“Well, whatever it is you’re half over it now,” said Zelma, handing him a handkerchief. “It’s clean of course,” she added. “Crying is the best therapy, I always say. The second best therapy is to talk about what’s bothering you. I’ve got nothing better to do than listen, if you feel I’m worthy.”
Ethan wiped his eyes with the handkerchief and said, “Oh, it’s nothing really. I’ve just been thinking about my dad a lot here lately. Now my mom is trying to replace him with some guy I can’t stand to look at. I don’t know how she can forget dad so easily, like he don’t matter anymore.”
“You know it’s going to happen someday, most likely,” said Zelma.
“What’s going to happen?”
“Your mother will marry someone else, whether it’s this particular man or another. But what you’ve got to realize is that none of them will be a replacement for the man who raised you, not to you or your mother. That person will be someone new, someone you will hopefully begin to love for different reasons. Replace is a word that doesn’t apply to humans. We replace old shoes and kitchen appliances, never people.”
“That makes sense,” said Ethan.
“Look at me for a moment, if you will,” said Zelma.
Ethan looked up timidly, making eye contact with her for a moment, before quickly looking down at the floor again.
“I want you to stay strong,” said Zelma. “I really feel that it is very important for you to stay strong. Remember that no matter what storms you face, love is what really matters in the end.”
“I will,” said Ethan. “Thanks for listening to me. I’m starting to feel better now.” In truth he felt better and worse at the same time. What did she mean by storms?
“I’m so glad,” said Zelma. “Would you like to hear another song?”
“I would love to,” said Ethan. “I’ve been talking to this girl who lives downtown. She plays classical music on the piano. I would love to learn more about the classics.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” said Zelma. “It thrills me when young people appreciate timeless music. You must bring her over someday. I would love to hear her play. I’m so glad you’ve found a girl to talk to; she sounds very refined.”
“We’ve become pretty good friends, since we’ve got to know each other better.”
“Friends, of course,” said Zelma, struggling not to smile. “I forget you are so young. Maybe one day the two of you could be more than friends. Oh, but I get so far ahead of things. I see from your red face that I’ve embarrassed you; I apologize for that. Besides, I know nothing about this girl other than the fact that she plays the piano and loves the classics. You must invite her over. It would make me very happy.”
“I’ll be sure and ask her next time I see her.”
“Wonderful, it’s settled then.”
“That’s an interesting clock on the mantle,” said Ethan, shyly eager to change the subject before Miss Green could ask him any more questions about romance. “I like how it has a sphinx sitting on top of it and a griffin on each side.”
“That clock’s as old as I am, if you can believe a clock that old still works. Father bought it in Paris, France, and had it shipped over. It’s called an Egyptian Revival clock. It’s very heavy. I found that out when I tried to move it once.”
“You have so many interesting things,” said Ethan. “I wish I could afford to collect such unique things for my room.”
“You’re very smart, so I’m sure one day you’ll make plenty of your own money.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ethan. “I didn’t mean to sound like I wanted you to leave me anything in your will.”
“Now why would you think I thought you meant such a thing as that?”
“Oh, one of the old men that sits in front of Square Deal said I should ask you to put me in your will. I would never ask you such a thing.”
Zelma laughed and said, “Why the thought never crossed my mind.”
“I’m glad,” said Ethan. “You’re somebody I’d like even if you were the poorest person in town. It don’t matter to me that you live in a big house with a lot of nice things.”
“That’s very sweet of you to say that. It makes me feel very special indeed.
“Now, lets get to the classics. Do you have any specific request?”
“No, just pick out some good ones,” said Ethan. “I don’t know too many songs, myself, but I’d like to learn some.”
“Here’s one of my favorites: Debussy’s ‘Clair de lune,’ ‘Moonlight’ in English,” she said, her long fingers already dancing slowly and gracefully across the piano keys. As she played parts of several songs, Ethan wrote down the name of each one, making a note in his head of the individual rhythms.
