The Talking Tree
CHAPTER ONE
My mother’s death had brought me back to upstate Barnham, New York, on this crisp April morning. Chills rolled across my shoulders in paralyzing waves as I stared at the peeling paint and darkened windows of my childhood home. Cruelty and rejection had formed its core. I clutched my hands, drew a deep breath, and told myself this place no longer mattered, but I knew better. Until I could work through past issues, I’d always be bound in some horrible way to this house and the people who’d caused such pain.
Lady, my golden retriever, stood patiently at my side. “Come, girl,” I said, giving her a pat on the head. We walked toward the backyard to what I’d called the Talking Tree. It had stood outside the house on top of the hill, its branches like welcoming, loving arms. My crippled stepfather had found the hill too difficult to climb, which was why I’d chosen it as my haven away from life in the gray, shingled bungalow below.
I entered the backyard and came to an abrupt stop. My special tree was gone! I raced up the hill through overgrown grass to reach the jagged-edged stump. Breathing hard, I stared at it with dismay. What had happened? Suspicion clenched my jaw. I bet Clyde had climbed the hill after all. It would be so like him to do something crazy like this.
Lady whined and nudged her head under my hand. I sank to the ground and hugged her, feeling as if Clyde had lifted his hand and struck me once again. And even though this blow didn’t carry the strength of one of his drunken rages, it hurt just the same. Tears stung my eyes.
I used to talk to that tree as I would have to the brother or sister I’d never had or the mother who’d never listened. And beneath the tree’s whispering leaves that broke free from the branches each fall, I’d grown fierce with determination to one day be as free as they.
I scrambled to my feet and fingered the stump’s still splintered edges. Their sharpness pricked my fingers—and my heart. I should never have come here, I told myself, hating the feeling of being pulled back in time, of losing all the self-confidence I’d worked so hard to build.
I turned away and headed down the hill. Halfway, I paused to study the house. Its faded paint reminded me of my mother’s gray eyes—cold and empty. I brushed aside her image and hurried over to the neighbor’s house, where I would be staying.
Set apart from ours by a line of pine-scented evergreens, it had an air of respectability we'd never been able to achieve. Perky white curtains softened the tiny, paned windows of her home. Light shone through the sparkling glass, like a lighthouse’s guiding beam to a wayward ship. Inside, I knew, there would be peace and contentment.
At my knock, Doris Crawford quickly opened the door. “Marissa, my dear, it’s so good to see you!” She beamed at me and hugged me close. “Oh, how I’ve missed seeing that sweet face of yours! All those thoughtful gifts, all those nice phone calls can’t compare to actually holding you.” Tears shone in her eyes as she looked up at me. “The years away from here have done you good. You’re even more beautiful than your photos.”
My tense body gave in to her natural warmth, loosening in her embrace. I used to pretend that somehow things had gotten mixed up when I came into the world, and Doris was the mother I was supposed to have. But even in the unhappiest of circumstances, fate can sometimes be kind. In this case, she’d given us one another.
“I’ve missed you!” I stepped back and studied her. It had been ten years since I’d seen her. Well into her sixties and barely five feet tall, Doris still held herself with confidence. Keen intelligence shone from her blue eyes. A ready smile lit her round face, subtracting years from her age. To me, she’d always been beautiful.
I gave her another squeeze and followed her inside.
Doris indicated a seat at the solid, round, pine table that was the heart of her warm kitchen.
I inhaled the smell of coffee and settled in a chair. It seemed surreal to be back here, sitting in the same chair where I’d spent so many hours seeking kindness. “I saw my Talking Tree. What happened to it?”
Doris handed Lady a treat and took a seat opposite me. She sighed and gazed into my eyes.
"Not long after you left, I heard shouting over at your place. I looked out and saw Clyde struggling to climb the hill, carrying a power saw.” She shook her head. “Your mother followed and stood with him on top of the hill, arguing, trying to stop him, but you know how determined he could be…"
"She tried to stop him?" I drew my lips together. That didn’t sound like the mother I knew.
"Clyde shoved her out of his way and went at the tree,” Doris continued. “For a moment, I thought it might fall on the old fool.”
"It would have served him right."
"I know. He was furious when you left. And he knew how much you loved that tree. I guess that’s why he wouldn’t give up until it was down."
My hands knotted. Clyde was such a twisted man.
