“Disgusting old geezers,” Gladys pronounced the two grinning, skeletal men racing after the young aide in their wheelchairs by paddling with their feet on the floor rather than rolling the wheels with their hands. “I don’t know what they see in her, do you?”
“Your mom and Helen are sort of the last of the female line in the responsible generation, them responsible for the last generation and all before that,” Uncle Elmo explained to Charlie as Cousin Helen and Edwina fought it out in the kitchen at the home place. “All you folks who go off to California, or whose parents do, don’t know what’s going on back at the home places in the country. What’s happening is the old folks are stacking up knee-deep, what’s happening.”
They kicked around, literally, inside the rickety barn, stirred up mice and dust and probably memories for him and her mother, who was too busy fending off guilt and cousins to enjoy them. Charlie was beginning to see why she was needed here. Edwina needed her help in a gargantuan struggle with guilt instilled in a childhood so long ago that she couldn’t remember half of it. But the residue clung like Kenny Cowper.
“Every generation—” Uncle Elmo looked up at disgruntled pigeons in the rafters and the sky between the roof that was there and the roof that wasn’t “—people live longer and more of them live longer. Always been people over a hundred—just damn few.”
“But all those women here at the dinner last night, surely they don’t need Edwina, too. They live here. She hasn’t for years.”
“They all got other branches of older Staudts and in-laws to see to. Your mom and Helen are all that’s left of the direct issue of the Myrtle Staudts.”
“Why does it have to be women? Look at the marshal.”
“Doesn’t have to be women, but they’re more likely to live long enough to see the older generations cared for properly. They’re also more responsible as a general rule for seeing to the needs of others.”
“And more responsive to the agonies of guilt if they don’t.”
“Imagine a California girl learning about real life. Miracle. Women don’t do what’s expected, they don’t get to enjoy life anyway—might as well knuckle under. And the marshal went off and left a wife and three children when his folks were and are still seeing to the past generations. Plus which, he’s got a sister-in-law in town.”
“So what’s Edwina’s guilt-ridden role in all this family stuff?”
“Someone’s got to see to Abigail. And nobody wants anything to do with her and her bossy piety. Spent the last sixty years making enemies of her family and the town. Helen’s got her hands full with me and a bunch of Staudts at the Oaks. Time your mother took on her fair share.”
“She works full time, what can she do? She’s got at least five more years before retirement and could work longer—which she probably will. She loves her work.”
“She’s widowed. Her child is grown and on her own. Who better? She’s going to put rats and bats before family?” Edwina was a professor of biology at the University of Colorado, specializing in rats and bats of the high desert plateau.
“Her job means nothing because she’s a woman. Time she gets ahold of reality and her role. Don’t you see how ridiculous that sounds to the modern world? She could lose what is meaningful in her life, and her means of paying for her retirement. And her mind as well. Who would want to live with Great-aunt Abigail, for godsake?”
“Don’t matter. Edwina was born and raised here. It’s in her blood to do the right thing. You already did what was in your blood.”
It was early evening when Charlie and Edwina drove Cousin Helen home. Apparently, Helen didn’t drive. Buz drove her to work and back. Theirs was a nice house for Myrtle, well kept. And not three blocks from the entrance to the Oaks. They weren’t invited in.
Edwina had changed since her confrontation in the kitchen at the home place. It was in the air and her mood had lifted, while Charlie’s had tanked. Charlie wanted out of here.
“I smell french fries,” Edwina said when they drove down Main Street. “Let’s have a beer and bar food at Viagra’s before we head back to that ramshackle place and Uncle Elmo’s snoring. What do you say, Daughter?”
“I say absolutely, Mother, extreme absolutely. Maybe we can pick up a six-pack for Uncle Elmo. He’s about out.”
Viagra’s was full of pheasant hunters—lots of plaid jackets and matching caps—several admiring each other’s kill pulled out of cloth sacks. The TV above the bar played a sport show about pheasant hunting, starring guys in plaid jackets and matching caps.
