The Old White Oak
started from the mind of Heather
Meredith was in a bit of a pickle.
While Ma was at her monthly quilting bee at old Mrs. Henshaw’s place, Meredith was left in charge of the younger ones, five children under the age of ten. Henry was usually a help but today he was nowhere to be found. Meredith guessed that he was probably hiding out at the pond, trying to catch a few fish. He did that every chance he got, saying it was the best way to spend the afternoon. Meredith had often heard her Pa say the exact same thing, so she knew where Henry got the idea from. Part of her would smile when she heard the words come from her brother’s mouth, but the other, deeper part of her would ache, still not fully recovered from losing her Pa last winter.
Right now Meredith needed Henry’s help. The baby, Claire, who was usually a happy child full of smiles and giggles was at this moment screaming her head off, inconsolable on Meredith’s hip, and the three-year-old twins were running crazy in the chicken coop. Ma would be furious when she got home. They relied on those hens to keep laying their eggs and tormenting them like that could create a smaller yield over the next few days. That’s what Ma always said, anyway.
Meredith passed her baby sister off to Fanny, who although was only six, was a responsible child. She then ran out to the coop to round up her brothers, those rascals. They were always getting her into trouble. Joseph was trying to shove a handful of straw into the face of a small chicken that he had tucked under his pudgy arm and Jasper was chasing the fattest hen around in circles. Meredith was sure her frantic squawking could probably be heard for miles. When the boys saw her coming they both squealed and bolted for the door, trying to escape her wrath but they were trapped. Just as she was about to let loose a few choice words to put them in their place, she heard the coop door squeak behind her and her mother walked in.
The guilty boys immediately began pointing fingers at Meredith and even sprouted a few anguished tears, indicating how abused they were. Her mother simply said, “Now boys, it’s time to wash up. Go up to the house please.”
The boys, seeing their chance for escape, gleefully skipped out of the cramped little room. Meredith prepared herself for a scolding, but instead found something far worse when she looked into her mother’s eyes. It was exhaustion with a small bit of disappointment.
“I’m sorry, Ma. The boys were out of control and Claire was just crying and wouldn’t stop, and Henry ran off and isn’t helping.” Her words trailed off when she saw the steely resignation return to her mother’s face, placing her mouth in a firm line.
“You too, Meredith. Go to the house and wash up. Let’s get ready for supper.”
“Yes ma’am,” she replied and quietly left the room.
The baby was still screaming in the house, with Fanny attempting to soothe her with a wooden rattle. It was one that their father had made, before Meredith had even been born, and it had teeth marks set into it from every one of the six Sterling children. Meredith took Claire from her sister and rocked her until the baby settled down. She must have felt Meredith’s agitation before and mirrored her mood.
Meredith wandered over to the window, trying to see where her mother was. Meredith had been trying for months to keep that exhausted and resigned look from her mother’s face, but it had been difficult since her Pa had died. At age twelve, Meredith had had to grow up quickly. The stress of supporting a family of her size was extreme, and Meredith had seen the changes in her mother day by day. The house had always been noisy and crowded before, but it was full of an abundance of laughter as well as people. Now it was just noisy and crowded and sad.
Meredith saw her mother exit the chicken coop slowly, shutting the door behind her. Turning back toward the house she squared her shoulders back, apparently bracing herself for the rest of the evening.
Meredith wondered if she would ever see her mother smile again.
(Heidi)
Her Pa was a man of many talents. His fishing kept the family well stocked, even into the winter months when thick ice would form on top of the river. His dancing was nothing to laugh at, he had won many awards for his dancing in Sade County as well as Nichols County next door. And he loved to teach the children how to dance, calling out the steps and singing along although pitch was definitely not one of his talents. He carved wood into beautiful cabinets and shelving as well as clocks and toys. Just look at that rattle, it had been one of his first attempts and, though it was covered in teeth marks, it was still beautiful and perfectly formed.
Their home was surrounded by trees like maple, ash, beech and walnut, which allowed him to create innumerable pieces and sell them. Again, he provided for his family with his hands, taking pride with his work but never acting too proud. That was another talent of his. He was humble. His humility encouraged people to flock to him whether in town, at church, at town hall meetings, and especially at home. Each child in the Sterling family loved their Pa. His death struck them all hard.
It had started with a rainstorm and ended when lightning hit a tree. Meredith had collected all the children and gotten them situated in the house then realized Pa was not there. Ma was busy nursing the baby so she asked her mother if she could go out and look for him herself. Although Ma was worried about Pa, she made Meredith wait until the thunderstorm ended . As soon as the drops stopped drilling on their corrugated metal roof, she looked at Ma and when Ma nodded, she shot out of the house like a rocket.
Meredith loved her father more than anything or anyone else in the world. She felt worry growing in the pit of her stomach though and knew something was wrong. When she didn’t see him near the part of the forest where he usually found his favorite pieces of walnut, she hurried farther in. There in the middle of a grove of white oak, she found him. Alive but injured. His body was trapped by a large white oak. “It was struck by lightning and fell quicker than I ever could have imagined,” she remembered him whispering. She spread herself down by him, asking urgently yet gently what she could do to help him. He sighed and mumbled to her his last words. Words that would stick with her forever, words that she could never tell her mother because she knew her mother would not want to know about his suffering. She would have wanted his death to be quick and painless, but Meredith learned very quickly that day that death had no timetable. Death just took what it wanted and when it wanted.
“It hurts, Meredith. Oh, goodness, it hurts something awful. Please, will you pray. If God wills it, I would like to leave this mortal shell behind as quickly as I can. I’m sorry to be such a coward, child. I love you and I love your mother and all my babies. I am sorry. I am so sorry. I love you.”
His last words told of love and that meant more than anything to her. She was still not sure if he heard her murmurings of love for him but she knew he already knew he was loved. By her and her sisters and brothers and of course her Ma. But somehow he sensed that she needed to know of his love for her, that it was the only thing that would help her find her way out of the misery surrounding this devastating accident. And he took those last few moments before Death took him to reassure her. Oh, how she loved her Pa.
Too soon, the sky darkening too quickly, she realized she would need to leave her father’s body there in the forest, alone, while she went to get help. This was the beginning then, the beginning of leaving him behind as she struggled to move forward with her life.
First she would find her neighbor and then, only after her Pa’s body was moved from the darkening elements, would she go and find her mother. And then, she would break her mother’s heart.
(JoLyn)
In the months since her father’s death, the acute physical pain Meredith felt turned into more of a hollow ache. She realized there was no way she was ever going to get over the death and so she tried to weave it into the fabric of her life.
Meredith entered the farmhouse after her mother and knew she was about to be even more disappointed. She had directed her to start water boiling and peel the potatoes while she was at her quilting bee. In caring for the children, it had completely slipped Meredith’s mind. Now dinner was going to be delayed. Meredith wished she could figure out how to not mess up.
As they sat down to a late supper of griddlecakes (the potatoes had been abandoned in favor of a quick meal), Ma cleared her throat but didn’t look at any of them in the eye as she made an announcement. “I’ve received a letter from my cousin Lucy in St. Louis.” Ma fidgeted with her napkin and then finally set it determinedly in her lap. “She has written to let me know that she’s willing to take on a few of you children.” Meredith’s mouth dropped open. “She and her husband are good people. But they were never able to have children of their own.” Ma glanced at Meredith’s face and said defensively, “We grew up together. It’s been years since we’ve seen each other, but I trust her to do a good job of raising you younguns.”
