The Kate Chronicles
by ShiningStar
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program
"Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and
have been used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.
My sister Audra, who was nineteen years older, had three
children—all of them boys. She said it was all right because I was her little
girl. She had, after all, been responsible for introducing me to my future
parents by virtue of being the guiding force behind the Stockton Orphanage. If
they hadn’t accompanied her there on Christmas Eve in 1880, I might never have
found my way into their hearts and home.
Mother liked to tell the story that Audra, tomboy though
she was—riding and scuffling with her brothers—loved to play dolls and would
periodically lock the door to her room to pursue that more ladylike pastime.
When we brought you home, she had a real live doll to play
with. We hardly got our hands on you until we took you home to New Orleans a
week later.
It was true that Audra loved to dress me and comb my hair
as if I were one of her dolls—but she always knew that I was a flesh-and-blood
child, and she attended to my emotional turning out as well as my
physical appearance. Unlike my brothers, who overlooked my small sins, Audra
always addressed them firmly and immediately.
KatieBee, darling, that’s not the sweet thing to do. .
.KatieBee, always think before you say something when you’re angry. .
.KatieBee, when you’re told to do something, it’s important to do it without
arguing. . .Don’t sulk, KatieBee—it’s not attractive.
We visited the ranch twice a year—for three weeks at
Christmas and again in the summer for two months. Mother said I began to ask
for Awdee as soon as we boarded the train. And it was Awdee who
snatched me up as soon as my little feet were planted on the platform, wrapping
me in a warm embrace and scattering kisses from forehead to chin.
As I grew older, I followed her about the big house
constantly. She let me take naps in her soft four-poster bed and watch her fix
her hair and dress for the many social functions that made up a good part of
her life. Next to Mother, she was the most beautiful person I’d ever known.
* * * * * * * *
Then, when I was four, she became engaged to Don Erskine,
a young lawyer who had just hung out his shingle in Stockton. The town was
growing and was well able to provide a good living for many professionals. My
oldest brother, Jarrod, introduced Don around town and recommended him to
potential clients when his business kept him in San Francisco.
In time, Jarrod introduced him to Audra. It was love at
first sight. They didn’t even wait the conventional engagement period of a year
before they were married in the church in Stockton the summer after I turned
four years old.
Audra wanted a big wedding, and of course, she had it. Six
bridesmaids and one flower girl—me. I wore a pink dress and matching shoes and
carried a white basket filled with rose petals from Mother’s garden. Papa said
I would be the most beautiful flower girl ever. Mother said I should pay
attention to getting down the aisle
properly and not scratching during the ceremony. (Unfortunately, I was sweet
meat to the mosquitoes that swarmed by the creek every summer—and ultimately
found their way into the house to feast on me.)
It was a beautiful wedding, perfect in every way. I walked
carefully down the aisle, scattering rose petals with dignified precision. The
fresh mosquito bites on my legs clad in white silk hose itched maddeningly—but
I only scratched once. I kept my eyes fastened on my beautiful sister and her
handsome bridegroom—who had done a good job of courting me in the days
immediately preceding the wedding and finally persuaded me that he wasn’t
stealing my sister forever.
It was a long ceremony, at least for someone four years
old, and when Don finally lifted her filmy veil and kissed her lingeringly, I
quivered with happiness—and relief. The new pump organ pealed out the wedding
recessional, and the bridesmaids began pairing up with the groomsmen to march
out. I remembered I was supposed to march out, too, but I didn’t like the idea
of going alone. Besides, I was all out of rose petals. So I simply slipped
between the bridesmaids and took Audra’s hand.
She looked down, a little surprised, and then she smiled.
The three of us went up the aisle together. I thought I heard Mother whisper
loudly, “Kate—no!” as we passed her pew, but Audra just squeezed my hand and
kept walking.
There was punch and cake and tiny sandwiches from which
the crust had been trimmed, mints in three colors, and funny little brown
things that Papa said were cashews. They sounded like a sneeze to me,
but I accepted one from him and asked for another.
Mother was busy making sure that all the guests were
served, so I wandered around by myself for awhile, looking at all the ladies’
pretty dresses and accepting their smiles and caresses as my due. Except for
one.
Did you ever see the like? How she could let that child
ruin everything is beyond me! I think Victoria went dotty when she married that
man anyway. Adopting a baby at their age! And that one! Who knows where she
came from? If she doesn’t turn out badly, it’ll be a miracle! She’s already
showing her lack of breeding, if you ask me!
I suppose I didn’t understand all the innuendo—not at four
years old—but I knew that she was talking about me and that I must have done
something terrible. I looked around frantically for Mother and Papa, but they
were nowhere in sight. Jarrod, Nick, Heath, and Gene were drinking punch in a
corner and pouring something into their cups from a flat silver bottle. Audra
and Don were shaking hands with some people I didn’t know. With no refuge in
sight, I headed for the nearest corner, plopped down on the floor, and began to
sob softly.
