The Art of Breathing Read online

  He came back the following evening, only to find that I had the night off. However, by using his charming, persuasive style, he talked my coworker into divulging my name and address, and showed up at my apartment door. I’d been in the midst of studying my anatomy book when the doorbell rang. Thinking that one of my roommates had forgotten her key again, I opened the door, only to find the handsome man from the night before amusedly assessing me in my faded flannel robe (with one missing pocket), hair tied in rags, and cold cream covering my face. I froze, uncertain whether I should invite him in first; slam the door, clean myself up, and then invite him in; or tell him he was rude to show up uninvited, and slam the door on him forever.

  Before I could respond in any way, Geoffrey began to laugh and told me that I was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen just as I looked at that very moment. I couldn’t help but laugh, too, and I let him in.

  He started asking me out after that, and whenever we were together—which wasn’t too often, at first—I’d catch him watching me with a mixture of amusement and fascination. I asked him about it once and he told me that he was charmed by the fact that I’d ventured out on my own, and because I wasn’t the usual high-society girl that he’d grown up with. I was a rarity to Geoffrey, and trying to figure out how to snare me was a challenge that he just couldn’t resist.

  Making that challenge more appealing to him was the fact that I resisted. It wasn’t that the interest wasn’t there, but I just didn’t have much time. Almost every hour that wasn’t spent on schoolwork was spent behind the counter at Woolworth’s. However, the more I said no to going out with him, the more determined he was to see me. He ate more greasy cheeseburgers than probably all of Duke’s student body as he waited for me to close up in the evenings. And he spent many late nights and weekend nights sitting in the library with me as I trudged through my anatomy and biology books, while he studied for college finals and then the North Carolina bar exam in preparation for a position within his family’s prestigious law firm in Cabot.

  He was more than ready to leave his college days behind, but not quite as ready to leave me in the past with them. So, after only six months of dating, he asked me to marry him. I felt like I loved him and wanted to be with him, but I knew that would mean leaving behind my college days, as well. I just couldn’t say no. For one thing, he was unlike anyone I’d ever known. He was sophisticated and elegant, and I was more than a little flattered that he took such an interest in me. And I would have been lying if I said that the idea of living a life of prestige and grandeur in the old-moneyed city of Cabot, with a son of the old-moneyed Cavanaugh family, wasn’t exciting.

  In the end, I decided to put my dreams of finishing nursing school on hold. I told him I’d marry him, while telling myself in no uncertain terms that I’d finish my training after settling into married life. What I found over time, however, was that Geoffrey had very specific ideas as to what his wife should be, and a nurse to the ailing, aging, and disabled did not fit within those parameters. But any remaining pangs of regret I felt at abandoning my career were quickly replaced by a love and happiness that was more whole and complete than any I’d ever imagined when our son, Geoffrey Donald Jr, was born less than a year after we were married.

  My son’s first few years of life were some of the happiest I’d ever known. But all too soon, I would be made to wonder if there wasn’t some cruel law of the universe that prevented a soul from being too happy for too long before it indifferently snuffed that joy out.

  CHAPTER 2

  Home to Howling Cut

  The weak light that softly illuminated the windows of the train depot grew stronger as the early morning sun slowly eroded the darkness. It was just before seven o’clock, and I was headed home to Howling Cut. It was a big occasion for my family: My mother’s brother, Prescott, was finally getting married. I’d tried to convince Geoffrey to come with Donnie and me, though I knew it was a waste of time. He was busy at work. As usual.

  And wedding or not, Geoffrey disliked the country, and though he did not dislike my family, there was a distance between them that was simply born from not having anything much in common with each other. My father talking apples to Geoffrey was as foreign to him as Geoffrey talking to Daddy about patents, acquisitions, and mergers. Deep inside, I always wondered if Geoffrey was a little embarrassed by my very humble beginnings. Of course, he would never admit that, maybe not even to himself.

