by V.
“What happened to him?”
“Killed in a freak hunting accident. They tell me Billy was really shaken up. After his daddy died he changed completely. He stopped being a happy-go-lucky kind of guy and became—well, a bit rough. There’s lots of anger inside that man.”
“He comes across as distrustful.”
“You mean when he interrogated you?”
Sarah laughed. “I didn’t see it as an interrogation.”
“Sorry.” Elisabeth giggled. “I read too many murder mysteries, and I’ve picked up the lingo. But you’re right. Billy doesn’t trust his own shadow. He spots evil around every corner. He’s a good guy but somewhat lost.”
“You have a clear picture of him.”
“No, not really. Only what I hear and what I notice. Part of being a volunteer is to understand people and make them feel at ease. Well, as much as you can in a hospital.”
“How did you come to volunteer here?”
She took a deep sigh, deciding where to begin. “I’m a widow, and my kids are all grown up and gone. One boy—well, he’s a man now—single, living in Vancouver, though he travels all over the world for his company. My daughter is married, living in Montana with her husband. After Anthony—my husband—died, I had loads of time on my hands, and it was driving me crazy, so I volunteered at the Humane Society. I love animals, particularly dogs. I enjoy being around them. They have such varied personalities, and I got really good with them after my training. ‘The dog sleuth,’ they used to call me because I usually figured out what’d happened to them, and how to handle them, rehabilitate them, and even find them a good home. Then Walter talked me into coming here. I was reluctant at first, but now I love it.”
“Walter?”
“Dr. Lawrence. He was a good friend of Anthony’s.”
“Your husband was a doctor?”
“Oh, no. Walter started as Anthony’s doctor and over the years he became our friend. Anthony ran a resort near Winthrop. I live near there as well. That was one of the reasons I had a hard time deciding to volunteer this far north. It’s a bit of a trek from home, particularly during winter. There are days I can’t make it.”
“I’m sure. I live near there as well, in the twin houses. You might’ve heard of them.”
Elisabeth’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Oh my God!” Realizing she’d yelled, she grimaced and lowered her voice. “You’re that Sarah! Wow! I’ve heard of you!”
“Really? What have you heard?”
“About your Mademoiselle Tatin tart, for one thing. I should’ve put your name together. You’re Conrad’s new wife.”
“I am.”
“Hey,” she said, as she leaned conspiratorially across the table, “I don’t suppose you could teach me how to cook, could you?”
It was Sarah’s turn to look surprised. “Teach you to cook? Me? I’m not—”
“C’mon. Rumor has it you’d never cooked before you moved here. But then you uncovered your family’s recipe book and fixed some amazing dishes that impressed everyone, especially Conrad. Every time I go to his store, he can’t stop raving about you and your cooking. Neither can Tom. You’ve bewitched both father and son.”
“How come we haven’t met?”
“I’ve been living in Montana for almost three years. My daughter Caroline insisted I move in with them after Anthony died. She worried about me all alone out here. She’s very stubborn, like her dad used to be, and wouldn’t stop pressing me. So I finally gave in and closed up my house and moved. Thank goodness, I refused to sell. In my heart I knew I’d be back. Washington state has been awfully good to me. I’m happy here. We had a marvelous time living in Seattle. My kids grew up there, and when Anthony got the job in Winthrop, I was in heaven—a dream come true.”
“How’s that?”
“Oh, I love it there. Every fall we would pack the kids into the car, leave Seattle behind, and immerse ourselves in the beauty of the North Cascades. The Cascades captivated me from the start. They have a stranglehold on me.” Sarah smiled. “Me too. I can’t get enough of them. When I first came here—”
“Where from?”
“Pasadena, in California.”
“Wow. All the way from down there to here? How come?”
Sarah shook her head, reluctant to tell her the real reason. “The pull of the Cascades, I suppose.”
“I fell in love with their majestic beauty.”
“That’s a good way to describe them.”
