by Chuck Crabbe
As girls, Elsie and Moira had been the closest of all the Mignon sisters, yet Elsie had not grieved when her sister died. Immediately after Moira's death, though, an almost impossible number of tasks had been laid before her, and upon these tasks the practical, efficient and tactile parts of her personality went directly to work. She had felt somehow responsible for her child's death, though of course she was not, and this had crushed her, but now she felt responsible for Ezra and Layne's life, and that raised her up. Right after Moira's funeral Olyvia had disappeared again, and Sarah had almost no capacity for functioning in difficult circumstances, so it was up to Elsie to sort through Moira's few but precious possessions.
And of course Ezra and Layne's father had to be found. With some help from his past employers Elsie learned that he was living in Alberta. She spoke to him coldly as she told him what had happened. He would not be coming back, he told her. Ezra and Layne could live where they wished.
Then let it be known, she informed him, that she wished for them and they for her.
As Ezra and Layne became part of their family, and with all the challenges and potential they brought with them, Elsie and Gord drew closer together again, the presence of the two boys acting as a healing influence after the division that the grief over the loss of their own child had caused. But as the boys grew and became less dependent, the sharp differences of perspective between Gord and Elsie emerged again. The differences between them were several, but almost all of their problems came down to Gord's satisfaction with their present circumstances, and Elsie's ambitions for a more stable future. Neither could meet, nor even see the other's point of view. Gord was dismayed by Elsie's frustrations, and she was infuriated by what she saw as his apathy and lack of planning or direction.
Lately the conflicts had escalated. They fell further and further behind on their bills, missed mortgage payments, and struggled to keep gas in the car. Elsie said that Gord spent irresponsibly and without considering their finances. But paying attention to such details, in a day-by-day way, seemed beyond him. They screamed and cursed at each other in front of Ezra and Layne. When Elsie threw a mustard jar at Gord it missed and exploded on the wall behind him. Some of the mustard landed on Ezra and he was surprised at the way it burned his skin. Elsie accused Gord of not following through on the promises he had made to her. He told her that she was crazy and acting like a child, and this brought her fury to an entirely higher pitch. Ezra and Layne retreated into their bedroom to listen from behind the closed door. Each of the four understood in his way that things could not go on like this.
Gord came into the kitchen, the largest room in the small house, after the boys had gone to sleep. Elsie was sitting at the table reading and did not look up at him. As he leaned against the counter she felt his eyes but ignored them.
"Ted came into the office today to see me," he started, breaking the heavy silence. She finished the sentence she was reading and looked up.
"Yeah?"
Gord raised his eyebrows slightly and nodded as if to indicate that it was over something important. A panicked stab stuck Elsie in the stomach; she was afraid he had lost his job. "Well, what did he want?"
He paused and scratched the back of his neck. It seemed like it took forever for him to get anything out. "He wanted to talk to me about a job."
Relief washed over her. She took a deep breath and laid her book face down on the table. "What kind of job? On the docks again?"
"No, it would be a manager's job." He stopped there, looking for a sign that she might be impressed.
"A manager's job? Where?"
"It's in Windsor, Elsie."
"Windsor?" she said, shocked.
He pursed his lips. "Yeah, Windsor."
She was confused. "Where did all this come from? Is this the first you've heard of it?"
"No. Things have been going pretty well for a while. A couple of months back we all learned that the company was going to set up some sort of operation down there. I went to see Ted about the job and told him I was interested. I didn't want to say anything until I knew."
"And now they've definitely offered it to you?"
"Yes."
"But that would mean moving."
"It would."
"To Windsor?" she raised her voice.
"I've thought a lot about this, Elsie. If you'll just hear me out, I think it makes sense for us."
"What about the house? My vines?"
Gord inhaled deeply as if preparing to lift a heavy object. "I don't want to give up the house either. I don't think we'll ever find another like it, situated the way it is with the chance to improve on it and the chance for you to continue growing. The thing about the Windsor job is that it probably wouldn't be a permanent thing. Three or four years down the road it's likely that a management job will open here. Lou just turned sixty, and Windsor would be a stepping-stone into his spot. We would rent there and keep this place."
She placed two fingers on her temple and turned her head. "And how would we be able to afford the mortgage here while we pay rent there?"
"We could rent out this place."
"Rent it out?" she came back quickly, as if he had lost his mind. "To whom? Who do you think we could find to take care of all those grapes? There's ten years of progress and hard work spread out underneath that soil—my hard work, Gord. I can't just let that go."
He looked at her cautiously. "What if someone moved in who was willing to keep it up the way you wanted?"
She squinted at him in disbelief. "Who's going to be interested in doing all that work for as little profit?"
"Olyvia."
"Olyvia?" she asked, as if she hadn't heard him right.
