room, passing elderly patients, until the head nurse
greeted me.
"Melody Logan?" she asked with a brief smile. Yes, ma'am."
"Right this way," she said and nodded toward
the last bed on the right where Uncle Jacob, hooked to
his life-saving machinery and his monitors lay
waiting, inches from death's grasp. Cary was right
about him, he did resemble a corpse, pallid, small,
withered.
I looked at the nurse.
"You can stay here a few minutes and see if he
wakes. Otherwise, come back later, on the hour," she
suggested. She checked the drip in his I.V. bag and
then walked back to the nurse's station. Timidly, I drew closer to Uncle Jacob's bed and gazed down at him. The beep, beep, beep of the monitors seemed to
mirror my own drumming heart.
Half of me wanted him to remain asleep, while
the other half couldn't contain my curiosity. I was
tempted to flee and also tempted to touch his hand to
see if he would waken. His eyelids trembled and I saw
his lips writhe and then stiffen.
"Uncle Jacob," I said, or at least, I thought I
did. Maybe I had just thought it. He didn't
acknowledge me. "Uncle Jacob?" I said a little louder. His eyelids fluttered and then opened. He
turned slowly and looked at me. There were oxygen
tubes in his nostrils and tiny beads of sweat had
broken out on his brow. I took a cloth from the table
beside the bed and wiped his forehead. As I did so, he
mouthed my name.
I leaned in because he was barely whispering. "Melody . . come closer," he said. I looked back
at the nurses' station and then brought my face as
close to his as I could.
"What is it, Uncle Jacob? You should just rest,
get better."
He shook his head.
"Won't get better," he said. He swallowed, the effort causing him to close his eyes. His Adam's apple strained against his skin and bobbed. Then he opened
his eyes again. "My fault," he said. "It was my fault." "What was your fault, Uncle Jacob?"
"Haille."
"My mother? I don't understand, Uncle Jacob.
What are you saying?"
"Haille . . . When I was a young boy . . . she
was barely thirteen but I . . did a terrible thing . . .
made her do it. She never told, but it was my fault . . .
my fault she became what she became and we had all
the family trouble."
I stared at him. His eyes were watery, dark, the
pupils smaller.
Suddenly, he found my hand and squeezed my
fingers as hard as he could, which wasn't very hard. "I didn't mean to be so hard on you, but I feel
more responsible," he said after a big breath. He
closed his eyes and then opened them quickly. "A sin
can last forever, be passed on from mother to
daughter, from father to son . . . forever. Be a good
woman and end the devil's hold on us all." He
swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Then he
whispered, "My poor Laura. Poor, poor Laura . . ." His head fell to the right and the monitor began a long, shrill humming sound. I released his hand and
stepped back.
"Stat!" I heard behind me. Two nurses rushed
past me and the doctor on duty came across the CCU.
I backed away slowly as they all gathered around
Uncle Jacob's bed. Electric pads were being placed on
his chest.
Someone shouted, "Clear!"
I saw Uncle Jacob's body jump and heard the
doctor say, "Again, clear!"
I fled the CCU. Cary was waiting in the
hallway and I ran into his arms.
"What?" he cried.
"Something's happening to him. I---" "Dad!" he groaned and charged through the
doorway into CCU. I waited a moment and then
turned to see Aunt Sara and May standing in the
lounge, Aunt Sara's hand on May's shoulder, both of
them gazing at me with the same horrified look in
their eyes.
I started to cry. My stomach felt hollow, just
the way it had felt when I learned Daddy had been
killed in the mining accident. Aunt Sara started to
shudder with her own sobs. May's face wrinkled with
pain, her moans distorted by her great fear and sadness. I went to both of them and the three of us embraced, held each other, and waited, all of one heart, small and trembling, alone and helpless against the dark cloud encroaching, moving with the wind
raging around us.
"He's back!" Cary cried from the doorway. He
was laughing through his tears. "It's a resurrection." We turned and gazed at him. He wiped his
cheeks with the back of his hand and took a deep
breath.
"Back?" Aunt Sara said.
"What does that mean, Cary?" I asked. "His heart stopped but they got it started again,"
he said, "and he's doing okay for now."
"Oh, praise God," Aunt Sara cried. "Praise
God." She held on to May and rocked with her on the
settee.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and said
my own prayer of thanks. When I fled the CCU, I
believed I had caused him to have the heart failure for
sure. It was the great effort he had made to speak to
me.
Cary regained his calm demeanor and strength.
"How about a cup of hot tea, Ma? I can get it from the
machine downstairs," he said.
"Yes, thank you, Cary."
"I'll get May a soda. Melody, you want some
thing?"