Meredith couldn’t believe her ears. She knew this is what happened sometimes when a parent died, but her mother had been working so hard to provide for them and to keep them together. Meredith stood up abruptly, scraping the bench she shared with Henry and Fanny along the floor. “You just can’t decide to send some of us off like we were the hired help. How do you choose who goes? Which ones of us are you farming out forever?” Meredith had forced her voice to be calm at the beginning of her speech, but by the time she got to the end, she was yelling at her mother. Father never would have allowed her to speak to Ma this way. Of course he never would have allowed the family to be split up either.
“It’s not forever Meredith,” Ma replied icily, shutting down any hint of backtalk from Meredith. She knew well enough to let her mother be once she had used this tone of voice.
“Who’s going, Ma?”
“I thought Fanny and maybe one of the twins.”
Meredith’s heart tore along the seams she thought she had stitched back together when her father died. Fanny was only six, but she was a friend as well as her sister. And you couldn’t break up the twins. It would be like Solomon promising to cut that baby in half. A mother wouldn’t do that to the boys. Why, they were so young, they would either forget each other or have a permanent ache where they had been detached from each other’s lives. Meredith understood that the two boys together were more than just one plus one. It was like trouble multiplied when they were in full force.
“Ma, don’t do this. I promise I’ll be more help. Please don’t do this.”
Fanny was crying and Henry sat stone-faced. The twins were starting to throw bits of their griddlecakes at each other.
Ma stood up. “You don’t think this is difficult for me? I’ve tried everything I can to provide for us, but I just can’t. It kills me to do this. But, I would do anything for my children and this is the best choice. Do you think I like that the best choice is to send my children to someone else? Do you think, Meredith, that you are the only one with a heart around here?”
Ma began crying and then left the table, stumbling over the chair she overturned in her rush to be alone.
Meredith looked around at the shambles of the family around her. Henry and Fanny looked to her like she knew how to fix things. There had to be something she could do. She loved this family. It was her father’s final words. Love had to be enough.
(Clarissa)
Meredith knew it was time she followed her mother into the bedroom to apologize and make peace. Her feet moved in the opposite direction: out the kitchen door. What did Henry and Fanny expect her to do? Meredith jumped over the last porch step and ran into the trees. She hadn’t been alone for too long. There was no quiet to be had with everyone expecting her to pick up their slack. She took refuge under the lilac tree-- a bushy tree that hung over the fence and made a sort of cave where she used to hide away and play back when Pa was still alive. No one, not even Henry could find her when she hid there. Not that they’d look for her until it was good and dark. Let Ma call all she wanted! No, it wouldn’t do any good to think like that. Meredith let herself cry. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. She’d tried her best. Ma tried her best. Henry too-- even though his “best” was unhelpful. The twins were too young to understand. They couldn’t see the need to stop getting into mischief.
Meredith hugged her knees and watched the black ants on the ground make their way over twigs and pebbles. She watched them and listened to the soft night breeze blow through the leaves. It would be difficult for Ma’s cousins to try and raise both of those twins at once. This way of life couldn’t go on without Pa.
It had gotten dark.
After crawling out of the lilac bush, Meredith pulled a few leaves out of her hair and walked back to the house. She didn’t stop in the kitchen where Henry was timidly washing the dishes. The twins were pushing water across the floor, calling it “mopping”, and Fanny was playing Peek-a-Boo with Claire. Meredith knocked softly on her mother’s bedroom and opened the door.
Her mother was lying on the bed, hugging Pa’s old pillow.
“Ma,” Meredith said. “I’m sorry.”
Ma was silent. She tried to rub her eyes real casual-like, pretending that she hadn’t been crying.
Meredith took a deep breath. “I’ll go.”
Ma rolled over to look at her, forgetting her tear-stained face.
“I’ll go to St Louis and stay with Cousin Lucy. You can send the twins with me. That way they won’t be separated. Henry and Fanny will help you out with Claire.”
(Frances)
And that was it. Meredith spent the next two weeks helping her Ma get herself and the twins packed. It really could have been done in a day since they didn’t have much to pack but they needed the time to adjust to what was coming. Ma even managed to get the town photographer to take their family picture. Meredith heard Ma talking to the photographer after the picture was taken. She was supposed to be herding the children outside but she lingered. She heard her Ma making the arrangements to come back and clean his home in exchange for the print. Meredith knew her Ma intended to send the picture with her to St. Louis as a reminder for her and the twins of the family left behind. Meredith went back the next day and worked out a deal to come in herself and clean his studio so she could get an extra print for her Ma.
Over the two weeks, Meredith would often find Ma crying while she was frying the eggs for breakfast or sweeping the dirt floor. Meredith knew her Ma was sad but she didn’t know what to do to make it right. She was only 12. What could a 12 year old do? There wasn’t much to do in this town but maybe, once she got to St. Louis and talked to her Ma’s cousin and checked out the town, maybe then there would be something to do. For now, she just kept helping out as much as she could.
The day finally arrived for their departure. The entire family made the three mile hike into town and the station to see them off. Henry helped Meredith by carrying one of the bags. He was quiet and subdued. He understood what was happening. Fanny did not understand but she felt the tension and quiet and so she plodded along with everyone else. The twins did not understand and they galloped and jumped and ran all the way to the station. This was a great adventure for a three year old, a train ride. Baby Claire sat contentedly on Ma’s hip all the way to the station. She cooed and laughed at the antics of the twins. The solemness of the situation did not penetrate their young lives.
As Meredith climbed the platform and waited with the children, Ma bought the tickets with the money her cousin had sent. Meredith knew she was probably going to cry and her mother was probably going to cry. Meredith had held it together these past two weeks but the actual goodbye was going to be too much for her. Her eyes were already welling up with tears and her nose was running. She pulled her handkerchief out of her rolled up sleeve and swiped quickly at her face. She didn’t want Ma to see her. She didn’t want to cause Ma any more pain. She needed to be brave so Ma could be brave. Meredith knew she needed to get to St. Louis. She had managed to convince herself, over the last two weeks, that the solution to all her problems lay in St. Louis. She just had to get there and figure out what it was.
Her Ma came up on the platform with the tickets and they all picked everything up and got on the train. Her Ma made sure that the twins were settled, or as settled as they would get without being asleep, and made sure that Meredith knew where their luggage was kept and that they had the basket of food they had prepared for the journey. When her Ma had fussed as much as she could, they sat around talking about nothing in particular until the whistle blew and the conductor came through the cabin shooing all non-ticket holders off the train. Ma talked to him for a moment, gesturing at her children and Meredith knew it was her last attempt to make sure they were taken care of. Her heart swelled and the tears began. Ma gave the twins each a quick hug and then came and hugged Meredith.
“I know you’ll be fine Meredith,” she said into her daughter’s hair while she hugged her. Her Ma then held her firmly by both arms and looked right into her eyes, “Meredith, I want you to know that I love you so very much and that I am going to miss you more than any words I can tell you. Please remember me,” she choked out before she grabbed Claire back from Henry and walked out of the train.
Henry hugged Meredith and told her he loved her in his ten year old boy way and Fanny hugged her tightly until Henry grabbed her hand and yanked her off the train. Meredith and the twins waved to their family who was being left behind and she wondered, for just a moment, if this would be the last time she would ever see them, but quickly thrust that thought from her mind. She wondered instead on what the solution to this problem would be and how would St. Louis present it to her.
(Thelma)
Bringing the twins had been a good idea. Cousin Lucy was enamored by them. She tousled their hair and plied them with treats and called them darlings. She was a little less sure of Meredith, however. Of course, Meredith didn’t know how to act around her either. The twins loved all the attention and surprisingly behaved themselves tolerably well. There was so much to see whenever they were out and about in the bustling city that she had little trouble keeping hold of each of their hands when they walked. Their eyes would be the size of saucers as they looked around, but they held her hands firmly.