On one side of the TV flashed a lighted sign of the Budweiser bull frog. On the other was an enlarged photo in black and white with a bunch of guys standing around, leaning on, and hanging out of an ancient vintage automobile. Their clothes reminded Charlie of Sherman Rochester’s coat. Their hats pushed back at jaunty angles and cigarettes in hand reminded her even more of old Sherman.
Of the living here, one woman with tight jeans and a loose grin played pool with the guys. The rest were guys. There was one empty booth, and the Greenes took it just as Kenny Cowper came down a flight of stairs at the back of the room, lit from behind by a bare bulb he’d had to almost double over to avoid. The place had gone silent except for the television, and Kenny followed the direction of the gaze and smirks in the rest of the room. The place smelled like french fries, beer, and secondhand smoke.
Kenny skirted the pool table to their booth. The slow smile spreading across his teeth actually reached his eyes this time. “What can I do for you ladies?”
“We’re women, Squirt,” Charlie’s mother told him, and his smile turned into a laugh.
He hit the palm of one hand with the fist of the other. “Goddam, I knew that.”
Then he slid in beside Edwina. “So you do remember me.”
“Taken me all day to sort you out. You couldn’t have been more than three or four the only other time we’ve met.”
“Five, actually. I didn’t start growing till about ten. Know how I remember you? You called me ‘Squirt’ in front of a bunch of guys. They called me that until I got so big, they didn’t dare.”
“You wouldn’t hurt anybody,” Edwina said softly, and Charlie stared at this “woman” she called mother. Well, okay, when she forgot, she did.
“Yeah, but you get big enough—nobody dares find that out. Specials tonight—and there are two specials every night and that’s all there is, so we don’t need menus—are walleyed pike or pork tenderloin on a sesame-seed bun with fries and a salad. What’ll it be, women?”
Charlie ordered the pike and Edwina the tenderloin and whatever was on draft. The beer of course came right away and they each took two healthy gulps, leaned back into the booth, which had head-high backs, and sighed. “Might not be heaven, but like Squirt said, it’s all there is.”
“That laser surgery did wonders. You’re not even walleyed anymore. When did you have it done?”
“Before I took six weeks out of my life and living to nurse you back to humanity after the accident. You didn’t even notice. Your neighbors did, and Libby, but I swore them to secrecy. I’ve got this theory, Charlie. People see what they expect to see, not what’s there. Besides, you were dealing with a lot of your own problems at that time.”
“Okay, so why are you so changed after that knockdown drag-out with Cousin Helen? Sounded to me like you were losing big time. ‘Just because you move across the country doesn’t mean you cancel out your responsibilities to the people who came before you, who nurtured you, cuz.’ Stuff like that. You were eating guilt and then all of a sudden you were back in control.”
“Because, Charlie, I rose from the sea of despond with a wonderful idea.”
“About what to do with Great Witch Abigail? Edwina, as your only daughter and the mother of your only granddaughter, I forbid you to give up the only life you have and come back here to take care of Abigail Staudt. She can go live at Gentle Oaks like everybody else.”
“That’s just it, Charlie, she can�
��t. She’s old, but she’s not ill mentally or physically. Boulder, however, has independent-living facilities for the elderly that watch out for the frail and encourage their independence for as long as possible. She’s not dying. She’s not senile. She’s just old.”
“Don’t they have places like that in Mason City?”
“Probably, but there’s a passel of Staudts needing seeing to there, too, and the number of young people who’ve skipped off to other places makes it hard.”
“They’re expecting you to come back and take care of her. Live here. Give up your work and everything.”
“You and I both know that won’t happen. If Howard were alive, they wouldn’t even think to ask it.”
“Would you be able to even stand having her in Boulder?”
“Just down the hill from the university there’s a place called the Good Samaritan, with an eight- or nine-story apartment building for seniors and one floor of assisted-living for those who need more, plus a nursing home attached for those who need the most. For the apartment dwellers, there are scheduled activities, a dining room, in-room cooking facilities, bus trips. Everything she’ll need. Once a week I could walk down from the labs to have lunch with her and that would be it. And she could hurl accusations, opinions, and self-righteousness every which way and nobody would care because they’re not from Myrtle and she’s nobody to them. Kind of sweet, huh?”
