Secrets at Dillehay Crossing - Chapter 18 -- Boot Scootin' and Fireworks

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Lilly and Grammy completely lost track of time, lingering at Hawkes Pond longer than they realized. By the time they arrived at the gazebo, the afternoon sun was in full force. They walked along the stonework towards the gazebo noticing preparations for the shindig were well underway. They heard the sound of wood snapping in the grill and smelt the meat already cooking. Behind the gazebo, a temporary dance floor had been constructed, and the country western band was setting up its equipment and tuning its instruments. Adjacent to the gazebo, a special outdoor dining area with picnic tables covered in red and white checkerboard tablecloths, Tiki torches, and citronella candles had been set up. Patriotic bunting was strung across the gazebo entrance, and planters and hanging baskets filled with red, white, and blue carnations provided bursts of patriotic color. Inside the gazebo, the wind chimes barely stirred and the outdoor thermometer registered a stifling 96°.

“You made it!” Relda emerged from behind one of the card tables “Welcome to your first Mason family shindig! You can put your side dishes on the table over there. Whew! Today’s like a sauna. I need to cool off for a spell!” She retrieved a patriotic hand fan from one of the tables, frantically fanning herself. “Come sit with me for a spell. Look at you, Lilly, all snazzy in your new outfit and red boots. And those pearls even match the pearlized buttons on your shirt. They’re a perfect complement to your outfit!” She leaned toward Lilly examining the pearl necklace more closely. Splendid! Just curious, how did you come by them?”

“Grammy gave them to me just yesterday.” Lilly smiled with the utmost satisfaction. “I suppose they’re somewhat of a family heirloom.”

“Were they passed down to you, Nora?”

“Not really passed down so to speak. They were a gift I received a lifetime ago.” Grammy swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “Since I no longer have occasion to wear them, I figured Lilly would enjoy wearing them. When the time is right she can pass them on along with the love story that goes with them.”

“Family heirlooms are priceless precisely because of the stories behind them—whether that story is a love story, a sad story, a happy story of a memorable event, or a story of saying goodbye.” Relda shuffled in her seat. “I have several family heirlooms that I cherish—a large wooden trunk that my Norwegian great-grandfather used to bring his belongings from Norway in 1855; a tatted tablecloth my grandmother made before I was born; and a carved, hand-made wooden box my late great-aunt’s husband made me when I was but a child.

But the heirloom I treasure the most is my grandmother’s yellow floral teapot. Mind you, I don’t use it regularly. I have to need her, and I have to be ready for the flood of memories using it stirs up. I know it sounds strange, but every time I pull it down from the cabinet, I instantly feel her spirit in the kitchen with me. I see her knobby, age-worn, and loving hands pouring herself a cup of tea. The sensation is like getting one of her warm hugs. The funny thing is the teapot is nothing special. It is simple pottery, probably from around the turn of the century. I know it must have meant something to her otherwise she wouldn’t have kept it so long. Maybe it was an heirloom with a story—she never said, and sadly I never asked. Maybe she thought it was pretty—a spot of sunshine on a dreary day. For me that teapot has spirit—a vestige, a remnant of her. I know this notion of the spirit of things defies logic. Things don’t contain spirit. They aren’t capable. They aren’t living. But there’s that teapot and all it awakens.” Her eyes misted with tears.”

Lilly nodded her head vigorously. “I have similar sensations and thoughts whenever I touch something that once belonged to Nana Dulce. It’s as if I can feel her in the room with me.”

“And here I thought I was a crazy, sentimental old fool. We’re like-minded souls it seems.” A smile overtook Relda’s face.

“You two are definitely cut from the same cloth.” Grammy said struggling to keep her face from wrinkling in disgust.

“I’m afraid Grammy doesn’t see eye-to-eye with us on the existence of the spirit world.”

“You’re certainly not alone, Nora. Neither does my Dave. If he can’t see and touch something, it’s just not real. Truth be told, what’s not real probably scares him a bit. So he often throws me a dirty look, dismisses me saying, ‘that’s nothin’ but horse puckey!’, then leaves the room.”

The corners of Grammy’s lips curled, involuntarily. She fought back hard as she could, her cheeks swelling momentarily with the pressure, but it was of no use. She burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny, Grammy?”

“Horse puckey!—" She placed her hand over her mouth trying to suppress her laughter. “—it’s just, well, uh, kind of a funny expression.”

“You’re right about that.” Lilly began to snicker. “Granddaddy Dave does have some rather colorful expressions.”

“And he’s not known for mincing words either.” Relda laughed, her chuckle was light, laced with a hum of amusement over the matter.

Using the handkerchief tucked into her sleeve, Grammy wiped the tears of laughter from around her eyes. Then she did as women of her generation did, she dabbed the beads of perspiration from her forehead. “I’m wilting in this heat!”

