garden was decimated. Daddy was on the sidelines, his hand extended toward Uncle Simon, who stood like a pillar of rage over my grandfather.
“Don’t do it, Simon,” Daddy pleaded. “You can’t do it.”
Uncle Simon’s arms shook with the effort to hold back and the effort to sweep down. There was no doubt in my mind that he had the power to slice Grandad in half.
“Simon!” Mommy shouted. She let go of my hand. “Isaac, tell him. Tell him!” she commanded Daddy. He looked at her, then at me, and then he stepped closer.
“Simon, he’s your father,” he said. “He’s your real father.”
Uncle Simon looked at Daddy and then down at Grandad, who had his arm extended up to try to ward off the deadly blow when it came. He clutched his Bible in his hand as if it would act as a shield.
Uncle Simon shook his head.
“Yes,” Daddy said. “It’s true, Simon. It’s true. Tell him!” he shouted at Grandad.
To me it seemed as if the air had stopped moving around us and we were frozen in time. Nothing moved, not a bird, not a rabbit. The whole world was holding its breath.
Grandad shook his head.
“I don’t confess to him,” he cried. “I don’t confess to him.”
“Simon,” Mommy said in a softer tone. “Isaac is telling you the truth. You can’t do this. We’ll make it all right. Please, Simon.”
I was crying and shaking so much, I couldn’t have spoken if I had wanted to. Uncle Simon gazed down at Grandad a moment and then he tossed away the scythe and marched toward his flowers, kneeling down to repair whatever he could.
Grandad Forman rose slowly. He looked from Daddy to Mommy to me and shook his head, backing away. He pointed at me.
“It’s in the blood,” he said. “My sins are carried in the blood.”
“No!” Mommy shouted back at him. “Your sins were born and will die with you, not with us. Go make your own peace and leave us be,” she ordered.
He turned and stumbled away, clutching his chest with one hand, his Bible with the other. After a few steps, he paused to look back at us. He was mumbling to himself and looked insane, his hair flying up every which way.
“Go into the house, Dad,” Daddy shouted at him.
Grandad shook his head and then walked faster, almost running toward the west field as if he had to flee. We saw him stumble and fall and then get up and hurry along, gazing back at us until he was nearly gone from sight.
“I’d better go after him,” Daddy said.
“Leave him, Isaac. We’ve got to get Simon to bed,” Mommy said, stepping toward him. She put her hand on Uncle Simon’s shoulder. “Go back to bed, Simon. You need rest before you get very, very sick. Isaac and Honey will repair what can be repaired for you.”
“She’s right, Simon,” Daddy said. “Go on back to bed.”
Simon stared at his mutilated garden, two large tears flowing from his eyes.
“I’ll fix whatever can be fixed, Uncle Simon,” I promised, tears falling from my chin as well.
“You’ll plant again, Simon,” Mommy said. “Go on.”
Daddy put his hand under Uncle Simon’s arm, more to urge him up than to lift him. He rose, slowly, looking after Grandad, not so much with hate and anger in his face now as much as confusion.
“I won’t let him be my father,” he said.
Mommy smiled.
“I don’t blame you,” she said.
Uncle Simon shook his head. He looked at the destroyed garden and then toward the direction Grandad had fled.
“Can’t be,” he said. “Can’t be.”
He let Daddy guide him away.
“Wait,” Mommy called after them. Daddy turned to her. “Don’t take him back to that barn. Take him to Peter’s room in the house,” she ordered.
Daddy smiled and nodded.
“C’mon, Simon. It’s time you came home,” Daddy told him.
Mommy put her arm around me. I had finally stopped shaking and had swallowed down the lump that had closed my throat. My tears felt frozen over my eyes.
“You all right, Honey?”
“Yes.” I looked over the devastated garden. “I’ll fix whatever I can.”
“Okay. I’ll go finish making the soup and give him something for his fever.” She looked after Grandad Forman. “If that lunatic comes back, come into the house to tell me.”
“You weren’t telling the truth, Mommy, were you? You made that up about Grandad being Uncle Simon’s real father just so he wouldn’t hurt him, right?”
“No, Honey, it is the truth. Your grandmother Jennie told your father about it years ago. Her sister Tessie and her first husband worked for Grandad, and Grandad committed a sinful act with her. She became pregnant, and soon after, her husband was killed. He died never knowing, which was a good thing, I suppose. Grandad then married Tess, but Simon was a living reminder of his sin, so he treated him badly and eventually, after Jennie’s death, tried to keep him out of his mind by moving him out of the house.
“After Jennie died, the sin was a heavier weight on his conscience, I suppose. He believed God was punishing him again by taking her. He became even more crazed with his biblical visions.
“Her sister Jennie didn’t want to marry him, but he forced her to by describing Tess as a seductress and making Jennie feel a responsibility to Simon. She was a good woman and she cared lovingly for Simon, Peter, and your father, but that didn’t stop Grandad from seeing his demons in all of us.”
“And so Grandad thought I would be a sinner because he had been? That’s why he’s always been all over me with his threats of hell and damnation?”
“Yes, but you must not let any of that affect you, Honey. It’s his private madness and his own guilt that makes him think most of the crazy things he declares and does.
“For a long time, your daddy felt sorry for him. He tried always to be a dutiful son, to help him live with himself, to recover. He was too good a son, if you ask me.”
“Did Uncle Peter know all this, too?”
