Stargazer
by Karen D. Morton
Copyright 1989 by Karen D. Morton. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1

1987

        "John?"  He had been behind me less than a minute ago.
Perhaps he just stepped around a corner.  None of the horseless
carriages that whizzed by on Henley Street looked like the one I had
seen a picture of.  Their noise hurt my ears, and blue smoke choked
me. Everything here was as John had said it would be, yet this place
startled me. Twentieth century Knoxville bustled with frantic
activity: Loud machinery boomed and clattered nearby. Builders
wearing white hats yelled embarrassing words at passing women in
knee-length dresses.  People walked around me without answering
my greeting.  An old woman sat huddled on a bench.  Nearby, a
group of colored boys wearing denim britches danced to primitive
drums that thumped from a small box.
        "Stay calm, Carolyn," I told myself.  John had probably left
something in the large store behind me. I retreated from the street's
confusion through tall, plate glass doors.  A dark haired man stood
at the candy counter.
        "Yes?" His neatly clipped beard and dark eyes matched the
color of his hair.
        "I'm terribly sorry, Sir."  I backed away.  "I -- I thought you
were someone else." Maybe John had returned to the second floor
when we got separated.  I retraced our steps to the moving stairwell. 
Somewhere, an invisible phonograph bleated a tune I didn't
recognize.  Statues of men in baggy and pale clothes looked almost
like people.  Light emitted from wide, white rectangles in the tiled
ceiling.  The rectangle over the moving stairwell flickered and
buzzed.
        "Excuse me!"  A woman peered down at me.  She wore a
white blouse that had lace-trimmed sleeves and a black skirt that
stopped below her knees.  A pair of leather boots with heels higher
than I could have ever worn covered her legs.  She was the first
person I'd seen here who was almost decently dressed.  "You look a
little lost.  Are you from out of town?"
        This wasn't the Knoxville I remembered, so I nodded.  "I'm
looking for someone.  He's a tall gentleman with black hair and grey
eyes.  He's quite handsome."
        She grinned.  "I wouldn't mind seeing him myself."
        I conveyed my disapproval of her vulgarity with a frown. "We
were in this store together.  I thought he might have come back
here."
        "But wouldn't he be waiting downstairs?"
        "We... Came in on the second floor."  I stepped off the moving
stairwell, thanked the woman for her kindness, then returned to my
starting point.  A blank wall stood where our doorway had been --
unless I had returned to the wrong place. As I walked along the
wall, I kept hoping against hope... But the ring on my left hand
didn't blink.
        "John, where are you?" My heart pounding in my ears, I
scratched at a wall.  The invisible phonograph's bleating grated on
my nerves.  This was a bad dream!
        "Hey, kid --" The odd woman followed me.
        As much as I wanted to run away, I couldn't let anyone else see
me like this. Someone might call the police, then how could I
possibly explain? Rubbing my ring made my panic evaporate.
        "Are you cool now?"  The woman twirled her brown curls in
her fingers.  "I'm not too crazy about the decor in here either, but I
try to be less conspicuous about it.  Employees at Miller's don't like
weirdos in their store."  She turned away, then she turned back.  "Is
there something I could help you with?"
        "Perhaps.  I'm looking for --"  If I told her I was looking for a
doorway that had just come into being moments before, she would
think me mad.  "Never mind.  Thank you for warning me about the
employees.  I'll be more careful."
        "All right, honey."  Her voice lowered to a whisper.  "What are
you on?"
        "Why, the second floor of this building."
        She laughed.  "Okay.  I shouldn't be poking my snout where it
doesn't belong.  I hope you find your friend."
        Before she could leave, I blurted, "He isn't here anymore!"
        "Dude abandoned you, huh?" She smiled. "You know,
Sweetheart, I could do one of three things.  Say 'Goodbye and good
luck,' direct you to the nearest homeless shelter, or --"
        "I'm sorry, Ma'am.  I won't bother you anymore."
        "Hold it.  I didn't say what I was going to do yet.  You see,
Miss, uh, what's your name?"
        "Cooper."
