Granny

It was late in the summer of 1927, a blistering sun beat down on the red dirt road and dragonflies were thick in the air. The dusty central Texas air made throats parched and eyes burn if one stared off in to the distance too long.

Kate sat at the edge of the porch on the old weather-beaten frame house and tried to cool herself with a fan folded like an accordion out of a page from the Sears & Roebuck catalogue. She tried not to show it, but she couldn’t keep from glancing off down the road every few minutes. Two of her older sisters had also taken refuge on the porch. It wouldn’t be long until Momma found them and sent them back to their chores but for the time being they were trying to keep cool. Katie felt a twinge of guilt because she knew her oldest sister was out back by the clothes’ line, scrubbing clothes in the washtub, wringing them out and hanging them on the line to dry. It was a tedious job for a family of 12. Kate, however, didn’t want her simple cotton dress she had put on fresh that morning to get stained with sweat from the sun. Besides, she was the youngest of six sisters and four brothers so responsibilities fell on a lot of shoulders before they got to her.

Kate absent-mindedly drew a heart with her big toe in the dirt. She glanced down the road again. Heat waves caused a mirage of water to shimmer on the horizon. Impatiently she rose and headed into the house

“Kate, honey, would you bring me back a glass of water?” Her sister’s voice reflected a lack of energy.

Kate went to the drain-board in the kitchen and began to work at the rusty pump in an attempt to draw some water. She looked out the window past the flour-sack curtains that were barely moved by the breeze. A fly lit on the sill and she shooed him out the unscreened window. The house smelled of bacon grease and flour, remnants of the morning’s breakfast. Someday, she would have a house with pretty curtains and screened windows and running water and an indoor toilet. She’d get married and have beautiful children.

A squabble broke out beneath her feet and she noticed through the cracks in the floor that two chickens had gotten into a fight over a kernel of corn. It reminded her that she hadn’t collected the eggs yet. She returned with the drink for her sister and took up her vigil on the porch.

“You keep a-starin’ off down the road, Kate. Who you expectin’ to come callin’, that Edgar boy? Why, he’s two years younger than you are. I suspect you oughtta be findin’ someone else to be a-courtin’ with.”

“Maybe so and maybe not.” Kate stared intently down the ribbon of dirt. She glanced at her sisters and saw the two of them exchanging winks. She turned back around, her face flushed. A small spiral of dust began to kick up far off in the distance. Her heartbeat quickened.

“Granny, Granny, it’s me. I have the kids with me.” The young woman in her early twenties had a rather tired and pathetic look on her face as she bent anxiously over the form that lay curled in the bed before. Bluish-gray eyes stared blankly back at her out of a face that was shriveled and drawn. Gray hair, yellow and matted, framed the face. The young woman turned away.

From the other side of the bed, a gnarled hand, well-worn from years of hard toil, reached out for the one in the bed.

“Kate, it’s the grandbabies, don’t you recognize them?” There was a catch in Edgar’s voice as he squeezed her hand. The slow demise of his wife from Alzheimer’s disease had taken its toll—as could easily be read in the lines on his face. After years of hard work, they had finally bought their dream house with all the modern conveniences; frost-free refrigerator, a washing machine and dryer, central air and heat. They were set to enjoy the good things in life. It was then Kate had begun to show the first dreaded signs of the nightmare to come.

“It’s okay, Poppa.” The young woman placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s just so sad to think of her lying here day in and day out without even being able to feed herself or go to the bathroom for herself, much less think or talk to someone.” Fighting back the sting of tears, the woman began to grope for a tissue in her purse. “It’s not fair,” she continued. “This is breaking you financially and emotionally. I can’t help but feel she’d be better off just to go ahead and die.”

The old man gritted his teeth and clung to the fragile hand even tighter. The family stood around, silently banded together in the face of such a tragic fate. Quietly they began to discuss the options for continued financial support of Kate, the old woman dying a slow and lingering death in the bed before them.

Edgar turned to Kate and spoke softly. “I love this woman very much. We’ve had a good life together. I won’t desert her now.”

But Kate didn’t hear him. She didn’t hear any of them. She couldn’t. To her, it was 50 years ago on a warm sunny afternoon in Texas and she had just spied her young beau on his horse, headed towards her down the road.