“Not according to your father, no. Your grandmother never told him. He was different—a lighter spirit—and she didn’t want to put any burden on him that would change him. He was her favorite, but Daddy didn’t mind that. In a way, they were both protecting Peter.”
“Poor Uncle Simon, though. Why was he tortured for his father’s sins, left in the dark alone?”
Mommy smiled.
“I’ve always felt he was better off living without the knowledge and being estranged from your grandfather. In his way, I think Simon has found some contentment,” she added, looking at the broken flowers.
“And now Grandad has even destroyed that,” I said mournfully.
“It will be repaired, and if I know Simon, it will be better and bigger. Daddy is definitely going ahead with that greenhouse idea, too.”
“Good.”
“I better get inside and help with Simon. I’m sorry all this came out this way, Honey, but I never doubted that some day it would. It festered on your grandfather’s soul and leaked poison into his heart for a long time. Maybe he can find some peace now as well.”
I nodded.
“Don’t ever think something is wrong with you or you have a strain of evil in you because of him. His sins live and die with him,” Mommy assured me.
She kissed me, squeezed me to her, and then walked toward the house.
I turned to what looked like a battlefield and began to repair what little could be restored.
Maybe it was the effect of being in Uncle Peter’s room. Uncle Simon had loved him so much. Or maybe it was Mommy’s wonderful homemade soup. Maybe it was a good dose of aspirin, or maybe it was a combination of everything, but Uncle Simon relaxed, his face looked far less flushed, and he fell into a comfortable sleep very soon afterward.
“We’ll move him back into the house permanently,” Daddy vowed.
“I think if he still has a high fever, we should take him to see Dr. Spalding tomorrow,” Mommy said.
“I’ll try,” Daddy told her. “He might not want to be blood-related to Dad, but he shares some of his stubbornness. That’s for sure.”
Mommy laughed.
Could we find a way to mend all this? I wondered. How I loved the both of them for their eternal optimism, for the way they bore down and gritted their teeth no matter what difficulties arose. I hoped and prayed I had their perseverance. I knew if I intended to go forward with a career in music and entertainment, I would surely need it. Rejection and defeats would be all over the road to any sort of success.
The day went on. I kept hoping to hear from Chandler, but he didn’t call, and I wasn’t up to calling him just yet. I had worked in the garden for nearly an hour, fixing what I could, and then I came in, showered, and joined Mommy and Daddy in the kitchen, where they were just getting ready to have a late lunch.
“It’s been hours, Isaac,” she told him. “I guess you’ll have to see what’s become of him.”
Daddy nodded.
“Should I come with you, Daddy?” I asked him.
“No, it’s not necessary,” he said.
“Maybe she should, Isaac,” Mommy said. The worry in his eyes made him reconsider.
“Okay, sure,” he said. “He’s probably still up in the west field.”
“Hopefully, coming to his senses,” Mommy said.
Daddy nodded, and he and I left.
“Was it true that Uncle Peter never knew any of this, Daddy?” I asked as we walked over the field.
“Sometimes I felt he did, that he knew instinctively. He never asked any questions or made any statements, and I never brought it up with him. Peter was Grandad’s only window on happiness and light. I couldn’t find it in my heart to close that window. You remember how Grandad would chastise him but do it relatively gently. I never saw him take a strap to him or ever strike him.
“I suppose Peter was some sort of salvation, some sort of redemption to him.”
“But Daddy, Grandad accused me of doing sordid things with Uncle Peter.”
“Only after Peter’s death. Whatever hope or strain of kindness lingered in my father died with Peter that day, and of course, Grandad assumed it was God’s way of imposing additional punishment. He blamed himself. He blamed you. He blamed us all. It’s as though he believes we’re all infected with the disease of his own sins.
“I know you hate him for what he did to Uncle Simon’s garden and the things he’s been saying to you, but you don’t hate him half as much as he hates himself, Honey. Just remember that if you can, and maybe you can find some part of yourself that will forgive him and sympathize. It will make you feel better, believe me,” Daddy said.
I nodded, my eyes filling as I realized, perhaps for the first time, how wise and kind he really was.
“I will, Daddy,” I promised. “I will.”
“I know you will, Honey. The one thing Grandad’s failed to realize is you are his salvation. You are his redemption. You’re the promise every rainbow leaves behind for us.”
He embraced me and we walked like that until we saw the patch of forest ahead of us.
“I don’t see him there,” Daddy said, shading his eyes with his right hand.
I didn’t either.
“Maybe he went home a different way, or maybe he went somewhere else.”
“Maybe,” he said, but his eyes continued to be narrow and suspicious as we continued toward the woods.
We were only about a hundred yards from it when Daddy stopped and seized my hand.
“What?” I asked and gazed ahead. Slowly, I could discern Grandad sprawled on his back.
“I see him. He’s asleep. Let’s not frighten him,” Daddy said. We walked slowly, quietly.
“Dad,” my daddy called softly. He raised his voice and called again.
Grandad Forman did not respond. I could see he had his Bible on his chest and both his hands over it.
“Dad!”
Daddy hurried into the patch of woods. I lingered a dozen feet back and watched as Daddy knelt down beside Grandad and shook him. Then he put his fingers on Grandad’s neck and searched for a pulse. After a moment he lowered his head.
“Daddy?”
He lifted his head and looked at me.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Daddy shook his head.
“Go back to the house, Honey, and tell Mommy your grandad’s gone. He’s found his peace.”