"In person," she said, releasing Kenna and enveloping him in a bear hug.
He returned it, saying, "You're all grown up. How'd that happen?"
"The usual way. Clean living, healthy food." Grabbing his hand, she towed him out of the crowd. "They're not going to let loose of that baby or your wife in the foreseeable future, so I'll help you unload. You're in the pink house with me and Annie and Hetty. Think you can keep us in order?"
"I never could when you were little. How can I now?" He handed her Kenna's suitcase and grabbed two duffles. "Where are you putting Owen.?"
"He's in the Blue House, with the other guys. Eric and his wife are in the master bedroom, but Ward's in a bunk, so Owen will be fine."
Peter wondered what she wasn't telling him. There had been something in her voice when she mentioned their cousin Eric.
* * * *
Her relatives sure could make an awful racket. Annie shouldered her way between her father and Uncle Ward who were standing in the kitchen doorway. If the noise levels were going to be this high all week, she would have to buy earplugs. She was not used to people noise any more, not after six months in a pickup canopy assembly plant. The best thing about her job was that she didn't have to interact with anyone if she didn't want.
"Gib, Ward, move yourselves out of the doorway!" Gran raised her voice above the noise. "We'll never get the tables cleared unless you stay out of the way." She followed her granddaughter into the kitchen, carrying the ravaged meatloaf pan. "Annie, are you sure you and Hetty don't want to play Bridge tonight? Thea and I can do the dishes."
"Honest, Gran, we want to clean the kitchen," Annie insisted. "We haven't had a chance yet to visit. You keep the kids out and just leave us alone." What she really wanted to do was go and hide somewhere, but no one would let her. Kitchen duty was next best.
"And keep my mother out of my hair, please, Gran. I haven't told her yet that Frank's coming up on Thursday, and I know she'll worm it out of me if she comes in here and starts her usual prying." Hetty aimed Gran toward the door. "Let the old maids do the scutwork, will you?"
"I'm not an old maid," Annie protested, hurt at the appellation.
"Oh, shit, you know what I meant, Annie. We're both unmarried. I just wanted to get rid of Gran gracefully. I love her dearly, but you know if she'd stayed in here, we'd both get the rough side of her tongue before she was through."
"Don't I just? She lit into me as soon as I walked through that door." Annie quickly stepped back from the sink as water burst from the faucet, deflected from the bottom of the sink, and splashed over her midriff. " Frank? I though his name was Gary."
"Gary's old news. I met Frank in April. He's hot, Annie. Really hot. He's going to spend the end of the week here, before we head for San Francisco." She whirled around the room. "I've got three whole weeks' vacation. Freedom!"
"Good for you. But what will your parents say?"
"What they always say. That I'm devaluing myself because I'm sleeping with a man I don't intend to marry. That they've raised me better than this. That the whole family will be shocked." She grinned at Annie's derisive sound. "Right. As if no one in the family has ever had a lover before. Sheesh! Besides, Frank's invitation came from Gran."
"Gran? I can't believe it."
"That's because you and she are always at loggerheads. Gran is one foxy old lady, and don't you think different." Hetty stretched to set a stack of bowls on a high shelf. "She was the one who egged me on when I was trying to decide about the job in Seattle. Mother and Dad were so sure I'd be ruined if I lived there."
"Maybe in their eyes you were. Wasn't that the first time you lived with a guy?"
"The first time I did it openly. But it had nothing to do with my living in Seattle and everything to do with my not wanting to fight that particular battle as long as I was in Denver. My God! Can you imagine my father's reaction if I'd lived with a man and his business associates found out?"
"Umm," was all Annie was willing to say. Aunt Jocelyn and Uncle John were about as straight-laced as anyone she knew. She couldn't believe that all bankers were as upright and respectable as Hetty's folks believed they should be, but then she didn't know any other bankers. "I don't think the whole family will be shocked. Eric and Jennifer maybe, but no one else."
"Oh, Eric and Jennifer. I'd forgotten about them. Yeah, they'll be shocked." She looked positively gleeful at the thought.
Exactly the way Annie felt.
