All Roads Lead Home (Bellingwood)

by Diane Greenwood Muir

  Polly couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. "Well, that's a great way to look at it!"

  "You're damned right it is. If I want to run naked through the house in the middle of the night, there isn't anyone to stop me or think I'm trying to get them all turned on."

  By now, all of them were laughing, Beryl included.

  "I do like living by myself. I have a cat to keep me company and all that solitude gives me plenty of time to paint."

  "You're an artist?" Polly asked.

  Lydia answered, "She's a great artist. She even has art hanging in a gallery or two in your little town of Boston! We're pretty proud of her."

  "I'd love to see your work sometime, Beryl. Maybe you’d allow me to hang a few things here." Polly said.

  "Polly, dear. I'll choose one for you to hang before you open those doors." said Beryl.

  Sylvie had been quietly enjoying the banter of the other four women. Lydia turned to her. "It's finally your turn, Sylvie. You have to fess up and tell your life story now."

  She began rubbing her right thumb across the forefinger. "I don't have much to tell. I work at the grocery store and take care of my two boys, Jason and Andrew. They're still pretty young and need me at home. I spend a lot of time going to their school activities. There's not much time for other things with work and their lives. If I didn't have these ladies around, I don't know what I'd do!"

  Polly looked at Lydia, as if hoping for a little more information, but it didn't look like she was going to get much more.

  Andy reached out and patted Sylvie on the shoulder. "We love your kiddos and are glad you choose to hang out with us old ladies. You make us feel young again!"

  Beryl laughed again. It seemed there was always an undercurrent of laughter in her voice. "That's right, Sylvie. Us old, decrepit ladies certainly do like having you around to make sure we don't drop over into our graves when we walk past the cemetery."

  Polly's puzzled look signaled more laughter. "Oh, you don't know,” Beryl said. “Andy lives past the old town cemetery. We tease her about it all the time. She says the ghosts don't bother her, but one can never be sure what's going to pop out, can one?"

  "Stop it, you crazy person," said Lydia. "You're nuts.

  "So," Lydia went on. "We're your welcoming committee. We'll probably keep bothering you until you get this place finished. Andy, Beryl and I have known each other forever, it seems. Sylvie was in one of Andy's last classes at this school ... isn't that right, girls?"

  Both women nodded. Sylvie responded. "Mine was the last graduating class. After we left, everyone else was bused into Boone. I loved it here and I can’t wait to see what you’re doing with it."

  Lydia stood up. She really was in charge. "Alright, we've kept you long enough. I suppose it's time we let you get back to whatever you were doing." She pulled a 3 x 5 card from her wallet and wrote down some numbers. "Here are our cell phone numbers. Now that you know us and have been thoroughly entertained by us, I fully expect you to take advantage of these and call if you need or want anything, even if it's only company."

  She handed the card to Polly. "And if I don't hear from you before the weekend, I'm coming back to check on you. My house is always open if my car is there. I drive a blue Grand Cherokee. If it's not there, well ... who knows where I am!"

  Beryl jumped in. "I'm always home, unless I'm with blue Grand Cherokee here. If you stop by my house and I don't answer the door, walk around back. My painting shed is out in the garden. I spend most of the time out there, even in the winter."

  Andy looked at Polly. "You're never going to find my house until you've been there a couple of times. It's kind of like looking for the blue bird sitting on a fence post. Hey! I should buy a blue bird and put it on my fence post. Why haven't I thought of that before! But, once you do find me, you're always welcome."

  Sylvie started to speak and then stopped. Then, she started again. "I don't ever seem to be home, but when I'm there, one of these nuts always finds me. I work in the grocery store downtown, though. Stop in and say hi, okay?"

  Lydia started walking out of the kitchen and the rest of the ladies stood and followed her out into the main hallway. She said to Polly, "You know, I can’t wait to see what you're planning to do with all of this. All these painter’s cloths aren't telling me a thing!"