“Me too! It’s hotter than blue blazes out here. With no wind, I’m afraid the kids won’t be able to fly their kites today. You know, Nora, one of the things Willie loved the most about the 4^th of July shindig was making his own kite and flying it. I’d like to think wherever Willie is he’s flying a kite today.”

Grammy cringed, initially recoiling from Relda’s memories about Willie. She turned away looking at the open field beyond the gazebo and imagined her son dressed in his favorite overalls running playfully towards Hawkes Pond, his kite dancing in the wind behind him. She exhaled and sighed like a slight spring breeze, soft and gentle, switching from a negative reaction to reflection.

Her mind drifted back in time to the day she met Jack and how being with him seemed so right at the time. She remembered the loneliness and pain she felt when he abandoned her without any explanation after which there were endless days filled with hot tears, ones no one ever saw, falling fast and thick. She recalled learning how to hide the sorrow and emptiness she accepted in giving up her son for adoption and how to look and act normal. She recollected what a blessing and godsend Lilly was. Raising Lilly was her redemption, her salvation from her pain, her broken heart, and wounded spirit. Grammy became so engrossed in her own thoughts, she hadn’t noticed Lilly and Relda had left the gazebo, living her to her own thoughts. She was unaware of guests arriving, trickling by her one-by-one past the gazebo. “Howdy, ma’am,” a husky voice broke in on her thoughts. “My name’s Hal, Hal Jenkins ma’am. You look mighty lonely sitting here by yourself. Care if I join you?”

Grammy nodded, her eyes lifting to meet his.

He sat down next to her, removing his fedora hat and laying it in the seat between them. “You’re not from around these parts, are you?”

“No. How did you know?”

“I’ve lived here my whole and know pert near everyone. Since I don’t know you, I just figured you weren’t from around here.”

“Oh, I see. Do you know Lilly Mason? She’s my granddaughter.”

“Gee willikers! I sure do. Met Lilly just a couple a days ago. Not your run-of-the-mill gal but sweet. She came into my shop and bought some cigars for Dave. You know Dave? Me and Dave, we go way back. As a matter of fact, I’m probably the only one who can tell Dave how the cow eats the cabbage so to speak.

“I must say you folks around here have some pretty colorful expressions.” A slow, teasing grin quirked her mouth.

“I reckon you’re right.”

From the dance floor, Dave heard the microphone crackle. “A one, and a two, and a three.” With that, the music suddenly swelled prompting Dave to say, “Time for some boot scootin’! Wonder where that granddaughter of yours is? She promised me a dance today.”

The music effortlessly filled the air, like the waves filling holes in beach sand. The combined sound of the banjos, fiddles, and guitars rushed in and around the gazebo awakening Lilly from the nap she was taking in a nearby hammock. The music drifted across the Mason property in the direction of Hickory Pines. Frank stepped onto his patio, lit a cigar, and listened, the music sparking his memory of childhood 4^th of July shindigs—the American flag fluttering in the breeze, the burbling water of Dillehay Creek, the rumbling of the hand-cranked ice cream makers, drinking Aunt Relda’s tart lemonade, opening the grill and smelling the scent of charred food, and the prickling of the grass underneath his bare feet as he ran with his kite behind him. Frank remembered that giddy feeling he experienced as a young boy flying a kite on the 4^th of July. He yearned for the freedom that kite flying gave him—the perfect lift and drag that kept the tails lazily flowing—little streams of relaxation in the sky.

“Come on!” the shirtless boy in tattered overalls yelled, startling Frank as he ran past him dangling an invisible kite from his right hand. “We can fly kites together. The sky’s big enough for both of us. It’ll be such fun!” He giggled and ran in the direction of Hawkes Pond and the gazebo.

“Leave me the hell alone!” Frank shouted angrily, his nostrils flaring. There was something in that shout—a pain, and the anger in his voice was nothing but a shield for that pain. But he was tired of that pain, the loneliness, and desperation. Frank breathed in slowly. What if the shield clattered to the ground and the pain tumbled out? Then what? Would I be free, free like a kite flying in the wind?

Frank had to find out. “Okay, kid!” he yelled through clenched teeth, “See you at the gazebo.” He snuffed out his cigar and returned to his apartment. He grabbed a change of clothes from his closet and showered for the first time in weeks. He wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror and stood before it, rubbing his cheeks, the week-old stubble scraping against his gnarled hands. He shaved as if he were a knight putting on his armor before entering a battle, the music outside beckoning him. He combed his hair and dressed, grabbing a box of Cuesta-Reys on his way out the door.

