kettle on the stove and poured a cup of thick chicory coffee.
“ It’s still warm. Do you want some?”
I nodded and waited for her account of Flo’s condition. Sophia sat on the bench across from me and rubbed her weary eyes.
“ Oh Mickey, I hope she wakes up soon. She hasn’t moved since the baby was born. We shook her. We threw water on her. Miss Sara applied a vile smelling herb poultice that ran us all out of the room. No amount of force or witchcraft seems to help. Doc James is coming back this afternoon. Maybe he can tell us something.”
Sophia paused, warming her hand on the blue-speckled coffee mug. “You know Mickey, I really like Flo. She’s charming in an uncomplicated way. She hasn’t been tamed and molded like the rest of us. Her mind is freewheeling and alive with possibilities. Being with her is refreshing. I can see why you love her.”
I let my guard down. I said the thing I thought I’d never admit. “I don’t love her. I love Marianne.”
She murmured, “I know. But I thought that was over, now that you have Flo.”
I searched my sister’s face. She never lied. “How do you know?”
“ I was helping Marianne with her wedding dress a half-hour before she said, I do. She told me to tell you that she was sorry.”
“ Is that all she said?”
Sophia nodded. Sophia wasn’t the type to judge. If anyone had to know my secret, I was glad that it was her. She walked over to the sink and washed the cups.
“ Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sophia surprised me when she gripped her fingers around the curve on the sink and answered sharply, “We all have to accept reality. The truth of it is that Flo is here and Marianne isn’t and never will be. My dreams of love didn’t come true either, but what life has given me is tolerable, and I accept it. You will have to adjust, possibly learn to love her.”
Her words stung, but I knew she was right. “Yeah, possibly. I’ve created quite a mess, haven’t I? Mother said the baby might not make it.”
Sophia’s voice returned to the soft nature I was accustomed to. “Mickey, Flo’s not ready to be a mother. She’s still a child herself. It may be for the best.”
I searched her face, unable to understand her intent. The baby was the only reason I married Flo. I couldn’t accept that life wouldn’t follow my plan. I couldn’t stay in that house another minute. The baby struggling to live, Flo looking dead already, Mother and Sophia judging me; I couldn’t face the mess I’d made of my life. I bolted out the backdoor, down the wooded path to my secret place.
I walked a steady gait into the darkness of the hidden path behind the house. A thick canopy of green sheltered me. Perfumed Poplar flowers covered the path, still fresh and unspoiled by the sun. An invisible Brown Thrush rustled last year’s dead leaves. Titmice and Chickadees flitted back and forth. A White-breasted Nuthatch ran up and down a scrub oak looking for bugs. The darkness and familiar sounds of the woods comforted me and made me feel safe.
A mile behind our house, my father built a crossing of stones and packed dirt over the creek. I was ten years old and it was our secret place. He said that every man needed a getaway. After he fell off the ladder a year later, the creek crossing became my refuge. I’d disappear for hours, taking in the sounds and smell of the creek, connecting with my dead father. Meme would send Lewis to find me. Later, she would scold me when I finally slipped back into the yard. But I never revealed the whereabouts of my secret place. Every man needed one.
I took off the railroad issued work boots and hung my legs over the side of the dirt-packed bridge, watching the water wash away the debris from the low hanging limbs. A fat catfish scoured the bottom of the clear stream beneath my feet. Its long whiskers, like tentacles, swept the surface clean. I searched my heart for a different kind of cleansing. I lived the first five
“ It’s still warm. Do you want some?”
I nodded and waited for her account of Flo’s condition. Sophia sat on the bench across from me and rubbed her weary eyes.
“ Oh Mickey, I hope she wakes up soon. She hasn’t moved since the baby was born. We shook her. We threw water on her. Miss Sara applied a vile smelling herb poultice that ran us all out of the room. No amount of force or witchcraft seems to help. Doc James is coming back this afternoon. Maybe he can tell us something.”
Sophia paused, warming her hand on the blue-speckled coffee mug. “You know Mickey, I really like Flo. She’s charming in an uncomplicated way. She hasn’t been tamed and molded like the rest of us. Her mind is freewheeling and alive with possibilities. Being with her is refreshing. I can see why you love her.”
I let my guard down. I said the thing I thought I’d never admit. “I don’t love her. I love Marianne.”
She murmured, “I know. But I thought that was over, now that you have Flo.”
I searched my sister’s face. She never lied. “How do you know?”
“ I was helping Marianne with her wedding dress a half-hour before she said, I do. She told me to tell you that she was sorry.”
“ Is that all she said?”
Sophia nodded. Sophia wasn’t the type to judge. If anyone had to know my secret, I was glad that it was her. She walked over to the sink and washed the cups.
“ Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sophia surprised me when she gripped her fingers around the curve on the sink and answered sharply, “We all have to accept reality. The truth of it is that Flo is here and Marianne isn’t and never will be. My dreams of love didn’t come true either, but what life has given me is tolerable, and I accept it. You will have to adjust, possibly learn to love her.”
Her words stung, but I knew she was right. “Yeah, possibly. I’ve created quite a mess, haven’t I? Mother said the baby might not make it.”
Sophia’s voice returned to the soft nature I was accustomed to. “Mickey, Flo’s not ready to be a mother. She’s still a child herself. It may be for the best.”
I searched her face, unable to understand her intent. The baby was the only reason I married Flo. I couldn’t accept that life wouldn’t follow my plan. I couldn’t stay in that house another minute. The baby struggling to live, Flo looking dead already, Mother and Sophia judging me; I couldn’t face the mess I’d made of my life. I bolted out the backdoor, down the wooded path to my secret place.
I walked a steady gait into the darkness of the hidden path behind the house. A thick canopy of green sheltered me. Perfumed Poplar flowers covered the path, still fresh and unspoiled by the sun. An invisible Brown Thrush rustled last year’s dead leaves. Titmice and Chickadees flitted back and forth. A White-breasted Nuthatch ran up and down a scrub oak looking for bugs. The darkness and familiar sounds of the woods comforted me and made me feel safe.
A mile behind our house, my father built a crossing of stones and packed dirt over the creek. I was ten years old and it was our secret place. He said that every man needed a getaway. After he fell off the ladder a year later, the creek crossing became my refuge. I’d disappear for hours, taking in the sounds and smell of the creek, connecting with my dead father. Meme would send Lewis to find me. Later, she would scold me when I finally slipped back into the yard. But I never revealed the whereabouts of my secret place. Every man needed one.
I took off the railroad issued work boots and hung my legs over the side of the dirt-packed bridge, watching the water wash away the debris from the low hanging limbs. A fat catfish scoured the bottom of the clear stream beneath my feet. Its long whiskers, like tentacles, swept the surface clean. I searched my heart for a different kind of cleansing. I lived the first five
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