Sweet Creek

by Lee Lynch

  She’d felt so lost back in San Francisco, like the cities, always light, were really dark. Like her light inside had been turned off. Did she need to get out of the biz, or just the daily grind? There had been times she’d felt like she was suffocating—no, dying, and she was only twenty-nine. There was an old Stones song, “Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown,” that she’d been unable to get out of her head at times. She’d needed to breathe clean air for a while and had been doing anything she could to get out-of-town assignments. Her boss had begged her to take some time off, not resign, but she’d needed to cut the ties. In the city, the work was the only thing that made her feel alive. She wanted to get her candle lit again. Would hammering nails into a roof do that for her? No, but filming a lesbian doing it would, with some working song in the background, something by Sweet Honey in the Rock, that group R played over and over on her mini-boom box. And, of course, Spruce would do it while Katie got her interview.

  “Okay! All right!” she said. “I’ll patch the roof. You think I’m scared? I’ve done interviews from cherry pickers. I’ve covered climbing expeditions. I can manage to throw a plastic tarp over a roof.”

  “Oh, no!” wailed Aster.

  “Joke,” countered Katie. “You tell me how, I’ll do it, but I only work with a net.”

  The whole group laughed this time. Katie had agreed to the collective will. Did they find that validating or were they simply relieved that the new girl was doing the least popular chore and that they wouldn’t have to toss her lazy ass out? She admired their ideas, but was too independent to ever sincerely pitch in and build a lesbian utopia. Spruce fiddled with the fire, pushed the still-smoldering, smelly log deep into the coals. The cat stood, licked a spot on her back, turned in her basket, and settled back down.

  “New business?” asked Dorothea.

  There was a shifting of bodies, plumping of pillows, then dead silence except for the dripping roof and Dorothea’s sliding, clicking needles. The rain must have stopped. Katie munched a handful of cold popcorn, popped in olive oil instead of butter for the vegan in the group, but well salted. She counted thirty-two drops, and felt apprehensive. Were they going to tell her she’d done something wrong? She was clearly not cut out for collective decision-making, collective interpersonal intrigues, collective incest. The cat’s ears twitched.

  Finally, in a rush of words, Nightfall, who’d volunteered to prepare a new compost bin for spring, asked, “What about Chick and Donny?”

  Katie was startled. What did Chick and Donny have to do with Spirit Ridge housekeeping projects?

  “Why is it up to us to do something?” Marge asked.

  “I agree,” Aster said. “If they want help they’ll ask.”

  “Women!” protested Dorothea, needles accelerating. “The word is they haven’t talked to each other in two weeks. It isn’t our business, unless we care about the couples in our community.”

  Aster said, “You are so seventies, Dorothea.”

  “And that,” Nightfall responded, “is a good thing. We wouldn’t be here without seventies feminists.”

  Dorothea smiled at her yarn and murmured, “Aster is also not historically correct. Exclusive coupling was frowned on in the seventies.”

  “Maybe one of them, Donny or Chick, needs a time-out. We could offer Star Light Cabin up on the hill until they sort it through,” suggested Solstice. She always wore a little purple velvet spangled beanie.

  Spruce murmured, “All couples go through things like that. Don’t they?”

  “In the straight world they have family and priests and other het couples to turn to,” said Aster, arms folded, resentment clear.

  “Or rabbis,” Marge added. “And,” she said, looking at Aster as if they’d discussed this before, “couples can get counseling.”

  Solstice laughed scornfully. “We sure don’t have a community of long-term couple role models to turn to.”

  “It’s something in the air,” Marge ventured. “Couples don’t last here.”

  “Incompatibility?” asked Dorothea, squinting at her stitches. “Infidelity? Changes of the seasons?”

  Aster gave a nasty laugh. “Electromagnetic repulsion?”

  Thinking that these women must have come from a microsociety she’d never studied in her sociology class, or were so bored they manufactured problems for themselves and anyone else they could think of, Katie suggested, “Not that I noticed a problem, but it could be something simple like that friend of Donny’s overstaying her welcome.”