He walked along the perimeter of Hickory Pines until he reached his father’s pasture feeling how hard the ground had become since he last saw it. He stopped, shading his eyes from the sun’s glare remembering and picturing how it used to look, golden with hip-high wheat that rippled in the summer breeze. The old farmhouse was crumbling, but the barn where he’d buried the money was still intact. Shadows drifted over the property as a cluster of ominous-looking clouds passed overhead. Unable to face the dark memories seeing it ignited, he quickly turned away stepping on the warm earth meandering his way towards Hawkes Pond and Dillehay Creek, the soft grass giving way beneath his feet. The almost undetectable delicate smell of forget-me-nots drifted through the air reminding him of Aunt Relda and the days he spent in her soft presence. In the distance, he heard the lively beat of the country-western music, the buzz of adult conversation, the clacking sound of croquet mallets hitting wooden balls, and the kids laughing and squealing. He neared the gazebo and paused, surveying the situation like any fighter would do before entering the ring. The grill once overflowing with burgers and brisket was empty, the coals reduced to smoldering embers. Tables were cluttered with dirty plates, discarded napkins, and empty bottles of beer.

A red-headed woman appeared from nowhere and greeted him. “Don’t believe we’ve met. My name’s Dusty. Would you care for a beer?” Without waiting for an answer, she reached into the ice chest, retrieving a bottle of beer and popping off the cap. “What did you say your name was?”

“Uh….,” Frank faltered not ever giving her an answer.

“You’re not from around here, are ya?”

“No! Definitely not.” He snatched the beer from Dusty’s hand, taking a huge swig of it. “I live over at Hickory Pines where Lilly Mason works. She invited me to the shindig. Do you know her?”

“A course, I do. She’s a sweetheart through and through.”

“Ya, ya. Where can I find her?” Frank all but demanded, taking a final swig of his beer and tossing the empty bottle on the ground.

“She’s over yonder—at the horse shoe pit with Nick, just a hop, skip, and jump from here. I’ll take you to her. Follow me.” Dusty turned in the opposite direction taking her usual long strides, unaware that Frank was struggling to keep up. “Something about you looks strangely familiar.” She turned to face him, walking backwards toward the gazebo. “Can’t put my finger on it exactly. Where did you say you were from?”

“No place you’ve ever heard of,” Frank replied with a savage edge to his voice.

“No need to get all huffy. I was just making polite conversation.” Dusty turned back around and quickened her pace putting some more distance between her and Frank. When she was within earshot of Lilly, she waved and shouted in her typical cheery, honeyed voice, “Lilly, sweetkins! You have someone here to see you.”

Lilly stopped what she was doing and glanced in the direction of Dusty’s voice. “Look, Nick!” She dropped the horse shoe in her hand. “It’s Frank—Frank from Hickory Pines! He came! Can you believe it?”

“No,” he said, the pitch in his voice rising. “You invited him?”

“Yes, didn’t I tell you? Sorry. Thought I did. No matter. He’s here now.”

“Now I get to meet the infamous Frank?”

“It would seem so.” Lilly wiped the dirt off her hands, stepping forward to greet Frank. “Glad you made it, Frank!” She placed her arm around Frank’s shoulder giving him an enthusiastic one-arm hug. “This is my husband, Nick.”

“Are those Cuesta Reys you brought?” Nick asked, offering a welcoming handshake. “They’re my favorites. Maybe we can share a smoke later. What do ya say?”

“Ummm. Maybe. I brought them for Dave. I heard he smokes Cuestas.”

“You heard right. Listen, Lady Bug,” Nick hastily leaned toward Lilly giving her a farewell kiss on the cheek. “Gotta go. I’m part of the clean-up brigade. Granddaddy insists that the place be cleaned up before dark. Nice to meet you, Frank.” He swiftly turned around and disappeared, heading up the hill toward the picnic tables and grill.

“You hungry, Frank?” Lilly asked, patting him lightly on the shoulder.

“Not particularly,” he grimaced pulling away from her touch.

“Do you feel like walking a little further? If so, I’d like to introduce you to Relda and Granddaddy Dave. They’re sitting inside the gazebo where’s it shady and cooler. It’s just beyond that clump of trees.”

He felt the veins pulsing in his neck just below the skin, and a feeling of excitement stirred in the pit of his stomach. The moment’s arrived—the moment I longed for all these years but-- Frank tilted his head from side to side weighing his options. While the feeling in his heart said “yes,” there was also a feeling deep in his gut that said “no.” He wanted to muster up the courage, the same courage he had when he entered the boxing ring and faced his opponent. He wanted to choose bravery instead of being the puppet of his fear. “It's not that I don't want to meet them, it’s just that—I don’t know what to say, how to act,” he confessed, surprising even himself with his own vulnerability.

