Why not? She was Judith Rutherford, student, now. Maybe she’d sample the Dog Shack next.
In fact, if she wanted to fit into the campus scene, either here or at the Detroit Lakes Community College, she was going to have to learn to eat pizza and drink beer. No. Oh no. No, some things were just really too extreme.
She spent another hour simply walking around the campus. She found the bookstore, but they did not have the fall semester’s textbooks shelved yet. Come back in August, she was told. No, she would get them online from the bookstore site. They did, however, have a couple of books for general reading, popular nonfiction works on geological subjects—one about the eruption of Krakatoa in Southeast Asia, one on the great Galveston hurricane in 1900. She bought them both.
She walked down to the sports complex, Chester Park, with its track and baseball fields. Also other types of fields devoted to sports she knew nothing about and the tennis courts. She did not particularly enjoy the game of tennis. She didn’t even watch Wimbledon on television. Would she become the superfan that all college students seemed to be? Probably not.
She realized eventually why all the buildings were connected by corridors and breezeways; in the winter, people didn’t want to go out into a blizzard with every class change. The more she wandered about, getting lost now and then, the better she liked this campus. It was neat and tidy. Sensible. Efficient. Complex.
She liked to think of herself as sensible, efficient, and complex also. Liked to think? She was. All those years of taking care of her parents and her father in his cranky dotage, she had to become neat and tidy and sensible and highly efficient, and she had learned a lot of arcane, complex things. And the bitterness of being betrayed by the old man slapped her anew unexpectedly. Would she ever get over it?
The old man had messed her up royally. He had snarled at her all the time, making certain she knew that she was failing to fully please him. And surprise! She missed the old reprobate terribly.
She eventually came to the parking lot where her car sat, so she got in it and drove away, not toward the hamlet of Barnett and Barnett Lake, but south, down to Melody’s.
Just think, loons. Quiet. Rutherford House had been quiet, sometimes too quiet.
Should she have taken over as caretaker? Absolutely not. She was certain of this now. And the word betrayal brought to mind their housemate Angela. Talk about betrayed! Twenty-five years of marriage, and you discover your prince in shining armor is a pig. Was there any stability in the world, anything you could grasp and know it would not betray you?
In church, the preachers—there had been three so far since Judith had started going to that church—claimed that Jesus was the only person upon whom one could depend totally. He seemed very, very distant just now, certainly not close enough to lean upon.
Memorial Day would be here in two days. Just think. In forty-eight hours she could pay tribute to the bitter, thankless old man who destroyed her past and her future. Wonderful.
Up ahead, red brake lights flared on. All of them. Cars and trucks slowed to a crawl and before long stopped completely. With a sigh she turned off the engine. She wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. Northbound traffic came through at a trickle. Something big had happened ahead.
Her cell phone broke into song. She dug it out. “Hello?”
“This is Melody. Are you all right?”
“If stationary is all right, I’m absolutely peachy. Why?”
“News radio just reported a huge pileup on 35 South east of Cambridge. I just turned on the TV. They’re showing a live feed from a helicopter. What a mess! I was afraid you were in it!”
“I’m sitting behind it.”
“Oh, I’m so glad! Anselm and I were worried you were caught in it; apparently, there are a number of injuries.”
“I can see the news chopper way up ahead there; it just climbed above the trees; now it’s below the trees again. I’m going to be really late getting in, Melody. There are no exits for miles. I’m trapped.”
“That’s all right. Just get here safely.”
“Thank you.” And then Judith thought of the flowers. “Do we have flowers for the graves?”
“We do. I’ll cut them tomorrow so they’re fresher.”
“Excellent. Thank you. And wait until I tell you where my dreams are going!”
“I can’t wait!”
“Well, you’ll just have to.” They both laughed and good-byed each other.
With nothing to do but sit there, she dug her two new books out of the trunk and opened the first one, the one about Krakatoa. Simon Winchester. She recognized the author’s name; she’d read one of his books long ago, The Professor and the Madman, and had really enjoyed it. Why had she not done more light reading as she tended her father? Years of good reading potential wasted, she regretted that.
The driver behind her blew his horn, startling her. The line was moving! She tossed her book aside and cranked the ignition. The traffic was dismally poky, and it took nearly ten minutes to go half a mile, no doubt because gawkers were slowing to look at the mangled trucks by the roadside that had not yet been hauled away. But then they passed over the wet road where fire trucks had washed away the gas and oil and broken glass and probably even blood. Traffic opened up again and she was back to speed.
When was the last time she had ever been so thoroughly immersed in a book? Years. And what had captured her attention so completely that she hadn’t noticed the line moving? Subduction zones! When the traffic had stopped she had no idea what a subduction zone was, and if you had asked her if she cared, she would have said, “No!” And here she was eagerly learning about subduction zones. She regretted all over again losing so many years when she vegetated in Rutherford House.
Melody, Anselm, and their dog, Bozo, all greeted her warmly as she drove up to their house. Anselm carried her overnight bag upstairs, and Melody brought out a big dish of beef stew, setting Judith up at the kitchen table. “Okay!” Melody plopped down across from her. “Tell me where your dreams are going!”