“There is one song I want to hear,” said Ethan, “but I can’t remember who wrote it.”
“Composed, is a better word,” said Zelma.
“Composed,” repeated Ethan. “I think the name of it is something like ‘Canon.’ Yes, does that sound familiar?”
“Oh yes, of course, Pachelbel’s ‘Canon,’ what a wonderful song. It goes to show that although we as humans are fragile and must one day die, the things we create can survive for centuries, even millenniums. I’m sure that someone will be enjoying that song somewhere on the day that the earth is devoured in the final rapture.” She began to play the song with a passion that moved Ethan.
“That is a great song,” he said, when she had finished. “I’ve heard it before, I think. I just didn’t know the name of it.”
Zelma closed the piano lid, and it was agreed that next time they would play a game: Ethan would try to tell her the name of each song she played. Soon he would be well versed in classical music.
“I hope you can continue to stay the night for at least a few more days,” said Zelma, after the two had moved to the kitchen. She handed Ethan a slice of chocolate cake placed neatly on an antique china desert dish. “Clara is trying to settle a few things with her sister’s estate before she returns. I’m afraid she’s going to have to make a few more trips to Louisville before it’s all said and done. Her sister had a little money, I believe.”
“That’s fine,” said Ethan, glad to hear that Miss Satterfield would be away longer. “I don’t have any major plans for the summer right now anyways.”
“I really appreciate it. I’ve always preferred having someone else in the house at night.”
Ethan smiled and said, “This cake is great. I love chocolate.”
“Thank you. It’s all made from scratch. I got this recipe years ago from Ester. I used to help her in the kitchen when I was a little girl. She taught me everything I know about cooking. There was no better cook than Ester.”
“I want to hear the rest of the story you were telling me the other day before we got caught in that storm,” said Ethan. “You left me hanging, and I’ve been wondering about it ever since.”
“I’m glad to see that you are so interested in my old stories. It’s getting late now, but tomorrow night I will resume the story. If you come a little early, we’ll drive over to Mittie’s old home. I haven’t been there in many years. I may be able to bear seeing it again if you’re there with me. Being at the place where they actually occurred will make the events I describe to you so much more vivid and real, as well as being a refresher to my memory.”
“Oh, cool,” said Ethan. “Yes, I can’t wait to see it.”
“Tomorrow evening then. Goodnight for now. I need my beauty sleep.” She stood up, carried the two empty plates to the sink, washed them, and left the room.
Upon hearing Zelma’s bedroom door shut, Ethan snuck another piece of the chocolate cake before heading upstairs. Feeling sleepy, he undressed and climbed into bed. He fell asleep quickly but awoke about and hour later and tossed and turned for a few hours, feeling restless and uptight. He tried reading, but that didn’t make him any sleepier. Finally, he decided to soak in the bathtub for a while. He had heard his mom say once that a good warm bath was good for sleep.<
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Adjusting the temperature of the water to as hot as he could stand it, Ethan climbed into the claw-foot tub and thought deeply about all the recent changes in his life. A bit of torn wallpaper in one corner of the room up next to the ceiling distracted him from his thoughts. He looked around the bathroom and contemplated about what he could do to fix it up. He wouldn’t want to do too much and make it look like a modern bathroom. It just needed some pepping up, keeping the character but making it look fresh and new. That ugly wallpaper would be one of the first things to go. Also there needed to be a shower. He could probably attach one to the old-fashioned tub and put a shower curtain ring around it.
Closing his eyes and sinking his head under the water, he thought about what the rest of the house needed. A new paint job was essential, same colors of course. Also, it needed a new kitchen, again retaining the old character but freshening it up and adding new appliances. The rest of the house was already pretty cool, so he wouldn’t have to do too much to it. He thought if he ever got rich he might buy the place, but he quickly rethought the idea because the house was in Rocky Creek, a place he planned to leave the first chance he got. If only he could figure out a way to still see Cynthia. She was probably the only person in the world who could ever convince him to stay. On that thought, he quickly finished his bath and went to bed, sleeping soundly until the morning sunshine awoke him.
