The Valley
A Novel
By
Annie Graefnitz
1
She was up early…too early. Old people, I scowled. Sunday mornings always began the same way. My grandmother, Dorothy, woke at the crack of dawn, preparing breakfast for the two of us before she headed off to church. More often than not, she ate alone. Reluctantly, she had long ago conceded the battle with me over going to church. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in God. I just wasn’t a big fan of organized religion, and I felt guilty sometimes for feeling the way I did. She had struggled for years to raise me the “proper” way in my parents’ absence.
My parents, Mark and Jillian Fisher, met and fell in love while volunteering for the Peace Corps. They had each decided early in life that they had a calling to help others. Jillian always said it was fate that brought them together. I thought it was just two people being in the same place at the same time with similar interests. Wasn’t that how most couples met?
They were abroad more often than not, but always returned home for the major holidays and only missed one birthday in my seventeen years of having birthdays. I was turning fifteen. They couldn’t get off of the tiny Indonesian island because the airport had been taken over by militants. Having no word from the Corps made it a very tense week.
I did miss them a lot, but I couldn’t deny the fact that it was always exciting to receive my monthly care packages from far off places. My small room overflowed with artifacts from South America, Africa and Asia. I really needed a bigger room. It had become a tradition that on the tenth of every month, my best friend, Irelynn James, would come over and we'd open the package together because they always sent her a little treasure as well.
I stretched as far as my body would allow before I sat up. I yawned and looked out the window where the sun had barely broken the night sky. Ugh. It should be illegal to get up this early. I considered for a moment cuddling back under my warm blankets. However, the irresistible smell coming from downstairs was calling my name. Dorothy knew how to wake me up.
After grabbing my favorite robe from Thailand, I stumbled down the hallway to the stairs. The smell of biscuits and gravy filled the air, making my stomach growl as I descended the stairs.
"Good Sunday morning," she said, looking at the clock. Her emphasis on Sunday was her not-so-subtle hint that the choir would be starting to sing hymns in about an hour, and just because she knew I wasn’t going, didn’t mean she wouldn’t remind me.
"Morning, Grandma." I kissed her on the cheek before flopping down on the stool at the end of the counter. I closed my very tired eyes and rested my head on the counter.
"That's no way to sit when eating, Camille, even if it’s just breakfast," she chastised with her back to me.
I sat up, marveling at how she always knew when I wasn't being a lady. "Do you need my help?" I really hoped she would say no. Cooking was the one thing she and I could do together that both of us enjoyed, but I was feeling very lazy. She usually made the full, healthy meals while I focused on dessert. I knew she’d rather me cook healthy like she did, but she seemed content just to have me there.
She brought the plate of my favorite breakfast over and placed it in front of me. It was so well prepared that I hated to disturb it. Her dishes, like her house, were always in perfect order. I would joke with her sometimes about having her own magazine, but she was way too humble for that.
"Actually, there is something I would like for you to do for me today," she said, placing a glass of orange juice next to my plate.
I groaned to myself. This can't be good.
"The ladies and I are having lunch at the Inn today. I'd like you to come. It's Hazel's birthday. She's been asking about you. You are always too busy to go visit her anymore."
"I'm not ten anymore."
Hazel had been my grandmother's best friend since they were young. They had gotten married around the same time, and raised families together. I had to admit it was pretty funny to listen to them reminisce. They weren't very different from my friends and me, maybe just a little less crude.
"It would mean a lot to me," she pushed, ignoring my last comment. It didn't take a lot of persuading because it was difficult to tell her no.
"Ok Grandma."
I smiled, trying not to think of how I had just doomed myself to an afternoon of gardening tips and recipe exchanging. I had a quick flash of myself in fifty years. I was sitting at the same table where the ladies always sat. Her friends were replaced with my aged clan. We were discussing our grandchildren and the various ways our bodies had begun to reject themselves. I shuddered violently enough at this thought to catch her attention.
"Are you okay dear?"
"Yes," I lied. Before she could question me any further, I shoveled a large biscuit into my mouth.
I was nearly done eating when she announced from the living room that she was leaving. I agreed once more to meet her and her friends for lunch. It was funny to me how they all referred to each other as the ladies and not by name. Maybe they were getting too old to remember their names. I wondered if she would be too offended if I made them name tags. I laughed at the thought of her face, knowing she would not appreciate my gesture.
After cleaning up my dishes, I sauntered into the living room, flopped on the couch and stuffed my face into the couch cushion, trying to figure out how I could either shorten the lunch or get out of it all together. I popped up, thinking that I could endure it if I had someone go with me. I grabbed the phone off the table beside the couch and dialed Irelynn's number. It wasn't even eight o'clock yet, but I didn't care. We had no boundaries.
She answered the phone in a groggy voice. "What."
"Good morning sunshine!" I sang to her.
"It's freaking seven fifty two. This better be good," she growled.
"You're going to the Inn with me today."
"Uh-what?" she asked, more awake.
"I have to go to lunch today with Dorothy and I want you to go. Please?"
