The Crow's Nest 2-2

2-2

            Thirty minutes later, after loading the purchased lot, standing beside my parked truck, watching Margaret back the mother’s old car out of the barn, turn it around, pull along side of me and gesture for me to get in… WE… had turned off the state road on to a dirt road, turned on to another dirt road, gone up over a rise and were descending to the river when Margaret turned on to a… third dirt road… that rolled down across a creek and up into the farm yard of a very dilapidated large square hip-roofed Maine Federal homestead overlooking the river.  During all of the drive Margaret orated while I privately noted where we were and …went.

            “THE BLOODS I’M SURE YOU KNOW WERE ONCE A FINE FAMILY.  SEA CAPTAINS.  COASTAL TRADERS.  THEN GENTLEMEN FARMERS BUYING PROPERTIES ALONG THE RIVER.  MOVED INLAND.  THEY BUILT THE FARM STARTING IN 1790.  NEVER FINISHED IT.  THEY ALL LIVED IN IT.  THE UPPER FLOOR IS UNFINISHED.  EXCEPT IN THE FRONT.  THE HALLWAY.  JUST BEAUTIFUL ONCE.  RUINED NOW.  THEY ALL LIVED IN THERE.  ALL OF THEM FOR GENERATIONS.  THEY ALL WERE DRUNKS.  ALWAYS DRUNK AND COULDN’T GET ANYTHING DONE.  THAT WAS AFTER THE CAPTAINS.  THOSE WERE THE MEN.  AFTER THAT THEY WERE ALL DRUNKS.  WOULD START OUT WITH PROMISE.  ALL VERY BRIGHT.  DID WELL WITH EDUCATION.  THEN BECAME DRUNKS.  EVERYONE  OF THEM.  DRUNKS.

            “MOTHER BOUGHT THE FARM FROM THE LAST DRUNK; OLD EBENIZER BLOOD:  OLD eb-bEE.  THE TOWN WAS GOING TO TAKE IT OVER.  SHE BOUGHT IT FOR TAXES AND A WAGON OF WHISKEY.  IT WASN’T ACTUAL WHISKEY YOU KNOW.  SHE SET UP HIS CREDIT YOU KNOW.  AT THE STORE.  HE DRANK IT ALL.  MOTHER HAS THE ACCOUNTS.  DIDN’T MATTER.  HE WAS A DRUNK.

            “THIS IS WHAT’S HAPPENED TO THESE FAMILIES.  MOTHER ALWAYS SAYS WE MUST PERSERVE OUR FAMILY DIGNITY.  THERE’S NOTHING LEFT SHE SAYS.  THE SEA RAN OUT.  THE LAND RAN OUT.  THE FARMS RUN OUT.  THE BOYS WERE KILLED.  THE CIVIL WAR.  OR LEFT.  WENT WEST THEY SAY BUT THEY ALWAYS CAME BACK.  BROKE.  DRUNK.  LIVED IN THE CITIES.  BOSTON.  PORTLAND.  WHEN THEY GOT TOO OLD THEY CAME HOME AND DIED DRUNK.  MOTHER SAYS WE MUST REALIZE THIS.  OUR FAMILY WAS NEVER DRUNKS.  FARMERS.  TEACHERS.  IT HAS SIMPLY PLAYED OUT.  ABANDONED IS WHAT IT IS NOW.  ABANDONED.  A FEW OLD FAMILIES WITH A FEW OLD HOMES ON A FEW OLD FARMS.  WAITING IT OUT.  WAITING FOR THE END.  THEY CANNOT SELL THE FARMS.  NOBODY WANTS THEM.  I WILL TRY TO SELL BLOOD’S FARM BUT I ALREADY PLAN TO GIVE TO THE TOWN TO BURN.  BURN IT.  THEY DO THAT ON FIREMEN MUSTER DAY AND SUCH.  VERY ACTIVE FOR THIS THEY ARE.  I TALKED TO THE FIRE CHIEF.  VERY EXCITED.  TOLD ME ALL ABOUT THE PERMITS, LAND RIGHTS AND SO ON AND SO FORTH.  VERY FINE FIRE CAPTAIN.  MOTHER KNOWS HIS PARENTS.  WAS NEVER TOO BRIGHT IN SCHOOL BUT FINE FOR THE FIRE DEPARTMENT.  VERY DEPENDABLE FOR THAT.  HIS MOTHER’S SIDE WERE ALWAYS THAT WAY.  DOWN ON THE INTERVALE. THEY’RE FROM.  DOWN BELOW THE PEABODY PLACE.  CAPTAIN PEABODY’S.  THERE’S A ROW OF MILL HOUSES.  DOWN IN THERE SOMEWHERE.  MOTHER KNOWS WHERE.”

            At this moment we came to a stop in the farm yard.  The barn was up hill to the left.  The house overlooked the river to the right.  A large pasture opened in front.  Everything was overgrown and in neglect.  One shed roof had collapsed.  Weeds wound around the home.  The granite stone steps to the front door were over grown.  The Federal fan above the front door was unpainted and weathered.  Margaret got out.  I got out.  She walked toward the side door; a worn entryway that had a short treaded footpath through the weeds leading to it.  As she stepped forward I followed and as we did this the door opened and out …hissed a witch.

            A frail windswept female figure dressed in several layers of stringy old pajama like clothes under an ancient and worn full length men’s coat… particularly filthy at its bottom front and having a twisted and matted fur collar… stepped forward through the open door. On she came leaning on a tall and old wooden cane… that was more of a homemade staff.  As she stepped forward with her long stringy gray hair… that matched and became lost in the dirty gray of her clothing… wisping in the breeze. she emerged from the doorway and moved decisively toward Margaret hissing “YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS HERE ANYMORE YOUR MOTHER IS DEAD GET OUT GO AWAY NO ONE IS ALLOWED HERE ANYMORE.”

            Margaret ignored this, turned to me and  said “THIS IS ALICE SHE IS THE LAST LIVING BLOOD SHE LIVES IN THE HOUSE MOTHER LET HER”.

            “LET HER!” hissed Alice.  “THIS IS MY HOUSE.   THIS IS THE BLOOD PLACE.  I AM A BLOOD.  IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN MY PLACE.  IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE BLOOD’S PLACE!”  Her scanty mouthful of small, twisted, dark brown teeth caught my eye as she hissed.  She stared down Margaret from the head of the footpath to the door step.  Her poise showed no fear and a directed glare.  Margaret stopped.