castle afar off, etched amid myriad spring greens coating the majestic highlands, glistening in the sunlight, and I felt as if I were dreaming.
“What’s that?” I asked MawMaw, who came out her screen door, looking endearingly fluffy in a fashionless, loose-fitting cotton print dress, bearing frosted glasses of iced tea. Papa, more Panda-like than ever in clean overalls and shirt, trailed her with a tray of sliced homemade chocolate cake. He’d long ago taken to growing one side of his salt and pepper hair long
at the part, then sweeping it over his bald spot, which stretched from one ear top to the other.
“That’s Biltmore Castle. Where the Vanderbilts live.”
Kirk fed me cake while I nursed Heather, modestly covering myself with a light blanket and we talked and reminisced until dusk about days gone by, especially capers attributed to Chuck and me. Nobody could work up a celebratory mood like my grandparents, whose laughter rang and bubbled and roared at the humor found in most everything under the sun, didn’t matter what, they always ferreted out a funny twist.
MawMaw’s laugh billowed out in husky, rhythmic tumbles that tossed back her head, dilated her nostrils and brought tears to her eyes, while Papa’s rolled out like popcorn popping, halfmooning his gray eyes and shaking his entire body. I always thought Papa’s face looked like the Man in the Moon. Classic caricature. Marvelously loveable. Their mirth showed me a side to life that valued me. Theirs was laughter unbridled yet kind. I do not recall their teasing ever making me feel awkward or diminished.
My uncle Gabe and Jean, who lived nearby, came over to visit and the laughter increased for a spell before everyone on the porch began to settle into a quieter contentment and soon, began to yawn. That brought on more soft chuckles about it being contagious. Kirk mentioned Daddy was leaving the mill to pursue his lifelong ambition to barber, something he’d done during World War Two in the barracks after discovering his talent for it.
“Is that so?” Gabe’s interest in Daddy kept Kirk talking.
My grandmother fell deathly silent, and I saw her deflate at the mention of my father’s name. Her resistance to affirm the existence of Joe Whitman attacked my spirit with shame and horror and helplessness. Why?
“When you seen Chuck?” MawMaw’s whispery, choked aside didn’t interrupt the men’s conversation.
“Not since before Heather was born. Actually – it’s been over a year.”
MawMaw rocked the cadence of one in a trance, desperate and vacant. “I saw Joe and Anne right before we moved up here,” she said quietly so as not to be heard by the men, whose
talk flowed. “They run into us at the Company Store. Had that little boy of their’n with ‘em.”
Cole. Little Cole. Her cold reference to my baby brother chilled my heart.
I knew Anne had fussed at Daddy for feuding with his ex-in-laws. “They’re the kids’ grandparent’s, Joe,” she’d kept reminding him. Anne’s late mother and MawMaw had been good friends, a thing that drew the two women together. And I knew Daddy’d let up a bit on his hostility, giving me a growing sense of things being set aright.
I did not want to hear this.
But MawMaw continued, rocking maniacally, staring into the night. “Anne said, ‘Cole, say hey to MawMaw and Papa.’ And Joe kinda nudged him to speak to us.” Her rocking grew heavier and the air thickened about me until it began to choke me as MawMaw went on. “I thought to myself how Joe’d took my grandchildren away from me and then wanted to push this one at me.”
Shock and sick disillusionment cascaded over me at my grandmother’s unkind referrals to the innocent little guy I adored. He obviously wasn’t anything to MawMaw. But he was my brother.
The muddled genetic pool into which I toppled washed a pall over me, a heavy black ooze that snuffed and vanquished all the joy of this visit . Gabe kept the conversation
“What’s that?” I asked MawMaw, who came out her screen door, looking endearingly fluffy in a fashionless, loose-fitting cotton print dress, bearing frosted glasses of iced tea. Papa, more Panda-like than ever in clean overalls and shirt, trailed her with a tray of sliced homemade chocolate cake. He’d long ago taken to growing one side of his salt and pepper hair long
at the part, then sweeping it over his bald spot, which stretched from one ear top to the other.
“That’s Biltmore Castle. Where the Vanderbilts live.”
Kirk fed me cake while I nursed Heather, modestly covering myself with a light blanket and we talked and reminisced until dusk about days gone by, especially capers attributed to Chuck and me. Nobody could work up a celebratory mood like my grandparents, whose laughter rang and bubbled and roared at the humor found in most everything under the sun, didn’t matter what, they always ferreted out a funny twist.
MawMaw’s laugh billowed out in husky, rhythmic tumbles that tossed back her head, dilated her nostrils and brought tears to her eyes, while Papa’s rolled out like popcorn popping, halfmooning his gray eyes and shaking his entire body. I always thought Papa’s face looked like the Man in the Moon. Classic caricature. Marvelously loveable. Their mirth showed me a side to life that valued me. Theirs was laughter unbridled yet kind. I do not recall their teasing ever making me feel awkward or diminished.
My uncle Gabe and Jean, who lived nearby, came over to visit and the laughter increased for a spell before everyone on the porch began to settle into a quieter contentment and soon, began to yawn. That brought on more soft chuckles about it being contagious. Kirk mentioned Daddy was leaving the mill to pursue his lifelong ambition to barber, something he’d done during World War Two in the barracks after discovering his talent for it.
“Is that so?” Gabe’s interest in Daddy kept Kirk talking.
My grandmother fell deathly silent, and I saw her deflate at the mention of my father’s name. Her resistance to affirm the existence of Joe Whitman attacked my spirit with shame and horror and helplessness. Why?
“When you seen Chuck?” MawMaw’s whispery, choked aside didn’t interrupt the men’s conversation.
“Not since before Heather was born. Actually – it’s been over a year.”
MawMaw rocked the cadence of one in a trance, desperate and vacant. “I saw Joe and Anne right before we moved up here,” she said quietly so as not to be heard by the men, whose
talk flowed. “They run into us at the Company Store. Had that little boy of their’n with ‘em.”
Cole. Little Cole. Her cold reference to my baby brother chilled my heart.
I knew Anne had fussed at Daddy for feuding with his ex-in-laws. “They’re the kids’ grandparent’s, Joe,” she’d kept reminding him. Anne’s late mother and MawMaw had been good friends, a thing that drew the two women together. And I knew Daddy’d let up a bit on his hostility, giving me a growing sense of things being set aright.
I did not want to hear this.
But MawMaw continued, rocking maniacally, staring into the night. “Anne said, ‘Cole, say hey to MawMaw and Papa.’ And Joe kinda nudged him to speak to us.” Her rocking grew heavier and the air thickened about me until it began to choke me as MawMaw went on. “I thought to myself how Joe’d took my grandchildren away from me and then wanted to push this one at me.”
Shock and sick disillusionment cascaded over me at my grandmother’s unkind referrals to the innocent little guy I adored. He obviously wasn’t anything to MawMaw. But he was my brother.
The muddled genetic pool into which I toppled washed a pall over me, a heavy black ooze that snuffed and vanquished all the joy of this visit . Gabe kept the conversation
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