"My mother's just fooling herself thinking the family doesn't know about me. She's doing her ostrich act, as usual. Pretend something doesn't exist, and Presto! It doesn't." Hetty stacked plates with unnecessary vigor. "Honestly, Annie, you'd think she'd learn someday that I don't give a damn what other people think."
"She knows. But I can just hear her say how your behavior reflects on her."
"After this many years she ought to have learned that I live my life as I choose and pay no attention to her Victorian ideas. Besides, I'm not the Bank President's little girl any longer." She slammed a cupboard door, rattling the dishes inside.
"Don't get excited. I'm not your mother. Now, tell me about Frank." Annie rinsed the last of the suds from the sink and squeezed excess water from the dishcloth. "Is he gorgeous?"
While Hetty was describing Frank's beautiful green eyes and magnificent body, Annie's mind wandered. It didn't seem fair that Hetty should have had such a series of interesting, handsome lovers while she had had only Walter, who had been thoughtful and protective, but not terribly exciting in bed. Or maybe it was that Hetty was more exciting in bed than Annie knew how to be.
She'd long suspected that she wasn't really very sexy, either in her reaction to love-making or in her appearance. Hetty, with her tall, willowy body, her wide, amber eyes, and her careless tousle of flame-red hair was sexy and exciting. Annie, whose body never met a carbohydrate it didn't like, whose curly brown hair always looked as if she combed it by sticking her finger into a light socket, and whose eyes were the color of damp moss, was not any man's wet dream.
Certainly not Walter's.
Her parents had been less than thrilled with Walter. Gran had called him a pompous ass. Annie knew that what had really bothered them was Walter's constant references to how a wife like Annie could help him with his career. Upwardly mobile was an understatement when applied to Walter Abbott. But she'd been young and in love, so it hadn't really bothered her to quit work when she became pregnant. She was going to make a home for Walter and their children, to help him advance in his career, to be the perfect wife and mother.
The trouble was, Annie had never been completely at home in the Country Club, nor in the Junior League. She would have preferred hiking in the hills to impressing Walter's boss. Cocktail party conversation was meaningless to her, and she'd spent too many evenings trying not to yawn in the face of Walter's associates while they boasted of their business prowess. And their wives! Some of them had been really nice, but Annie hadn't even spoken the same language as they did.
Walter had been excited, though, when she told him she was pregnant. Children were part of his career plan. Well-behaved, tidy children whose blameless behavior and outstanding accomplishments reflected well on their successful father. From the moment he knew he was to be a father, he'd dreamed great dreams for his son.
She'd been relieved when their child's sex was disclosed. Would Walter have forgiven himself for fathering a daughter? Or would he have found some way to blame her for letting him down?
"Annie! Annie, wake up!" Hetty was shaking her by the arm. "Where were you? I stopped talking five minutes ago and you just stood there, staring into space. Are you okay?"
"Sure, I'm fine. I was just remembering something."
"Well, you don't look fine. You look like your dog just died or something."
Annie's stomach heaved. "Not my dog, Het," she gasped. "My baby."
"Oh, shit. Me and my big mouth," Hetty said.
Annie pulled free of her cousin's hand and ra
n into the night.
* * * *
Hetty had just hung the damp tea towels on the clothesline behind the kitchen when light flashed across the yard. The approaching vehicle pulled into the parking area beside the Blue House, so she stepped into the dining room and waved her arms for attention. "Someone's coming."
Gib, Ward and Ben all stood up and headed for the door. Hetty stifled a chuckle. They looked for all the world like they were prepared to defend the homestead from invaders. When none of the other women seemed inclined to follow them, Hetty decided she would, mostly out of curiosity. She had no idea who all was coming, so any new arrival would be a nice surprise. Most of her relatives were nice people.
Too bad my mother isn't one of them. Immediately she reminded herself that she was far too mature to still be resenting her mother's interference.
She caught up with the men halfway down the slope.
"That's not a car I'd expect Frances to drive," Gib was saying. "Too small."
"Frances is coming? Francis, as in the mystery woman? Oh, I can hardly wait."
