Chapter 28
SSally dropped the phone
as if it were a live coal and stared at it. Lately all its messages were
of gloom; Johnny's illness, his worsening condition and death. Now when
she needed to hear the comfort of Ream's voice, his words had been cold
rejection at a time when she least needed it. When the full realization
of what had just occurred hit her, Sally felt as if someone had clobbered
her world with mud.
She was more attached
to Ream than she realized. She stood, weakly holding the chair arm and
looking around her cozy rock home which now seemed lifeless and drab. So
their relationship was all a fantasy because of some handicap he had. Or
was that the real reason? Had she been too pushy, too revealing? She felt
in situations like this a woman is always left guessing.
Of course it was probably
her own fault. Why had she been so remiss in calling him in the last few
weeks? Or he might have called if he'd been really interested. Now the
terrible fact was, he didn't want to talk again.
Suddenly there was
no air in the room and she had to get out. Where? What did it matter? She
wished she could fly away to some place where nobody knew her and never
come back. She grabbed her car keys and purse.
Drizzling rain spotted
the dusty windshield and made her view cloudy. Any other time Sally would
have stopped to clean the glass, but this time the rain would have to do
the job.
She nearly hit the
mailman as she backed down the driveway. Flustered, she stopped to apologize.
He smiled gently in understanding and handed her some mail which she tossed
into the passenger seat.
Slowly regaining her
composure, she drove out of Mountain Club Estates and headed down White
Spar Road and then into Montezuma Street. Passing the Court House Square,
she looked toward the gazebo recalling how she had met the blind man and
asked him to dance with her.
Unwanted tears dimmed
her eyes and blurred her vision, and at that moment a man with a
white cane entered the crosswalk. Sally stabbed at the brake as she thought
she recognized Maurice Johnson. The man wore the same color shirt, had
the same build, and was wearing the same kind of hat. He stopped and turned
her way, and it was obviously someone else. But nearly hitting him was
another slash at her already crumbling self confidence.
A car pulled up beside
her and an old woman rolled down her window to yell at Sally. "Wake up,
you stupid fool, you nearly killed that man. I'm gonna report you. You
will lose your license."
In a flash of memory
the old woman looked and sounded like Aunt Myrtle. Sally felt like a little
girl again, reduced to a quivering jell. Everything she did was wrong.
Myrtle's voice rang in her mind, "Why can't you do something right for
a change? I have told you a hundred times to hang up your clothes; make
your bed, and clean your room. Remember to wipe your feet before you walk
on my carpet. Finish everything I put on your plate." The harsh voice pounded
her.
Myrtle was always
right. Sally was always wrong. She was wrong to have been born. Wrong to
have no father and a mother who never came to see her. Wrong to have driven
carelessly without cleaning the windshield. Wrong, and too bold in asking
a man to dance with her, and most of all wrong in letting those talks with
Ream continue in hopes a loser like she could have a full, loving relationship
with a man
Johnny was gone
and that was probably her fault to; maybe something she did while she was
carrying him that caused his heart problem. What good was she in the world
as half a woman? Yes, she was a good reporter, but dozens could take her
place and no one would notice she was gone.
Sally drove aimlessly,
her old car eating up miles of back country roads, in which direction she
didn't care or know. The gas tank had been full when she started and the
gauge read a quarter of a tank just after sunset when she found herself
at the camp grounds of Granite Basin Lake.
She had little idea
of where she had been or any memory of anything she had seen. Defeated,
she pushed the car seat back into the reclining position and leaned back.
The tears she had been avoiding slowly began to well in her eyes. At the
funeral she had been strong, but now the hurt was more than she could contain.
She was too beaten to restrain all her anguish, and she just let go. She
cried until she was limp with exhaustion. Darkness thickened and she napped
for about hour.
When she awakened,
Sally was perspiring. She opened the car window to let cool air in, and
noticed the full moon. Its light was enough to vaguely illuminate the interior
of the car, and she noticed the mail she had carelessly tossed on the flight
from her driveway. One letter seemed to stand out from the rest, and she
picked it up to look at it more closely.
