The Qualities of Wood

by Mary Vensel White

  ‘You made these? They look professional.’

  Katherine waved her hand in modesty. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘That’s something I’ve always wanted to do,’ Vivian said.

  ‘It’s fun, but very tedious. Each step takes a long time. Even the painting—you have to put layer after layer to get it to look right. You think you have enough but when it dries, it looks completely different.’ Katherine straightened a green metal chair, pushing it into place under the glass table.

  ‘You must spend a lot of time out here,’ Vivian said. ‘It’s so cool and shady.’

  ‘We like to have our meals out here during the warmer months. Max always wants to barbecue, like most men. I thought we’d eat out here tonight, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all. I like it out here.’

  Max brought out a platter of seasoned chicken and three cold beers, which he placed on blue, fish-shaped coasters. Katherine went into the kitchen, promising to be gone only a few moments.

  ‘This is a great patio,’ Vivian told Max.

  He opened the valve on the beige tank underneath the gas barbecue grill and adjusted two knobs. ‘We spend a lot of time out here.’ He closed the lid on the grill. ‘We’ll just let that heat up.’

  Vivian sat at the table. ‘I guess Katherine told you that my husband is helping his mother with a legal situation.’

  Max took a drink of beer; the moisture from the outside of the bottle ran down his forearm in a narrow rivulet. ‘I hope it’s nothing serious.’

  ‘Not really. His father’s gone, so he helps her out now and then.’

  ‘He’s a good son, then.’

  Vivian nodded. ‘We’ll have to return the favor one night, have you and Katherine out to the house for dinner.’

  ‘That would be nice,’ Max said. ‘She really liked Mrs Gardiner, tried to visit her every couple of weeks.’

  ‘I didn’t know her well,’ Vivian said.

  Katherine brought plates, silverware and folded linen napkins and set them on the table. Vivian thought about her mother’s insistence on cloth napkins, never paper, even on weeknights. Sometimes, formal rituals were nice; her mother just overdid it.

  ‘I’ll get these, honey,’ Max told her.

  ‘Thanks,’ Katherine said. ‘I’ve just got a few more minutes on the potatoes, then I’ll bring everything else out. Are you going to cook that chicken today or what?’

  ‘Yes, dear.’ Max tried to pinch her with the long-handled barbecue tongs, and she laughed and jumped out of the way. He placed the chicken on the grill and poured the juices from the platter over each piece. The meat sizzled and dripped. ‘Katherine sure was shook up over the Brodie girl,’ he said, ‘that night she ran into the sheriff at your place.’

  ‘It was terrible,’ Vivian said. ‘Mrs Brodie came out the other day to look at the place where they found her.’

  ‘She did?’

  She nodded. ‘She was very upset, almost fainted.’

  ‘Kitty’s an emotional woman by nature, but this time, she has every right.’

  Vivian took a long drink; the beer glided down her throat, slick as oil. ‘Did you go to school with her too?’

  ‘For one year, but mostly I know her from the store. She’s very talkative.’

  ‘Have you seen her since the accident?’

  ‘Only once. She brought in some stuff this week.’ Max held the tongs aloft like a pointer. ‘Strange, isn’t it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just the type of accident it was. So senseless.’

  She nodded.

  He flipped the chicken over, one piece at a time, then sat back down at the table. ‘How are you enjoying it out here otherwise?’

  ‘It’s very relaxing. I don’t know if Katherine told you. I’ve been working on the house, trying to clean it up.’

  ‘You’re going to sell it after a while, right?’

  ‘With any luck,’ she said.

  ‘You shouldn’t have a problem. The population’s been growing for some time. With the improvements to the road, there’s bound to be even more people moving in. Better access to the bigger towns. Things will be changing around here, that’s for sure. We’ve already had some developers looking around. A guy stopped in my shop a few months ago, talking about an apartment complex or a mini-mall. I told him my place wasn’t for sale presently. But between you and me, I have my price, if he comes back.’

  Vivian laughed.

