The Driest Season Page 11

  Helen was in the saddle. Cielle pulled the reins over Ginger’s head, swung her leg over Ginger’s neck, and settled into the saddle and stirrups. Then Helen slid down and put her arms around Cielle’s waist.

  “Your mom will be all right, just slow and sore for a bit,” Cielle said to Bodie. “You should drive out to get her.”

  “She’ll be all right, but maybe one day she won’t,” he said.

  “Doesn’t that seem to be the way things work? Things happen whether we want them to or not,” Cielle said.

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Helen said, and sat very still on the back of the saddle. “The people you most want to stay, leave.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Bodie dropped the pitchfork and jumped down from the flatbed. “What the hell do you want me to say?”

  Cielle felt something catch in her throat and nudged Ginger forward, out of Bodie’s reach. “You should say you’re sorry,” Cielle said.

  Bodie kicked the dirt, cursed under his breath, and grabbed at the air. He picked up a rock and threw it at the side of the barn. “Just go wherever it is you’re going,” he said. “And make sure you get Ginger squared away when you bring her back.”

  Cielle put her hand on Helen’s thigh and looked back. “Ready?”

  Helen nodded yes. Tears streaked her cheeks, but she firmly set her jaw and looked straight ahead. Her eyes were so blue through her tears, and in the sunlight Cielle thought they looked as blue as the aquamarine stone in their grandmother’s wedding ring. Cielle turned in the saddle, picked up the reins, and trotted down the driveway. Her sister’s body was warm and heavy against her own, and it was a comfort.

  Once they were on the road Cielle slowed Ginger to a walk. Ginger’s hooves clicked beneath them. She wondered if Bodie would come for Helen at the house later, or ever again. Cielle didn’t know how he could switch his feelings on and off, or push them somewhere so deep he didn’t have to face or feel them. She wondered if Bodie was cold and heartless or afraid and incapable, and then wondered what that made her father. Was there something to help her understand why she and her sister and mother were the kind of women men didn’t fight for and stand by, but instead were lied to and left? Was it a flaw of her own, of Helen’s or her mother’s, like something inherited and passed down?

  “Is there something wrong with me? Did I do something wrong?” Helen asked, and rested her head on Cielle’s back. Cielle felt Helen’s chest heave in quiet sobs.

  “No,” Cielle said. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “But I’m not enough. I’m not good enough.”

  Cielle didn’t know the answer. It seemed being a good person didn’t mean anything at all, it didn’t mean you got what you wanted or kept people close or that your life would turn out the way you thought and hoped it would.

  “You’re smart and beautiful and kind, Helen.”

  “This isn’t the way things are supposed to happen.”

  “They’re happening. Things are happening and we have to deal with them.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have left back there. Maybe I should have said I’d wait, no matter what. It’s not that I don’t support the war. I just don’t want Bodie in it.”

  “Bodie’s leaving you, even though he doesn’t see it that way. He’s leaving you.”

  “Maybe he’ll come back, and I should wait.”

  “He’s already gone.”

  “It’s the war, Cielle. He has to go, and I know that, I just don’t want him to.”

  “He’s making decisions without you. If you stay with him you’ll be waiting on him your whole life.”

  Helen was quiet and Cielle knew she understood that, and knew it to be true.

  “Maybe it would be better than being alone,” Helen said.

  “I doubt that.”

  “I’m scared to be alone.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  “Dad’s dead. Bodie’s leaving.”

  “Men don’t make your worth or world, Helen.”

  “Listen to you,” she said.

  Cielle didn’t say anything. She hoped for someone to love her for who she was and who wanted what she wanted, and she’d wait for it.

  “I’m sorry,” Helen said.

  “What do I know?” Cielle said.

  They rode on, east. Honeysuckle bushes grew along the side of the road, and Helen leaned over and plucked the delicate trumpets. She handed one to Cielle and they sucked the sweet juice out of the flowers.