The return address
indicated it was from a Reverend Lindsey Martin. Beneath his name were
three words, (concerning your mother). This set off an alarm for Sally
and she turned on the overhead light and read the following:
Dear Ms. Barringer
This letter concerns
the death of your mother who has been a recent member of our small
congregation. She asked me not to contact you during her final days since
she felt she had burdened your life enough.
Likely you did not
know much about her since your aunt Myrtle forbade her contacting you as
a condition of your adoption. She tried to reach you many times in the
early years but these efforts were always intercepted by Myrtle.
She carried much pain
in her heart and was troubled for many years because she abandoned you.
Because of her religious upbringing, and that of Myrtle, she felt disgrace
for having a child out of wedlock. She believed she had sinned and therefore
punished herself unduly. She made what living she could in order to send
money to Myrtle for you. In the end she turned to alcohol for solace.
She found her way here
because we help in the recovery process and we are a fellowship that does
not believe in a punishing God. Undoubtedly your mother had a sad life
and it does little good to speculate now about who was to blame. She was
not well when she came to us and supported herself by working in our office.
During the last months of her life she was a good and fine person, and
was always willing to help others at her own expense, especially children.
She began letters to you many times, but could never find the words she
wanted to say. In the end she found these words and trusted me to forward
them to you.
Sincerely
Reverend Lindsey Martin
Dear Sally
I gave away the most
precious thing I ever had. There is no reparation to a child for being
abandoned. God knows if I had to do it all over again, I would do it differently,
and if I could go back and change it, I would. What I did was wrong.
I hope others may learn from my mistake. There are no words that could
ever make it right. For whatever comfort it may bring you, I will use the
rest of eternity to beg your forgiveness.
Your Mother
Sally sat dumbfounded
for several moments. A mother she hardly knew had suddenly reappeared.
Instead of silence and noncaring there was an admission of wrong doing
and a plea for forgiveness. Sally remembered the years of pain and confusion
trying to understand her mother's rejection. Now came a reason for it.
Perhaps one which was possible to understand. It didn't make it right,
it would never take away the hurt, but to understand it went a long way
toward giving closure on a bad debt in her life. She decided to take a
walk and let the impact of the letter soak in.
There was a gentle
breeze as she slipped out of the car and walked along the trail until she
came to the edge of the lake. Near the entrance to the lake was a sign
informing the public no swimming was allowed.
Sally thought the sign
surely didn't prohibit wading on a hot summer night. Leaving her sneakers
on, she rolled her jeans up to her knees and waded in. As she stepped on
a large moss-covered boulder her footing slid out from under her, and she
plunged in over her head.
Her submersion allowed
a feeling of life to soak back into her, while it drowned the sorrow and
hurt she had inside, both about Ream and her childhood. When she surfaced,
the irony in her slip forced her to smile at herself. She experienced the
lovely sensation of warm air in contrast to the cool velvety water sliding
over her skin. A path of moon beams led her eyes around the lake toward
the towering trees, with only the sounds of the night birds and the soft
swishing of wavelets for company. If there was danger in the quiet water,
she didn't find it, only the comfort of knowing life was still good, still
worth risking.
Drenched, but now with
a smile, she found a picnic tablecloth in the trunk of the car to use as
a towel. On the moon-lit way home, the road bordered a pasture where a
preservation breeder raised Davenport Bedouin Arabians. A graceful war
mare with a streaming white tail and mane was standing, accompanied by
a prancing colt, and Sally stopped to watch them. Her childhood trauma
flashed back.
A sudden anger engulfed
her as she said to herself, "That does it, enough is enough. I'm tired
of being beaten down by life, being kicked out of someone's life, of being
held prisoner by a 40 year old experience. Maybe it's time to get
back on a horse."
The colt and its mother
stopped and glanced toward Sally.
"I wonder," she thought,
"if I could ever manage to ride a horse again? A white Davenport war mare."
As she entered her
own driveway at sunrise, she had a thought. "I'll go see Gus and talk to
him about it."
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