The Way of Women

by Lauraine Snelling

  Katheryn smiled. “Ah, if only it were this easy to keep everyone as happy.” She rose from her kneeling position, her right knee cracking in the process. “Age. Don’t ever get old, you hear.”

  She poured the hot water over the tea bag in her ceramic mug and, while it steeped, explored the contents of the fridge, the freezer, and finally the cupboard. “Those two guys of ours probably had fresh trout for dinner,” she carried on her conversation with the dog. “Want some cheese?” Lucky answered with a bark. “Dumb question. You always want some of anything.”

  After slicing the farmer cheese and arranging it with crackers on a small plate, she took mug and plate into the family room and set them on the coffee table. Lucky wiggled in between the sofa and the table, both eyes fixed on the food. Katheryn tucked her long, denim-clad legs under her as she curled in the corner of the sofa after turning on the television. Lucky glanced from food to face and back.

  “I get the hint.” Katheryn laughed as she tossed a bit of cheese in the air. Lucky caught it with only a slight clicking of her jaws. The ritual continued until the meal had disappeared. Katheryn smiled when the dog leaned into her knees. “You’re good company, you know that?” Lucky sighed and closed her eyes.

  The ringing phone made her heart leap. Perhaps they were on their way home and calling to tell her to get some dinner ready.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Katheryn, this is Ann Wholly.”

  They chatted for a couple of minutes, all the while Katheryn wondering at the purpose. While they could be called acquaintances, since both of their husbands had tenure at the university, she’d not label the woman a friend. However, Ann always knew the inside scoop on faculty business.

  “I’m sure you are wondering why I’m calling …”

  Actually, a lot. Most likely you have some pet project you are hoping to get me to volunteer to help on. “It’s nice to hear from you.”

  “Yes, well, I think I’ve heard something really interesting, something you and David might really like.”

  Spare me the suspense. “Yes?”

  “Rumor has it that Williamson turned down the position.”

  “You’re kidding.” Williamson was the one who got the appointment over David. Katheryn’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Not in the least. Same rumor said they will now offer it to David, who should have had it in the first place. You’d better not say anything—ah, that’s silly of me. I’d tell my husband in a heartbeat. I’m betting David will get the call on Monday.”

  Katheryn couldn’t stop smiling, not that she wanted to. David, if only I could reach you. This should blow that gray cloud away for certain. “Thanks, Ann. I cannot tell you how pleased I am. Thank you for calling.”

  “You are most welcome. Let’s get together for lunch when this is all over.”

  “Yes, of course. Have a great evening.” Katheryn hung up the phone and leaned her forehead against the coolness of the wall. “Thank you, Lord. What a homecoming this will be.”

  Katheryn sank down in David’s recliner, but rather than paying attention to the sitcom on the television, she pictured David’s joy when she’d tell him. She patted Lucky, who leaned against her knee, and when she’d calmed down, her mind wandered back to the plot of the book she’d been working on. Brandy, a spunky young girl, trying to adjust to junior high, was in trouble again. This time with her mother. Katheryn was loosely patterning the girl on Susan, the Sommers’ oldest daughter. Except Brandy’s stunts were funnier, and Katheryn wasn’t her mother.

  When nothing about Mount St. Helens appeared on the late news, Katheryn breathed a sigh of relief and snapped off the set. She stretched, hands clasped way above her head, and gently turned from side to side. She thought again of how sore David must be. “Sure wish they’d come home tonight.” She let Lucky out for a last run, put the dishes in the dishwasher, readmitted the dog, and headed for bed. Maybe she’d get another twenty pages in tomorrow. May 18. Maybe she should invite their older children for dinner tomorrow night. It would be a nice homecoming and a great way to celebrate the good news. I’ll call them in the morning, she promised herself just before dropping off to sleep.

  She sighed in relief as the tremors slackened. Like sunburned skin grown cool, her mantle seemed to relax into the rocky fortress of her ascending slope. Perhaps her friends would be allowed back to float on her lake and climb on her flanks. Such hurrying and scurrying, like ants when someone invaded their hill. Could this possibly be the reprieve she’d been seeking? Had the Creator of all earth heard her cries and taken pity on her travail? Although the pains of the destruction she birthed had subsided, she feared that the internal calm was fleeting, the worst yet to come.

