A Place to Call Home (45 page)

“We can. I promise you. Sometimes it takes me a while to make good on my promises, but—”

“I’m not as good at waiting as I used to be,” he said. “And I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.”

“Me neither,” I said.

Grandpa was waiting in spirit, spectral and supportive, directing me to take Roan and his lost great-grandson home.

The metallic green DOT marker proclaimed the J. H. Maloney Memorial Intersection where the four-lane ended in the foothills and the state route turned west. This was the path first taken by pioneer Maloneys and Delaneys along an ancient Cherokee trail toward Dunderry. Sitting stiffly beside Roan in the backseat of a limousine we’d hired at the Atlanta airport, I watched Matthew and Tweet, who sat across from us. He hadn’t stopped gazing raptly out his window since our driver turned off the interstate. “Which Maloney was J. H.?” he asked.

Your great-grandfather, I thought furtively.

“My grandfather,” I said. “Grandpa Joseph. He and some of his brothers planted the grove of willows over there behind that convenience store. Their great-grandfather built a stagecoach inn there in the late 1800s. Not long after Grandpa Joseph and his brothers planted the willows, the inn burned down, and they built a gas station and general store. He and his cousin Harriet O’Brien ran it for a few years. It was the only gas station in the county then. Daddy bought Mama a Coke at the gas station when they had their first date. Nobody suspected they were dating because he was eighteen and she was only fourteen, and your Great-Grandmother Elizabeth Delaney would have locked Mama in a cellar if she’d known about them. Daddy hid Mama under a blanket in the front seat of his Ford and—”

“Are there as many Maloneys as there are Delaneys?” Tweet asked weakly.

“More Maloneys, actually. Anyway, Grandpa Joe always claimed he knew Daddy had Marybeth Delaney stashed in the Ford, but he pretended not to notice. Daddy took Mama down to the willow grove and they drank Cokes. It was a dangerous romantic rebellion at the time.”

“I need a chart to keep track of all the Delaneys,” Tweet noted, laughing. “I’ll have to memorize Matthew’s family tree.”

“Oooh, we’ve got charts. Lots of charts.” Just not the ones you expect.

She poked Roan’s knee. “Tell us something interesting about the Sullivan history.”

I clasped his hand, supportive and protective, and wondered if any of this was worth what it would tear down. Roan’s eyes narrowed as we flashed by the Chamber of Commerce’s large, handsome wooden sign set among a carefully landscaped island of azaleas and begonias.

“Bigger?” Matthew prodded, because Roan had not offered a word in response. Roan finally said, “My old man won a Silver Star in Korea.”

Matthew gaped at him. I did, too. I’d never known. I don’t think anyone knew. Matthew shook his head. “Why haven’t you ever told me that? I mean, I knew he lost a leg in the war, but I didn’t know he was a hero. What happened to his medal?”

Roan stared out the tinted limousine window, tucked my hand against his chest, gripping tightly—A hero? I could
imagine him thinking.
They probably confused my old man with somebody
else. “I buried it with him,” he said.

We weren’t even home yet and the past was already catching up with him. With all of us.

Roan’s crew had finished transforming the muddy, mile-long trail to Ten Jumps into a perfectly graded and graveled lane with pretty wooden bridges over the two creek crossings along its path. Small Latchakoochee EMC markers designated the new, buried power line along the road’s right shoulder, along with a small sign designating an underground phone line.

I faced forward tensely as the limousine lumbered down the narrow road. A hawk sailed along in front of the car for a few yards; a woodpecker swept across the road at one point and then a half-dozen fat wild turkey hens ambled from a huckleberry thicket in front of us. It was as if every species of fowl sensed the arrival of a bird-loving friend. Tweet opened the limousine’s sunroof and stood up, pounding the rooftop with her hands as she clucked at the turkey hens. “Matthew, look,” she called. They traded places. “There’s a couple of deer,” he said, pointing. He dropped back into his seat. “Bigger, this place is incredible. I love it.”

