Blue Willow Page 5

  “And then Elspeth MacKenzie found him,” Artemas said, leaning forward eagerly.

  “That’s right. The Widow MacKenzie, with her two half-grown sons, took in that wild-looking stranger, all torn and bloody where the bear had clawed him. There weren’t any doctors in these mountains then. The widow Elspeth sewed his arm up and nursed him while he healed, and he fell in love with her, because she was so smart and strong and pretty.”

  “Like you!” Lily said.

  “Elspeth’s two half-grown sons became like kin to Old Artemas, and they even forgave him for being an Englishman and city-born and a terrible farmer, what with the MacKenzies being Scots and lovers of the land.”

  She clasped her hands over her heart dramatically. “Elspeth told Artemas he’d never make a farmer, and he had to do what God had gifted him to do, just like all his people before, back in England. She helped him find the white clay the Indians had told her about, right down here in the creek bottom over at Blue Willow.”

  “Where the big lake is now,” Artemas said.

  “Right there, yessir. Down where the bass swim now, at the bottom of Clay Lake, that’s right where old Artemas dug the clay and set up his china business.”

  “Is the building still there?” Lily wanted to know. “If I held my nose and sat on the bottom, could I see it?”

  “No, no, the MacKenzies burned it all down right before the war. But that’s another story. Now, where was I?”

  “About Old Artemas’s clay,” Artemas told her.

  “Yes. Well, he knew this clay was special, just as fine and creamy as the clay the Chinamen had used to make the most beautiful china in the world. So Artemas built himself a potter’s wheel, and a furnace, and he went to work. And in a year he was sending white china down to Marthasville by wagon to be sold and shipped. He and Elspeth were so happy over it all.”

  Lily nodded drolly “And then he got rich, because he was a Colebrook.”

  “Hold your horses, that wasn’t till lots later. Anyhow, everything was fine until the next spring, when Old Halfman came through.”

  Lily huddled closer to Artemas but looked up at him slyly. “I know what he looks like.” Artemas put an arm around her. Her sly expression dissolved into red-faced delight.

  Mama drew herself up and waved her kindling like a wand. “He was half-Cherokee Indian and half-colored, and everybody was scared of him, not only because of him being different, but because he was a preacher, and a peddler, and a soothsayer.”

  Lily dragged her attention back to her mother. “What’s a soot sayer?”

  “A sort of witch. Halfman would look at people’s spit and blood, and tell their futures.”

  “Their spit and blood? Ugh!”

  “Halfman was sickly, and Elspeth let him stay in her barn. She fed him and took care of him. And when he got ready to leave, Elspeth called on him to tell her future. She drew a sharp knife across her forefinger.” Mama pretended to slash her finger with the stick of kindling. “Drip, drip, drip. Her red blood fell into Halfman’s palm. Then she spit on top of it.”

  “Into his hand? Ugh!”

  “But that’s the way it had to be done. Halfman, he looked at his palm, and he shook his head. Then he reached into his big ol’ peddler’s bag and pulled out a pair of little-bitty willow saplings, all wrapped in dirt and paper. And their leaves were blue, not like any other willows in the whole world. He smeared Elspeth’s spit and blood on them. ‘You’re the blue willow,’ he said, looking straight at Elspeth. And she stared back in horror—because she knew he meant she was going to die.”

  “How did she know? How?”

  “Because willows are women. That’s what the ancients said. And blue women are sad women. And the only thing that would make Elspeth sad would be to leave her land and her sons—and Artemas, her new husband.”

  “Wow!”

  “Then Halfman said, These here are magic trees, not like any others. For love of you they and all that grow from their seed will keep your loved ones safe, them and theirs and all that cometh from their blood.’ ”

  “Neat!”

  “So she planted those little saplings down by the creek, right out there”—Mama pointed to a window, making Lily crane her head in fascination, as if the original trees were right outside—“and they grew tall and beautiful.”

  Lily hugged her knees. “And Elspeth went to heaven?”

  “Yes, she went to heaven having Old Artemas’s baby, and the baby went with her.”