“It’s exactly what I told Anthony during our first trip through the Cascades loop. Then I said, well, really I whispered, that he shouldn’t be jealous. The best thing for him was to simply accept the fact that I’d fallen I love with them. They take your breath away, don’t they? The clarity of the rivers and lakes, the emerald green of the trees, the blue skies spattered with pure white clouds.”
“Exactly. And the colors are so vivid.”
“Right. Every season has its unique color palette.”
“Exactly. In the fall they lure you with gold, yellow, orange, and brown; then in the spring and summer, they shift to a deep green, and then they start all over again.”
“Oh boy, oh boy! Sarah Thompson, you’ve been seduced by the Cascades.” “Without a doubt.”
The two women laughed with the understanding of kindred spirits.
“That’s why I knew I’d come back,” Elisabeth said. “Montana was okay, but after a while I needed a Cascades fix, and quite frankly, my daughter and her husband needed their privacy. She didn’t even put up a fight. She understood. I came home several months ago, and before I knew it Walter had talked me into volunteering. So here I am, and I love it.”
“We have a spectacular view of the Cascades. You should come by our house.”
“I’d love to. I’ve never been to either of the twin houses. I’m real curious about them, to be honest. Tom, Alyana, and their little ones live in the other house, right?”
“Yes. It’s great to have them nearby, especially since the twins were born.” “Odd, those two houses, so unique, and so out of place for this part of the world. It’s a mystery how they ever got built and why.”
“It’s not a mystery anymore.”
Elisabeth reached across the table and grabbed Sarah’s arm. “Really? I’m pretty sure no one had any idea, not even Conrad or his grandparents. What’s the story?”
“Well, we’ve learned that they were built by one of Conrad’s ancestors, Leonard Whitman, back in the 1820s. One house for him and his son, and the other for his twin sister, Louise and her daughters.”
“Wow. That’s why the houses are twins. Why did he choose the Queen Anne style of architecture? They’re so unusual for that period and this area.” “Leonard was very wealthy and apparently liked that style. He sought to recreate a familiar environment for his sister and their children. They were the very best in these parts at the time, and they’ve been superbly restored. Though they aren’t lavishly ornate like other Queen Anne—style homes I’ve visited, they are imposing, and visibly proud of their age.”
Elisabeth burst out laughing. “What an odd thing to say. You talk as if the houses were alive.”
Sarah smiled. “To me they are alive and part of my family.”
“I believe you. Hey, gossip has it that your wedding was spectacular. Folks are still talking about how the house partied with all of you.”
“She did.”
Elisabeth laughed. “I’m sorry I missed it, particularly Conrad’s song. They tell me he wrote your wedding song. And that he and Tom played their guitars in perfect harmony.”
Sarah smiled, with tears in her eyes. “It was unforgettable. Best day of my life.”
“How romantic. He must’ve gotten it from his grandmother.”
“Did you meet Angela?”
“No, but she was well known for her guitar playing. Unfortunately, she’d already passed away when we moved here. She must’ve been a very special woman.”
“That, she was.�
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“Well?” Elisabeth asked after a brief pause.
“Well, what?”
“Will you teach me how to cook?”
“I doubt there’s anything I need to teach you. You’re quite self-reliant.”
Elisabeth grimaced. “Oh no, not in the kitchen. To be honest with you, I’ve never liked cooking. I fixed meals for Anthony and the kids, but I didn’t like it at all. I adore food, as you can tell from the way I look, but I don’t like to prepare it.”
“You look fine.” Sarah chuckled. “Attractively curvy.”
“Thanks. Curvy.. .I sure like the sound of that. Much better than chubby, which is how I would describe me.” She leaned toward Sarah in mock secrecy. “I love to eat.”
“Why learn how to cook now?”
“Time to do it for fun, not because I have to. What do you say? Will you teach me?”
“Sure. Tell me when you’d like to come over and what you’d like to fix, and we’ll do it.”
