"A THOUSAND VOICES" Chapter 1

The old Choctaw say that a man who walks away from his past will wander lost forever. If he takes root in a soil that is not his own, the tree of his life will struggle for breath, and water, and nourishment. In dry seasons, the leaves will die easily because roots are shallow. We are meant to be grown in ground that is rich with the bones, and the blood, and the voices of our ancestors. In 1831, the first of the Choctaw were forced from their lands in Mississippi and moved to reservations in Oklahoma . They took with them their language, their customs, their stories of the old times, and they took soil. The women ground the bones of the ancestors and sewed the dust and soil into the hems of their clothing. As they left their homes, they touched the leaves, and the grasses, and the waters of the streams, saying goodbye to the old places. They marched in the bitter cold of an early winter, carrying the young, the old, the sick, yet they did not pour out the soil and the bones along the trail. In open fields, with only blankets to protect them from the snow and the wind, they huddled together. Death, it is said, was hourly among them, claiming nearly one-third of their number, yet those who remained carried the stories and the soil. They spread it in a new place and watered it with their tears, and the tree began to grow again.

The Choctaw are a wise people. They know that ancestor bones nourish all who come after, and so they keep the past alive.

If not for that fact, I might have wandered forever. The summer I found the Choctaw was the summer I found myself. Until that time, I'd never even wondered about my real father and his Choctaw heritage. He was a faceless shadow in my mind, the reason my skin was dark and my eyes were brown, not blue like Mama's. He was the reason folks in town looked at me like I was dirt, and Uncle Bobby called me little nigger girl , when he started coming around Granny's house after Mama died. Uncle Bobby said I was just darned lucky Granny kept me on at her house, because who else would want a little brown-skinned, knobby-legged butthead like me hanging around?

Old Mrs. Vongortler, the lady who owned the farm across the river from Granny's house, said I shouldn't listen to talk like that. She said every bird in the air came from a thought of God, and so did I. I'd never imagined God thinking about me. It's a powerful thing to realize you were put in this world on purpose. It changes the way you feel about everything afterward. It changed the way I felt about Mrs. Vongortler. After that, she became Grandma Rose to me. She loved me in a way my real granny didn't, in a way nobody else ever had. Grandma Rose and I understood each other. When she died, I wanted to lie down on that bed and die right along with her.

Even after she was gone, Grandma Rose took care of me. Her granddaughter and grandson-in-law, Karen and James Sommerfield, adopted me at twelve years old and gave me the family I'd always wanted. I left the little paper-thin house on the river and moved into a life that was both foreign and frightening, and filled with possibilities. I buried the past in the grave with my real granny, and tried to forget it ever happened.

The old Choctaws would say I had poured out the soil and the bones, and everything that came afterward—a life in Kansas City with James and Karen, an education at an arts high school where I could pursue my love of music, concert opportunities, and chances to travel—would be shallow rooted. The past, even if you don't talk about it, still exists, and no matter how hard you try to turn your back, no matter how dangerous it is to look at, part of you cries out to understand it. You move through life like a person balancing on a log fallen over the river, waiting for the moment the wood will crack and you'll sink into all dark things you can still see below.

I could never tell James and Karen, my new parents who loved me, that somewhere inside there was the scared, silent little girl from the tiny house in the tall grass above Mulberry Creek. That girl was filled with questions, and even years later, she was still wandering the world, in search of answers.

When I graduated from high school, I traveled as far away from her as I could—to Europe for a year in a student musical exchange orchestra, and then to Ukraine for a term of teaching English and music in a mission project for orphaned children. My commission there was over too soon, and it was time to go home. College was waiting, and life was waiting, and my family was waiting.

Barry was waiting, too, even though he wasn't supposed to be. Barry and I had dated since my first year at Harrington Academy , when he befriended me, tutored me, and rescued me from teenage oblivion. When I left for Europe , we'd decided it was time for both of us to move on. Still, Barry kept the cards and emails coming, telling me about the music department at Missouri State . He talked about college life and dorm rooms, fraternity houses and apartments, things that seemed a million miles away to me. When I came home, he dropped everything and met me at the airport.

“Hey, D,” he said, just like no time had passed. At some point in our history together, Barry had shortened my name to D. He gave nicknames to everyone and everything he cared about. Even his saxophone, Puff.

I turned from the luggage carousel, surprised by the sound of his voice. It was deeper than I remembered, different than on the phone. “Hey, Bear-bear.” I paused to study him. He looked older, his chin more square and his baby-faced cheeks slightly hollowed out. He'd let his brown hair grow longer and put brassy highlights in it. “You look different,” I said, and he grinned, seeming pleased.

