Rattlesnake Hill

by Leslie Wheeler

  He sniffed, caught a whiff of sweat. Ought to go for that shower now. Except he wasn’t ready for the whole domestic scene: the living room with its plush carpet, big, comfy couch with fluffy pillows, flowers, and frills; the bathroom where the scent of potpourri mingled with that of freshly washed towels, still hot from the dryer; the spotless kitchen with its hanging rows of gleaming pots and pans, where Mill would be cooking a delicious meal. No, he wasn’t ready for all that. His head was still outdoors on the patio of the Farley house with the new tenant.

  She’d surprised him this afternoon, first with her fury, which had reminded him of Diana in her angry moments, then with her gentleness when she’d called him Kane and put her hand on his arm. Earl took off his work shirt and rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt. Freak her out if she knew that beneath the layers of cotton lay a tattoo of a big, black-and-green, coiled rattler with the words: “Don’t Tread on Me.” He knew she hated snakes. Hank had told him how she’d flipped out when she found the stuffed snake in the house. They’d had a good laugh over it.

  Now he almost wished he hadn’t planted the snake. He’d done it to scare her, hoping she would return to the city, leaving him to continue his visits to the pond, undisturbed. Now, he wasn’t sure he wanted her to leave.

  Earl stroked the place where her hand had rested. Oh, Kathryn, oh, baby . . . Wait a minute. What was he thinking? He wasn’t ready to open that can of worms again. At forty-one he was too old for that kind of craziness. Too old and too burnt-out by his all-consuming love for Diana.

  Sometimes he missed the highs that had come with their love, the dizzy sense of being on top of the world with her. But there were other things he didn’t miss, the jealousy that was like a rat gnawing at his heart, the violent way it had ended.

  Those were experiences he had no desire to repeat. And yet . . . God, he wished Kathryn hadn’t touched him, because he, of all people, knew how little it took to spark love, a few words, a gesture, and before you knew it, you were in over your head. Better quit while he still could.

  Earl went over to the small, metal kitchen sink and doused his face with cold water. He would go to the house for his shower, make it a cold one, too. Or maybe he’d take a dip in Lake Clyde. That ought to chill him out. But when he remembered the fireball of passion spawned in those icy depths he changed his mind. He’d shower at Mill’s.

  Chapter 21

  The noise of heavy equipment had long ago faded into silence. She could get her car now. Instead, Kathryn remained on the patio, thinking about the man who, for a brief moment, Earl had reminded her of. His errand completed, Kane had returned to Hawaii and committed suicide by jumping off a cliff. She wished it had been otherwise, but she hadn’t known how to ease such fierce grief as his.

  Her feelings of regret extended to Aunt Kit as well. The two weeks she had spent with Aunt Kit every summer until she was thirteen had provided her sole escape from the atmosphere of gloom that had overshadowed her childhood. She’d been hurt by her grandmother’s ban on further visits to Hawaii, but she had never questioned it. Not then, nor much later when she could, and probably should, have. Free at last from her grandmother’s control, she had no excuse not to visit Aunt Kit, unless it was because she was still angry at Aunt Kit for the behavior that had brought on the prohibition. Angry and still a bit shocked by Aunt Kit’s taking up with a man who was not only a native Hawaiian, but nearly twenty years younger?

  Aunt Kit had sometimes hinted it would be nice if Kathryn visited, but she had never reproached Kathryn for failing to do so. Nor, for that matter, had Kane when he’d come with the photograph. Aunt Kit seemed to understand Kathryn’s need to break with her family. She’d made it possible for Kathryn to escape an unbearable situation with her mother and father by giving her the money to attend college in Boston.

  Guilt gnawed at her when she thought of Aunt Kit’s kindness and generosity to her over the years. It was a long way from Boston to Hawaii, but she could have made the trip at least once, instead waiting for Aunt Kit to come to her.

