20
JEREMY, PENNSYLVANIA
I960
AT LUNCH ONE DAY, Vincent Siparo announced he was too tired to take an afternoon walk with his granddaughters. He was tired a lot toward the end of that summer, and he got out of breath easily, so Claire and Vanessa decided to go for their walk in the woods without him, Tucker tagging along at their heels.
They were smart girls, and they knew the woods well; it wouldn’t even occur to them to feel fear as they trudged through the trees.
“Let’s explore,” Claire said, turning off their usual path, and Vanessa followed dutifully. Soon, they were walking through an unfamiliar section of the woods, and the girls carefully twisted branches and dropped stones on the path as markers, the way Vincent had taught them to do, so they would always be able to find their way back.
Suddenly, Vanessa stopped walking, her eyes riveted on the ground near a gnarled old oak tree.
“What’s the matter?” Claire asked.
Vanessa pointed to the ground in front of her. Claire walked toward her sister gingerly—in case it was a snake that had caught Vanessa’s eye. But it was not a snake. In front of Vanessa, beneath some fallen limbs and dried leaves at the foot of the oak, a wooden cross jutted from the earth. Claire tugged away some of the dead limbs, and the two girls stared at the cross. Painted in white letters on the wood was the name tucker.
They knew a little about graves, but not much. Their grandpa Harte, Len’s father, had died a year ago, and Mellie wouldn’t let them go to the funeral, but they’d heard someone talking about the grave where he was buried. When Claire asked Mellie if Grandpa Harte was under the ground, Mellie had laughed. “Of course not. He’s in heaven. You know that. The grave is just a place for people to go to remember the person who’s in heaven.” It was hard to believe what Mellie said sometimes. Kids at school talked about people being buried. Perhaps some people were buried when they died, but not if they were a Harte or a Siparo.
Yet here was a grave. Both girls turned to look at Tucker, who sat nearby waiting for them. When they looked in his direction, he flapped his pointed tail on the leaves.
“Is this the other Tucker?” Vanessa asked.
“It can’t be,” Claire said. “Mellie said he lives with another family with a lot of children, remember?”
“Yes.” They stared again at the cross. The lettering was perfect, white outlined with a line of gold, like the gold Vincent used on the horses.
“Maybe there was another Tucker before that Tucker,” Claire suggested. “And he’s in heaven and this is where Grandma and Grandpa come to remember him.”
Vanessa nodded solemnly. “Maybe there’s been a million Tuckers,” she said. “We could ask Mommy.”
“No,” Claire said. “I don’t know why this grave is here, but if we ask Mellie, we’ll never be able to figure it out.”
They considered asking their grandfather, but even though Vincent was working in his shop by the time they got back to the barn, he seemed too tired to bother with their questions. He breathed hard every time he got up to get a paintbrush or a rag, and he grunted every time he lowered himself to his workbench again. The doctor had told him not to smoke his pipe any longer, but he still slipped it, unlit, into his mouth when he worked.
Claire and Vanessa sat down to play with their clay. Claire had quietly given up on the wood after last summer, and no one had said a word to her about it. Vincent never even mentioned the fact that she no longer picked up the wood and the carving knife. Perhaps he had seen her frustration when she worked with it. No matter how careful she was with the block of wood, she was always cutting off a piece she’d wanted to remain on the carving, and there was no way to fix that sort of mistake.
When Vincent announced it was time for their afternoon ride, the girls set their clay on the worktable and ran into the barn. Once they’d hopped onto the platform of the carousel, Vanessa ran straight to Titan.
“I want to ride on Titan today,” she announced.
Claire stared at her younger sister in disbelief. “Titan’s mine,” she said.
“You always get to ride him. I should get a turn, too.”
Claire’s fists were knotted at her sides. “Grandpa!” she called.
Vincent started walking toward them from the workshop. “What’s the problem, girls?” he asked, stepping onto the platform next to Titan. He stroked the horse’s long white head lightly with his hand as he looked down at his granddaughters.
“Vanessa wants to ride Titan!” Claire said. “Tell her she can’t.”
“Ah,” Vincent said. His blue eyes looked tired, but there was still a sparkle in them. “Well, how about giving her a turn?”
Vanessa nodded vigorously while Claire went red with rage. “He’s mine!” She wrapped her arm possessively around the jumper’s delicate leg. “He’s always been mine. She can have all the other horses on the whole carousel.”
Vanessa stomped her foot. “She always gets to ride him.”
Vincent picked up his blond granddaughter, wheezing with the effort. “You know he’s Claire’s favorite, Angel?” he asked. “That she’s always picked him to ride on?”
Claire nodded indignantly, her own nostrils flaring.
“And that even if you get to ride him every once in a while, he’ll always be Claire’s special horse, just like any of the others can be your special horse?”
Claire cocked her head at Vincent suspiciously.
Vincent knelt at her side, Vanessa still in his arms. “I know Titan’s your horse, honey, but don’t you think you could let Vanessa have a turn on him sometimes?”
Claire pouted at her younger sister, whose glittering blond curls spilled over her grandfather’s arm. Strangers on the street couldn’t resist running their hands over that golden hair. It was nearly the same color as Titan’s mane.
“I hate you,” Claire said to Vanessa.
Vincent reached out to touch Claire’s arm. “Now, Claire,” he said. “No, you don’t.”
“I do too. I don’t even want to ride on this stupid carousel if she’s on it.”
But Vincent was firm. And so Claire sat sulking on the blanket-covered crate in the corner while her grandfather puttered with the hinges on one of the doors and Vanessa spun around, giggling, tossing back her head as she galloped through the barn on the proud white stallion.
In front of the farmhouse, a short distance from the barn, Len and Mellie were getting into their car. They started down the long driveway in the green Plymouth, and even though the carousel music was loud, the car could still be heard as it passed outside the barn. At least Claire could hear it from her perch on the crate. Behind the barn, the car engine stopped abruptly and a door slammed. Then the yelling began, mean and ugly and loud. Vincent raised his head from his work on the door, looking at the wall of the barn as if he could see through it to his daughter and son-in-law on the other side.
Claire watched her grandfather, her mouth open, waiting for him to acknowledge the fight and do something about it.
Vincent walked over to the carousel. He grabbed hold of one of the poles and stepped onto the moving platform, making his way among the horses to get to the organ. He turned the music up, so loud that the floor of the barn trembled and no other sound could possibly be heard. Then he crossed the platform again and stepped off. Droplets of sweat poured down his cheeks, glistening in the gray of his beard, and he pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his overalls to wipe his face.
He smiled at Claire then. “Vanessa’s having a great ride there on Titan, isn’t she?” He had to shout to be heard above the music.
Vanessa was leaning over, hugging Titan’s neck as she rode up and down, up and down. It was impossible to tell where the horse’s mane ended and the girl’s hair began.
Vincent went back to the door and lifted his hammer to one of the hinges.
In the corner, Claire raised her feet to the crate, hugging her knees to her chest, pulling herself into a tight little knot against the wall.
The fighting was gone, if it had existed at all. It could have been laughter, some sort of game perhaps. If any memory remained of the shouting, or the anger, or the slamming of the car door, it would soon be swallowed by the loud, lilting music of the carousel.