  As we stood on the train platform, one of the lapels on my fawn-colored wool coat was turned under and Geoffrey straightened it. “I’m sorry I’ll miss the wedding, Kathryn,” he said softly, looking up from my lapel. There was genuine regret in his eyes and voice. “Your uncle seems like a good man. Give him my congratulations, please.” Then, looking down at Donnie, he gently placed his hand on the little blond head and said to his son’s upturned face, “Be a good boy, son. Mind your mother and your grandparents, all right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Donnie replied, then was quickly distracted again by the arrival of another traveler coming through the station door.

  “Geoffrey, go on now. We’ll see ourselves off. You keep looking at your pocket watch as if you’re afraid it’s going to up and disappear. I know you have a lot to do, so go on, please. We’ll be fine.”

  “Well . . . all right, then.” He leaned down, gave me a quick kiss on the lips and asked me, yet again, if I was sure I had enough money, as he slipped on his overcoat. “Don’t forget, they’re two-way tickets, Kathryn. They’re all paid for, so make sure the conductor gives them back to you after he punches them for this leg of the trip. Donald, take care of your mother, son.” Geoffrey awkwardly pulled the boy to him. Donnie hugged him in response but only briefly, for almost immediately Geoffrey released him and headed for the door. We watched the back of him as he exited the station, and glancing down, I saw the longing on our son’s face.

  “Let’s go look at the train we’re taking, honey,” I said, pulling his attention away from his retreating father, and steering him over to the window opposite the one that looked out over the parking lot where Geoffrey had left his car. “It’s been a while since you’ve been on one. Why, you weren’t more than a tiny little fella, and that was when we went to see Grandma and Papa. You’ve grown so much I bet they won’t recognize you. They’ll think I accidentally grabbed some other child’s hand when I got off the train!” Donnie muttered a distracted “uh-huh” as he watched the porter loading luggage into the storage compartment.

  It pained me to see the hurt that the distance between Geoffrey and Donnie caused my little boy, caused them both, really. I saw the attempts our son made to please his father or just to get his attention, but unsurprisingly, Geoffrey was the same sort of father that his own father had been to him.

  I knew that for men like Geoffrey, there was no lack of love for their children, but there was confusion about the proper order of life’s priorities. Family was a few spots down that list, with career, wealth, and social status topping it. Poor God was even further down in the rankings than the family, and I often prayed that He would be forgiving of His low status in the opinion of my husband and in-laws. Geoffrey once told me that without wealth (which was acquired by the firm), and without good standing in society, they wouldn’t have the family they did. It never occurred to him that my own family, which had nothing close to that kind of wealth, had done all right anyway.

  It worried me that the older Donnie got, the deeper his pain would be felt, for it was likely that he would be greatly conflicted as he was caught between two worlds: the world of wealth and power versus a world of simple living, where money was not often in abundance, but love was, and it was given generously and without apology.

  I knew that Geoffrey wanted to be closer to his son, but I also knew that he felt a deeper, more meaningful relationship would develop through the years, when Donnie was better able to relate to his father. It was as though the childhood years with our son belonged to me, while the adult years would be Geoffr
ey’s, as he groomed him to traverse the same roads that generations of Cavanaughs had navigated so well.

  The train belched coal steam as it sat idling impatiently on the tracks. Donnie was getting impatient, too, and started to ask me for the third time when we’d be leaving. Just then the conductor called for all travelers bound for Marion to board. Picking up my purse, a small wicker basket carrying our lunch, and our suitcase, we moved to the back of the small line gathering at the train’s open door.

  * * *

  Howling Cut was a half day’s train ride away because of the stops we would make through familiar tiny towns sporadically laid out along the line. And as we snaked our way around the foothills, then up into the mountains toward home, I enjoyed seeing the landmarks of my childhood. All of the small towns brought back memories as I recalled trips to those places when I’d accompanied my father or uncle on buying, selling, or trading missions. Their mode of transportation had been slow, as we traveled in their sluggish horse-drawn wagons or buggies instead of a truck. I’d asked Papa why we didn’t always use the truck, and he’d told me that if we did, we’d never have time to see the trout in the rivers and the new nests in the budding dogwood trees, and we’d certainly never be able to smell the honeysuckle over the smell of the gasoline. I’d laughed at his assessment, but now that I was older, I had to agree with it.