Somehow, Charlie had the feeling that this would backfire, but was so glad Edwina had a positive thought she didn’t relay that feeling. She’d much prefer to get her mother out of here without Great-aunt Abigail Staudt.
CHAPTER 10
THEY ORDERED ANOTHER beer when their sandwiches arrived and discovered the salad was the lettuce, onion, and tomato garnish on the buns with the pike and the pork. And probably the ketchup that came with the fries.
“You’ve got to try a bite of this—used to be served at hamburger joints and drive-ins everywhere. Haven’t seen them since I left Iowa.” Edwina cut a hunk off one end of her sandwich and Charlie did the same with hers to exchange.
“Kenny Cowper’s body does not look like he maintains it on deep-fried stuff like this.” Although Charlie had to admit it was the best deep-fat-fried “stuff” she’d ever eaten—crispy, crunchy, salty, and hot through. The fish tasted like freshwater, the pork like pig, and the fries like a thicker version of McDonald’s.
“Know what another delicious irony is? Ladies don’t drink beer in pool halls in Myrtle. And I’m going to suggest shipping Great-aunt Abigail off to the outside world, where tonight will prove that foreign ladies do drink beer in pool halls. That ought to get some of the guilt turned in the other direction, cause some consternation in the other camp. We should have dinner here tomorrow night, too.”
“We have to catch the eight a.m. vomit comet to Minneapolis the next day. Can’t we spend tomorrow night in Mason City?” And get a decent shower? How do people who don’t have showers wash their hair?
Marshal Delwood swept in on a cold wind, waved at a few of the “boys” who called out to him, and shoved in beside Charlie. “So where the hell is Marlys?”
“I don’t know, Marshal Sweety. Lost her in the cemetery, like I told you.”
“Well, I figured you’d gone back looking for her. Since you lost her.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Don’t you feel any responsibility?”
Actually, she did, but Myrtle was not the place to let anybody know that. Poor old woman was wearing nothing but a thin dress, sweater, and tennis shoes the last time Charlie saw her. “You’re the marshal, that’s your job.”
“Here you are in the pool hall swilling beer and that poor old lady’s out there? It’s supposed to freeze hard tonight. Know that?”
Charlie took another bite of pike burger which she absolutely didn’t want—it was twice as big as she could eat and her capacity valve was about to revolt. “I’m not one of you. She’s your responsibility. I don’t live here, remember? So what are you doing sitting in the pool hall when you could be out freezing your butt doing your job? What’s the matter with you?”
That elicited a two thumbs-up from Edwina, an accolade Charlie couldn’t remember ever receiving from her mother.
“You are not normal, lady.” He had the nerve to grab a french fry off her plate and dip it in her ketchup.
“Oh, come on, Brunsvold.” Kenny Cowper walked up with a glass of beer of his own and one for the marshal of Myrtle. It was like he just appeared suddenly up out of the floor, which, with someone his size and magnetic charge, was an impossibility. He slid in beside Edwina. “Last time you lost Marlys, she’d slipped into Orlyn Sievertsen’s doghouse between his Labrador and Saint Bernard. All three were warm as toast next morning, and Orlyn’s dogs have been howling nights ever since ’cause they want Marlys back. Admit it. Marlys Dittberner is crazy. But she’s not dumb, and certainly not helpless. Meanwhile, women, I would just like to point out that your real sin here in Myrtle is to come into my pool hall and piss off my clientele by ignoring the whispered jokes, smirks, leers, winks, and nod-nods around you. Have you no shame? Sitting here totally absorbed in your own conversation? It is incredibly rude, self-involved, self-important, unfeeling, and—”
“Above ourselves.” Charlie winked at her mom.
The marshal shook his head in disgust and poured more ketchup for Charlie’s fries. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one wouldn’t let me have pecan pie for brunch.”
