The Bell in the Yard

The Bell in the Yard

D. A. Ratliff

They say you can’t go home again.

Foolish? Yes, but I was going to try.

A reasonable person would look at their life and be thankful for what was good and forgiving about what was not. I never did like reasonable. And I found a lot about my life difficult to forgive. I had a list, and it was about time to deal with the demons in the closet.

I was driving down Highway One along the Bayou Lafourche. Windows rolled down to allow the hot late afternoon air to fill the car—the musky scent of the bayou carried by the thick humidity laying heavily on my skin. I was going home to Larose, and I suspected some people would not be so happy to see me.

My parents were expecting me. I had a purpose for visiting, and my mother invited me to stay for the weekend. Not sure why I said yes, but I did. As I was a bit early, I drove further along the bayou to see a few old haunts.

Haunts? That’s a laugh, but I suppose high school counted as a haunting time. I was popular because my father owned one of the largest tugboat fleets in the area. His company navigated barges through the intercoastal and ferried supplies and personnel to the oil rigs off the coast. He was a big deal in a land where water and oil shared the king’s crown. Had he not been, I doubt I would have been popular.

The fact was, I hated high school. I loved to study, and I loved sports, but my high school was small, and the main extracurricular activity was right out of reality TV—the dating game. Let’s say not too many teenage boys caught my interest. As I approached the high school, I slowed down as a sense of deja vue swept over me, the same dread that followed me as a teenager.

Too many memories flooded my thoughts, and I turned around and headed for my parents' house. Let the haunting begin where it belonged.

The house was on West Main Street, and the company offices were next to it. I pulled into the driveway and stepped out. Heading for the porch, I touched the old dinner bell, now covered in rust and cobwebs, that hung from a pole set in the yard. I remember my mother and grandmother ringing that bell. When I was small, several of Dad's tugs docked along the bayou in front of the house, and the bell called everyone to dinner—days long gone. I walked up the steps and pressed the doorbell.

I held my breath as my mother appeared at the end of the long foyer. She hesitated, then came to the door. I swear an eternity passed before the door opened fully.

“Jacqueline.”

No, hello, no good to see you, not even a Hi Jacki, just my given name. I gritted my teeth. I had a job to do, and once I completed my task, I could leave, and all would be as it was.

“Hello, Mom.”

“Did you bring any luggage?”

Ah—always the practical person. “Still in the car. I’ll get it later.”

“All right, come in. Your grandmother is here, and…,” she paused, “she’s anxious to see you.”

I followed my mother to the gathering room at the rear of the house. I took a peek around and realized they redecorated. Nothing I remember and nothing of me anywhere I looked. Photos of my brothers and their families existed, but none of me or Aunt Emilie, my Dad’s sister. She was why I was here.

My grandmother, Claire, rose as soon as she saw me and rushed to hug me. A smaller version of my mother, a pang of sentimentality overcame me, and I hugged her tighter. “Gram, it is so good to see you.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. “And you chere, you’ve been gone too long.”

A glance at my mother’s face told me she wasn’t in agreement.

“We were getting ready to have coffee. Would you like a cup?”

I nodded, and she scurried off. Gram chuckled. “Sit. They aren’t as stoic as they want to appear. But they have not forgiven you.”

I sank into the couch next to her. “I didn’t expect they had or would.”

“Such foolishness.”

“They never understood why I didn’t want to stay, and I….“ My mother returned with a tray laden with a press pot and cups, and I shut up.

As my mother poured the coffee, the nutty, caramel scent of chicory that I remembered from long ago filled the air. She spoke. “Jacqueline, we received your message about Emelie’s death too late, or…” she sat across from me, “we would have… uh, we would have come to the funeral.”

I forced back a retort. Emelie would have risen from her coffin and told them to get out.

“I’m sure you would have, Mom.” I added 'mom' to see how she would react. She didn’t.

My grandmother changed the subject. “Tell us about her last days, chere.”

“Emelie knew she was dying. The tumor was fast-growing. They couldn’t get ahead of it, and it was inoperable. So, in typical Emilie fashion, she made her last months memorable. We traveled, we laughed, she had Mardi Gras in June, and decorated her wheelchair like her favorite Krewe float. She spent her last days surrounded by her closest friends.”

“Her friends from that bar?”

“Yes, Mom. Those friends.”

I knew how my mother disliked Emelie’s lifestyle. I had heard her rail against it enough, but I had spent many years hoping she would change. She never did, and I no longer cared.

“Those friends are from all walks of life, and they loved her.”

My mother scoffed. “No, doubt some of them did.”