“Wait until you see the cabin and the lake,” Roan said quietly. “You’ll never have to ask anybody in this neighborhood for a place to stay. I fixed up the cabin so you’d have something to call your own, if you came here. If you and Tweet really like it and you want it, it’s yours.” Roan looked at me. I nodded, finally comprehending another reason he’d bought Ten Jumps. A person needed to own land, he thought, to be taken seriously in Dunderry. He’d bought status for himself—and more important to Roan, he’d bought status for Matthew.

“
Roan,
” Tweet said tearfully, gently. Matthew reached over and affectionately shoved Roan on one arm. “This is
your property, Bigger. You’ve always told me how you loved to explore around here.”

Hid here, tried not to starve here, I thought miserably. But Matthew didn’t know that history either. “No, Dunshinnog is Roan’s place,” I said, meeting Roan’s somber, mercury-quick gaze. “The mountain. Up high. The long view. That’s our special place.”

When we reached the cabin, a flock of mallards rose from the lake and a tiny spotted fawn bounded after a doe who’d been nibbling the expensive sodded grass of the yard.

Matthew and Tweet exclaimed over it all and rushed from the car. They hurried down to stand at the lake, talking excitedly and gesturing at the scenery—a sanctuary of water, purple-and-gold sunset, and forest rising on mountain slopes. I wished we could lock it around us.

Roan tipped our driver and the limousine pulled away. Roan and I stood beside the luggage, sharing unspoken dread and a sense of the inevitable. The hot, soft whisper of the evening breeze crept over us. He looked at the cabin and then, for answers, at me.

More had been done since we left, and not by Wolfgang’s crew. A fieldstone pathway led to the porch and the yard was a kaleidoscope of freshly planted shrubs and flowers. Four white rocking chairs sat on the porch, behind hanging baskets lush with ferns.

“The family’s been here.” I nodded toward a late-model sedan in the yard. “You needed a car here, so Uncle Eugene sent one from his dealership.”

Roan’s reaction pulled away all the years for a split second and suddenly I saw him as he’d been on his birthday, the time we surprised him with a cake and gifts. The brief flash of surprise and appreciation was quickly shuttered.

“Mama and Daddy left a few gifts in the cabin, too,” I told him. “I loaned them the key you gave me.”

He said nothing as we went up the walkway. The door was unlocked, and when we stepped inside, we found an
enormous vase of white daisies set on the fireplace hearth and the room smelling of fresh pine and cedar sachet.

We went into the newly added kitchen and I opened the refrigerator door. It was packed with food. I opened a cupboard. The shelves were stacked with handsome earthenware dishes colored in whirls of burgundy and gold. “Mama made this set of dishes. She finished them last month. She says they’re the best work she’s ever done. They were promised to a fine-crafts shop in North Carolina. One of the boutiques that sell her work. But she wants you to have them. ‘From my hands to his heart,’ she said.” I faced him. “They did this for you. It’s just one of the small ways they can show how they feel about you and what you did for Matthew.”

He leaned against a countertop and ran his hands through his hair. We gazed out the window, watching Matthew and Tweet by the lake. “Your family may wish they’d burned this place down after they learn the truth about him,” he said.

I turned away. “I need to call the farm. Mama and Daddy are waiting.”

We heard the sound of a car. “They’re not waiting for a call,” Roan said with a tired smile. “They probably had most of the family stationed near the main roads with binoculars. Probably had Alvin’s deputies hidden in the woods. They knew the second we got here.”

I sagged a little. “Probably. But it’s good. They’re enthusiastic.”

We walked outside. Mama and Daddy had just stopped their car in the yard. “I was right,” Roan said. “They couldn’t wait until—”

His voice trailed off as the car doors opened. Mama got out and stared, emotionally riveted, at Matthew and Tweet. Daddy stood with his legs braced apart on the cabin’s new lawn, looking from them to us.

And Josh walked down the slope to the lake, toward
Matthew, who gazed back along with Tweet, half smiling but obviously puzzled by the stranger headed his way.

His father. No. Not here, now, like this.

I felt as if my heart had stopped.

