Cindy thought about it for a moment and then opened the door and unlatched the screen.
“You’ll have to forgive me. I just woke up and I’m a little hungover.”
She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“You’re Mormon right?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve never had a drink?”
Anderson smiled slightly, “No, ma’am. I have not.”
“Then you have no idea how bad I feel right now.”
“I understand it’s painful,” Anderson offered.
She looked at him a little longer and then opened the door wider.
“Come on in.”
He stepped inside and took a quick look around the entryway.
“I’m about to make some coffee if you’d like some.”
“I don’t drink coffee but thank you anyway.”
“No coffee and no alcohol. I could never be Mormon,” Cindy said, closing the door and leading him down the short hallway to the kitchen and dining room. She offered him a seat at the small table and started setting up the coffee maker.
“I really appreciate you inviting me in,” Anderson began. “I’ve been doing a lot of research on Ogden Wash and I understand this house is one of the oldest houses here. Was your family the original owners?”
“My great grandparents were.”
“Do you know much about them and the story behind the house?”
She shook her head, “I know they worked on the Ogden’s farm for years. They were the only non-Mormon employees as far as I know. The Ogden’s were really good to my great grandparents. They even deeded this plot of land to them. My great grandfather and James Ogden built the house themselves. My parents added on to it when I was about nine.”
She switched on the pot and turned around to face Anderson. Her head still felt cloudy but being on her feet was helping some.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Well the history of Ogden Wash is a personal hobby of mine,” Anderson said. “What did your great grandfather do on Ogden’s farm?”
“I’m not really sure. I’ve always heard he was just a farmhand.”
Anderson had been surveying the room, but now he turned his full attention to her.
“Don’t you think that would be a little odd?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why would someone deed a piece of land to only one of their farmhands? The Ogdens had quite a few employees but your great grandfather is the only one I know of who was given property.”
Cindy’s expression darkened for a moment.
“That is weird,” she admitted. “I’d never thought of it like that before.”
“Would it be possible for me to take a look around?”
“You’re not going to steal anything are you?”
Anderson looked at her as if he’d been slapped.
“I was kidding,” she said. “Here, I’ll give you the grand tour. Just let me pour some coffee. You sure you don’t want some?”
“No thank you,” he said.
She shrugged, poured a cup for herself and then turned back to him.
“Well, obviously this is the kitchen,” she began. “My mother remodeled it when I was younger. Prior to that, my grandmother was still using the original wood-burning stove. Mom put in the gas stove, new sinks and cabinets as well as the refrigerator. All of that was done about 20 years ago.”
She led Anderson out of the kitchen and into the small formal dining room.
“This room is pretty much as it was when my mother died. The table belonged to my great grandparents and from what I remember my grandfather built it. There are a few pieces like this in the house… originals I mean.”
Anderson ran his hand over the top of the table and around the edges. It was a thick, oval shaped oak table with intricate floral trim around it.
“That’s a very nice table. If he built it himself he was obviously a talented wood worker. Perhaps your great grandfather was a carpenter for the Ogdens.”
“That could be. Like I said, I never knew for sure what he did.”
Anderson nodded and the two walked through a doorway from the dining room to the living room. It was a large room with a small television on an entertainment stand in one corner. There was a sofa in front of it, an easy chair and a small curio rack filled with little porcelain figurines. The lack of furniture made the room look huge.
“This is the living room. I really haven’t changed anything in here since my mother died. I suppose eventually I should do something different with it. The glass sliding doors were put in 20 years ago and the screened in patio is an addition from around the same time.”
Anderson seemed to be taking stock of everything, he walked to the wall where two pictures hung and looked at them closely.
“Are these your parents?”
“My grandparents. My mother is the little girl with them. This picture on the television is my mother,” she reached for it and handed it to Anderson.
“She was a beautiful woman.” He held it up and looked at it in the light coming from the sliding doors, then looked at Cindy.
“You look almost just like her.”
“Thanks. A lot of people who knew her tell me that.”
He handed her the picture back, “There are no pictures of your father around?”
“No, there’s not,” Cindy replied matter of factly.
Anderson took the hint. He walked around the small room and ran his hands across the walls, letting his fingers feel into the cracks between the paneling. Cindy motioned him through the living room and toward the bedrooms. She opened the first door on the right to reveal a tangle of boxes and furniture.
“Up until my mother died this was my room,” Cindy said. “The majority of the stuff in here was hers. I took the master bedroom because it’s bigger but didn’t feel right about using her furniture.”
Anderson stepped a few feet in before being stopped by boxes.
“Are you looking to sell any of this? Some of it may be antique.”
“I really hadn’t given it much thought,” she said. “I’d need to go through it all first.”
Anderson nodded and stepped back out of the room.
“There’s a bathroom here on the left that was added when my parents did the remodel. Then down at the end of the hall is the master bedroom. It’s a mess right now,” she said. She walked him to the door, opened it and then stepped aside so he could see in. He scanned the room but didn’t go inside.
