Chapter 18
THE HOT WATER FELT GOOD, and Piper wished she could stay in the shower longer and let the stress of the day wash down the drain. But she shook the thought from her tired mind and jumped out, wrapping a towel around her tall frame, grabbing another for her hair, and froze as she caught the image of Paul out of the corner of her eye. Breath held, heart in her throat, she waited to see why he was just standing in the doorway, arms crossed.
“Piper,” he said in an eerily calm voice. She didn’t turn or respond, knowing that even though he was not aware of the fiasco she had just been through, he should still be appreciative that she got the labels even if there was only a couple of hours before guests would begin to arrive. She stood, bent at the waist, and towel-dried her hair. When she was finished, she flung her hair back as she stood straight, something Paul normally found irresistibly sexy.
“Piper, do you realize these labels are not self-stick?”
She felt a jolt in the pit of her stomach and was worried her French toast might come up, but instinctively held herself still, not wanting to show surprise. She recalled from somewhere deep in her subconscious that wolves were known to attack one of their own if one shows weakness—a matter or rank or perhaps survival. At a loss for words, she glared at him through the mirror.
Paul glared back. “No answer? That’s just beautiful, sweetheart, just frigging beautiful,” he shouted, getting her back for her uncharacteristic profanity toward him moments before.
“Paul, I’ll take care of it. Don’t wo—”
He interrupted her even as he stormed out into the master bedroom.
“Take care of it? Take care of it! You’ve taken care of enough. I’ll deal with it. Just like everything else around here!”
He grabbed his keys from the bureau and ran down the stairs. She heard him slam the front door and then Viceroy barking after him from the mudroom, wondering why he hadn’t gotten so much as a pat on his loyal little head.
She instantly felt horrible for treating her best friend with contempt when it was she who had screwed up so badly. She wanted to know where he was going and what his plan was to fix the problem was. Funny, she thought, how when he’s in my face like that I wish he would just disappear, but when I hear the door shut and the car engine rev, I want nothing more than to make things better, to know that he’s okay. I want to know that he’s coming back to me.
She picked up the phone by the bed and dialed his cell. It rang and rang and finally went to voicemail. “Hello, you’ve reached Paul, leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. And if this is my beautiful wife, I love you.”
That always made her smile.
“Uhh, Paul, honey, I’m so sorry, I know I screwed up. I … I had to go to New York for the labels. I didn’t tell you because, (sigh) because I missed the call from the original printer and … it’s a long story. I’m sorry. Just call me and let me know you’re okay and what you need me to do before everyone gets here. Paul, I … I love you and I’m sorry.”
She hung up, hardly feeling relieved, but reaching in that direction anyway. As she turned, she saw that the emerald gown she was planning on wearing for the celebration was carefully hung on her closet door and she began to feel a little excited. She knew they’d get through this and when it was all over, they could laugh about the slipups, the screw-ups and about how funny the story would sound when they told it at Christmas time, and in the future whenever a party needed a good laugh.
Deciding it was too early to get dressed, she pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Figuring she had enough time to dry her hair, she went back into the bathroom where, through the steam from her shower, she thought for a split second she saw Paul there. She shook her head, sucked in her breath, and the image was gone. She shook it off, telling herself to calm down, put on some makeup, and blow her hair dry, something she seldom did. When she finished, and hung her wet towels to dry she trotted downstairs and thought to feed the horses early so not to leave it until the last minute, as some people might begin to show up early, particularly Paul’s parents. She looked out the window at the gray sky. November was never as beautiful in New England as in September and October. No sign of Paul’s car. Where did he go? Maybe to get some glue for the labels? Just then Viceroy yelped, and she spun around, frightened in the stillness of the house. He yelped again, and she realized he was still in the mudroom, probably waiting for Paul to come back for him. She admitted to herself that she knew how he felt. “Vice, come on pup. Viceroy. It’s okay little guy. He’ll be back s—”
A howl this time. It froze Piper in midsentence. She had never heard him howl before. A sudden chill ran down her spine, and she rushed to the mudroom. Viceroy was standing in a puddle of urine. Piper didn’t know which surprised her more, the howling or the accident. Certainly neither was the norm for her dog. She jogged to the kitchen for paper towels and some Simple Green, and, when she came back, she heard the sound of tires crunching on the stone-dust drive. “Paul,” she breathed, “thank God.” She peered through the side light on the doorway and saw a dark car slowly come to a halt on the driveway. She dropped the bottle of cleaner right on top of the already upset dog, making him growl and snap at her dangling hand (another first in a day of beginnings and endings of which she was not yet aware).