  He leaned back in his chair. ‘We’ve always wanted to do some traveling. We stick around here because we know it, and because of family. But I could see myself breaking away some day.’ He looked over Vivian’s shoulder. ‘We always thought we’d take family trips.’

  Katherine came through the door with a bowl of salad and a plate of baked potatoes. ‘Is the chicken ready?’ She asked. ‘I just have to grab the bread.’

  ‘All done,’ Max answered.

  She brought out a loaf of French bread and two more beers.

  ‘Sit down, Katherine,’ Vivian said. ‘You’re making me feel guilty.’

  ‘I’m done. Don’t you worry. I’ll make you help with the dishes.’

  Max brought the chicken to the table. ‘She’ll work you to death, if you don’t watch it. A real tyrant.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have opened my mouth,’ Vivian teased.

  ‘Max, you know the rules about company.’

  Vivian smiled, watching their playful looks and the way their movements coordinated as though they had dined together a million times.

  ‘Guess who we ran into at the grocery store last night?’ Katherine asked.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Abraham Stokes.’

  ‘Oh, my neighbor?’ Vivian didn’t know why, but she was compelled to add: ‘Is that his first name, Abraham?’ As if she didn’t know.

  Katherine sliced a baked potato in half, right through the aluminum foil. ‘Most everybody I know calls him Mr Stokes. Do you know anyone who calls him different, Max?’

  ‘Mr Garrison calls him Abe. I saw him in there one day when I was buying something for the house.’

  ‘Mr Garrison is the man who waited on us that day at Clement’s Hardware,’ Katherine explained to Vivian. ‘He owns the store. His mother was a Clement, but do you think he would call his store Garrison’s Hardware? No way!’

  ‘People have a right to be proud of their heritage,’ Max said in a patient tone, as though they’d had the conversation before.

  ‘What about his heritage on his daddy’s side? Didn’t the Garrisons ever do anything worthwhile? I guess they didn’t own a town.’

  ‘Do people still care about that stuff?’ Vivian asked.

  ‘You bet they do,’ Katherine said. ‘Max thinks it’s ridiculous too, but he likes to give me a hard time about it.’

  ‘You take it so personally,’ Max’s blue eyes twinkled. ‘You’re too passionate, that’s your problem. You and your Latino lover music.’ He turned to Vivian. ‘I can hear it when she pulls up the driveway.’

  Katherine rolled her eyes.

  ‘Sometimes I think you wish you’d married a Clement,’ he said.

  ‘Sometimes I think you wish that,’ Katherine said.

  ‘Not a chance.’

  They were quiet for a few moments as they passed dishes.

  ‘This is great,’ Vivian said.

  ‘Max is a wizard with the barbecue,’ Katherine said. ‘He’s got most of the domestic talents around here.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ he said. ‘You don’t like to cook, so you pretend you’re not any good at it.’

  Vivian laughed. ‘Maybe that’s what I do.’

  ‘More bread?’ Max asked.

  She shook her head.

  ‘She eats like a bird,’ Katherine said.

  ‘I do not!’

  ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. That’s why you’re so slim. Wouldn’t hurt me to learn by your example. She looks great, doesn’t she, Max?’

  He nodded. ‘You must work o
ut.’

  ‘Not really. Most of it is lucky genes. My mother is very thin, always has been.’

  ‘Both of Vivian’s parents are professors at a university,’ Katherine told him.

  ‘What do they teach?’ he asked.

  ‘My father teaches History, and my mother Sociology and sometimes, writing classes. She teaches less than he does, because she’s also a writer.’

  ‘You’re just surrounded by creative types, aren’t you?’ Katherine said.

  Vivian shrugged. ‘I guess I am.’

  ‘It must be so interesting having parents like that,’ Max said. ‘My pop never had much to talk about after a day of dry-cleaning, except stories about the customers.’

  ‘Max learned the business from his dad,’ Katherine explained. ‘They ran it together until he retired.’ She winked at Vivian. ‘Don’t you want to hear what Mr Stokes said about you?’

  Vivian looked up from her plate.

