Leaves of Departure
By
Tony Acree
*****
Copyright © 2012 by Tony Acree
*****
Leaves of Departure
The smooth worn wood of the yard rake was a stark contrast to the weathered and callused hand that held it. He paused, wiping the beading sweat from his wrinkled forehead with a washed out handkerchief that used to be part of one of his Sunday best. The suit had long since been given to the Salvation Army, but he refused to part with the faded blue handkerchief, keeping it in his back pocket.
While he rested, he stared down at the growing collection of multicolored leaves gathering at his feet. He wondered how many times in his 84 years he had performed this fall ritual. His earliest memory as a child was of playing with his brothers in the piles of fallen leaves his Daddy made while raking the large backyard of the place he would always remember as home. He loved the smell of the leaves as he would dive under a particularly large pile pretending it was a fort for him to hide in. He also remembered the scratchy feeling the dry brown leaves had when his older brother would stuff handfuls down the back of his shirt. He thought it funny he could remember playing in the leaves when he was all of five years old, but couldn't for the life of him remember the first time he had taken rake to hand.
After the briefest of pauses, he returned to his late afternoon chore. The work helped keep his mind occupied. With slow deliberate strokes he worked his way across the small, but well-kept lawn. He always raked towards his cabin. At least that's what he called the ramshackle two-room building he lived in. The insurance man who came to look at the damage a hailstorm caused back in the summer had called it a shack. Not 20 seconds after that comment, an old man wielding a rusty yard rake chased off that same insurance man.
The cabin, located on a hill overlooking the Kentucky River, had only been used for hunting trips, until last year, when he had moved in permanently. There was no TV or radio. The outside world was not invited to visit. He even did most of his cooking on an old wood stove. He awakened early and went to bed late: sleep was something he needed less and less of these days.
He heard the car coming cautiously up his steep rutted excuse of a driveway long before he ever saw it. He didn't bother to stop his raking or even to turn around to watch the car make it up the last ridge and stop in front of his cabin. He knew who it would be. The car door opened, and then shut.
Still, he did not turn around. Even when the person had walked up behind him, he never stopped raking, pouring all his energy into every stroke. He ignored his visitor, knowing he was only putting off for a few moments what was to come.
"Father," a voice said softly, hesitantly. The only reaction from the old man that he heard was a tightening of his hands on the handle and a stiffer motion with his rake.
"Father," the voice said a second time, more strongly, and a hand touched him on the shoulder. The old man straightened at the soft touch.
"I hear you Anna," the old man replied. While he had stopped his raking, he still refused to face the woman standing behind him.
"Then turn around and look at me."
He could hear the irritation in her voice. He steeled himself and turned around, careful to keep the rake between him and his daughter, as if it could work as a talisman to protect him. She looked so much like her mother that he couldn't help but feel a pain deep inside. She was tall, almost as tall as he was, with long auburn hair that hung loosely about her shoulders. Her eyes were a bright shade of jade, and her face was smooth despite her forty plus years. He stuck his chin out and waited for her to say what he knew she would.
"We have to go father," she said.
"I don't. If you want to, that's fine, but I will not and that's the end of it." He knew there was anger in his voice, and he didn't care. He threw the rake down beside the pile of now forgotten leaves and headed for the cabin seeking refuge from her words. He pulled the old battered screen door back and let it slam shut behind him.
The screen had been torn down the middle some months before, letting in the flies and other creatures it was meant to keep out. He knew it wouldn't keep his daughter out either. He moved to the far side of the room, turned and planted himself, arms crossed, ready for her. It was no surprise that Anna had followed him inside. She looked around, the distaste clearly on her face. This made him even angrier.
"You don't have to stay, you know."
She looked at him then. He had seen her only a handful of times since the funeral. Occasionally she would come to visit, but would never stay long. He figured it was more just to make sure he hadn't hurt himself than for any father-daughter bonding. Most of that time would be spent in one of the folding lawn chairs out on the front porch.
Sometimes her husband Bryan would come with her. The old man would always be polite and make passable conversation with the young man. But they had so little in common that most of the time they spent together was simply "weather's been nice" kind of talk. They wouldn't stay long at any rate. The distance between them would always be there, especially now.
His daughter pulled a chair up in front of him and sat down. It was clear she wasn't going anywhere. "Father, you and I have never been close, or seen eye to eye on much in our lives." His face flushed as she put words to his thoughts. "But momma would want us to be there today, and you know it."
"You don't know anything." he snapped. "She wouldn't want me there."
"How can you say such a thing about Momma?"
He could tell she was angry from more than just her words. The way her hands gripped the arms of the chair turning the knuckles white told him as much as the tone of her voice.
"Because," he responded, "when your mother died, I hated her for it."
He could see the shock his words caused her as she sat back in her chair, stunned. "That's right," he continued, "I hated her because she died before I did and left me alone. All I could think of was how could she do this to me. Then as the days passed I realized it wasn't her fault and what I fool I was. But it was too late, she would know how I had felt. I was ashamed. She's in heaven. She will know everything I've been thinking. How could I face her again knowing that she knows?"
He shuffled backwards unsteadily, all of the anger suddenly gone, until he found his old rocking chair. He sat with a heart heavy with grief and closed his eyes, thinking about his wife. He was 19 years old when they met at a church picnic. It was a hot, steamy July day and she was handing out the lemonade. He was so taken back by her beauty she asked him twice if he wanted a glass before he found the means to squeak out a yes.
She just smiled and from that day on, he knew he would never want or look at another woman again. It took him nearly 3 months to get her to agree to their first date. As time went on, it took less and less persuading to get her to go on their dates and they soon became inseparable. He worked his daddy's farm until he had enough money to buy his own. Then, in the summer of 1934, they married and moved to their new farm, 50 acres of hay and tobacco in rural Henry County. Katherine, the daughter of a preacher man, had never worked a farm before, but she learned fast and Kate seemed to dearly love living in the country.
The Depression made it rough on everyone in the thirties, but they found ways to survive. Sometimes he would have to take odd jobs just to keep a roof over their heads, but they always seemed to manage. They tried for years to have children. If God willed it, it would happen.
Then, just before her fortieth birthday, Katherine gave birth to little Anna. They both rejoiced at the miracle of her birth and he no sooner had his daughter in his arms than he told his wife it was time to work on a boy. But the doctors said that Kate had suffered some problems during childbirth and they would only be able to
have the one child. He had tried to keep the disappointment from showing, but Kate knew. She always knew. He never had any secrets from her.
Kate had to take a job for a time during the fifties and early sixties as they both worked to send Anna to college. Because of the long hours he kept on the farm and at his odd jobs, he never seemed to have the time he would have liked to spend with Anna. They had decided Anna would attend school and earn a degree but tuition wasn't cheap. Farming, while satisfying, was becoming an increasingly difficult way to make a living. They wanted their daughter to be successful in ways they could only dream of.
It seemed before long she was off to the university in Lexington, then married. He and Kate enjoyed their time alone together as they approached 65 and Anna was out on her own. They sold the farm and bought a newly built ranch house just outside of New Castle. The house was a little on the small