"Oh. Um. I can't I have to..." her excuse was lost in the static of her phone. I wondered whether she was making the noise on her own so she wouldn't have to go, but she had not been awake long enough to think of that.
My half-second of hope was now gone. I would be going alone.
I arrived at the Inn at a little after noon, fashionably late. It would annoy my grandmother immensely, but, I rationalized, she never said exactly what time she wanted me there. I tried to ready myself with an explanation, but nothing came to mind. Obvious by my appearance, I couldn’t say that I’d spent a lot of time primping, deciding that a Beatles t-shirt and an old pair of jeans would suffice. I hadn’t even bothered with make up or straightening out my brown, frizzy hair. Satisfied by a quick check in the rear view mirror that I didn’t look too hideous, I got out of my car and walked up the stairs to the Inn.
I loved it there. The white, three-story Victorian house with a porch circling it was the largest house in town. I often imagined the parties that took place there when it was first built in the late eighteen hundreds by the owners of the valley’s many silver mines.
The doorman was waiting for me at the double glass door entrance. "Miss Fisher," he said smiling. I always felt awkwardly important when he held open the door. The Inn was an exclusive member only and guests (maybe), type establishment. Luckily, I was born into the right family. Our membership had begun right after it was converted from a house a few years after it was built.
"Thanks, Tom," I smiled at the old man. He always seemed so happy to just open the door for people. Most of them walked through the door, dismissing him as if he were a statue. When I was little, I would grow tired of the luncheons and wander out into the hall where he stood patiently. He would smile and give me h
is old pocket watch to play with. I knew early on that there was more to that sweet old man than he let on. The things he must have seen here.
I walked down the short hall into the dining room, stumbled as my flip-flop launched itself off of my foot, landing across the room. I heard chuckles coming from a table in the corner. My face flushed as I turned to apologize to the audience for my clumsiness, but I wasn't expecting what I saw. My breath caught in my throat and I choked.
"Are you okay?" A middle-aged man at the table asked in a very gentle voice.
I looked at him and smiled, nodding my head. Still coughing, my eyes flickered to the boy sitting next to him and also what had stolen my breath. His jet-black curly hair fell just above his eyebrows and underneath a row of thick black eyelashes, were the most brilliant blue eyes I had ever seen. His olive toned hands were in fists covering his mouth trying, but failing, to keep from laughing at my stunt.
I snapped out of my daze and caught my balance once again. Idiot, I thought as my cheeks began to burn from embarrassment.
I could feel his stare as I walked across the room. Any smidge of confidence I once had melted away with each step. My body forgot how to function. Which leg do I move next? Am I always this twitchy? Trying desperately to keep my neurotic thoughts from becoming a full-blown panic attack, I focused on my target: the small group of chatty women gathered out on the sun porch. I quickly recovered my sandal, and decided to steal a look over my shoulder when I finally got to the table of awaiting ladies. Agh. He was still looking.
Why did I have to look? My curiosity would be the death of me someday.
"Nice of you to join us," Dorothy said with pursed lips when I reached the table. With my face fully enflamed, I nodded and sat in the only available chair, facing the still smirking boy.
"I'm sorry," I winced. I had no viable reason to offer and I was certain that she would not like it if I told her I was procrastinating because I'd rather watch cheese age than be here.
"I've ordered you a salad." She dropped her eyes to the large bowl sitting in front of me. A salad, I thought, looks like she ordered the whole garden.
"Thanks," I muttered, trying to hold back my gag reflex. Salad was my least favorite food, even if it was smothered in a tangy dressing. I really didn't see the point in vegetables when vitamins were readily available.
"Happy Birthday, Mrs. Lewis," I said politely.
"Thank you, honey. Let's not mention it." She faked a worried I'm old expression. Although she was turning sixty-three this year, she was very young looking, which she attributed to yoga. Another craze I had yet to understand.
She turned her attention back toward the ladies at the table. There were four in total: my grandmother, her best friend Hazel Lewis, Rhoda Martin, and Tilly James. Tilly was Irelynn's grandmother. Who, by the way, I was going to strangle for not coming with me. The ladies continued the discussion they were having before my grand entrance.
Aside from the small birthday celebration, they were planning the Hallow’s Eve festival in October. The event of the year for the valley was a ball that, snow or not, concluded the weeklong celebration of Halloween. Each of the small shops in the center of town decorated their storefronts differently in a winner-take-all competition. There was no actual prize, just a trophy and bragging rights. The award ceremony was held in the town square and afterward, an eighteen-and-up costume ball was held at the Inn.
I paid partial attention to their conversation, answering only when asked my opinion and nodding in agreement when appropriate. I didn’t think that my opinion really mattered anyway and being only seventeen, I couldn’t go. Once again I’d be stuck decorating.
Apparently I had done a good enough acting job because they babbled on, oblivious to my multiple glances at the corner table in the other room.
The man who'd made sure I was not injured was John Townsend. Up until that point, I didn't think he left his house except to go to the store. He was the true definition of a hermit. Who was the boy with him? He didn't have any children as far as I knew. I was also under the impression he wasn't too fond of people either.