I knew what my mom was referring to, and I expected the salvos about Emelie’s bohemian lifestyle to start as soon as I arrived.

My grandmother quickly interjected. “Beth, what are we having for dinner? It smells delicious.”

My mother dropped her eyes. “We are having pork chops, red beans and rice, and okra and tomatoes.”

No wonder she wouldn’t look at me as she cooked my favorite meal. I didn’t expect that.

My mother rose. “Your father and Daniel will be here shortly. Clayton is flying back from Houston tonight but will be here tomorrow for lunch,” she paused, “and whatever you have planned for us.”

I didn’t respond as she left.

Gram sighed. “Jacki, they took your choosing to stay in New Orleans with Emelie as a betrayal.”

“Gram, going to Tulane and not staying here and going to the community college in Thibodaux was a betrayal. Everything I did was an affront to the family.” I clenched my fists.

“You have a right to your life. Your mother always did what her father told her, and now your father does the same to her. She’s an old-fashioned woman in an unforgiving world.”

“How did she get that way? You aren’t.”

Gram laughed. “Your mother was never like me. She is your grandfather through and through. But I loved them both, and you, too.”

I fought back the tears. I hadn’t shed any tears over my family in a long time. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come, but I promised Emelie I would do as she wished.”

“And it’s the right thing to do. Now, you didn’t come in with a suitcase. Did you bring one?”

“In the car.”

“Chere, go get it while I help your mother with dinner.” I stood, and she reached for my hand. “Don’t be surprised when you see your room.”

I grabbed my bag and lugged it up the stairs. A rush of emotions I didn’t expect overwhelmed me as I opened the door to my old room. They hadn’t changed anything. My room looked as it had the day I left. I was never a frilly girl, and I had wanted my room painted a very soft green—the color on the walls, the duvet on the bed, the curtains, exactly as I had left it twelve years before.

Sentiments raced through me, partly joy that they didn’t forget, to pain that their attitude forced me from my home to anger, wondering if they had simply closed the door and walked away. I hurried into the hall and checked my brother’s rooms. They were now guest rooms, not children’s rooms. Why not mine?

I entered my room and sat on the bed. The day I left, I felt I had no choice. My father demanded that I stay in Larose. I remember his words vividly. “You are foolish, going to that city. It’s dangerous. Emelie is not fit to take care of you. I demand you stay home.”

My father was a bully. It was always his way, and Clayton was just like him. Daniel was the youngest and rebellious, always in trouble. My mother never challenged Dad’s decisions but stood by as he railed at us.

I wanted out. Tulane University offered me a scholarship, and I wanted to be a lawyer. When I was young, Emelie was not the family persona non grata as she and I later became. She often visited to see her parents when they were alive, and I loved being with her. A free spirit, Emelie was everything I wanted to be, and I wanted to be out of this small town. She helped me.

I had a task to do. A delivery truck would arrive tomorrow morning, and after lunch, they would receive their inheritance. And then, my job would be complete.

After unpacking, I headed downstairs and could hear my father’s voice. Steeling myself, I walked into the kitchen where he stood, arms crossed, leaning against the counter.

“Dad.”

His steel-blue eyes bore into mine. “Jacki.”

Before I could respond, Daniel arrived. “Sis, so good to see you.” He hugged me.

My mother interrupted. “You can chat later. Dinner is ready, and we’re eating on the terrace. Please have a seat.”

Daniel slung his arm around me. “You can be my date tonight. Decided best Gina and the baby stayed home.”

I smiled. “Smart. Could be fireworks.”

To describe dinner as uncomfortable would not do justice to the strained conversation. My father was curt, his answers to my questions barely more than two words. Daniel’s attempts to engage everyone fell flat, as did my appetite. When my father abruptly left the table, my mother hurried to clear the dishes, Gram helping.

Daniel held out his hand, mouthed one word—milkshakes- and pulled me out of my chair. We spent the remainder of the evening cruising around town, reliving our high school days before he dropped me off around ten.

My dad sat in his favorite chair in the living room, reading. He rose when I entered the foyer.

“About time you got back. I want to lock up.”

“Sorry, Dan wanted to show me around. We had ice cream from….”

“Go to your room. I need to set the….”

“Go to my room?” I was seething. “I am not a five-year-old child that you can order about.”

“You are in my house, Jacqueline, do as I say. I didn’t ask you to come here. Your mother begged me, and I relented. It was a mistake. You are no different than that worthless sister of mine.”

“Emelie wasn’t worthless. She was full of joy and understood that life should be lived to the fullest.”

“She was a whore.”

