Excerpt
From CHAPTER SIX, THE THICKET by Cynthia Fisk
Who are they, anyway? Livy cried out the same moment a thorn ripped at her stocking.
The flicker of pain didnt fit with the orderly garden her future mother-in-law had planted year after year. Unlike her own mothers derelict, straggly plantings, every flowering bush here marched in tandem. Rank on rank of nasturtiums, petunias, columbine, roses climbed to the platform on which the gazebo stood. That was made of white wrought-iron and was topped by a weathervane in the form of a running fox. Totally intent, the fox headed into every breeze. The air was changeable today and he set out in so many directions his intensity mocked him.
Like me trying to sort out the Ferrises, Livy thought. She looked down and saw that the rosebushs thorn had scraped her instep, leaving bubbles of blood. She bent to daub at them with Kleenex. When she straightened, she noticed a pile of brush, dead grass and splintered markers poking out from behind the gazebo a few feet away. Livy straightened and stared at it with surprise. Top heavy with branches spoiled by tent caterpillar nests, it was at odds with the gardens symmetry and should have been hidden away somewhere. She moved toward the pile and kicked at it with her other foot with the idea that maybe it could be camouflaging some human discards like old photographs or letters that would reveal secrets about this woman, Elizabeth, and her four children.
No secrets opened to her and she turned her back on the yard waste. As she walked through the formal garden toward the house, she thought that Elizabeth, herself, with the way she dressed and reacted, seemed just as non-committal as the pile of brush had proved to be and as perfectly planned as the row upon row of plantings. True, the jut of her stomach when she embraced Livy two nights ago had been a surprise in a woman who was so tall and slender. Later, Livy noticed that her brilliant blue eyes stared here and there without really looking and that her face was composed in a way that suggested she might be working to keep it free of emotion.
Really, children, stop hovering above me and take your places, shed said as she sat down at the head of the table in the dining room. Her voice, so rich that the smallest remark seemed important, had an undertone, an edge that was close to a warning.
Being with her and her four grown children was like listening to a chorus that came in on cue like the response last night when the pot roast that her daughters had cooked was underdone.
Ive often said that the best preparers of food are those who have over prepared for lifes surprises. This meat is under prepared, so where does that leave us? The words were humorous but her tone was sharp.
Beatrice, the oldest, pushed back her chair, jumped to her feet and grabbed the platter. Out in the kitchen she could be heard crooning some verses from Walt Whitmans Song of Myself.
Sandra, the second sister, began the whining routine that had become familiar to Livy from earlier meetings with her.
Well, Elizabeth, just try going to restaurants in the city, Sandra said. Why, the waiters treat you like immigrants from Tanzania or Baghdad. The food they plop down in front of you tastes like leftovers from an orphanage in the Bronx. After you get out of the place, you cant find a cab no matter what. Consider yourself lucky that youve made the shift and are living away from the city and in Westport, Connecticut along with all your artifacts.
Henry, Williss brother, smiled and said, No matter where the Ferisses are, and no matter whether theyre on the point of being malnourished, they make a great team. His voice had a tremor in it that made him sound anxious but his beaming expression countered that.
Willis, who had attracted Livy in the first place with his humor rushed in with an anecdote. He said it was about a Welsh farmer who had an allergy to manure. The minute he started everyone began to laugh.
The strong, pleasant voice came through with, He just had to tell himself that it looked far worse than it smelled and, little by little, he willed himself to neither see nor smell anything that put him off in any way and that began to include his wife and seven children. He became known as `the grossed-out no-see-um, no-smell-um.
While the family went on laughing, Willis settled back in his chair and said, This was a true story, ready or not.
All the Ferrises had ways of speaking and recounting tales that called attention to them, but Willis provided something special. He commented on what the rest said with a kind of sidelong humor.
You know, Sandy, New York City is a place you cant afford or afford to be without. Either way, youre under its spell.
And Henry, you are the eternal juggler who lets reality sneak up on you and then turns on it and hoists it up and makes it yours.
At first, Livy had been most drawn to Willis because of the gifts he made of his jokes. She noticed that when he shared one with her, he seemed to grab at her with an irresistible offer. Eyes sparkling, head to one side, his mouth formed the words with real gusto. He waited for laughter but lately shed noticed that his face sagged afterwards. Even so, during the two days theyd been here, he held onto an impish, open expression as he sat with the others.
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