by Nancy Garden
“I wish I could come and help,” Jeff had said on the phone when she’d made it clear that she was going through with her plans.
“I wish you could, too.” But she knew he couldn’t. He’d already taken two weeks when their father died, and she knew he wouldn’t want to be away again from Susan, his wife, and Gus, their two-year-old son.
Liz turned away from the window and dabbed fiercely at the tears that had sprung to her eyes. She wheeled decisively, picked up her suitcase and backpack, and strode out through the lobby to her rental car.
***
A few minutes later, driving the speed limit on the highway toward Providence with the windows open and the wind blowing through her short dark brown hair, she felt better. I can do this, she told herself. I really, truly can do this. She had already learned in the three months since she’d left Megan that it was risky to think too much about the future, to worry about spending the rest of her life alone, or about turning into “a dried-up old schoolteacher,” a hackneyed phrase one of her colleagues liked to use. When Dad had died, Megan had called, all sympathy and warmth, and Liz had wanted to ask her to come back. But Megan was already with Janey by then, had moved in with her a scant six weeks after the night when Liz had said, as kindly as possible, “Meggie, it’s not working; it’s just not working with us.”
What I meant, Liz thought now, forcing her mind to jump beyond the memory of Megan’s astonished tears, was that I couldn’t do it, couldn’t let myself be one-half of a permanent couple.
“Couldn’t let yourself take the risk,” Jeff had said when she’d told him. “You have to take risks, Lizzie, in love. Susan taught me that. It’s like that song, you know, that Bette Midler song,‘The Rose.’”
Liz had played the song and denied that she fit any of its lines, but now, as the car crossed into Rhode Island and a sudden traffic pocket roared and whirred around her, she found she was grateful that she had to concentrate on staying alive instead of on the memories that crowded her mind.
***
But once she was through the city and driving more slowly on suburban streets that soon thinned and gave way to narrow country roads and sleepy, ill-kept towns, the memories crowded back. It didn’t seem as if five years had passed since she’d driven out to the lakeside cabin. No one’s ever believed in paint in this state, she thought fondly, passing familiar shabby houses and smiling at old landmarks: Genovese’s Bakery, Blue Seal Feeds, The New York Department Store, the white clapboard church with the stone front, Casey’s Pharmacy and Drug…
And Bob’s Tackle Shop, where she and Dad and Jeffie had pored for hours over lures and flies, next to Acme Sporting Goods, where they’d bought baseballs and where Dad had bought her a fielder’s mitt—and then, outside of town, the rutted dirt road leading to the farm where the crazy people lived without electricity or running water—and at last, the hill…
There was a sudden crunching sound and the car bumped rhythmically on one side as if one wheel had turned square, the unmistakable sound of a flat.
“Damn!”
Liz pulled onto the shoulder. The road was deserted and she knew it was miles to the nearest service station that offered more than gas and candy bars. Sighing, she got out. Yes, it was the right front tire, but that’s okay, she told herself; there’s got to be a spare, you know how to change a tire, just get the damn jack and stuff out of the trunk.
But although there was a full-sized spare, there was no jack, no tire iron, no wrenches, no tools of any kind, and she kicked herself “three ways to Sunday,” as her father had often said, for not checking before she’d driven the car away from the rental place.
The old farm, she thought; the crazy people will have a jack. Farm people always have tools.
Besides—she slung her backpack over her shoulder—maybe it’s just a rumor that they don’t have electricity or water.
God, she thought, as she trudged back to the farm’s road, I hope they haven’t died or moved away or anything like that!
Chapter Three
The knock at the door was louder the second time.
“What’s that?” Ralph bellowed from his room.
Nora, in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on lunch, wiped her hands wearily on her apron, then took it off and draped it over a chair. “Someone’s at the door, I think.”
“Don’t answer it.”
“Why on earth not?” Nora said, rolling her eyes. Lately she’d been doing that, indulging in little childish expressions of disgust or anger.
“Because you never know who it might be. Some jerk, wanting money.”
Nora stuck her head into her father’s room. “Don’t be silly. It’s probably Mrs. Brice or Mr. Hastings.”
“Or the doctor,” her father said suspiciously, swinging his legs clumsily over the side of the bed. “Did you call him? Your mother’s worse, isn’t she?”
“No, Father, no,” Nora crooned, going into the room as the knock came again, a volley this time, increasingly determined. She bent, lifting his legs up and attempting to swing them back.
Her father kicked her, hard. “Don’t do that!” he shouted, struggling to his feet while she stepped back, shocked, rubbing her jaw where his foot had caught her. He’d never done that before.
“Ouch,” she said deliberately, accusingly. “That hurt.”
“Well, get out of my way. Someone’s got to protect this place.” Reeling, her father stood, the pajama bottoms she’d put on him after his bath slipping below his waist, barely covering his groin.
Suppressing a desire to laugh, Nora hiked them up. “Coming!” she called as the knocks sounded again. She attempted to slide out the doorway, but Ralph gripped her shoulder. His gait was slow, shuffling, worse, she realized, than the last time he’d walked unaided. When had that been? Three weeks ago, maybe, when the drugstore boy had come and Father was sure the pharmacist had overcharged for his and Corinne’s medicine.