  MAY 17, 1980

  Were any of them usable?

  Jenn studied the slides one at a time as she clicked through her viewer. The mountain, from so many angles, rivers, reservoirs, grazing elk, Spirit Lake Lodge with the raccoon, cats, and Harry Truman. The ones she didn’t like landed in the wastebasket. Was there a story in all these? Were any worth even sending out?

  When had the thought first seeped in, the dream to change from fashion photography to photojournalist? Could I make a living at this?

  She brought up one of the mountain with what looked like a concrete pillar stuck in her top, a gray ash that the sunset had tinged with rose.

  Clicking off the viewer, she set to numbering the slides, adding contact information, and sorting them into the plastic sheets according to categories. In a notebook, she kept a record of the numbers and topic.

  She’d rather be outside on this glorious spring day, but after a couple hours shooting in the early morning, she’d brought back the darkroom supplies she’d picked up in Longview and set to looking at boxes of slides. One more hour of this, and she’d set up again the darkroom her folks had built for her while she was still in high school.

  All these years they’d left it, as if knowing that someday she’d return. She still marveled at that, not that they’d needed the large closet-size space that had brought her such joy—and some recognition.

  “Jenn?” Her mother’s voice interrupted her musings.

  “Yes, in here. Come on in.”

  Her mother, Clare, entered the room and glanced around, a smile showing the dimple in her right cheek. “I cannot believe you are actually here.” She motioned around the room with a hand gentle enough to dry a child’s tears and strong enough to pull dandelions. “I’ve threatened more than once to turn this into a sewing room but just never got around to it.”

  “Right.” Jenn clicked on the viewer. “Want to see a couple of these?”

  “Dinner’s in the oven.” Clare sat down at the table. “You’ve taken all these since you’ve been home?”

  “These and about six other rolls that are being developed. I’m going to do the black-and-whites myself this evening.”

  “Mmm, this is lovely.” Clare Stockton nodded while smiling at the slide of a drift of narcissus glowing under a newly leafed alder in their backyard.

  “You always say that.”

  “No, I don’t. Some aren’t lovely, but powerful. Hard to believe that little camera we gave you one Christmas would lead to this.”

  “I was twelve.” Jenn put another slide in the viewer. “And every dime I could earn went for film or developing. Some kids called me old one eye.”

  Her mother let out a bark of laughter. “Now, that’s really an attractive pose.”

  “You don’t get a view like that often.” The slide was of her mother bending over digging in her flower bed, from the rear.

  “Thank God for small miracles.”

  “I think that one could be a good cover shot. See the space in the upper half for titles and such?”

  “I’ll burn it first.”

  “Why, your face isn’t showing. Who would know it was you? The flowers are lovely, some gardening magazine I think.”

  “Jennifer Elizabeth Stockton …”

  “Uh
-oh, now I know I’m in trouble.” Jenn laughed as she put her slides away.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Frank called.”

  “Did he leave a message?” In spite of herself, her heart fluttered. Or at least something skipped in her midsection.

  “Said he’d call you again tomorrow. I invited him to drop by for dinner, but he said he had to catch up on all the paperwork at the office.”

  Good excuse as any.

  “I remember when you thought Frank was—”

  “Don’t dig up old stuff.” Jenn interrupted her mother’s reminiscence.

  “I thought—”

  “Mother, he’s not the man he used to be. He’s a—”

  “Any one been through what he’s been through would most certainly change.”

  “He’s a drunk.”

  “No, I hear he drinks pretty heavy, but he’s not a drunk.”

  And besides, who are you to criticize? What kind of excuse do you have for your past behavior? Nobody slaughtered your wife and son.

  “Jenn, I think he needs you.”

  “Yeah, well, he can turn off a friend faster than anyone I know.”

  Clare stood. “Don’t give up on him.”

  Jenn snorted. “You know me, the original Good Samaritan. Speak my mind and keep coming back for more. Persistence, sheer bullheadedness, all my middle names.” And right now, I could use a drink too.