I bit the side of my lip, concentrating on figuring this mystery out. It appeared that whatever they were talking about wasn't serious. They laughed a lot. Occasionally Mr. Townsend would slap the boy...well, I could hardly call him a boy after closer observation...guy on the back.
This time it was Mr. Townsend that caught me gawking. I let out a short gasp and looked down at the salad pretending to be interested in the tiny tomatoes, but I wasn't hungry. It took me a few seconds to notice that, except for the self-degradation happening in my mind, the table had gone very quiet. I looked up from under my brow to see all eyes perched on me. Each of them had suspicious grins on their faces. They caught me, too.
"That's William Dalca, John's nephew," Hazel said in a low voice, as if they could hear us.
I lowered my head in response to her voice. "Oh." I tried to act like I hadn't noticed him and lowered my eyes to the floor where Rhoda’s oversized purse sat cradling a folded newspaper.
BODY OF MISSING COEUR D’ALENE HUNTER FOUND
The headline sent a chill through me. That was the second hunter to go missing in recent weeks.
"Never mind that,” Rhoda said, kicking the purse onto its side. She drew my attention back to the corner table. “He's quite a looker, eh?" She elbowed me in the side.
Tilly leaned in from across the table grinning. “New blood, Cami.”
"Ladies, please! Pay them no mind, Camille." Dorothy was glaring at the women who had now broken into quiet giggles. Her look was enough to stop them both instantly. "He's only visiting anyway."
How this woman knew everything astounded me. The ladies weren't exactly a gossipy group. That was reserved for the much younger cliques in town. They were able to contain their stories to themselves and to me of course. This didn't stop them from knowing everyone in town though, but I wasn't sure if they knew Mr. Townsend. I guessed he was my parent’s age, mid forties, possibly a little older. He had very dark hair with just a hint of grey on the sides. It was distinguishing. He was cute...for an old guy.
"William is going to help John with the restoration of the Inn." Dorothy continued. "Then he'll be back to wherever he's from."
I watched as my grandmother glared at the pair in the corner with scrutiny in her eyes.
"Oh, but it’s going to take a long time to finish." Rhoda shot at me a wink. Hazel let out a snort that she'd been trying to hold back. That threw them into a cackling frenzy. All but Dorothy.
I decided to pry a little for more information since they had been so willing to give it up in the first place. They'd mentioned he was Mr. Townsend's nephew. I didn't know he had any family. Where is he from? How old is he?
It was pretty easy to see by their quick responses that they were just as interested in this newcomer as I was, although they didn’t know much more than the fact that he was John Townsend's nephew and he was taking time away from school to be here. His age was the most pressing question that I wanted an answer to. I hoped that he was only a year or so into college, but something about his face suggested that he could be older than that.
"Well Ladies," Dorothy finally said. "We have to be going." I looked at her, confused. Why did we have to go now? I didn't remember having any plans for the rest of the day and I knew she didn't either. She usually hung around for several hours chatting. She gathered her purse and jacket and looked at me impatiently.
"Good to see you again," I said to the group. Please find out more, I wanted to add.
Tilly cleared her throat as I grabbed my purse. I looked up to see her hand under the table pointing toward the corner. My eyes followed the direction she was pointing. I met William's gaze. Ha! I caught him this time. My heart thudded in my chest so loudly I knew everyone at the table could hear it.
He didn't look away embarrassed like I had. Instead, he smiled and gave me a two finger wave.
I shot a quick, nervous sm
ile back and mimicked my grandmother's quick steps toward the exit. I had completely forgotten how to do anything for myself. We walked past their table without a second look. Although I was very curious, I refused to give him the deer-in-headlights look again. I was sure I would be seeing more of him and that happy thought got me safely outside.
"See you at home, Camille," Dorothy said, getting into her car. It was more of an order than a request.
The vibration in my pocket nearly knocked me off my feet. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and answered with a startled voice. "Hello?"
"Are you still there?" Irelynn asked.
"Nope. Just got done. Rhoda said hi."
"Oh...hi. I got done babysitting early. Wanna hang out?"
Spending the day with her was more appealing to me than sitting around the house waiting for night to come. I also had a lot of homework to do and it was easier for me when she was there. She was the smart one.
"Yeah, let me go grab my homework and I'll be over."
After making sure my grandmother didn't need my assistance at home, I walked to Irelynn's house. We grew up down the street from each other, so not only was our friendship close, it was convenient as well.
“We broke up,” she said as I tossed my bag on her bedroom floor. “Actually, he dumped me. Something about my attitude lately.” She sunk into the bright green chair resting in the corner, fuming. Here we go again. Relationship number two for the school year had just ended abruptly. I tried my hardest to console her and had gotten pretty good at it.
“At least you made it through Labor Day this time,” I commented absentmindedly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I just don’t get it. What the heck is wrong with me?”
“It’s not you; it’s the guys you choose. Maybe its time to go older.” I consoled, thinking of the new guy in town. That was how he'd be referred to from now on until people got to know him.
“Oh Puh-lease,” she laughed. “I’m done with that business.”
“Want to talk about it?”
The Valley Page 1