by Mary Campisi
Chapter 6
There was something about her that reminded him of his daughter. He couldn’t say exactly what it was, perhaps it was the light shining on her blond head transforming each strand into pale gold, like whipped butter. Or maybe it was no more than the small smile she gave him, a faint turn of the lips when she caught him watching her. Or, worst of all, but quite plausible, it was nothing more than his own pitiful hope and longing wrapped in despair so great, for a daughter whose death had left him hollowed out, alone.
Norman Kraziak wasn’t disappointed when Nick beat such a hasty retreat a little while ago saying he’d check in later in the afternoon. Norman understood the important position his son-in-law held in this town. A doctor had responsibilities, duties to his patients, his community, his profession. Besides, Norman was secretly pleased to have this time alone with the young woman standing next to him examining a piece of wood. Alex Chamberlain was young and fresh and filled with questions and curiosity. He blinked hard, rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. And she was alive.
“Mr. Kraziak, this is such an incredible process.” Alex spread her arms wide. “The wood… there’s so much of it.”
“Don’t start with that Mr. Kraziak baloney. It’s Norman.” He clasped his hands over the slight paunch resting above his belt. “I’m proud of this company, proud too of the men and women who work here. Never had a union, or a strike. They’re good, solid people.”
“You must treat them well.”
“I treat them fair. That’s all anybody can expect in this world anyway—to be treated fair.”
“I guess you’re right.”
He scratched his head, thought a minute. “You seen enough, here? Long and short of it is that Androvich Lumber supplies us with all of our wood. We cut it, plane it, process it, and ship it out all over the country. Nice, simple, honest.” She smiled at him and damn if there wasn’t something that tore at his gut, reminded him of his baby girl. Caroline, oh Caroline, I miss you, Princess. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you, wish you back, right here with your daddy.
“Is something wrong, Norman?”
“Huh?” He blinked. She was watching him, concern in her pale blue eyes. Caroline’s eyes had been blue, a few shades darker, like a cloudless summer sky. “No, I’m fine.” He shook his head, pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you’ve seen enough of this place, I’d like to take you across town and show you my real baby.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll call Nick and let him know where we’ll be.”
“No. I mean, that’s not necessary. He’s taken enough time out of his busy schedule to escort me around. I really don’t want to bother him.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll be happy to drop you off at Edna and Chuck’s, but I don’t think Nick minded that much.” He chuckled, winked at her. “Not with a girl as pretty as you.”
She turned a dull pink. “He didn’t have much choice. His mother kind of volunteered his services.”
“That’s Stella. She’s a tough old bird.” He shook his head, rubbed his belly with his right hand. Damn, he’d have to stop eating at Hot Ed’s. Those sausage subs were doing him in. “Well, let’s go before it’s quitting time and you miss all the action.”
If she was impressed with the sawmill, Norman couldn’t wait to see what she’d say about NK Manufacturing. The company didn’t bring in a quarter of the revenue that the mill did, but he considered it one of his greatest sources of pride and accomplishment. “I’m taking you to NK Manufacturing,” he told Alex as they headed toward the outskirts of town in his black Lincoln Town Car. “We make custom rocking chairs there from a lot of the hardwoods, especially red oak and cherry.” He lowered his voice in reverence to the man who’d been father, companion, mentor, and friend. “It started years ago, when my father, Norman Kraziak Senior, came from his native Czechoslovakia to the United States with nothing more than a carving knife and an idea. Within five years, he was handcrafting rocking chairs out of the abundance of hardwood he found in the area—maple, poplar, red oak. Within ten, he’d set enough money aside to quit his job in the tannery and start his own company. He taught me everything I know about woodcarving and furniture crafting, by hand, long before the introduction of the machines we have today.” Working with your hands, making something, one shaving at a time, that’s an art, his father had said. Nobody wants to do it anymore. Press a button, that’s what they want to do. Press a button.
“I come to the shop sometimes at night, just to smell the wood and think.” He didn’t mention that he’d been doing it almost every night since Caroline’s death eight years ago.