I couldn’t catch my breath. “You think Emelie is a whore? And I’m no different?” I took a step toward him. “Emelie was no such thing. She fell in love with that bastard who used her successful jazz club as a front for his illegal activities. The prosecutor cleared her of all involvement. Your sister’s only guilty of trusting the wrong men—a criminal and you. You should have supported her, but you walked away. I was only fourteen, but I remember, in this very room, hearing her beg you to help her save her club. You refused.”

“I wasn’t giving her money to keep that bar open. “

“Why?”

“Her little fling nearly cost me my livelihood. I lost contracts and nearly went under because people thought I was involved in that sordid mess. I could‘ve lost the business, the house, everything. I managed to get three of my main contracts back, but she still cost me plenty. Then you turned your back on me and ran off to live with her. “ His eyes were icy. “Do what you have to do tomorrow, Jacqueline, and then go.”

He turned from me, locked the door, set the alarm, and headed upstairs, leaving me standing in the living room. I never felt more alone.

~~~

I woke early after a restless sleep. I took a shower, dressed, and packed the few items I had brought. I wasn’t lingering any longer than necessary.

My mother was busy in the kitchen. With only a short greeting, I poured a cup of coffee and told her I was going out on the porch to make a few phone calls. I savored the fresh air, despite the musty smell of the bayou. I contacted the delivery company, who confirmed they were on time. Thankfully.

I wanted to spend a bit of time with my older brother, so I decided to stay through the planned lunch and then I would leave. I laughed. Maybe I would ring the bell in the yard to announce my departure. Lost in thought, I jumped when Gram came onto the porch. “Come, chere, help me make lunch. Jackson and Beth are going out for a bit.”

The morning passed, and I was happy when my brothers and their families arrived just before my parents returned. I had met their kids at family funerals and my brothers’ weddings, but they were growing fast. When the truck arrived, my father directed the items off-loaded into a bay in the company building.

After lunch, thankfully dominated by the children, we walked across the parking lot to the garage bay, where several pieces of furniture and five large boxes sat. My father approached a large desk, which had been his father’s, almost touching it but hesitated. I decided it was time to give my speech.

“This is not to be a formal reading of a Will. Emelie decided on the distribution of these items long before she died. She asked me to deliver them personally.” I handed my father an envelope. “You will find a list of who she wished the furniture to go to, but she also leaves the final decision to all of you. She packed and labeled each box with your name. She wanted you to have things from her parents and a few items she treasured over the years.”

My brothers and their wives opened the boxes, excited to see what Emelie had left them. My father opened the envelope and not only pulled out the letter but a smaller envelope. Inside was a note and a flash drive.

“Jacqueline, did you know about this?” He held up the drive.

“No, I didn’t.”

“She wants us to hear this.”

He led us to his office and put the flash drive into his computer. It was an MP4 file—a video. Emilie’s gaunt face, her baldness covered in a wrapped silk scarf, appeared on the monitor.

“Jackson, don’t turn this off before I finish. You need to hear some hard facts. I’ll be dead soon, but I must say this before I die. You are a fool and a bully. Always demanding your way and never seeing the damage that you do. You expect no one to disagree with you, and you have never recognized your children for who they are. Clayton followed you into the business because he adores you and doesn’t want to upset you. Daniel, the free spirit, rebelled, and you set him up in the shrimp boat to make a living but never thought he was good enough for the family business.

But what you have done to Jacki is unforgivable. This bright, loving woman full of the joy of life was strong enough to walk away and pursue her life’s journey, and you punished her for it. I know she has never stopped loving her family, she’s cried too many nights over what she lost, but you never allowed her to come home.

I know my foolishness nearly ruined you, and I am eternally sorry for that but do not take your anger out on Jacqueline. She only wants to live her life. She never wanted to do it without her family.

Forgive her if you can never forgive me.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks as Emilie’s words faded. Gram hugged me, and Clayton smiled at me before he spoke. “Dad, we need our family complete. This hurt has gone on too long.”

My mother, her tears matching mine, hugged my father. “Emilie is right. We need our daughter home.”

I was rooted to the spot, my heart racing. My father’s eyes filled with tears. “Jacqueline, I have been unfairly taking my anger out on you. I want you home. We all do.”

I ran to my parents and threw my arms around them. “I want to come home.”

The family insisted that I stay for the remainder of the weekend. We had a lot to discuss. I knew I had one thing to do as we returned to the house. I went to the bell in the yard and rang it.

Time for dinner. I was home.

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"The Bell in the Yard" was orginally published in Journeys: The Writers Journey Blog, available on Amazon.com. https://amzn.to/3HXcxAa