The House on Creek Road Page 12

  They heaved open the sliding door. At first they couldn’t see anything but hazy streams of light coming from small windows high on the walls. As their eyes adjusted, empty shadowed stalls came into focus. A group of calves milled around a large, straw-bedded enclosure.

  “Somebody had their bull out in the field too late,” Liz said.

  “I guess. Dad told Mom they were such a good price he couldn’t say no. They’re too young to winter outside. There’s a light. Just a sec.” Jennifer found the switch and warm light from a row of three dangling bulbs filled the barn, making it suddenly cosy. The calves pressed closer, wide noses lifted over the partition. “They don’t need anything. They’ve been fed and watered.” She went past without looking at them. Liz understood. No sense developing feelings for somebody else’s dinner. Still, she lingered, rubbing faces, scratching behind ears, looking into dim, gentle eyes.

  “Auntie Liz?”

  “Coming, hon.” Liz joined her niece near a stack of straw bales. A dusty blanket had been used to make a warm cave between two of them, but the kittens refused to go inside. Their hopes were still pinned on Jennifer. “It’s not such a bad life for a cat out here, you know.”

  “These aren’t the kind of cats that like to live in a barn.”

  “You’ve made up your mind about that.”

  “I know them better than anybody else does.”

  Liz nodded. Maybe she did.

  “Are you mad at everybody, Auntie Liz?”

  Even without the sudden change of subject the question would have startled Liz. “Mad? No, of course not.”

  Jennifer looked at her doubtfully. “Mom thinks you’re mad. I heard her tell Dad.”

  “Your mom and I have been friends forever, since kindergarten. So we’ve been mad at each other lots of times. We’ve always got over it, though.”

  “And what are you mad about this time?”

  “I’m not, sweetheart. Really. I love your mom. Now, I should go do my share of dishes. Coming?”

  Jennifer shook her head and transferred her attention to the kittens again. Liz kissed the top of her head, wishing she could do something that would actually help, and went back to the house alone. Emily and Pam had started washing and drying anything that hadn’t fit into the dishwasher.

  “How’s my daughter?” Pam asked.

  “Worried. Feeling misunderstood.”

  “Well, that’s just normal, if I remember my growth and development classes.” She rinsed a glass and placed it upside down in the drainer. “Those kittens come from a long line of barn cats. They’d never adjust to life in the house.”

  Liz picked up a tea towel and beat Emily to the glass. Out the window, she could see Tom and Martin and Uncle Will playing road hockey on the driveway with young Will and Anne, using a tennis ball since there was no snow for a puck to slide over. Edith’s and Pat’s voices came from the living room, discussing Nell’s sleeping habits. “Where’s Grandma?”

  “Lying down in the girls’ room. I guess things got a little boisterous for her at the table.” Pam gave Liz a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing to worry about. It’ll be good for her to get into the seniors’ home, though. She’ll have less work to do, less to worry about, less time alone. The doctor visits once a week.”

  “I hope she’ll be all right in that little space. She’s always had an unobstructed view, just trees out every window. Her own trees. Miles between her and the next building.”

  “The home is really nice inside,” Pam said. “So many ladies she knows are there, and when she saw she could have a garden—”

  “That was the clincher,” Emily agreed. “She said if she could have her own salad and roses, what more did she need?”

  Well, Liz thought, her dining room table for a start.

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Liz worked at the table by her bedroom window. Every time she picked up her sketchbook, more characters emerged to populate the woodland fairy world she was creating in spite of herself. The fairies were the size of squirrels. She was pleased with the fusion of plant and person. They looked like twigs that had hopped off a tree and walked away, full of their own intentions. If they were lucky, they lived in hollow trees; if not, they dug burrows underground. A female fairy, a sharp, pointy being with hair like dry grasses, had appeared unbidden beside the one she’d based on Jack.