Lucy requested the children call her Auntie. She was quite fat and quite rich and lived in a beautiful house surrounded by lawns and leafy trees. She was the only child of Ma’s Uncle Charles. Charles had moved to St. Louis and made his fortune, leaving it all to Lucy when he died. Auntie had a housekeeper, Grace, who was a good cook and not too fussy about messy three year old boys. She also had a spoiled dog, Prince. Meredith couldn’t understand what Auntie had done to fill her time before they came to live with her. Maybe she had offered to take them in out of sheer boredom.
After breakfast, she’d call the twins into her sitting room where she would laugh with them as they played with Prince. She mildly scolded them if they were too rambunctious but mostly she just watched them and cooed over them. She sent out for books for them and blocks. Meredith had gone to a little bit of schooling, before Pa had died and would have loved some books, but she never felt particularly welcome in the sitting room.
“You don’t have to stay here with us,” Auntie would say merrily. “Go out in the garden if you’d like.”
Meredith would glumly leave her brothers behind and spend solitary hours in the garden. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind. She had spent her entire childhood working. Ma needed her and although it was seldom fun, it was nice to feel needed. Now she had nothing but time. Before she would have thought such an expanse of freedom to do nothing in particular was a dream come true but now she discovered that she was lonely. She missed her Ma and her brother and sisters. The twins didn’t need her and Meredith was almost mad at them for being so happy. Didn’t they miss Ma?
Mr. Donaldson was the gardener that came twice a week. Auntie’s yard wasn’t big enough to need a full time gardener but there was enough to keep him busy on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Meredith started following him around on the days he was there. She had never been a particularly chatty person and Mr. Donaldson certainly didn’t have much to say so they usually spent the day in companionable silence. It made her happy to kneel on the ground next to him and pull out weeds while he hauled water or transplanted plants. He would gruffly give her directions or nod his approval at her work but besides that, they were quiet.
All the time that Meredith had grumbled about having to work while growing up seemed very far away. She was glad to have something to do that seemed worthwhile. She was happy to have busy hands and to be able to look back at her work and see that she did something.
There was a cooler feel in the air and it was not quite as hot and muggy. One day while Meredith was weeding a yellow leaf swirled by her head.
“Fall’s coming,” Mr. Donaldson commented with his usual brevity.
Meredith wondered what she would do if she couldn’t work in the garden. “Will you still come and work?” she asked.
“Some,” he said, “But you’ll be in school.”
“I will?” she said, the thought had never occurred to her.
(Heather)
Mr. Donaldson was right. Before the maples in Aunt Lucy’s yard were fully transformed into glowing yellow heads, Meredith had started at St. Louis Girls’ Academy of Reform. Sure, she had attended school in the past and she knew how to read, but this was her first time being in a classroom with more than ten students. Back at home, they all met together in one dirty room, their desks facing a single blackboard covered in the scrawling handwriting of old Mrs. Stitch. When the younger ones weren’t paying enough attention or the rambunctious Baker boys in the back of the room were caught passing a toad or some other obnoxious creature between themselves, Mrs. Stitch would grab the long pointer that she used on the blackboard and wrap the side of her desk hard. The sharp whap of the thin springy stick would remind everyone of a certain stinging punishment if quiet wasn’t quickly restored.
At St. Louis Girls’ Academy, however, there was an entire building full of classrooms, and the halls and classrooms were filled with girls dressed in smartly pressed school uniforms. They learned arithmetic, practiced their penmanship, and read everyday from real books, not just a basic primer.
The instant Meredith saw Miss Reed with her bright eyes and dimpled cheeks, and heard her exuberant description of their first reading assignment, she knew exactly what she was meant to do. She was going to teach.
(Five Years Later)
Although Meredith had very few possessions, her bag was especially heavy as she followed the dusty road that led to her old home. She knew that she shouldn’t have brought so many of her books with her, but the thought of leaving them behind was more than she could bear.
Meredith was on her way home for a visit before she started her new position in Pennsylvania. It was a wonderful position for such a young teacher, but she had worked hard over the last five years to be the very best. She had especially excelled in her literary classes, delving into the poetry of Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson. In her bag was a portfolio of hundreds of poems which she had written. Someday she hoped to be published.
Ma had not thought it a good idea to come home. They wrote to each other diligently every week. Meredith’s letters were full of new people and places and things that she was learning. Her ma’s were brief updates on the farm, with maybe a description of what fish Henry brought home for supper. Fanny could be relied on for more colorful letters, telling Meredith about what was going on in town in addition to how Claire and Henry were doing. Ma always insisted that they were all fine, and preferred that Meredith and the boys stayed in St. Louis with their aunt, rather than coming home for a visit. The twins had adapted well to living with Aunt Lucy. Meredith was sure that they pretty much saw her as their mother, for they seldom referred to anything from their past. They were so young when they left the farm, so Meredith was not surprised. To Meredith, however, it felt as though she was completely abandoned. Not only was her mother willing to send her away, but she did not seem to want to see her ever again. Why was she so adamant that they stay apart?
Meredith thought it best to not tell her mother that she would be visiting before moving on to Pennsylvania. That way, it would be too late, she would already be there. What could she do, turn her daughter away at the door? Meredith was sure she would not do that.
As excited as she was to get home, Meredith’s stomach was a knot of nerves as she rounded the final corner on the dusty road which would lead to her old home. It had been five years since she gave her last hugs to Ma and the other children on that train. What would her mother think of her? Would she approve of what she saw? Meredith nervously smoothed her skirt with her free hand, conscious of the expensive fine wool and how it differed from the patched up skirts of her old frocks. Her shiny black boots had a fine coating of dust, but even the dirt couldn’t hide the perfect even-ness of the stitches in the tight leather, perfectly fitted to her feet. They were a far cry from the sloppy hand-me-down boots of Henry’s which she used to wear, stuffing cotton in the toes to cover up the holes where the stitching had ripped loose. So much had changed.
Finally the farm was in sight. In reality, it probably was not much different from when she left, but to Meredith’s eyes it looked like a run-down shack, with a chicken coop that leaned to one side and a fenced in patch of dirt which housed a sad-looking pig with her babies.
From a distance, Meredith could make out someone calling her name and running up the dirt path which led down to the tiny creek. It was Henry. He dropped his fishing rod and bucket and ran, his long skinny legs cutting the distance in half before Meredith could even inhale a gasp of surprise and nerves. Matching her brother, she dropped her bag and ran the rest of the way to him, but stopped awkwardly just before the inevitable embrace. Looking at each other shyly, Henry gave her a funny hug which only made Meredith feel more of a stranger than a sister.
“Mer,” he finally exclaimed, “I can’t believe you’re here!”
Meredith bobbed her head. She tried to look him in the eyes but all she could see was his skinny ankles and dirty bare feet protruding from the end of his britches, which were a good six inches too short. She suddenly felt very self-conscious about her shiny boots and she felt a flush creep up her neck into her face.
“Has Ma seen you yet? Did she know you were coming?” Henry asked.
“No, I meant it to be a surprise,” Meredith said, finally looking into brother’s face. She searched his brown eyes, trying to find something, although she wasn’t exactly sure what. “Every time I wrote about wanting to come home, Ma would insist that we stay in town with Aunt Lucy. I don’t understand it…”
Henry looked away toward the house.
“Meredith,” he began slowly, “a lot has changed since you left.”
“What? Tell me.” Meredith couldn’t help but grasp Henry’s arm, feeling the soft weathered cotton of his shirt.
“Ma hasn’t been well…” he began, but his voice trailed off.
“What do you mean? What do you mean, Henry?” Meredith could hear her voice begin to raise in pitch to an unfamiliar shrill sound. Her heart started to pound.
Before Henry could explain further, the front door of the house was thrown open and a tall girl came running toward her, almost knocking Meredith over when she threw herself around her chest.