"I can," Ward said.
Gib grunted his agreement, and Ben snickered.
A tall, slight man climbed from the compact sedan. "Evan! I didn't know you were coming!" Hetty ran to embrace him. "Oh, it's so good to see you."
"How could I stay away, knowing you'd be here." He disentangled himself from her arms and faced Uncle Ben. "Hi, Dad."
Ben hugged Evan. "So you decided to come. Your mother will be pleased."
"They moved up my departure date. This will be the only chance I have to see Gran and all the cousins. I leave a week from Wednesday, so I thought I'd follow you and Mom home and spend a few days."
"Congratulations your new job," Ward slapped Evan lightly on the shoulder. "Quite a feather in your cap."
"It is, even if I am being sent to darkest Africa."
"Have you eaten?" Gib said, after shaking Evan's hand. "There's probably leftovers in the kitchen."
"More than enough," Hetty agreed.
"Thanks, but no. I stopped in Idaho Falls. Couldn't eat a bite." He opened the trunk. "Here, Hetty, this is for you." He handed her a bulky item wrapped in bubble packing.
"Oh! Is it--"
"The Embrace. I couldn't put it into storage, and knew you'd appreciate it."
Hetty hugged the package, torn between dashing back to the Pink House to unwrap it and spending this evening with Evan. Since Annie was probably sleeping in their bunkroom, she decided to stay. "Oh, I will. I know exactly where I'll put it." She had an inner vision of the fluidly carved, androgynous embracing couple standing on the bronze-and-glass table in her entry. "When you settle..."
"Someday," he agreed. He pulled a suitcase from the trunk. "Let me take these in. Which bed is mine?"
"I'll show you. We're roommates," Ward said.
Not having been inside the Blue House, Hetty followed. It was decorated much like the Pink House, with rustic furniture and sturdy fabric. A woodstove sat in the corner of the living room under a dormer ceiling that gave an impression of spaciousness. It already looked like a male-occupied house, with a golf bag in one corner of the dining room and a tackle box on a kitchen counter. "Who's in the master bedroom?" She knew that a married couple was assigned to each master bedroom, but hadn't heard who went where.
The only unassigned beds were in the bunkrooms. I wonder where Gran plans to put Frank.
"Jennifer and Eric," Gib said. "Peter and Kenna are in your house, and Elaine and Stewart in the Guest House."
Hetty breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn't have to live with Eric and Jennifer. She'd met Eric's wife just three hours ago and had already decided that the two of them would never be anything resembling friends. He was such a nice little boy. It's too bad.
Evan's car was unloaded in short order. The five of them strolled back to the cookshack together.
"So everyone's here, now," she said as they approached the door. "It promises to be an interesting week."
"Not everyone," Ward said, sounding glum. "There's still Frances."
No one replied.
Chapter Four
Sunday
"Nice rig you've got there."
Clay looked up from the frying pan to see an older fellow standing on the road just outside his camp site. He was holding a coffee cup.
"Thanks. It gets me where I want to go." He grinned, flipped the bacon out onto a plate, and reached for the eggs. "And it keeps the bugs off at night."
"Not many skeeters up here," his visitor observed. "Surprising, considering all the marshes upstream."
Clay lifted the coffee pot. "How's your coffee? I've got plenty."
"Gettin' a little low." He held out his cup to be refilled. "You up here for the fishin'?"
"Yeah. Any good?"
"So-so. Now, you shoulda been here a couple of months ago, in June, for the mayfly hatch. Had to beat 'em off with a stick, practically."
"So I heard." The eggs were done, so Clay sat down to eat after giving his visitor an inquiring glance.
"I already ate. Just stopped by to be neighborly. That's my rig down the way there." He pointed to a large motor home parked in another campsite a short distance down the road, dimly seen in the half light of early morning. "Gotta be gettin' back. Let me know how you do today." He strolled away.
Clay grinned around his first mouthful of eggs. Fishermen were a friendly bunch, except when it came to sharing their favorite spots. He had noticed that his neighbor had not told him where he had to "... beat 'em off with a stick." That was all right, though. He had some favorite spots of his own whose locations he rarely divulged.