  “You want a cup of tea?”

  “Sure, Mom. I’ll be out in a minute.” Tea, my mother’s panacea for whatever ails one.

  Jenn clicked the viewer off, then back on to slip in one last slide. Frank McKenzie stood looking off into the distance, his Stetson tipped back enough for the light to reveal the lines that gouged forehead and cheek, the pouches under eyes that could light with warmth but rarely did—anymore.

  “Ah, Frank, don’t be too far gone. Surely my old friend is still in there somewhere.”

  MAY 17, 1980

  When’s Daddy coming home?” Lissa looked up from the picture she was coloring. Light from the hanging lamp above the kitchen table turned her wispy blond locks to platinum.

  “Soon.” Mellie stirred the hamburger browning in a cast-iron skillet.

  “That’s what you always say.” A whisper of a whine crept into the little girl’s voice. She rubbed her head fretfully. “I want my daddy now.”

  Mellie took a deep breath. “You know I can’t say when, Lissa. Daddy will come home as soon as he can.” In spite of the good news from the cancer center, today was not one of their better days. The spring storm that seemed to blow right through the windows had kept them both inside.

  Lissa couldn’t get warm enough, even though they’d spent the better part of the afternoon cuddled together under the comforter on the sofa.

  Mellie left the meat sizzling gently on the burner and lifted her daughter up into her arms. Lissa straddled her mother’s legs so she could lean against Mellie’s chest as they shared the kitchen chair.

  “I want Daddy to come home too, you know that.” God, how desperately I want Harv home, she thought. But she was the adult here. She was the one left home to comfort their sick little daughter. Sometimes she raged at the injustice of being the chief caregiver. Harvey at least had new scenes, new faces, a job that challenged him. His whole life didn’t center around treatments and comfort and illness. Here she was, stuck in a drafty house with a child so sick that—she gave herself a mental shake. Self-pity only created more self-pity. But, oh, God, how she needed someone to put his arms around her and rock her in his lap. And let her cry until the tears finally dried. Why was crying in someone’s arms so much more comforting than crying alone in her bed at night?

  She hugged Lissa closer and kissed the downy hair. “Maybe Daddy will call tonight.” She kissed the same spot again. “Want to help me make the s’ghetti sauce?”

  Lissa nodded. “I get to stir?”

  “Yup. While I chop the onions. But you have to be real careful.”

  Lissa raised her eyes to her mother’s. “You could tell me a story while I stir, if you wanted to.”

  Mellie laughed as she pulled out a chair and placed it in front of the stove for her daughter to stand on. “How about you tell me a story instead?” She finished turning the browning meat and handed Lissa the spatula. “Now, wait till I tell you to stir.” She began chopping the onion. “Well, are you telling the story?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  The swift stroke of the knife on the board joined the sizzle of meat in kitchen music. Mellie dumped the onion bits into the pan. “Now stir carefully.”

  Lissa concentrated, pushing the ingredients back and forth. “Mommy?”

  “Uh-huh?” Mellie had her head in the lower cupboard as she searched for the tomato sauce.

  “You start.”

  “Okay. Once upon a time …” She pushed a can of green beans off to the side and reached in the back corner for the last of the tomatoes. She straightened up triumphantly, three cans of sauce in her hands. “Once upon a time …” she prompted as she opened each and poured them in the pan. She covered the little hand holding the turner. When she looked into her daughter’s face, she saw a tear slip from the lowered lashes and slide down Lissa’s cheek. With one arm around the thin little body, Mellie continued helping her daughter stir the sauce, the storytelling forgotten.

  Please, God, she pleaded in the recesses of her mind. Please make Harv call tonight. I have some good news to tell him for a change.

  Mellie felt a bone-melting weariness invade her body when she sat down at the dinner table. Some days it was almost beyond human strength to keep from dissolving into a puddle of tears. Right now she felt as if the tears were draining out of her heart, flowing off to the Puget Sound and thus out to sea. If she closed her eyes, she could sense the rocking wave action, the floating of no more cares. No more pain. No more heartbreak. Cradled on the deep she melded with the eternity that rolled the breakers onto the shore and bared the beaches at the tide.