  Lily looked at Artemas ruefully. “I guess God put you here to make up for that. You’re supposed to do what I tell you to do.”

  “Hmmm.” He hooked his arm around her neck and jostled her as if she were a small wrestler. “I think I was put here to catch you. You don’t bounce very well.”

  Her face broke into a puckish grin. Turning back to her mother, she waited for more with wide eyes. Mama was watching the two of them with a soft little smile. “Anyway, when Elspeth was being buried, Halfman showed up. No one knew how he’d heard she’d died. He just came, like some kind of all-seeing mountain spirit, to pay his respects to Elspeth and her blue willows. People said he was never seen again, after that day.”

  “But he still lives in the mountains?”

  “Could be.”

  “And what happened to Old Artemas?”

  “Oh, it was terrible. Elspeth’s sons turned away from him. They said he’d killed their mother. Old Artemas had to leave their farm and live in the back of his potter’s shop.”

  “Under the lake!”

  She nodded patiently. “Under the lake now. And he grieved and grieved. He wanted to tell the whole world about his Elspeth, his blue willow. He thought about an old, old Chinese china pattern called Blue Willow, and he decided he’d make his own pattern from it, in dark blue cobalt from the iron mines over in Birmingham. And he did. And his work was so special that people couldn’t mistake any other Chinese willow pattern for the Colebrook Blue Willow, and it became famous, and Marthasville became Atlanta, and Artemas became a rich man, with a big house over by the Toqua, and a corn mill, and of course, his china factory.”

  “Under the lake!”

  “Under the lake, that’s right. But his money couldn’t buy love from Elspeth’s sons, who never stopped blaming him for what happened to her. To make matters worse, Artemas married a Yankee woman visiting from New York and turned to supporting the northern cause.”

  Lily frowned. “Artemas isn’t a Yankee ’cause he’s from New York, is he?”

  “No, I’m sure the shame’s worn off by now,” Mama said. “Anyway, Elspeth’s sons were grown men then, important farmers with wives and children of their own, and they had duties to the town they’d started.”

  “MacKenzie? Just like now?”

  “Uh-huh. So they had stronger roots here than Old Artemas, and besides, there’s no accounting for people’s politics. Anyway, the war made the MacKenzies and Colebrooks enemies. Bad times, bad blood. Elspeth’s sons got a big gang of men together and rode over the Smoky Hollow Trail late one night when the moon was dark, and they set fire to Old Artemas’s house, and his china factory, and everything else he owned, ’cept his corn mill, which folks around here needed.”

  “That was mean.”

  “I guess that’s where you get your temper from,” Artemas quipped. Lily elbowed him again.

  “Yes, it sure was mean,” Mama continued. “And Old Artemas, he came over to their farm the next Sunday, when they were at church in town, and he brought his own gang of men, and they kept the field hands back while Artemas cut Elspeth’s trees down. He burned them—burned them to the roots. It was his way of saying her boys had broken the bond between him and them.”

  “What did they do then?”

  “Nothing. There was no mending the terrible breach between them and Old Artemas. He said he’d leave and not come back until he could lord it over every MacKenzie in the county. So he took his money and his Yankee wife, and he went to New York. And he b
ought clay quarries, and that led to buying iron mines to get the blue cobalt from, and pretty soon he and that woman had grown sons who knew how to buy things and make money, and the Colebrooks sold the best china in the country besides owning all sorts of businesses. And in those thirty years they became rich as Midas and began struttin’ like bantam roosters.” Mama’s eyes became wide with drama. “But you know what? The willows grew back. They couldn’t be killed, because Elspeth’s love was too strong!”

  Lily squealed and clapped her hands. “Because they’re magic.”

  “Yes.”

  Artemas had grown silent and withdrawn. Now, he took his arm from around Lily’s neck and, propping his arms on his legs, stared at the floor. Lily worriedly poked him on one knee. “I like you anyway, you rich rooster.”

  “Thanks for nothing.”