        "Miss Cooper, you're lucky you ran into me instead of a
mundane. The name is Wilcox.  Judith Wilcox."  Were all the people
in this hostile city as queer as she?  And what was this "third thing"
she could do to me?  Perhaps discretion was the better part of valor.
        "Wait a minute, kid. I'm not a psychopath. Now you appear to
be a harmless life form that has no shelter.  So, why don't you come
home with me?"
        I had judged the lady too hastily.  "You really mean that, Miss
Wilcox?"
        "Judith, please. 'Judy,' only if you absolutely insist. But not
'Miss Wilcox.' Can't stand it. Besides, I don't say things I don't mean.
Come along if you're interested."
        I followed her while she looked at dresses that were too large
to fit her slender frame.  "Saturday is my roomie's birthday.  Teri
comes down here every day on her lunch hour and daydreams about
getting one of these."  She selected a light brown print.  I wondered
why anyone would want to wear such an ugly dress.
        "Are you sure Teri won't mind me staying with you?"
        "It's my house.  Hmm.  This one will have to be hemmed." 
Sighing, she put it back.  "I'd better take her to Miller's in West
Town.  So much for the surprise.  Let's get out of here before they
scan my wallet."
        "Before they what?"
        Laughing, she gently shoved me onto the downward moving
stairwell.  "Just a bad joke, honey.  I take a little getting used to." 
She led me up the hill behind Henley Street.  We passed by a group
of ragged drunks, who asked us for money.  Judith grabbed my arm
and kept walking.  An acrid stench of urine and whiskey lasted long
after we had passed them.  Another group of colored children stood
near a sign marked "bus stop," and their boxes blared conflicting
noises.  Judith muttered something about "ghetto blasters."  In the
parking lot, she unlocked the door to a tiny, grey automobile.  A
lanky boy with an uneven haircut approached us.  She threw dollar
bills at him. She had to be very wealthy to give anyone so much
money.
        "Fasten your seat belt."
        I pulled the cloth belt across myself as I had seen her do.  She
steered the automobile through several smaller streets, none of
which remotely resembled the ones I knew, until she drove on a
"ramp" to "I-40."  Then, trees, signs, everything flew by so fast, I
had to cover my eyes! 
      "At least you're not a back seat driver," Judith said. When I
felt the automobile slow down, I peeked through my fingers. 
Workers wearing orange vests used huge machines to roll crushed
black rocks into the road ahead of us.  A long line of automobiles
crept around workers who waved orange flags.
        "I hate construction sites."  She drove onto another road and
stopped at a light that glowed red.  I leaned back and closed my eyes
again.  Knoxville's countryside had been turned into an eyesore. 
Eventually, the automobile's engine stopped. "We're home."
        Judith's house was made of grey boards and brick.  It had no
second story.  Its shutters matched the boards.  Several bushes,
which looked like they received meticulous attention, were between
the house and the front sidewalk.  Judith closed the gate, which
matched the red pole and plank fence that bordered the front yard. 
This house had not the charm, or room, of the home I remembered.
But then my home had been a room at a boarding house. Yet, I
would have expected someone as wealthy as Judith to live on a
lavish estate.  The houses across the street, some as small as
Judith's, were atop a gently sloping hill.  A look across her back yard
revealed more construction machinery that built larger houses in a
vacant field across the railroad tracks.  Distant mountains faded
against a dingy sky. They, at least, had not changed.
        Inside, Judith's home wasn't as different as I had expected. 
Except for an overabundance of unusual paintings and photographs
of strangers in ludicrous costumes, the "living room" didn't look too
different from other parlors and sitting rooms.  A long, angular sofa
held thick cushions.  Its matching stool sat where a coffee table
should have been.  Tiny statues of people, dragons and unicorns
adorned one knick-knack shelf.  Another held a collection of dolls,
even some that could have once belonged to me or my sister.  Two
more shelves held brightly covered books, mostly bound in slick
paper.  Judith must have spent most of her fortune for books and
knick-knacks instead of a house. How odd!
        In her tiny kitchen, Judith put dirty dishes into a cabinet with
specially designed racks.  When she twisted a knob, water whined in
unseen pipes.  Along with that strange machine, the kitchen held
familiar things: A dish rack, towels and pot holders.  A long row of
continuous cabinets also housed the double sink and stove.