She watched the trooper get out of his car, reach back in for his hat and place it squarely on his head. He reached over to the radio sitting on his shoulder, turned his head and spoke into it. A few seconds later he spoke again. He quickly scanned the yard, the garage area and then took a step forward. Piper clawed at her chest. She couldn’t breathe, and she could feel her heart pulling and thrusting in the cavity of her chest, blocking all thought and sound. She ran back to the kitchen and tore the phone receiver off the wall. As she dialed Paul’s number again, and before she finished, the doorbell rang.
“No!” she screamed and lost her concentration. She hit the call button on the phone, clicked it a second time, and tried to dial again but kept hitting the wrong numbers, her fingers just wouldn’t obey. The bell again, this time louder in her ears, calling to her, screaming at her, demanding she pay attention. Viceroy whined and growled and stood his ground at the door, tail tucked between his legs, no hint of his usual friendly curiosity.
Piper walked to the door, not wanting to open it but knowing she must.
“Viceroy! Sit!” She knew he wouldn’t but wanted only to try her voice to see if it would even work. Her hand felt so cold and stiff as she turned the doorknob that she wasn’t at all sure she would get the door open. Using her whole hand and wrist to manipulate the suddenly slippery bronze, she flung the door open, resulting in a gasp from her and the man on the other side. Looking up as if directly into the sun, with eyes squinting, and anticipating pain, she found herself face to face with a Massachusetts State Trooper. He looked into her eyes for a moment, and then removed his hat. She had seen something similar in a movie before, but she couldn’t imagine why this man was removing his hat at her door. Wasn’t he just going to ask if that Volvo in the driveway was hers, that he had seen her speeding on the Pike that morning and he had a nice fat speeding ticket for her? That’s all it is, she tried to convince herself.
“Is this 9 Farmdale Road?”
She nodded like a little child who realizes she is in trouble and must own up.
“What is your husband’s name, Ma’am?”
She glanced at his badge as she let “Paul” slip from her lips.
“Ma’am, I deeply regret to inform you that your husband was killed in an automobile accident, a half hour ago.”
Numb, she stood stone still and looked at his watery blue eyes.
I know you.
She felt rather than heard this. She tilted her head to the side.
“No, he didn’t. He just went to the store, to get some glue for the labels because you see, I screwed up and ordered the wrong ones and … and … you see we have a lot of people coming in a little
while, and—”
The trooper reached out his hand and touched her arm.
“Ma’am, may I come inside, please?”
She took a step back, right onto Viceroy’s paw, and he yelped again. This time he ran to his bed next to Paul’s chair in the great room. She jumped, and the trooper’s hand tightened on her arm to steady her. Her legs were like dry sand, sifting and shifting and running in all directions. For a brief moment she thought she might pass out—sweaty and hot, but cold at the same time. Darkness, light, fading, brightening, too much too fast. He gently turned her around and steered her into the great room. She steadied herself, wanting to run past him and get into her car to go find Paul, her wonderful, loving husband whom she had been so nasty to just an hour before. She composed herself and sat quietly on the sofa next to this stranger.
“Ma’am is there anyone you’d like me to call? Family, a neighbor, a friend?”
Piper turned toward him and asked if he’d like something to drink, some coffee perhaps.