Audra found me first.
KatieBee, what’s wrong, darling?
I didn’t mean to spoil things, Audra! Truly, I didn’t!
Spoil things? What are you talking about?
She said I ruined everything!
Who?
I pointed in the direction of the woman, but she was gone.
I don’t know. My sobs
were beginning to sound more like a howl.
Don’t cry, darling. You didn’t ruin anything! You were the
perfect little flower girl!
By now I was quite worked up. It wasn’t that I was really
spoiled—Papa insisted that no child could be loved too much—but I wasn’t
accustomed to hearing that I’d been anything but good. Even Mother hadn’t told
me I was bad before she paddled me with the wooden spoon for stamping my foot
at her. Then, when she’d finished whacking me, she’d gathered me into her arms
and told me how much she loved me.
And that’s what Audra did now. Heedless of her wedding finery,
she scooped me up and held me close.
Don’t cry, darling! When I remember my wedding day, I’ll
think of you most of all! Why, it’s not every bride who can walk up the aisle
with her brand new husband and the sweetest, most beautiful little sister in the
world!
* * * * * * * *
By the next summer, Audra was expecting her first baby.
Whenever she sat down, I was right there with her, marveling at the nice round
lump under her dress. Several times she took my hand and placed it on her
stomach, and I’d feel something moving around. It fascinated me.
When will it come out, Audra? Can I hold it? Will it be a
boy or a girl? Will I have babies in my tummy someday? Are you sure?
I must have driven her crazy with all my questions, but
she never let on.
The second and third time, I was smug in my knowledge of
what Mother called the birds and the bees. But I still loved sitting
beside Audra and feeling the baby move inside her. Mother said it was one of
life’s miracles, and I was sure she was right.
* * * * * * * *
My sister was always my sister. I could tell her anything,
and she shared the wisdom of her experience with me. When I first became aware
that boys were good for something besides throwing mudballs and pulling my
braid, Mother said she was quite glad that Audra was around to shed light on
the subject.
It’s been too long since I was fourteen—and things were
very different then anyway.
Papa said he hoped Audra didn’t shed too much light on
things—that he wanted me to be his little girl for a while longer. Audra just
laughed and said that if he figured out how to stop time, she’d like to know,
because her boys were growing up too fast.
As I matured, I aspired to be like my sister—soft-spoken,
gentle, the perfect lady. I was sixteen or seventeen before I saw another side
of her.
We were home for the summer, and the orphanage, though
taken over by the county, had fallen on hard times. Audra was working to
correct that situation, and she enlisted my assistance on her mission. Everyday
for a week, we rode from ranch to ranch, farm to farm, soliciting donations of
supplies—flour, sugar, salt, dried beans, cast-off clothes, outgrown
shoes—whatever might be put to good use for the children. There would be a
dance on Saturday night, and everyone was asked to bring their donations as the
price of admission.
On Friday, we rode to the farthest ranch, a large spread
that rivaled our own, run by a newcomer named Gibbons. We met him on the road a
little distance from his house, and Audra introduced herself—and me—and made
her case.
He scowled. “You ask me, the whole place should be closed
down. Nothin’ but trash anyhow. Hired one of th’ boys to help me last summer,
and he run off with one of my best horses and a saddle.”
Yes, I heard about that. He brought it back, I believe.
Yeah, with some trumped up story about goin’ ta look for
his sister.
She was only five, Mr. Gibbons. She’d wandered away from
the orphanage because she thought she could find her parents. They died of
diphtheria, you know.
Yeah, well, he took it.
There are fourteen children there now, Mr. Gibbons. They
need so much. Surely you could spare something.
He shook his head. Ain’t givin’ a dime—not for those
kind. He looked past Audra at me, including me in those kind.
I’d long since given up being offended by ignorance—though
it did hurt my feelings somewhat. I lifted my chin defiantly and heard Mother’s
voice. Kate, your chin, darling. Don’t appear to be haughty.
I heard about you Barkleys—and those that think they’re
Barkleys! He drew his lips back over his teeth in an ugly sneer. You
can always tell the stock by the breedin’!
Audra’s face flushed angrily, and I heard the whistling
sound as she raised her riding quirt. For a long, paralyzing moment, I thought
she might actually strike him.
Don’t, I said between my teeth. He’s not worth it.
Mr. Gibbons wheeled around on his horse and rode off,
leaving us in his dust.
I was more shocked by my sister’s near-violence than by
the man’s ugly words. Never had I seen her raise a hand to person or animal. Audra,
it’s all right.
He had no right. . .
I reached for the quirt and took it out of her hand. It’s
a free country.
We started home in silence. Just in sight of the ranch,
she pulled up. I’m sorry you found me out, she said softly.
Found you out?
Nick’s not the only one with the Barkley temper.
Well, I guess you came by it honestly then.
She shook her head. It didn’t come from Father—I know
you’ve always thought he looked stern and a little frightening, but it wasn’t
him. It’s from Mother.
