She waited about a half hour, then knocked softly on the door to Aimee’s room.
“Go away.”
Never being one to take orders in her own home, Corabeth opened the door and stepped in. Beth sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by her precious music. Corabeth didn’t know all that much about eight-track tapes, but she gathered from the look on her granddaughter’s face that they weren’t in good shape.
Beth completely ignored her, pushing a tape into her player. It warbled weakly, then gave up altogether. “Another one ruined, thank you very much, Grandpa.”
“You know it was an accident.” She sat on the bed. Beth continued to ignore her, testing one after another of the tapes in the machine. Each one seemed irreparably damaged by the heat.
“Great,” the teen-aged girl muttered. “I’m stuck here in Hee-Haw Land with no music, nothing to do, and bored out of my skull for the entire summer.”
Corabeth watched silently for a moment, certain this had more to do with it than a few melted rock and roll tapes. When had her sweet-natured little namesake become so...petulant? Something was going on, something serious, and Corabeth intended to find out what it was. Now.
“I don’t think you’re being fair to your grandfather, Beth. You don’t really think he intended to destroy your property, do you? We love having you with us, and we want you to be happy.”
This earned her a pair of rolled eyes and a snort.
“Do you have something to say, young lady?”
Beth tossed another tape into the rock and roll funeral mound. “You don’t have to treat me like a kid. I know why I’m here.”
“What do you mean, you know why you’re here? Your parents are going to be very busy this summer and wanted you to have some time out of the city.”
“Oh, you don’t have to lie right to my face, Gram! I heard Mama and Daddy talking about the divorce before I left. I know they just wanted to get me out of the way so they could go through with it without a hysterical kid on their hands.”
“Divorce?”
“Oh, come on, I--” At her grandmother’s ashen expression, Beth stopped short. “I...I thought you knew. I thought that’s why--”
Corabeth was glad she’d been sitting down, because surely her knees would have given out beneath her had she been standing. “When did you hear this, Bethie? What did you hear, exactly?”
“I heard Mama, talking on the phone with a lawyer.” The wind seemed to be out of her sails now, and she climbed up on the bed next to her grandmother. “They fight all the time, Gram. They tried to pretend everything was okay, but after I’d go to bed, I’d hear them.”
“What did they fight about?”
“Everything. Money, work, the house. Mama wanted to go back to school for computers, but Daddy didn’t want her to. He said he didn’t need his wife supporting him; she said he was just scared she would be more successful than him. It was horrible.”
Corabeth gathered Beth into her arms, rocking gently as the girl began to cry. “Oh, darling. Sweet child. You’ve been carrying this burden all alone.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a geek. I just--I just don’t know what I’m going home to.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Corabeth kissed her tousled hair softly, whispering her name as she did.
“Why can’t they be like you and Grandpa? You never fight.”
Corabeth laughed, then choked on the laugh. Beth looked at her curiously, and she said, “Your grandfather and I have been fighting since the day we were married, and will probably have an argument right there at the Pearly Gates.”
Beth shrugged, shaking her head. “You argue, but you still love each other. Mama and Daddy don’t even like each other any more.”
“People...” Corabeth struggled for the right words to say. “Married people go through phases, honey. There have been times when your grandpa and I could barely stand being in the same room together; other times, we were like two peas in a pod. Maybe your parents are using this summer to try to work things out.”
“You’re such an optimist, Gram.” She sighed. “You didn’t see them together. The day they brought me to the train station, they didn’t say a word the whole way. It was spooky. I almost wished they would have screamed at each other; that would have been better than the silence.”
Corabeth brushed Beth’s curls out of her eyes, gently caressing her face as she did. “I don’t know, baby. I just don’t know.”
Beth sniffed. “A lot of kids at my school have divorced parents. Some live with their dads, some with their moms. But none of them have a real home.”
“You’ll always have a home, my precious one. Right here. You’ll always have a family here on Walton’s Mountain.”
They sat there, quietly, for a long time. Corabeth put aside her own shock and dismay at the news, focusing only on comforting the child. She’d deal with the news later, in her own way. Finally, the young girl began to relax, her tears subsiding a little. “I’m sorry, Gram.”
“No need for apologies. I’ve been known to throw a few tantrums myself.”
Beth grinned, looking up at her through tear-reddened eyes. “You’re a legend.”
They both laughed, then fell silent again. Corabeth looked down at the pile of tapes on the floor, poking at one with the toe of her shoe. “Now, that’s an interesting picture on the cover of this one.”
“It’s a group called Styx. You’ve probably never heard of them.”
“Styx? Like the river that leads into Hades?”
“They’re a rock band. They’re really good.”
“You must really like music. There are almost...ten tapes here.”
Beth blushed. “I’d have more, but I only get so much allowance. They’re kind of expensive.” She looked down at the destroyed collection with a sigh. “It’s gonna take me a life time to save up enough to replace them.”
“We’ve already discussed that. Your grandfather and I will replace them.”