  “Where are we going?” Helen asked.

  “Olsens’ house.”

  “Do I want to know why?”

  “She gave Dad psychotherapy.”

  “Does Mom know this?” Helen put another honeysuckle flower to her lips.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure you want to say anything at all to Mrs. Olsen? Do we want to go there?”

  “We’re going there now. We’re almost there.”

  The late morning heated up. It was close to noon. Trees gave shade along the road, until the sisters reached the top of the hill, where the land opened into fields of corn and soybeans, and they were exposed to the bright burning of the sun.

  “Is that what you know that I don’t know?” Helen asked.

  “Dad killed himself. There was no accident.”

  “No.”

  “I found him, hanging.”

  “It’s not true.” Helen was crying again.

  “It is.”

  “Why?” She felt Helen’s tears and heat and heartbeat on her back.

  “Who knows?” Cielle said. “His headaches? He was depressed?”

  They rode fifteen more minutes, then cut through a field and came up on the Olsens’ house from behind. Cielle heard talking and laughing before she saw anyone. It sounded like a celebration. At the front of the house a group of people stood close together. An American flag hung in its stand next to the front door, and a handmade paper sign read WELCOME HOME!

  “Turn around,” Helen said.

  It was too late. Mrs. Olsen waved them over.

  “Hard to hide on a horse,” Cielle said, and they dismounted and walked with Ginger toward the house.

  “Quite an entrance,” Mrs. Olsen said. “You two pretty girls on a horse. It’s a happy day. We brought Christian home. Our son is home from the war!”

  Helen grabbed Cielle’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Mrs. Olsen walked ahead, motioning them to follow. The group parted and Christian was in the middle. He sat in a wheelchair and wore his Army uniform. His left leg was gone below the knee, his hair was combed neatly to one side, parted straight and sharp, and he smiled crookedly.

  “Welcome home,” Cielle said. She looked him right in the eyes, but he didn’t seem to see her. His smile stayed crooked, and spittle formed at the corner of his mouth.

  “He can’t talk,” Darren said.

  Mrs. Olsen walked up behind Christian and smoothed down his perfect hair and wiped the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. “He can understand you, though.” She bent down to look at him. “Right sweetheart?”

  “He can’t walk or talk and probably has no idea where he is or who we are,” Darren said.

  Everyone hushed.

  “Stop it,” Mrs. Olsen said. “He’s alive.”

  “Barely,” Darren said.

  Mrs. Olsen leaned down and kissed Christian’s forehead. “Don’t you listen to him,” she said. “That’s nonsense.” She wheeled him toward the house and Mr. Olsen caught up with her. They lifted his wheelchair up the steps and into the house and then Mrs. Olsen came back to the door. “We have fried chicken, cold beer, and cake inside to celebrate. Please come join us.” She smiled big and kept smiling with all her teeth. Everyone shuffled inside except for Cielle, Helen, and Darren.

  “She’s going to crack,” Darren said. “Once everyone leaves she’ll get blottoed.”

  “Why’d he come home?” Cielle asked.

  “They wanted to prove he wasn’t dead.”

 
Ginger bowed down and rubbed her face on her foreleg.

  “You can tie Ginger to the railing,” Darren said. “Stay for cake?”

  “I can’t,” Helen said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Bodie enlisted,” Cielle said to Darren.

  “Have him come down for a visit. That’ll change his mind.”

  “I don’t think so.” Helen took a deep breath and puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled. “I need to go home. I don’t want to walk alone. Darren, could you walk me home?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Sorry, Cielle. This is too much in one day,” Helen said.

  “I know,” Cielle said.

  “I just want to go home.” She teared up, bit her cheek, and looked up at the sky.

  “We have your birthday dinner tonight,” Cielle said.

  “Some birthday.”