“You must feel a great sense of accomplishment,” Alex said, “to have achieved such success, have a product you’re proud of. Not a lot of people can say that.”
“Too many people want to tear things down, Alex. Rip up the old and replace it with something new. These rockers are meant to last. The wood is hard, durable, and can be refinished eventually, even painted, though I personally believe that’s a sacrilege. Who would want to paint over the grain of an oak or cover up the two-tone quality of cherry?” He shook his head. “Only a fool who can’t appreciate the beauty of nature would do that.”
“Do a lot of people in Restalline own your rockers?” Alex asked.
Norman inhaled, held it, exhaled and flashed her a huge grin. “Damn straight, they do. Gave them away at cost to whoever brought me lumber. You know how many orders I took?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Five hundred twenty-two. Not bad for a town this size, eh?”
He caught her staring at him. “That was very… generous of you.” She sounded like she thought he was more crazy than generous. Maybe he was, but what the hell? It was only money, and you could only take it so far. The Good Lord wasn’t going to let him pack up his IRA’s or stock and take it with him, so he might as well unload some of it now. Besides, there was just him and Ruth and their grandson, Justin. How much would any of them ever need? It felt good and right to share, to donate to the less fortunate, to give in Caroline’s name.
It was an hour until quitting time when they arrived at the brick storefront of NK Manufacturing. Norman pulled into the spot to the right of the main door. It was reserved for him, had been his father’s before that and in the early days, Norman had hopes that one day a son or perhaps even a daughter would park in that space. But three miscarriages and five years brought him no sons and only one daughter. Caroline Elizabeth Kraziak came into her father’s life, not with a wail, but a delicate whimper, as though she hadn’t wanted to disturb anyone and was apologizing for making such an untimely appearance at 10:05 p.m. The moment he held his baby daughter in his arms, the years of anguish and disappointment fell away, leaving in its stead, a love so great, so powerful, it made him quiver. He had plans for his little girl, big plans and he told them to her every night, in great detail. She would go to college, anywhere in the country, money was of no consequence, and then if she wanted, she would work in the business and one day take over. Or, if she chose another profession or business, he’d finance the start-up costs. The choice was hers, and there were many choices as countless as the stars at night but much more attainable, he would see to that. The world is your Caroline, he’d say. Anything you want can be yours, will be yours. Anything.
It had frustrated him at first, when he told her this and she’d only smile, throw her arms around his neck, and tell him she wanted nothing more than what she already had. Oh, there was the occasional toy or new dress and one time, she’d asked for a stereo, but it was always tangible objects, accessible incidentals. Norman wanted her to consider possibilities and potential. But, either she would not or could not. The largest commitment she ever made toward a goal was telling him she wanted a family. I’m going to have lots of kids, Daddy, she’d said when she was eight. Six or seven at least. And I think I’ll get a husband, too.
Then one day, when she was sixteen, she came home after a football game, all flushed and breat
hless, her blue eyes shining. I know what I want, Daddy. I know. She’d twirled around and around, laughing and looking suddenly more woman than child. Finally, finally, I really know. Her laughter stopped, she reached for his hand. More than anything in the world, I want Nick Androvich. I want to marry him and have his children. That’s what I want, Daddy.
***
Alex followed Norman through the plant as he pointed out spindles, backs, legs, seats, all the necessary parts that went into making a Kraziak rocker. When he touched a piece of wood, held it in his hands, there was a reverence, a pure joy, on his face and in his voice. There’d only been a few times, when she was asking him questions, or commenting about a particular process in the plant, that she’d caught him watching her, his blue eyes unusually bright, a shadow falling over his otherwise agreeable features.
Why was he looking at her that way? Did she remind him of someone, his daughter, Caroline?
When they reached his office, Norman led her inside and spread a hand wide. “Have a seat, Alex. I just need to collect a few papers and then I’ll get you back to Chuck and Edna’s.”