"I'll come with you," I said and got up. We
walked to the elevator. When the door opened, he
took my hand and we stepped in and he pressed the
button.
"I really thought he was a goner," Cary
muttered. "I watched them struggling, but that doctor
hung in there and suddenly, the monitor began
clicking away again. Everyone cheered. They waited
and his pulse built up. It's a miracle," he added. "Don't
you think?"
"Yes, Cary."
He nodded, so filled with joy he was beside
himself. Then, he remembered I had been in there. As
the door of the elevator opened, he turned to me. "What did he want?"
"I think it was something he wanted only me to
know right now, Cary. I don't feel right talking about
it. I hope you understand."
"Oh. Sure," he said, although his eyes betrayed
his hurt. It wasn't a time for a father to keep secrets
from his son. "I understand. It must have been pretty
important to him, though. He was willing to chance
dying to do it, huh?"
I nodded and we went to the vending machine.
We brought Aunt Sara her tea and May her soda and
then Cary went to check on Uncle Jacob one final
time. He returned to say Aunt Sara could go in with
him now and Aunt Sara decided they should take May
so she would see Uncle Jacob was still alive. I waited for them in the lounge, thinking about
the things Uncle Jacob had said. He sensed death at
his door and felt he had to confess to me. I realized
how much blame he had carried in his heart all these
years, but I doubted if he was the main cause of any
sins Mommy had committed afterward.
"He'
s stabilized," Cary told me after they
emerged from CCU. "Let's go home and get some
sleep. We're all exhausted."
I couldn't argue with that. May actually fell
asleep in my arms on the way home and Aunt Sara
looked as if she would topple herself any moment.
Cary helped her out of the car and into the house. She
wanted to go to the kitchen to do some final cleanup,
but he insisted she go right upstairs and get to bed. "Dad's going to need you stronger than ever,
Ma. You can't run yourself down now," he said with
authority. She nodded.
"Yes, yes, you're right, Cary. Thank God we
have you. You're my strength now," she said and
squeezed his arm. He kissed her and watched her go
upstairs, taking May along with her. Then he turned to
me.
"What a day, huh?"
I smiled.
"I can think of better ways to spend our time, if
that's what you mean," I said. He laughed. It was good
to see his face brighten. "But I confess I am tired,
too."
"I'll make sure everything's off and put away,"
he said. "Then I'll stop by to say good night." He
leaned over to kiss me on the cheek and walked off. I hurried upstairs, washed, and dressed for bed,
putting on a light blue cotton nightgown. If there was
ever a time to practice Holly's meditation, it was now,
I thought, and sat in the lotus position on the bed and
concentrated. I was so deeply involved, I didn't even
hear Cary come up to my door. I felt his hand on my
shoulder and opened my eyes.
"Did it work?" he asked. "Your meditating?"
"Yes. I felt the tension drain from my body, just as
Holly said."
"I guess I'll have to learn how to do it then," he
said. I unfolded my legs and sat back against the
pillows. "Mind if I stay here with you for a while?" he
asked.
"Of course not."
He took off his shoes and sprawled out beside
me on the bed, putting his head on my lap. I stroked
his hair and he closed his eyes.
"When Laura and I were very little and one of
us got scared, we would lie together like this for a
while. I think we did it until we were about fourteen
or fifteen," he admitted. "It's nice having a safe haven
in a storm, whether the storm's in your heart or out
there."
"You were lucky to have each other," I said. He opened his eyes and looked up at me,
thinking. "It must have been difficult for you, growing
up alone, away from family."
I smiled.
"I had Papa George and Mama Arlene, as well
as Daddy. Sometimes, Mommy was there for me,
too."
He nodded, still thoughtful. Then he smiled. "Sing me one of those fiddle songs, a soft one,"
he asked. I laughed and then I began, singing one Papa George had taught me. It was really the prayer of a miner's wife, praying her husband would always be safe in the bowels of the earth, and it ended on a happy note because he always came up, smiling
through the coal dust.
Singing it reminded me of Daddy and I couldn't
help the tears That burned under my eyelids. But Cary
didn't notice the crack in my voice. When I looked
down at him, I saw he was fast asleep, his chest rising
and falling gently. I didn't have the heart to wake him,
so I crawled under the blanket and fixed the pillow
under his head, too. Then I reached over and turned
off the light.
Darkness fell like a heavy blanket. The moon
peeked out from between two passing clouds and sent
a ray of white light through the window, washing over
us both. Then the clouds closed and shut out the
illumination. I closed my eyes and in minutes, I was
as deeply asleep as Cary.
Hours later, I awoke with a start. For a moment
I forgot what had happened. It all came rushing back
and I sat up, realizing Cary was no longer beside me.
He was at the window, gazing out.
"Cary?"