Nora put her left arm around his waist and held his near shoulder with her right hand. Shuffling and reeling, they moved slowly to the dark front hall and the door, which was now silent. “The person probably left,” Nora said, accusingly again.
“Good riddance,” Ralph grumbled. “I told you not to answer it.”
Nora opened the door. Pale gray light illuminated the hall, falling on a blue and white porcelain bowl and showing the scratches in the dark finish of the table on which it stood. A small woman stood outside, half turned away as if she had, indeed, begun to leave. Her hair, dark brown and windblown, was a mass of short curls that capped her head and her face was pleasant enough, though obviously stressed.
“Sorry to bother you,” the woman said, looking as if she was trying not to stare. What a picture we must make, Nora thought, Father and I! “My car had a flat out on the main road. I remembered your house was here and I wondered if I could borrow a jack. It’s a rental car; there isn’t one in it.”
“Why, I—a what?” Nora sputtered.
“What’s your name?” Ralph asked belligerently. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Liz Hardy,” the woman answered pleasantly. “Elizabeth. No, I’m not really from around here, but my family has a cabin on Yellowfin Lake. I was just going out there when…”
“I know those cabins. Summer people.” Ralph studied Liz suspiciously; Nora turned away in embarrassment. “It’s not summer yet.”
“No,” Liz said; she sounded tired. “Not quite. But my father died recently and I want to clean up the cabin so I can sell it. I’ve taken a little time off from work to do that. Look, I’m really sorry to intrude. If you do have a jack…”
“Might, might not. As you can see, I’m ill. Can’t change your tire. You’d better go to the gas station.”
“That’s okay, I don’t need help. I can change it myself. But if you don’t have a jack, maybe I could call a neighbor, see if someone else nearby has one?”
Nora finally recovered enough to speak. “We don’t have a phone.�
�� She stepped between Liz and her father; the woman looked harmless enough; nice, even. “But there’s an old car in the barn. I’m not absolutely sure what a jack looks like, though.”
Liz quickly hid her astonishment. “It’s sort of an accordion-pleated pump for lifting part of a car up so you can change a tire,” she explained. “Metal. Most cars come with them. They usually come with sort of wrench things, too, for removing the nuts.” Her eyes turned mirthful, and Nora could see that she was suppressing a laugh.
Nora herself felt inclined to giggle, then wondered if she should have felt angry instead. Removing the nuts, she thought; if she’s spent summers here, she’ll know the rumors.
Ralph growled stormily. “Dunno if there’s a jack in that old car. Nora, go with her to look. Stay with her,” he added, barely under his breath. He gripped the edge of the door, turning. “Dizzy. Have to lie down.”
“I’ll help you, Father.” Quickly, Nora tightened her hold on his arm. “Barn’s out back,” she said over her shoulder to Liz. “You can’t miss it, as they say. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Thanks,” Liz called, watching as Nora steered her father down the hall. Odd pair, she thought; poor woman, wonder why she stays with him. But maybe she doesn’t; maybe she just comes in to help. Then, shrugging, she went out and followed the house’s perimeter to the back yard, examining it as she went. The walls sagged inward, the little remaining paint was peeling off the worn clapboards, and there were signs of rot around the windows. She must be my age, Liz thought, that woman. Or older. Not to know what a jack is, living in the country! Maybe she’s not very bright.
Or not very worldly, if she’s stuck living here with the old man.
The barn sagged also, its once-red boards warped and collapsing into each other. There was no door, just an opening edged with a few rusty hinges. A small black and white cat, lying on its side in the sun, scrambled to its feet as Liz approached, arching its back as if afraid or angry.
“Nice puss,” Liz said quietly. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.” She knelt and held out her hand.
The cat crept closer, sniffing, then rubbed against her.
“Good, you’ve met Thomas.” The woman approached and squatted next to Liz, her fading housedress bunched between her knees. “He doesn’t get much company.” She smiled, her weary face becoming almost attractive. It’s her eyes, Liz thought as Nora held out her hand. They were blue with green flecks, friendly and sad.
“I’m Nora Tillot,” Nora said. “That was my father inside. He’s—well, he’s a lot of things.”
Liz, smiling back, took the offered hand; it was rough and workworn, with a crack across one knuckle and nails cut straight across; nurse’s nails. “I could see that.” She smiled.
“He’s also very old-fashioned. Crusty. Suspicious.” She stood; Thomas curled around her legs. “Well, you want the car. Here.”
She led Liz into the shadowy barn; it smelled of well-rotted manure, stale hay, and mildew.
“It’s back here near the tractor. I doubt that it runs. No one’s used it for twenty-five years.”
Next to a rusty John Deere was an ancient Ford sedan, its black paint surprisingly intact.
“Someone took good care of it, though,” Liz said, running her hand over the car’s side.
“Yes, Father was quite fanatic about it. Even long ago when he used it for work and to take my mother and me for Sunday drives, he always kept it inside, and he polished it a lot.”
“More than the tractor, I see.”
“Oh, that. He was never much of a farmer. He wanted to be, but he was really a salesman. Farming was just a dream.”
