A Gentle Whisper

When the battered car finally entered the city limits of Homestead, T. J. was nestled underneath a raincoat with his head resting in Charly’s lap and his feet protruding like twigs. The poking and prodding from the restless boy kept Charly from a sound sleep. Two days in a row she’d watched the dark night sky brighten as the dawn approached. The green glow from the dashboard allowed her to see her father’s profile in the dim interior of the car. He looked weary.

When the car stopped beneath a lamppost, Charly lifted and strained to see. On either side of the road were endless, neat rows of tomatoes. The car sputtered forward, and a large building loomed into view. The sign on the building was faded, but Charly whispered the name out loud, “Macintosh Tomato Packing House.”

T. J. awoke and joined Charly at the window. A little farther down the road, the car stopped at an intersection and turned on Weylan Lane. Again, there were endless rows of tomatoes.

Ed made a sharp turn and entered through an open gate with the name Barclay engraved on a rusted iron plate. He drove slowly onto a gravel driveway. Charly couldn’t help but stare at the large structure before her.

The two-story farmhouse, painted white with baby-blue trim, was in the middle of the lot. There was a wraparound porch with a swing attached at one end, and a majestic oak tree at the corner of the farmhouse. The tree limbs stretched wide, touching the shingled roof. The backdrop of the ripe tomatoes added brilliant color to the picturesque setting. Charly had seen pictures of farms in her schoolbooks, but none like this one.

Nan heard the approaching car from her kitchen. The residents living on Weylan Lane rarely had visitors and never any at dawn. Curious, she stepped outside along with her loyal dog, Marbles, a tricolored German shepherd. The car stopped suddenly when Nan appeared on the porch.

She squinted at the car.

Ed put it in park and turned to Charly. “That’s Nan. She’s your mother’s sister.”

Charly looked at Nan through the dirty windshield. She didn’t know her mother had a sister, and this woman didn’t bear any resemblance to Maxine. She wondered if her father could be mistaken.

“Stay here. I’ll be back,” Ed said, reinforcing his directive with a stern look. He opened the door and stood next to the car for a few moments. Unmoving, Nan watched Ed from the distance. The dog, Marbles, growled. Nervous, Ed looked back at the children and then moved forward.

Marbles moved forward to separate his owner from the approaching stranger. “Marbles, it’s okay!” Nan said. The dog obeyed the command and returned to his position by her feet.

“Good morning, Nan,” Ed said, avoiding eye contact.

“Ed,” Nan replied. She looked past him and said, “Is that Maxine?”

“No, it’s not,” Ed stuttered, lowering his head. “Those are—those are our two kids.”

Nan looked surprised. “Kids?”

“Yeah, Charly and T. J.,” Ed said, humbled.

Nan walked past Ed to the edge of the porch. She looked at the car with great interest. “How old are they?” she asked.

“My girl’s ten, and T. J. just turned four,” Ed said.

“And where’s Maxine?” Nan said, turning toward him.

“Well, that’s why I’m here.” Ed stopped and looked down at his shoes again. “She left us, and I’ve got to find her.”

Nan turned back toward the car. “So, what do you want from me?”

“I need your help.”

Charly and T. J. managed to get out of the car without drawing Ed’s attention. Marbles, no longer believing his master was in danger, left Nan’s feet and ventured toward the children standing near the car. He first sniffed Charly and was rebuffed, but then found a welcoming friend in T. J. After a few moments together, the two ventured into the front yard and chased each other in wide circles.

Charly paced next to the car. She found the sound of the gravel crunching beneath her feet fascinating as it vibrated in her head and throughout her body. She tried to listen to the conversation between her father and the woman, but between the gravel, T. J.’s laughter, and the barking dog in the distance, it was hopeless.

She didn’t think the discussion was going well. Ed wasn’t contributing to the conversation at all. He stood with arms folded while the woman talked. At times, she became animated with expressive arm movements and a pointing finger aimed in Ed’s direction. Charly hoped the woman would be kind and let them stay long enough to enjoy some real food and a hot bath.

Her hope drained when the woman entered the house, leaving Ed on the porch. She stopped walking in circles and watched her father in the distance with his head bowed. She opened the car door and was about to enter when Ed looked up. “T. J., Charly, come on in. Nan’s gonna cook us something to eat,” Ed said, trying to smile. Charly shut the sedan’s door and rushed to the porch, wearing a broad smile.