Marilynne Robinson - Home

Teddy stood up. “I don’t know if I’ve been any help. But I really should go. If there’s nothing more we need to talk about.”

“It helps to know you think it’s all right. If I lie to him.”

Teddy nodded. “I think it’s kind of you to do it, in the circumstances. I put an envelope on the refrigerator with my addresses and telephone numbers. Home and office. If you want to stay in touch. Pay us a visit.”

“So you want old Uncle Jack to turn up on your doorstep someday.”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

Jack looked at Glory and smiled. “Maybe.”

“I know you won’t,” Teddy said. He studied his brother’s face. “I suspect I’ll never see you again. In this life. I’d say take care of yourself, but I’m afraid you won’t do that, either. Well, never hesitate—” He held out his hand. When Jack took it, he touched his shoulder, then embraced him.

Jack was patient with the familiarity. He said, “I wish things could have been better between us all these years. I do. There’s a lot I regret.”

“I know,” Teddy said. “It’s okay. Now you can get some sleep.”

Jack went out to the porch with him. He stayed there after Teddy’s car had turned into the street. Then he said to her, “Do you think that’s what the ocean sounds like?” The wind was tossing the leaves of the oak tree, which were dense and heavy enough to roar and ebb and then roar again. “When I was a kid I liked to think so.”

“Luke says it is.”

He nodded. “Luke would know.”

JACK TOOK TEDDY’S ENVELOPE DOWN FROM THE REFRIGERATOR. He held it up to show her the thickness of it. “What do you think is in here? Want to guess?” He lifted the flap and showed her the edges of a stack of bills. He went to the piano bench, lifted the lid, and dropped the envelope into it. “Now we’re even. I mean, where money is concerned. He’s right, I have to get out of here. I will.” He paused on the stairs. “But now I am going to write a letter.” Then he said, “Glory, I know I haven’t even begun to — I had no right to do that to you. You’ve been kind to me, and I — But you have to get those bottles out of my dresser. Now, if you don’t mind. The bottom drawer. You should put that money somewhere, too. All of it.”

Glory said, “Wait, Jack. Did Teddy say you should leave?”

“He said the old fellow doesn’t have much more time. So he’ll be back here in a few weeks, you know he will. They’ll all be here. And he said he will never see me again. It adds up.” Jack looked at her. “If I send this letter to the mutual friend, she sends it on to Della and Della writes to me here, that could take — twelve days, maybe two weeks. So I’m going to stay here for another two weeks, and then you’ll be rid of me.”

“Will you give me your address, in case I need to forward something to you?”

He laughed. “When I have an address, little sister, you’ll be the first to know.”

AFTER A WHILE JACK CAME DOWNSTAIRS WITH HIS LETTER, took an envelope and stamp from the drawer, and pulled a chair away from the table.

“Mind?” he asked. His eyes were still reddened, and the flesh of his face looked a little like wax, or like clay, creasing deeply when he smiled. If she had not known him she’d have thought, wistful and unsavory. He looked at her, as if he knew he did not seem the same to her, as if he had made some terrible confession and been forgiven and felt both shame and relief.

“Of course I don’t mind.”

He said, “My hands aren’t very steady. That might make the wrong impression. I want her to open it, at least.” So she wrote the address as he told it to her. He licked the flap of the envelope and winced. “Snowflake,” he said, and she laughed, and he laughed. He placed the stamp carefully. Then he took a folded paper from his shirt pocket and put it on the table. He said, “That’s for you.”

She took the paper up and opened it. A map. There was the river, and a road, and between them, fences, a barn, woods, an abandoned house, all of them sketched in and carefully labeled, and in the woods a clearing, and at the upper edge of the clearing an X and the word “morels.” In the lower-left-hand corner there was a compass, and a scale in hundreds of paces, and in the upper-right-hand corner a dragon with a coiled tail and smoking nostrils.

She said, “This is very pretty.”

He nodded. “More to the point, it is accurate. I made it when I was stone sober. It was the work of several days, a number of drafts.”

She said, “Now we really are even.”

He laughed. “That’s right.” His face was mild and his voice was soft with weariness, but he was clearly moved and relieved to be joking with her.

“Except it doesn’t say where these woods are. There are lots of fences and barns around here.”

“My, my,” he said. “What an oversight.” And he smiled at her.

“Well, I’m going to ignore that. It’s pretty. I’m going to frame it.”

“You’re a good soul, Glory.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Chicken and dumplings.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you probably needed some rest. I can keep an eye on things if you want to get a little sleep.”

“No. I’m all right. If you don’t mind the company.”

“I’m grateful for the company, Glory.” He laughed. “You have no idea.”

She said, “Do you want the newspaper? I’ve done the puzzles. I’m grateful for the company, too.”

He nodded. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Then they heard a stirring of bedsprings, then the lisp lisp of slippered feet and the pock of the cane. After a moment their father appeared in the doorway in his nightshirt, pale, with his hair rumpled, but solemnly composed. He looked first at Glory, then at the window, then finally, as if he had nerved himself, at Jack. “Oh,” he said, a regretful, involuntary sound. Then he rallied. “I thought I might enjoy a little conversation. I heard the two of you talking out here and I’ve come to join you. Yes.”

Jack helped him with his chair and sat down again.

The old man took his hand. “I think I was cross,” he said.

Jack said, “I had it coming.”

His father said, “No, no, it isn’t how I wanted things to be. I promised myself a thousand times, if you came home you would never hear a word of rebuke from me. No matter what.”

“I don’t mind. I deserve rebuke.”

The old man said, “You ought to let the Lord decide what you deserve. You think about that too much, what you deserve. I believe that is part of the problem.”

Jack smiled. “I believe you may have a point.”

“Nobody deserves anything, good or bad. It’s all grace. If you accepted that, you might be able to relax a little.”

Jack said, “Somehow I have never felt that grace was intended for me, particularly.”

His father said, “Oh nonsense! That is just nonsense!” He closed his eyes and withdrew his hand. Then he said, “I was cross again.”

Jack laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Dad.”

After a moment the old man said, “Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t like it at all. Dad. It sounds ridiculous. It’s not even a word.”

“I’ll never say it again.” Jack stretched and smiled at Glory, eyebrows raised, as if to say, Help would be appreciated.

So she said, “Would you like me to get your robe, Papa?”

“I’m fine as I am. You’d think we were living in the Klondike.” Then he said, “I came out here for a little conversation and you’ve both stopped talking.”

There was a silence. “Well,” Glory said, “I’m making chicken and dumplings. Mama’s recipe.”