She sank into a maple rocker, ran her fingers along the smooth surface, placed her hands on the armrests. Now she could try one out for herself. Maybe she’d order one for her office. Cherry. She was just ready to start rocking when she looked up and spotted a huge portrait of a young woman in the far corner of the office. Caroline. It had to be her. Norman’s daughter. Nick’s wife. The woman had long, flowing golden-blond hair, with soft curls falling to the sides and back, framing part of her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, wide, reserved, shy. Or was it hesitancy Alex saw, as though the woman might not be certain she wanted to join in? The rest of her was straightforward, beautiful—nose, small and compact; complexion, fair, perhaps light freckles, too hard to tell from this vantage point; chin, pointed, slight cleft; lips, full, parted in a glimpse of a smile.
Norman saw her studying the portrait. “That’s Caroline.”
Alex nodded, wondering if he were aware that he’d used the present tense. “Very beautiful.” She kept her reply simple in order to avoid present and past tenses.
“The light of my life,” he replied, looking at the portrait of his daughter. “A thousand times more beautiful than any picture. She”—his voice wobbled, stopped. “She”— he tried again.
“I know,” Alex found herself saying. “I know, Norman. I’m so sorry.”
He nodded, cleared his throat. When he looked at her, his eyes were wet. “When you came in the door today, the second before Nick introduced you, there was something about your hair that reminded me of her. I know you don’t even have the same color or style, hers was much longer and more golden, but with the light on it, for just a second, it could have been hers. And then when you laughed”—he wiped a hand over his eyes—“it was her laugh.” His shoulders slumped forward. “I’m sorry, Alex. I’m rambling, ignore me. Maybe it’s all my imagination.” He lifted his white head and his eyes were red. “You’re a beautiful woman. She was, too. Let’s leave it at that.”
Alex walked around the desk, touched Norman’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Norman. I know you must miss her terribly.”
He laughed, a hollow sound that fizzled out. “Terribly. That’s the word. She’s dead, I know that, and nothing is going to bring her back. But I’d sell my soul to the devil himself for just one more day with her.” His gaze moved over the portrait in a slow caress. “Her birthday was the fifteenth, and I can’t stop thinking about it. She would have been thirty-six.” He closed his eyes, dragged his hands over his face. “Ahhh, you didn’t come here to hear an old man tell you his troubles.”
Did all parents suffer like this when they lost a child? Was it the same pain children felt when they lost a parent? She wished she knew. In the distant part of her memory, she saw Uncle Walter standing in a church, tall and erect in his suit and tie. Aunt Helen was there too, dressed in black with a big, floppy hat that bumped Alex’s head whenever her aunt turned to whisper something to her. Alex was pinned between them, the new, shiny black shoes killing her feet. She was wearing a dress, navy blue with pink flowers—she still remembered it because it was the first one she ever owned. And it was uncomfortable and she hated it and the slip inside made her itch. Aunt Helen had bent over in her floppy hat, twice, and pinched her. Show some respect for the dead, she’d said. Those are your parents up there in those coffins, young lady. Now sit still and do what’s expected of you.
“You know, I think Nick still blames himself, but he shouldn’t.” Norman rubbed his eyes, shook his head. “Caroline was having a tough time, we all knew that. And then the baby came…” He stopped, took a deep breath. “It wasn’t his fault.”
What? What wasn’t his fault? Alex wanted to ask, but couldn’t. Apparently, Norman thought she knew, but why would he think that? His next words told her exactly why he thought what he did. “If you and Nick,” he started, fiddled with a paperweight. “What I mean is”—he cleared his throat—“well, it’s okay with me.”
“Norman? What are you talking about?”
He looked up at her, his blue eyes bright. “Nick needs to move on, find somebody to care about. He’s too young to be alone.”
“Why would you think he’s alone?” She thought of Chuck Lubovich’s sage comment about Nick’s prowess. Just because he doesn’t bring a girl to Sunday dinner, doesn’t mean he isn’t happy…or that there isn’t a girl waiting at home for him.