  Soon it would be dark enough to go to bed. An afternoon with her family had worn her out. Maybe if she’d slept last night they wouldn’t have seemed so overwhelming. She’d ended the evening with Jack with her nerve endings all aquiver, then laid in bed stiff with need and guilt under a comforter made by who knows how many hardworking Robb women. In the longest, darkest part of the night, Andy had suddenly been everywhere, filling the room, filling her mind, for the first time in years. He wouldn’t berate her. If there were such a thing as ghosts, he wouldn’t haunt her.

  She looked at the small clock beside the bed. There was time before dark. She closed her sketchbook and put away her pencils and gum eraser. The dogs, who had crept up the stairs after her as if no one would notice if they did it slowly and guiltily enough, watched as she took her jacket from the back of a chair.

  “That’s right,” Liz told them. “We’re going for a walk.”

  They wagged their tails in approval. Sometimes she thought they were better companions than a lot of people. They listened as if they understood every word you said, and if you had nothing to say they closed their eyes, content with silence. She couldn’t help wondering about Jennifer’s kittens, so much smaller and with so much to learn, denied the same warmth and human company. Soon these chilly days would be remembered as pleasant autumn weather. How would the kittens fare then?

  Eleanor was resting in her room, so Liz left the house quietly, locking the door behind her. When they got to the woods, the dogs turned toward Jack’s house. Liz ignored them, and they soon noticed she hadn’t followed. She walked briskly along a path nearly grown over with tall grass and hazelnut shrubs. As she got closer to her destination, she walked more slowly and the dogs lost patience with her. Following trails that stopped at holes in the ground or led out of reach up tree trunks, they trotted here and there, tails high, noses to the ground.

  Liz stopped near the edge of the woods, where one of the three creeks, the smallest one, wound damply toward the far away river. It didn’t look as if it would ever get there. It looked as if leaf-mold and layers of bent grass would sop it up like sponges. They never did.

  The clearing was hardly a clearing anymore. Low-growing shrubs were dotted over the space, and young poplars as tall as Liz but no wider than pencils had sprouted. In the middle of it all, the log cabin stood. It was tiny and roughly made, the first quick shelter her great-great-grandparents had built. The roof was green with moss. When she got closer, she saw that a small tree had started to grow in its softening logs.

  The door was gone. Dry brown leaves had blown into the cabin, covering the floor where she and Andy had spent their wedding night. Eloping impulsively was much harder to do than they had thought…there were laws and appointments and frustrating waits for paperwork. But they had kept it all secret, the next best thing to romantic impulse, and when their moment before the marriage commissioner had finally come Andy had given her a grocery store bouquet, a dozen white roses. She’d never had even a single rose of her own before. Her mother grew shrub roses that bloomed all summer, but they were nothing like the long-stemmed flowers she held that day. She was glad she could keep them, that she didn’t have to throw them to a waiting bridesmaid. After the short, businesslike ceremony, they’d bought two champagne glasses, a bottle of sparkling wine, and some Belgian chocolates and hurried back to the log cabin for a night that mixed uncertainty and embarrassment with passion. The next afternoon, they had defiantly presented themselves to their parents and held hands tightly during the lectures and tears that followed.

  We were children.

  Her grandmother thought she should make her peace with t
he past. Easy to say. She didn’t want to sweep what happened under the carpet. That would be turning her back on Andy. He was the sweetest boy in the world, and by now he should have been a man. She couldn’t forgive the people who had taken that away from him. Not ever.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE MAIN THING WAS TO GET BACK to Vancouver as soon as possible. She’d been letting her grandmother and the house and the dogs pull her into family life, Three Creeks life. Belonging was seductive.

  Liz pressed a long piece of parcel tape across the flaps of the last cardboard box and set it on top of the others beside the kitchen door. They had packed away ordinary clothes Eleanor was sure some member of the family would need one day, and special things—uniforms, wedding dresses, christening gowns—that had to be kept even if no one would use them again. There were boxes for the church’s rummage sale, for the school for dress-up, and for the clothing museum in Pine Point. Brian had agreed to stop by later to take them into town. “That’s it, Grandma.”