  “Hmmmph.” Mama scowled. “Well, the MacKenzies never got rich, not by Colebrook standards, but they were always the best farmers in north Georgia, and on top of that they became county-court judges, and sheriffs, and preachers—and moonshiners, but that’s another story.”

  Lily bounced. “Tell me, please!”

  “No, no. I only meant to tell the bear story It’s gettin’ late.”

  “Can’t you tell her how the Colebrooks came back?” Artemas said, raising his head slowly, his eyes somber. Mama looked down at him for a minute, then sighed. “Oh, well, all right.” Sitting down on the floor by Lily, who gazed from her to Artemas with puzzled sympathy, she said, “You know that sign under the big willow up on the estate road?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Well, your great-grandparents gave that tree to Artemas’s great-grandparents, when they came here in 1895. Johnathan Colebrook was rich, richer than all the other Colebrooks, because he inherited most of the family money. He came down here from New York to build Blue Willow and reclaim his grandfather’s—Old Artemas’s—home.”

  Mrs. MacKenzie cleared her throat. “But when ol’ Johnathan said, Why, I think I’ll buy everything for miles around here and build one of the biggest houses in America,’ the grandsons of Elspeth’s boys said, ‘You’re not lording it over us. Have at it, but we’re not selling.’ Johnathan saw there wasn’t any getting around the MacKenzies—except to buy the land around ’em. So that’s how Blue Willow came to be, and the MacKenzie farm came to be in the middle of it.”

  Lily studied Artemas. “But how come you left?” She leaned in and peered at his face. “Aren’t you a rooster anymore?”

  “Stop making fun of me.”

  “I’m not. I think you ought to stay. I want you to stay. You promised to come back and stay.”

  “Shut up.” He bounded up from the couch. “I’m going to sit in the pasture a little while.” The front door screen slammed loudly as he stomped onto the porch. Lily scrambled after him. “Artemas, Artemas,” she called plaintively. Her mother grabbed her by the back of her overalls and swung her into her arms. “Shush, Lily,” she whispered. “He’s sad. He needs to be alone for a little while.”

  “Why is he sad?”

  “Because his family isn’t what it started out to be, and he’s ashamed. Don’t you ever tell him I said that. He’s a fine boy.”

  Lily swiveled her head and looked out the window, tracking Artemas’s tall, rigid form as he walked through the distant pasture in the moonlight, her small heart throbbing with bewilderment and compassion.

  Late that night he sat by Grandma Mackenzie’s bed in a narrow room smelling of old wood and spring air and read her Bible to her, feeling awkward because no one in his family had ever expected him to do anything more religious than sleep in church. His ancestors had built one of the biggest Episcopalian churches in New York. Father said they’d bought all the blessings they needed.

  Mr. and Mrs. MacKenzie went to their bedroom upstairs. Lily slept on a cot in her grandmother’s room, but she crept out of it and snuggled on the bed beside the old lady, her mop of curly red hair brushed to a smooth mane, a big T-shirt of her father’s swallowing her to her skinned knees. She curled up with her head on the soft lap covered in quilts, watching Artemas with gentle, curious eyes.

  Grandma MacKenzie fell asleep. Artemas put the Bible on her nightstand and told Lily with all the big-brother firmness he used on his siblings, “You go to sleep too.”

  “I play on the loggie at the big house,” she told him.

  “You mean the loggia?”

  “Uh-huh. The big porch. I wish I could see inside. Will you take the boards off the windows?”

  “I can’t.” He looked away sadly. “I would, though, if it was up to me.”

  “What’s inside?”

  “Nothing. It’s all empty. Everything was sold.”

  “Mama says it’s like a castle in a fairy tale.”

  “I guess. I liked it.”

  “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

  He frowned at her change of subject. She wasn’t predictable. He liked for people to be predictable. “Yeah. Five.”

  “I wish I did.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “The doctor says Mama can’t. She tried.” Lily yawned. “One came out last year, but it was dead as a rock.”

  “Geez! What a way to say it!”

  “Well, sometimes animals have trouble, and they die. I’ve seen ’em. The cat ate her kitten. I found its tail.” She shut her eyes and sighed.