“Meredith, I can’t believe you are here!” she said breathlessly. It was Fanny. She was tall and tan, with two long braids which flew off her shoulders as she ran.
Meredith held her sister close and the sudden strange shyness which had overtaken her when she met with Henry escaped as quickly as it had come on. She was home, at last.
The three siblings stood in the road in front of their house for several minutes, exclaiming over their surprise and delight in seeing each other again. Finally, Meredith asked again after her mother. Henry and Fanny looked at each other, and the look passed between them was full of emotion and dread.
“Mer,” Henry said again. “Ma has been sick for a while now. It started not too long after you and the twins left. She was so tired all the time. We thought maybe she would improve, now that she had less to manage with the twins gone and all, but it only seemed to get worse.”
Meredith put her hand to her mouth in shock. How was this the first that she had heard of this? Why did no one write and tell her. When she asked the question out loud, Fanny softly replied.
“We wanted to tell you, but Ma insisted that we don’t say anything about it. She wanted you to focus on your studies, and not worry about her.”
“But what has been done? What does Dr. Brown say? Doesn’t he come and see her?”
“Yes, of course he has seen her. Lots of times,” Henry said defensively. “We’ve done everything we can for her.”
Fanny was quick to jump in with a soothing tone, but her answer was not easy to hear. “Meredith,” she said softly, “the doctor says it is cancer. She isn’t going to get better.”
Finally Meredith and her siblings went to the house. As she stepped through the doorway, Meredith was flooded with memories. There, at that solid wooden table which her father built, was the place of countless family dinners. How strange to think that it had been almost six years since her entire family was sitting around that table, laughing at her pa’s silly jokes, while her ma sat steaming bowls of fried potatoes and onions in the center, the savory steam tingling Meredith’s nose. And there in front of the stone fireplace was the beautiful rocker which her father had made before Meredith was even born. Meredith could imagine the smooth stroke of his hands as he sanded and polished the wood to a lustrous sheen. It was still beautiful. One of Ma’s handmade quilts was draped across the back, as though she had only stepped away from the rocker a moment earlier.
A young girl was standing at the stove stirring a pot of something steaming heavily. She turned to look at Meredith and there was no recognition in her blue eyes, only a solemn question. They were her father’s eyes. Claire was the only child who had received them, as all the others had varying shades of brown, like their mother.
“Claire,” Meredith whispered, but the girl only looked at her gravely, like she would a complete stranger who just entered her home.
“Clairey, this is Meredith,” Fanny prompted. “She is home for a visit.”
“How d’you do?” she said stiffly. A lump formed in Meredith’s throat. This child, her youngest sister, did not even know her.
Meredith turned quickly to Fanny. “I must see Ma,” she said hoarsely.
“Of course,” Fanny said.
Her mother’s bedroom was dark, and at first it was hard for Meredith to make out the shadowy form of the bed against the wall. Fanny came in behind Meredith and walked across to the window, pulling the blanket which was draped across it aside, and casting the room in a warm glow from the sunshine.
Meredith approached the bed to see a shrunken woman tucked under the heavy blankets. Her long dark braid was streaked with silver and it draped across her tiny chest, which was rising and falling with each rattling breath the woman took. Slowly the woman opened her dark, sunken eyes and turned toward Meredith. She blinked a few times, before finally her face crumpled in a cry of recognition.
“My girl,” she said, her voice cracking, and reached a frail hand out to her daughter.
Meredith ran to her mother’s bedside and flung herself into her arms. She sobbed as her mother gently stroked her hair and repeated over and over again, “My girl, my Meredith.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Meredith cried, her voice hitching involuntarily.
“Oh sweetheart, I couldn’t. You and the boys were so much better off. And now look at you.” Meredith sat up and her mother wiped a tear from her daughter’s flushed cheek.
“You’re all grown up, and turned into a fine young woman,” she said softly. “Meredith, I am so proud of you.”
Those were the words that Meredith had longed to hear for so long.
“Don’t worry, Ma, I’m going to move back home and take good care of you,” Meredith said urgently, but her mother shook her head.
“No, dear, that is exactly why I forbade your sister or anyone from telling you. You are now able to make something of yourself. You are going to be able to do so much more than I could have even dreamed possible.”
Even though she hated to admit it, Meredith knew that what she spoke was true. Now that she had a valuable education, she would be able to provide much more for her family than she ever would have been able to otherwise. She could send money home, to help them get by, until Henry was big enough to run the farm completely on his own. He was tall and strong, and had managed to keep some crops going throughout the years, but he was still so young. It was difficult to provide for a family at his age.
Meredith had two weeks before her post started in Pennsylvania. She helped Fanny where she could around the house, and even went fishing a few times with Henry, but the majority of the time was spent at her mother’s bedside. She read to her for hours, bringing out her precious books to show her mother, who touched them reverently, caressing the engraved covers and feeling the rough paper edges.
The day before her train was to leave, Meredith decided it was time to pull out her poems and show them to her ma. She was afraid of what she would say, imagining that she might think it was frivolous to spend her time dreaming and writing. She read through them, one at a time, until she finally reached the end of her portfolio.
As Meredith finished the last poem, she looked up, shy and embarrassed. A single tear was tracing down her mother’s cheek, spilling onto her nightdress.
“You wrote these? My girl wrote these?” she whispered.
“Yes, Ma. I hope to be published someday.” Saying it out loud was scary, but somehow made it more real.
It took several minutes before her mother was able to speak. Then she finally said, in a tiny shaking voice, “They are beautiful, my child.”
Before Meredith left to start the next chapter in her life, she made her way out to the old white oak in the woods, where her father’s life was cut short on that stormy night so long ago. The tree still stood, damaged and rotting on the side that had been fractured off so dramatically, killing her father in the process. But the other side looked remarkably well. There were still scars from scorch marks in the flesh of the tree, where the other half had been ripped off, tearing through great chunks of bark. But underneath that bark was smooth, white wood, which looked impossibly pristine. The branches of the tree were still laden with supple green leaves, offering blessed shade in the heat of end of summer. Meredith approached the tree, touching the rough bark, caressing the smooth wood underneath, and plucking a beautiful veined leaf from a lower branch. Life had moved on. Despite the trauma of that night, the old white oak had found a way to not only survive, but to flourish.
Meredith had been in Pennsylvania for two months when she learned of her mother’s death. To the end, she had continued to write to her daughter every week, but this time her letters were more introspective and full of the love and blessings she wished Meredith to have. Meredith cherished those letters beyond anything else.
When she arrived home for the funeral, her Aunt Lucy and the twins were also there to say goodbye to the mother they could barely remember. Meredith was pleased to find that Henry had taken a piece of the old white oak and made two separate markers for her parent’s graves, which lay side by side. They were unique, however, in their shape. Henry had carved two crosses, the shapes suggesting two trees standing tall and straight, each with a branch stretched out to the other. Where they met, the branches were intertwined until you could no longer make out where one started and the other ended.
Meredith thought of how far their family had come. Their trials were heavy, there was no doubt. But there was also hope. Like the oak which was ripped traumatically in two, their family would step away from the damage and grow in spite of the searing pain. As Meredith looked at the entwined branches of her parents’ hands, she knew that she and her siblings were included within the intricate braid. They were all connected eternally, even though they were now separated in this life. Words came flooding into her heart, easing the ache of loss and turning the bitter to sweet. One last gift to her parents, the verse was inscribed into the old white oak.
Ripped by death, the heart is torn,
Separation deems the soul forlorn.
Again in death the souls unite,
Nothing left but sweet respite.
Yet brightly dawns the beaming ray,
A tender start for each new day.
A new bud opens, tendrils extend,
Hearts entwined, the soul to mend.
My hand in yours, our roots run deep,
Fervid soil feeds our eternal sleep.