  Polly said, "I'll tell you what. Give me a few more days and I’ll have you back over. Everything is going to come together quickly in the next month and it will start making sense."

  Lydia gave her a quick hug. "Do that. We're glad you're here. This is going to be fun."

  Beryl grabbed Polly's hand as she walked past and gave it a quick squeeze. Andy patted her on the shoulder and Sylvie winked at her as they all followed Lydia out the front door. There was a blue Grand Cherokee parked in the front lot beside Polly's red Ford pickup. As the ladies got in, she waved and watched them drive away.

  Polly walked back in, shut the door and returned to the kitchen. She poured another cup of coffee and sat down again, thinking over her first encounter with new friends. It wasn't quite what she expected, but then, honestly, she had no idea what it was she expected.

  As she drank her coffee, Polly remembered the open paint can upstairs. She dumped the rest of the coffee in the sink, sluiced some water around to rinse it out and took off up the steps at a run. When she got to the door of the room she had been painting, she stopped to take in its beauty. With tall ceilings and glass windows, sunlight streamed in everywhere. The light grey walls were going to be perfect for her bedroom, and it was time to finish so Henry could begin working.

  She thought back for a moment to her last life. Sunday afternoons and evenings were usually spent with Joey, doing something in and around Boston. Since she hadn’t grown up on the east coast, he loved to act like tourists and take her to see all the sights. Whether they were on the swan boats in Boston Common or out in Concord, or walking through some author's home, it was always fun. Then, when evening came, they would pick up a pizza and carry it back to her apartment and watch television. Her Sundays had been filled with fun and relaxation.

  This was much better, though. She worked herself to exhaustion and slept like a worn out puppy every night. She was glad she'd finally moved her things to one of the rooms across from her apartment. Even if everything but her bed and a table was still in the basement in storage, at least she was living in her own place.

  She grabbed the brush, climbed back up the ladder and finished the last of the second coat. It would dry overnight and tomorrow, Henry would hang moldings and begin framing the doors and windows. They'd talked about hard wood floors in this room and she planned to check out some old barn board he had found on a farm south of Boone. If it was what they both thought, it would be perfect.

  Polly cleaned the brushes and rollers, washed out the trays and sealed up the paint can, and then walked across the hall to where her bed was and stripped down. She took a quick shower to rinse of the splatter, walked over to a box of books on the floor, shut her eyes and pulled out a book. When she looked at the title, she giggled. "Anna Karenina, eh?" she said out loud. "Thanks. This will put me right to sleep."

  She set her alarm for six, snuggled under the covers and opened the book. "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way ..."

  "Well, that's one way to start a book," she thought and continued reading. After a few short minutes, her eyes began to droop and she mustered up enough energy to drop the book on the floor and turn out the light.

  Chapter Two

  Early the next morning, Polly was in the kitchen when she heard the front door open.

  "It's me, Polly!" Henry Sturtz's voice rang through the building. There was no drywall hung in the main level yet, so sounds tended to echo.

  Polly walked out. "Hi, Henry, coffee is made if you want it." When she had realized how much coffee it took to renovate a building, she’d purchased a large 40 cup pot. Some days it took several of those pots to keep ev
eryone moving.

  "I had to stop at Casey’s for a large coffee already. This weekend must have kicked me around a little!" he said.

  "Oh!" she laughed. "How was it?"

  Henry had told her a little about his sister, Lonnie, on Friday before he left for the day. She lived in Ann Arbor with two of her best friends, was finishing her doctorate and planned to continue teaching at the University of Michigan. The three loved to torment Lonnie’s older brother whenever possible. They often came to Iowa and discovered ways of making Henry do girl-stuff. Then, after exhausting him, they'd head back to Michigan, knowing it was a job well done.

  "I think we saw every antique store between here and Iowa City. She kept finding things she wanted me to restore. I told her I was too busy. Needless to say, I have a cherry sideboard and hutch sitting in my shop now. I hate refinishing furniture. I hate it," he said.

  "But, I guess you're going to do it anyway?" Polly snickered.