Roan moved so quickly, he was striding down to intercept Josh before I realized I was stumbling forward without my cane, murmuring frantically under my breath, “He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know,” as if I could stop time with an obvious plea on Matthew’s behalf.

“Mama, what do y’all think you’re
doing?
” I called out. She reached one hand toward me and the other, ineffectually, toward Josh’s back as he advanced toward Matthew. Her eyes lit up with joy and anxiety. “Honey, it’ll be all right,” she called to me. “We couldn’t keep Josh away after he heard about Matthew, but, hon, I promise that you and Roan will understand why he’s here with us after you learn the real story—”

“
You know?
” I stared at her. “You and Daddy already know about Josh?”

Mama stared at me in return. Then her hand rose to her mouth. She pivoted and went to Daddy. “Holt,” she said urgently. “Roan and Claire
know
about Josh and Matthew.”

Daddy shot a hard, shocked look at me, then at Roan. “Oh, my God,” Daddy said, and hurried down the slope.

“You deal with me,” Roan said as he reached Josh and blocked his way. “Goddammit, you talk to me first.”

Josh halted, blinking. He looked dazed. His face was flushed. Larger, older, heavier than Roan, he brushed at him with a benign shove of one hand, then tried to sidestep him. He simply didn’t seem to have interest or time for anything but Matthew, who stood, openmouthed, a few yards away.

Roan raised a fist and I knew he would hit my brother. I yelled something, limping forward as quickly as I could. Daddy got there first and planted himself between them. Mama went to Matthew and Tweet, holding out her graceful hands to them. “Please don’t think we meant to ambush
you two. This is all getting out of hand, but it’s because we care so much. And there’s no easy way to do this.”

Matthew gave her a blank look, then bolted to Roan and Josh, shouldering in beside Daddy. “
Bigger
, I don’t know what’s going on, but calm down.” Roan pulled Matthew aside and stepped in front of him. Daddy clamped both hands on Josh’s shoulders and held him still. Josh simply continued to gaze at Matthew.

I was the one who suddenly became unhinged. Twenty years. Twenty years Roan had sacrificed for Matthew, for the family, for Josh’s pride and cowardice. Twenty years lost. When I reached Josh, I grabbed his shirtfront. “Don’t you dare,” I ordered furiously, forestalling any rejection he might offer. “How could you? Why?
Why?
”

Josh barely flinched. Never taking his eyes off Matthew, he shook his head slowly. Mama and Tweet tried to defuse the situation, begging or ordering restraint and retreat as they pulled us all away from one another. We were a human tangle of people staggering in a tight group, trying to shield, avoid, or attack one another, until Daddy tilted his balding head back and thundered, “This is a helluva family reunion. Step back or I’ll start tossing you bulls into the lake. And you, too, daughter.”

Some sense was restored. We all stepped back a few inches, breathing tensely. “
Who are you?
” Matthew asked Josh.

My brother struggled to speak. “Josh,” he said finally in a gruff tone. “Josh Maloney.”

Slowly alarm dawned in Matthew’s expression. His chin rose. “You’re the one in the picture. I picked you out of an old photo Claire brought.”

Painful surprise showed in Josh’s eyes. “You did? God! I was right. I can just look at you and know. And you recognized me.”

Roan spoke bitterly. “You don’t owe him a damn thing, Matthew. Remember that. He has nothing to do with
who you are. Don’t forget everything I taught you. Nobody can take you down.”

Matthew held up both hands. “Nobody can take me up, down, or sideways,” he yelled, “
because I don’t understand what the hell is happening here
!”

Josh nodded. He reached past Roan and clasped Matthew’s shoulder. “I’ve tried to find you for years. This isn’t the way you need to hear about it, but I couldn’t wait to see you. You’re not Pete Delaney’s son. You’re
my
son.”

Beside me, Roan sucked in a breath as if Josh had stolen his air. And in that shocked moment, that welcome we’d never expected, I saw the unexpected joy in Matthew’s eyes.

Roan, dear God, saw it, too.