“But everyone called this ‘the old Tillot farm,’” Liz said. “When I was little. ”
“Yes, I know they did. That was nice of them, I guess. I think they also said the crazies lived here.”
“That, too.” Liz smiled again. “But you don’t seem crazy.”
“No.” Nora walked rapidly to the rear of the car. “Might the jack be in the trunk?”
“Probably.”
Nora opened the trunk. It was empty except for something wrapped in what looked like an old towel. “Could this be it?”
“It could. Let’s see. May I?”
“Yes. I’m really not sure what I’m looking for.”
“You don’t drive, then?” Liz unwrapped the lumpy package, revealing a jack, a tire iron, and a tool set. Perfect. “Perfect,” she said aloud.
“No. Father doesn’t approve of women driving.”
Liz paused, her hand on the tools. “But how…?”
“How do we manage? We do, that’s all. People are kind.”
“You live here, then?”
“Yes.”
“Wow! It must be hard, without a car, I mean. And without a phone. Grocery shopping, doctors, emergencies.”
“A woman from church helps. So does a girl from the village. The doctor and a visiting nurse come here. The only bad time was my mother’s stroke. I had to run to the neighbors’. And if you know the, um, the area, you know that’s not very near.”
“Yes. It must be at least half a mile to the next house.” More words crowded Liz’s mind, but she bit them back. “You’ve been very kind. Thank you.” She shifted the tools, rewrapping them and balancing the package on her hip. “Could I ask one more favor?”
“Of course.”
“Could I just use the bathroom before I go? I know it’s an intrusion, letting a stranger use something so private, but…”
Nora looked amused, even mischievous. “Oh, ours isn’t very private. It’s just to the left of the barn. You can’t miss it. A little red house with a…”
“…half moon cut in the door?” Liz laughed.
“Right.”
“I’ll be back in a second, then.” Liz set the tools down in the trunk again.
Nora watched her go, watched the smooth way she walked, confident and slender inside her close-fitting blue jeans and her aqua polo shirt, obviously comfortable in her body, as Nora was not in hers, and self-possessed, too, holding some of herself back. Dignified, Nora decided; that’s it, and able to move about in the world, changing tires. She’s nice, she thought with a pang. Friendly and nice. She’d make a good friend, maybe.
And she’s pretty.
Thomas mewed and jumped up into the trunk. “Careful!” Nora picked him up and snuggled her cheek against his silky fur. “You don’t want to get shut up in there.”
“That’s the nicest outhouse I ever was in,” Liz said a few minutes later, coming back into the barn. “All the ones I’ve been in before smelled.”
“It’s the lime,” Nora said. “You did…?”
Liz nodded. “Yes. I saw the little box and shovel and when I looked in the box, I realized what it was for.” She chuckled. “Some dim memory or other that I can’t place. Maybe my grandfather’s house. Or maybe the cabin, when Jeff—that’s my brother—and I were really little. There was a while when we didn’t have plumbing either.”
“It must be nice to have a brother.”
“It is. We were always pretty close. We fought, but not as much as most kids. Are you an only?”
“An only? Oh, an only child? Yes.”
“So you live here"—Liz looked back toward the house—“without a phone or a car or indoor plumbing, taking care of your elderly father.”
“And mother,” Nora said.
“And mother.” Liz found she was shaking her head and stopped, not wanting to seem rude. “I admire you,” she said. That’s true, she thought, but pity’s true, too.
“It’s not so bad. People lived this way eighty years ago,” she added automatically, “so why not now?”
“That sounds as if you’ve said it before.”
“I have,” Nora admitted. “Many times.”
“It must get annoying, having to defend your way of living.”
“My father’s way,” Nora said carefully. “Mama and I, well, we’d choose something different.”
“You would?”
Nora hesitated; she’d never said it aloud, despite thinking it with increasing frequency. “Sometimes,” she said carefully, “I imagine what it would be like to have just one of the things we don’t have. Some days I think of plumbing and every time I pump water or go to the outhouse or heat water for washing, I imagine having shiny chrome faucets that send out streams of hot or cold water. Other times, but this is harder, I imagine what it would be like to have electricity.” Nora stopped; her game must seem silly.
“It must be awful, not having that. Everything’s electrical.”
“Yes. But when there’s a bad storm and Mrs. Brice—she’s the lady who takes me to the store and to church—when Mrs. Brice tells me there’s been a power failure, I realize how well off we really are. I don’t have to change anything I do. So you see in a way my father’s right: it’s better without all the modern conveniences. And I like the quiet, the simplicity, I guess you could call it. The world outside, the little I know of it, seems too busy sometimes. Too full of things, too.” Nora brushed a wisp of graying hair off her forehead.
“You are a truly amazing person,” Liz said.
Nora regarded her, her head cocked to one side, a slight smile playing about her lips. “Am I?” she asked softly.
“Yes. Yes, you are.”
For a moment they looked at each other, and Liz felt as if the blue-green eyes that gravely held her own were considering her, examining her; probing, even.
“Well…” Liz turned toward the trunk, breaking the somewhat discomfiting connection. “I’d better be going. I’ll bring the tools back when I’m done.”