Logan had followed me into the house and watched me from the door. I tried to pull myself together and fight whatever it was that was making me feel ill. I rambled around the four downstairs rooms that were paneled with wood. In the kitchen I gazed with wonder on the bright modern electric appliances. There was a double stainless steel sink, and beside it a dishwasher! Folding doors revealed a laundry room with a washer and dryer! A large double-door refrigerator! More cabinets than even Kitty'd had in her kitchen. Country curtains at the windows, blue gingham with a row of ye
llow daisies to trim the hem, and white cotton balls fringed the edges. A round table was spread with a matching gingham tablecloth. The tile on the floor was bright blue, the cushions tied to the chairs, sunny yellow. I'd never seen such a pretty and homey-looking kitchen.
Why, it was the kind e kitchen I used to dream about when I was a child. Tears stung my eyes as I reached to caress the smooth wood of the cabinets, when once we'd had only one open shelf on which to stack our pitifully few dishes. And nails had supported our few pots and pans. I was sobbing openly now, seeing all the conveniences that Sarah and Granny would have enjoyed, to say nothing of the rest of us. And like the hillbilly kid I used to be, I turned on the hot and cold water spigots and held my hand under . . instant water here in the mountains? I flipped on electric switches. I shook my head. A dream, that was all. Another dream.
Wandering onward, awed, I found a small dinette with a wide bay window that would overlook in daytime a spectacular view of the valley but for the trees. My dream to cut down some of the trees so the city lights of Winnerrow would sparkle the night like fireflies in the summers. I could see nothing but rain on this night.
A small hallway beyond the dinette led to a downstairs bath and an adjoining bedroom that had to be Grandpa's. I saw his "critters" placed neatly on open shelves with mirrors behind them, and small hidden lights dramatized the array of tiny animals and freakish but clever mountain folk.
On Grandpa's big brass bed (not the old one) was one of Granny's best handmade quilts. There was a night table with a lamp, two lounge chairs, a bureau, a chest. I turned in circles, wandered back to the kitchen, and in the center of the floor I began to really wail.
"Why are you crying?" asked Logan from behind me, his voice soft and strange, "I thought you might like it now. Or have you grown so used to huge mansions that a cozy cabin in the mountains seems too poor?"
"It's pretty, and I do like it," I said, trying to hold back my tears.
"Please stop crying," he said in a hoarse voice. "You haven't seen it all. There are rooms upstairs. Save a few tears for those." And catching hold of my elbow, he drew me forward even as I searched in my handbag for tissues. I dabbed at my tears, then blew my nose. "Your grandfather has some trouble with steps . . . not that he can't climb them, he just thinks there shouldn't be any stairs in his home."
Someone had thought of everything. But I was tired, sick feeling, needing to lie down, and I tried to pull away. Logan grew forceful, almost shoving me up the stairs. "Isn't this the kind of cabin you always wished for when you were a kid growing up and feeling cheated of everything nice? Well, here it is, so look! And if it comes too late for you to appreciate all the trouble it took to make it this way, I'm sorry . . . but you look around and you see it and appreciate it now, if you never see it again!"
Two medium-sized bedrooms were up there, and a large double bath.
Logan leaned against the closet door. "From what Tom has written me, your father has put money in this place, too. Perhaps one day your pa is planning on bringing his family here."
Something deep in his voice made me turn to meet his eyes, and this time I really saw him. He wore casual clothes as if he didn't go to church anymore on Sundays. Apparently he hadn't shaved today, and the stubble there made him seem different, older, less handsome and perfect.
"I'm ready to go now." I headed for the stairs. "It's a very nice house, and I'm glad Grandpa has a nice place to stay, with plenty of food in the pantry."
He didn't reply this time, only followed me downstairs where I said goodbye to Grandpa and kissed his gaunt, pale cheek.
"Good night, Grandpa, good night, Granny. I'll be coming back to see you again tomorrow. After I've taken care of a few things."
Grandpa nodded absently as his eyes went stark and his fingers began to work nervously at the fringe of the shawl he'd thrown about his shoulders. Granny's shawl!
"Been good t'see ya, chile Heaven, real good t'see ya."
He wasn't going to plead. "You take care, Grandpa, you hear?" I said in the country way that came readily back. "Is there anything you need, or anything I can bring you from town?"
"Got everythin' now," Grandpa mumbled, looking around with his rheumy eyes. "Lady comes from town an' fixes our meals. Every day she does that. Annie says that's nice of her, but Annie could cook fer us if she could see betta."
I touched the arm of Granny's chair, worn slick and shiny from the clutch of her hands. Leaning, I pretended to kiss her cheek, and that made Grandpa's eyes shine.
On the porch I stumbled twice. The wind and rain seemed an animal, wild to destroy. The cold was so stunning it stole my breath, and the rain blinded me. Logan grabbed quickly to keep me from falling down the stairs.
He shouted something in my ears. The wind howled louder than his voice. On the steps I sagged, my knees giving way. When Logan had me in his arms, carrying me back to the cabin.
Eighteen Deliver unto Me
. TIME PLAYED TRICKS ON ME. I SAW AN OLD WOMAN who reminded me of Granny. She bathed me, and fed me, and all the time she talked about how lucky it was that her home was only a skip and a jump away, now that the bridges were down and a doctor couldn't come from the village. I saw Logan time and time again, when I woke up in the daylight, when I woke up in the darkness, always he was there. In my delirium I saw Troy's face as he repeatedly called my name. "Come back, come back," he kept saying. "Save me, save me, save me."
And the torrential rains kept pouring down, down, making me think even when my eyes were open and I was more or less rational, that I was caught somewhere in purgatory, not heaven, but almost hell. Then came that stark day when my mind wasn't smeared with fever, and the room around me came into focus, and I was stunned to be where I was. I lay on a big bed in the upstairs bedroom of that rebuilt mountain shack, weak and wan, realizing I had just pulled through the worst illness of my life. I had been luckier health-wise than Our Jane; seldom had anything forced me to spend even one day in bed.
To lie helpless and too weak even to lift my hand or turn my head was a totally unnerving experience. So unnerving I closed my eyes and fell into sleep again. The next time I awakened in the night, hazily to see Logan hovering above me. He needed a shave; he looked tired and worried, and more than a little harassed. Later on when the sun was up, I awakened to find him washing my face, and humiliated, I tried to shove his ministering hands away.
"No," I tried to whisper, but I broke out into paroxysms of coughs that stole even my whispers.
"I'm sorry; but Shellie Burl slipped and sprained her ankle and can't come today. You'll have to make do with me," Logan said in a deep, gruff voice, his expression solemn.
Appalled, I could only stare at him. "But I need to go to the bathroom," I whispered, embarrassment flushing my face. "Please get Grandpa so I can lean on him."