  “Excellent. I can’t look at another stitch of clothing. Not so much as an apron. Why don’t you sit down and visit a bit? You’ve done nothing but work these last few days.”

  “We’ve got to get done. Otherwise you’ll have to sell your house with all its belongings, the way the Ramseys did.”

  Eleanor looked startled at the thought, but then she smiled. “That would save a lot of trouble.” She had taken the chair by the woodstove. She put her feet up on the stool and rested her hands on her lap. “I don’t know if you heard me on the phone earlier…the real estate agent called. She’s wondering when I’m going to list the place.”

  Liz looked at her grandmother in surprise. “I thought you had, in the summer.”

  “I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. It seemed better to get things ready first. Mrs. Armstrong says it could take a while to find a buyer, though, especially heading into winter. Months, she said. There’s not much of a market for drafty, rambling houses that need a lot of repairs.”

  “So you might be spending another winter here.”

  “That’s all right with me. I don’t know that I want to move while there’s snow on the ground. Spring would be fine. Then I could plant something in that little bed outside my apartment. Listen to that! My apartment. It’ll be like living in the city.”

  “Is there more I can do to help get things ready, besides packing?”

  “Not a thing.” Eleanor’s smile was probably meant to be reassuring, but she just looked worried. “It’s a matter of deciding how best to do things. I was going to sell the whole package, the house and all the property, but I know everyone in the family wants a share of the land. So it might be better to subdivide, and sell the house and yard site separately. The only thing I know for sure is that I’d like Jack to have the Christmas tree field. Buy it, rather than rent.”

  “Uncle Will and Tom might be annoyed about that.”

  “There’s no might about it.” Eleanor’s voice was almost sharp. “No one wants the house and no one wants my dark old table, but they sure want my acres.” She added in a rush, “You know I didn’t mean that, Elizabeth.”

  “Why not come back to Vancouver with me?” It was an impulsive suggestion and at first Liz wasn’t sure if it was a serious one. “You could put your feet up and take it easy—just ring a bell and I’d come running from my easel.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something? I’d get used to all the fuss, though, and then I’d expect it. You’d have to treat me like a queen.”

  Liz was warming to her idea. “You’d like it in Vancouver, Grandma. It’s never cold, there are gardens everywhere and cut flowers for sale on every street corner. You’d be close to my mom and dad. We could transplant the family one by one and start having those traveling Christmases again.”

  “We do have those traveling Christmases.”

  Of course they did. Why hadn’t she realized the traditions she loved would continue without her? “Are you tempted?”

  “I am. But I’d miss the prairie sky. The mountains get in the way in Vancouver.”

  “That’s not the way most people talk about mountains.”

  “Here the sky is high and wide, it goes on forever. I’d feel closed in with the ocean on one side and the mountains on the other.”

  That was how Liz had felt at first. It had been a good kind of closed in, though, like being held, as if the ocean had been one arm and the mountains the other.

  “It’s all for the best, Elizabeth. I do wish I could take the woodstove to town with me, though. That I’ll miss. I like heating the kitchen with it, keeping a vat of water hot, the kettle always simmering. And where else would the dogs would make themselves comfortable?” She broke off, overcome by a defeated air that twisted Liz’s heart. “Do you think Jack would take them? They’d be happy with him.”

  Liz bent to scratch behind Bella’s ear. “I’m not sure.” He’d said pumpkins needed as much as he had to give. He couldn’t have meant it. On the other hand, he hardly gave his house enough attention to keep it together. “If not, there’s always Tom.”

  “Tom has dogs. Everyone has everything. New houses, new dining room suites, pets of their own.” Eleanor pressed her lips together, as if forcing herself to stop.

  Liz had to get up and move around the kitchen. Wasn’t anyone listening to how Eleanor felt about this move? Everyone just agreed how good it would be for her. How could it be good for her to divest herself of her entire life?