The End.
While Ma was at her monthly quilting bee at old Mrs. Henshaw’s place, Meredith was left in charge of the younger ones, five children under the age of ten. Henry was usually a help but today he was nowhere to be found. Meredith guessed that he was probably hiding out at the pond, trying to catch a few fish. He did that every chance he got, saying it was the best way to spend the afternoon. Meredith had often heard her Pa say the exact same thing, so she knew where Henry got the idea from. Part of her would smile when she heard the words come from her brother’s mouth, but the other, deeper part of her would ache, still not fully recovered from losing her Pa last winter.
Right now Meredith needed Henry’s help. The baby, Claire, who was usually a happy child full of smiles and giggles was at this moment screaming her head off, inconsolable on Meredith’s hip, and the three-year-old twins were running crazy in the chicken coop. Ma would be furious when she got home. They relied on those hens to keep laying their eggs and tormenting them like that could create a smaller yield over the next few days. That’s what Ma always said, anyway.
Meredith passed her baby sister off to Fanny, who although was only six, was a responsible child. She then ran out to the coop to round up her brothers, those rascals. They were always getting her into trouble. Joseph was trying to shove a handful of straw into the face of a small chicken that he had tucked under his pudgy arm and Jasper was chasing the fattest hen around in circles. Meredith was sure her frantic squawking could probably be heard for miles. When the boys saw her coming they both squealed and bolted for the door, trying to escape her wrath but they were trapped. Just as she was about to let loose a few choice words to put them in their place, she heard the coop door squeak behind her and her mother walked in.
The guilty boys immediately began pointing fingers at Meredith and even sprouted a few anguished tears, indicating how abused they were. Her mother simply said, “Now boys, it’s time to wash up. Go up to the house please.”
The boys, seeing their chance for escape, gleefully skipped out of the cramped little room. Meredith prepared herself for a scolding, but instead found something far worse when she looked into her mother’s eyes. It was exhaustion with a small bit of disappointment.
“I’m sorry, Ma. The boys were out of control and Claire was just crying and wouldn’t stop, and Henry ran off and isn’t helping.” Her words trailed off when she saw the steely resignation return to her mother’s face, placing her mouth in a firm line.
“You too, Meredith. Go to the house and wash up. Let’s get ready for supper.”
“Yes ma’am,” she replied and quietly left the room.
The baby was still screaming in the house, with Fanny attempting to soothe her with a wooden rattle. It was one that their father had made, before Meredith had even been born, and it had teeth marks set into it from every one of the six Sterling children. Meredith took Claire from her sister and rocked her until the baby settled down. She must have felt Meredith’s agitation before and mirrored her mood.
Meredith wandered over to the window, trying to see where her mother was. Meredith had been trying for months to keep that exhausted and resigned look from her mother’s face, but it had been difficult since her Pa had died. At age twelve, Meredith had had to grow up quickly. The stress of supporting a family of her size was extreme, and Meredith had seen the changes in her mother day by day. The house had always been noisy and crowded before, but it was full of an abundance of laughter as well as people. Now it was just noisy and crowded and sad.
Meredith saw her mother exit the chicken coop slowly, shutting the door behind her. Turning back toward the house she squared her shoulders back, apparently bracing herself for the rest of the evening.
Meredith wondered if she would ever see her mother smile again.
(Heidi)
Her Pa was a man of many talents. His fishing kept the family well stocked, even into the winter months when thick ice would form on top of the river. His dancing was nothing to laugh at, he had won many awards for his dancing in Sade County as well as Nichols County next door. And he loved to teach the children how to dance, calling out the steps and singing along although pitch was definitely not one of his talents. He carved wood into beautiful cabinets and shelving as well as clocks and toys. Just look at that rattle, it had been one of his first attempts and, though it was covered in teeth marks, it was still beautiful and perfectly formed.
Their home was surrounded by trees like maple, ash, beech and walnut, which allowed him to create innumerable pieces and sell them. Again, he provided for his family with his hands, taking pride with his work but never acting too proud. That was another talent of his. He was humble. His humility encouraged people to flock to him whether in town, at church, at town hall meetings, and especially at home. Each child in the Sterling family loved their Pa. His death struck them all hard.
It had started with a rainstorm and ended when lightning hit a tree. Meredith had collected all the children and gotten them situated in the house then realized Pa was not there. Ma was busy nursing the baby so she asked her mother if she could go out and look for him herself. Although Ma was worried about Pa, she made Meredith wait until the thunderstorm ended . As soon as the drops stopped drilling on their corrugated metal roof, she looked at Ma and when Ma nodded, she shot out of the house like a rocket.
Meredith loved her father more than anything or anyone else in the world. She felt worry growing in the pit of her stomach though and knew something was wrong. When she didn’t see him near the part of the forest where he usually found his favorite pieces of walnut, she hurried farther in. There in the middle of a grove of white oak, she found him. Alive but injured. His body was trapped by a large white oak. “It was struck by lightning and fell quicker than I ever could have imagined,” she remembered him whispering. She spread herself down by him, asking urgently yet gently what she could do to help him. He sighed and mumbled to her his last words. Words that would stick with her forever, words that she could never tell her mother because she knew her mother would not want to know about his suffering. She would have wanted his death to be quick and painless, but Meredith learned very quickly that day that death had no timetable. Death just took what it wanted and when it wanted.
“It hurts, Meredith. Oh, goodness, it hurts something awful. Please, will you pray. If God wills it, I would like to leave this mortal shell behind as quickly as I can. I’m sorry to be such a coward, child. I love you and I love your mother and all my babies. I am sorry. I am so sorry. I love you.”
His last words told of love and that meant more than anything to her. She was still not sure if he heard her murmurings of love for him but she knew he already knew he was loved. By her and her sisters and brothers and of course her Ma. But somehow he sensed that she needed to know of his love for her, that it was the only thing that would help her find her way out of the misery surrounding this devastating accident. And he took those last few moments before Death took him to reassure her. Oh, how she loved her Pa.
Too soon, the sky darkening too quickly, she realized she would need to leave her father’s body there in the forest, alone, while she went to get help. This was the beginning then, the beginning of leaving him behind as she struggled to move forward with her life.
First she would find her neighbor and then, only after her Pa’s body was moved from the darkening elements, would she go and find her mother. And then, she would break her mother’s heart.
(JoLyn)
In the months since her father’s death, the acute physical pain Meredith felt turned into more of a hollow ache. She realized there was no way she was ever going to get over the death and so she tried to weave it into the fabric of her life.
Meredith entered the farmhouse after her mother and knew she was about to be even more disappointed. She had directed her to start water boiling and peel the potatoes while she was at her quilting bee. In caring for the children, it had completely slipped Meredith’s mind. Now dinner was going to be delayed. Meredith wished she could figure out how to not mess up.
As they sat down to a late supper of griddlecakes (the potatoes had been abandoned in favor of a quick meal), Ma cleared her throat but didn’t look at any of them in the eye as she made an announcement. “I’ve received a letter from my cousin Lucy in St. Louis.” Ma fidgeted with her napkin and then finally set it determinedly in her lap. “She has written to let me know that she’s willing to take on a few of you children.” Meredith’s mouth dropped open. “She and her husband are good people. But they were never able to have children of their own.” Ma glanced at Meredith’s face and said defensively, “We grew up together. It’s been years since we’ve seen each other, but I trust her to do a good job of raising you younguns.”
Meredith couldn’t believe her ears. She knew this is what happened sometimes when a parent died, but her mother had been working so hard to provide for them and to keep them together. Meredith stood up abruptly, scraping the bench she shared with Henry and Fanny along the floor. “You just can’t decide to send some of us off like we were the hired help. How do you choose who goes? Which ones of us are you farming out forever?” Meredith had forced her voice to be calm at the beginning of her speech, but by the time she got to the end, she was yelling at her mother. Father never would have allowed her to speak to Ma this way. Of course he never would have allowed the family to be split up either.