As he poured the hot water over his breakfast dishes, Clay smiled at his idiosyncrasy. Why did bacon and eggs taste always better when cooked in the fresh air? The trailer had a perfectly good kitchen, but he always used his battered camp stove to cook breakfast outdoors.
With the trailer locked for the day and his fishing gear in the pickup bed, Clay pulled out of his campsite while the sky was still colored with the rosy glow of dawn. His mouth was dry with anticipation, just as it had been when, as a kid, he awaited Christmas. The first day of a fishing trip always found him excited, ready for something wonderful to happen, barely able to contain himself until he could get to the river. All other thoughts were banished from his mind, even his mild, residual curiosity about the woman he'd met yesterday. The river called.
Tuesday he would go look at the property in Last Chance, but today and tomorrow were his to spend as he wished. Even so, excitement wasn't solely due to the river's siren call. He'd driven by the properties, Abe's Fly Shop and Wexler's Cabins, yesterday before coming to the campground. They'd been even more run-down than he remembered from his last visit here three years ago. Abe Wexler must be in his eighties now, and it was obvious he was having trouble keeping the business up. On a Saturday afternoon in August, there had been a vacancy sign in the office's fly-specked window.
Tuesday. Today and tomorrow were for fishing.
* * * *
The window was a barely visible square in the almost total darkness of the room when Annie woke. Her face was cold but, snuggled under the enveloping down comforter, her body was warm and cozy. She heard a door close with a faint thud, then someone shuffled past the almost closed door. Otherwise the house was silent. Pulling the flannel sheet over her face, she closed her eyes, hoping to recapture the dreamless sleep she had left.
Half an hour later, she gave up. With a sigh, she flipped the covers back, gasping at the iciness of the air on her bare legs. At least she could take advantage of her wakefulness to escape from her overly solicitous family. While dressing in the bathroom, she couldn't stop her teeth from chattering. The hooks beside the back door held an assortment of coats and jackets. She chose a down parka in a camouflage pattern.
The sun hadn't quite risen above the mountains when she slipped out. The air was crisp, cold, and carried the resinous odors of pine and sagebrush. Instead of cut
ting across the lawn surrounding the Big House and the cookshack, she followed the road around to where a narrow trail took off. She needed silence and solitude.
Especially solitude.
As she recalled, it was a couple of miles to the river, farther than she'd walked since...farther than she'd walked for a long time. By the time she crossed the highway and climbed over a style, her legs felt like jelly. Good grief. I used to be able to run this far. But that had been long ago, before Walter. Before Calvin.
Oh, God. Calvin. I miss you so much. Unable to avoid the children in the dining hall last night, she'd felt real pain at Emma's every giggle. Her arms had ached to hold little Janice. I want to go home, she cried silently. I want to be far, far away from babies.
At least there were no childish voices breaking the silence here. Only the occasional flop of a trout as it leapt after a low-flying insect. Only the infrequent rumble of a semi along the highway. Only a faint, low murmur of the river as it flowed past her, glinting in the morning light, moving the water plants in a slow, undulating waltz.
The river. How could she have ever forgotten it? As a very young child, she'd had nightmares about it. Caught in its slow current, tangled in the webs of waterweed that floated in huge mats on its placid surface, swallowed in its icy grasp.
Thos nightmares had gone away, once she'd learned to swim, although that hadn't happened until she'd gone to Girl Scout camp the summer she was ten. As the only girl there who couldn't swim, she'd been laughed at, even shunned by some of the girls she'd known since first grade.
She'd overcome her fear of water then, enough to put her face in it, enough to go where it was deeper than she was tall. She'd learned to swim, had even passed the Red Cross Junior Lifesaver test. And she'd hated every minute of it.
Annie looked deep inside for the old fear, but it was gone. This morning the river gleamed peach and gold and silvery blue in the barely risen sun. Its wide, ever-changing surface, smooth as glass except where the patches of weed floated, was shattered here and there by surfacing fish. Breakfast time.
A Strange Little Band Page 4