        "You have an electric stove."  I touched its smooth surface. Its
brown finish had not even a tiny dripping anywhere.
        "Natural gas ain't too popular in this part of town."  She
opened what had to be an electric ice box with only two doors. 
Someone had attached many funny drawings that had been printed in
newspapers.  Some resembled editorial cartoons like ones I
remembered.  "Marty's cleaned out the refrigerator again."
        "Who is Marty?"
        "Oh, sorry.  I should have explained.  I have two roomies.  By
the way, Miss Cooper, do you have a first name?"
        "Yes.  It is Carolyn."  I sat at a square table that was covered
with a red checked oilcloth.  A wooden holder with paper napkins
(the word "napkins" was burned in one side) stood in the center. 
Thin, steel legs extended to the floor, and matching chairs had the
same kind of legs.  This house was well cared for, but its furniture
had no charm or style.
        Later that evening, Judith introduced me to her room mates: 
Paul Martin, whom Judith called "Marty," and Teresa Chamberlain,
who preferred the name "Teri."  Paul stood slightly taller than
Judith.  A slight paunch in his midriff kept his body from having
perfect proportions.  His wide, blue eyes gave his face an innocent
appeal.  Teri was even shorter than I.  Freckles dotted her nose and
cheeks.  Her straight hair, cut down to almost nonexistence, glowed
red.  Golden chains hung from her ears, neck and wrists.  Her baggy
green dress overly exaggerated her wide hips.  I wondered if any of
the women here ever wore dresses of a descent length or style.
        "What do you do for a living?" I asked.
        "I'm a hair dresser," said Paul.  "And Teri is a secretary at T. V.
A."
        "You must be very important." I smiled at Teri. "What are you
Secretary of?"
        The trio laughed at me.  I laughed along, but I felt confused. 
After all, weren't Secretaries important office holders?
        We spent the rest of the evening talking.  That is, I spent the
rest of the evening listening.  Judith and Paul exchanged heated
words about next year's Presidential race.  (My, their campaigns
started so early now!)  They both complained about the current
President (who was once involved in theatre?), but neither of them
could think of anyone among numerous candidates who could do a
better job.
        Exasperated, Teri changed the subject to "movies," which
Judith and Paul dismissed as "all bad or banal."  Finally, Judith broke
up the conversation by going to bed.
        "I wish the 'VCR' hadn't been tied up," Teri remarked.  "I hate
it when you all argue politics."
        After they retired, I sat in their darkened living room and
wondered about my options. Judith was very kind to offer me a
place to stay, but I couldn't simply move in with her and her friends.
I hadn't realized that she lived so far away from downtown, or I
never would have accepted her invitation. I should try to get back to
the store, for John would surely be looking for me by now. If I
started walking, I might arrive by morning. The only problem was, I
wasn't sure how to get back downtown. I would have to ask Judith
or her friends in the morning.
        That decision made, I settled on Judith's long and thickly
cushioned couch and prayed that I would at least be able to go home
in my dreams.

1895
        I set the metal wash basin on the night stand next to Paw's bed
while I tried to ignore the loud ticking of his old wall clock. 
Crickets chirped in the yard, and horses clomped along Sixth
Avenue.  Flowered wallpaper peeled in spots, which Mother had
covered with old daguerreotypes of my sister Ruth and my brother
Eddie.  A picture of Ma'am-maw and Pap-paw Cooper, and another
of Pap-paw Loomis hung in other spots. In one corner of the room
stood Mother's knick-knack shelf, which held her mementos:  An
old teething ring, a bouquet of dried flowers, and the hats she and
Paw had worn on their wedding day. A small jewelry box held locks
of hair cut from Eddie, Ruth and me when we were babies. A new
daguerreotype of Eddie and Paw adorned the top shelf, its silver
picture frame long tarnished black.  On Mother's chest of drawers
sat a blue vase and two porcelain dolls, which had belonged to Ruth. 
The dolls' scorched dresses served as an eternal reminder of her
passing.
        Outside, the distant Smokies had already given way to early
evening dusk.  I closed the window, even though perspiration
soaked my body and the smell of fresh kerosene burned my nostrils. 