  “Abeo,” Marge said in her thoughtful way, “does take up a lot of psychic space.”

  “She could stay here?” Dorothea suggested.

  Aster glared at Dorothea. “Abeo’s not a birth woman.”

  “Better!” Marge argued. “She chose to give up her male privileges.”

  Katie decided it was Marge and Aster who had relationship problems, never mind Chick and Donny.

  “All right,” R sighed, as if to quash Dorothea’s idea fast. “Maybe we can resolve this some other way. I’ll talk to them.”

  Again the group got what it wanted, someone to take responsibility for a nasty chore. Katie could feel their relief at R’s words, as if an angel had appeared to rescue them.

  Nonetheless, Aster jabbed. “With your track record, R? You go through relationships like women grow on trees.”

  Gawd, thought Katie, these snipe-happy women are not only from this planet, they’re no different than people back in the city. R didn’t answer but, with deliberate, slow motions, closed her notebook. Katie noticed how every woman in the room began to gather her things together. R might as well have announced that their meeting would soon be over. Her every move was commanding. What made her so powerful? Did all that meditation gather some pure kind of energy in her?

  Only when it was quiet did R say, “I know something about harmony. Communication. Perseverance. Women mate with many things, Aster. The land, for example.”

  Solstice nodded with a solemn look. Could it be that these women, to whom she’d come for harmony lessons, were looking for harmony themselves? R began to sing. Katie had seen her defuse tense situations like this before with song, but never so disarmingly. In a clear, high voice she was singing a lighthearted piece called “A Proper Little Pot,” which involved tongue twisters. She had it down perfectly, of course, but when the others joined in, they tripped over words and one another as they had throughout the meeting, but they laughed about it now.

  At the song’s end, R stood and stretched out her arms.

  Quickly, Dorothea asked, “Any other new business?”

  Katie moved next to R, still fascinated by her. The woman should be in show business. What a talent. When R abruptly stopped rancor with song, she not only showed the women how sour they were being, but how sweet they could be. Again and again Katie had seen R save the home they’d made not only for all these women, but for women to come.

  The rest rose and held hands. R led a closing chant, adding, “May the energy of these women and this land bring healing to all women. I give thanks for the land itself and for the women who dwell on it with me. Blessed be.”

  While the rest repeated, “Blessed be,” Katie wondered where it left her if R was married to the land. She might share R’s bed, but she totally knew right then that she’d never get to keep a piece of the woman’s heart.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Laughing

  It was closing time when R, in her measured, smooth way, moved through the entry to Natural Woman Foods. Sheriff Sweet, with the store’s last cup of coffee in hand, nodded a curt hello and on her way out stopped in the open side door to rub Loopy behind the ears. The dog was watching Donny’s every move, waiting to get taken upstairs for her dinner. Joan was watching R, whom she had described as some kind of trouble she’d probably never know about.

  Donny rotated the old packages of miso soup to the front of a shelf and slid the new stock behind. She had some of Chick’s new-age music on and liked to make a li
ttle dance for this kind of work. Cha cha cha, she sang. Nice, working with light packaged soups, not those damn heavy cases of cans. She called up front, “We ought to give a prize to the last customer of the day, gang. Nothing personal, R, except it never fails. Someone always comes in after the cash is counted and the store’s shipshape.”

  Abeo, sweeping a rag mop left and right across the floor and leaving behind a cloud of eye-stinging bleach, was belting out the chorus of an old sailor song. “I’ll swab yer deck and ne’er tarry, but I’m not the man you want to marry.”

  “Hi, R,” said Chick. She opened her arms for a hug. “Ignore those rowdies. We’re glad you’ve come.”

  “I’m not here to shop,” R announced with her usual curt tone, accepting the hug.

  Donny pushed herself upright and sauntered to the front in a way that disguised her stiff knees. Why had Chick gotten tight with this feminist bitch-on-wheels? As Abeo launched into another raunchy verse Donny cried, “Get down, sistah!” People like R were made to be messed with.