  ‘The poor man was in line at the deli, buying cold cuts and prepared casseroles. People must think you’re a bachelor too,’ she said to Max, ‘the amount of things we buy there.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Vivian asked.

  ‘Just that he ran into you that very day, that you were snooping around in the woods.’

  ‘He said that?’

  ‘Not in so many words.’

  ‘Not in any words,’ Max interjected. ‘He never said snooping.’

  ‘He implied it. He said he was chopping some wood when he saw you, and that he gave you quite a scare.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Vivian admitted. ‘I guess the whole thing with that poor girl had me jittery. For God’s sake, he had an ax.’

  They all laughed.

  ‘He’s a strange man, that’s for sure,’ Katherine said. ‘A loner.’

  Vivian wiped the corners of her eyes with her napkin. She had laughed a little too hard; she felt loose and warm from the beer.

  ‘He’s been on his own a long time,’ Max said. ‘I feel sorry for him.’

  ‘What about his family?’

  ‘He’s lived in that house his whole life,’ Katherine told her. ‘His parents are both gone now and he was an only child. Never married, although he came close once.’

  ‘You don’t know if that story’s true,’ Max objected.

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘Well, what’s true is that something happened with him and Ronella Oates. I just don’t know if it happened the way people say.’

  Vivian leaned forward in her chair. ‘What?’

  ‘Mr Stokes is in his early forties now,’ Katherine said, ‘although he seems older. Not a bad looking man, is he?’

  ‘I guess not,’ Vivian said.

  ‘So he was in his early thirties and Ronella was a bit younger than him, maybe late twenties, when things started up. His father, Jesper Stokes, was still alive then. People say he had no good feelings whatsoever for Ronella.’

  ‘Why?’

  Katherine leaned in, her green eyes bright. ‘Max and I went to school with her and she was a normal kind of girl. She had gotten married and divorced young, worked down at the bank as a teller. I don’t know why the old man didn’t like her; maybe he just didn’t want his son taken away. If you think the current Mr Stokes is a hermit, you should have seen his father.’ Katherine shook her head. ‘He never came out of his house, except for long hunting trips. They have some distant relatives over the state line, and he’d go for weeks at a time during hunting season. People didn’t see young Abe Stokes much either, except when his father was out of town. Then he’d turn up at the tavern, or hanging around the hardware store.’

  Max got up from the table. ‘Do you need another beer, Vivian?’

  ‘No, thanks, but I’ll take a glass of water.’ She turned to Katherine. ‘So what happened with the woman?’

  ‘I’ve heard it different ways. Some say there was an awful scene one night, when Jesper Stokes came home after a trip and found her there. Others say nothing happened at all. About the ending, everyone agrees. Ronella moved away one day and didn’t tell anybody.’

  ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘No one knows. It’s a mystery. Her parents still live around here, and two brothers. Nobody’s ever heard from her again.’

  ‘Even now?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Max handed Vivian a glass of water. ‘I thought she called from back east once.’

  ‘I never heard that,’ Katherine said.

  ‘One rumor’s as good as another.’

  She gave him a hard look and turned back to Vivian. ‘Then the story changes again. Some people say that Mr Stokes went off looking for her, some say he just holed up in that house. He’s definitely gotten stranger. His father died a few years later and since then, nobody sees much of him.’

  ‘I’ve only been here a few weeks, and I’ve seen him twice,’ Vivian said.

  ‘That’s true,’ Katherine said. ‘But you’re neighbors.’

  Max said, ‘Vivian says that Mrs Brodie came out there.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘She wanted to see the place they found Chanelle,’ Vivian said.

  Katherine frowned. ‘Now there’s a woman who would’ve driven old Jesper Stokes crazy. Too bad she and Abe Stokes never hit it off. And to think, they’ve been neighbors all this time and she’s never cast her magical spell over him.’

  ‘Now, Katherine,’ Max said, ‘the woman just lost her only child.’

  ‘I know, but it doesn’t change the past. If I didn’t trust you so much, I’d worry about her bringing her clothes in for cleaning.’ She gave Vivian a strange look, as if she just realized something, then just as quickly, looked away.