Night air would be bad for Paw.  I lit his night stand lamp.  Dim
orange flame threw elongated shadows of Paw and the oak bed
frame against the far wall.  There, Mother had hung a tiny quilt she
had made for her firstborn daughter.
        I dragged Mother's rocking chair away from the bedside so I
could begin my nightly chore.  Paw moaned when my damp cloth
touched his forehead. For a long moment, his eyes locked with mine,
and death lay just beyond.  As gasps and rattles came from his
throat, I tripped over my skirts and the rocking chair to fetch
Mother.
        "Oh, dear Lord!"  She rushed into the room.  "Why didn't you
call me earlier, Carolyn?  Ebenezer, I'm here!"  She clutched his limp
hand.
        Eddie leaned his lanky frame against the doorway.  "I'll get the
doctor."
        Mother smacked my arm away.  "Leave us be, girl!"
        Day's last light painted grey rectangles in the hallway.  Mrs.
Fisher, the boarding house owner, allowed us to have whatever we
wanted in our rooms, but the hall and other areas were hers alone. 
Floral paintings adorned the walls. Corner tables and knick-knack
shelves contained flowers that were made from horse hair.  Her
favorite blue vase on the table at the top of the stairs held fresh cut
flowers from the back yard.
        Mrs. Fisher was usually as bright a lady as the flowers she
loved.  To-day, she leaned heavily on her mahogany cane.  When
she reached the top of the stairs, she dabbed her cheek with a
yellowed lace handkerchief.  I stood aside so she could go into
Mother and Paw's room.
        Downstairs in the dining room, Mr. Cromley frowned at his
checker board.  He had lived here ever since Mr. Fisher died, which
was about fifteen years ago.  Except for us Coopers, Mrs. Fisher
had no other boarders.  Mr. Cromley reached out with a gnarled
hand to push a checker piece onto another square.  On a normal day,
I would have kidded him about cheating; to-day, I quietly walked
past him into the kitchen. The wood stove would not be lit for
cooking tonight because it was covered with dishes from our
neighbors:  Early peas, ham, pickled eggs, fried chicken, bread and
butter pickles, fried cakes, biscuits and corn bread.  Next to the
stove were the kitchen cabinets, which were stuffed with tin cans,
staples and bagged spices.  On the breakfast table sat more canned
goods in crockery jars from Uncle Clyde Loomis' farm.
        Under the window, whose yellow curtains were tied open with
strips of linen, stood the double sink.  We could not afford a "hot
water heater," so a large pot always sat underneath.  Each sink had
its own spigot.  I twisted the handle on one to rinse out the wash
basin.
        To the right of the sink were two pantries.  One stored
foodstuffs.  The other held our bath tub (which we filled with the
large pot) and drying racks.  The wash tub, scrub board and soap
bars were also in there.  The latest addition to that pantry was a
water closet, which our family had barely saved for just before Paw
took ill last year.  Installing a true luxury was his way of repaying
Mrs. Fisher for letting us live in her fine home.
        "I should be crying," I told myself.  Paw was dead.
        Eliza, Mrs. Fisher's Negro housekeeper, came out of the
pantry.  She wiped sweat from her dark brown face and neck with
the edge of her apron.  "He gone?"
        I nodded.
        "Po' Miz Cooper.  She don' take this good."
        A faint breeze from the screen door carried the scent of horses,
cinnamon cakes, and bacon.  I wiped my forehead with my cotton
handkerchief.  "Why did it have to be hot to-day?"
        "Always hot in May, chile."  Eliza crammed another covered
dish into the wooden ice box.  "Look at all this food. They's only so
much we can eats, and I hates seein' it go to waste."  
        The doctor called a greeting to Mr. Cromley from the front
entrance hall. Eliza began putting extra food into a basket, and I
turned to help. It would make sense to give some of this food to the
doctor before it spoiled.
        "Looky who I found outside!"  Eddie carried little Linda
Carver into the kitchen.  Mrs. Fisher had taken in her mother, an
unmarried farm girl, four years ago.  One day, we woke to find her
gone.  In their usual kind-hearted manner, Mrs. Fisher and Eliza
decided to keep Linda instead of turning her over to an orphanage.