“Got highlights.” Grabbing a strand of hair, he held it out for inspection. “Like it?” His eyebrows rose hopefully, and I couldn't help smiling. Same old Barry. He could never be cool about anything.

“I do,” I motioned to the hair. “I really do.”

Stepping back, he inspected me slowly. “Gosh, Dell, you look great.” He blinked like he couldn't quite take in the picture. “I mean, really great. You do.” He leaned slightly closer, as if he thought he might kiss me.

“Thanks.” It was hard to know how to respond, and I shifted away uncomfortably. The compliment was sincere. Everything about Barry was sincere, which was what had always made our relationship so hard. He sincerely loved me, and I sincerely needed him as a friend, and that isn't the same thing.

Stretching out his arms, he grabbed me in an impulsive bear hug, and as usual, I went stiff. I'd never been good at hugs and things like that—Barry knew that about me, and he didn't mind. He understood that those feelings came from long before I met him. When Mama was messed up, she used to hug me until I felt like I'd smother. All I could smell was weed and sweat and the faint scent of VO5 shampoo, as we staggered back in forth in a painful embrace.

Barry let go and reached for something on the luggage carousel. “That yours?” He asked, grabbing the battered wheelie bag that had been through two continents and over a dozen countries.

“Yeah,” I answered, bewildered as he hauled it off the luggage carousel with a grunt, then snagged my bedraggled garment bag. “How'd you know?”

“I bought it for you.” His mouth hung open in disbelief. “Remember?”

The memory came rushing back, and I laughed. “How could I forget that?” How, indeed? While all the other high school couples were exchanging promised rings, senior charms, and framed graduation photos with endearments like Yours 4 Ever and True Love Always , Barry bought me luggage.

“You didn't speak to me for a week, remember?” He wheeled his hand, churning up the past.

I hooked my fingers in the belt loops of the Levis that I could have sold for a small fortune in Ukraine . “That's not true.” There had never, ever been a time when Barry and I didn't speak for a week.

“All right, maybe it was a day. But it seemed like a week,” he joked, and we laughed together. A woman with a luggage cart bumped into him from behind, and he stumbled forward, then glanced over his shoulder and apologized for being in the way. The woman didn't answer, and Barry shrugged good-naturedly, then started scooping my up luggage. “Guess we should get out of here. You hungry? Want to get something to eat?”

“No thanks. They gave us a snack on the plane.” Leaving the baggage area, we exited the building near a small flowerbed where a stunted dogwood tree was wilting in the August heat. Not far away, a row of redbuds looked dry, and tired, and ready for winter to come. A maintenance man was mowing grass beside the curb, lacing the air with a scent so strong it eclipsed the odor of damp pavement and exhaust fumes. A rush of memories swirled over me, and for a moment my mind was caught in the illusion that I'd never left. Standing there on the sidewalk, surrounded by the sights and scents of Kansas City , I could have been any age from twelve to eighteen, at the airport to pick up James, who'd just piloted a 747 full of happy travelers home from some far-away destination. If it was summer or a school holiday, Karen and I might have ridden along on family passes to enjoy a short vacation or a music festival, during his layover…

I was suddenly aware that I'd stopped on the sidewalk and people were squeezing by. Beside me, Barry patiently balanced my luggage waited. I was filled with a rush of affection for him that wasn't romantic love, but something deeper.

“What?” Quirking a brow, he hiked my garment bag higher onto his shoulder.

“Nothing.” Embarrassed, I reached for one of the bags. “It's just good to see you. Here, let me carry something.”

He shifted the luggage handles possessively and started walking. “I've got it. You sure you don't want to stop off for something to eat?”

“Only if you're hungry,” I said, as we headed toward the parking lot.

“No. I mean, not unless you are.”

“I'm fine, but if you want to stop, that's good, too.”

“It's up to you, really.” He shrugged, pausing to heft the heavy garment bag higher onto his shoulder again. “You're the world traveler.”

“Tell you what.” As usual, between the two of us, Barry and I couldn't come up with a decision. “Surprise me. Let's just head toward the farm, and if you see someplace you feel like stopping, then stop. If not, we'll be at Aunt Kate's farm in time for supper.” What I really wanted to do was get to the farm. I hadn't seen anyone in my family since James and Karen had flown to London to watch our final concert almost a year ago. Suddenly that seemed like an eternity. I tried to imagine what it would be like, walking into the family gathering at the farm this weekend, surprising them because they thought I wouldn't be home for two months yet.