“It’s not forever Meredith,” Ma replied icily, shutting down any hint of backtalk from Meredith. She knew well enough to let her mother be once she had used this tone of voice.
“Who’s going, Ma?”
“I thought Fanny and maybe one of the twins.”
Meredith’s heart tore along the seams she thought she had stitched back together when her father died. Fanny was only six, but she was a friend as well as her sister. And you couldn’t break up the twins. It would be like Solomon promising to cut that baby in half. A mother wouldn’t do that to the boys. Why, they were so young, they would either forget each other or have a permanent ache where they had been detached from each other’s lives. Meredith understood that the two boys together were more than just one plus one. It was like trouble multiplied when they were in full force.
“Ma, don’t do this. I promise I’ll be more help. Please don’t do this.”
Fanny was crying and Henry sat stone-faced. The twins were starting to throw bits of their griddlecakes at each other.
Ma stood up. “You don’t think this is difficult for me? I’ve tried everything I can to provide for us, but I just can’t. It kills me to do this. But, I would do anything for my children and this is the best choice. Do you think I like that the best choice is to send my children to someone else? Do you think, Meredith, that you are the only one with a heart around here?”
Ma began crying and then left the table, stumbling over the chair she overturned in her rush to be alone.
Meredith looked around at the shambles of the family around her. Henry and Fanny looked to her like she knew how to fix things. There had to be something she could do. She loved this family. It was her father’s final words. Love had to be enough.
(Clarissa)
Meredith knew it was time she followed her mother into the bedroom to apologize and make peace. Her feet moved in the opposite direction: out the kitchen door. What did Henry and Fanny expect her to do? Meredith jumped over the last porch step and ran into the trees. She hadn’t been alone for too long. There was no quiet to be had with everyone expecting her to pick up their slack. She took refuge under the lilac tree-- a bushy tree that hung over the fence and made a sort of cave where she used to hide away and play back when Pa was still alive. No one, not even Henry could find her when she hid there. Not that they’d look for her until it was good and dark. Let Ma call all she wanted! No, it wouldn’t do any good to think like that. Meredith let herself cry. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. She’d tried her best. Ma tried her best. Henry too-- even though his “best” was unhelpful. The twins were too young to understand. They couldn’t see the need to stop getting into mischief.
Meredith hugged her knees and watched the black ants on the ground make their way over twigs and pebbles. She watched them and listened to the soft night breeze blow through the leaves. It would be difficult for Ma’s cousins to try and raise both of those twins at once. This way of life couldn’t go on without Pa.
It had gotten dark.
After crawling out of the lilac bush, Meredith pulled a few leaves out of her hair and walked back to the house. She didn’t stop in the kitchen where Henry was timidly washing the dishes. The twins were pushing water across the floor, calling it “mopping”, and Fanny was playing Peek-a-Boo with Claire. Meredith knocked softly on her mother’s bedroom and opened the door.
Her mother was lying on the bed, hugging Pa’s old pillow.
“Ma,” Meredith said. “I’m sorry.”
Ma was silent. She tried to rub her eyes real casual-like, pretending that she hadn’t been crying.
Meredith took a deep breath. “I’ll go.”
Ma rolled over to look at her, forgetting her tear-stained face.
“I’ll go to St Louis and stay with Cousin Lucy. You can send the twins with me. That way they won’t be separated. Henry and Fanny will help you out with Claire.”
(Frances)
And that was it. Meredith spent the next two weeks helping her Ma get herself and the twins packed. It really could have been done in a day since they didn’t have much to pack but they needed the time to adjust to what was coming. Ma even managed to get the town photographer to take their family picture. Meredith heard Ma talking to the photographer after the picture was taken. She was supposed to be herding the children outside but she lingered. She heard her Ma making the arrangements to come back and clean his home in exchange for the print. Meredith knew her Ma intended to send the picture with her to St. Louis as a reminder for her and the twins of the family left behind. Meredith went back the next day and worked out a deal to come in herself and clean his studio so she could get an extra print for her Ma.
Over the two weeks, Meredith would often find Ma crying while she was frying the eggs for breakfast or sweeping the dirt floor. Meredith knew her Ma was sad but she didn’t know what to do to make it right. She was only 12. What could a 12 year old do? There wasn’t much to do in this town but maybe, once she got to St. Louis and talked to her Ma’s cousin and checked out the town, maybe then there would be something to do. For now, she just kept helping out as much as she could.
The day finally arrived for their departure. The entire family made the three mile hike into town and the station to see them off. Henry helped Meredith by carrying one of the bags. He was quiet and subdued. He understood what was happening. Fanny did not understand but she felt the tension and quiet and so she plodded along with everyone else. The twins did not understand and they galloped and jumped and ran all the way to the station. This was a great adventure for a three year old, a train ride. Baby Claire sat contentedly on Ma’s hip all the way to the station. She cooed and laughed at the antics of the twins. The solemness of the situation did not penetrate their young lives.
As Meredith climbed the platform and waited with the children, Ma bought the tickets with the money her cousin had sent. Meredith knew she was probably going to cry and her mother was probably going to cry. Meredith had held it together these past two weeks but the actual goodbye was going to be too much for her. Her eyes were already welling up with tears and her nose was running. She pulled her handkerchief out of her rolled up sleeve and swiped quickly at her face. She didn’t want Ma to see her. She didn’t want to cause Ma any more pain. She needed to be brave so Ma could be brave. Meredith knew she needed to get to St. Louis. She had managed to convince herself, over the last two weeks, that the solution to all her problems lay in St. Louis. She just had to get there and figure out what it was.
Her Ma came up on the platform with the tickets and they all picked everything up and got on the train. Her Ma made sure that the twins were settled, or as settled as they would get without being asleep, and made sure that Meredith knew where their luggage was kept and that they had the basket of food they had prepared for the journey. When her Ma had fussed as much as she could, they sat around talking about nothing in particular until the whistle blew and the conductor came through the cabin shooing all non-ticket holders off the train. Ma talked to him for a moment, gesturing at her children and Meredith knew it was her last attempt to make sure they were taken care of. Her heart swelled and the tears began. Ma gave the twins each a quick hug and then came and hugged Meredith.
“I know you’ll be fine Meredith,” she said into her daughter’s hair while she hugged her. Her Ma then held her firmly by both arms and looked right into her eyes, “Meredith, I want you to know that I love you so very much and that I am going to miss you more than any words I can tell you. Please remember me,” she choked out before she grabbed Claire back from Henry and walked out of the train.
Henry hugged Meredith and told her he loved her in his ten year old boy way and Fanny hugged her tightly until Henry grabbed her hand and yanked her off the train. Meredith and the twins waved to their family who was being left behind and she wondered, for just a moment, if this would be the last time she would ever see them, but quickly thrust that thought from her mind. She wondered instead on what the solution to this problem would be and how would St. Louis present it to her.
(Thelma)
Bringing the twins had been a good idea. Cousin Lucy was enamored by them. She tousled their hair and plied them with treats and called them darlings. She was a little less sure of Meredith, however. Of course, Meredith didn’t know how to act around her either. The twins loved all the attention and surprisingly behaved themselves tolerably well. There was so much to see whenever they were out and about in the bustling city that she had little trouble keeping hold of each of their hands when they walked. Their eyes would be the size of saucers as they looked around, but they held her hands firmly.