        Eliza picked up the child.  "You gettin' too big for this, gal."
        "Looks like a cool breeze is blowing outside, Carolyn."  Eddie
took my arm.  "Why don't we step out on the front porch?"  Once
we were out of everyone's ear shot, he said, "You oughtta be
upstairs with Maw."
        "She doesn't want me near.  She thinks I kept her from Paw
when he passed."  A carriage drove by on Sixth Avenue.  So many
people passed this house without a care about our lives.  Maybe that
was better than being invaded by a bunch of busybodies.
        Eddie squeezed his hazel eyes shut.  "Sister, this ain't no time
to fuss and fight."
        I felt like screaming the truth at him:  Mother was ashamed of
me, and she never missed an opportunity to let me know it.  She
wanted me to take a husband.  Never mind who it was; any "decent"
and God-fearing man would do. At twenty-two, I was already an old
maid. I would die that way, probably.
        "Oh, Mother," I thought, "why can't you be more
understanding?"  For a moment, I fervently wished for someone who
would really understand my feelings, and who could be trusted with
my darkest secret.  But who was I to want more than the love given
by my family, Eliza and Mrs. Fisher?  I hung my head.
        "Oh, don't take it that bad," Eddie said.  "Let's walk for a
spell."  When we rounded the corner onto Highland Avenue, he
added, "Poor Maw has another to grieve for.  I hope we can help
her get over it."
        "Mother won't get over this, either. She wishes Ruth was here
instead of me!"  I bit my trembling lip. I shouldn't have said that, but
it was too late to take back my words.
        Eddie cocked his head to one side.  "Just because Maw misses
Ruth don't mean she doesn't love you."
        "All I ever hear from Mother is how Ruth wouldn't do this and
Ruth would never do that.  How Ruth would be married and have
children by now. . ."
        He slipped his arm around my shoulder.  "I hear it, too."
        A young couple held hands at the street car stop under an
electric street light.  Her skirt made a circular shadow under her,
which was pierced by her beau's shadow. Years ago, I had a beau
like that. Frederick had taught me a terrible lesson; I was not one to
repeat my mistakes.
        The couple stepped aside to let a tall and handsome man get
off the street car.  He tipped his hat, then he skidded on a pile of
horse manure.  He seemed at odds with the city, yet he didn't carry
himself like a country boy.  His well-tailored suit matched his silvery
grey eyes.  His neatly trimmed hair was black, and his face was clean
shaven.  He looked like a man foolish-headed ladies would swoon
over.  After dodging a carriage, he hopped onto the sidewalk near
us. He tipped his hat to me, and Eddie answered his greeting.
        As soon as the street car pulled away, Eddie turned back to
me. "Sister, Ma's grief for Ruth is her cross to bear, and we've got to
help her. Remember what Brother Peter is always saying about
forgiveness. Even if she don't want to forgive you, you've got to
forgive her."
        I hung my head. All those Sunday schools lessons seemed so
hard to take to heart, but I had to try harder to ease Mother's pain.
        "Ma would be a lot less sad about Ruth if she had a
granddaughter. Remember how she took up with little Linda? I think
that's why Miz Fisher and Eliza kept her. To make Ma happy. And
you finding a good man would make her happy, too. Get married,
Sister. Give Ma a granddaughter to take Ruth's place."
        "I cannot marry anyone, ever!" A cold anger pierced my chest.
"If Ma is going to have any grandchildren, you'll have to find a
wife."
        "Sister, you've got to let Frederick go sometime --"
        "Frederick is the reason I never want to talk to another man!" I
backed away from my brother. "And don't ever ask me about him
again!" When I turned for home, I bumped into the grey-eyed
stranger.
        "Excuse me, Miss. Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"
        "Anything is possible, Sir. Good night." I walked around him.
        "Sister!" Eddie caught up with me. "That was terribly rude."
        "I don't know him from anywhere. And no, I won't go back to
apologize --" I nearly fell backwards when the stranger grabbed my
arm.
        "Let her go!" Eddie stepped between us.
        "I'm sorry, Sir. But I have seen the young lady.... Someplace
else. Isn't there a place we can go to talk?"
        "I don't want to talk to you!"