“There’s a bathroom in here also?”
“Yes, it was all remodeled in the last ten years. New toilet, new shower and new sink.”
Anderson smiled at her, “When they remodeled the place, did they find anything unusual?”
Cindy looked at him funny, “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”
“No specific reason. Sometimes, with old houses like this people find things stuck between the walls. I’ve heard stories of people finding coffee cans full of money or jewelry. I heard of one place where they found tons of old movie posters someone had used as insulation. They were worth a fortune.”
Cindy shook her head, “No, there was nothing like that. At least nothing I ever heard about and I’m sure Mom would have told me.”
“Well I do appreciate this tour,” Anderson said as he turned back. “I didn’t really expect it to tell you the truth. Most people wouldn’t let a stranger in their house.”
“I never really considered you a stranger. You’ve been in The Wash forever. We just don’t cross paths.”
Anderson made his way back to the front door and turned to face Cindy.
“Would you mind if I looked around the property some?”
“Why the property?”
“Well, I’d like to get a sense of the size of the land deeded to your great grandfather.”
She thought about it a moment.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “You’ve been pretty forthcoming with the questions abo
ut me. I’ll walk you around the property if you’ll answer some of my questions about you.”
Anderson looked surprised, “I suppose that’s fair.”
“Okay. Is it true that you have more than one wife?”
Anderson nodded, “Yes that’s true.”
“How do you manage it? Don’t they drive you insane?”
Anderson gave her a gentle smile, “Not at all. My family means the world to me. They are all angels sent from God and my children even more so.”
Cindy wasn’t satisfied, “So you mean there are never fights? They don’t get jealous of each other or demand too much of your time?”
“I’m not about to tell you there aren’t times when we disagree about things. Each of them is different and each has a personality all her own, however they are right in the eyes of God. Their actions speak to his will and, ultimately, they work things out on their own. I’m very blessed.”
Cindy let out a small, “Hmph,” and looked him over for a minute.
“I don’t think I could share.”
“That’s a situation you will likely never have to address then."
“Guess not,” she agreed and turning, stepped into a pair of boots and a jacket hanging by the door. Then the two of them walked out the front door and into the yard. They toured the two acre lot with Cindy pointing out the boundaries.
“When I was a girl, this fence wasn’t here,” she said.
“Didn’t the cattle roam into your yard then?”
“Sure, all the time. It was never a big deal but you did have to watch where you stepped. We used to go jump in the pond in the summer, just to cool down. I shudder to think at just how dirty that is.”
Anderson laughed, “It’s amazing how many things you did as a kid that you’d never do as an adult.”
The two walked along the fence until it came to the edge of the road and then looked back toward the pond.
“Well, you do have a nice piece of property here, Ms. Walker.”
“Thank you and you can call me Cindy.”
Anderson stuck out a hand and Cindy shook it.
“Thanks again for your time, and if you ever decide to sell some of that furniture, let me know.”
“I will,” she let go of his hand and Anderson walked back to the road where a yellow 1983 Lincoln was parked along the edge of her yard. She watched him drive back toward the highway before she went inside. Her headache was all but gone and she felt pretty good. The sun was just peeking out from behind dark clouds and the temperature was finally cracking 50 degrees. She was no longer thinking of J.B., but instead wondering exactly why her mother never did talk much about great grandpa Walker.
VII
Steve awoke on his back, Sara’s head tucked into his shoulder. There was nothing covering either of them in the bed. The blankets lay on the floor and the fitted sheet was even coming up on one corner. Sara stretched out alongside Steve, her body pushed up against him, sharing his heat, her breathing slow and relaxed. He lifted his head up carefully and looked around the room. He was parched beyond belief and his head was hurting from the alcohol. More than hungover though, he felt physically exhausted. What had it been? Four times? Five? They hadn’t gone that long in years. Sara had been insatiable and even when he’d felt like he couldn’t go on any longer she had found new ways to get him interested again. It was strange and in some ways unsettling; almost as if there had been a different woman in bed with him.
‘What brought that on?’ he wondered.
At the same time, did he even dare to ask? This was Sara. If she could bring that kind of excitement back after so many years together, why question things? He should just be happy and stay quiet.
She stirred a little and Steve took the opportunity to gently pull his arm out from under her head and roll off the bed. He walked past the trail of clothes leading from the door to the bedroom. He’d barely picked up Sara and walked across the threshold when she’d squirmed out of his arms, pulled him down to the entryway floor and mounted him right then and there. They were into their third session (their first in the bedroom) when he finally got the last of his clothes off. He surveyed the evidence of their evening and then reached up in the cupboard and pulled down a glass. He was reaching for the tap when he noticed something strange on the counter in front of him. It looked like it may have been a small spiky pine cone or something. Whatever it was, it was crumbling. He reached over and touched it gently. One side of it fell inward, disintegrating to dust.
