Windswept

“There’s an old saying that ‘you reap what you sow’; but when it come to farming, it’s not just what you put into the ground, it’s how you tend to it while it grows.”

That was a famous saying of my granddad’s, along with many another proverb. Granddad had a knack for understanding just about anything and everything.

I wasn’t a farm kid myself, growing up, but Granddad and Momma Kathy had a big ol’ farm out near the Panhandle. Every month or so us kids would get in the back of Daddy’s pickup and drive out there to the farm. It was there that I learned how to milk a cow (and where I got kicked by one, too) and there that I had my first taste of Momma Kathy’s sweet cream pie, and believe you me, there ain’t a finer stuff on this side of the Mississippi. My favorite visits were always round the Fourth of July, when we’d get the whole family together at Granddad’s and Momma Kathy’s place, and we’d stay out late eating corn-on-the-cob, fried okra, and watermelon, and Granddad would give us a whirl with his fireworks, and we’d spend the night outside under the stars. I remember once, my brother Eli got into the fireworks and pulled out a cherry bomb, and it got lit while he was still holding it. He gave a yell and threw it out across the yard, and walloped Momma Kathy’s cat, Delia, right in the back with it. Ever since then, Delia’s had a bald patch on her back, and she won’t come near Eli anymore.

That was way back. The summer I was nearly nine years old, a twister tore out the back of Granddad’s tool shed, and took Granddad with it. We invited Momma Kathy to come and live with us, but she wouldn’t sell her house; “not to nobody fur nothin’”; so, about a month and a half later, we wound up moving in with her. Without Granddad around, that place I had practically grown up in, that had once been so inviting and home-like, was spooky and cold.

The first day in, I said I wanted to have Granddad’s room. Daddy told me that was still Momma Kathy’s room, and I couldn’t have it, but Momma Kathy said I could have Granddad’s ol’ study room in the back. When I went back there, it was all full of dust and cobwebs, and the whole place sent shivers down my spine. No one had set up my bed, so the first night I slept on a sleeping bag on the floor. I remember seeing things in the dark and dust, always wondering if Granddad was sitting in the chair in front of the desk. Once, right near midnight, I thought I heard a noise from the furnace duct in the corner. I crawled over, my hand on my mouth, and looked inside to see a family of mice nested in there. They scattered as soon as I went over, and disappeared into the duct. I went back to my sleeping bag and fell asleep, not waking until morning.

The first few weeks in the house weren’t worth telling about much; we got settled in, and Eli and I started going to school again. Eli got a part-time job at a mechanic’s store, but that wasn’t until after I met Maria.

Round three weeks into the school year, I was sitting by myself at a lunch table, listening to some kids argue about what they were gonna do out on the playground.

“I hate playin’ Tarzan,” a girl was saying. “Why you always gotta make me be Jane?”

“’Cause you’re the only girl we got for it,” a boy told her.

“Well, why can’t we get Jennifer Miller to do it?”

“You know she hates us; she wouldn’t do it for a dollar.”

As I sat there, a girl with a ponytail came up to me. “You new?”

I nodded.

“Hear tell you from out of town.”

I nodded again.

“Mind if I set here?”

I shook my head.

“You talk much?”

“I can,” I said.

She sat, and we ate in silence. She was shorter than me, and skinnier. I looked at her for a long time. Finally I asked, “Where’d you get that?”

“Get what?”

“That bruise on your chin.”

She covered it with her hand. “I fell.”

“Liar.”

“Am not!”

“That’s too big for a fall. What’d you do, run into a tree with your face?”

I was surprised to see tears filling her eyes. “If I tell you, you gotta swear to never tell nobody, never.”

My instincts seemed to freeze up. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Who hit you?”

She started shaking, but the tears dried up pretty quick. “My pa… hits me… when he… He gets riled, sometimes, when he comes home in the evenings.”

“You gotta tell somebody. Don’t your momma do anything?”

She laughed coldly. “Not from the ol’ cemetery, where she’s been forever.”

I sat silently. Somehow, the chicken sandwich in my hand wasn’t making me hungry anymore. “You gotta tell somebody.”

She looked at me. “I told you.”

We sat looking at each other. Finally I said, “I’m Amy. What’s your name?”

“Maria.”

“You wanna come over for dinner tonight?”

She looked scared. “I… I can’t, I have to…”

“Oh, that’s all right,” I told her. “My folks’ll fix it up with your pa.”

She smiled, and I offered her a cookie.

Maria was the starting point for my new life. We got on like cats in a cradle, and better on weekends. Of course, it was easier on my end; we went to my house, played with my toys, swung on our rope swing. My granddad had put in the swing when Eli and I were little, and he would push us till he said his back was giving. We’d yell for more, and he’d say he’d give it one more turn. It could go on like that for an hour or more.