“Now don’t you worry, Frank. Relda is a gracious as can be. Dave. Well Dave is just Dave. He’s a persnickety old codger and not social like at all. Take him with a grain of salt.” She nudged him forward, and he paused at the entryway, letting his eyes roam the gazebo before Relda and Dave recognized him or noticed he was there. He’d have to go in, and he knew he would. At least this way his mind had a few moments longer to prepare. He clutched the box of cigars in his hand and walked forward. Before Lilly could introduce Frank, he blurted out, “Aunt Relda, it’s me, John.”

“John? John! Is it really you?” Relda exclaimed, her eyes opening wide in surprise and recognition.

“Yes,” John nodded and smiled, drawing himself closer to her.

“Aunt Relda? John? What?” Lilly’s head slowly swiveled. “Wait a second!” She exclaimed, ping-ponging her gaze first at Relda, then at Fran, then back at Frank. “Who is he really? John as in Francine’s John? As in the ghost’s John?” Lilly stammered, gazing flatly at Frank.

John stepped towards Granddaddy Dave. “I brought you some Cuesta Reys as a peace offering.

“Peace offering? You have some nerve, you cocky scoundrel! You’re just like your father thinking you can con your way into my good graces with a box of cigars. After what you’ve done, it won’t begin to erase the shame you brought to your dead mother, yourself, and this family!” Granddaddy Dave slapped the box of cigars out of Frank’s hands, the wrapped cigars tumbling to the floor. “You’re not welcome here! I told you to never come back here, and I meant it.”

“Now Dave!” A look of scorn flashed across Relda’s face. “Regardless of his past, John is family. Think of what your sister would want.”

“My sister’s dead thanks to him.” He yelled, his face reddening.

“You’re wrong, Uncle Dave,” John balled his hands into a fist ready to strike the first blow. “I didn’t kill her, but you never stopped blaming me!”

“He’s right, Dave. John didn’t kill your sister, Robert did that. So just calm down.”

“I ain’t calming down, not till this no count leaves!”

“You know better, you ohnry old galoot! Remember, John had to grow up with that tyrant. Imagine what that must’ve been like. John was acting out of the suffering he endured rather than evil. You can hardly blame him for what he became. His wrongs call for our love, understanding, and forgiveness.”

“He’s jest bad seed, and I ain’t forgiving him—never!” His eyes narrowed and he stared John down. “You don’t deserve my forgiveness! Hope you rot in hell.” He turned to Lilly who sat on the sidelines immobilized. “And you, Lilly! You betrayed this family bringing this man here!”

“Hold your horses, Mr. Mason.” Relda planted her legs wide and crossed her arms across her chest, her voice erupting in a way Lilly had never seen. “I had no idea you could be so ill-mannered, so abusive, so merciless, and out-and-out spiteful. I hardly recognize you! You’re no better than Robert was in taking out your pain and anger on John.”

“Back off, woman! You got no right talking to me that way.” His voice rose in volume and intensity. “You got no idea what you’re talking about, and I ain’t discussing it no further.” He stormed away.

“Well, pish posh! If that don’t beat all! A grown man acting like a child.” Relda sat down, her face red with anger. “John, I hear tell you’ve been in prison for doing some pretty bad things. Now, I’m not condoning your behavior or choices, but Lord knows you didn’t get a fair shake in life. I’ve been worried sick about you all these years and figured by now you’d be dead. But here you are in the flesh. Why now after all these years? What do you want from us?”

John’s chest hitched, a squeezing sensation filling his stomach. “I don’t know exactly. Maybe I just need to explain what happened to me, auntie,” he said with his boyish voice, remembering his term of endearment for her. “I was a lost, angry 15-year old when I left Dillehay Crossing determined to do whatever I needed to do to survive, doing what my father had taught me—conning, lying, stealing, fighting, and living life on the run, eventually murdering to get what I thought I was due.

The law finally caught up with me, and I was convicted and sent to prison for 30 years. The cell doors closed behind me, and I became hardened, lonely, and hopeless. So I took to drawing, drawing like you taught me, silently talking with you. My time in prison gave me time to think, think about who I was and what I’d done. The shame and guilt I felt broke my spirit and haunted me until the years of drawing and talking worked their magic on me, and I became remorseful. I guess I just wanted you to know, auntie, how important you were to me and my survival. I’m sorry, terribly sorry. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Relda’s fingers, old though they were, touched him softly, the warmth of her smile erasing his pain and his past. She reached out her aged hands and said, “If your guilt tears at your heart, rips at your insides, then in a way you’re already forgiven. I certainly hold no ill feelings towards you. You’re forgiven. You belong.” There was something comforting, almost miraculous in her words—the words he’d yearned to hear.

John briefly closed his eyes, savoring the moment. Lilly watched John’s face soften, the hard lines diminishing and the bitterness and stiffness leaving his jaw. Forgiveness, it seems, transformed him, unlocking the prison door of guilt and removing the handcuffs of shame from Frank’s wrists. He was at that point in time, he was a free man.

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