Charlie was so stuffed she couldn’t get through a third of the second beer and Delwood Brunsvold went through her fries in minutes. She’d just handed him the rest of her sandwich when Ben, the same guy who stopped them this morning, rushed in with almost the identical question as then. “Marshal, you looking for Marlys? I just saw her next door and she’s buck-naked. Gettin’ cold out there.”
If Charlie didn’t know better, she’d have thought this whole scene was scripted.
It had been a long time since Charlie Greene had seen her breath frost the air and felt a stinging nip at the end of her nose. But the rest of her was warm, if bloated. The law in Myrtle had declared that everyone stay in Viagra’s except Ben, himself, and Kenny Cowper so as not to frighten Marlys.
The jeers this time were not for Charlie and her mother.
“Whose army’s going to frighten Marlys Dittberner?”
“You need help, boy, you call.”
But everyone except Charlie followed Marshal Del’s orders.
“This woman’s trouble.”
“I noticed.” Kenny reached around a partition, grabbed his jacket, and put it over Charlie’s shoulders. “Southern California girls got water for blood. Hot water, but still—”
His down jacket came to below her knees and she was glad of it. She and Ben stood waiting for the marshal and the owner of that jacket to act out in the doorway.
“Against the law to have open liquor containers on the sidewalk, and glass ones at that, in this here town of Myrtle,” said Delwood and raised his glass to Kenny’s face. Okay, reached.
“Well, nobody ever told me that and I own the damn pool hall.”
“No lie. It’s on the books.”
“Myrtle’s got books?”
But they both emptied their glass glasses, nodded in agreement, handed the glass containers to Charlie, and walked off. “Come along, Ben.”
Charlie handed the beer glasses over to Ben, who stood looking at them. The guy who owned the damn pool hall and the guy who upheld the law were sort of giggling at each other until she slid in between their chumminess. “Maybe we should go find Orlyn’s dogs?”
It was dark, but you could see the sky through parts of the roof of the two-story derelict next door. The guys had decided on a new tack. They each had hold of one of her arms, which made for a lopsided tableau.
“So what do you think, Charlie? Does Marlys need an agent?”
“Actually, I think Marlys needs a manager.”
“What abou
t Abigail Staudt?”
“She’s going to love Boulder, where everyone is more opinionated than she is, if not more righteous. They’re great arguers there. They’ll love her, too. They can turn guilt on its head. You know, all that sun in Colorado makes people weird.”
“She can’t leave Myrtle.”
“Then she’s still Myrtle’s problem, isn’t she?”
“They make women meaner every year,” said the marshal.
“Don’t Marlys … oh, Jesus.” The barkeep let go of Charlie’s arm barely in time to catch the naked form that fell from the ruin of the second story.
“If there’s an ordinance that disallows glass containers on the sidewalks, why isn’t there one that makes landlords shore up ruins or tear them down instead?” Charlie took off Kenny’s jacket and threw it over Marlys Dittberner. She smelled better naked.
“‘Ordinance?’ ‘Disallows?’” the marshal said. “Man, you valley girls talk like lawyers.”
“Marlys owns this building. Was once her grocery store—times got bad, they used to deliver even. By horse and wagon. So much history in these little backwaters, all being lost to senility, Alzheimer’s, agribusiness, and the Grim Reaper.”
“For a Myrtle boy, you talk funny,” Charlie said right behind Kenny.
They carefully traversed the rotted flooring, moonlight through the rooftop and second floor lighting their way.
“You must not have met Mr. Rochester yet,” the barkeep said, his voice coming from his feet.
“Oh, shit, I forgot this is the full moon. Hang onto her tight, Kenny.” Del followed behind Charlie, who was watching the creepy play of shadow and blackout on the floor. Almost gave her vertigo.
A dog howled across the street. The floorboards creaked beneath their feet like the barn out at the home place. Marlys groaned. Charlie missed Kenny Cowper’s jacket. It was freaking-cold out here, especially when the wind whistled through the holes in the building.
The Rampant Reaper Page 6