The young woman rested her head on Corabeth’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do that. It’ll be okay.”
“Well, your grandfather has a portable radio you can listen to in the meantime.”
“Thanks anyway, Gram, but the only station around here plays country music.” She grimaced. “I don’t really like country music.”
Corabeth laughed. “Don’t tell your grandfather, but neither do I.” She put a finger to her cheek, thinking. “Maybe I have some records you might like. Come with me.”
She pulled the girl out into the living room. The old victrola had been replaced years earlier with a hi-fi record player. Corabeth opened the cabinet and urged Beth to join her. “We have Mozart, Vivaldi, Brahms...”
“Our teacher played Brahms in music appreciation. One of the boys fell asleep.”
Corabeth narrowed her eyes. “No Brahms,” she said firmly, putting the record back on the shelf. “Ah, here’s something interesting. The 1812 Overture, by Pietr Tchaikovsky. Have you ever heard it?”
Beth shook her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe.”
“It’s one of the most famous pieces of music ever written. It’s dramatic, lyrical, and best of all--” Corabeth put the record on the player. “It’s got cannons.” She grinned wickedly. “It’s the only piece of classical music I can get your grandfather to listen to without a fight.”
As the record began to play, she and Beth sat back to listen. Despite initial misgivings, the girl began to enjoy the music, asking questions and pointing out instruments she recognized. At one point, she caught her breath excitedly. “I know that! It’s the French national anthem. We heard it in world history class.”
“Well, this piece is about the battle between the French and the Russians at Waterloo.”
“Who won?”
Corabeth frowned. “Obviously you didn’t pay very much attention in world history class.”
“Well,” Beth mused. “It was written by a Russian guy, so I guess the French didn’t win.” She sat back, listening some more. “This is pretty cool, Gram.”
“I don’t believe I have ever been ‘cool’ in my entire life.” Corabeth smiled to herself, trying not to laugh as Beth bobbed her head along with the music. She looked like she was in the audience at a rock concert. “Why don’t you join the band, if you like music?”
Beth looked back at her grandmother, rolling her eyes. “Band?” Apparently, band was not ‘cool.’ “I always wanted to play the piano, though. But Daddy wouldn’t let me take lessons since they were too expensive.”
“I can teach you the basics this summer, if you’re interested.”
“Are you serious?” Beth rolled over, suddenly on all fours in front of Corabeth. “Are you serious? You could teach me piano?”
“Well, my mother taught piano for years. I play myself.” Corabeth straightened. “I’m not Liberace, but I can certainly give you a solid foundation upon which to build.”
A huge smile took over Beth’s face. “Can we start today?”
Two hours later, Ike Godsey returned home to find his wife and granddaughter sitting at the piano in Godsey Hall, repeating scales--Corabeth at the high octave, Beth at the low. They were so engrossed in the lesson they didn’t even hear him come in.
“Hi,” he said tentatively.
“Grampa! Hey!” Beth looked up quickly from the keyboard. “Gram is teaching me to play piano. Isn’t that the greatest?”
Ike shot a questioning look at his wife, who silently assured him they’d discuss it later. “Sounds great,” was all he said.
“Beth never would have made it through that summer without you,” Aimee said.
Corabeth watched as the scene faded, the sound of a B-flat scale echoing in the dusky shadows. “I did the only thing I could. It was ironic that, after all that time, I finally found someone who shared my interests. You should’ve seen her face the first time I played the old Carmen record for her. She said the story was better than soap operas.”
“You put your own needs aside for her sake. You couldn’t ever really do that for me or Daddy. But, for Beth, you learned.”
“I guess I did learn something after all.” A quick glance at her coffee cup told her it was cold. She pushed it away. “So. Now what happens?” Before Aimee could answer, she said, “No, don’t tell me. It’s up to me, right?”
Her guide smiled. “It’s up to you. Right.”
Corabeth put her hand over Aimee’s small hand, squeezing tightly. “I want to see your father. Just once, to make sure he’s doing okay.”
“Are you sure you want to do that, Mother? It can be...upsetting.”
“Please, Aimee. I just want to see him...before I go.”
The girl sighed. “It’s up to you.”
Ike Godsey still opened the store every day. Business was not what it used to be, but Ike didn’t keep the store open for money. He was set for life. He just liked the order, the routine of counting out the change, turning the sign over, unlocking the door. He had help. They treated him like a china doll, but he didn’t mind. It was better than being alone.
“Hi, Mr. Godsey.” It was Jake, the boy he’d hired for the summer, arriving ten minutes late as usual.
“Morning, Jake.” Ike shuffled over to the cooler, checking to see if it was stocked. “Jake, I want you to put some more sodas in here today. Remember to put the hot ones at the bottom--”
“Okay, Mr. Godsey. No problem.”
Ike frowned. Maybe by three o’clock, after two reminders, the boy might think to do it. He went to the office, which had been the post office before they’d built the new postal building. He wanted to check the books, then see about--
He was interrupted by the phone. He picked it up immediately. “Godsey’s General Mercantile.”
