Brief Synopsis:
Memories are the ultimate contradiction. They can warm us on our coldest days – or they can freeze a loved one out of our lives forever. The McCarthy family has a trove of warm memories. Of innocent first kisses. Of sumptuous family meals. Of wondrous lessons learned at the foot of a rocking chair. But they also have had their share of icy ones. Of words that can never be unsaid. Of choices that can never be unmade. Of actions that can never be undone.
Following the death of his beloved wife, John McCarthy – Grandpa John – calls his family back home. It is time for them to face the memories they have made, both warm and cold. Only then can they move beyond them and into the future.
A rich portrait of a family at a crossroad, THE ROCKIN' CHAIR is Steven Manchester’s most heartfelt and emotionally engaging novel to date. If family matters to you, it is a story you must read.
The Rockin’ Chair
excerpt
Alice could feel the
sun on her eyelids before she dared opening them. Beginning with a
squint, she was blinded by the light that engulfed the room. Taking a
second to adjust, she shook off the two quilts that restrained her,
and then grabbed for her flowered housecoat at the foot of the
massive bed. Throwing it on, she steadied her tiny feet into a pair
of worn moccasins, all-the-while wondering, Why didn’t Ma let me
sleep in? It don’t make no sense. It’s Saturday…with no
responsibilities to school or church. She felt tired, more
exhausted than usual, but waking to a fire burning into her pupils
was certainly not the way to start such a pretty day. Making the
mental note, I’ll have to talk to Ma about the rude awakening,
she stumbled and had to brace herself at the doorway. Her mind had
sent some message that her body could not interpret. Brushing it off
as fatigue, she started again toward the kitchen, thinking, Maybe
Ma will let me help with breakfast?
Grabbing the dented copper kettle off the stove, she turned to the
sink and let the water flow like one of the fresh mountain springs
that ran out in the backyard. She lit all four burners, placed the
kettle back on the stove and began humming a childish tune. The last
embers in the wood stove made her nostrils flare at the distinct
scent of burnt oak. Smells like the remnants of a late night’s
chill, she thought, one of my chores to remove. But she
couldn’t recall bringing in the wood, or lighting a fire. Shrugging
it off, she snugged down on the robe’s cotton belt, folded her arms
across her chest and continued to hum.
She wandered toward the kitchen window and, though she could not have
fought it off, nor even detected it, her mind was suddenly exposed to
a different reality. Like a child discovering a new world through
ancient eyes, she peered out the window and her jaw went slack.
A stranger was busy at work and the sight of him made Alice’s mouth
go dry. Her heart began to race and her breathing became shallow.
Yet, though the man’s presence absolutely terrified her, his every
movement was hypnotizing. Trembling, she stood paralyzed and watched.
He was a large fellow, maybe six feet or better, with shoulders as
broad as his smile. In his fists, he held cracked corn, scattering it
in a pattern so that every chicken had its fair chance. He was an
old-timer, his face wrinkled and weathered like his callused hands.
In the middle of that chiseled face sat the biggest nose.
Curiously—as if she’d thought it a million times before—she
decided that it showed great character. For a cruel second, he turned
toward the window, making her squirm with anxiety. She relaxed,
though, when she was sure that his liquid blue eyes had not found
her. He returned to working slow, his every move filled with purpose
and kindness.
But that moment of peace only lasted one single sigh of relief. As if
caught in an inescapable nightmare, she watched the man’s
three-legged dog limp straight to the window, glance up and tilt his
head—cynically. Though she could not manage the words from her
constricted throat, her eyes begged for the animal’s silence.
Please don’t, she pleaded in her mind. Please…please…please…
But it was not to be. The crippled mutt barked out his wailing alarm,
calling his master’s attention to her. In an instant, she felt her
knees buckle, as the room spun slowly—in a cruel sort of way. She
tried desperately to hold on, but the last thing she saw was a red
cap and green overcoat rushing for the house.
“Oh God...no!” she screamed, but the stranger kept coming. He’s
comin’ to get me, she feared, and though her mind pleaded for
her legs to flee, they would not budge. She collapsed to the cold
linoleum floor and awaited the worse.
With no more than a
stern look, Three Speed lay down on the porch, the storm door
slamming in his silver-haired face. John raced through the parlor and
could hear the teakettle screaming for help. Breaking the kitchen
threshold, his worried eyes caught Alice lying near the bottom
cupboard. Her frail body was rolled up in the fetal position and her
thumb was stuck in her mouth. As if he were approaching a wounded
bird, he slowly kneeled down beside her and held out his hand. She
swayed back and forth, humming louder with each movement. For what
seemed a lifetime, she avoided his stare. And then finally,
courageously, she glanced into his eyes. For a moment, she looked as
if she was going to accept his hand but, in the last glimmer of such
a hope, she pulled back, retreating deeper into her tortured mind.
“It’s me, darlin’,” John whispered. “It’s John…your
husband.”
“You do look some familiar,” she mumbled. But still, her eyes
betrayed her lack of trust.
Again, he whispered, “Come on, Alice. I’m not gonna hurt ya.
You’re just sick, ol’ girl.” He opened his hand even wider and
watched as her horrified eyes gradually registered his words as
truth.
Like an abandoned child who had lost all hope only to find that her
parents had not meant to leave her behind, Alice raised her arms and
began to weep mournfully. “I’m sorry…” she whimpered.
In one easy motion, John scooped his tiny wife into his arms and
kissed her frightened face. Turning off all four burners—the
majority that did nothing but lick at air—he carried Alice like an
infant to their bedroom. All the way, he could taste the salt of her
tears on his tongue. It was a bitter taste and he hated it, yet he
knew all-too-well that it was only a small taste of what was still to
come.
On the way up the stairs, Alice sobbed, “I’m so stupid now…so
dumb.”
“You shoosh now,” John whispered. “That just ain’t true.”
He placed her back into their four-poster bed and, conforming to
their daily ritual, gave her the two white pills and a small glass of
water to wash them down. He talked slow and gentle to her, trying to
remove her fears and keep her mind in the present. “Time to rest,
Alice,” he whispered. “You just need to get some rest, is all.”
For a moment, she smiled—as if she believed him. But in the next
moment, her eyes filled with panic and she pushed herself toward the
headboard, scrambling desperately to create a safe distance between
them. “Don’t you touch me, mister!” she screamed. “Don’t
you dare lay a finger on me!”
She’s getting’ worse, he thought, and began humming a
lullaby.
“Mama! Mama…help me!” she screamed out, but as she called out
in a panic for her mother the pills began to take effect. He stroked
her hair until her mind eventually removed itself from the harsh
reality of now and found a more pleasant place to dwell. When John
was sure that Alice would need nothing more, he kissed her and
returned the cap back onto his throbbing head.
Author Bio:
Steven Manchester is the published author of the #1 best seller,
Twelve Months, as well as
A Christmas Wish (the holiday prequel to
Goodnight, Brian) and
Goodnight, Brian. He is also the author of
Pressed Pennies,
The Unexpected Storm: The Gulf War Legacy and
Jacob Evans, as well as several books under the pseudonym, Steven Herberts. His work has appeared on NBC's Today Show, CBS's The Early Show, CNN’s American Morning and BET’s Nightly News. Recently, three of his short stories were selected "101 Best" for Chicken Soup for the Soul series. Visit his
website and
Facebook page.
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