Lucy requested the children call her Auntie. She was quite fat and quite rich and lived in a beautiful house surrounded by lawns and leafy trees. She was the only child of Ma’s Uncle Charles. Charles had moved to St. Louis and made his fortune, leaving it all to Lucy when he died. Auntie had a housekeeper, Grace, who was a good cook and not too fussy about messy three year old boys. She also had a spoiled dog, Prince. Meredith couldn’t understand what Auntie had done to fill her time before they came to live with her. Maybe she had offered to take them in out of sheer boredom.
After breakfast, she’d call the twins into her sitting room where she would laugh with them as they played with Prince. She mildly scolded them if they were too rambunctious but mostly she just watched them and cooed over them. She sent out for books for them and blocks. Meredith had gone to a little bit of schooling, before Pa had died and would have loved some books, but she never felt particularly welcome in the sitting room.
“You don’t have to stay here with us,” Auntie would say merrily. “Go out in the garden if you’d like.”
Meredith would glumly leave her brothers behind and spend solitary hours in the garden. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind. She had spent her entire childhood working. Ma needed her and although it was seldom fun, it was nice to feel needed. Now she had nothing but time. Before she would have thought such an expanse of freedom to do nothing in particular was a dream come true but now she discovered that she was lonely. She missed her Ma and her brother and sisters. The twins didn’t need her and Meredith was almost mad at them for being so happy. Didn’t they miss Ma?
Mr. Donaldson was the gardener that came twice a week. Auntie’s yard wasn’t big enough to need a full time gardener but there was enough to keep him busy on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Meredith started following him around on the days he was there. She had never been a particularly chatty person and Mr. Donaldson certainly didn’t have much to say so they usually spent the day in companionable silence. It made her happy to kneel on the ground next to him and pull out weeds while he hauled water or transplanted plants. He would gruffly give her directions or nod his approval at her work but besides that, they were quiet.
All the time that Meredith had grumbled about having to work while growing up seemed very far away. She was glad to have something to do that seemed worthwhile. She was happy to have busy hands and to be able to look back at her work and see that she did something.
There was a cooler feel in the air and it was not quite as hot and muggy. One day while Meredith was weeding a yellow leaf swirled by her head.
“Fall’s coming,” Mr. Donaldson commented with his usual brevity.
Meredith wondered what she would do if she couldn’t work in the garden. “Will you still come and work?” she asked.
“Some,” he said, “But you’ll be in school.”
“I will?” she said, the thought had never occurred to her.
(Heather)
Mr. Donaldson was right. Before the maples in Aunt Lucy’s yard were fully transformed into glowing yellow heads, Meredith had started at St. Louis Girls’ Academy of Reform. Sure, she had attended school in the past and she knew how to read, but this was her first time being in a classroom with more than ten students. Back at home, they all met together in one dirty room, their desks facing a single blackboard covered in the scrawling handwriting of old Mrs. Stitch. When the younger ones weren’t paying enough attention or the rambunctious Baker boys in the back of the room were caught passing a toad or some other obnoxious creature between themselves, Mrs. Stitch would grab the long pointer that she used on the blackboard and wrap the side of her desk hard. The sharp whap of the thin springy stick would remind everyone of a certain stinging punishment if quiet wasn’t quickly restored.
At St. Louis Girls’ Academy, however, there was an entire building full of classrooms, and the halls and classrooms were filled with girls dressed in smartly pressed school uniforms. They learned arithmetic, practiced their penmanship, and read everyday from real books, not just a basic primer.
The instant Meredith saw Miss Reed with her bright eyes and dimpled cheeks, and heard her exuberant description of their first reading assignment, she knew exactly what she was meant to do. She was going to teach.
(Five Years Later)
Although Meredith had very few possessions, her bag was especially heavy as she followed the dusty road that led to her old home. She knew that she shouldn’t have brought so many of her books with her, but the thought of leaving them behind was more than she could bear.
Meredith was on her way home for a visit before she started her new position in Pennsylvania. It was a wonderful position for such a young teacher, but she had worked hard over the last five years to be the very best. She had especially excelled in her literary classes, delving into the poetry of Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson. In her bag was a portfolio of hundreds of poems which she had written. Someday she hoped to be published.
Ma had not thought it a good idea to come home. They wrote to each other diligently every week. Meredith’s letters were full of new people and places and things that she was learning. Her ma’s were brief updates on the farm, with maybe a description of what fish Henry brought home for supper. Fanny could be relied on for more colorful letters, telling Meredith about what was going on in town in addition to how Claire and Henry were doing. Ma always insisted that they were all fine, and preferred that Meredith and the boys stayed in St. Louis with their aunt, rather than coming home for a visit. The twins had adapted well to living with Aunt Lucy. Meredith was sure that they pretty much saw her as their mother, for they seldom referred to anything from their past. They were so young when they left the farm, so Meredith was not surprised. To Meredith, however, it felt as though she was completely abandoned. Not only was her mother willing to send her away, but she did not seem to want to see her ever again. Why was she so adamant that they stay apart?
Meredith thought it best to not tell her mother that she would be visiting before moving on to Pennsylvania. That way, it would be too late, she would already be there. What could she do, turn her daughter away at the door? Meredith was sure she would not do that.
As excited as she was to get home, Meredith’s stomach was a knot of nerves as she rounded the final corner on the dusty road which would lead to her old home. It had been five years since she gave her last hugs to Ma and the other children on that train. What would her mother think of her? Would she approve of what she saw? Meredith nervously smoothed her skirt with her free hand, conscious of the expensive fine wool and how it differed from the patched up skirts of her old frocks. Her shiny black boots had a fine coating of dust, but even the dirt couldn’t hide the perfect even-ness of the stitches in the tight leather, perfectly fitted to her feet. They were a far cry from the sloppy hand-me-down boots of Henry’s which she used to wear, stuffing cotton in the toes to cover up the holes where the stitching had ripped loose. So much had changed.
Finally the farm was in sight. In reality, it probably was not much different from when she left, but to Meredith’s eyes it looked like a run-down shack, with a chicken coop that leaned to one side and a fenced in patch of dirt which housed a sad-looking pig with her babies.
From a distance, Meredith could make out someone calling her name and running up the dirt path which led down to the tiny creek. It was Henry. He dropped his fishing rod and bucket and ran, his long skinny legs cutting the distance in half before Meredith could even inhale a gasp of surprise and nerves. Matching her brother, she dropped her bag and ran the rest of the way to him, but stopped awkwardly just before the inevitable embrace. Looking at each other shyly, Henry gave her a funny hug which only made Meredith feel more of a stranger than a sister.
“Mer,” he finally exclaimed, “I can’t believe you’re here!”
Meredith bobbed her head. She tried to look him in the eyes but all she could see was his skinny ankles and dirty bare feet protruding from the end of his britches, which were a good six inches too short. She suddenly felt very self-conscious about her shiny boots and she felt a flush creep up her neck into her face.
“Has Ma seen you yet? Did she know you were coming?” Henry asked.
“No, I meant it to be a surprise,” Meredith said, finally looking into brother’s face. She searched his brown eyes, trying to find something, although she wasn’t exactly sure what. “Every time I wrote about wanting to come home, Ma would insist that we stay in town with Aunt Lucy. I don’t understand it…”
Henry looked away toward the house.
“Meredith,” he began slowly, “a lot has changed since you left.”
“What? Tell me.” Meredith couldn’t help but grasp Henry’s arm, feeling the soft weathered cotton of his shirt.
“Ma hasn’t been well…” he began, but his voice trailed off.
“What do you mean? What do you mean, Henry?” Meredith could hear her voice begin to raise in pitch to an unfamiliar shrill sound. Her heart started to pound.
Before Henry could explain further, the front door of the house was thrown open and a tall girl came running toward her, almost knocking Meredith over when she threw herself around her chest.
