Willow (DeBeers 1)

Regardless of how my adoptive mother tinkered with our property and the house. Daddy loved it so. Of course, she never believed that he cared. If he questioned something she wanted to do to a room or on the property, she would stop and shake her head and ask, "Why do you even ask about it. Claude? You spend most of your time at your precious clinic. That has become more your home than this. It's a wonder you remember where your socks are."

She didn't understand him. I thought. Although he wasn't there as much as he would have liked, his house was truly a meditative place for him, a sanctuary. At least, that was what I believed. With him gone, it would all be so hollow to me, a shell of what was once a home and a family.

"You've got to think about what you will do with this property," Aunt Agnes said as soon as we drove through the entrance at the driveway. It was as if she could read my mind. "It's far too much of a responsibility for a young woman of your age.

You're in college. anyway. Who would look after it?"

"Who does now?" I responded. "Who has looked after it all these years?"

"That man of your father's? Really, Willow, I could never understand how he put so much trust in someone like that," she snapped.

"Did he or didn't he kill his own child?" Margaret Selby demanded of me.

"He didn't kill his daughter. no She was killed in a car accident."

But he was driving, and he was drunk, wasn't he?"

He didn't mean for her to be hurt. Alcoholism is a disease," I said.

"How can alcoholism be a disease? You can't catch it, can you. Mother?"

"People who can't control their bad habits classify them as diseases. It's convenient." she replied.

"That's not true." I said. "There is scientific evidence..."

"I never understood why your father went into psychiatry," she said. It was something I had heard her say on other occasions. "Our father wanted and expected he would become a successful heart specialist and perform those bypass operations. At least with that, you have something concrete to show for your efforts."

I bristled. I couldn't ignore everything, I thought Forgive me, Daddy.

"Your brother, my father, was one of this country's most respected psychiatrists, Aunt Agnes. This is hardly the time to try to tear down his achievements." I said when the car came to a stop.

I couldn't wait to get out. I felt as if I had been locked in a jail cell and could hardly breathe.

Miles was at the door, standing there with his head slightly bowed. The mere sight of him freed the tears lodged beneath my eyelids. They streamed freely down my cheeks when I saw from his face that he had been crying awhile.

He was nearly sixty-five now, but if my adoptive mother were alive, she could point him out as evidence to support her them, that mental disturbances aged a person. He looked more like seventy-five, eighty. Despite his six feet, two inches, he actually appeared shorter than average, slumping and squeezing his shoulders inward, dropping his neck down into his chest cavity. Daddy was always working with him to help him build his selfconfidence.

My cousin wasn't entirely wrong in her accusation. Miles believed he was responsible for his daughter's death, and that was what drove him to attempt suicide and then to Daddy's clinic. His wife had left him. His family had disowned him. It was Daddy who helped him live with the tragedy and go on, helping to convince him that his poor departed child would certainly want him to continue.

"Willow," he managed through those pale, trembling lips.

We hugged. I could feel Aunt Agnes and Margaret Selby shaking their heads behind me. How could I be so intimate with a servant?

"I got to him as quickly as I could," he said. The moment I saw he had fallen."

"I know you did. Miles," I said, and offered him my best smile of reassurance. He welcomed it with a tiny smile of his own,

"I'll brew some tea for you," he said as we entered the house. "We'll have to order in some food now that we have some overnight guests." He looked at Aunt Agnes and Margaret Selby. "Your father and I didn't require much these days."

"I'll take care of all that." Aunt Agnes said, coming up behind us. "See that we have clean linen in our bedrooms and enough towels and washcloths." she ordered, marching past him with her shoulders back in a military posture.

"How long are we going to stay here, Mother?" Margaret Selby asked.

"Until we are no longer required," she replied. "Now, go to your room and rest and then freshen up. People will be coming to offer their condolences. I'm sure. I'll see to the proper refreshments." she told me. "First. I'll evaluate what is in this house.''

She marched down the hallway toward the kitchen and pantry. Miles and I simply stood there, almost like disinterested observers. Margaret Selby released a small groan of frustration and then pressed my arm.

"I'll just take a little rest and then be with you as much as you like. Willow. I remember what a trying time it was when my father died, but Mother"--she looked after Aunt Agnes-- "is so good at things like this. You can depend on her just like I always do."