  The ringing phone pulled her from the patio. “So you’re back in the Berkshires,” Alan said. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to return there so soon—if at all—after that fool tried to run us off the road. How is he, by the way?”

  “Not good. The doctors think he’ll lose the sight in one eye, and he’ll need surgery to restore the vision in the other.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but he had no business doing what he did.”

  “No. I feel for his family, though.”

  “Of course. It’s not going to be easy for them.”

  “No . . . As for me returning here, I felt I had to, if I’m ever going to accomplish what I came for. I can’t just waltz into town and expect people to give me the information I want right away. It’s going to take time and effort on my part. But at least I’m starting to make some progress. Yesterday I visited the old woman my great-aunt was in touch with again, and this time, she told me the first name of the woman in the photograph. Hopefully, I’ll learn more soon. But enough about me, how is Sophie?”

  “A little bit better, I think. The medicine you brought might be starting to work.”

  “Oh, I hope so! What did you do with it?”

  “Cindy got a potted African violet plant, dumped out most of the soil and replaced it with the other soil. That way, we won’t have to worry about anyone accidentally throwing it out.”

  “Who’s Cindy?”

  “This nice nurse on Sophie’s ward.”

  “What did you tell her about the dirt?”

  “Only that it was special and I wanted it in the room with Sophie . . . Everything else okay on your end?”

  “Yup. There’s nothing else to report except that Earl Barker’s started work on the driveway.”

  “That must be noisy and inconvenient. Unpleasant for you, too, given how you seemed to dislike him. But it did look like the driveway needed to be repaired.”

  “Uh-huh.” No need to tell him about the sympathy Earl had evoked in her when he had bared his soul. Or that she’d responded by revealing a family scandal.

  Chapter 22

  The next morning, Earl’s loader blocked the way when Kathryn drove down the driveway. He pulled aside to let her pass, and she waved her thanks, glad they were in their separate vehicles, and conversation was unnecessary.

  “Would you mind looking in on Emily this afternoon?” Millie asked when Kathryn went to the post office to check her mail. “It’ll only be for a couple of hours until Sis is ready to leave the hospital.”

  Kathryn hesitated, remembering Sunday’s mealtime ordeal, but also Emily’s beatific smile and her need to get information. “I can do that.”

  “Thanks. You’re a doll.”

  “How’s Garth doing?”

  “Better. He’s starting physical therapy in a few days, and they think he’ll be able to leave the hospital in about a week. But it’s going to be tough for him and his family. I’m organizing a benefit in their behalf a week from Friday at the White Stag. There’ll be a potluck supper, dancing to the music of a local band, a raffle and a silent auction. I hope you’ll be able to come.”

  “I’ll try.” What a good person Millie is, Kathryn thought as she left.

  *****

  “Where’s Sis?” Emily asked as Kathryn helped her out of the senior center van into the house.

  “At the hospital.”

  “Still? I call that a long labor, don’t you?”

  “She’s not having her baby. She’s at the hospital because of Garth. He was in a bad accident, remember?” Kathryn hoped they wouldn’t have the same conversation every time she visited. She settled Emily at the kitchen table, removed a casserole from the fridge and slid it into the microwave. Thankfully, today’s casserole was shepherd’s pie instead of tuna noodle.

  “Blinded, wasn’t he
?” Emily said. “Just like his great-great uncle, Old Man Barker.”

  “He was blinded in an accident, too?”

  “No.” Emily’s expression turned grim.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it now. What’s for lunch?”

  Kathryn sighed. Emily was as evasive as ever, but maybe after she’d had something to eat, she would be more forthcoming. When Emily had taken several bites of shepherd’s pie, Kathryn said, “The other day when I was here, you told Sis that Aurelia would take care of her baby. What did you mean by that?”

  “Just what I said.”

  “But I read in your recollections that Aurelia was your great-grandmother. How could she care for Sis’s baby when she’s no longer living?”