I told Maria this her first time on it. “If Granddad was pushing, we could touch the sky.”

“I bet we can anyhow.” Maria scrutinized the tree, laying her hand on the trunk. Then she grabbed the lowest thick branch and pulled herself up. “Toss me the rope end.” I did, and she looped it through her belt, then steadily climbed higher and higher.

“You can’t do that!” I cried. “You’ll get killed! You’ll crash into the branches on the way down!”

“I won’t be killed, I promise!”

She stood on a branch almost twenty feet up, then, with a scream, she jumped. She swung way, way out, throwing one hand in the air and grabbing leaves off a high branch of another tree. As she swung back round, she threw them at me. “Catch!”

I caught the leaves in the face; they were green and yellow, tinged with red, with the autumn. Their veins ran thick, spreading out like fingers to the edges.

When she’d swung till she was dizzy, she jumped off and handed me the rope. “Your turn. You have to do it just like I did.”

I looked up at the tree, trying to figure out which branch she’d jumped from. Maria poked at me, so, swallowing hard, I began the ascent.

It was harder than Maria made it look; she was shorter, but evidently more used to climbing trees. I almost fell twice, and branches caught in my hair, swatted me in the face, and put leaves and bark bits into my eyes. At last I reached the branch Maria had jumped from. I made the mistake of looking down; everything looked as small as bugs in the grass.

“Come on!” Maria called to me. “Just jump! You can do it!”

I squeezed my eyes shut. My head was spinning, and my hands shook as they clamped down hard on the rope. The wind kicked up, making the branch rock and sway. I nearly lost my footing, and grabbed another branch higher up for support.

“Come on, slowpoke!” yelled Maria. “Jump already!”

I couldn’t move. Maria’s voice seemed so far away. I decided to climb down again, so I put my foot on the branch below—

SNAP!

I tumbled through space, clinging to the rope as hard as I could. Maria went by in a blur, and the rope swooped and dipped, sending my stomach to my mouth. Then I came back up, almost level with the top of the next tree. I looked up, and saw the stars just coming out in the evening sky. I was so entranced that I couldn’t take my eyes off them.

“Watch out!” hollered Maria.

I looked down just in time to see the tree trunk coming at me. I heard a dull thud, saw black and purple flowers blossoming in front of my eyes. My hands let go of the rope, and I saw once again the stars shining above me. There was another thud, and all the air came out of me in a whoosh.

I lay on my back, watching the stars. All other noises seemed dim and far away, but the stars felt almost like I could touch them. I tried to lift my arm, but it wouldn’t move. But that was okay; I just let it rest and paid attention to the stars.

Maria appeared, leaning over me. “Are you okay?”

All I said was, “They’re dancing.”

Funny thing: throughout that whole event, I don’t remember feeling any actual pain, even when Eli came out and picked me up and carried me into the house. Maria stayed to make sure I was okay, then went home. I lay on the couch with an icepack on my knee, which had apparently taken the brunt of the collision. Momma Kathy was yelling at Eli for not watching me, and Daddy was laughing to himself. He came over and asked me, “Well, how was it?”

“The stars were dancing, Daddy,” I said. “Is Maria okay?”

“Yes, I took her home a little while ago,” said Daddy.

“But her pa will—” I stopped myself just in time, remembering my promise.

Daddy gave me a funny look, as if he guessed at what I hadn’t said. Then he patted my head and said to get some rest.

For the next few days, I did feel pain; I was intensely sore all over, and my knee was fair killing me. But I didn’t mind it, because right when school started the next day, Maria bounded up. “You okay?”

“It hurts now,” I said, “but I’m okay. How about you?”

“My pa was out cold by the time I got back,” she said. “He left the back door unlocked, so I went to my room. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, though, I was wondering if you were okay.”

“I only ran into a tree; it’s not like I had surgery.”

Maria looked at me hard, then stuck her hand in her pocket. “Here, I made these last night.” She dropped something into my hand. There were two string bracelets, one blue and one yellow, and both a little too small. “Which one do you want?”

“I’ll take the yellow, unless you want it,” I said.

She grinned, and slid the blue onto her two middle fingers. “Na, I like blue better. You know, these’ll help us communicate with each other when we’re far away. If you ever feel bad or lonely, you turn it three times round in your hand, and I’ll know what you’re thinkin.’”

I tried it. We waited for a minute. Then Maria said, “I guess it only works if we’re farther away.”

“That’s okay, thanks anyway,” I told her.

One Saturday in October, Eli left his toolbox at home, and I had to take it to the mechanic store. I rode my bike down the dirt road till I got to a little squalid building by an ancient gas station, long gone out of business. Out in front of the garage lot, Eli was laying on his back under a large pickup truck. As I rode up, he saw me and came out, wiping his face with a greasy rag. “Hey, short stuff. What’s up?”