  Today, however, I felt a great urgency to get home. For one thing, I was tired. Unusually so. I knew I’d been busy trying to get us ready for the trip, but this was a different kind of tired. My body felt heavy and sluggish, and had for the past several weeks. Nothing that sleeping in my old bed can’t fix, I told myself. That and some of Mama’s home cookin’. But deep inside, I wasn’t quite convinced.

  I also felt that I needed to get back in order to check my own pulse, my own feelings after being away from Howling Cut for two years. I needed to reassure myself that my own feelings for the place and its people had not been corrupted. I didn’t feel as though I’d changed, that I’d become more of a Cavanaugh than a Harris, but I needed to return to confirm that. And I prayed that many of those things that I had loved so much about home had remained the same, including my love for everyone there.

  CHAPTER 3

  A Very Solid Whole

  “They’ll sure run ya!” Daddy exclaimed, referring to some hornets that had chased him. He and Mama had picked us up at the station and after much hugging and many exclamations over how big and handsome Donnie had gotten, I noticed that my father had quite a few red blotches on his face. “We hit a hornets’ nest in one of the apple trees,” he explained. “I was trimming back some dead branches when I knocked that nest. I didn’t see the thing as it was covered up with a good bunch of apple blossoms. Those things came flying at me and I went flying from them—all the way into the pond! They’ll sure run ya, boy. I’ll give ’em that!” We all laughed, Daddy included.

  My folks looked good. The years had been kind to them. Both had more gray sprinkled throughout their hair than the last time I’d seen them, giving Daddy’s dark hair a true salt-and-pepper look, whereas Mama’s hair looked like a mixture of white and brown sugar. Their faces were lightly lined, but it hadn’t lessened their looks, rather it had carved their features into more striking, prominent ones. The constant exposure to the sun had turned their skin the color of coffee with a lot of cream in it, which only helped to accentuate my father’s beautiful golden eyes, and my mother’s bright blue ones. And their constant care of the apple orchard continued to provide them with a youthful agility that belied the fact that the two of them were in their midforties.

  We climbed into Daddy’s weathered truck and headed for home. Mama and I sat in the backseat, exclaiming over how good we thought the other looked, and after assuring each other that all was well, we briefly talked about the health of the orchard and the relatively mild winter. Much to the relief of my parents, and all who were involved in the orchard in some way or another, the trees had survived the cold months unscathed, and it looked as if they’d bear a good crop come fall.

  “How’s Geoffrey, Kate?” Mama asked. “And how’s his work goin’? It’s a shame he couldn’t come with y’all for the wedding. As hard as he works, it’d be good for him to relax some and take it easy for a time.” She watched my face closely to see if there were any signs of trouble between my husband and me. There was no trouble, just a vague feeling of dissatisfaction with the conventions that were so important to Geoffrey, but I could honestly look her in the eye while answering that he was doing fine and also tell her how busy he was at work. I explained that he’d recently taken on a junior partner, which would eventually help Geoffrey cut back on the six, sometimes seven days a week that he’d been working for the last year.

  “Mama, tell me all the news about Ditty, and how Grandma Willa is doing. I want to hear everything about everyone, and, of course, every detail about the wedding. How’s Uncle Prescott holding up under the pressure of his upcoming nuptials?” I laughed, picturing him looking as nervous as the fattest turkey in the yard at Thanksgiving.

  “Actually, he’s been so busy at the mill trying to finish up a large order for some wealthy fellow’s mansion down in Miami that he’s not gone over the deep end. Thank the good Lord for his work.”

  There was deep respect for my mother’s brother, who had made quite a name for himself with his woodworking skills. And not just in our county, but throughout the country. His God-given talent had saved the family’s sawmill from closing years ago. And, according to my mother, Prescott and the mill were still doing very well these days, as were both sides of its business; the timbering and the furniture making.

