. . . “Open up, Joann, here comes the applesauce. Mmm. Now, Joann, don’t push it away, see there, you’ve spilled on your bib! Here, let’s try again.” . . .
. . . “Yes, Joann. You’re beautiful. You always will be.” . . .
. . . “Mom, listen to these words.” . . .
When my father and my mother forsake me,
Then the Lord will take me up . . .
. . . Hospital . . . Hospital for . . . Hospital for the Insane . . .
. . . “I see your pictures on the board, Joann. You were some looker! Nice family. Can you see them up here? Look, I’ll point.” . . .
. . . “It’s Sunday, Joann. Nels will be coming. He always does, you know. Let’s see . . . what should we wear? You look nice in this flowered blouse, and here’re some matching beads.” . . .
. . . “Mom, the Scriptures I always read to you are from the book of Psalms. They’re wonderful words, Mom. I hope they comfort you.” . . .
For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion:
In the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me . . .
. . . “Hungry? Sure you are. Let’s roll to the dining room. Here, Joann, right up to the table now.” . . .
. . . Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart;
Wait, I say, on the Lord! . . .
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
KITE LESSONS
1964
Sandpaper in hand, Saffee kneels on the garage floor. Nels’s car pulls into the driveway and she gives him a wave.
“Hi, Daddy,” she says as he approaches, “Look, I’m working on the third leg.” Since the first real thaw of spring, she has devoted more time than ever to the table project, terribly eager to be finished.
Nels admires her progress and finds a tarp on a back wall shelf. He folds it into a cushion. “Here,” he says. “Save your knees.”
Last summer Nels didn’t seem to fully understand her zeal for restoring the table. Saffee wasn’t surprised. He’s never been one to see connections between emotion and action. For years his assessment of Joann went no deeper than to observe, “She thinks too much.” But ever since New Year’s Eve, when he heard Saffee share with Joann about stripping the table, he’s concluded that his daughter is the best judge of how she must deal with the past.
He settles into the webbed chair.
“How was Mother today, Daddy?” He often comes from the nursing home after visiting her.
“She looked good. Dressed in a nice blue blouse and pants.” These days, if Joann is awake and able to train her one dim eye on him during visits, Nels is happy. If she is asleep, or struggles to lift her left arm as if to wave him away, he is disappointed.
“I’ve been reading the Bible to her when I visit,” Saffee says. “I hope she hears me.” Nels looks appreciative.
There’s a streak of moving color in the yard. Saffee waves to Jenny Rose.
“Miss Saffee! Come see my kite!” the child calls.
“Dad, there’s the adorable little girl from next door I’ve told you about.”
Nels steps onto the driveway. Jenny Rose beams contagious delight.
“See my kite!” She holds it out for inspection. “My daddy got it for me.”
“It’s very pretty, Jenny Rose,” Saffee says, joining Nels in the sunshine.
“Daddy’s gonna show me how to fly it way, way up in the air!”
Bill appears from the adjacent garage with twine and colorful strips of plastic. “Hey, Jenny Love,” he says, “I found the string and just what we need for the tail.” He notices Saffee and Nels. “Hi, Saffee. What do you think of our kite?”
“Perfect for this breezy day.” Saffee introduces Bill to her dad.
“Nice little girl you have there,” Nels says, smiling.
Bill agrees. Saffee and Nels watch the pair kneeling on the grass. Patient, large hands show smaller ones how to tie the plastic tail strips. Bill attaches the line to the frame and unwinds a length from the spool.
“Are we ready, Daddy? Let’s make it fly!”
Bill gives the kite a strong toss into the wind.
“Look!” Jenny Rose exclaims as she runs beneath the rising, twisting kite. “It’s so high!” She scampers back to Bill, her long dark curls tossing in the breeze. “Daddy, can I fly it?”
Together they hold the spinning spool. The kite soars and dives like a magnificent bird. Saffee tries to remember if she has ever flown a kite. She doesn’t look at Nels.
“Hold tight, Jenny!” she calls.
The kite loops crazily in the wind, gently tugging Bill and Jenny Rose into the next yard. Saffee returns to the garage and picks up her sandpaper. Nels follows and sits without speaking in the webbed chair. The scene of devoted father and carefree daughter replays in Saffee’s mind. She wonders what her dad is thinking.