because he inherited most of the family money. He came down here from New York to build Blue Willow and reclaim his grandfather’s—Old Artemas’s—home.”
Mrs. MacKenzie cleared her throat. “But when ol’ Johnathan said, Why, I think I’ll buy everything for miles around here and build one of the biggest houses in America,’ the grandsons of Elspeth’s boys said, ‘You’re not lording it over us. Have at it, but we’re not selling.’ Johnathan saw there wasn’t any getting around the MacKenzies—except to buy the land around ’em. So that’s how Blue Willow came to be, and the MacKenzie farm came to be in the middle of it.”
Lily studied Artemas. “But how come you left?” She leaned in and peered at his face. “Aren’t you a rooster anymore?”
“Stop making fun of me.”
“I’m not . I think you ought to stay. I want you to stay. You promised to come back and stay.”
“Shut up.” He bounded up from the couch. “I’m going to sit in the pasture a little while.” The front door screen slammed loudly as he stomped onto the porch. Lily scrambled after him. “Artemas, Artemas,” she called plaintively. Her mother grabbed her by the back of her overalls and swung her into her arms. “Shush, Lily,” she whispered. “He’s sad. He needs to be alone for a little while.”
“Why is he sad?”
“Because his family isn’t what it started out to be, and he’s ashamed. Don’t you ever tell him I said that. He’s a fine boy.”
Lily swiveled her head and looked out the window, tracking Artemas’s tall, rigid form as he walked through the distant pasture in the moonlight, her small heart throbbing with bewilderment and compassion.
Late that night he sat by Grandma Mackenzie’s bed in a narrow room smelling of old wood and spring air and read her Bible to her, feeling awkward because no one in his family had ever expected him to do anything more religious than sleep in church. His ancestors had built one of the biggest Episcopalian churches in New York. Father said they’d bought all the blessings they needed.
Mr. and Mrs. MacKenzie went to their bedroom upstairs. Lily slept on a cot in her grandmother’s room, but she crept out of it and snuggled on the bed beside the old lady, her mop of curly red hair brushed to a smooth mane, a big T-shirt of her father’s swallowing her to her skinned knees. She curled up with her head on the soft lap covered in quilts, watching Artemas with gentle, curious eyes.
Grandma MacKenzie fell asleep. Artemas put the Bible on her nightstand and told Lily with all the big-brother firmness he used on his siblings, “You go to sleep too.”
“I play on the loggie at the big house,” she told him.
“You mean the loggia?”
“Uh-huh. The big porch. I wish I could see inside. Will you take the boards off the windows?”
“I can’t.” He looked away sadly. “I would, though, if it was up to me.”
“What’s inside?”
“Nothing. It’s all empty. Everything was sold.”
“Mama says it’s like a castle in a fairy tale.”
“I guess. I liked it.”
“How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
He frowned at her change of subject. She wasn’t predictable. He liked for people to be predictable. “Yeah. Five.”
“I wish I did.”
“Why don’t you?”
“The doctor says Mama can’t. She tried.” Lily yawned. “One came out last year, but it was dead as a rock.”
“Geez! What a way to say it!”
“Well, sometimes animals have trouble, and they die. I’ve seen ’em. The cat ate her kitten. I found its tail.” She shut her eyes and sighed.
Artemas got up, feeling miserable and lonely. “Shit.”
She gasped. Her head wobbled up. “You’re going to hell.”
“Good.”
He burrowed his hands under her, then carried her to the cot. She snuggled into the soft old mattress but opened her eyes as he put the sheet and quilt over her. “I won’t let you go to hell. I’m strong. I can look out for you.”
“That’s
Mrs. MacKenzie cleared her throat. “But when ol’ Johnathan said, Why, I think I’ll buy everything for miles around here and build one of the biggest houses in America,’ the grandsons of Elspeth’s boys said, ‘You’re not lording it over us. Have at it, but we’re not selling.’ Johnathan saw there wasn’t any getting around the MacKenzies—except to buy the land around ’em. So that’s how Blue Willow came to be, and the MacKenzie farm came to be in the middle of it.”
Lily studied Artemas. “But how come you left?” She leaned in and peered at his face. “Aren’t you a rooster anymore?”
“Stop making fun of me.”
“I’m not . I think you ought to stay. I want you to stay. You promised to come back and stay.”
“Shut up.” He bounded up from the couch. “I’m going to sit in the pasture a little while.” The front door screen slammed loudly as he stomped onto the porch. Lily scrambled after him. “Artemas, Artemas,” she called plaintively. Her mother grabbed her by the back of her overalls and swung her into her arms. “Shush, Lily,” she whispered. “He’s sad. He needs to be alone for a little while.”
“Why is he sad?”
“Because his family isn’t what it started out to be, and he’s ashamed. Don’t you ever tell him I said that. He’s a fine boy.”
Lily swiveled her head and looked out the window, tracking Artemas’s tall, rigid form as he walked through the distant pasture in the moonlight, her small heart throbbing with bewilderment and compassion.
Late that night he sat by Grandma Mackenzie’s bed in a narrow room smelling of old wood and spring air and read her Bible to her, feeling awkward because no one in his family had ever expected him to do anything more religious than sleep in church. His ancestors had built one of the biggest Episcopalian churches in New York. Father said they’d bought all the blessings they needed.
Mr. and Mrs. MacKenzie went to their bedroom upstairs. Lily slept on a cot in her grandmother’s room, but she crept out of it and snuggled on the bed beside the old lady, her mop of curly red hair brushed to a smooth mane, a big T-shirt of her father’s swallowing her to her skinned knees. She curled up with her head on the soft lap covered in quilts, watching Artemas with gentle, curious eyes.
Grandma MacKenzie fell asleep. Artemas put the Bible on her nightstand and told Lily with all the big-brother firmness he used on his siblings, “You go to sleep too.”
“I play on the loggie at the big house,” she told him.
“You mean the loggia?”
“Uh-huh. The big porch. I wish I could see inside. Will you take the boards off the windows?”
“I can’t.” He looked away sadly. “I would, though, if it was up to me.”
“What’s inside?”
“Nothing. It’s all empty. Everything was sold.”
“Mama says it’s like a castle in a fairy tale.”
“I guess. I liked it.”
“How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
He frowned at her change of subject. She wasn’t predictable. He liked for people to be predictable. “Yeah. Five.”
“I wish I did.”
“Why don’t you?”
“The doctor says Mama can’t. She tried.” Lily yawned. “One came out last year, but it was dead as a rock.”
“Geez! What a way to say it!”
“Well, sometimes animals have trouble, and they die. I’ve seen ’em. The cat ate her kitten. I found its tail.” She shut her eyes and sighed.
Artemas got up, feeling miserable and lonely. “Shit.”
She gasped. Her head wobbled up. “You’re going to hell.”
“Good.”
He burrowed his hands under her, then carried her to the cot. She snuggled into the soft old mattress but opened her eyes as he put the sheet and quilt over her. “I won’t let you go to hell. I’m strong. I can look out for you.”
“That’s
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