  As they sat on the porch, night spread over the land like a thick, black blanket. After they had coffee, Katherine and Max both came along for the drive to Grandma Gardiner’s house. The old white house looked dark and abandoned from the road, with the truck gone and only the porch light on. Katherine walked Vivian inside and waited while she turned on lights and checked around.

  ‘Thanks again,’ Vivian said. ‘It was fun. Max is a great guy.’

  Katherine looked around. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be alright here?’

  ‘Of course.’ They walked out onto the porch. Vivian waved to Max in the car then went in and closed the door. Katherine called from outside: ‘Lock it.’

  Just like a mother, Vivian thought as she locked the deadbolt.

  She turned off all the lights except for one lighthouse lamp in the bedroom. The bluish glow extended down the hallway. She followed it to the kitchen, where she poured a glass of water. Through the window in the study she saw a small, bouncing light in the trees, like the flashlights they saw the night she arrived. This time there was only one light, fading rapidly back into the woods as she watched. In a moment it was gone, and she began to doubt whether she’d seen it at all. She listened to the whisper of the trees as they flowed with the night breeze and she strained her eyes, searching over the waves of tall grass and back through the tangled mass of trees in the direction of Abe Stokes’s house.

  13

  Vivian dreamed that she was in a room filled with books. On each side, wooden shelves extended from floor to ceiling, stacked with multi-colored spines. A stepladder rolled soundlessly on a narrow track and from the top rung, her father threw books down. They dropped like bombs. Leaping this way and that, she called to him but he ignored her. The books made a loud, slapping sound when they hit the floor.

  Like soft fingers tapping against her brow, the sharp, steady impacts echoed in the room that Vivian slowly recognized as Grandma Gardiner’s. There was the faint smell of waxy, aged wood and the steam-ironed starchiness of the sheets. There was the oddly colored painting with the green sky and there was the worn armchair in the corner. The thuds continued, becoming more distinct. Slowly, she realized they were coming from outside. Someone was chopping wood, she thought, and in the same instant her mind raced ahead: Abe Stokes.

&nbs
p; In a few moments, she was striding through the tall grass of the backyard, the cool blades tickling her ankles, brushing against her calves. She had tucked the t-shirt she wore to bed into denim shorts and slipped on a pair of sandals. The morning sun was low and liquid, spilling over the ground in high contrasts and soft tinges of red and yellow. When she reached the edge of the trees, she looked back and saw her reflection in the window to Nowell’s study. From that considerable distance, it was only a flash of color and her long, dark banner of hair. She turned and plunged in. She kept her course straight, first following the chopping sounds then directing herself toward a bluish figure amidst the trees, Vivian soon reached the source of both. She called out: ‘Hello!’

  Mr Stokes propped the long-handled ax against his shoulder like a baseball bat. ‘Mrs Gardiner?’

  She entered the small clearing. A log lay across a wide tree trunk that served as a chopping block. Next to the trunk was a small stack of kindling, the wood clean and recently cut. The blue she had noticed through the trees was Abe Stokes’ denim shirt. He also wore blue jeans, and his face was flushed from exertion.

  He swung the ax and set it down. ‘Is something wrong?’

  She shook her head, suddenly embarrassed. Why had she come?

  ‘Did the noise wake you?’

  Vivian glanced at her wrinkled t-shirt, a souvenir from one of her parents’ vacations, and reached up to smooth her hair. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I needed to get up anyway.’

  ‘Sometimes I forget that other people are around.’ He motioned for her to sit on a smaller log. ‘Before Mrs Brodie got that job at the nursing home, she’d come over now and again to complain, but I thought I was in the clear now.’

  ‘And then your new, bothersome neighbors moved in,’ Vivian said.

  ‘No,’ he grinned. ‘I forgot how easily sound travels in the morning. It’s one of the reasons I like to get up early. Peaceful.’

  ‘I’ve been too lazy to notice until now,’ Vivian said.