  "What else can I do? I can't say no to that girl." Henry looked at Polly for sympathy.

  "Oh, you'll get no sympathy from me," she laughed. "You're a big boy and you know how to put ‘no’ into a sentence. If you haven't figured that out by now, it's no one’s problem but your own." Polly smiled and turned to head into the kitchen.

  She heard him mumbling as he followed her.

  Henry looked at the shelves in the pantry.

  "What happened here?" he asked. "Did you go shopping? I thought you were painting all weekend?"

  "Oh, some of the ladies from town happened here. Yesterday." she said. "There were four of them. They kind of tornadoed in and I didn't know what to say!"

  "That's great,” he laughed. "They probably could hardly wait. Let's see. Lydia Merritt was the leader, wasn't she!" His mouth opened up in an immense grin and he could barely hold back the laughter.

  "Yep. It was Lydia and let's see if I remember," Polly stopped and thought. "Beryl someone, Andy something, and Sylvie Donovan. She didn't seem to fit in with them, but it looked like that wasn't going to sway the others. They had her firmly in hand."

  "I don't know Sylvie, but those other three women are a threat to your peace and quiet. Once you are their friend, everyone will know who you are and will be interested in what you are doing."

  "What?" She asked, a little panicked.

  "Oh, don’t get me wrong," he said. "They’re amazing and three of the best people I've ever known. They will take care of you."

  He stopped speaking and a little chuckle bubbled out from behind his lips. "I call them the Musketeers. If one of them thinks something should be done or someone needs something, the others stand with her and the next thing you know, the world is different. It’s like magic.

  He continued, "All I'm saying is that your quiet little life here is now officially over. I hope you’re ready. Now, before I say anything more, I need coffee."

  Henry had been in the kitchen enough to know where the mugs were. He pulled one out and walked over to the pot to fill it.

  "Since Lydia was here, did she bring anything good to eat for breakfast?" he asked.

  "Oh, that's funny," Polly replied. "We had cookies and scones yesterday. I'm sure there is something else in the fridge, but I haven't had time to look."

  "Well, let's fix that," Henry said and pulled open the door of the first refrigerator. "Huh, Andy's been busy. Everything is neatly labeled.

  "Taco meat, spaghetti sauce, meatballs, shredded lettuce, sliced tomatoes, chopped carrots and celery. Good heavens, lunch and dinner are certainly ... oh, here we go! This has potential!"

  He pulled out a large plastic container filled with small bags.

  "What does it say?" Polly asked.

  "’Breakfast sandwiches.’ We have ham, bacon and sausage. All you have to do is microwave them," he said.

  "How do you know that?"

  Henry tipped the container so she could see. Each bag was individually labeled and on the underside of the lid was an instruction card.

  "I'm not even sure what to say," Polly laughed, "but I'll heat some up. Do you want one or two?"

  "I want two of these," and he began flipping through the bags. "Here, sausage and ham for me. What would you like?"

  "Let's make it even and give me a bacon sandwich." Polly tore open the bags and placed the sandwiches on a dish and into the microwave.

  Henry returned the container to the refrigerator and pulled out another.

  "Would you like some fruit as well?" he asked.

  "Sure!" Polly took out plates and opened the silverware drawer. She put everything on the table and pointed at a chair, so Henry sat down. When the microwave announced its completion, she took the plate out and walked back to the table.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes while eating and drinking. The quiet was broken by the sounds of more vehicles pulling into the lot out front and workmen bringing their tools and supplies in to the building.

  Polly looked at Henry, shrugged and said, "I’m sorry ... I need to handle this." He took one last bite and gathered up the dishes.

  "Just drop them in the sink, I'll deal with them later," Polly said as she headed out the kitchen door.

  Walking out into the main room, Polly saw Jerry Allen, her electrical contractor. "Hi Jerry! What's up for you guys today?"

  "Oh, we've finished the big rooms upstairs, we still have to rewire the bathrooms up there, but we’re working on the main level. I want to make sure there is good power in the basement as well." He turned to Polly. I'm glad you aren't asking us to go through all of this concrete. It would take forever and make a real mess."