Barry started up a conversation about college life as we loaded my luggage and headed south in his new Mustang, a reward for keeping a straight A average at Missouri State . Sitting behind the wheel of a glossy new convertible, Barry looked almost cool, which was a feat, considering that our senior year, he'd cruised in his mom's old hatchback wagon.

Outside the window, the scenery turned from urban to rural, the highway slowly leaving the flatlands and winding upward into the foothills of the Ozarks. It began to look more like Hindsville, more like home. Somewhere during Barry's dissertation about dormitory life, his new fraternity house, and algebra class, the road disappeared altogether…

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Barry's voice wound into the blackness, pulling me back into the Mustang from someplace far away. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Wake up. We're here.”

Opening my eyes, I blinked against the bright afternoon sunlight as the car turned into the farm's gravel driveway. One side of my hand was numb against the glass, and the other side was imprinted into my face, complete with the St. Christopher's ring one of the girls in the orphanage had given me when I left.

“I'm sorry,” I muttered, pulling myself upright. “I didn't mean to fall asleep on you. That was rude. You should have poked me or something.”

“I was enjoying watching you snore.”

“Gross,” I muttered, reaching into my purse for a hairbrush. My heart fluttered into my throat as we wound slowly past the farm fields, then uphill through the shade of Grandma Rose's old silver maple trees. On the bluff above the river, the big white house loomed imposingly, its dormer windows watching our approach. My entire family would be gathered there, all of them having come to see my cousin, Jenilee's, new baby. The first baby to come into the family since Aunt Kate's youngest, Hanna, who was five now. The birth of Jenilee and Caleb's baby was cause for celebration. They'd waited until Jenilee finished medical school to start a family. Now the baby was a week old, and Jenilee and Caleb still hadn't picked out a name. Aunt Kate figured it was time for a family meeting. Karen and James filled me in on all the drama by email. Of course, they had no idea that I'd actually be there for the family name-brainstorming session. For just an instant, I had the thought that I should have waited in Kansas City for James and Karen, instead of coming to the farm. My unexpected return would steal the spotlight from Jenilee's new arrival. James and Karen might be upset that, after being away so long, I'd asked Barry to meet me at the airport, instead of asking them.

My hands shook as I dragged the brush through my hair.

“You look fine.” Barry frowned sideways at me.

I rolled my eyes. I could imagine what I looked like after four transfers and two days of planes, trains, and automobiles. “Maybe I should have called them instead of surprising everyone. They…”

“Why do you do that?” Barry cut me off.

“What?”

“Second guess yourself.” Pulling into a parking space behind the garage building, he braced an elbow on the console and leaned across. “You look great. You're beautiful. They're going to be thrilled to see you.” Dropping the keys in the console, he exited the car. I opened my door, swiveled around and watched my feet touch home soil, stood and stretched, taking in the warm, late-summer air. It smelled of leaves and freshly-cut grass, the farm fields down below and late-blooming roses in the garden. Familiar things, the same as always. The scents snuggled around me like a blanket as I closed the car door and started toward the house. The yard gate squealed a high-pitched protest as Barry pushed it open. “C'mon, slowpoke.” As usual, Barry was in a hurry to get to the kitchen. I paused to take one more look at the blackberry patch behind the old hired hand's house out back. Hidden in the tall tangle of brambles was a path I could have walked with my eyes closed. Even now, I knew every inch of the trail that led across the river to the little house I'd lived in with Mama and my real granny. The house was gone now, having caved in under the weather and then been dozed, but the trail remained.

“Who's?” Aunt Kate's voice came from the screen porch, somewhere near the kitchen door. “Barry? Barry, what are…” There was an audible intake of breath as I rounded the garage building and hurried down the path to the gate. “Dell? Dell?” Yanking open the kitchen door, she hollered into the house, “Dell's here! Karen, Dell's here!” A moment later, she was on the walkway, stretching out her arms, hugging me, then examining me at arm's length. “How in the world did you get here?”

“On a plane.”

She shook a finger in a way that reminded me of Grandma Rose. Grandma Rose hated surprises, because it meant that somebody had managed to out-manipulate her. “Oh, you!” She pointed at Barry. “And you . How much did you have to do with this, huh? How long have you known Dell was coming home?”

“Ummm… not too long,” Barry muttered.