"Yeah. As I thought more and more about it, it just makes sense. She and Ted have been together for more than a year now. They're talking about moving in together anyway, and you've got to admit that she's doing better. She's over at his place all the time already. I talked it over with her a few times during the last month or so, and as long as the bathroom's finished she's all for—"
"Wait a minute," Elsie broke in with a raised voice. "You've already spoken with her? Before we discussed it?"
"I wanted to come to you with a solid plan of how we could make it work."
She stood up from her chair. "So you went to my sister without asking me and asked if she and her boyfriend, whom we barely know, wanted to move into my house?"
Gord was a little confused. "I talked to her because I—"
"You son of a bitch!"
He clenched his teeth. "So now you're pissed off because I finally did plan something?"
Elsie stormed past him and out of the kitchen. He followed her. She had always been able to walk away from arguments with him, detach herself, and go about her business as if nothing had happened, whereas for Gord, if things were not right between them, then nothing was right with the world.
She closed the bedroom door in his face. Raising his hands, which matched only his ears in size, he held onto the top of the doorframe and rested his head against the six-panel door. He shut his eyes, exhaled deeply, and then went to sit on the couch by himself.
Half an hour later he walked into the darkened bedroom. Elsie lay on her side with her back toward him, but he knew she was still awake.
"You're right. I should have spoken to you first, and I understand why you're mad that I didn't. I just got excited about the idea, Elsie. You're right to be angry, but I want you to think about what my intentions were in doing what I did. Maybe I went about it the wrong way, but just think about whether or not it makes sense. It wouldn't be permanent, and I could take some of my holidays at vintage every year so that we could come up and make sure everything goes okay. Just three or four years, and there's a big pay raise. It would make a big difference for us. We could come back and put the addition on the house. And there's a house in Orlando that the Campbell's own that we would have access to for ten days or so during the winter months. All I'm asking you to do is take a fair look
at it." He left the room, shut the door behind him, and fell asleep on the couch watching TV.
He asks her! The way he looks her over sometimes—I see it. He doesn't think I notice, but I do. What an idiot! Anyone else and I wouldn't care. Funny how jealousy falls away with time—matters less and less and finally doesn't seem to matter at all. Don't go numb—not that again, and not over him. He's a lot of things, but I don't think he'd ever... But—and there's always a but—they say you never really know someone... Still, it would be nice to have the money. Would she take all the credit? Go about with false pride all over her face saying silently, "These are my grapes; wine bottled by me; taste the change I bring forth from the earth; deliver the wine as if it would be water if not for her? Olyvia and that man living here, eating here, sleeping here... Could I stand it? Women marry men hoping they'll change; men marry women hoping they never will... Don't judge so harshly; he's a good man. The way that he is with the boys, without having had his own... But then there's other things: plus and minus, plus and minus. Is that all it is? There's much worse out there—the way dad treated mom... Children are supposed to surpass their parents. And a new house: how would I feel inside it? How would it look? How would the schoolhouse look when we came back? As if hundreds of years had passed, ivy having overgrown it: the way that shed she crashed into looked. New schools, but kids make friends fast. Ez would start high school without knowing anyone. How would he feel the night before? Layne would be fine: water off a duck's back... But it might be good for Ez to be away from this place; maybe it would put an end to those awkward questions. I worry that they are symptoms of something worse, but don't push him too hard. Is she watching me with her boys? What does she think? Imagine what she might say, what she would like and what she wouldn't like... Plus and minus, plus and minus: I can't escape. But it would be nice to see him doing better, surpassing his father; that's his passion and his fear. All men trip there. Their feet stick in the mud. The old man's footprints out in front of them... But I see the way the addition might look, if we had the money... I'll be thirty-nine in five years. Age is changing how I look with each passing year now. I look for wrinkles around the eyes—everyone has them when they smile... In five years I will be just seven years younger than mom was when she died. But I've got to settle down, or I'll never sleep. It's his fault for making me so angry. Is she prettier than I? Rank us girls from the prettiest to the ugliest—a senseless thing to do really, but I still do it. Everyone keeps that side of himself hidden. She's always had the good looks. Oddly, she never really cared. Most women who have great looks just say they don't care, but she really doesn't care. In a weird way, she's always been too self absorbed to even notice. I wonder how many times he's spoken to her about it, this little secret that I wasn't let in on... Was she eager to live in my house? She's never stayed in one place for very long. What if it doesn't work out with Ted and we're left paying both rent and the mortgage here? We'd sink fast with no help, and I would be the one to deal with it. But at least I could trust her—all the damage tenants can do—because she would take care of the vines. She knows the vines. He's snoring out there on the couch. I like sleeping alone anyway. Does he have a blanket? A grown man...And if that makes me a bad wife, so be it. Peace comes with acceptance. Apathy, too... Too much to think about while I'm feeling this angry... My legs tighten up; they're still pretty strong. I thought about smacking him as I walked past. I won't sleep unless I settle down. Sleep comes harder and harder as I get older. I need more rest but get less. Forgot to make lunches; what's in the fridge? Another thing to do in the morning... It gets dark so early now. There used to be more snow when I was a girl. I watched it fall from my bedroom window, Moira tracing flowers in the frost on the pane. Certain memories stay with you even though they didn't seem to be important when they happened. I must have been younger than Ezra is now—maybe the same age as Layne. Too much to think about so late: let go; let go. Walk past him without saying anything; that's the only thing to do, really. It's not so bad. It's a cold world out there. But I'm in here, safe and warm under my covers and clean sheets. Tomorrow will take care of itself. And the icy flowers she'd etched in the frost....