  Helen and Darren left, and Cielle looked back at the Olsens’ house. The front door was open. She tied Ginger to the railing and walked inside. People stood and sat in the living room, eating fried chicken and chocolate cake and drinking coffee and cold beer. Christian sat in his wheelchair, his back to her, and the end of a violin bow poked out from the crook of his arm. Mrs. Olsen walked over with a plate of cake and handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” Cielle said.

  “He loved the violin so much, I’m waiting to see if he remembers it,” Mrs. Olsen said.

  Cielle walked closer to Christian. The violin rested in his lap and it looked as if he didn’t know what it was or what to do with it. The bow rested on his arm where Mrs. Olsen had placed it, but he didn’t hold it or touch it. Cielle squatted in front of him so they were at eye level, but he wouldn’t look at her, and his eyes shifted from her forehead to her ear to her neck. She set her plate down on the floor and lifted the neck of the violin from his arm. Suddenly he grabbed it with his other hand and she flinched and let go. His reflex was quick and sharp and he looked her in the eye. The top right corner of his lip twitched.

  “Okay,” Cielle said. “I was just trying to help. I play the violin too.” She was reaching for her plate on the floor when his right foot came off the wheelchair footrest and smashed down on the cake. He continued to look at her.

  “Well,” Cielle said.

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Olsen said. “The doctor said he’d have muscle spasms he can’t control.”

  “Those muscle spasms have good timing,” Cielle said.

  Mrs. Olsen lifted Christian’s foot, wiped it off with a towel, and took the ruined cake and plate to the kitchen.

  Cielle leaned in, close to his face. She blew in his ear and he shifted his head away, but didn’t turn to look at her. “What is it with people, Christian?” she asked. “What makes them want to lie and hide and hurt those who love them most?” She stood and moved to walk away, but her heart raced and she felt a pulse in her neck. She leaned in again, this time closer, but then Mrs. Olsen came back from the kitchen, wiping her hands on the towel.

  “You telling secrets?” she asked.

  “Too many of those going around.” Cielle straightened up. “I was telling him how the truth can set you free and help you heal. Don’t you think?”

  “Some of the time,” she said.

  “I was hoping you and I could talk about it.”

  “About healing?”

  “About the truth about my father.”

  Mrs. Olsen cocked her head to the side, put the dish towel on the handle of the wheelchair, and said, “Let’s go outside.” They walked onto the porch. Mrs. Olsen shut the front door behind them, and turned toward Cielle. She was not smiling. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and her nails looked like shiny red blades. “I’m not sure what we have to talk about.” The warm breeze fluttered and rattled the paper sign. The American flag whipped like a sail.

  “My mother said you called offering your services as a counselor.”

  “I did.”

  “You also offered your services to my father.”

  Mrs. Olsen looked straight out down the driveway, toward the gray road, the drying fields beyond, and to the blue-sky horizon and the nothingness beyond that.

  “A lot of people talk to me,” she said. “But it’s private.”

  “Then I expect what I’m about to ask you be kept private.”

  Mrs. Olsen waited.

  “I want to know why my father killed himself.”

  Mrs. Olsen took in a quick breath.

  “I want to know what you know and what he told you and why this happened.”

  Mrs. Olsen’s eyes watered and Cielle wasn’t sure if it was sadness or her leaky eyes again, or both.

  “I found him,” Cielle said. “He hanged himself in our barn.”

  Mrs. Olsen stepped back. She shifted her eyes around the porch as if she were looking for something she’d lost. She covered her mouth and gagged. Then she bent over the railing and threw up.

  “Are you okay?” Cielle asked.

  Mrs. Olsen held the porch railing tightly and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “I’m fine.”

  “You need to tell me what he talked about,” Cielle said.

  Mrs. Olsen stood, turned toward the house, and Cielle grabbed her wrist. “Please. Why did he do this?”

  Mrs. Olsen shook herself free from Cielle. “I didn’t know he did this. I didn’t know he would do this.”

  “How did you not know?”

