Amy Greene - Bloodroot

“Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.”

“Tintern Abbey.”

“Yes.”

Looking at him, soft hair, soft eyes, all soft, made me forget. Then Imogene was back and we stood up. She seemed hot and nervous. “That was Mother,” she said. “Uncle’s fell out of bed and she can’t get him up by herself.”

“Did she call for an ambulance?” Ford asked.

“No, he’s not hurt. He does this all the time. Myra, honey, I’m afraid we’ll have to run back by the house. I hope it won’t make you late.”

I remembered John and tried not to show my fear. “That’s okay,” I said.

“I can drive her back,” Ford spoke up. I stared at him mutely.

“Oh … are you sure?” Imogene turned to me, brow creased. “Myra, would that be okay with you? I wouldn’t dream of it if I didn’t trust Ford with my life.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said.

“I’m so sorry about this. Will you come back and see me?”

“Yes,” I said. But I didn’t mean it.

In his car I looked through the bug-splattered windshield, half sick on the smell of exhaust. When Imogene’s words drifted to the front of my mind I snuffed them like candle flames, not ready yet to sort them out. I looked at Ford behind the wheel, long legs in patched blue jeans, unbuttoned shirt blowing, one dark strand of hair trailing across his mouth. When he caught me staring he smiled but didn’t speak, somehow knowing I needed silence. I came back into myself with a start when I saw that we were close to the pool hall, turning onto the street that would take me back to John. Panic fluttered in my guts. “Don’t stop here,” I blurted as we neared the low building. “I don’t want to go home yet.” Ford didn’t seem surprised. He had slowed to turn in but kept on going. I was scared and relieved at the same time. Maybe I would never go back, should never go back, because John would probably kill me. But I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to think about anything. It was easy there in the car with Ford to push it all away.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

“I want to see your books.”

He looked at me and lifted his eyebrows. That was all. We drove for a long time with the wind blowing. The landscape reminded me of home, farmland unrolling on both sides of the dirt road and the mountains rising up in the distance, but I didn’t want to think about that either. I wanted to be someone else in a strange car with a strange man.

It was a long trailer with a muddy yard and cinder blocks up to the door. Dogs followed at our heels and one came inside with us, a small white mutt with matted fur. The living room was flooded with sun, dust motes dancing, and books piled everywhere. Ford turned to me and smiled awkwardly. We stood regarding each other in the middle of the cluttered room. “Home sweet home,” he said. I looked him over, so different than what I was used to. John was fastidious, at least in the beginning of our marriage. This man was sloppy, sweaty, and dirty. But he had a good face. “Wordsworth,” he said suddenly, and turned to search through the books. I watched his back moving, the chain of his spine under the open shirt. “Yes, here it is.” He brought a slim volume with yellowed leaves. “I found this in Pennsylvania.” He looked at the table of contents, scanning with one finger, and turned the brittle pages. I closed my eyes and listened as he read. “Five years have past, five summers, with the length of five long winters, and again I hear these waters, rolling from their mountain springs with a soft inland murmur. Once again do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, that on a wild secluded scene impress thoughts of more deep seclusion, and connect the landscape with the quiet of the sky….”

The words sounded more beautiful to me than ever before. I focused on his voice, taking me away from everything, taking me back to my mountain. By the time he finished I had sunk down on the carpet. The dog came wagging to sniff my face. Then Ford knelt and I pictured his damaged hand when he put his arm around me. “She dropped me,” I said, beginning to cry, and he didn’t ask questions. He only said, “It’s okay.”

I kissed him first. For so long with John, I hadn’t been loved. I might never have been loved by my mother. If I retaliated against them, it was unconscious. I cared for nothing in that moment. There was no thought of revenge. Ford resisted at first, tried to pull back, but I thrust my whole self against his chest and he gave in. We stayed there on the floor. It felt like there was no time to move to his bed. When it was over we propped our backs against the couch and sat dazed and half naked, sweating in the heat of the stifling trailer. “What if I told you,” he said, “that I knew you were coming?”

“Oh?” I said, heart beating hard but slow. “How is that?”

“I have visions sometimes.”

We looked at each other. I smiled. “Visions.”

He smiled back. “Yes. Do you believe me?”

“No. There are no prophets in this day and age. Except maybe false ones.”

I began to gather my clothes around me, reaching for my shoes.

“Do you have to go? Stay with me for a while.”

“I can’t,” I said. “I’ve done wrong being here.”

“Stay with me forever, then,” he said.

“I’m married.”

“But he doesn’t love you.”

“How do you know?”

“I told you. I have visions.”

“Well. It’s still a sin, being here with you.”

“He’ll hurt you if you go back.”

“Probably. But I still have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s got my granddaddy’s ring.”

Ford reached for me. “Myra. Your life is more important than a ring.”

“I’d never leave John without taking that ring with me.”

“You could sneak in while he’s sleeping and slip it right off.”

“I don’t know,” I said. I had the wild urge to laugh, even though nothing was funny. “John’s put on a few pounds. It might be stuck.”

Ford grinned. “You could grease up his finger,” he said, holding up his left hand. “Or you could do what my ex-wife did. I bet your husband’s a drinker, like I used to be. Nothing will pack on the pounds like beer. My ring was stuck, too. One night she got tired of me blowing our grocery money on booze. I came in drunk as a skunk and passed out cold. She got so mad she chopped off my finger, took my wedding ring and everything else of value we had and ran off with it. Haven’t heard from her since.”

I tossed my shoe at him. “You’re nuts.”

“I’ve heard that before,” he said. “Are you sure you have to go?”

I nodded. He kissed me and smoothed back my hair. For a long moment he studied my face. “Because in my vision,” he said, “we had babies together.”

Ford drove me to the pool hall and let me out. I slammed the door before I could hear his goodbye. I used a pay phone to call the hardware store. I knew John wouldn’t be there anymore, but I didn’t know what else to do. I stood in the parking lot under a streetlight for what seemed like hours, thinking he might come looking for me there. I only prayed he hadn’t been up the mountain. Sometime after dark he wheeled into the lot slinging gravel and leaned over the seat to open the passenger door. I was too numb to be afraid. He didn’t say anything on the drive, didn’t ask where I had been.

When we arrived at home I sat in the car and waited for him to pull me out by the hair, my knees scraping in the dirt. Grunting and puffing, he dragged me across the yard, my scalp screaming. He yanked up my dress and wrestled my legs open. There was no use begging him to stop. I fought hard but I was tired and he was strong. He forced himself on me as I looked up at the stars. I tried to send my soul floating out of my body again, back up to Bloodroot Mountain. Tears ran from the corners of my eyes toward my ears. Whatever wrong I’d done in swallowing that heart, surely this settled the score.