“What’s that?” Sara asked from the doorway with a blanket pulled around her.
“I don’t know,” said Steve. “Looks like a pine cone or something but it’s dry rotted.”
Sara walked closer, “Oh no! It’s falling apart!”
“What is it?”.
“I found it yesterday.”
It crumbled a little more as she gently touched it.
“It was the most beautiful thing. It was a bunch of feathers someone had woven into a little ball. It actually blew into the yard right after I got home. I saved it so you could see it.”
“It doesn’t look like feathers to me,” Steve said bending down to get a closer look. “It’s fragile though, whatever it is.”
Sara flipped on the light over the counter.
“Yesterday it was bright. There were all kinds of colors in there.”
Steve let his eyes wander over Sara in the blanket. She was holding it closed tight with one hand.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
She looked up at him with a smile, “Amazing. How about you?”
“Good. A little sore but good.”
She leaned over the counter and kissed him.
“Breakfast?” he asked.
“That sounds great.”
“What do you want? We have eggs, toast, cereal…”
“Do we have bacon? Bacon sounds good.”
Steve arched an eyebrow, “You don’t eat bacon. I eat the bacon around here.”
Sara was leaning forward, poking at the thing on the counter, “I don’t know. This morning it sounds good.”
Steve turned to the refrigerator and pulled out the bacon.
A little over a block away, Wendell opened his eyes and greeted the morning. His head was a little fuzzy now but the run home had sobered him up last night. His nerves had been crackling like live wires. He’d jumped in the shower to warm up and then laid down in bed when the outside security light tripped. He knew the tequila must not have completely left his system when he swore he saw a young girl standing at the edge of the yard. She couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. Her pale blonde hair hung down around her shoulders and only barely showed a contrast against the white cotton nightgown she was wearing. She stood there, barefoot in the frigid air with a coyote sitting next to her. Both locked their eyes on him.
If the light hadn’t tripped, he could have convinced himself it just a figment of his half-drunk and stressed out brain. But the light had tripped. He hadn’t imagined that part and that girl held his gaze for at least twenty or thirty seconds before she and the coyote turned and walked out of the range of the security light. Wendell ran through the house, checking all the doors and windows. He holed up in his bedroom terrified, a Louisville slugger next to him and a large kitchen knife in one hand. When he’d finally fallen asleep around three or four in the morning, it had been fitful. He couldn’t remember if he’d dreamed or not. All he knew is he was awake now, the clock said nine and he felt like he hadn’t slept at all.
He looked around him and saw that the bat and the knife had fallen to the floor. He pushed off his blankets and rolled out of bed. It didn’t take him any more than ten minutes to pull on a clean work shirt and jeans, brush his teeth and run a comb through his hair. He knew Steve didn’t plan on coming in to work but Wendell also knew there were only two things that really helped him settle down when his mind was racing. The first was snowboarding and since there wasn’t really any snow to speak of yet, that was ou
t of the question. The second thing was fixing cars. The methodical, logical order that was part of building or tearing down an engine was like a lullaby to him. It relaxed him and acted like a reset button on his brain. He would go to A&M, use the spare set of keys Steve gave him and go back to fixing that Buick Phillip Anderson dropped off.
He grabbed a pop tart and a Red Bull on the way out and greeted the gray sky with a shaky grin. .
“Come on, snow,” he said out loud and walked down his front steps toward his truck. It was only a week until Thanksgiving and even though the snow was late, he was sure there’d be plenty piling up soon.
As he grabbed for the door handle, he noticed the two sets of prints running across his muddy tire tracks in the driveway. They disappeared off the other side of the concrete toward the back yard. One set was human, the other paw prints. He followed the tracks around the side of the house. There the grass was high and they vanished. He surveyed the yard and then turned back to his truck.
‘It wasn’t nothin’,’ he thought. ‘She probably just snuck out with her dog. Shit, I used to sneak out all the time when I was that age.’
He climbed into the truck and scanned the yard one last time. Then he put it in gear and headed to work.
VIII
Waking up on Thanksgiving morning, Ruth Biden instantly smiled. Without a doubt, it was her favorite holiday. First off, there was no massive holiday advertising when it came to Thanksgiving. There were no decorations on the houses or even songs associated with it. It was special to her in its simplicity. It was an opportunity to get together with the people you love and just share some time. For the past four years, her own Thanksgiving holidays had taken a weird turn but one she genuinely welcomed. She had given up one ungrateful son for three adopted ones. Ever since Robert Jiminez rented her guest house, it had become a tradition that he, Javier Quintana and J.B. Youngblood join her for the day on Thanksgiving. They would help her cook, watch football in her living room and then share a feast fit for eight instead of four. It was a day filled with laughter and good natured ribbing and Ruth absolutely reveled in being included.
The Wash Page 5