By Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
Chapter Three "Land's End"
The whole train ride out from Marlowesgate had been discomfiting. Not even Mother was coming, only Granny Pansy. Abbey glanced over to her little brother Dar who was fast asleep after a lunch of chocolate chip cookies and then back out the window where the landscape was growing greener and less populated by the minute. What would there be to do out in the country? Was there even a cinema out here? And what about her favorite TV show "Tiny Aliens," starring the irrepressible Venusian imp Mistress Girly? It was as if they were being exiled into some unbearable wasteland, albeit one full of trees and rolling fields full of high corn, wheat, and rye. And they were going all the way almost to the ocean where everything smelled like dead fish.
"Come on, Abbey. Enough of your moping. Take the other end of this Cat's Cradle."
Abbey looked skeptically up at her Granny Pansy. She was dressed in the old way of country villagers, with a flowery head scarf enclosing her timeworn face as full of wrinkles as a geological survey of the Andes Mountains. Around her shoulders was a woolen shawl of grey woven in a pattern that was unfamiliar to Abbey. Granny Pansy also wore a long skirt with another pattern on it as well, this time a sort of geometric representation of waves of the sea. And those boots! Great big stomping work boots, same as a man's, although they were in excellent repair and had been, as anyone could see, polished relatively recently. Taken altogether, the effect wasn't unharmonious, even if it it wasn't the way the elegant senior citizens of the city dressed.
Abbey threaded her fingers expertly through the proffered net of yarn, and she and her grandmother continued to weave and re-weave the cradle as they talked.
"There's lots to do in Traeshurstaene, my dear. I've no patience with idle hands."
"I don't know why we really have to go. Mom and Dad don't argue too awfully much."
"Abbey, my dear, your parents need some time to work things out for themselves. They're muddled up in the modern fashion, it seems to me. And having children underfoot while they come to their senses won't be of any aid either to themselves or to you."
Abbey sulked, but continued to work out the pattern seamlessly.
"Very good, dear. Do you know this pattern?" asked Granny Pansy, and then began to work through the most elaborate set of maneuvers Abbey had ever seen. Granny's hands may be gnarled and old, but they were spry and strong as well, and her eye was sharp enough to never miss a switch in the pattern.
"That's aces, Granny!" exclaimed Abbey, despite herself. She had Granny Pansy go through the entire thing again more slowly until she understood it completely and could do it herself. By the time Abbey had mastered the cradle her grandmother had shown her, the train was pulling huffily into Traeshurstaene station at Land's End and Dar was waking up with a yawp of a yawn.
They passed the docks on their way to Tones' home, but they were strangely silent. Great cranes stuck up in the late afternoon sky stood idle. The ships and the machines that tended them seemed eerily unoccupied, as if some sudden plague had left them untended. Only when the taxi drove past the front gates of the Dockworker's Union Hall did anything seem to be going on. There long lines of resentful men stood about, mostly without placards, for they had no expectation of arousing public sympathy to their cause. Some were smoking, some tossing pebbles against the curb idly. Most were simply waiting without talking for their strike pay. Abbey thought they looked kind of sad, and maybe just a bit disreputable.
* * * *
"But where will they stay? We haven't the room to put them up!" Sarah had returned home from the incident at the well, apparently unscathed except for the fire ants and the grass stains. And she was in no mood to have anything to do with any intruders, whoever they might be.
"We'll put them into the old room at the top of the stairs."
"Oh no, Daddy! You can't!" Sarah composed herself a bit before continuing. "That room has never been opened for strangers," she explained to Abbey and Dar reasonably. "That was Gilman's old room before he went away to war and died."
"These children are no strangers, Sarah. They're your cousins, and up into Gilman's old room they will go. We've nowhere else for them, unless you count the barn."
"I didn't think of the barn. It's awfully spacious...."
"That's enough, Sarah," snapped Sarah's mother. "Abbey, Dar, follow me. I'll get the key."
