Amazing Grace

by Lesley Crewe

  Melissa’s face is vivid red with cold and outrage. “You’re eating? You just left me out there and it’s dark out!”

  “We saved you some dinner. It’s in the microwave.”

  The boys run to their dishes for their supper and my granddaughter stands glaring at us. She wants to stalk off, but she’s hungry. She keeps looking at our food. “I don’t like fish.”

  “Today’s menu is take it or leave it.”

  She slumps into a kitchen chair, too tired to bother with this performance. I get up, re-heat her food, and bring it to the table. She grudgingly puts the fish to her nose, sniffs it, and makes a face, but it doesn’t take long for the plate to be empty.

  “There’s a mess of chocolate brownies under that tinfoil over there.” Fletch points at it while I bring his tea. “Courtesy of Dora.”

  I grunt.

  Now that the food is bringing Melissa back to life, she summons enough interest to say, “Dora the Explorer?”

  “Dora the snake-charmer.”

  Fletcher shakes his head when I put the plate of brownies in front of him. “I don’t know why she bothers you so much.”

  “That woman can’t wait for me to drop dead. Then she’ll wheedle her way in here.”

  “What’s she gonna do with poor old Harvey?” Fletch asks.

  Melissa’s mouth is full of chocolatey goodness. “Who’s Harvey?”

  “Her long-suffering husband. After I’m gone a week, Harvey will have an unfortunate accident—a fall down the cellar stairs, maybe, or his brakes will fail coming down Kellys Mountain. You mark my words.”

  “You have a vivid imagination,” Fletch laughs.

  The dogs finish their food. They pick up Beulah’s scent and sniff the plastic tablecloth. Fletch takes the basket with Beulah in it and tells them to sit.

  “Now, this little lady is Beulah. You boys have to treat her nice.” He holds out the basket but has his enormous hand covering her, letting the dogs smell but not touch her. They are in a frenzy of sniffing. Tom and Jerry are on the counter, watching every move. Fletch takes his hand away and Beulah sleepily opens her eyes. Her nose goes twitchy and she jumps up. She sees her four new roommates and has a conniption fit. Her shrill yapping sends both the cats and dogs running for cover.

  Fletch starts his belly laugh, and no one can resist that—even Melissa smiles. Then she looks at me and it disappears.

  Fletch leaves with his new best friend and heads for his recliner. “Come on, Beulah, time to meet Starr Dobson.”

  Melissa looks around. “Where’s my room?”

  “I’ll show you after we finish these dishes.”

  “How long are you going to keep up this prison-warden charade? You let me nearly freeze to death outside and now I’m your housemaid.”

  “I’ll wash. You dry.”

  “No.”

  “No food for you, then.”

  Melissa jumps up and clenches her fists. “You think you’re going to bend me to your will by being all mean and tough?”

  I turn to look at this exhausted, overwhelmed, and totally messedup kid. “Have you ever done dishes?”

  “No.”

  I throw the dish towel to her. “It’s easy.”

  We do the dishes. When she grabs an entire handful of cutlery at once, I let it slide.

  “I’ll take you to your room.”

  We walk by Fletch, who’s snoring on his recliner. Beulah has made herself comfortable on the outer edge of his beard.

  Melissa points listlessly. “She’s my dog.”

  “She’s not going anywhere.”

  We go past Fletch’s room first and then she automatically enters the next room down. “This is pretty small. It’s like a walk-in closet.”

  “Sorry, this is my bedroom, and it’s luxurious compared to yours.”

  She spins around and faces me. “I thought you and Fletcher were a couple.”

  “We’re roommates.”

  “Friends with benefits?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “So you have no excuse not to leave this place. You really could come to New York. You just don’t want to.”

  I take her by the shoulder and steer her out into the hallway. “There are things I have to do before I die, and being in the States will not help me.”

  “You are a very confusing woman, Gee.”

  I open the door to the spare room, which is not what you’d call attractive. There’s a bed and a bunch of stuff I throw in there when I’m in a hurry. Fletch was nice enough to make the bed and put towels on the end of it. Her suitcase is on the floor.

  “This is where you’ll sleep. The cats may visit you through the night. You might as well keep your door cracked open, because they will scratch until you let them in. The bathroom is down the hall to your right. I’ll leave a night light on. Feel free to use any toiletries. There’s a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet.”

  I imagine the look on her face is identical to that of people who have encountered aliens. She blinks several times. “Are you for real? I have no phone, no laptop, no music, no television. What am I supposed to do?”

  “There’s a pile of books over there you might enjoy before bedtime. If you need anything, just holler. I’ll let you get sorted.”

  When I leave the room, I close the door to give her some privacy. I hear her weeping. That’s a good thing. She needs to let a lot of stuff out.

  I’m too tired to do anything but get ready for bed. Fletch usually sleeps out on his recliner until about eleven. Then he’ll let the dogs out for their last pee, make sure the doors are locked once they come in, and bank the fire in the wood stove. When I hear his bedsprings groan, that’s the signal that our day has come to an end. We’re snug in our nest, dogs, cats, and people snoring until morning.