Aunt Kate's gaze shifted back and forth between the two of us. “You two are so in trouble. I'm going to…”

The threat went unfinished as the rest of the relatives hit the door, and we became a wiggling, squirming, squealing mass of family. Barry retreated to keep from being trampled in the commotion. By the time it was finally over, we'd made such a racket that we'd awakened Jenilee's baby, who was sleeping in the bassinette in the living room. I walked inside with James holding one hand and Karen holding the other, and Barry trailing behind. Both Jenilee and Caleb, followed by Kate's three children, went to the living room to rescue the newest member of our crazy family.

We were standing in the kitchen, talking about how I'd managed to come home early, and why, when Jenilee returned with her baby girl, newly fed and freshly diapered. Hanna, Kate's five-year-old, held the used, rolled-up diaper like it was a time bomb. Her older sister, Rose, fawned over the baby, trying to fasten a loose snap on the fluffy pink terry sleeper. Joshua, Kate's oldest, had disappeared sometime during the baby retrieval mission.

“It's a good thing this is a girl,” Jenilee commented, her soft blond hair falling over her shoulder as she shifted the baby so we could get a better view. “Because your daughters have just carefully observed the entire diapering process, if you know what I mean. I'm going to let you explain about the umbilical cord, Mom.”

“She gots a stem,” Hanna reported. “It's icky, but I like her.”

Everyone laughed, and the door inched open behind Jenilee. “Of course she does.” Aunt Jeane slipped through the opening, peeking in first to make sure the swinging door wasn't going to take anybody out. “All babies come with stems—that's from growing in the pumpkin patch.”

“Aunt Jeane!” Kate squealed. “Don't tell them that.”

I giggled, and Aunt Jeane noticed me standing there. “Well, what in the world did I miss while I was upstairs having my nap? All of a sudden, Dell's here.”

“She came home early,” Karen reported. “Sneaked in on us.”

“I wanted to see the baby,” I said, trying to put the focus back on Jenilee and her new arrival. “Can I hold her?”

Crossing the room, Jenilee slipped the bundle into my arms. With Kate's girls arranging the blanket, buttoning the sleeper, and petting the baby, I looked into the wide blue eyes of my new cousin for the first time. “She's beautiful.” I whispered, and the baby gurgled and smiled. “Look, she's smiling.”

“One week old babies don't smile,” Caleb corrected, standing over my shoulder and gazing down at his daughter. “Except maybe this one. She's exceptional.”

I barely heard the last part of the comment. My mind was racing backward instead, rocketing through the years, until I was seven years old, holding my baby brother, Angelo, in my arms. He had soft blond curls and blue eyes like this baby.

He's smiling at me, I said.

He ain't smiling at you. Little babies can't smile, because they don't know anything , Mama snapped. She was having a hard time, back living with Granny and me, trying to take care of the baby and keep herself off meth so she and Angelo's daddy could get married. He told her if she got herself clean, he'd rent a house for all of us. Granny said it was about as likely for pigs to fly. She said Mama'd be there about long enough to dump another baby on her, and then light out.

I knew that Mama really wanted to try this time. I could see it in her face. She loved Angelo's daddy. He took her out of some dumpy hotel and helped her stay clean. She'd been working at his Handi Stop store off and on, and living in the back room--until she got pregnant, and the back room of a gas station wasn't any place to keep a baby…

“She has Aunt Sadie's eyes,” I heard Aunt Jeane say, and my mind snapped back to the present in a way that left me feeling like I was in someone else's body. I didn't answer, just sat staring down at the baby, trying to get my bearings.

“Well, she's got hair like Nate's and Joshua's—look at those blond baby curls,” Aunt Kate chimed in.

“Who knows?” Karen added. “I mean, baby Rose was a blond, and then her hair turned red when she was about a year old.”

Rose paused in her fawning over the baby. “It did?” She breathed in eight-year-old amazement. “Really?”

“Yes, ma'am,” her father answered. “You used to have hair like this baby, little miss. But you didn't have that tiny little nose. That's a Gray family nose, for sure. Your nose was grea-a-ate big.”

“Da-ad,” Rose complained, and Ben laughed, tussling her hair.

The conversation went on, moving from the baby's face to her toes, and whose feet she might possibly have. Somewhere in the middle, as the baby lay in my arms, her wide eyes moving slowly from one admirer to the next, I looked up.

Everyone was so focused on the baby, no one noticed as I gazed around the circle of faces. Something painful stabbed deep inside me, solidified into a conscious thought where there had been only been a vague awareness before.

There wasn't a single face in that circle that looked like mine.

And there never would be.