Doris got up and poured each of us a cup of hot coffee, giving me time to rein in my emotions. She handed me a mug and rejoined me at the table.
I took a grateful sip of the hot liquid, letting it slide down my throat in a soothing swallow. "Better tell me what you know about the accident.”
Doris took hold of one of my hands. “What with Clyde’s medical condition, your mother was driving as usual. She apparently went off the road and hit a tree. The cops said she was drunk. She never made it alive to the hospital.”
“And Clyde?” My nostrils flared with dislike. "How is he?"
“Clyde suffered internal injuries. They had to use the Jaws of Life to get him out of the car." Doris clucked her tongue. "I’m told he’s causing a ruckus in the hospital."
"I don’t want anything to do with him,” I said with a firmness I felt to my toes. “I came home for my mother’s funeral.” It was supposed to be a way to help put my relationship with her in better perspective so I could move on with my life. I knew I’d eventually have to deal with Clyde, but being back in Barnham was harder than I’d thought.
"I understand, believe me, but there are things you don’t know. Your mother came to see me not long ago and asked me to keep some papers for her. After her death, I did as she instructed and looked through them, then turned them over to Brad to check for any legal issues.” She gave my hand a squeeze. “Marissa, your mother left the house and everything in it to you, not him."
My jaw dropped. “Why didn't she leave it to him?"
"It seems they never married."
"Whaaat?" My voice quivered. "She stayed with him, out of a sense of … of ... what? Love? I’ve always thought ..."
My mind spun. I gripped the edge of the table. My mother Margaret had kept her maiden name of Cole, as some women do, but why had she endured living with a man one who constantly insulted her and abused her child? One she wasn’t bound to by marriage? None of it made sense. It never had.
Doris patted my back. "It’s hard to understand. She was a very private person. Her clients loved her ... "
"Clients? You mean the people she cleaned house for?" I knew it sounded harsh, but I couldn’t help myself. Our house had been filthy, filled with cigarette smoke, the pungent smell of stale beer and the acrid aura of anger.
Doris’s eyebrows shot up. "She was a hardworking woman. You have to give her that, Marissa."
My cheeks flamed at the disapproval in Doris’s voice. "Sorry, but I never understood why she worked so hard at other houses and did nothing but sit around and drink at ours. You know that's all they did, drink and fight. God!"
Doris sighed. “It was awful, I know. That's why I helped you leave.”
I swallowed hard. It was more than the drinking. Doris didn’t know all the details. No one else did. An image of Clyde staggering into my bedroom, drunk, flashed before my eyes. Even now, terror made my heart gallop in nervous beats. If I hadn't been so careful, so strong, who knew what might have happened?
Doris gave me a worried look. “Are you all right?”
I unclenched my hands and shook off the memories. "I guess I'll have to talk to him after all. We have a few things to settle.”
“You probably should see him in the hospital, get things cleared up before he’s due to come home. There are other living options for him.”
My body turned cold at the thought of dealing with Clyde. But my initial purpose of the trip here was about facing the past and letting it go, even if it included a confrontation with him. I rose, wishing I could magically sprout wings and fly back to my safe home in Atlanta. “I’d better get it over with.”
"Do you want me to go with you?" Concern showed in Doris’s eyes. She rose and stood beside me.
I shook my head. "Thanks anyway. This is something I need to do. Alone."
Lady lumbered to her feet and looked at me expectantly. I turned to Doris. “Okay if she stays?”
“Sure. I miss Champ. That old hound dog and I spent many long hours together.” She gave me an encouraging hug. “Good luck, dear.”
I nodded, well aware it would take a lot more than luck to get through this visit and let go of the past.
###
My gut fisted as I pulled up to the hospital. I felt as if I were about to come face to face with a tornado. Clyde had always been a whirling mass of destruction, lashing out with stinging words and hands that struck viciously.
Inside, the hospital was much as I’d remembered—three stories of small, yellow-painted rooms filled with the pungent odor of antiseptic, the beeping of machines, the sad looks on people’s faces, the quiet hush of death.
I took the elevator to the surgical ward, my hands as cold as the New York winters I’d once known.
Standing outside the open doorway to his room, I paused to straighten my clothes and to make sure my thick sweater hung loosely. My heart pounded in warning beats. I swallowed hard, took a deep breath and peered inside the room.