“I never touch the stuff,” he said knowing full well it was not a time for jokes but it was true. He’d much rather have tea with lavender but simply shook his head, smiling, knowing that she was in shock and that he needed to just sit with her until it sunk in. He remembered how, in the academy, his instructors told him he would never get used to this, the worst of all duties.
“I could get you some coffee, though, or water,” he offered.
She shook her head.
“My husband will be home shortly. He just ran out to get some glue or something for the labels. Would you like to see them? I just picked them up today. They’re for our first bottling.”
He just stared at her and shook his head.
They both turned when the front door opened, and saw Paul’s parents rushing in, concern on their faces. “Piper, honey, where’s Paul? Why are the police here?”
She tried to explain again, about the labels, the glue, her screw-up this morning, the hectic week, her incurable impatience. The trooper introduced himself to Paul’s parents. “I’m Sergeant Van der Beck, Massachusetts State Police, and I am here to aid Mrs. …” Vander! Come for me, help me, I’m here, I need you my love, my heart!
Her mind swirled with the smell of fresh soil as it filled her nose. She choked on the memory of a funeral long ago and wondered why it felt so hot in the house all of a sudden. Paul’s mother was screaming miles away somewhere, and his father was begging her to stop, that it was going to be all right, they would be all right. She turned toward the kitchen and saw the note on the microwave from this morning. Reality. Thank God for that. She went to the note, Paul’s flawless handwriting comforting her. He can’t be dead, he had just written her this note hours ago, and people who were about to die did not write on sticky notes and then head outside to the barn where the biggest night of his life was going to happen. She felt comforted by the little yellow square and turned back toward the three people huddled in her great room. She refused to see the cars coming down the road toward the house. Thoughts swirled and careened in her mind.
People can’t be showing up yet, they still had a thousand labels they needed to bottled and the notepads with the reporters hadn’t arrived and why was it so cold? The door is coming through the people or the people and their sense are making no words! Everything went blessedly dark just before Piper fell soundlessly to the tile floor.
WATCHING HER CHILDREN GROW was a gift Piper never took for granted. Becoming motherless at eight years of age and always wanting her mother near made her appreciate becoming a mother herself. Would you be proud, Maman? Even as her eyes brimmed with tears she often felt the whisper of a breeze or a tingling in her shoulder blades that made her feel as though her mother truly were with her. And always with it was the scent of her mother. If someone asked her to describe it, she wouldn’t have been able to find the words. How does one describe something so unique and so close to one’s heart?
When Peyrinne was in her third summer, Piper and Vander welcomed into their lives not one, but two boys. Philip and Luuk were as alike as twins could be, and as they grew, were never more than an arm’s length from one another. Vander delighted in wrestling with them before their evening meal and Piper, at the hearth, often explained to her daughter that boys had a different way of showing love for each other, a very loud way indeed. Peyrinne with her raven black hair and eyes to match, would inevitably snuggle closer with her mother, enjoying the time alone with her.
On an exceptionally warm summer’s evening, Vander explained to Piper that there was a man in Paris who had approached him about making him a partner in his new perfumery.
“Imagine that one day, Piper, we won’t have to toil so hard; that we can just purchase the lavender from a silly young buck who loves plowing the heavy soil and baking himself in the summer heat. And when it’s delivered to us, we can pay him a fair wage and still make tenfold that amount by selling the perfume ourselves.”
Piper turned to her husband with a look that suggested he may have lost his mind from the heat of the day. “But Vander, the perfumery is paying you a good wage, a great wage for the lavender. We don’t need more than we have. Do we?”
Vander looked down at his children, playing by the garden fence just beyond the window of the bed chamber. His wife looked to see what had caught his attention. The boys were running after a rabbit, and Peyrinne was, at the top of her voice, encouraging the rabbit to run faster, faster, that her brothers intended to skin him and eat him for dinner. The couple stood side by side at the window and laughed, as the rabbit seemed to take the directive well and made it to the tree line before the boys could catch him.
“I just want the children to have something when I am gone, something they wouldn’t have if I … if I ….” Vander’s voice trailed off.