  “Mommy?”

  Mellie’s eyes flew open at the hesitant query. No pain would mean no Lissa. She nearly cried out at the sacrilege of it all. Automatically, she took a bite of the cooling spaghetti. And gagged.

  “Mommy, are you all right?” Terror made her voice squeak.

  Mellie could only nod as she coughed into the sink. Her abrupt leap from the chair toppled it to the floor.

  “Whew.” She wiped her face on a paper towel and turned back to the table. “Went down the wrong spout, that’s all.”

  A cruel hand squeezed her heart when she saw the fear on Lissa’s face. A tiny drop of blood beaded on her baby’s pale lower lip where her teeth had bitten through the skin.

  They clutched each other, the fear a real presence that snaked tightly around them. “It’s all right.” Mellie wasn’t sure if her words were for herself or Lissa. “We’re going to be fine.” They headed for their corner of the sofa and wrapped the bright blue afghan around them. Safe in the circle of lamplight with warmth creeping back into her bones, Mellie wiped a drop of moisture from the corner of her eye. She could feel returning courage staring down the monster that had attacked them, staring as it slithered back into some shadowy, nocturnal corner. A recalcitrant sob turned into a hiccup as she drew in a deep breath.

  Lissa breathed softly, her breath so faint that Mellie found herself listening for each exhalation. Oh, if I could only fall asleep so easily.

  Mother and daughter had both dozed off when the phone summoned them back to reality.

  “Daddy?” Lissa’s eyes flew open.

  “I hope so.” Mellie carried Lissa on her hip across the room as she rose to answer. She sat Lissa on the counter and, in the same motion, picked up the receiver. “Hello.” Her voice sounded breathy, even to herself.

  “Mellie?” Harvey’s rich baritone seemed to fill the kitchen. The fear monster dissipated, like wispy fog in the sunshine.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” Lissa grabbed for the phone with both hands.
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  Mellie let her take it, her joy matching her daughter’s. Thank God for telephones.

  Light came back into the pale little face as Lissa laughed at something Harvey said. A cloud passed over. “Mommy coughed and coughed. Daddy, when are you coming home? I want my daddy, here. Now.” A hint of the imperious princess dispensing orders emerged. She giggled, a little girl again, then clutched the phone to her shoulder. “He’s coming home. Tomorrow night.”

  Mellie glanced up at the calendar. Sunday evening he’d be home. May eighteenth. Hallelujah! In time for the … “Say goodbye, Lissa.” She ordered. “Now.”

  “Bye, Daddy. Mommy’s getting mad.” She giggled again as she held the phone out. Light and life had come back into her body.

  “Oh, Harv, I’m so glad you’re coming home. I have wonderful news too. Dr. Thomas called yesterday and gave me another number to call. Between the Cancer Society, a research grant, and several private donors, funds are available to help pay for Lissa’s treatment.” She ignored his questions. “I’m not sure. They said they’d talk more with us when we came in for the preop. But, Harv, you can come home. To stay. We don’t need for you to work on the mountain. You can come home.”

  Harvey laughed along with her. All his plans. He could toss them into the turgid Toutle. He breathed in a deep breath of life, understanding what prisoners on death row felt like at an eleventh-hour stay of execution. He could kiss Baker Camp, the logging trucks, and mutinous Mount St. Helens goodbye. He’d be home for as long as Mellie and Lissa needed him. Surely there were other jobs available by now. The thoughts made him giddy with relief.

  “I’ll be home by eight in the evening,” he promised. “I have to drive all day, but keep the coffee hot for me.”

  MAY 18, 1980

  Dawn rimmed the top of The Lady in gold and took David’s breath away. While getting up before dawn was not his passion, this view was. He sat on the rocky outcropping, coffee cup in hand, and watched the world come alive. Joy in the morning, he could feel it again. Was it the sticks and rocks that poked him all night that brought feeling back or the majesty before him? Down below in a small clearing two deer grazed by a mirror pond.