"Oh," he said turning. "I should have just gone
to my room. I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't. Are you all right?"
"Yeah. I just woke up and felt a little nervous. I
like looking out at the ocean whenever I'm nervous or
afraid. I guess that's where I find my meditation.
Laura's room always had a better view of the coast
than mine. I would either come here or go up to the
attic. leave and let you sleep," he said, turning from
the window and starting toward the door.
"No, don't leave," I said. He paused.
"I can't stay here all night. Ma wouldn't understand," he said.
"Just stay a little while longer."
"I'll fall asleep again," he threatened.
"I won't let you do that," I said. Something in
my voice brought a smile to his face that was so
bright, I could see it even in the darkness. He returned
to my bed and sprawled out beside me. Then he
leaned forward and kissed me gently on the lips. We
embraced and kissed again. His hands moved over my
shoulders and down my arms. He brought my fingers
to his lips and then he put his head against my bosom
and moaned. I closed my eyes and drank in the warm
feeling that comforted me as much as it must have
comforted him.
"I feel guilty thinking about you, wanting you
at a time like this," he whispered.
"You mustn't feel that way. If we care for each
other, we can't be ashamed of needing each other," I
told him, though I was worried that Aunt Sara or May
might hear us.
"Oh Melody," he said. "I do care for you, love
you, need you more than I will ever need and love
anyone."
"Then throw your guilt overboard," I said and
he laughed. He rose, pulled of his shirt, unbuttoned
his trousers, and crawled under the cover beside me.
We kissed, held each other tightly, and then his hands
went under my nightgown until they found my
breasts. Our lovemaking was different, more like a
dream. We weren't driven by sexual appetite as much
as we were by the need to reassure each other. We
moved gently, slowly, and when it was over, he
slipped away so quietly and smoothly, I wondered if it
had actually happened. But his place beside me in my
bed was still warm from his body. I ran my hand over
it and moaned softly to my pillow.
Then I closed my eyes and didn't open them
again until the first light of morning kissed my face. I was almost afraid to rise, yet I couldn't escape the vivid memory of Uncle Jacob's heart stopping right before my eyes. As I showered and dressed I tried to think of something else, anything else, but still the memory returned. With trembling legs, I started down the stairs. Apparently, everyone else had risen before me. Aunt Sara was already in the kitchen
making pancakes and Cary and May were at the table. "Why didn't anyone wake me?" I asked. "Oh you wouldn't be sleeping if you didn't need
it," Aunt Sara said. I looked at Cary. His face had the
shine of polished stone, his eyes luminous with joy. "I called the hospital. Dad spent a good n
ight
and the doctor was already there."
"That's wonderful, Cary."
"He told the nurse to tell me not to bother
coming to the hospital and waste my time standing
around. He'd rather I take the boat out and check our
traps," he said laughing. "I'll do both. Grandma Olivia
and Grandpa Samuel are coming by to take Mama
over to the hospital. May's going to go to school." I nodded. Cary apparently had things organized.
"You can go to work as well," he said.
"Oh, I should stay and help Aunt Sara." "Nonsense, dear. I'm fine," she said. "Cary's
right."
"Cary is becoming a bit bossy, isn't he?" I
asked, fixing my eyes on him.
"He's the man of the house until Jacob's back
on his feet," Aunt Sara said. Cary beamed.
"As long as he doesn't get too big for his
britches," I remarked and then signed the idea to May,
who thought it was very funny.
"Now just a minute," Cary protested. "Let's
have a little more respect for the captain of this ship." "We'll give the captain the respect he deserves,
but if he's an ogre, there's always the chance of a
mutiny," I countered, and Cary laughed.
It was good to wake up to sunshine and hope
and happiness again. I prayed it wouldn't be short
lived.
Kenneth had already heard about Uncle Jacob,
as had most of the local residents in Provincetown.
Like any small town, news traveled fast, but bad news
traveled even faster. When Kenneth came to pick me
up, I brought him up to date.
"It doesn't surprise me, this heart attack,"
Kenneth said. "The man was always brooding,
grinding away at his insides, even as a teenager. You
all right?" he inquired.
"Yes."
"Sara must be a mess."
"She's doing okay," I said. "Cary's been a
source of strength."
"Really? Good for him. Are you going to be
able to work?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes. It's the best thing, the best way to deal
with worry, work it under the sand."
Kenneth laughed.
"That sounds like some beachcomber's
wisdom," he remarked and drove on.
We did work hard that week and Kenneth made
a great deal of progress, deciding by week's end that
he was ready to begin the actual sculpture. Holly did
some painting of her own while we worked. By her
own description, her work was ethereal, spiritual,
abstract, full of bright colors and ghostly shapes. In