  R gave a weak smile, though her eyes looked more calculating than friendly. “I wanted to speak with you and Chick.”

  “Shoot,” Donny told her. Maybe the woman was finally going to sign on to help them stand up to the town bigots. There was another proposal before the town council about pulling The Children’s Hour and Philadelphia videos from the library collection. Like either of those would recruit their straight kids? These people needed to get lives. It had always annoyed her that R, who everyone knew was the real owner of both pieces of women’s land, wasn’t willing to do her bit. The kind of people they were fighting listened to landowners. But no, R wasn’t here to help; she wanted something.

  “I’ll wait until you’re finished.” R’s eyes were tracking Abeo.

  “Abe’s my bro. I don’t keep secrets from her.”

  “That woman wants to earn her country vacation,” Chick said with the warm, full laugh Donny hadn’t heard in a while. No one could feel unloved around Chick when she laughed, Donny least of all. Keys jingling, Chick went over to lock the front door.

  “Milk crate?” Donny offered.

  “I’ll stand,” said R.

  “So what’s happening, R?” Donny prodded, sliding a crate toward her anyway. “You gals in some kind of mess only me and Chick can help you out of?”

  Normally, she’d give Chick a conspiratorial look over the Rat’s head, but she was walking on eggs around Chick these days. Whatever was still weirding Chick out, Donny was satisfied no cheating was going on. She could live through about anything else.

  “The women of Spirit Ridge are concerned about you both.”

  “No shit. Us?” said Donny. Now the bitch wanted into her life? If R wasn’t careful she was about to get another anger demonstration. But Chick was smiling at her with that worried sadness around the edges of her eyes, so Donny laughed instead of launching into R.

  That didn’t stop R. “We thought you might not see that your chronic depression and Donny’s anger may be symptoms of incompatibility.”

  “Who asked you to be our family shrink?” A little intimidation here might be just what the doctor ordered, but she could feel the sweat rising at her hairline. Shit, a hot flash.

  “Donny, I suspect if you let go of your system of automatic denial, there would be fewer surprises in life to upset you.”

  “You’ve got us all figured out, don’t you?”

  Chick’s hands nervously worked her crystal necklace. Her voice stayed sweet and low. “Are you asking if we’re breaking up?”

  “To be perfectly up-front? Yes.”

  “Breaking up?” Donny exploded. “What have you been telling this woman, babe?”

  Chick pressed a hand to her heart. “Why would we break up? Things don’t get much better than what Donny and I have.”

  R dropped carefully to the stacked milk crates. Got you, thought Donny, who never let up on her battle to get R to accept butchly courtesies. “I’m here to offer help.”

  “You heard my woman. Depressed or not she thinks I’m top dog, leader of the pack, Pope Donny the First—”

  Chick’s old warmth was in her laugh now. “The greatest lover in the world will do.”

  “Only because you’re my inspiration.”

  R sat with hands extended as if begging alms. Abeo had switched to an old Harry Belafonte tune as she packed a box of produce for the walk-in cooler. “Bay-O!” she sang, “Beautiful Ah-bay-o!”

  Donny looked closely at R, wiping her sweating palms on her overalls. What did this woman want from them? She always had to remind herself that R was full of slimy, still waters.

  “One of my land mates,” R revealed slowly, as if savoring her moment, “heard you weren’t speaking.”

  “Say what? She heard us not talking?”

  Chick was no longer smiling. “R, that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Maybe your land mate doesn’t understand companionable silence? Donny and I sometimes spend hours in the store, or upstairs, or on the road, hardly saying a word to each other and feeling completely in sync.”

  “Do I need to be more clear? We believe an additional person in your household is putting a strain on your relationship.”

  “Abeo?” Chick exclaimed.

  “Somebody call me?” Abeo asked, passing with a box of carrots.

  “You can always hope,” Donny said, smacking Abeo’s butt. “You’re cool. We can handle this.”