  Emily was silent, considering this. “I must have meant that if Aurelia were alive, she would have taken care of Sis’s baby. It was the kind of thing she did. My great-grandmother was a compassionate woman and a loyal friend.”

  “I’m sure she was.”

  Emily glanced at her curiously. “You knew Aurelia?”

  “No, but I believe what you say about her.”

  “If it hadn’t been for Aurelia, that poor baby might have—” A look of distress came over Emily’s face. After a few moments, it was replaced by something else. “Have you been out to Lake Clyde yet?”

  Kathryn sighed again. Emily was one of the most exasperating people she’d ever dealt with. The old woman’s brain bounced from one subject to the next like a pinball. “No. Is it someplace I should go?”

  Emily sucked meat and potato from her finger. “When I was a girl, I enjoyed trips to the lake. Every summer they held a boat parade. Now, that was a lovely sight with Japanese lanterns lighting the boats on the water and the cottages along the shore. We used to take picnics to Johnson’s Grove and go bathing at the beach at Heron Point. From there to Cook’s Landing on the opposite shore it was only a half-mile, so swimmers often paddled from one side to the other. I was the first young woman ever to swim the seven-mile length of the lake, however.”

  “That’s impressive,” Kathryn said politely.

  “I dreamed of swimming the English Channel like what’s-her-name,” Emily continued with a rueful smile. “Had to settle for Lake Clyde, though. And Walter insisted on following in a rowboat. Afraid I’d get a cramp. We were engaged, and he didn’t want to lose me before we got to the altar. He needn’t have worried. I’d been swimming since I was a little thing. My great-grandmother made all us children learn. A dear friend of hers nearly drowned. She didn’t want that to happen to us.”

  “Is that what you got the medal for?” Kathryn asked.

  “What medal?”

  “The one on your dresser. You asked me to put Marguerite’s photograph next to it the last time I was here.” Maybe she could steer the conversation in that direction.

  “Oh dear, no,” Emily laughed. “Though they should have presented me with a medal. I did get my picture in the local paper and they ran a story about me, too. I’ve got the clipping somewhere, if you’d like to see it.” She pushed back her chair.

  “You can show it to me later. About Marguerite—”

  “I thought you wanted to know about the medal.”

  “I do, but—”

  “Then pay attention,” Emily snapped. “The medal was awarded to a local man for an act of great heroism. Many years later, he gave it to me.”

  “That was kind of him.”

  Emily sniffed. “Old Man Barker always gave me presents when he came to visit.”

  “Old Man Barker gave you the medal? I thought he killed someone. Surely, they didn’t award him a medal for that.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what did he do to earn it?” Maybe now she’d finally get the rest of Old Man Barker’s story.

  Emily rooted around in her food for a few moments, as if the answer to Kathryn’s question lay there. “Have you met Earl?” she asked finally.

  Another question out of the blue. If there was any method to Emily’s madness, she had yet to discover it. “Our paths have crossed a few times. Why do you ask?”

  “He’s the one who should tell you the story.”

  “Why?”

  “Old Man Barker was his great-great uncle.”

  “I’d love it if you told me,” Kathryn said in the wheedling tone she used with potential donors to the Lyceum’s collection.

  Emily pointed a greasy, mashed potato-encrusted finger at her for emphasis. “You get Earl to tell you.”

  “Emily—”

  “The story’s about Marguerite, too,” Emily added slyly. “And tomorrow when you come, be sure to bring her photograph.”

  *****

  Earl was about to climb into his pickup when Kathryn returned from Emily’s. She pulled up alongside and left her car. “Looks like you’re finished for the day. Like to join me for a drink on the patio?” Despite her effort to sound casual, she was aware of the stiffness in her voice and wished Emily hadn’t put her up to this.

  “Thanks, but I’ve got to be someplace.”

  She wondered if he felt as uncomfortable about opening up to her yesterday as she did. “How about stopping in for coffee tomorrow morning? I promise you a better cup than you’ll get at the general store.”