  And Melissa will be snoring, despite her misery. She was outside in that crisp air for three hours. She’s not used to pure, clean oxygen.

  Melissa is still asleep at noon, which makes for a pleasant morning. Gladys Nicholson calls to ask something trivial. She has gossip on her mind. Doesn’t everyone in a small town?

  “Len was talking to Harvey, who was talking to Fletch, who said your granddaughter is visiting from New York.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How nice for you. Did I hear someone say her father is quite wealthy?”

  “He has a bit of money.”

  “Too bad he doesn’t give some to you and Fletch.”

  “Fletch and I are just fine. Did you want something, Gladys?”

  “Janet Pickup wants you to organize the food drive this year.”

  “I can do that.”

  “How about the craft table for the Christmas tea and sale?”

  “Fine.”

  “Delima was wondering if you could make up the advent calendars to sell for the hospital auxiliary?”

  “Guess what Delima can do with her advent calendars and her coconut balls.”

  Gladys giggles. “You are a breath of fresh air, Grace Willingdon.”

  Melissa eventually stirs. The bathroom door closes and soon after that I hear the shower go on, and then a yelp. “OMG!”

  Let’s see. She could be furious at the one showerhead, the low water pressure, the unheated floors, or maybe the clunking of the water pump. I’ll have to ask her.

  She eventually vacates the bathroom and her bedroom door closes. She stays in there, rejecting my breakfast and lunch. But I did promise her father I wouldn’t starve her, so I put a chicken sandwich, a glass of milk, and more brownies on a tray. I knock on her door.

  “Go away.”

  “I’ll leave your lunch outside the door. It’s up to you whether you want the dogs to get it.”

  I’m not down the hallway before I hear the door open and close. She stays i
n her room all afternoon while I go about my business.

  It’s only when the spaghetti sauce for supper is simmering on the stove, and Beulah and I are watching a nature documentary on beavers that Melissa comes out of her room and sits on the loveseat by the wood stove. I turn off the television.

  Her hair is flat, her face unadorned. I can see her freckles. She looks sixteen.

  “Did you have a good sleep?”

  “Your pillows and mattress suck.”

  “Didn’t seem to stop you from sawing wood for twelve hours.”

  She stares at Beulah. “She’s my dog.”

  “She’s not going anywhere.”

  Melissa slumps over and puts her head on the armrest. “Why do you want me here? How is this going to help anything?”

  “It might not. It’s purely up to you which way your life will turn out. We can’t stop you from smoking up or drinking, but we can make it difficult.”

  “Now I wish I’d gone to rehab. At least they have hot tubs and a spa.”

  “Did you hear that, Beulah? Melissa wants us to fill the tub and stir the water.”

  Melissa laughs for the first time in two days. “I always tell my friends that you’re nuts and they think it’s great.”

  “You can always bring your friends here for the summer. We’d love to have you.”

  “Here? I mean…not that it’s not great, but it’s…so small…you know…”

  She’s trying to save herself. I look around the living room. The ancient panelling is dented and the colour of tobacco. The wood chips around the stove, the tattered recliners, the television that’s only twenty inches wide, with crocheted afghans thrown everywhere and the dogs’ beds taking up major floor space…she has every right to be dismayed. Fletch and I don’t see it anymore. It’s just home.

  “I wasn’t thinking of this place. You might like to spend time at my farmhouse.”

  “I didn’t know you had a farmhouse.”

  “I have lots of secrets. Your dad never wanted to stay there on his quick visits, as he and your mother preferred hotels, but I have a feeling you might like this old place.”

  “Okay, when can we go?”

  “Later on; there’s no rush. Let’s go for a quick walk before supper.”

  Melissa races up the hill out back with the dogs. They bark their excitement as Beulah and I saunter behind. The cats think we’re nuts. They’re still in front of the fire.

  When we get to the top of the hill, Melissa is thrilled to see there are two weathered Adirondack chairs under a huge poplar tree. “Are these yours?”

  “This is my reward for all that hiking.”

  “Good thinking.”

  We both sit and turn our faces to the lowering of the sun. All around us are dark shadows and a chill that reminds us that winter is just out of sight. Everywhere you look there are shades of dark blue and grey splashed across the landscape.

  “I wish I could paint,” I say. “Maybe I’ll take it up.”

  “Fletcher should build you a studio up here. When you’re not using it, you could rent it out to writers or other artists who want to get away from everything. People need to be alone to think.”

  I smile at her. “That’s a very good idea. You are a clever girl.”

  When we eventually wander back down the hill, I tell myself that the only thing I need to do for now is to make sure Melissa has good homemade food, plenty of exercise, and lots of sleep.

  Imagine getting a Starbucks coffee for her breakfast. And having that damn laptop and phone in her bedroom at night. She’s probably up till all hours staring at those screens. It makes me shudder.

  Three days into my Melissa mission, I call Jon. “She’s doing well. She’s still cranky sometimes, but then, so am I.”

  “What are you doing with her?”

  “We baked a pie the other day, and I showed her how to make boiled icing. And I’m teaching her to sew. We’re making more outfits for Beulah.”

  “That sounds very Little House on the Prairie, Mother, but how is it going to help her when she gets back to the real world?”

