Francesca of Lost Nation (19 page)

Chapter 26

Of Heart and Man

M

att, never the sparkling conversationalist, was doubly reluctant to speak of this thing he had done, whatever it was, especially in front of Harry and Maude and myself.

Francesca had been silent throughout the repacking and checking-out process. There was a closed-off, pinched look about her, like she was struggling to hold in bile. She folded clothes and paced the floor — folded and paced, folded and paced, methodically. The suitcases were the only thing in the world.

It wasn’t until we were all settled in the Doozy that Francesca spoke, and when she did, her words were neutral-sounding — with an underlying sting.

“I want to know what this is all about, this flying business,” she said.

Harry tried to deter her from pursuing this path. “Franny, this definitely isn’t the time or place ...,” he began, but my grandmother cut him off at the knees. Politely, though … ever so politely.

“Don't worry, Harry, your turn will come.”

She gazed out the window, tapping her right hand with her left thumb. “Well, Matt? Exactly what business was Ian talking about? The one you haven’t bothered mentioning to me?”

And like a broken tooth extraction, the tale was painfully dragged out of him.

Ian and Matt had renewed an important friendship during the fair. They had spent much of their time together reminiscing about their flying days.

“Naturally,” whispered Francesca.

Matthew swallowed and continued, “He has a flying school in Indianapolis. It’s ... well … he hasn’t … he’s struggling. He needs a partner to help him get back on track; that’s all.”

“You volunteered?” she asked.

“It’s not that simple.”

“You volunteered?” she asked again, more acid in her tone.

“Well, hell, Fran, he’s been through a rough time.”

“What a good friend you are,” she said, gone suddenly still.

The remainder of the tale was that Matt was leaving immediately for Indianapolis, and Francesca would be staying at Home Farm. Matt’s reasoning was feeble at best: that it was going to be hard work, getting the school on solid financial ground. He hedged and hesitated. You could tell he felt embarrassed revealing his lame litany in front of us. When Francesca mercilessly pressed him, he went doggedly on. He mentioned 18-hour days … who knew? ... which meant there wouldn’t be any time at all for a relationship.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. Back at Home Farm, Francesca watched him gather his belongings, although why she deliberately made herself suffer like that I couldn’t say. It didn’t take Matt long to load the Duisenberg. He tried to say goodbye to Babe and me, but I wouldn’t even speak to him.

Francesca was standing over the kitchen sink, violently hacking at carrots and broccoli. I squatted halfway up the back stairs and listened.

“I have to do this,” he said.

No response.

“I'll be back.”

No response.

“I love you.”

I heard her turn to him then.

“If you don’t leave my house this instant, I will be forced to go and get Cox’s .410 over-and-under. As you know, it’s in a gun case off the fireplace.”

The last thing he did was hand her the big silver trophy. She took it out of his hands and smashed it on the kitchen floor. The back door slammed. I could hear Babe bark as she ran after him. The Duisenberg roared to life, and then for the last time, I heard the lovely, deep growl of the engine disappear into the distance.

He was gone.

Francesca stood on the front porch, watching the Doozy until long after its trail of dust had settled back to earth.

Harry and Maude stayed out of the fray. There was plenty of work for Harry at Daddyboys' garage, and, unbelievably, Maude spent those first couple of days helping him by handing him tools, going over paperwork.

That left a lot of silence to roam around in.

I was feeling Francesca’s anguish, her disbelief, the chill on her heart. It seemed to me that the lovely spark in her soul had been snuffed out. She seemed smaller and older.

The pain I felt came in waves, like an incoming tide. It washed over every other emotion and thought. How could he?
How could he?

Right then, I hated Matthew Mosley with all my heart. I hated his weakness; his lack of backbone. How could I have been so taken in by his charm?

Francesca held herself together while Maude and Harry were still with us. But the silence at the dinner table was almost frightening. No one could think of anything safe to talk about. Every time Maude made a few halfhearted stabs at conversation, it was obvious how badly she felt for her sister. But Francesca wasn’t in a mood for pity, either.

When at last Maude and Harry were packed and ready to go, Maude grabbed Francesca and hugged her hard, so hard I heard Francesca gasp.

“There is absolutely nothing I can say that will help,” Maude started out, still holding on to Francesca with all her skinny might, “but ... I love you with all my heart.”

She kissed Francesca on the forehead, me on the cheek, took Harry by the hand, stepped into a steady rain and got into Abraham’s cab. They waved and waved as the car bumped down the drive and onto Thunder Ridge Road. Francesca didn’t wave back.