  She smiled. "You do whatever is right and I'll be fine. I think the plans we have in place will work." She shook her head. "I still can't get over how little people expected to be using electricity in a school. If I had my way, there would be quad plugs every two feet.”

  "We'll get it done, Miss Giller."

  She stopped him, "Please ... it's just Polly."

  Polly started up the steps, then said, “You know where the coffee pot is in the kitchen. Help yourselves!"

  She went on up to her room. She shut the door, changed into slacks and a red blouse, and then grabbed her sweater. When she got back downstairs, she ducked into the classroom where Henry had set up his shop.

  Several other men had arrived and were measuring and sorting through the moldings. They looked up at her arrival and each nodded a hello. Polly recognized them and after her encounter with the women over the weekend realized she should pay attention to their names, especially since she would probably see them on a regular basis.

  “I’m sorry, guys. Will you tell me your names again?” she asked.

  One by one the three men stood, “I’m Marvin Davis,” the first said with a bit of a drawl and held out his hand to shake Polly’s, “but the guys call me Peaches.”

  Polly cocked her head and asked, “Why would they call you Peaches?”

  “Oh, because they think I sound like I’m from Georgia. Like anyone around here knows what a guy from Georgia sounds like.” He scowled at the two other men. Marvin was in his mid to late fifties and looked like he’d spent a lot of time working outside.

  “Peaches here got his name ‘cuz he’s such a sweet guy, just like peaches and cream,” drawled the next guy, who came up to stand next to him. His voice straightened out as he said, “I’m Leroy Forster. Call me Leroy.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that!” Polly replied with a smirk. Leroy was no spring chicken. He had terrible scars on his hands, but tattoos on his forearms covered any scarring which might have been there. When he shook her hand, she felt a great deal of strength radiating from him.

  The third man said quietly, “I’m Ben Bowen. I’m the guy who does all the work around here while these two chat it up with pretty women.”

  Leroy said, “Yeah, we call him Pretty Boy.”

  “But, you can call me Ben.” He took Polly’s hand in both of his. “Thanks for renovating this school ma’am. It’s a real pleas
ure to be bringing the old place back to life. I went to school a long time ago in this place and it’s nice to know it will see people again. I appreciate the work, too.”

  “Thanks Ben, Leroy, Marvin. I promise I’ll remember from now on!” Polly said and then walked over to Henry. "I'm heading out to see what those barn boards look like for the floors. Anything else I need to know?"

  "You should be fine," he responded, "I've talked to the guy and had Butch stop by as well. Since he'll be doing the milling, I wanted him to see things before I talked to you. He said they looked good as long as you like the color."

  "Great. I'll see you later!"

  Polly walked to the front door and turned around to look at her home. The morning was starting to buzz. She loved her Mondays now. Each week, workmen came in and started on a project. It was exciting. There was always some interesting decision to make, like the week she had to pick out the kitchen appliances. She had nearly cried with joy every time she got to choose the perfect large appliance for her kitchen. Things she had only dreamed about having were suddenly showing up in her home.

  She pulled the door shut behind her and walked down the front steps to her truck.

  It took about twenty minutes to get to the farm where the barn boards were located. Polly pulled into the drive. This was hard for her. Even though she knew she was expected, knocking on a stranger's door felt weird. She thought about it on the drive down and decided it was also weird that she was uncomfortable with this. She'd grown up on a farm and when she was young, her parents never had a problem with people knocking at the door.

  Polly’s mom had died when she was twelve and they'd had a housekeeper who spent her days at the house. Her husband had been Polly's father's right hand man on the farm. The two of them, Sylvester and Mary Shore, arrived every morning at 6:30 and left after supper every evening. They'd never had kids and had been friends with Polly's parents long before she was born. After Polly's mother died, Mary quit her job as a doctor's receptionist and made sure the young girl was healthy and happy. It had been a pretty good life.