Come Home

The War Quilt (ch 9)

Chapter Nine


The War Quilt


         I was wrong about things not getting bad. My dad's mom came to spend a week with us. This stirred up the activities in the house again. We all knew that Dad had said all this time that she was a witch. I never believed it. Grandmother had chosen a her second husband over her children, and my dad had to raise himself and his younger brothers since he was twelve. I loved my grandma, and I chose to believe that none of it was true.


         After about three days, Dad no longer looked like himself. He had not shaved. He sported long straggly beard all ready. I had never seen a more evil set of eyes.  He never spoke to his mother, and only growled answers to the rest of us when he had to.


         It was like whatever was in the house did not agree with my grandmother taking charge of the house. She was even able to wash off the old message from 'Sara's window'. I still don't know how she was able to do it. She took down the cover from it to let the sun light into the room. Every morning the words were back. Everyday the first thing grandmother did was to wash them a way. One night I watched her pour powder around the beds that each of us slept in.


         That night Grandmother slept in the bed with me. The room was so dark, but her face glowed bright white beside me. I was unaware that she slept with her eyes open. Strange that I was not afraid of this. I felt safe with her sleeping there by my side. I even slept seeing Sara standing in the window. I hope grandmother stayed with us forever. Witch or not, she protected me.


         Grandmother was so hard. I guess she had to be to have been married to a moon-shiner. I didn't know my grandfather so I did not know their relationship. She was one person that was not afraid to lay the law down to my dad. I think that is the reason that he avoided any conversation with her.


         She was able to keep the girls from fighting without threats or spanking. She didn't even raise her voice. That within its self could be evidence of a well cast spell of a good witch.          


         Every night she made us a warm drink of tea leaves with cream. It helped us sleep well. One night I woke up to see Sara flying through the house in a tornado-like vortex. I had never seen Sara look as angry as she seemed now. The pictures rattled. The frames kept hold to the wall with just the strings on the nails. Each was pulled straight toward the center of the room by the atmosphere around my grandmother. Then Sara  tried to write her familiar words “Come Home”, but the words disappeared as fast as they were written. Sara screams. My family still sleeps sound.


         Grandmother was in the middle of the room. She was standing with both arms straight out from her shoulders. Her head was back and her eyes were rolled into their sockets. Her salt and pepper hair flying around her head. Sara flew by grandmother. Grandmother did not stagger. Her lips kept mouthing words that I was unable to hear. I wanted to get closer. I push my blanket back. I go to put my feet on to the floor. I could not move. Some unseen force kept me in the bed where it was safe.


         There was an old man going toward  my grandmother. I had never seen this spirit before. I guess that it was Mr. Jones that Less had described to me. He got arms length from her when she turned and faced him. He froze. Mr. Jones could not get any closer. He had no choice but to disappear.


         Then just as fast as it started the terror stops, Grandmother walks over. She climbs into bed as if nothing had happened. Is everything over? Is Sara gone? Will Dad be normal?


         The next morning, I looked at my grandmother that was working on a quilt that she had brought from her house with her. She looks up at me and smiles. She knew what I had seen. It didn't seem to matter. “I have three more rolls of blocks to finish this. When I have it all done, I am going home. I suspect that I will be leaving in two days.” She tells me. She  looks at my mother with a worried look. “Matilda, you should take the children out to play.”


         I did as I was told. After my departure, Grandma turned her attention to my mother. “Jude, you need to get these children out of here. It is too late for John. He is already the possession of this place. He will be fifty in three months. If he is still  here he will never be the man you once knew. I have known since his birth that at fifty he will be known as insane just as his father and his grandfather.” She puts her hand on my mother's hand. “You know that I love my son, but that doesn't change what is going to happen. I am sure that John never told you why I left his dad.”She proceeded to tell Mom about waking up on Grandfather's fiftieth birthday to find him straddling her with a large hunting knife. “His eyes were not that of a human.” She continues. “John walks in. Seeing his son brought Buck back to his senses. I left that night, but Buck kept John with him.”


         She looks down. “I wish that I had taken him with me.”


         Mom looks down. She did not know what to say. What would she do after grandmother left.


         Grandma gives Mom a yellow piece of cloth. “Here take this needle. What say you give this old woman a help on her quilt.” She smiles to lighten the mood.


         They worked on the cover until it was time for bed. We had gotten to eat outside. The day passed quickly. The night came too fast.


         Grandmother served us our nightly drink again. I pretended to drink mine. I wanted to see what happens tonight from the very beginning.


         Grandmother speaks louder this time. A storm is smashing against the roof. Tree limbs hitting the walls gives more eeriness to the night. More fear to the events of the nights.


         This was a battle between the living and the dead. Fight between Grandma and Sara. Both were fighting a war for those they loved. Neither going to give up those they held dear.  Tonight Sara was not at the window. She was hovering over my dad and brother. “This is my family!” Sara screeches. Grandmother points at her with power visibly traveling from her finger screams back with authority, “My blood, my family.” “My son, my son, my family.” “Go back, back, back.” She chants. “You will find them beneath the clay. You will find them far away.” She continues, “My blood, my son, my family! My blood, my son, my family! My blood, my son, my family!” Then Sara disappears. Then as she did the night before Grandma climbs back into the beside me.          


         Two more nights of the battling. Breathing against the spirit neither going to loose. Finally the night before Grandmother announces that she is going home, there was no fight. We all slept quietly. I snuggled into my grandmother's small body. I don't know why I needed to feel so close.


         “Good morning, John.” Grandmother greets my dad.


         “Good morning, Ma.” He said in a pleasant voice. He spoke to my grandmother. He was kind.


         “I have decided to leave today.” She tells him.


         “Really, too bad that you can not stay longer.” Dad replies. He walks to her and gives his mother a hug. Something was different about Dad, and I liked it.


         We all line up to help carry grandmother's belongings to row boat. She gets into the boat with Dad. We watch them cross the river.


         We walk to the house. When we get into the house, I see the finished quilt that my grandmother had made on my parents' bed. In embroiled letters were the words, “My blood, my son, my family.”


         Mom walks in after me. She goes to the bed and admires the sentimental message written in the stretches. I knew it was more than sentiment. It was our protection.My words are ways to leave peices of myself behind for my children.

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