“Just bringing your toolbox,” I said. I set it on the ground next to him.

“Thanks much,” he said, patting my shoulder, which unfortunately left a grease mark on my shirt. “Can you put it in my shelf over there in the garage? It has my name on it.”

I took the box to the indicated spot and set it on the shelf. As I turned around, someone coughed roughly behind me. I turned quickly to see a man sitting on a chair right behind me. In his hand was a brown bottle, and his expression was of disdain.

“Y’all lookin’ fur somethin’?” he asked. His voice was all funny sounding, and he didn’t look at me straight.

“No, sir,” I said. “Just putting up my brother’s tools.”

He sighed, then looked at me harder. “Yer Maria’s friend, aren’t ya?”

I nodded. “You know Maria?”

The man laughed. “’Course ’no her; I’m her pa.”

I froze, staring at him. Then I bolted for my bike.

His hand came down on my shoulder, squeezing hard. “Oh, s’no reason to run away.”

I started shaking. “Please, sir, I have to—”

Eli was suddenly standing at my side. He threw the man’s hand off me, and I pressed close to him. “I would appreciate it, Mister James, if you keep your hands off my sister,” he said. I had never heard Eli’s voice sound the way it did now; it was cold and stern. He turned to me. “Go on home, Amy. Tell Daddy I’ll be home by seven.”

I was never more relieved to be out of there. I threw a last glance at Maria’s pa, who was lolling slightly in his chair; then I rode home as fast as I could.

On Monday, I told Maria about the incident. She looked at me gravely. “You got lucky, that’s for sure. My pa ain’t one to handle kids with kindness. Every time any of ’em come near our yard, when he’s in one of his fits, he runs ’em off hollering, and they won’t never come near again.”

“Don’t you got any friends besides me?”

She laughed. “Didn’t pay no attention. Some folks tease, some hammer me with sympathies. I can’t stand none of that—” She said a word I’d never heard before, and I made a mental note never to repeat it in front of Momma Kathy. “But you was the first I took a fancy to, I guess.”

“Why me? You’ve known the other kids longer.”

“Maybe that’s why. I known them since forever, and they never struck me as real friendly-like.”

We sat in silence for a minute. Then I asked, “Is it okay if I come over to your place?”

“If you can stomach it; it’s kind of a mess right now.”

“As long as your room’s clean, we can go up there.”

“I never go nowhere else.”

On the way back from school, instead of going to my house as usual, we stopped off at a pay phone so I could call and tell Daddy where we were going.

He sounded shocked. “You’re going where?”

“Maria’s place. We’re gonna stay in her room, and be real quiet. I’m coming home at six tonight; we’ve fixed it all up.”

There was a long pause. Finally I heard, “Be careful, okay?”

“I promise.”

“Love you, sugar.”

“Love you, Daddy.”

I hung up.

“My pa don’t ever call me on the phone,” said Maria. “Not that I’d want him to, ’cause if he ever did, it’d be ’cause I were in trouble.”

Maria was right about her place; it was a right mess. There were papers and trash all over the floor, along with a bunch of cans and bottles that all smelled funny. The cat was hiding under the sofa, but he bolted upstairs as we came in.

“His name’s Marco,” Maria told me. “He likes me, but he hates Pa. One time we had another cat; her name was Polo.”

“What happened to her?” I asked.

Maria shrugged. “Went out one day and hasn’t come home yet. Might have been trying to follow Ma; wouldn’t blame her for it.”

Maria’s room, on the other hand, was so neat and tidy I was afraid to come in. There was a glass mobile hanging from a hook in the ceiling, and a big ol’ bay window with Maria’s hammock slung half in front, half inside it. Right outside the window was an oak, and the leaves covered up the glass.

Maria clambered up into the hammock, and Marco followed, getting up in her lap and purring. “Whenever I’ve had a bad day, or don’t feel good, I come in here and read, or somethin’,” she said. “I like this room, ’cause the door locks.”

“It’s nice,” I said.

She shrugged. “Keeps me warm at night.”

There was a book on the windowsill. I picked it up. “Whatcha readin’?”

“It’s The Wizard of Oz,” she said. “It’s my favorite book in the world. Sometimes, especially on a windy day, I’ll stand outside and spin around, and play I’m goin’ there.” She stared out the window. “I think that’s where Ma went.”

We were silent. Then I asked, “She die or somethin’?”

Maria shrugged again. “Got real sick. Must’ve been cancer, or somethin.’ Anyway, she’s fine now; she went to heaven, is what Parson Jacobs says. But I know better: she’s in Oz.”