Out the Summerhill Road: A Novel

Gaynor’s Revolution

Part 3: The ’60s • The Cold Springs Revolutions 127 Gaynor’s Revolution When Bobby, the president’s brother was assassinated, Gaynor knew she would be going home. She had to go. The United States had changed. She needed the solace of home. On a perfect summer morning, “I have to go home,” she told Betsy. “My mother and father need me.” Betsy’s kitchen was full of sunshine. The light shone through embroidered curtains to make snowflake patterns on the floor. Betsy shifted her gaze from Gaynor’s face to the picture of a five-year-old Timothy playing with a litter of kittens. “I am going to have a knee replacement in November.” “I didn’t know you had scheduled it.” “In a month,” Betsy repeated. In the warm sun, her blue eyes gazed serenely at the little boy and his kittens. “Of course, I’ll come back for that. I’ll be here for the surgery.” “To stay?” “I’m not sure. But I’ll be with you all through your rehabilitation.” And as simply as that, without rules or boundaries, a gentle skirmish between the two women had begun. Three days before the surgery, Gaynor returned from Sneem, full of lambing and barley tales, excited about the prospect of her parents’ promised visit and made happy by the joy on Betsy’s face when she opened the door. Gaynor stayed with Betsy in the hospital the night before her surgery. After Betsy, dazed and sleepy, and so small, so vulnerable, had been rolled away, the next morning Gaynor went into the waiting room and there they were—Mary Martha , Sarah and Isabel. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. I’ve been so lonesome without you,” she said, moving from one warm embrace to the next. 128 Out the Summerhill Road “Thank you for coming. Oh, it’s good to be home, to be with the three of you again.” “Your sisters,” Sarah said, beaming. “I’ve brought you presents. From the tinkers.” “Tinkers?” “Travelers. Gypsies. The presents are Celtic. Here! Open them!” The presents were wrapped in silver paper. “They’re all alike,” Gaynor said. Exclaiming over the presents—three silver rings that quickly adorned the hands of the women—“They’re like yours,” Mary Martha said. “The one you always wear.” “And the old Celtic belief is that if you turn the ring three times round your finger, you will call up the wind, the wind that shakes the barley. I don’t believe it. Not really. I wear mine as a talisman.” “What kind of wind shakes the barley?” Isabel asked and immediately began to turn her ring. “A wind that brings the sailor home. And it brings the ‘troubles.’ A strong wind. Don’t,” Gaynor said. “Don’t do that!” “Do you believe it? You can’t believe it!” Isabel said. “No, not really. But who knows. Just don’t turn it now. Please. Not with Betsy’s surgery just beginning.” Isabel put her arm around Gaynor. “I won’t. Come over here. Let’s sit here, and you’ll be telling us all about your parents and your wee lambs.” Laughing at Isabel’s attempt at the Irish dialect, Gaynor said, “I’m thinking my da and ma will be visiting me next summer. They’ve heard so many good things about my life here in Cold Springs, they’ll be coming for a visit.” “Good,” Sarah said, “And now tell us all about your trip.” They talked together until Dr. Mitchell Young came to say the surgery had gone well and that Betsy would be on the golf course by Spring. Before the week was out, Betsy’s reha- Part 3: The ’60s • The Cold Springs Revolutions 129 bilitation was begun, and the two settled again into their old relationship. It was during the third month of Betsy’s rehabilitation that the skirmish between the women began again. Gaynor, in a bitterly cold rain, had driven to the drugstore to pick up a prescription for Betsy. Waiting for the prescription to be filled, hurriedly refilled she hoped, she sat absentmindedly turning her ring. Afterwards , she clearly remembered that! she had turned her ring, and she had stopped immediately when she noticed it. Hurrying back to the car, she swung open its door just as a strong gust of wind and rain blew both the car door and the medicine out...