Later that morning he found Cynthia sitting on the park bench next to the fountain. “I’m glad you found me here,” said Cynthia. “I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t showed up.”
“How’s it going?” asked Ethan.
“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to hear me play the piano. My stepmother gave me permission to invite you over.”
“That’d be great,” said Ethan. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. Miss Green was playing some songs for me last night. She wants to hear you play sometime.”
“That might be a fun thing to do, though it might make me a bit nervous.”
“Miss Green’s actually really nice. You just have to get to know her. I think you’d like her.”
“Great,” said Cynthia. “I’ll do it. Just find out when would be a good time.”
“I’ll ask her about it tonight.”
The two talked as they walked past the Victorian and Craftsman style houses along West Cedar Street. Ethan felt a little intimidated when they reached Cynthia’s house. It was a large red brick Queen Anne style house that had elements of the craftsman style also, such as the large stone square blocks that supported the front porch. The manicured lawn was immaculate.
Maria, Cynthia’s stepsister, greeted the two when they walked in the front door. “He’s here, Mom,” she yelled and closed the front door behind them.
They were standing inside a large foyer that was dominated by an imposing oak staircase with two landings: one landing a few steps from the bottom, the other landing about halfway up. The room was decorated with antiques and a few pieces of the latest 1970’s fashion, such as a raining oil lamp with a bathing Greek goddess in the center. Ethan was looking about and admiring the room when an attractive middle-aged woman with brown shoulder-length wavy hair, wearing a purple jumpsuit, entered the room. It was Cynthia’s stepmother.
“See, isn’t he just adorable, Mom?” said Maria. “I told you he was cute as a button. I’m still mad that he doesn’t have an older brother.”
“Maria, would you settle down,” said the woman. “You’re embarrassing him, I’m sure.”
“This is Ethan,” said Cynthia, “and this is my stepmom, Sandy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ethan,” said Sandy.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Ma’am,” said Ethan. “You’ve got the same name as my mom; her name is Sandy too.”
“What a nice coincidence,” said Sandy. “Maybe your mother would like to come over sometime. Me and a few of the ladies in town like to get together about once every two weeks for an old fashioned tea party, makes us small-town floozies feel very British and sophisticated.”
“I’ll ask her,” said Ethan. “She might be able to come over if it’s on the weekend. She works during the week.”
“I’m afraid it’s usually on Wednesdays or Thursdays. We’re all too busy with other things on the weekends. What type of work does your mother do?”
“She works at the sewing factory.”
“Well that’s nice. What type of work does your father do?”
“He passed away, but he used to work in a coal mine over in Eastern Kentucky.”
“Sorry to hear about that,” said Sandy.
“It’s okay,” said Ethan.
“It must be difficult living off your mom’s income from the sewing factory.”
“Ethan works too,” said Cynthia. “He works for the famous Zelma Green and helps her out around the house.”
“Oh, that’s nice. She’s Rocky Creek’s most eccentric, and probably most wealthy, resident. Is she a relative of yours?”
“No,” said Ethan. “But I really like working for her. I didn’t think I would at first, but she’s really nice.”
“Oh, I see. I guess you better get to playing the piano, Cynthia. I’ve got to run some errands in Bowling Green this afternoon, and I’ll need you to go with me.”
“You didn’t say anything about having errands to run this morning,” said Cynthia.
“Well, I do,” said Sandy, “so don’t be all day on the piano.” With that she left the room.
“I’ve got to go too,” said Maria. “Got to meet my boyfriend. You two are so cute together. I’m just thrilled you’re hanging out. Cynthia needs to get out of her shell. Now don’t y’all do anything I wouldn’t do, which leaves you plenty of leeway, if you know what I mean.” She winked at Ethan and walked out the front door.