  He swung his foot off the runner and planted it on the ground. “What’s on your mind, Starstruck?”

  “I was just over at Emily Goodale’s. She’s got a medal on her dresser, and when I asked about it, she told me it belonged to your great-great uncle, Old Man Barker. She said you should tell me the story of how he earned it.”

  “Why didn’t she tell you herself?”

  “She refused.”

  Earl put his hands on his hips, elbows jutting outward, coat-hanger style. “How come you’re so interested in my great-great uncle?”

  “I’m trying to find out about a woman from the past named Marguerite. Emily said the story about your great-great uncle and the medal involves her, too. But if you don’t want to tell me, I can always—”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

  “Then you will?”

  Earl frowned at a stone embedded in the ground. He dislodged it with the toe of his boot, kicked it out of the way and smoothed over the hole that was left. “Yeah. But it’ll have to wait until Thursday.”

  “Why?”

  “I won’t be around tomorrow. Gonna rain.”

  Surprised, she looked at the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, and she’d heard no forecast of rain. “Really?”

  “See you Thursday after work.”

  Chapter 23

  Earl was right. A hard, driving rain knocked the remaining leaves from the trees, reminding Kathryn how bleak November could be. Bleak like the expression on Emily’s face when she’d visited her earlier in the day. “But then she died and that was the end of it,” Emily said, as the light went out of her eyes and her face took on the look of an abandoned building.

  She’d been speaking of Diana. Every time Kathryn asked a question about Marguerite, Emily changed the subject to Diana. She told Kathryn how Diana had campaigned for the law forbidding hunting on private property without written permission from the landowner, and how she’d fought to get boats with gasoline motors banned from Lake Clyde.

  Obviously, Emily had loved and admired Diana, and felt her loss as keenly as Earl. But if Diana had been deeply loved, she’d also been hated by Garth and probably other hunters, as well as by the “power boat people,” as Emily called them. The more Kathryn heard about Diana, the more Diana struck her as a force of nature: someone you either loved or hated. She was definitely a person who put herself out there—for better or worse. Unlike Kathryn herself, who preferred to remain on the sidelines. That way, she avoided arousing people’s ire, but also winning their a
ffection.

  What would it be like to be loved like Diana had been by Earl and Emily, or her great-aunt by Kane? And to feel passionate love in return? But to experience this, she’d have to release emotions long pent-up. Every now and then, she was aware of these emotions straining to get out like wild horses in a pen. In her mind, she was mounted on one of them, without bridle or saddle, gripping the horse’s mane, thighs pressing into its flanks, terrified lest the horse escape and thunder off with her. If that happened, she imagined herself screaming just like she had as a child astride the white pony at the fair. The pony had looked so cute that she’d begged her grandmother to let her go for a ride, never dreaming that once she got into the saddle, it would break into a furious gallop and not stop until it had carried her, shrieking her head off and barely holding on, around the ring three times that seemed like an eternity.

  “I hope you learned your lesson,” her grandmother scolded after Kathryn was lifted, dizzy and shaken, from the pony. “It may have looked like a sweet little pony to you, but horses are unpredictable and dangerous. You’re lucky you weren’t thrown and killed, or maimed for life.”

  Her grandmother felt the same way about men: like horses they were unpredictable and dangerous, and to fall too hard for the wrong man, as Kathryn’s mother had for her father, was to court disaster.

  While there was no danger of her falling for Earl, she, nevertheless, decided it might be best if she kept her distance and didn’t meet with him tomorrow. Yet if she didn’t, she wouldn’t learn how Old Man Barker had earned the medal, and how Marguerite had been involved. Unless she could find the tapes of Emily’s recollections. Then she wouldn’t have to depend on either Earl or Emily to give her the information she wanted.

  She knew that some personal items belonging to Gordon and Diana were stored in the attic. First, though, she’d check the red room upstairs that had been Diana’s study.