  “What’s the name of the lady Uncle Prescott’s marrying, Mama?” I asked. “I know you told me but I can’t remember.”

  “Her name’s Glory Burke. Prescott met her while he was teaching a woodworking class at Appalachian State last summer. She’s an art teacher there but grew up in Banner Elk. She’s nearly ten years younger than he is. Seems real nice, from what we can tell, though we haven’t spent much time with her.”

  “She’s easy on the eyes, I’ll say that about her,” my father interjected. He’d obviously been listening, even though he was also carrying on a conversation with Donnie.

  “Oh, Lord!” my mother responded, but good-naturedly. My parents were devoted to each other, and had been so since they were teenagers. Even though I was a grown woman with a child of my own, there was something reassuring and comforting in that knowledge. No matter how old I was, I still wanted my parents to be two halves of one very solid whole. “Anyway”—Mama steered us back to the conversation—“your father’s gotten it into his head to give ’em a shivaree after the reception!”

  “Grandma, what’s a shi . . . shiva . . . ?” Donnie had turned around in his seat and was hanging over the back of it.

  “A shivaree. It’s a kind of surprise party, you might say,” Mama answered.

  “I’d sure say it is!” Daddy snorted.

  Mama, choosing to ignore Daddy, began to describe it. “Honey, a shivaree happens after a wedding takes place to let the bride and groom know that everybody approves of the marriage. We’ll sneak up on them at Uncle Prescott’s house, after the ceremony, and we’ll bang pots and pans, and holler and sing, and make a big ol’ ruckus—just to let them know that we’re tickled Glory’s a part of the family now.”

  “Sure hope we don’t catch ’em in a most compromising position.” Daddy snickered. “I can just see it now: We’ll be sneaking up to their window, real quiet-like, and before we can make any racket, we’ll hear Prescott shouting to the rafters, Lord, God a’mighty! Glory hallelujah!”

  Daddy and I roared with laughter, while Mama, trying her hardest to be stern, could barely contain herself either. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jack! You behave yourself, you hear me!” Then she couldn’t hold back any longer and joined us as we laughed so hard we cried. Oh, it was good to be home!

  “Mama . . .” I tried to move on to an
other subject, but each time I did, we started laughing again. Finally, I was able to ask the question. “What’s going on with Ditty? I haven’t heard from him since Christmas, and every time I’ve called his place, there’s no answer. I’ve even left messages with Jean to have him call me, but she’ll say something like Well, I will if I see him, real mysterious-like. When I ask her if there’s something going on with him, she’ll say she doesn’t know nothin’ about no one. Says she’s just the mill’s secretary and that she minds her own business. So, what’s going on with him? Is he all right?”

  “We don’t know,” Daddy quietly answered and all the humor suddenly evaporated. “We haven’t seen him in weeks. Last we heard he was over in Lost Cove.”

  “Lost Cove! What in the world is he doing over there?”

  Donnie was watching and listening hard to our conversation. Mama knew the subject was one that needed to be discussed without him, so she quickly shifted the conversation. “How ’bout we save this talk for the front porch, later on.” Then, “Donnie, after we eat some supper, we’ll go do somethin’ fun. Sound good?”

  I suggested that we go down to the creek and try catching a few trout. “Or would you rather go over to the orchard’s shop and get some of those good soft peppermints that your grandma loves more than life itself?”

  “Peppermints!” both Donnie and Mama shouted in unison. And though the atmosphere in the truck was light once again, I was fairly certain there was a storm brewing on the horizon and my brother was in the eye of it.

  CHAPTER 4

  A Glass Half Full

  “All right, Mama, tell me about Ditty,” I said, as we settled into some rocking chairs on the front porch after finishing the supper dishes. While we’d cleaned up the remains of the country-fried steak and mashed potatoes that Mama had fixed, Donnie had been within earshot at the kitchen table, finishing his chocolate pie, so she whispered that she’d tell me about Ditty after Papa took him out to the orchard. In the meantime, she filled me in on the latest with Grandma Willa as Mama washed and I dried.