  “Believe it or not, Jonathan, this is the real world too. You should remember that.”

  And then comes the day I take her to my farmhouse. I tell Fletch where I’m going.

  “The old homestead, eh?”

  “I’ll just show her around. We’ll be back by suppertime.”

  “You and I both know that there are ghosts in that house. Are you sure you want to wake them up?”

  “Where is this place?”

  “In Marble Mountain.”

  “Sounds like a Disney ride.” She leans her head against the side window of the truck.

  “It’s a very beautiful spot about forty minutes from here. They used to mine for marble in a quarry on the mountain. Hence the name. The beaches have white sand because of it.”

  We drive down winding roads and pass two old churches. There are driveways that disappear into the woods, the houses too far back to see from the road. You’d think no one lived here, and not many do now; mostly summer residents.

  At the bend of a blind hill, I turn and drive slowly down an overgrown dirt laneway. The tree branches close in and create a tunnel effect. Melissa looks nervous as we continue on.

  “What is this? It’s like the set of a scary movie.”

  I remember feeling that way the first time I set eyes on this place.

  An old farmhouse, crooked and settled into the earth, comes into view. The white shingles have faded and the paned windows are empty. The front porch runs the length of the house, with ivy and brambles covering a good portion of it. The front door was red at one time, but it’s mostly peeling now. Trees are taking over what was once a garden and meadow.

  I pull the truck right up to the front porch and turn off the engine.

  Melissa gives me a horrified look. “I thought the trailer was bad, but this? It’s the house time forgot.”

  “This is a special house.”

  “It looks cold, damp, and mouldy. Why would you want me and my friends to stay here?”

  “It wasn’t always like this. Come inside.”

  It takes a few seconds for the key to cooperate and open the front door. A loud creak accompanies the motion.

  “I’m not sure I like this place,” says a small voice behind me.

  “It’s just old, like me.”

  When I open the parlour door, my heart skips a beat. It always does. The old-fashioned furniture bring back so many memories. The voices come rushing into my ears. “We’re still here....”

  Melissa pokes my arm. “Gee?”

  “What? Sorry.” I try and gather myself. Melissa looks unsure and that’s the last thing I want her to be.

  “Come. I’ll show you around. This is the parlour, or at least that’s what my aunts called it.”

  Melissa looks about. “You had aunts? I didn’t know that.”

  “I had parents, too. I didn’t just drop out of the sky.”

  The stuffed sofas in their big-blossomed patterns look shabby against the worn rose wallpaper. Nothing matches and everything clashes, but I personally love this look. A chintz cottage, Aunt Mae once called it. Two armchairs flank the small fireplace in the centre of the room, the white scrolled mantel chipped and covered with old candle sticks and porcelain figurines. There are a pair of tiger salt and pepper shakers, a Humpty Dumpty egg cup, two cow creamers, and a donkey hauling a wagon of wooden matchsticks. I’ve thought about taking them home with me, but they firmly told me they like it right where they are.

  Beside one of the armchairs is a floor lamp and a frilly lamp on a walnut side-table. The dusty braided rug covers most of the linoleum, which is a blessing. Faded lace curtains hang like cobwebs at the dirty windows.

  Seeing the house through Melissa’s eyes make
s me aware that I have neglected this property for far too long. Everything is neat and tucked away, but its heart is in a deep sleep. I should never have let that happen.

  We explore the kitchen, with its imposing wood and coal stove on one side of the room, and the large farmhouse sink on the other. There is even wallpaper in here, a village scene with peasants, wooden shoes, and Swiss cuckoo clocks. A large strip of wallpaper over the stove is hanging on for dear life.

  Melissa points to the right. “What’s that small room for?”

  “That’s the pantry. It’s where my aunts would bake. Cans and jars of all kinds lined the shelves, and flour, brown sugar, and molasses were stored in big barrels under the counter. It always smelled like cookies in here.”

  My granddaughter loves the old claw tub in the bathroom and gets a kick out of the elaborate metal headboards on the beds upstairs. I show her the quilts that are stored in the trunks, and she falls in love with Aunt Pearl’s old vanity dressing table with a round mirror and a plush stool sitting underneath. The handles are made of ivory and Aunt Pearl’s brush and comb set are still on the mirrored tray, along with her perfume atomizer.

  “This looks like one I saw in Vogue! They were doing a piece on the thirties! That was such a glamorous era. Were you born then?”

  “Thanks a bunch. Don’t they teach you math at school? If I’m sixty, then when would I have been born?”

  “In the fifties?”

  “Bingo. Now come downstairs and I’ll show you how to light a fire.”

  We sit in the armchairs, with wool throws over our shoulders. I don’t want to turn on the oil stove to drive away the damp—the fireplace will do for now. There is no sound other than the flames crackling. This is so far removed from the place Melissa calls home, but if you want to know who you are, you need to stay very still and very quiet.

  “Is this a solution?” she finally says. “Keep me away from civilization in the hopes that I’ll forget about my life and be a farmer and milk cows?”

  “No.”

  “So what are you trying to prove? Eventually my mother will be back from her perfect honeymoon with the boy wonder and she might notice I’m gone.”