Without a word, she took off toward the paddock, never bothering to get a raincoat or even a scarf. As I watched from the back porch stoop, she hauled herself up onto the top rail of the fence. She sat there, dangling her legs for a long, long time. Then, she whistled up RedBird, who came a-galloping. The woman and the horse nuzzled one another for a quarter hour. At last, Francesca grabbed RedBird’s mane and eased herself on to that silken back. Francesca looked back at me, shook her head, then clucked RedBird into a canter.

The horse gathered speed as they neared the far fence. What was she doing? My eyes were like saucers as I watched Francesca steer that little mare over the five-foot-high gate. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the ground was still mushy. As RedBird landed, she kicked up a shower of muddy water.

Francesca was gone for hours. I was frantic with worry. At one point, I considered catching up
Miss Blossom and going after them. But Francesca was someone who rode like she raced a car. Considering the state of mind she was in, she might very well have been all the way to Clinton County.

It was way after suppertime when I heard the faint rhythm of
 hooves on the gravel drive. Babe and I slipped out the back door and trotted over toward the barn to wait. The rain poured down my face and body like a sheet. The only light came from the back porch and out through the kitchen window.

Both Francesca and RedBird were soaking and covered with mud. RedBird was panting as if she’d run for her life. Francesca’s body was draped exhaustedly across RedBird’s neck, her hands cramped in a death grip around a piece of that lush mane. By fits and starts, Francesca slid onto the ground, barely able to stand. When I went to help her, she pushed me away and managed to stumble into the house.

“I’ll take care of everything,” I called through the gloom.

RedBird was shivering as I led her to her stall. Miss Blossom nickered a greeting, but the little roan mare was too spent to respond. I dried her and massaged her legs and curried her till she sighed and snorted with pleasure. I watered her and fed her an extra serving of oats. And as I worked, I started getting mad at my grandmother.

How dare she behave this way? Maybe I had no business being angry with her, but I couldn’t help myself. What if something terrible had happened? What if she’d been thrown? And killed? I threw myself on the stack of hay near Miss Blossom’s stall and began to cry, great moaning sobs of pity. Some of it was for Francesca, but the larger portion, I’m ashamed to say, was for myself. Babe sat down in front of me and licked the tears off my cheeks. I felt exactly like some lost orphan caught in a storm and wished with all my might that Mommy and Daddyboys were here. They’d know what to do.

After a while, exhausted and with Babe serving as my blanket and my comforter, I fell deeply asleep.

I dreamed about Francesca and RedBird flying over the gate and Matt standing beside me clapping and whooping.

Chapter 27

Eye of the Storm

I

t was
Miss Blossom nickering that awakened me. I hadn’t a clue what time it might’ve been, and I was stiff as a board. The hay down my back itched. Although it should have been pitch black outside, I could make out a faint glow from the back porch light. I called softly for Babe, but she wasn’t in the barn. I struggled to my feet and stumbled through the big wooden doors out into the night.

There was a deathly stillness in the air. Even the crickets were silent. I felt some unformed apprehension. My feet made squishing noises in the mud. The back door was still unlocked, which struck me as odd. Carefully, I opened it and peeked into the kitchen.

Francesca was sprawled across the floor. Stunned and shocked, I was only able to process the scene slowly, one detail at a time. I felt frozen. I was unable to cry out. After what seemed like a year, I noticed Babe lay next to Francesca.

Next, I picked up on the shallow rise and fall of Francesca’s chest. Thank heaven! I tiptoed over and touched her face, but she didn’t respond. Her breath reeked of whiskey, an odor I recognized from Matt’s early days with us.

To say I was scared was the great understatement of my life up to that point. I felt helpless and vulnerable and shattered.

“Francesca! Francesca! Wake up!”

My grandmother groaned but didn’t move or open her eyes.

Suddenly, I heard the wind start to pick up, like some gigantic fan had been cranked into motion. I was able to raise Francesca’s head but could only hold it steady for a moment. I tried to lift her and drag her to the couch, but I wasn’t nearly strong enough. Running into the storm for help would be futile, and I couldn’t leave her alone.

I decided to stay in the kitchen until she woke up.

I rooted in the linen closet for a woolen throw and a large pillow. I covered Francesca, tucking the edge of the blanket around her legs and feet, then slid the pillow under her head. She still didn’t stir, but at least she looked comfortable. While I prayed aloud twenty times she would be alright by morning, I retrieved another blanket for myself and Babe, and I slept fitfully beside Francesca on the kitchen floor.

Even in my dreams, I could hear the sound of the wind growing louder and louder. Eventually, a rasping of
branches against the house alerted me. The storm was frenzied now. Just above the din, I thought I could hear RedBird whinnying in terror.