“Hi, Dad.”
“Aimee!” Ike grinned like a Cheshire cat. “How are you? How’s my granddaughter?”
“The rebel without a cause? She’s fine. Graduating this spring. With honors, if you can believe it! I was hoping you’d come out for the graduation, and maybe stay a while.”
“Well, I don’t know, honey. I have a lot of things to take care of and--”
“Dad, please. We’ve talked about this before. I don’t like the thought of you living all alone. We can get a bigger place; you can have your own room. It’ll be great.”
“Yes, we have talked about this.” Ike tried to keep his voice calm, but it was hard. “I’m not going out to Washington to be a burden on you. I’m fine here. This is my home.”
“But--”
“I was born here. I’m going to die here. That’s my last word on the subject. Now, can we talk about something else?”
Several hours had passed, and still the store keeper had not returned. Flora paced the hard-wood floors of the tiny grocery store, wondering what had become of him. He was old. Perhaps he had become confused, or lost? As the sun sank lower in the west, she grew more and more worried. Finally unable to wait any longer, she set out up the mountain to find him.
It was dark, and the owls’ and crickets’ songs fought for supremacy of the night sky. Flora was frightened, but she kept on, following the trails worn so well by hunters. The moon was high above her now, and she depended on its light to guide her way.
She was about to give in to panic, when she stumbled onto a patch of trees just a few steps from the trail. What she saw made her cry out in anguish. There was her husband, standing, unmoving, beneath a gnarled pine tree. She ran to him, pressing her hands to his face in an attempt to revive him. She kissed him, spoke his name, but nothing could rouse him from his supernatural sleep. Exhausted, she fell to her knees before him and began to weep.
“What shall I do?” she cried. “How shall I wake him? My beloved, my husband. How shall I live without you?”
At that, the old enchantress appeared to her. “So, it is you, my unfaithful child.”
“You have cast this spell upon him,” she whispered. “Please, please, I beg of you. Spare him.”
“He has killed my familiar. For that, he must die.”
“No! Can there be no other way?” Flora threw herself at the hag’s feet. “He is a good man, a kind man. He would never have knowingly harmed the poor creature. Please, I beg you, do not harm him.”
“A life for a life, my pet. That is the rule.”
Flora heard the determination in the crone’s voice, the utter lack of sympathy. “Then, please,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Spare him, and take my life instead. For all the things I have done, or failed to do, please....take me.”
The witch frowned. “You would trade your life for his?”
“He is my heart,” Flora said. “He is all that matters.”
‘Very well, then,” the witch said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a hand-full of herbs. Blowing them into the air, she began to sing her enchantment. Flora felt light-headed, confused as the spell filled the air. Her eyes became heavy. As she began to fall into a deep slumber, the last thing she saw was her husband’s eyes opening.
It seemed to take longer, getting back this time. For some reason, Corabeth felt heavy, tired as she and Aimee entered the old general mercantile. "Is it always like this now?" she asked.
"You're forgetting, Mama. Once you get used to one world, it's hard going back to the other."
"I feel like...like I'm being pulled into the ground."
Aimee grinned. "Gravity. Gets you every time."
"Where is your father?"
Aimee nodded in the direction of the old man. "Look at him, Mama. But you may not see what you expect to see."
Corabeth watched in amazement. She saw Ike Godsey before her, not as the man he was, but in the fullness of his being. She saw everything he was, everything he wanted, everything he couldn’t even dream of becoming. Finally, truly, she recognized him for who he was. She turned to Aimee with an expression of wonder on her face. “It’s him..." Her breath escaped with a sound of sheer disbelief. "It's him."
"You see, Mama. Everything works out according to plan."
"I didn’t know.” Corabeth stared blankly at her husband, her friend, the one she traveled with, the one she loved. "How could I not know?"
“We’re like icebergs, Mama. When you’re next to one, you can only see the tip of it. Most people never see anything more than that.”
“I lived with him forty-five years, but never recognized him.” She stared at her husband, seeing him for the first time. “My dearest one,” she whispered. “How could I possibly have forgotten?”
“It’s one of the trade-offs of being alive. You know all of this going in, but you forget it before you can use it. You give yourself clues, though. Landmarks along the way, to help you remember what you were born to do.”
“Clues?”
“The music box he played for you when he first showed you the house. The rose when you danced the tango. The Carmen record. Even the red, white, and blue banner. They were all clues, designed to remind you who you were.”
“And I missed every single one of them.”
Aimee gave her a quick hug. “It doesn’t matter. You did okay.”
“I wish I could do it again,” Corabeth whispered, still watching her husband. “I wish I could do it again. I would have more fun. I wouldn’t worry so much about what other people thought.”
“Do you really want that?” Aimee prodded.
Corabeth’s eyes widened. “You mean I could? Go back, relive my life and do a better job of it?”
“Well, not quite....”