        Eddie held up his hand. "My sister has made her wishes clear.
Leave us be, Sir, or we will call for the police."
        Before the stranger could answer, a vagabond ran at us from
the shadows. He grabbed my arm, but instead of trying to drag me
away, he pulled me aside. I was surprised by the gentle firmness of
his grip. Whatever his intentions, hurting me was not among them.
Eddie turned toward the vagabond. Shaking his head, the vagabond
put his hand on Eddie's chest. My brother stumbled backwards from
a gentle yet firm push.
        "Brother, his argument is not with us. Perhaps we should
leave." I took his arm. "Please."
        "Miss, wait!" When the stranger stepped toward me, the
vagabond stepped between us. He said something in a language I
had never heard before. The stranger replied in the same tongue.
The vagabond angrily said something else. The stranger started to
reply, but the vagabond cut him off with a blow to the face.
        "I'll put an end to this!"  Eddie grabbed the vagabond around
the neck.
        Yelling another angry foreign phrase, the vagabond struggled
to get free. Quickly, the stranger punched the vagabond in the bread
basket then in the face.
        "You're hurting him!" I ran toward them.
        The stranger grabbed me around the waist and set me down
away from Eddie and the vagabond. "Please stay out of this, Miss."
        With a blood-curdling yell, the vagabond jabbed his elbow into
Eddie's groin. My poor brother sank onto the sidewalk. I started
toward him, but Eddie waved me away.
        Once again, the stranger punched the vagabond in the face. 
The vagabond staggered backwards.  When the stranger drew back
to strike again, I jumped in front of the vagabond. Nobody deserved
to be beaten this way, no matter what he might have done or even
planned to do. The stranger dropped his arm and stepped back.
        I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. When I turned toward him,
the vagabond said something else, this time in a much softer tone.
His eyes were two black shadows under the street lights.  His
over-alls were crumpled, and his shoulder-length hair was blond
tangles.  His hard-chiseled face bled where the stranger had struck
him.  His somewhat bulbous nose was rapidly swelling.
        "You need a doctor," I said. "I know you can't understand, but
if you'll trust me --"
        Did he smile? With his hand covering his nose and mouth, I
couldn't tell. But he shook his head, and without another word, he
walked back into the shadows.
        The stranger knelt beside Eddie.  "Are you all right, Sir?"  He
didn't have an accent of any kind -- Southern, Northern, or foreign. 
I wondered where he had come from.
        Eddie nodded breathlessly.
        "Tell me, Miss. Do you have a name?"
        "Since you supposedly know me, wouldn't you already know
my name?" I reached down to help my brother stand.
        "I said I had seen you someplace before. But we can talk about
that later, Miss --"
        "I'm Carolyn Cooper, and this is my brother Eddie."  I held out
the stranger's hat.  "What is your name, Sir?"
        As he donned his hat, a faint smile came to his lips.  "You may
call me...  John."
        "We ought to get the police," Eddie said.  "That feller might
attack someone else."
        I picked up Eddie's hat.  "I could use Mr. Williams' telephone,
but I really don't think he is going to hurt anyone."
        "Don't be silly, Carolyn! Call the police. They are here to
protect us from people like that." Eddie leaned on me. "Now, let us
go home. Good night, John."
        "Let me help you, Mr. Cooper." John let Eddie lean on him as
we walked up Sixth Avenue to Laurel.  By the time we reached Mrs.
Fisher's boarding house, Eddie could walk almost normally.  I
headed for the Williams' place.
        "Miss Cooper, wait!"  John walked beside me.  "I don't think
calling the police is necessary."
        Neither did I, but Eddie was right: The vagabond might do
someone much more serious harm. "People in this city are civilized,
Sir. I must stop him from hurting anyone else." A glance over my
shoulder revealed that John still followed me. Exactly what were his
intentions?
        "The stranger was after me."
        "Yes, John, he made that very clear. But if you don't stop
following me, I may have to call the police anyway!"
        "Why do you believe I'm dangerous?"
        I wouldn't grace such a question with an answer! I walked
around him again, toward the Williams' front gate.
        "All right," he said. "I get your message. However, we will
speak again, Miss Cooper. Of that I can assure you."