Francesca was still out cold. I looked outside the window and saw the air was filled with leaves and dust and twigs and bits of trash. The
barn door started slapping back and forth, the hinges crying out. I realized this was perfect tornado weather and that Francesca and the animals and I were in terrible danger. Somehow, I had to get us all into the basement storm cellar. Dug out beneath Main House almost two hundred years ago, it was a more than ample safe haven.

After warning Babe to stay with Francesca, I grabbed a rain slick, barred the doggie door and pushed my way out into the maelstrom.

The wind was so strong I had to walk at an angle as I fought my way to the chicken coop. I opened their pen, so they could move around freely and if need be hide somewhere safe. I also hooked the small shutters on the outside of their shelter.

Next, I ran to the barn and haltered Miss Blossom. She was older than RedBird and of a calmer nature, and I figured I could handle her well enough. I tied a handkerchief over her eyes and led her out into the yard, where the rain was pouring down in torrents. Blossom shied a bit, but I whispered into her ear and blew into her nose to keep her quiet. When we’d made it safely to the cellar, she stood obediently while I unbolted the
big storm doors. It took forever to drag them open. I lit an oil lamp I remembered was hanging on my right before leading Miss Blossom down the wooden ramp my father had crafted exactly for this occasion.

It was amazingly quiet there, under the earth. The dimly lit root cellar smelled of apples and potatoes and dampness. I was breathing hard by this time and sweating with exertion. My throat was dry. I uncorked a large jug of water by the apple bins and took a long swallow. It comforted me, somehow, maybe because I'd seen Grandpap do that very thing so many times in the past.

It was much cooler down below than I’d expected, and I made sure there was a supply of extra blankets in the trunk near four folded cots.

I was on my way back to get RedBird when lightning darted across the sky, followed immediately by a booming clap of thunder. I heard a crackling sound somewhere over my head and smelled smoke. I stood still for a second, trying to get my bearings in the chaos swirling around me. But I could barely stand up as the wind pushed against me, and I couldn’t see a thing. I held my hands in front of my face to protect my eyes from flying debris. That’s when I heard an even louder CRACK that sounded like a cannon shot.

I never saw it coming. An eight-foot branch from our elm tree split from the trunk, falling with a crash on top of me. It knocked me flat, forcing the air out of my chest. For a moment, I wasn’t sure what had happened. Then, I panicked. I’d heard that people could suffocate or black out after that kind of injury. Finally, my lungs burst back to life with a tremendous gasp. I inhaled and exhaled as slowly as I could. I tried to get up then, but I was pinned solid.

The sound of the wind ticked up a notch. In the barn, RedBird snorted and pawed her feed bin in agitation. The thunder rolled over me like a blanket. It came in waves and echoed back through itself and off the foothills.
 

I struggled under that old branch. I swore and squirmed and twisted and kicked. I wasn’t seriously hurt, but I could no more have gotten out from underneath that weight than I could have flown to the moon. I screamed, but it was no use; there was no one to hear me in that deafening din.

I don’t know how long I lay there before I started to cry. I realized it was possible I would not make it through the night. At some point, I went in and out of consciousness from sheer exhaustion. Reality and dreams became blurred. My mind was deceiving me. Or was it? I thought I heard voices.

“Francesca! Babe!” I called over and over to the voices that might have been inside my head. “Save them; they’re in the kitchen! And RedBird! Don’t forget RedBird!” Although my eyes were blurry from rain and dust, I thought I saw the shadows of giants standing over me, dressed in flowing cloaks, their faces covered, the brims of their dark hats streaming rain. From somewhere, a pinpoint of weak light glowed.
 

“I’m okay. I’m not hurt. Please help us,” I whispered again and again. One of the giants squatted beside me as the other two forms lifted the branch off me. “Let’s get her inside.” Then, they carried me to the cellar and lay me down on a cot. After a careful searching touch of my limbs, I was covered with blankets. As the blood in my fingers and toes began to circulate again, I became slightly more alert. But I was still weak and felt dizzy. When I could make out RedBird’s unmistakable snorting nearby, I knew we’d been saved.

I saw that one of the giants was carrying my grandmother in his arms. But he didn’t put her on the other cot right away. His face was still hidden, but I could tell he was staring at her face. At last, as gently as he might have handled a new-born babe, he lowered her inert body onto the cot and covered her.

Babe came running in and jumped on top of me. She nudged her nose under the blanket and laid her head on my stomach. I was too disoriented to respond.

The giant glanced back at us once from the door. With a shake of his head, he disappeared into the night. The wind still roared above us, but in the storm cellar, it was quiet and dry. I closed my eyes and faded into oblivion.