“Great.” She leaned across the table with a smile and said, “I’m sure we’re going to be real good friends, Sarah Thompson.”
Sarah nodded and smiled. “So am I, Elisabeth Ralston.”
CHAPTER 3
The scene showed a small, tidy kitchen typical of the 1970s, where the fifteen-year-old boy and his mother prepared dinner with the habitual comfort acquired over many years. The boy stood at the counter peeling vegetables while his mother, Shirley, an attractive middle-aged woman with ash-blond hair and gentle blue eyes, mashed potatoes and kept an eye on her fried chicken.
“Stephanie’s almost ready to deliver her baby, so I’ll be leaving in the morning. I’ve already made several meals so there’s plenty of food for you and your dad in the freezer.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“That depends on how the delivery goes. Hopefully, it’ll be like when you were born—easy and quick. Right?”
The boy chuckled. “Sure, Mom. Whatever you say.”
“Well, it was, and you’ve been a very easy child.” Shirley reached around her son to pick up a pair of kitchen tongs, kissed him on the cheek, and returned to her chicken.
The boy tolerated the kiss with a smile.
The front door opened and then closed.
“There’s your dad.”
Moments later Hugo Michaels sauntered into the kitchen, a newspaper tucked under his arm, a frown etched on his face, in his mid-forties, tall, thin, and stern, with a receding hairline that he tried to conceal with limited success. He kissed his wife on the forehead and patted his son on the head. “What are you two gossiping about?”
Shirley shot him a disapproving glance. “We don’t gossip.”
“Stephanie’s baby. Mom’s leaving tomorrow,” the boy answered as he dumped the chopped vegetables into a pot of boiling water.
“Is it time already?” Hugo asked with indifference.
“Any minute now,” Shirley said.
In a choreography born of routine, Hugo removed his coat, folded it neatly, and draped it over the back of a chair by the door. He unclasped his minister’s collar, placed it carefully over his coat, and undid the top button of his shirt. He then settled into a seat at the kitchen table and perused the newspaper.
“Hmm. Fertile one, your sister. That makes it six now, doesn’t it?”
Shirley took the jibe in stride and forced herself to smile back. “It does. I liked your sermon today, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“That bit about how those who are in the flesh cannot please God made the point,” the boy said. “What was that from, Romans something or other?”
“Romans: eight and eight.”
“It worked well with your message about our virtues becoming our children’s virtues,” Shirley added, patting oil off the fried chicken.
“What I really intended to impart,” Hugo said with a self-righteous air as he peered over the newspaper, “was that our vices could become our children’s vices. Things that cause people to sin are bound to happen, but woe unto that person through whom they come. God commands us to guide our children to Him, and lead them to the path of righteousness. We fail to do so at our peril.”
“Well, the congregation certainly got the message, darling.” His wife placed the platter of chicken on the table, kissed his cheek, and returned to the stove to put the final touches on the mashed potatoes.
They boy strained the vegetables over the sink, then placed them in a serving dish and added butter, salt, and pepper. As he tossed them together, he shot a mischievous glance toward his parents and bit his lip to avoid smiling. “I got some good news.”
His mother stopped on the spot, but his father kept reading his newspaper.
“Well?” she said. “Speak up.”
“I won the swim meet. Well, the elimination rounds, anyway. I’m in the finals, Friday.”
Shirley dropped the spoon on the counter and ran to smother her son with hugs and kisses. The boy grimaced in mock resistance.
“Oh darling. I knew it. Dad, aren’t you proud? He’s done it again! What a way to end the school year. Our son will be the next Jim Montgomery.” “Don’t exaggerate, Shirley.”
“I’m not. I predict that Montgomery will win gold at this year’s Olympics, and our son will be competing there four years from now.”
“C’mon, Mom.”
“Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“Wanted to tell you both at the same time. How about it, Dad?”
The minister set down the newspaper, rose to join his son by the stove, and lovingly mussed his hair. “I’m proud of you, son. Real proud.”