Sarah followed them resentfully up the steps, keen for a look into her brother's old room. The last time she had been in the room, she had been small herself. Not as small as Dar, but certainly much less tall than she now was. She and Gilman had played many games there, and Gilman had told many fine stories to her as she fell asleep on his lap while their parents were off working, or engaging in important town matters with the "Political Committee." They had even played soldier and nurse after he had enlisted. He had looked so brave and grown-up himself in his khaki uniform. More than even the photo on the mantelpiece showed where he had a look of foreboding melancholy; he was tall and good, and always kind. And now he was gone. Taken by "the horrible maw of the war machine" as Sarah's mother said.
"The room's dusty now, but nothing's changed since the day Gilman went away," said Sarah's mother. "I suppose I ought to've dusted and all before you came, but there was so little notice," she said, glancing at Granny Pansy.
"We'll take no mind of that, my dear," said Granny Pansy, and proceeded unceremoniously to remove her head scarf and began dusting the nearest pieces of furniture. "It'll be in fine shape in three shakes of a lamb's tail."
Sarah was glad of her Granny being there; she always was. But these other two! Cousins? She knew her Father had a sister in the city, but she had never even met them before in her life. The girl looked none too happy to be there herself, which Sarah could understand. She just couldn't bring herself to have any sympathy for her. After all, her life was difficult enough as it was.
"Wow! A rifle!" cried Dar. He tried unsuccessfully to lift the rifle from its rack, but the weight of it defeated him. Dar contented himself with holding his arm out straight, sighting down his forearm, and squeezing his trigger finger while shouting "Bang! Bang!" at regular intervals.
Sarah looked around thoughtfully. Indeed, nothing had changed in the room. The decorations were spare and masculine. The only feminine touch Gilman had allowed in his room were those provided his mother in the form of drapes--done to match the rest of the house so there was a uniform style when the house was viewed from the street--and a curiously carved photo portrait of Gilman's high school sweetheart. Cynthia stared out of the photo with serious green eyes under redheaded ringlets. She seemed as intense as a tiger, and Sarah remembered never really liking Cynthia all the much. She was jealous of even the simple companionship that Sarah could give to her boyfriend without her overview. But Gilman had never let Cynthia disturb their brother and sister relationship.
"Bang! Bang!"
Sarah went to the bookshelf and lifted up Gilman's soldier's cap. He had thrown it high into the air with all the other cadets on graduation day. He had been so proud of his achievement. And their parents were proud too. It was as if Gilman had never left, he was discussed so much around the dinner table. Where he was stationed, the details of each mission. Until, that is, his final mission. After that, and after the closed casket funeral, the room was shut up and it was as if Gilman had fallen off the Earth. His name was never mentioned, and any neighbors who brought up his memory were not invited back to the house.
While her mother showed the guests the details of their accommodations, Sarah sidled past Abbey and Granny Pansy and over toward her brother's closet. It was a deep walk-in closet--the only one in the house. She just wanted to see his uniform hanging up, and maybe hold it in her arms. The door opened noiselessly, and the bulb after several years of disuse had gone dead. The clothes rustled to make room for Sarah as she pushed into the closet anyway.
There was a hummocky musty smell to the room, like earth turned over for a new garden, or to till under the ragged stalks and odd ends of the season's harvest as winter came on. Sarah tripped over an old dress shoe, and was brought up short by the door closing almost shut behind her. Her mother must be showing Abbey and Dar the other side of the room, where their clothes would go and such. When she turned back to the closet's interior, she was a round wobbly pool of light staring back at her. She almost yelped, for it reminded her of the circle of light at the bottom of the well. She still hadn't recovered from that weirdness. There was her face again, dark, with two bright eyes glinting within her shadow. Sarah began to feel around for Gilman's uniform again, decidedly turning away from the mirror.
She felt something sharp prick her finger from a breast pocket, and she closed her eyes. That was his medal for valor which they had given him posthumously. Sarah pulled herself to the uniform and held on tight, keeping here eyes shut. Oh, Gilman, she thought, why can't you be here, and banish all of these terrible, pestering people?
END OF CHAPTER THREE