Mother!
She nodded.
Never in my life had I seen my Mother angry. I’d seen her
impatient, irritated, even a little harried—but not angry by any stretch of the
imagination.
She recognized it in me when I was very small, and she
told me it was a battle I’d have to fight all my life—and I have—and so has
she.
Oh, Audra.
She smiled sadly. Have I fallen from my pedestal?
I edged my horse close enough to lean over and kiss her
still-flushed cheek. On the contrary, you’ve just made me want to be more like
you—and Mother—than ever.
It was the only time I ever saw her angry, but it was a
lesson in humility that I never forgot.
* * * * * * * *
Mother’s diagnosis of cancer came on the heels of two
other family illnesses—Jarrod had a stroke, and Audra found herself
unexpectedly in the family way for the fourth time. It was a tubal pregnancy,
and it almost took her life. It did take her health.
When Mother died six months later, however, Audra summoned
strength that even I never knew she had, and took charge of all the
arrangements when Papa and I brought Mother home for burial.
Though we’d had two nurses around the clock, I’d insisted
on caring for Mother myself whenever I wasn’t working at the hospital or
teaching a class at the medical school. Between those duties and the impossible
task of comforting Papa, I was exhausted physically and mentally. Audra saw it
immediately.
You’re my baby, KatieBee. I’ll take care of you now. And she did.
She was there for me again when Papa died scarcely a year later.
When I married the next summer, she helped me plan everything. People who
didn’t know me well thought she was my mother. I think I’d begun to look at her
in that role. So, when she lay dying a few months later, I was devastated.
Putting aside my medical career—and even my new husband
(though with his encouragement and understanding)—I traveled to Stockton to
spend whatever time we had left together. Though the long weary days and nights
of her silent suffering, I rarely left her side. Even then, she was still
taking care of me.
Mother left her journals with me, KatieBee, but she wanted
you to have them in the end. They’re in my desk—the second drawer with the
lock. The key is in my jewelry case. I divided the family pictures—the ones of
the boys and me when we were younger—so you’ll have some of all of us. They’re
in the drawer, too. Don knows they go to you.
She liked for me to read to her—it helped take her mind
off the pain. But sometimes she’d interrupt me with, KatieBee, do you
remember when… or Mother said…
She told me things I’d never heard before—stories that
made me laugh, and some that made me cry. She had, after all, lived part of a
lifetime before I was born. I’d only known Mother as Papa’s wife—but Audra had
known her as Tom Barkley’s wife—and his widow.
I was so happy when Mother fell in love with Royce. She’d
been alone for four years, and she wasn’t a person who flourished in a solitary
existence. When I visited them after they married, I could see how very devoted
to each other they were. And then there was you, darling—you’ll never know what
a gift you were to all of us!
I don’t think I’d ever realized before just how much Audra
was like Mother. At the last, she even looked a little like her. In a way,
being there was like having Mother back again. And, it was like losing her
again, too, the afternoon that, with Don holding her in his arms, Audra finally
gave up the fight.
* * * * * * * *
Someone said to me once that I must regret having had an older
family because I lost most of them when I was still young. To be sure, the
losses were difficult—but if I could go back and choose, I’d want each of them
in my life just the way they were—and for as long or as short a time as they
were.
The boys, as Mother, Audra, and I always called my
brothers, used to tease Audra about being flirty and flighty
until she married—and perhaps that’s how they saw her. They adored her of
course—petted and protected her just as they did me. But I saw beneath all
that—to her very core—strong, unyielding, courageous.
One of my favorite things to do, when I was younger, was
to stand behind Audra at her dressing table as she combed and arranged her hair
and experimented with the dozens of bottles and jars of creams and colors and
perfumes. I liked to stand so that our faces almost merged into one in the
mirror. There was no family resemblance, of course—but in her face I saw a
reflection of myself.
More than anyone except Mother, Audra instilled in me the
proven, time-honored wisdom of womanhood. She acknowledged that true beauty had
to come from inside. She understood that, as a child of wealth and privilege,
she owed something to the world outside.
I never forgot the afternoon that she almost hit Mr.
Gibbons with her riding quirt—the afternoon she confessed her most grievous fault to me, her little sister, who
idolized her. The honesty she displayed somehow offset the shock of realizing
that she, as everyone, had feet of clay.
* * * * * * * *
Audra Barkley Erskine was forty-nine years old when she
died. She was eulogized as a devoted wife, a loving mother, a champion of
children who could not speak for themselves. All of that was true. But there
was more—much more.
Audra was my sister and my friend. I didn’t say
goodbye—there was no need. She’s as much a part of me now as she was the day
Mother and Papa brought me home from the orphanage. Throwing open the door,
she’d snatched me away and begun a lifetime of love and devotion to her baby
sister.
And sometimes, when I think of her now, I know she’s still
waiting for me—just inside the door.
THE END