Two weeks later it was decided. They would move to Windsor that summer. She would miss her house and her vines, but Gord would take some vacation time and they would be back for vintage each year. The rest she thought she could live with.
The winter had hung heavy on the morning she'd told Layne and Ezra. The boys had lain in Ezra's bed listening to the radio and talking until they'd fallen asleep, but now, as the weak winter sunrise began to define the room, she woke them gently and explained what had been decided.
Of course the news that Elsie brought that morning was only words; what it would mean was lost in the veil of what was to come. This was especially true for Ezra, who shared Olyvia's lack of contact with reality. For them, reality had to strike before they had any understanding of its consequences. And it was not until that rather violent moment of recognition that they at last realized how badly they had underestimated the situation that they had, Quixote-like, drifted into. For Ezra the year went on much as it had. For Layne, things were as Elsie had thought: water off a duck's back.
He could tell what kind of reaction she'd had to the principal's call by the speed at which the car turned the corner, and when the old Beaumont pulled into the school parking lot and came to a jerking stop, the rusted door swung open and he saw Elsie mouth a profanity as she stepped directly into a muddy puddle of water, and then storm up to the school's front doors. Ezra got up quickly from the office bench to try to divert her, or at least to slow her down. He was afraid she would cause a scene, something she was certainly known to do from time to time.
Seeing the rising bruises all over his face, she gasped. "Who did that to you?" she demanded, the anger in her voice still restrained but obviously building.
"Elsie, it's okay! Please!" he pleaded and tried to block her progress.
"No, it is definitely not okay!" She held his face in her hands to examine it. Looking him over, she quickly dismissed the possibility of serious injury, then sidestepped the obstacle of his body, flung open the glass doors, and began to search for someone on which to focus her maternal vengeance.
No, it was explained to her, it had not been solely the other boy's fault. She looked at Ezra for confirmation of what she was being told. He nodded silently, looked down at his lap, and played a game with his fingers to avoid looking up. The principal explained calmly that it was the school board's policy to suspend any student involved in a fight, regardless of where the blame might lay.
They drove home quietly. Ezra looked out the window with tears running down his cheeks and listened to the strange new noise the Beaumont had begun making. Elsie held his hand as they drove.
Gord's parents were in town visiting and were sitting down to tea in the kitchen when they pulled into the Y-shaped driveway. Elsie told them that Ezra had hurt himself doing high jump in gym class. He went in, quickly said hello, then retreated to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. The thought of returning to school made him panic, and his eyes filled with tears again. He lay crying until the world outside his window began to darken. It began to rain, and the raindrops rhythmically struck his window pain. His thoughts slowed and calmness came over him. Tap, tap, tap, the drops hit the glass, and he listened until his limbs went slack and sleep came.
At last the month of May settled around him and Ezra prepared for the move and imagined great poems and paintings of how his time in Windsor would be spent. Schoolwork had been more or less forgotten days ago, and all that mattered now was the graduation trip to Boston.
Elsie dropped Ezra off in the early morning. It was still dark outside and there was a coach bus running in the school parking lot. Its lights fell on the morning fog and its motor hummed evenly against the odd few words spoken by teachers and students as to where luggage should be placed. Elsie pulled up at a distance from the commotion, parked t
he old Beaumont, and silently gathered up his lunch for the bus ride. When she was finished she reached into her purse, pulled out a black vinyl wallet, and placed it in Ezra's hand.
"What's this?"
"It's for you, for your trip. Keep all your things organized inside it. All your health information and phone numbers are there." She took it from him, opened it up, and showed him the things she had placed in the clear plastic pockets. "It's all right here, see?"
"Yeah, okay", he said and looked anxiously at the other students boarding the bus.
"And there's a little something your uncle and I put in the back for you," she said nonchalantly, and handed the wallet back without looking at him. He pulled out the folded bills in the back pocket and counted out a hundred and fifty dollars.
"Are you serious?" he asked wide-eyed.
Her face was turned towards the driver's side window, but he could see tears running down it. "You'll be needing it for your meals and all that." She put her hand on his leg. "And make sure you buy yourself something small. Something you'll be able to keep."
"I will."
She wiped the tears from her flushed cheeks, sniffed, and composed herself. She patted him gently on the leg. "You'd better be off now."
"Okay," he said with a compassionate resolve that sounded as if it had come from a grown man. Ezra moved over in his seat and hugged her sideways. "Thanks, Elsie. I love you."