Twisted Roots (DeBeers 3)

"Just taking a vacation," Heyden replied with a wide smile.

Chubs nodded. "Like I said. I don't poke round other people's business. I just do what I got to do to help Mrs. Lilliann get by."

"Isn't there anyone else in the family who could have helped them?"

"There's same distant cousins, some on Mr. Stanton's side, some on hers, but they have little or nothin' to do with her. Mr. Stanton left her enough of a legacy to maintain what's here now, but not much more. We make do." He smiled, "We're both at the age when you don't complain for fear the Almighty will hear and decide to take you home. Neither of us is ready for that yet."

"You're a good man. Mr. Dawson." I said.

He shrugged. "I am what I am, for good or for worse. I'll be up early to get the parts we need to get you back on the road," he told Heyden.

"Whatever time, I'll go with you. You just let me know."

"Rooster will let us know." Chubs said. "It'll be before breakfast. I'll be in the truck," he said and stretched his big arms. "Time for bed. I have my own place behind the barn, Mr Stanton Senior fixed it up for me long time ago. Got my own television and everythin' in there. See you in the mornin'," he added and walked off.

Heyden and I watched him.

"He's got a big heart to fit that big body of his." I said.

Heyden nodded and looked at the house. "What's Uncle Linden doing all this time?"

"I left him with Mrs. Stanton, talking, She seems to be enjoying his company, and he was very comfortable. He's doing a good job of reassuring her. You would be as surprised as I am at how strong he sounds. I guess when you see other people's troubles, you forget your own."

"I don't." Heyden said sharply. It sounded hard and selfish, but he did have so much more weight to carry than I had. I thought,

We walked back to the house and did find Mrs. Stanton and Uncle Linden still together, but in the dining room now, the chandelier lit.

"Your father told me you people didn't get to have any dinner tonight. I just told him how angry I am that no one said anything." Mrs. Stanton said. scowling. "No one's ever gone hungry in Lilliann Stanton's home. Just sit yourselves down here. I have some chicken and dumplings and green beans warming up."

"Let me help at least," I offered.

"Well, fallow me into the kitchen, then. Go on, young man." she told Heyden. "Wash up if you like and then sit yourself at the table."

"You don't argue with Lilliann Stanton," Uncle Linden told us as if he had known her all his life, "She's fed pigs, milked cows, nurtured a garden, and harvested peaches from the day after her honeymoon until now."

I followed her into the kitchen.

"Your daddy's a very nice man," she said. "And an artist, too. I'd love to see one of his paintings."

"He started one. It's in the motor home. Maybe he'll show it to you," I said.

"That would be nice."

She stopped what she was doing and turned to me. "I want to thank you again for helping out back there. That took some sensitivity and consideration. You're a fine young lady."

"I'm sorry for all the trouble in your and Bess's life." "Nothing you can do about stopping trouble when it comes riding in on the back of a tornado. You make do and try to meet the test the Lord has set upon you. That's all," she said stoically and turned back to preparing the food.

I watched her move efficiently about her kitchen, this elderly lady who maintained her elegance and equilibrium even in the shadow of all her personal tragedy. What was it that gave some people spines of steel? Was it her faith, her pride, or just a heavy stream of determination, a refusal to permit Fate to defeat her that helped her maintain herself and carry so much weight on her small shoulders? How little it took for so many people years and years younger than she was to be reduced to whining and self-pity.

I suddenly thought more about myself and my miming off like this. Did I take the easier route? Was I weak and selfish? Would Lilliann Stanton have ever run away from disappointment, conflict, and tension?

"After dinner." she said. "I'll get you what you need. You'll sleep in Rosemary's room, of course. Your father and your cousin can sleep in the downstairs guest room.

"Oh, I couldn't do that," I said. "That room is..." I wanted to say "kept like a shrine." It was almost sacrilegious to even consider it.

"Nonsense. It's a beautiful room. You'll be very comfortable in it, and why not use it? To tell you the truth," she said, turning back to me. "it would do my heart good to see it being used again."

"But--"