Piper responded, “If you what? If you just worked hard every day like you do, like your father and his father? Do you think something is wrong with that, Love?”
Vander looked beyond her to the empty wall of the bedchamber. He shook his head slowly and said, “No, I suppose not.”
She felt badly that she didn’t share his dream, his desire to be more than common folk. She liked the way their life had come together in a way that she had never dreamed. The house, the farm, her babies; she wanted for nothing more but realized that sometimes men with ambition needed more. And she loved her husband so; she just didn’t like the idea of moving far from where they had built their lives. The thought of the city frightened her, and she couldn’t imagine not having acre after acre of open pasture and their sea of lavender to escape into.
Vander excused himself. “I think I’ll take a ride if you don’t mind, down to the brook.”
She nodded her head and smiled, knowing this was his way of taking a break, of working things through in his mind. She loved him so. “I will bring Pieferet around and then I’ll feed the hens.” She left the room before he could protest. He was never one to have his wife wait on him. He pulled his weight around the house as well as the rest of the farm.
When she reached the stable, the scent of hay and horse tugged at her and she wished she could ride with her Vander; it had been so long. With the children always underfoot it’s a wonder I get through the day sometimes, she thought and laughed softly because she wouldn’t trade her life for the world. She reached up and took Pieferet by the rope halter. He was beginning to show his age and this made her more than a little sad. She stroked his long thick neck and fingered the silver rivers running through his mane. “Come on my friend, you are going for a run to the brook.” He seemed forlorn ever since Henk had died the summer before. Vander did not want to replace him, as there was no replacement for such a fine animal, a loyal friend. But needing a team to pull the plow he traded Pieferet’s stud service for a Percheron gelding at the horse fair in the city. Piper slipped the reins over his neck and gently slid the bit into his mouth, talking to him as she always had. “I will have your evening meal ready, Monsieur, when you retu
rn.”
Taking him loosely by the reins, she led him into the stable yard and waited for her husband, who was now brushing dirt from one of the twin’s scraped knees. She reached down and scratched the head of their oldest doe who had just delivered two kids the week before. “Time marches on, doesn’t it love?” The goat answered with a switch of her tail and a friendly butting of her head against Piper’s thigh.
As Vander approached, Piper noticed his slumped shoulders, the unmistakable look of disappointment on his face and how he dragged his boot heel every other step. He saw her looking and put on the best smile he could find and thanked her for bringing the horse around for him. She stood at the horse’s shoulder, the spot she knew he needed to be in order to mount up. He looked at her, confused for a moment, and then realized she had something to say to him.
“What is it Piper?” he asked her.
“Vander, I … I don’t. I don’t want you to regret your days when the end comes. I want you to be happy and to follow the path that you find. The one you choose.”
He looked at her and noticed the slightest hint of a wrinkle around the eyes he loved so much. He kissed her forehead and stroked her cheek with his weathered hand.
“I won’t be long. We’re just going to the brook.”
Piper stepped away, confused. She thought he would be excited that she was willing to hear more about his plan; but she knew, too, that he needed time to think about what to do next. She watched as he and Pieferet cantered off into the pasture, Vander’s face buried in the billowing mane of his horse. She stood watching as the pair became smaller and smaller and finally disappeared from her sight. Leaning against the fence, she recalled the first time she saw him riding down the lane near her home when they were children. He was so small on the giant black horse and yet looked as if he had been there his entire life—wings on Pegasus. His brown trousers were torn and ragged and eventually he tore the pant legs off below the knee, freeing his quickly growing legs. He always rode barefoot, much to his mother’s disapproval. Philip would try to comfort his wife by explaining that if one of the horses stepped on his foot, a boot was not going to do him much good anyway. Piper smiled when she remembered these conversations as she and Vander played in the stable yard of his boyhood home. These fond memories seemed a lifetime ago. Peyrinne was now the age Piper had been when she met her husband.
Piper, Once & Again Page 17