“I could’ve baked you a cake,” his mother complained.
“When you get back, we’ll bake one together. After I win the final.” “Boys don’t bake cakes,” his father said with contempt.
“This one does, he likes it.” Shirley beamed with pride, then tossed her arms around the two men in her life and gathered them in an awkward group hug.
“Sarah.. .Sarah.” Alyana reached over and gently touched Sarah’s shoulder.
The two women sat in Sarah’s living room while the twins frolicked in the playpen.
“Yes?” Sarah turned to her daughter-in-law with a blank expression.
“Did you find it?”
“Find what?”
“The recipe.”
Sarah frowned down at the cookbook on her lap. “Oh dear.”
“You left us? I didn’t even notice. Another movie installment?”
“I’m afraid so. How long did I detach?”
“Not long. You kept flipping the pages, stopped, and then stared at one.”
“I’m sorry. You must think I’m off my rocker,” Sarah said with honest concern.
“Not at all, don’t be silly.” Alyana slid off the sofa to pick up a toy one of the toddlers had tossed out of the playpen. Back to her svelte silhouette after the birth of her twins, Tadan and Kaya, Alyana was a beautiful woman with a serenity that never faltered. Her silky black hair flowed about her shoulders with every move, as if happy to frame the seductive face and sea-green eyes. She mussed her eldest son’s hair, and stroked her daughter’s ponytail before sitting back on the sofa.
Sarah looked concerned.
“C’mon, tell me,” Alyana said, putting an arm around her. “What was going through your mind right before the movie started playing?”
“Is that important?”
“I’m trying to find a connection.”
“Okay. As soon as I opened my mother’s old recipe book, I witnessed a scene in the kitchen of the young boy’s family. He was helping his mom make dinner.”
“Then the link could be food.”
“Maybe, but why? These scenes pop up out of nowhere. It happens so fast, I’m not even aware of what’s going on until it’s over. I’m concerned that I may cause an accident when I drift off while driving. Aren’t you worried that I might detach when I’m alone with your babies?”
&n
bsp; Alyana chuckled. “No, not even a little. I’m sure that could never happen. Your grandmotherly instincts are way too strong to allow you to disconnect that much.”
“I’m glad you believe that; nevertheless, it worries me.”
“That’s no surprise.” Alyana laughed merrily as she patted Sarah’s hand. “If you didn’t worry, you wouldn’t be the Sarah we all love.”
“Am I really such a worrywart?”
“Not at all—that’s not what I meant. You’re a sensitive person, perhaps too sensitive given what your abilities force you to deal with. But it’s natural to worry when you’re faced with such unusual visions. I can’t even imagine how disorienting it must be to have a movie playing in your head. But thanks to what you experienced with Angela, you learned that your conscious self is always in charge.”
“Until Conrad mentioned it, I didn’t realize that I glazed over and went elsewhere when I looked at the photos.”
“You must’ve assumed you drifted off. Didn’t you?”
“It didn’t occur to me. I felt present with the stories, almost like I was there.” “So it’s no different from being present while the movie plays in your head. Or is it?”
“The biggest difference is that in some of the old stories, I actually interacted with the ancestors. Even had conversations of sorts. In this movie I’m a bystander. A simple spectator.”
“Well, maybe you’ll play a part in the movie later on. Wow, wouldn’t that be something? My kids’ grandmother, a movie star.”
“Only in my mind.”
Both women laughed. The children glanced up and giggled, happy to participate in their joy.
“I may be wrong, but I have the impression that every time you drift off you’re doing something that reminds you of the injured man,” Alyana offered. “In this case you were looking for a recipe to make with Elisabeth, and you probably connected her with him.”
Sarah sighed. “That’s what Conrad thinks.”
“And how about you?”
“I’m uneasy about this whole thing. Can’t get used to this idea of a movie I have no control over. If this is how I’m expected to sense something about our mystery man, then who’s communicating with me? Why a movie? Who is the boy? Could this be his family?”