“There’s alone and then there’s alone,” Norman said. “The one alone means you don’t have anybody but yourself, maybe family, but not that special someone.” He rubbed his stomach in a wide circle, leaned against the edge of his desk. “The other kind of alone is worse. You might be with somebody and people might actually think you’re a couple, hell, you might even think you’re a couple.” He pointed a finger at her. “But you’re not, you’re still alone. And that’s the worst kind.”
She couldn’t help but ask, “Is that what you think Nick’s doing? Being alone with somebody?” He didn’t seem lonely—on the contrary, he seemed content, happy.
“Nah. Not really. But if he hooks up with that rent a doc he sure as hell will be.” He pursed his thin lips together. “I think she’s trying her damndest to snag him—brings him some fancy new fishing pole from Pittsburgh, and a new watch, very expensive, which he never wears, sweaters, cologne.” He leaned toward her, lowered his voice, “Doesn’t do any good.”
“How do you know all this?” She couldn’t imagine discussing her love life with her ex-father-in-law, or Uncle Walter, for that matter. “Does he tell you?”
“Doesn’t have to.” He lifted his left hand, moved his wrist around. The bright face of a watch shone under the fluorescent lights. Then he pointed to a far wall where a fishing pole lay propped in the corner.
Alex burst out laughing. “You’re going to be awfully sad when he breaks up with this girl. No more presents.”
Norman grinned. “I’ll take them while I can.” His smile faded. “I like you, Alex. I like what you’re trying to do. You’re going to tell people about this town, show them that everybody doesn’t need to crowd into a city to survive. There are places like Restalline all over the country, where you can raise a family, start a business, be happy. That’s the key, here. Be happy. I want to help, any way I can.” He paused, took a deep breath. “Caroline loved this town. In a way, it would be like honoring her.”
Blood rushed to Alex’s head, so fast and hard she grew dizzy. Please stop, Norman. I don’t want to hear anymore. I’m not your friend. If you only knew…
“…so if something were to happen between you and Nick, I would be the first to congratulate both of you.”
No, no you wouldn’t. She pressed her fingertips against her temples. “We’ve only just met… we hardly know each other.” And he’s already suspicious of me. Besides, the last thing I need in my life right now is a man.
“I met my wife on a Thursday and p
roposed the next Wednesday.”
“Are you talking about me again, Norman?” A woman stood in the doorway, her small frame swallowed up by the loose dress she wore. It was at least two sizes too big, the short-sleeves cupping her elbows, the hem dipping to mid-calf. Her gray-brown hair was pulled into a tight bun, stretching her nose, cheeks, eyes, across her face. She wore no makeup or lipstick, no adornments of any kind.
“Ruth.” There was a note of surprise, and something else in Norman’s voice. “What… what are you doing here?”
The woman eyed Alex, took a step forward, then another. She was wearing white slippers, stained around the toes. “Am I not allowed to visit my husband?” she asked, her brown eyes darting from him to Alex. “Is he too busy to see me?”
“No, dear, of course not.” Norman rushed forward, kissed her on the cheek. “I’m just surprised.” He lowered his voice. “How did you get here?”
“How else?” She whisked past him, plopped herself into the overstuffed chair behind his desk.
“You… drove?” It was part question, part dread.
She burst out laughing then, a loud, rude sound that bounced between them. “Of course, I drove. Do you think I could walk the three miles into town?” She shook her head, tapped her slippered-foot against the linoleum floor.
Norman’s face turned a dull red. He cast a quick glance in Alex’s direction, started to speak, hesitated, then pushed on. “You know Nick said you shouldn’t be driving.”
“And why in heaven’s name not?” she shot back.
“Ruth,” Norman gentled his tone. “You know why.”
She started to crumble, right before Alex’s eyes. Her lower lip quivered, her shoulders sagged forward in pitiful defeat, head bent forward. “It’s that damnable medicine, isn’t it?”
Norman came to her, placed a hand on her back, moving it in small, even circles. “It’s okay.”