Grassy Water

A Novel GRASSY WATER A N T H O N Y T I A T O R I O © Copyright 2010 by Anthony D. Tiatorio All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author. For Lori and Lynn …The Yalobusha bottom was vast and virgin, a ribbon of fabulously fertile land pressed against the river by abrupt pine ridges fronting endless untamed upland forest. It was, in many ways, a wild wetland jungle where panthers prowled by night and the eerie jutting eyes of alligators silently watched from the watery shadows… CHAPTER ONE t was Monday evening, December 11, 1882; there was no moon and the snow had already begun to fall. Thomas Hamrick Iwaited impatiently at the Warren Street depot for the tram that would take him into the city. He hated the horse-railroad, especially in winter. It was drafty, cold and uncomfortable in the unheated cars and the few inches of straw loosely strewn on the floor hardly helped. Ordinarily he would know better, but tonight he had little choice. They were waiting for him and it was already getting late. Thomas was tired and had little enthusiasm for the theater; he never did like Gilbert and Sullivan to begin with, even though their plays were all the rage then. There was something silly about parlor opera he always thought, something self-contradictory, almost incongruous. But, their granddaughter, Anna, was visiting from New York and Amanda had heard so much about Iolanthe, the newest British sensation, which was opening the new Bijou in Boston’s blossoming theater district. She wanted very much to make Anna happy and her eighteenth birthday special. Not only was the play making its long anticipated American debut after several smash weeks in London’s posh West End, but the Bijou itself was making its grand opening and for the first time anywhere a theater was to be completely illuminated by electric light bulbs. And it was also advertised that Mr. Edison himself would supervise the event, which was predicted to be spectacular. For Thomas this display of American technological know-how might make it all worthwhile, or at least he hoped that it would. He masked his rising irritability briefly with thoughts of the wonders of electricity and what it might mean for the future. There were already plans to use its magnetic power to move trolley and 6 A N T H O N Y T I A T O R I O street trams and that would be a big improvement over horse-cars he thought, kicking the snow from his boots and peering into the night for some sign of the train. Anything that could reduce the number of animals stabled in the town would be a godsend, if only for eliminating the infernal rotting mountains of manure that rose up beside the corrals and barns. Then he caught his impatient mind wandering and reminded himself that he wanted to take the Green Line, which went right up Washington Street and made a regular stop at the Adam’s House Hotel. The theater was right next door. He hadn’t been there since the days of the old Melodeon and his involuntary mind-walk started again. That must have been forty years ago, he mused. The years had passed so quickly. God, he thought, I’m seventy-five years old. Mandy is seventy-two. Where did they all go? But, those had been happy, loving years and that fleeting feeling, for a time at least, lifted his spirit. “Ya know if they’d let ‘em plow the tracks, we wouldn’t have this problem,” a man beside him said. “But, then the mucky-mucks with their fancy sleighs would be scrapin’ bottom… and we wouldn’t want that… now would we?” The man’s words reminded Thomas that Amanda had hired a hackney carriage to the theater that night and he wondered how hard it would snow and if there would be service for them after the performance. He could feel the wet, cold north-east breeze blowing steadily off the bay and feared that they could be in for a big storm. Maybe they would have to stay at the Adam’s House that night. Maybe they should anyway. But, if they did, then how would his son know? He would worry about them and his young daughter. No, it would be best to get back home. “Damn it. Where the hell is it?” he blurted and the man beside him laughed and said with obvious disdain, “What a way to run a railroad… even a horse railroad.” Thomas didn’t look up, already buried again in his own thoughts. Sometimes he worried that age was finally catching up to him. He couldn’t seem to concentrate like he once could. It wasn’t that he became confused, just overwhelmed with nuance. There were always more and more factors to consider and angles to GRASSY WATER 7 account for and the airy linear confidence of youth seemed very far behind him now. nna asked, “What’s wrong, Mimi?” sensing something, A but missing her mark entirely. “It’s only a light snow; Bumpa will be fine, you’ll see; he’ll arrive soon.” “Oh, I know he will, dear. Let’s just wait here in the lobby,” Amanda answered, only partly masking the uncertainty that had recently barricaded itself in a corner of her mind. She, like her husband of more than a half-century, was slowing down. She enjoyed feeling comfortably settled and wasn’t ready to be reminded that the past was never quite over and gone. “Isn’t it beautiful? Not stuffy and presumptuous like the theaters in London or Paris, but still very elegant wouldn’t you say?” She went on futilely seeking to hide thoughts that had already cemented themselves into her being. “I can’t wait to go up,” Anna said. “It’s a wonderful birthday present, Mimi, I’m so…” “And you know it’s so much less snobby than in London where everyone dresses to the nines. Don’t you think, Anna?” Amanda added without listening. “I guess so, Mimi, but… then… how would I know,” Anna answered smiling, but already beginning to realize that her grandmother was talking aimlessly. “…and there are no boxes, or only one or two I think. In London there are loads of snobby boxes…” “You… are worried about Bumpa aren’t you, Mimi?” the girl interrupted. “…and from what I’m told the seats are all in good view. You know that’s also a big complaint that people make about the West End.” “What is it Mimi, what’s wrong?” “Oh, look Anna! Signor Brocolini is to play Strephon. They say he was marvelous in…” Amanda tried to push on, but couldn’t. Tears welled up in her eyes and, too late to pretend any further, she turned away. Not trusting her words, Anna stood silently beside her grandmother for a few seconds before the old woman looked up and 8 A N T H O N Y T I A T O R I O smiled. “It’s alright, dear. Let’s not spoil your birthday. It was just some old memories from long ago. It’s nothing… really.” Amanda looked at her granddaughter and thought how much of herself she could see in those eager eighteen year-old eyes, how full of promise the world was then when everything seemed possible and there were rarely any thoughts of regret. But, the ripple of consequence rolls relentlessly through life, as Amanda well knew. There were problems, recently arisen. She hadn’t yet told Thomas and needed a chance to work it through for herself first. “But this should be a happy day, Anna. It’s your birthday and I don’t want to trouble you.” “How can I be happy, Mimi, when I see that you’re so sad?” “You are a sweet child, Anna,” she answered and the caring look on her granddaughter’s face drew her on. “You never knew my brother, Samuel. He was only fifteen when I left him and my mother to come here to Boston with your grandfather. I wasn’t much older than you are now. I wanted to put it all and everyone from my past behind me. It was so awful and embarrassing, what my father had done and then seeing his brutal death. I couldn’t stay there any longer. I never thought about them, about my mother, if she could cope, if Sammy was grown enough to…” The words slowly slipped into an incoherent sob. Anna held her grandmother’s hand and helped her to a couch in the corner of the lobby. “You don’t have to tell me any more, Mimi. I know about then. My father has talked about it.” Amanda smiled and squeezed her granddaughter’s hand. “He couldn’t know how I felt or how I feel now. My mother committed suicide, Anna… She was driven somehow to kill herself and I wasn’t there for her. I left her. I didn’t care. I couldn’t face the stares and whispers. I abandoned her when she needed me most. I convinced myself that it was enough that Samuel stayed and then I blamed him when she died. I always blamed him. He was just a boy, but I never forgave him and I never heard from him again.

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