something in the corner of the room. I looked in the corner but saw no one, and I looked back at her wide-eyed, finally realizing what her diagnosis entailed. When I saw Samantha outside, I whispered to her about the puzzling behavior. She shrugged and stated, “I knew she had to be a loony to end up here, Misty. Why else do you think she would be here?”
That was our full understanding of the situation since we had no means of gaining any knowledge about Fanny’s condition. That day, Fanny switched between vacant stares and talking to an unseen person while dancing around the room. It was hard to measure her for the long dress and apron since she was either getting tangled in the fabric or standing still, refusing to help in any way. A couple of times, I accidentally stuck Fanny with sewing pins and felt awful about it. I immediately applied pressure and told her I was sorry, only to realize that she had not even noticed and was intent on talking to someone over my shoulder.
Mamma was reading a book as usual. I tried to make light of the situation and pretended that Fanny was just being funny. Later in the day, Mamma began screaming. I had been so busy, I had forgotten to make bread. After beating me with the fly swatter, she turned to Fanny.
“I am tired of your bull****. You don’t have schizophrenia or whatever it is, and you are not getting any of those damned pills so you can pretend you are sick or something. You better just snap out of it right now, you hear me?” She started beating Aunt Fanny all over her body and laughing. “That’s right; we’ll get the devil beat out of you.”
At first Fanny kept dancing around and jabbering to the unknown person. When she began to understand what was happening, she ran with Mamma chasing her. I ran after the two, but am ashamed to say that after a while, I just stood still. I did not know if my intervening would help or harm.
Mamma threw Fanny against the side of the house, and threatened her: if she did not obey, she could expect more of the same. She then dragged Fanny into the house and told her to stand still while I put clean clothes on her. She was sobbing like a child; I gave Mamma the angriest looks I could muster.
“What are you looking at?” Mamma barked. “She is standing still, isn’t she?”
Not answering, I tied the white cap on Fanny’s head. I looked down into her giant blue eyes and saw a sense of clarity as if she had suddenly jumped back into her body. Our eyes met, and I smiled at her. She looked at me as if begging for help. My eyes were full of tears and I felt helpless.
After dressing Aunt Fanny, I hugged her and told her she looked pretty in her new clothes. She shook her head and began pulling them off.
“No, no,” I said, trying to stop her for fear of what would happen. Mamma slapped Fanny a few times with the fly swatter, and she stopped undressing. I could tell she was confused about the strange clothes she was wearing.
So life began for Aunt Fanny on the mountain. It took Mamma many beatings to get Aunt Fanny to keep her Amish clothes on. Eventually Fanny seemed to understand that if she did not wear them, pain would follow. And Mamma soon realized that the ugly welts now covering Fanny’s body could cause them trouble if anyone saw them, so she began beating Fanny under her dress, often targeting her large breasts. Mamma would say that Fanny did not need her breasts anyway. Fanny would cry and scream; I would stand shaking and cover my ears with my hands. To this day, the memories of Aunt Fanny’s high-pitched screams haunt me.
Fanny helped with work every day. One day, she was with Samantha and the next day she spent with me. Although Samantha and I both tried to shield her from punishment, if Fanny was caught dancing around or not working, she was punished for not obeying.
When we ate, Mamma placed the fly swatter on the table. I always sat next to or across from Fanny and whenever she started drifting off, I would nudge her under the table. Sometimes, I even pinched her hard to get her to eat. If I did not, the fly swatter would fly across the room, aimed directly at her already sore breasts. My efforts to protect her rarely worked, though.
The tears I feel today
I’ll wait to shed tomorrow.
Though I’ll not sleep this night
Nor find surcease from sorrow.
My eyes must keep their sight:
I dare not be tear-blinded.
I must be free to talk
Not choked with grief, clear-minded.
My mouth cannot betray
The anguish that I know.
Yes, I’ll keep my tears till later:
But my grief will never go.
—Anne McCaffrey, Dragonsinger
The last time Brian had seen his father, he had let slip the name of the town we were moving to. He made Grandpa promise not to tell anyone, but that summer the police showed up at the house with a letter from Aunty Laura. The letter told of how Brian’s father had died of colon cancer and how he had begged to see his son before he died. After so many years of not seeing or hearing from Brian, Grandpa had finally told Aunty Laura where we were living. But by the time she was able to locate the local police, Grandpa was gone.
Aunty Laura was angry in the letter. She told Brian he had abandoned his loving family. All these years, they had not even known if he was alive or dead. The letter went on to say that their mother had fallen ill in her nursing home in Tallahassee, Florida. Laura included the phone number of the home and underlined and highlighted where she wrote that Brian should call her. The letter ended with Aunty Laura stating that the bike shop and all of Grandpa’s possessions had been left to her since they could not be sure if Brian was coming back.
Although Grandpa had been eighty-eight, Samantha and I were sad to hear that such a kind man had died. Brian did not even shed a single tear; he was just angry he had been pushed out of Grandpa’s will.
“I will fix her wagon,” he ranted. “She thinks she will get everything. Well, Mom has more than Dad ever had, and I am going to collect.”
Samantha, Mamma, and I looked at him. “What the h*** are you talking about?” Mamma asked emphatically. “You can’t collect anything if she is still alive.”
“Well, she is old and just broke her hip, and it was always easy for me to get what I wanted from her.” Brian seemed to be calculating something in his head. “I am going to convince her to come live with us.”
Aunty Laura, of course, had no idea the axis of evil she had accidentally set into motion. Brian was out for revenge, no matter what the cost. Brian and Mamma went into town later that day and contacted Grandma via pay phone. She had just moved from the hospital to a senior retirement home. She had suffered a stroke after breaking her hip.
The next week, Brian flew to Florida to put his plans into action. He stayed there for a week and was actually in a good mood when he got back. Grandma, whom Samantha and I had only met once, had agreed to come live with us. She was old and frail and, at eighty-two, had no idea what was in store.
Although the doctor had stated that Grandma would be unable to make the long trip for at least three weeks,