  She reached for the kettle. “Tea?”

  “Oh, please. That would be lovely.”

  Liz made a small pot of regular tea for her grandmother, and a cup of apple cinnamon herbal tea for herself. As soon as she opened the box and smelled the spice, she remembered Jack standing close, his voice deep and soft, making that ridiculous claim about gingersnaps. He saw her in a way no one else did.

  He’d come to the door on Monday, bringing another load of wood and some pumpkin muffins. His voice had rumbled upstairs through the grill in the floor and reached her where she sat sorting sheets and pillow-cases. The sound had made her happy. Some people might say it wasn’t a complicated problem. If the sound of Jack’s voice was enough to lift her spirits, why not treat herself to the rest of him? Apologize for being odd, for hurting his feelings, because she knew she had, and find her way back into his arms. That’s what she would do, if the distance between his house and her apartment were the only problem.

  “Elizabeth? You look so troubled, so tired. It’s not that accident, is it? Your neck hasn’t been bothering you?”

  “Not a bit.”

  “I thought you seemed a little off on Sunday, and now I’m sure of it. With those circles under your eyes you could be a ghoul for Halloween.”

  Liz smiled. “Thanks.” It wasn’t the best time to bring this up, but later wouldn’t be any better. “Grandma, I’m sorry to do this when there’s still so much work, but I need to get back to Vancouver by the end of the week. Emily can give you a hand with the rest of the packing.” She felt she should explain, although she was sure no one expected her to stay any longer. “The thing is, I haven’t been sleeping well, and I don’t think I will until I get back to my apartment.”

  Eleanor poured a little milk into her cup, then filled it with tea. “You could run forever, I suppose.”

  Liz stared at her grandmother. “I said I’d come for a week or two. It’s been nearly two.”

  “I think you know that’s not what I mean.”

  “I didn’t run—”

  “Elizabeth, when you told me you wanted to visit I hoped it meant all the trouble was over. Your first night here, it was clear that it wasn’t. For your own peace of mind, you need to do something about this situation.”

  “Do something, Grandma?” What could she do? Make it all better? Pretend nothing happened?

  “Whether you want to gather everyone together and tell them exactly what you think of them, or forgive them and get on with things, I don’t care. But, please, thin
k of your health.” Eleanor’s voice was still quiet, but it was unusually firm. “So much anger…years of it, just moldering away. It’s not good for you.”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear. Because if you had been and continued to leave it that way, you’d have ended up with high blood pressure and who knows what else.”

  “Are you worried about me, Grandma?”

  “I am indeed.”

  “Please don’t be. I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”

  Eleanor looked her granddaughter in the eye. “That’s more apparent every day.”

  LIZ HAD NO INTENTION of taking the kind of action her grandmother recommended, but there were two things she did need to do before she left Three Creeks, and she had decided to do both of them today. When lunch was over and the dishes were done, she pulled on a warm jacket she’d found while sorting through trunks—thankfully, it was in a cedar-lined trunk, not one with mothballs. She gently pushed the door shut against the dogs’ noses. This time, she didn’t want their eager companionship.

  Instead of going through the woods, she walked along the road toward Jack’s. A couple of cars passed her, honking hello, and a tractor pulling a swather crawled by taking so much room she had to step into the ditch. When she reached the alfalfa field she saw the rock she’d run into and skid marks cut deep in the road’s shoulder. It would take a lot of spring runoff and summer rain to erase those tracks.

  Jack was outside, loading pumpkins into the back of his truck. He must have heard her feet crunching on the gravel driveway, but he kept working until she was hardly a yard away. Finally he turned.

  “Hello, Liz.”

  “You’re busy. I won’t keep you long.”

  “I have lots of time—there’s nothing to do but get tomorrow’s delivery ready.”

  “For the school?” Pam had told her Jack was donating pumpkins for jack-o’-lanterns, but she hadn’t realized he was giving so many. “Are you taking enough for everyone?”