  But Chick stopped Abeo. “The women at Spirit Ridge think three’s a crowd. They don’t know what fun you are.”

  “Abe has the downstairs royal suite,” said Donny. “She’s not in anybody’s way. You’re probably out tomcatting all night, Abe, right?”

  “That’s Thomasina-catting to you.” Abeo turned to R, jingling her bracelets with one hand while the other seemed effortlessly to balance the heavy box. “The doctors made me look like the woman I am inside, but do you think I can make a woman? Know any single butch studs looking for a hot femme?”

  To Donny’s surprise, R didn’t look affronted, but intrigued. “It baffles me,” R said, “why a gay man would want to become a lesbian woman.”

  “Haven’t you noticed? It’s who I am.”

  R shook her head, wincing.

  “So, Miz Liberal,” Donny said, “you just want the world to be big enough for your kind?”

  “Hush up, Donalds,” Abeo told her and turned to R. “Give me a week or six and I’ll explain it all to you, up at your yurt.”

  “What a flirt you are, Abe. Listen, R,” Donny said, but she was wondering again, was Abeo getting on Chick’s nerves? Was that what was bugging her, not the change, not hitting middle age? “This is no hostage situation, and we allow guests to practice Falun Gong here. If you want to issue an invite, talk to Abeo.”

  “I didn’t mean for him—her to—” As if to distract them from her mistake, R cleared her throat and turned to Abeo. “The living is very primitive at Spirit Ridge.”

  Abeo cried, “Am I hearing an invitation to stay with the mountain women? Am I hearing the hen is about to be let loose in the hen house?”

  R opened her mouth as if to object, but only looked affectionately amused.

  “No way she’s saying that, Abe,” Donny said. “Take your size-nine foot out of your mouth.”

  “I’m charmed and honored, Miz R. Living on women’s land—tell me I haven’t come a long way, baby! You don’t mind, Donny? Chick? I’ll get my toilette together and be ready to go in a jiff.”

  As if realizing that Abeo was serious, R’s eyes and lips got radically narrow. “I’m afraid I can’t formally invite anyone without—”

  “Oh, honey, you don’t have to get all formal for me,” Abeo said, doing a little fluttery happy dance toward R.

  Again, R made no protest. Her eyes danced with Abeo. What was happening here?

  Donny jostled Chick with an elbow. “You know, Rat, maybe you and the Ridgers are right. Maybe we need to be alone for a while. You think, Chick?”


  Donny heard Chick’s words burble up through suppressed laughter. “If things don’t work out up there, R, bring our friend—”

  “Oh,” clamored Abeo, “I will please the misses, any way I can. Only give me a chance to show them my loveable girlish side.” She switched from boastful to pathetic in a breath. “Unless you really think they wouldn’t want me.”

  One of Abeo’s charms, Donny remembered, was her lost puppy act. She’d fallen for it endlessly, feeding, sheltering, and sometimes supporting the little guy when he got in trouble with his boyfriends.

  “Of course not,” R protested. Donny had to keep herself from laughing aloud.

  “Don’t you move then,” Abeo instructed. “I’ll be right back.”

  When Abeo’s door closed, Chick asked, “Are you sure you want to take her on?”

  Donny added, “Don’t act the martyr for us. Your info is bad. We’re fine.”

  R studied their faces, then glanced quickly at the door to Abeo’s room. With a quick stiff shrug, she said, “She’s welcome on the land.”

  “So you don’t have to ask the girls?” Donny asked.

  “I think they’ll agree with me.”

  “You know, I always thought you really ran the show up there,” Donny said. Chick was rolling the crystal on her necklace back and forth over her lips.

  “We make decisions collectively.”

  “But some votes are more equal than others?”

  “A few of us have been on the land longer.”

  “I was thinking how your word must carry a lot more weight than some. How if you suggested it, some of those women might want to get involved in fighting to keep the commissioners from voting homophobia into the town charter.”

  “Women who want to work from within the system wouldn’t be living on women’s land.”

  “Women who live in this community have a stake in keeping it safe for themselves.”