“Meredith, I can’t believe you are here!” she said breathlessly. It was Fanny. She was tall and tan, with two long braids which flew off her shoulders as she ran.
Meredith held her sister close and the sudden strange shyness which had overtaken her when she met with Henry escaped as quickly as it had come on. She was home, at last.
The three siblings stood in the road in front of their house for several minutes, exclaiming over their surprise and delight in seeing each other again. Finally, Meredith asked again after her mother. Henry and Fanny looked at each other, and the look passed between them was full of emotion and dread.
“Mer,” Henry said again. “Ma has been sick for a while now. It started not too long after you and the twins left. She was so tired all the time. We thought maybe she would improve, now that she had less to manage with the twins gone and all, but it only seemed to get worse.”
Meredith put her hand to her mouth in shock. How was this the first that she had heard of this? Why did no one write and tell her. When she asked the question out loud, Fanny softly replied.
“We wanted to tell you, but Ma insisted that we don’t say anything about it. She wanted you to focus on your studies, and not worry about her.”
“But what has been done? What does Dr. Brown say? Doesn’t he come and see her?”
“Yes, of course he has seen her. Lots of times,” Henry said defensively. “We’ve done everything we can for her.”
Fanny was quick to jump in with a soothing tone, but her answer was not easy to hear. “Meredith,” she said softly, “the doctor says it is cancer. She isn’t going to get better.”
Finally Meredith and her siblings went to the house. As she stepped through the doorway, Meredith was flooded with memories. There, at that solid wooden table which her father built, was the place of countless family dinners. How strange to think that it had been almost six years since her entire family was sitting around that table, laughing at her pa’s silly jokes, while her ma sat steaming bowls of fried potatoes and onions in the center, the savory steam tingling Meredith’s nose. And there in front of the stone fireplace was the beautiful rocker which her father had made before Meredith was even born. Meredith could imagine the smooth stroke of his hands as he sanded and polished the wood to a lustrous sheen. It was still beautiful. One of Ma’s handmade quilts was draped across the back, as though she had only stepped away from the rocker a moment earlier.
A young girl was standing at the stove stirring a pot of something steaming heavily. She turned to look at Meredith and there was no recognition in her blue eyes, only a solemn question. They were her father’s eyes. Claire was the only child who had received them, as all the others had varying shades of brown, like their mother.
“Claire,” Meredith whispered, but the girl only looked at her gravely, like she would a complete stranger who just entered her home.
“Clairey, this is Meredith,” Fanny prompted. “She is home for a visit.”
“How d’you do?” she said stiffly. A lump formed in Meredith’s throat. This child, her youngest sister, did not even know her.
Meredith turned quickly to Fanny. “I must see Ma,” she said hoarsely.
“Of course,” Fanny said.
Her mother’s bedroom was dark, and at first it was hard for Meredith to make out the shadowy form of the bed against the wall. Fanny came in behind Meredith and walked across to the window, pulling the blanket which was draped across it aside, and casting the room in a warm glow from the sunshine.
Meredith approached the bed to see a shrunken woman tucked under the heavy blankets. Her long dark braid was streaked with silver and it draped across her tiny chest, which was rising and falling with each rattling breath the woman took. Slowly the woman opened her dark, sunken eyes and turned toward Meredith. She blinked a few times, before finally her face crumpled in a cry of recognition.
“My girl,” she said, her voice cracking, and reached a frail hand out to her daughter.
Meredith ran to her mother’s bedside and flung herself into her arms. She sobbed as her mother gently stroked her hair and repeated over and over again, “My girl, my Meredith.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Meredith cried, her voice hitching involuntarily.
“Oh sweetheart, I couldn’t. You and the boys were so much better off. And now look at you.” Meredith sat up and her mother wiped a tear from her daughter’s flushed cheek.
“You’re all grown up, and turned into a fine young woman,” she said softly. “Meredith, I am so proud of you.”
Those were the words that Meredith had longed to hear for so long.
“Don’t worry, Ma, I’m going to move back home and take good care of you,” Meredith said urgently, but her mother shook her head.
“No, dear, that is exactly why I forbade your sister or anyone from telling you. You are now able to make something of yourself. You are going to be able to do so much more than I could have even dreamed possible.”
Even though she hated to admit it, Meredith knew that what she spoke was true. Now that she had a valuable education, she would be able to provide much more for her family than she ever would have been able to otherwise. She could send money home, to help them get by, until Henry was big enough to run the farm completely on his own. He was tall and strong, and had managed to keep some crops going throughout the years, but he was still so young. It was difficult to provide for a family at his age.
Meredith had two weeks before her post started in Pennsylvania. She helped Fanny where she could around the house, and even went fishing a few times with Henry, but the majority of the time was spent at her mother’s bedside. She read to her for hours, bringing out her precious books to show her mother, who touched them reverently, caressing the engraved covers and feeling the rough paper edges.
The day before her train was to leave, Meredith decided it was time to pull out her poems and show them to her ma. She was afraid of what she would say, imagining that she might think it was frivolous to spend her time dreaming and writing. She read through them, one at a time, until she finally reached the end of her portfolio.
As Meredith finished the last poem, she looked up, shy and embarrassed. A single tear was tracing down her mother’s cheek, spilling onto her nightdress.
“You wrote these? My girl wrote these?” she whispered.
“Yes, Ma. I hope to be published someday.” Saying it out loud was scary, but somehow made it more real.
It took several minutes before her mother was able to speak. Then she finally said, in a tiny shaking voice, “They are beautiful, my child.”
Before Meredith left to start the next chapter in her life, she made her way out to the old white oak in the woods, where her father’s life was cut short on that stormy night so long ago. The tree still stood, damaged and rotting on the side that had been fractured off so dramatically, killing her father in the process. But the other side looked remarkably well. There were still scars from scorch marks in the flesh of the tree, where the other half had been ripped off, tearing through great chunks of bark. But underneath that bark was smooth, white wood, which looked impossibly pristine. The branches of the tree were still laden with supple green leaves, offering blessed shade in the heat of end of summer. Meredith approached the tree, touching the rough bark, caressing the smooth wood underneath, and plucking a beautiful veined leaf from a lower branch. Life had moved on. Despite the trauma of that night, the old white oak had found a way to not only survive, but to flourish.
Meredith had been in Pennsylvania for two months when she learned of her mother’s death. To the end, she had continued to write to her daughter every week, but this time her letters were more introspective and full of the love and blessings she wished Meredith to have. Meredith cherished those letters beyond anything else.
When she arrived home for the funeral, her Aunt Lucy and the twins were also there to say goodbye to the mother they could barely remember. Meredith was pleased to find that Henry had taken a piece of the old white oak and made two separate markers for her parent’s graves, which lay side by side. They were unique, however, in their shape. Henry had carved two crosses, the shapes suggesting two trees standing tall and straight, each with a branch stretched out to the other. Where they met, the branches were intertwined until you could no longer make out where one started and the other ended.
Meredith thought of how far their family had come. Their trials were heavy, there was no doubt. But there was also hope. Like the oak which was ripped traumatically in two, their family would step away from the damage and grow in spite of the searing pain. As Meredith looked at the entwined branches of her parents’ hands, she knew that she and her siblings were included within the intricate braid. They were all connected eternally, even though they were now separated in this life. Words came flooding into her heart, easing the ache of loss and turning the bitter to sweet. One last gift to her parents, the verse was inscribed into the old white oak.
Ripped by death, the heart is torn,
Separation deems the soul forlorn.
Again in death the souls unite,
Nothing left but sweet respite.
Yet brightly dawns the beaming ray,
A tender start for each new day.
A new bud opens, tendrils extend,
Hearts entwined, the soul to mend.
My hand in yours, our roots run deep,
Fervid soil feeds our eternal sleep.
The End.