Tubes and monitors surrounded a man who looked much too small to be Clyde. He turned his head and looked right at me. The wicked gleam in his eye sent me whirling back in time. He used to look at me like that before he tried to grab me or say something disgusting to me. I gripped the door frame. I'd gotten the correct room, all right.
"So, it took your mother's foolishness to get you here."
I folded my arms in front of me and willed my voice to be steady. "This isn’t a friendly visit, Clyde. We need to discuss something.”
“You think so?” His mocking laughter erupted into racking coughs. The color of his face changed to an unhealthy red. "Sit down, girl."
Ignoring the wave of his hand urging me forward, I stood just inside the doorway, not about to fall for his show of friendliness. "They tell me you're going to recover."
"What do they know?" he snarled. "While they think I’m sleeping, I hear’em whispering about me in the hallway."
Paranoia. That's all it was. I blurted out the question that had rubbed my mind raw. "Why didn't you marry my mother?"
Clyde’s lip curled. "She wouldn't have me. ‘Said I wasn't good enough for her."
I blinked in surprise. "Why did she hide that fact from me? You stayed together all those years. Why?" I shifted from one foot to the other nervously. Had he forced her to stay with him? Played some sort of abusive mental game with her?
"Why? That's easy. She wanted to remain hidden. Thought she’d be safe that way. An Army buddy of mine told me where she lived. Why else would she have taken me in? I kept her secret so she’d be safe. That’s why.”
I shook my head in disbelief. My mother hadn’t seemed afraid of anyone but him.
"You didn't know her," he challenged, wagging a finger at me. "She worked for cash under the table. No way people could trace her that way."
"What are you talking about?" Was he crazy?
"It had somethin’ to do with her family. She didn't want ’em to know anything about her."
Disgusted, I pressed my lips together. He was such a manipulator. "You’re lying. She had no family. She told me so several times."
He waved me closer.
I stayed right where I was. No way would I get anywhere near him. I already had the weird sensation I’d shrunk in size.
“I remember everything, Clyde. Everything. And now I know you even chopped down my tree. How sick is that?” I heard the hurt in my voice and didn’t care if he heard it too. Ruining the tree was another way for him to strike out at me. I’d never understood why he hated me so.
He was quiet. Tears shone in his eyes. If I hadn’t known him better, I might have been tempted to think time had changed him.
"I couldn't stand seein’ your mother sittin’ up there by that goddamn tree, cryin’." Clyde’s voice was raspy with emotion.
“Crying? Why? That doesn’t sound like my mother at all.”
The hateful gleam came back to Clyde’s eyes. "Because, you stupid bitch, you left! It was all your fault."
Clyde's words drilled into my chest. "What do you mean, my fault? My mother told me to get the hell out and never come back. That's exactly what I did."
"She was drunk when she said it," Clyde said. "You know she didn't mean it."
"Like you didn't mean anything when you were drunk?" I fought for control, furious that once again he’d twisted things around so it was my fault my mother had been unhappy. Sadness had always wrapped around her like a tattered shawl that couldn’t warm her. Lord knew I’d tried.
“Aren’t you even sorry for all the things you did?”
Clyde’s weathered, veined face crumpled. He swept a hand through his long gray hair, bundled in a ponytail as outdated as he. "You want an apology? Okay, dammit, I'm sorry. There. Satisfied?"
I couldn’t respond. His words were there, but the emotion was not. It was just another lie, another way to try and influence me. "What are you going to do when you get out of here?"
"Go back home. Why?"
"That’s what we need to talk about. It's my home now. Mother left it and all the contents to me."
“Whaaat?” Clyde’s eyes rounded into dark circles of surprise. His hands drew into broad fists. Fighting the needles and monitors that held him back, he tried to sit up. His face grew purple with rage.
"That bitch! After all I done for her!" The familiar fury etched on his face made my body grow cold. I cringed and backed away, as I’d done so many times before.
An IV needle popped out of his arm. He yelped in pain.
I hurried from the room. “Nurse! Nurse!” But even as I called for help, I didn’t care if he lived or died.
Outside, I calmed myself. I’d faced Clyde and stood up to him. But so many things were unsettled. I’d thought this trip would be about endings, but after Clyde’s curious ramblings about my mother, I couldn’t stop thinking that it might be a beginning. Somewhere I might have a family after all.
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