  Artemas got up, feeling miserable and lonely. “Shit.”

  She gasped. Her head wobbled up. “You’re going to hell.”

  “Good.”

  He burrowed his hands under her, then carried her to the cot. She snuggled into the soft old mattress but opened her eyes as he put the sheet and quilt over her. “I won’t let you go to hell. I’m strong. I can look out for you.”

  “That’s good. I’ll leave it up to you.”

  “But you gotta stay here and live with us.”

  “I can’t do that. Could you run away and leave your family?”

  “No, ’cause my family’s not mean to me.”

  “Parts of my family aren’t mean either. That’s why I have to go back.”

  “Make them come here.”

  Tears stung his eyes. “You just don’t understand anything, do you? Go to sleep, you little apple-throwing monkey.”

  He left the room, flicking the light switch on the faded rose-papered wall. She lay in the darkness, wrestling with her conscience and her sorrow. Mama and Daddy said family matters were private, that the family was something to be proud of—to fight for. And that meant holding the truth close to your heart and keeping your head up when stupid girls in kindergarten teased you.

  So she never told anyone how ashamed and angry their teasing made her.

  But Artemas needed to know he wasn’t alone.

  She scooted out of bed and tiptoed through the house, into the living room, where he lay on the couch in the darkness with one of Grandma’s quilts over him and a pillow jammed under his head. Lily crept to his side, sat down cross-legged in the floor, and poked him on the shoulder.

  “Go back to bed, for God’s sake,” he muttered.

  Tears slid down her face. In a small, choked voice she said, “Don’t feel sad, Artemas. At kindergarten they call me Monster Head, because I’m so big. I bet it’ll be even worse in first grade.”

  He turned on his side. She could feel him looking at her. “They just wish they were like you.” His voice was soft, friendly.

  She sniffed in surprise. “Why?”

  “Because you’re a MacKenzie, and MacKenzies are special.”

  That was too easy. She persisted. “And a boy in Sunday School said Daddy is … is a cripple. And that Mama is … a nobody, because she was poor and nobody wanted her when she was little.” She bowed her head, tears falling freely on the undershirt wadded in her lap. “I hit him with a rock.”

  Artemas gave her a kind little shove on the shoulder, to get her attention. “Listen to me. Don’t ever let anybody make you feel
bad. I wish my mother and father were just like yours.”

  She stared at him, her tears evaporating. “You do?”

  “I do.” He tugged lightly on a strand of her hair. “We’ll make everybody sorry they made us feel bad, won’t we?”

  “Yeah!”

  “And as long as we know what’s right, it doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks, does it?”

  “No!” This was startling. He understood. Nobody else would ever understand better. Lily crossed her arms on the couch and pillowed her head on them, close to his side. He draped his arm around her shoulders, awkwardly at first, then relaxing. She gave a peaceful little sigh, and was asleep within a minute.

  Mr. MacKenzie cranked the truck and sat in the driver’s seat, waiting. He wasn’t one for long good-byes, he said. Neither was Artemas.

  “Here’s my address at school,” he said, drawing a slip of paper from his knapsack and handing it to Mrs. MacKenzie. “I thought, maybe, sometimes—”

  “We’ll write to you,” Mrs. MacKenzie answered softly.

  Lily, still wearing her nightshirt, whimpered, ran forward, and threw her arms around his knees. Looking up at him, she cried, “I want you to stay!”

  Shaken, he dropped to his heels and gripped her shoulders. “I can’t stay, and I can’t come back. When you’re as old as I am, you’ll understand.”

  “Why did you come if you won’t stay?” she insisted, tears sliding between the freckles on her round cheeks.

  “Because I promised. Now, be a big girl and behave.”

  “I love you!” She wiggled out of his grip and put her arms around his neck. Mortified, he sat rigidly still. Then, awkwardly, he put his arms around her for a quick squeeze. “Good-bye, Lily,” he said against her hair. “I love you too. Remember what I said last night. And if you ever need help, you write and tell me. Promise?”

  “I don’t need help! I’m a MacKenzie!”