Judith divided her time between telling about her day and savoring the stew. She was really hungry; delicious as it had been, the Thai food had long since left. “I was about a hundred pages in when traffic started to move again, and the author was explaining about subduction zones. Melody, I’m an alien on an alien planet. This isn’t me. I’ve totally changed, and I can’t say when it happened. But…well, there it is.”
“And I couldn’t be happier for you! You’re blooming late, but at least you’re blooming! Now, how do you like that shared living arrangement?”
“I hope it works. One is rather aloof, and the other seems to think we’re not just housemates but one big happy family and she’s the matriarch. And she’s rather messy; that goes against my grain. However, I’ll be taking classes at Detroit Lakes and one online, so I think between commuting and studying, my days will be pretty much full. Too full to get bored or irritated.” Judith wagged her head. “From Rutherford House to a couple rooms. What a change.”
“Well, if it doesn’t work, you know, a room here is waiting for you.”
“Thank you.”
Anselm came in from the mudroom and sat down. “Are you girls all settling in yet?”
“So far, so good. And it’s a pretty time of year there.”
Melody beamed. “Judith is going to be a world-renowned anthropologist and discover new ruins.”
Anselm bobbed his head. “Congratulations! Does the world know about this yet?”
“The world! I’m not even sure of it.” Judith sighed. “I’m about the same age as Dr. Pollan, my advisor. She has years of research and publications behind her, and I haven’t even taken freshman anthropology yet. It’s daunting.”
“But it’s doable!” Apparently Melody harbored no doubts whatever. “That’s the important thing. And Anselm, they found a dog. Rather the dog found them. Judith, tell him about it.”
She did so, and then, very weary, excused herself and wen
t to bed. She expected to toss and turn a lot; she’d been doing that lately. Instead she fell asleep quickly and slept through to morning.
The next day Anselm went to work and Melody made reservations at their favorite restaurant for Memorial Day dinner. That afternoon, Judith and Melody cut the flowers for the graves. They laid them in a huge Eskimo cooler with a bag of ice. The flowers pretty much filled the cooler.
Flowers. For her father. Judith should be starting to mellow; instead she was getting angrier. Should she mention anything about it to Melody? No. But all those years she’d lost were starting to eat at her big-time. Now that she saw what her world could have been like, the loss began to really weigh on her.
Her father had the money to hire a nanny. Judith should have left home and completed her education, going against his wishes if necessary, not trying so hard and so long to please him, because she never could. She should now have a desk stacked high with important business, and some rocks that meant something to her and weren’t just rocks, and maybe an Indian pot or basket or something…and a dualie in the corner! How she envied Dr. Meredith Pollan!
At the very least she should be president of the board of directors caring for the Rutherford House. She should own it! She’d earned it, God knows.
That night she tossed and turned and did not sleep well again.
The next morning Judith felt like she was in a fog. She nibbled a roll for breakfast and drank too much coffee. Melody and Anselm chatted merrily about a shed he wanted to build out back. Judith listened to them yak and didn’t even hear what they were saying. She wished she could get back to her new book. Her new life. Instead she had to go honor her father.
Anselm put the cooler in the trunk of their car and Judith climbed into the backseat. She had her new book in her purse, but she couldn’t read it on the road, thanks to the motion sickness she had apparently inherited from her mother. Mom could get sick on a porch swing.
Betrayal. Loss. That was all she could think about. It was consuming her and she didn’t care. She wanted it to consume her. She was such a pitiful excuse for a failure. An old woman with nothing. Nothing.
The fog swirled around her brain and made time pass and made time stand still. Now, finally, they were at the cemetery. The cemetery was flooded with so many visitors today that Anselm had to park out on the street. He and Melody swung the cooler between them and headed for the Rutherford plot, Judith dragging along behind.
The Rutherford plot was something of a tourist attraction in itself. A huge plot with twelve grave spaces, nine of them occupied, it was surrounded by a black iron fence with an arch over the gate. The fence was made of hundreds of spears pointing upward. What was Judith’s grandfather thinking of when he had the fence installed; try to keep the ghosts in and the living out? A marble statue of a serene-looking angel with huge folded wings stood on a pedestal in the middle, eight feet tall. The angel extended its right arm out over the graves, and in its left hand it held a scroll of some sort. Judith had been told once what it all meant. She’d forgotten.
Judith half expected to find Mr. Odegaard at the gravesite and dreaded the thought that she might. She didn’t even want to look at him ever again. Melody pressed a green plastic vase on a pick into the ground at the head of Judith’s mother’s grave. Anselm poured water into it, and Judith carefully chose flowers in complementary colors. She clipped a couple of the stems shorter to create a more visually pleasing bouquet. There!
She stood up. I love you, Mom.
Melody pushed a similar pot into the ground at the head of Judith’s father’s fresh grave. It still smelled damp, earthy. Anselm poured some water in. There were no flowers that Judith disliked—they were all beautiful—but some she liked less than others. She chose flowers she liked the very least and stuffed them into the vase without thought or effort.
She stood up. Stared at the nameplate. Sebastian Rutherford.
And she spat on it.
