Sandra Leigh Vaughan - Two Thousand Minnows: A Young Girls Story of Separation, Hope, and Forgiveness

Copyright 2003, 2014 by Sandra Leigh Vaughan

Originally published in 2003 by Lyons Press, an imprint of The Globe Pequot Press.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Eve Siegel

Cover photo credit Thinkstock

Print ISBN: 978-1-62636-097-6

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63220-161-4

Printed in the United States of America

Acknowledgments

When writing a love story about a family and all their ticks, its only fitting to start my dedication to my mother, Ardell, who shared all of her gifts and talents with me. Thankfully, she gave me everything she had and more. For without her, there is no me.

And to my father, Bill, who sadly broke my heart in half when he passed away in 2005. Although he could never bring himself to read Two Thousand Minnows , he was my biggest fanproudly handing the book out to strangers (literally, waitresses), bragging, saying, This is my daughter, as he handed them the book. He told me laughingly, If they ask if I read it, I just tell them, Hell, I dont need to read it, I lived it.

My final indulgence ends with a big hug and huge shout-out to all my brothers and sisters, Shelly, Mark, Beau, and Melinda. Thanks for all the love.

Hey Sandra, wanna go fishing?

Dad is standing by the crooked screen door watching the dark sky threaten to rain. He looks like a bored little boy who wants to go out and play. I do too. I am seven and a half and tall for my age. I dont know how to fish. I saw Dad get mad and throw his pole in a creek once. But that was a long time ago when we used to live in Phoenix, Arizona. Things were different then; a little louder and a little more rocky. But were here now, in the mountains of West Virginia. No one knows us, and no one cares. Its slower around here and a lot more quiet. So quiet that my head doesnt know what to do with itself. Back in Arizona I knew what to do, how to act, and what to look out for. But here its different. Dad says were starting over. Ive never started over before. Its sort of like being lost. I look around all the time, trying to find something familiar. So far I dont recognize a thing.

This cabin is my new home and its not big and its not roomy. It sits across from the river and says Go ahead and play . Even the ratty furniture invites me to jump on it. The brown couch with soggy cushions has been jumped on at least five hundred times, I can tell. The walls have been painted so much they dont even know what color they are. And the green chair now rocks so far back that the wall has to stop it from throwing me to the floor. The tired old woodstove stands alone in the living room. I still have no idea how it works. The house is coldnot chillyand the light has trouble shining in, because of all the trees I guess. The carpet is wiry and bald in some places. It feels like lots of boots tromp tromped across it. To the right of the living room is a small dreary kitchen. The cabinets hang loose and the floor has scars all over it, probably those boots from long ago. They say it was a hunting and fishing cabin. I guess cabins arent like houses. They dont have to be pretty, and they get worn out.

The back door opens wide to three crooked cement steps, and a thin dirt path cuts through the grass thats in its way and circles all the way around to the side of the house. The backyard is not a backyard at all, its a mountain. This mountain has vultures, big black ones, with dead wrinkled red skin for heads. I stay out of the backyard when they land. The other day, I saw one as tall as Mark. Hes my little brother. Hes okay, but hes still kind of small, and I have to be careful with him. Hes five, shy and quiet. He mostly stays out of Dads way because Dad yells at him more. Shellys my little sister, shes six, and I dont have to be as careful with her. Shes always scared, shes prissy and she acts like a girl. Not me, I hate wearing dresses. Im what they call a tomboy. All that means is Im tough, I never say No, Ill get too dirty , and I always want to climb.

Off the kitchen in the back, through a faded green curtain, is a large closet made into a bedroom, with a set of bunk beds and a twin. This is ours and the twin is mine. Off the other side of the living room is Mom and Dads room. The bathroom sits in a tiny hallway, and thats it.

Are you coming? Dad is halfway out the door. I run to my closet bedroom and grab my dirty blue tennis shoes.

Mom stands behind Dad and nags, Bill, you be careful out there. You dont know anything about this river. Mom used to sing for nightclubs, but now all she gets to do is hum once in a while. Shes decided to give it another try with Dad and not sing anymore. I bet its because of the baby. They split up back in Phoenix. Mom just got tired of it; all the fighting and stuff. Shes not happy yet, but weve only been here a little while. She probably misses all her friends.

What in the hell are you talking about? I practically grew up on this river. Dad scratches his head. As a matter of fact, I lived here every summer till I was about sixteen. Dorothy and George brought us here right after school was out. I see his face settle back into his thoughts, and I dont want to know what they are.

All right Dad, lets go. I pound out of the screen door across the dew wet grass, dropping one of my tennis shoes as I go. The hill slopes down hard and fast to the road and I have to watch it. My feet can easily get away from me. If I lose my balance and go too fast, I might end up in the road when one of those mean coal mining trucks flies by. They sound like theyre in pain as they bounce hard down the road. Some of the coal flip-flops off the back, glad to be free. The trucks go about a hundred miles an hour and they dont watch for kids. Heck, theyd squash me like a caterpillar. Ive seen them do it. I dont know why those dumb old caterpillars even try to cross the road. They should just be happy where they are.

I wait and watch. The roads clear, no trucks. Dad forgot his jacket; he turns and runs back to the house. I cant wait, I cant, I love that river. My feet scurry across the damp road; I can smell the wet tar. The air smells too... damp, like rain. Then, as if stepping onto a cloud, the sand covers my feet and the road is gone. I manage not to step on sticks, walnuts, or rocks as I dig each toe in deeper than the other. Now Dads right behind me. He unchains the upside-down boat from the tree, and with a heave we flip it over. He drags the boat down the bank and into the river. The river slaps the boat on the side and then nudges it hello.

Go ahead, get in. Make sure you stay in the middle and go all the way to the back.