“Oh my gosh, she’s so embarrassing,” said Cynthia. She led Ethan to a large library that housed a black baby grand piano. She played a few songs, including “Canon,” and Ethan sat beside her and enjoyed it very much. She had made chocolate chip cookies, and when she finished playing the piano, they sat on the sun porch and ate them, talking and laughing until Sandy interrupted them and said they needed to leave for Bowling Green. Ethan felt very happy as he rode his bike home, if not a little disappointed that he couldn’t stay longer. He had a feeling that Cynthia’s mom didn’t care too much for him, though, probably because he wasn’t from a rich family. Poor was probably a better word to describe his and his mom’s social status.
Chapter 11
That evening Ethan found Zelma eagerly awaiting him in the kitchen. She looked dressed for a funeral, not unusual for her, but more so than usual, he thought. She was wearing a long black dress, a black pearl necklace, and a black hat with black roses on top. She looked like a spectral visitor from the Victorian era.
“Excuse me if I seem overdressed,” she said. “I haven’t been to Mittie’s house for many years, and I wanted to pay my respects. It only seems fitting.”
“You look nice,” said Ethan, wondering how she was going to avoid a heat stroke in such an outfit. He felt underdressed in his bellbottom jeans, Converse sneakers, and tie-die t-shirt. He wished he had thought to dress a little nicer.
“Thank you,” said Zelma. “I guess we should head out. I’ve got a lot of things I want to tell you. I don’t know why I feel so nervous, but I do. If I cry today please forgive me. It’s not every day that one returns to the catacombs of their youth.
When Ethan had driven the Lincoln up to the driveway leading to Flintridge, Zelma instructed him to keep going. “It’s a little over a mile up the road here,” she said. He drove a little further until he saw a large brick house across a field.
“Wow, is that it?” asked Ethan. “That’s a big house too, almost as big as Flintridge.”
“Oh, dear,” said Zelma. “I’m not sure my nerves can handle this. It’s obvious no one is taking care of the place. It looks ready to fall down.”
Ethan drove th
e car cautiously over the very rough driveway, maneuvering the vehicle carefully around many potholes. He parked and assisted Zelma out of the vehicle.
Before them stood an imposing Georgian-style colonial mansion, a large symmetrical two-story brick structure with a flat front. Most of the window shutters had fallen off at some point. Above tall paneled double doors were two rows of glass panes that had a fan pattern. The door on the right side was opened inward, as though welcoming the visitors into a neglected and nearly forgotten past. Wild trees and vines had grown up closely around the house, seemingly in the process of devouring it slowly.
“This is my fault,” said Zelma, sounding near tears. “I should have bought this place years ago and insured that it was taken care of, just as I do Flintridge. It looks almost too far gone to be saved now. In all my years of trying to forget about the terrible things that happened here, I let a piece of my past fall into decay. Oh dear, I hope it’s not too late to save it.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s just an old house.”
“No, no, it is my fault. These old houses were built to last. The brick walls are more than a foot thick. All this place needed was someone to take care of it.”
“Maybe it can still be saved,” said Ethan. “I guess it would be expensive, but you could probably hire someone to fix it up.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” said Zelma. “Yes, if you will assist me, I’ll start calling people tomorrow. This house can be revived. I’ve got more money than I could ever spend in the years I’ve got left. I might as well use some of it to rescue this house from ruin. It’s so fortunate that we came here and saw this, or it might have been gone. Of course I’ll have to purchase it first. The Crane’s own it, I believe. I’m sure enough money will persuade them to sell, I hope. I’ll call Haynes Realty about it tomorrow.”
“I’ll ask that woman at Square Deal if she knows anyone who could fix it up once you buy it,” said Ethan.
“Oh, perfect, of course, the Huffman’s will surely know plenty of qualified contractors.”
A Million Doorways Page 11