Chapter Eighteen
Memorial Day weekend. A lot of the old-timers called it Decoration Day. Lynn liked that. You decorated graves. You flew the flag. You went to the parade, and so many marchers were wearing red, white, and blue.
Lynn stood on her porch with her coffee cup, turned her face to the sun, and breathed in spring. Aaaah. While she would much rather work in the flowers and garden, the billing needed to go out—on time. Paul had always been a stickler for billing and paying on time. It was a good habit to have.
Lynn had a mountain of catching up to do for the plumbing business. But should she go check on Angela first or not? Her natural inclination was to try to help whatever was injured or hurting.
Just go check. You don’t need a reason to feel guilty because you didn’t. She went to Angela’s door and tapped softly. When there was no answer, she silently turned the knob and peeked in. Pausing, she listened. Nope, that sounded like deep sleep. She managed to close the door without a click. Lord God, what do you want me to do? Her reading that morning had talked about God’s kindness and the value of kindness as one of the fruits of the spirit. But sometimes true kindness pushed on someone to help them over a hard place.
Was Angela just recovering from stress, or was she sinking into depression? How would I know? I’m not a doctor. She headed to her office and settled into the chair, automatically turned on the computer, and pulling out her file of due bills, she attacked them with a vengeance. While she could do her banking online and pay some things that way, she’d not gone in and added new accounts in some time.
Homer barking caught her attention. She got up and went to see. He stood at the back door, tail wagging. The mudroom echoed with another deep bark. “It’s okay, boy. That’s a good boy. Guess you must feel this is your home if you are ready to announce visitors.” She opened the door to find a package too big for the box, so the mail lady had brought it in. She had probably honked and Lynn didn’t hear it. She picked it up and brought it in, with Homer leaping up to sniff it. When she set the box down, he gave it a good going over.
“Good boy, checking everything out.” His tail whacked against her leg, something she’d already learned could be a bit painful. First dog she’d ever had whose tail was a lethal weapon. Orson’s and all their Labs’ tails could clear the coffee table in one sweep. She got out the box cutter and started to open it before she read that it was addressed to Angela. “Oops.” Talking to the dog was a habit she’d learned a long time ago. She took the box off the dryer and set it on the counter in the kitchen. She snagged a chocolate-chip-oatmeal cookie from the jar, poured herself a glass of water, and returned to her bookkeeping.
The phone. Phillip on the caller ID. She picked it up. “What do you need this time?”
“How did you know I needed something?”
“You only call during the day when you need something.” She smiled to herself.
“I can’t get ahold of Maggie, and Jason over at the Plumber’s Friend called to say the part we need today was in. Could you please go pick it up?”
“Now?” Of course it would be now. She saved her work on the computer, left a note for Angela, grabbed the outgoing mail, and, dog on her heels, headed for the car. “You think you should go?” Homer stopped right at the door to the seat beside the driver. “You want to ride up here with me?” Lynn Lundberg, don’t help him create bad habits. You know dogs should have a fence across the back and not sit on the seats. Safer for all. She let him up in the front seat anyway. Shame on you, Lynn!
Phillip was loading his panel truck for a house call when she got there.
“Heard from Judith?” Phillip asked as she handed him the box of gaskets.
“She was going to check something at the university in Duluth. Not sure what. Then she was going to drive down to her cousin’s for the holiday weekend. And apparently they would go to Rutherford to put flowers on the graves.”
Phillip nodded. “You want to go canoeing tonight? Maggie is taking the kids to a movie and I passed on that.”
; “Oh, good, I’ve not been out yet. Let’s go see if the eagles are back at their nest. If we take the big canoe, Angela could come, too. She needs to get out.”
“Good. Stick something in the oven for supper, okay?”
“Now I know why the invite to go canoeing.”
Phillip nodded toward Homer. “I see you got someone riding shotgun.”
“He likes riding in the car.”
“You need a fence. We have one back at the house.”
“Bring it along tonight if you would. Thanks.”
“I will. I’m assuming you’ve received no response to the feelers you put out. No owner has come forward?”
“And you’re still snickering at my efforts, aren’t you?”
“You got a dog, Mom; just accept that and enjoy him. Sure wish you’d let me try him on a hunt.”
She snorted. Hunting indeed. “You have Rowdy. That’s enough. Although Homer would probably do well. He seems to understand so much. He settled in mightily easily.”
“How’s your roommates thing going?” Phillip studied her a moment. “Something is worrying you, I can tell.”
“I’m a little worried about Angela. Been praying for her. She talks to Minerva; I heard her out on the deck, but not much to us—yet, I hope. And she sure sleeps a lot.”
“Depression isn’t surprising in her situation.” Phillip scratched his chin.
“Especially if they were close. I personally could go and dump a pile of chicken manure all over that guy.”
“Uh-uh. Not long lasting enough.”
He laughed and stepped back. She waved and put the car in gear. As she drove off, she looked at the big, goofy face beside her. “Like you’d be happy with a fence.”
What time was it? Oh, good grief! Angela tossed her travel alarm aside. How could she sleep so much? True sleep, too, not the dozing, waking, dozing she used to do.
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