  “How could I know? How does anyone know anything about another person? How did you or anyone else not know?” She breathed in a deep breath. “I need to be inside.” She turned, went into the house, and shut the door.

  Cielle heard the muffled voices from inside, the whip of the flag, the rattle of the WELCOME Home! sign, and the wind in her ear, like a small tunnel of white noise. Like the sound of nothing.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CIELLE RETURNED GINGER to the Mitchells’ and then walked home. The ground radiated heat. Dry grasses on the shoulder of the road crunched under her feet, and she became heated as she walked. She thought a dry piece of grass might be stuck in the back of her throat. The sun made the top of her hair almost too hot to touch.

  She understood why people left a place to start over. She loved Boaz, it was all she knew, but she could imagine the relief of being somewhere without memories or a history. What secrets did people hold so close that they wouldn’t talk about them? What did they think they were protecting themselves from? The dead were dead and buried.

  The road was a straightaway toward home. In winter she could see the outline of her house from this distance, but now the trees were full and the cornstalks had grown tall enough that she only saw the road ahead, the sky above, and the drying corn standing like soldiers on either side of the road.

  Just last winter, in February, when the trees were naked and leggy and the earth frozen into clumps under heavy snow, she and her father walked this same road from the Mitchells’ back to their house. Their truck’s battery had died and they couldn’t get a new one until morning.

  “Let’s hoof it,” her father had said.

  “Mrs. Mitchell said she’d drive us,” Cielle said.

  “Let’s get some fresh air. Have a walk together.” He lightly punched her upper arm.

  Cielle rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay.”

  They bundled up in their coats, hats, scarves, and gloves and set out for home. It was four o’clock and the sky darkened early into nighttime. The horizon was purple and deep pink, and bled upward into a dark blue and black above them. The tree branches were spindly sculptures, beautifully still against the twilight.

  “See there?” Her father pointed to the right of the road, across the cut stubble of the Mitchells’ cornfield, his breath little puffs of steam lifting into the air. “That light out there?”

  Cielle scanned the distance. There were hills, ridges, and valleys in Boaz and surrounding the town. Not all of Wisconsin was flat as the eye could see. Her father had told her that the southwest region of Wisconsin went unglaciated
in the last glacial period, twelve thousand years ago, and because there’d been no glacial drift, it was called the Driftless Area. There were cold-water springs, steep limestone hills, valleys, and meadows. The land had been rooted and solid, yet Cielle thought of things drifting—a twig down a river, a cloud, a leaf falling from a tree, snow blowing across a field, her own body drifting across the lake.

  Her father stopped, and so did she. He stepped behind her and pointed over her shoulder. “Focus where my finger points,” he said. Then she saw the light, small, like a flashlight. It twinkled between tree branches.

  “That’s our house,” he said. “Do you see it?”

  “I see it,” she said.

  “So now you know where we are and how to get home.”

  “What if the light’s not on?”

  “The light’s always on.”

  “Not in the daytime, and sometimes it burns out.”

  “Find a landmark near the light. That giant oak tree.”

  “The porch light or the oak tree,” she said.

  “That’s the barn light,” he said. “You can tell because it’s higher up.”

  They walked and she kept her eye on the light as if it were the North Star. It was cold and their breath fogged in the air and the light of day was gone.

  “It’s dark,” she said.

  “You can still see,” he said.

  “Barely.”

  “The longer you’re in the dark, the more you’ll adjust and the better you’ll see.”

  She couldn’t remember the last time she had walked outside at night. The stars filled the sky like confetti. The Big Dipper, Orion’s belt, the Pleiades, the Milky Way, and so many other bodies of light and mystery above them. She remembered thinking, Is there life out there? Is there life after this life?

  “Dad?” she asked.

  “Cielle?”

  “You ever get afraid?”

  “Not really.”

  “Afraid about what you don’t know?”

  “If I don’t know, then there’s nothing to worry over.”

  “What if something I want to happen doesn’t happen?”