Moira reminds her that there was a time when Rachel was collecting and piling up stuff. She didn’t want to part with anything, however useless it was, so Nana Moira began to take things away from her as soon as they seemed to accumulate. Empty ice cream containers, plastic spoons and Styrofoam boxes all found their way into the garbage can despite Rachel’s tantrums. That gave Nana Moira the idea about the doll; if she could take away the stuff she could take away the doll too.
“You was at middle school already, still attached to that raggedy thing. Everyone said it was unnatural, so I hid it away.” Soon Nana Moira forgot in which of the many boxes she had placed the doll.
Rachel has a vague memory of her hoarding days which are a far cry from who she is today, a woman obsessed with neatness and clean surroundings. She remembers how devastated she was when Blue went missing. Blue was with her when she was a latch-key kid. She had given her comfort and security in times of loneliness and longing. And then all of a sudden Blue was gone. Like all those who left. Fortunately, middle school had become hectic with new friends who did not call her a routter, among them Schuyler who is still her best friend to this day. And lots of social activities. Choral society, drama club, boys, birthday parties, sleepovers, you name it. Blue became a fading memory.
And now she has returned. The ballpoint-pen eyes, nose and mouth have long faded off and Blue is faceless again. But Rachel is not scared of her any more; Blue is no longer creepy. She tells Nana Moira so, and they both laugh at what a silly kid she was to be spooked by a faceless doll.
“I hope you ain’t gonna start obsessing on that rag doll again,” says Nana Moira jokingly.
“Come on, Nana Moira, I’m not a kid any more. She’s just a good keepsake now because Pops bought her for me.”
Nana Moira is pleased to hear this. When she discovered Blue she debated with herself as to whether she should give the doll back to Rachel or keep it hidden forever or even get rid of it. What if she became fixated again on the darn thing? She decided to take the risk since Rachel is now a woman of twenty-three who has developed other interests. Thankfully, Rachel is confirming that her decision was the right one.
Some of those “other interests” that she has developed over the years, however, worry Nana Moira. She had hoped that Rachel would go further with her learning after completing high school at eighteen with mostly As and one or two Bs. She would have been the first in the family to go to college. But Rachel was taken up by music; something that runs in the family but that Nana Moira had hoped would by-pass Rachel.
“This singing thing ain’t working out; you been doing it for five years and it ain’t taking you nowhere,” she nagged Rachel.
But Rachel had a highly romanticised notion of her father singing and telling tall tales at county fairs. She wanted to be like him or, better still, be a recording star.
She had an even more romanticised view of her grandpa, Nana Moira’s husband, who people still talk about with nostalgia to this day, more than a decade since he passed on. Nana Moira has inadvertently reinforced that view by narrating with great relish at the slightest provocation the good old days when Robbie was a country and western singer who played a guitar in his own group known as the Jensen Band. He played in dance halls and on social occasions, and Nana Moira and the other young ladies of the township went square-dancing every weekend in their colourful gingham square-dance dresses and circle skirts. The fifties were crazy years for Moira and Robbie Boucher and for every young couple in Jensen Township. It didn’t matter if it snowed or not, the Jensen Band travelled to dance halls all over the county and even as far as Meigs and Washington counties. On occasion they would stop in the middle of the road and square-dance in the snow.
But Robbie also played his guitar – sometimes the mandolin or the fiddle – at home for Nana Moira and the kids. It didn’t matter whether there was an audience or not, he sat on the porch and played and hummed and sang and yodelled and field-hollered. Neighbourhood kids often came and joined in sing-alongs until their moms yelled for them because it was already dark and the stars were shining in the sky.
“Anyone playing or just loving music was right up his alley,” Nana Moira said. “He took after his mom and pops because they played music too. For generations and generations the Bouchers was always music people.”
At this, Nana Moira got misty-eyed, and then she broke out laughing.
“We all loved Robbie’s music; it is one thing I miss about him. One of my favourite songs that he played was Burn Down the Barn and Boil the Cabbage. It was a very romantic song.”
This brought derisive laughter from Rachel.
“Yecchy! Boil the cabbage!” she screeched. “How did it go?”
“It didn’t have no words. Just guitar. But, sweet Jesus, it was a mighty pretty tune.”
The boys of the band often came to the house to play with him. Nana Moira loved to entertain and there would be lots of eating and singing and dancing. If it was too hot or too cold the festivities would be in the barn. Maybe that’s where she got the bug to entertain senior citizens and all the other folks of Jensen Township at the Centre with dinners and lunches on special occasions such as Valentine’s Day, Thanksgiving and Fourth of July.
“No wonder I like music so much, I lived around it for years,” said Nana Moira. “That’s how your pops got infected with the music bug.”
“That’s how I got infected too,” said Rachel.
“Sweet grief, child, you was not there in them ol’ days.”
“Pops got infected from good ol’ Robbie and I got infected from Pops. That’s how it goes, Nana Moira.”
Rachel grew up with these stories and she loved them. They confirmed to her that she was born to follow the family tradition. No one had the heart to tell her that her voice was not nearly as easy on the ear as her dad’s and grandpa’s. It didn’t matter as long as she played the guitar and sang for the joy of it. But when she spoke of making music her life Nana Moira began to be concerned. The girl had so much potential to bring glory to the family in other ways, and she nagged her about going to college.
But Rachel had a dream and was going to pursue it, no matter what.
There was a time when Nana Moira thought she had finally prevailed on her, and she agreed to consider going to college. Nana Moira hoped that perhaps after years of struggling as a wannabe music star she had come to realise that the dream was not materialising. She brought brochures from Hocking College and they pored over them together until Rachel decided on a two-year associate degree in addiction counselling, because her mom was destroyed by meth.
“Not that I’m giving up on my music altogether,” she told her grandma. “Otherwise I would be giving up on my heritage. I would be betraying my genes.”
She was planning to be a singing counsellor, using her guitar as therapy to bring the meth-heads, pot-heads and crack-heads of southeast Ohio back to the road of clear-headedness and healing. She did not know if this was possible or even acceptable in that profession, but it was the only way to harness her heritage to this new cause.
“Whatever,” said Nana Moira.
As long as the girl went to school that was all that mattered to her. When she got to Hocking College and came face to face with the real world she would give up all the singing-counsellor silliness.
Nana Moira got worried when weeks went by and
