The Return

by Margaret Guthrie

Lydia opened the door for Peter Anderson because Margie was busy in the kitchen finishing up the meal. At 55 his hair was thinning in front and showing a bit of grey. When she closed the door and his back was to her she noticed a beginning bald spot on the back of his head. Even so, he was impressively handsome, impressively neat and correct in a dark brown summer suit, tan shirt and red tie that made his brown eyes dark and enticing. Furthermore, he held out a bottle of Blue Nun wine. Lydia accepted it with an amused smile. Was he trying to impress her, get her approval perhaps for dating her sister? He certainly had impressed Margie.

  “Thank you,” she said, motioning the way through the living room to the kitchen. She was suddenly self-conscious in her jeans and tee-shirt. Had she missed a cue? Was this supposed to be a dress-up affair? The wine felt heavy and cold in her hands. She never drank alcoholic beverages, but wasn’t about to spoil Peter’s good intentions. She carried it carefully. Peter might be just what Margie needed. She certainly wasn’t going to put a damper on any development in that relationship.

  In the kitchen Margie put the finishing touches on the simple meal of salmon baked with lemon and herbs, salad and hot rolls. Lydia showed her the wine and asked in a whisper if she’d run across any appropriate glasses.

  “Ohhhh,” Margie said. They looked in cupboards knowing there would be no regular wine glasses. She pulled out three small juice glasses and said they’d have to do. Lydia decided they were small enough for a few polite sips and put them on the table.

  “Well,” Margie said. “You’re so thoughtful, Peter. Wine.” She hadn’t had anything to drink since Brad had made happy-hour a regular ritual when he got home from work, and got quite cranky if something interrupted it. “I’ll let you open it if you don’t mind and pour us some.” Fortunately it was not corked and he only had to twist the top.

  They had pulled out a small drop-leaf table and placed it on the porch where they could get a breeze through the screened windows. It was unusually warm for early May.

  “Rolls are in the oven,” Margie said as she placed the salmon on a serving plate. Salads were on the table. Margie had found a white table cloth and set three places with their grandmother’s best china. She was even in a dress! Lydia wished Margie had warned her.

  As they settled around the table, Margie suggested silent prayer. Peter respectfully bowed his head. Lydia closed her eyes and repeated to herself the blessing she had learned at the Yoga Ranch. They might just be saying it, too. She liked to visualize the activities there, mentally putting herself into them. It helped to know she would be back there in a few weeks. That is, if she could get her mother settled and on her way.

  Peter’s chair faced the yard back of the house, now cleared of the debris around the old shed and garage and sported a newly mown lawn. The green grass was a bit sparse, especially under the sprawling elm growing near the shed, but it looked neat, and the few already blooming snapdragons, petunias and pansies Lydia had put out were colorful and healthy.

  “You’ve done a ton of work back there,” Peter remarked. “Last time I was here it was a jungle.”

  “Yeah, well, I had a bit of help,” Lydia admitted. “Those curious girls kept urging me to open the shed so I had to keep at it. A couple of them even helped me plant the flowers.”

  “Who was that?” Margie asked in surprise. She passed the salmon, then rolls and butter, keeping her attention on being a good hostess.

  “Meagan and Amber, one afternoon when their mothers were doing something at the school.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Margie looked over the table, then satisfied, settled into eating.

  “I understand you’re getting quite cozy with the five fillies,” Peter said with a teasing smile.

  “The five fillies?” Lydia laughed. She looked over at Margie, staring down in her plate.

  “Well, they reminded me of young prancing colts,” Margie admitted, lifting her gaze to the other two, “sticking their noses into what’s over the fence.” She’d obviously conveyed that to Peter.

  “They’re curious all right,” Lydia admitted. “Which reminds me, I’m supposed to read that book on magic tricks and teach them a few.” She sighed. “Not exactly where I want to spend my time.” She had forgotten entirely.

  “You’re into magic? sleight of hand?” Peter asked. “I used to have a few card tricks to amuse my girls when they were young.” He chuckled. “Little kids are so trusting,” he added. “Until they lose their innocence.” He bit into the salmon and expressed approval.

  “And when would that be,” Lydia inquired, trying to remember a time she had ever been ‘innocent.’ Innocent of what? Death? The Other Side? There had been no magic tricks to bring parents back from that invisible Mansion somewhere in the universe.

  “Oh, I’d say around fifth grade, ten or eleven. Then they get interested in the opposite sex and it’s all over.” He grinned and spread his hands. “Then they just want to know how they look, what others think of them, do they approve.” Peter wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin, a dainty pecking at the corners where he imagined salad dressing, or moist salmon might be.

  “You have a family, then,“ Lydia said, concentrating on eating as she waited out the growing silence.

  “I have three daughters. Marsha is a school teacher in Ohio, where her husband runs a business. Rachel is still in graduate school, in biochemistry, and our youngest, Ann, is in the military.” Lydia thought he might get out his wallet with pictures of them, but he didn’t.

  Margie put a hand on Peter’s arm, a gentle touch. “How long...”

  “My wife died a couple years ago, Lydia,” he said with a smile and a sigh. “Breast cancer. It was a long struggle. Many years of different treat-ments, some working for a while, some not, never knowing the future. We’d live for a birthday, or a holiday, pray for just another summer, another Christmas. We took what we could get. At least she was able to see our daughters through high school and into independence. So you see, we have something in common. We’ve both lost ones we love. It’s a lonely feeling at times.” He gave them a thin, sad smile.

  “Yes,” Lydia agreed. “But Margie and I did have each other. Until we grew up.”

  “And you still have each other,” Peter said, his eyebrows going up for a moment.

  “Hah,” Margie exclaimed, too loud Lydia thought. “We may have each other, but I’m not so sure we want each other. Lydia wants to get back to her beloved Ranch.” The sisters exchanged glances. The truth was probably there, but Lydia wished Margie didn’t sound so chastising. She wished she could convey to Margie the feeling of purpose and happiness she felt at the Ranch. But Margie didn’t want to know about yoga and meditation and her back-up team. Nor did she show a speck of interest in the books she read.

  “Ahhh. What do you do at the Ranch?” Peter seemed to be relishing his salmon and salad, taking a bite of each on his fork. Definitely not a one at a time eater, Lydia observed.

  “I teach some hatha yoga classes. And I’m trying to work up a course on Truth in Interpersonal Relationships. You see, the Ranch is a retreat center, so people come throughout the year for the various courses we teach which last a weekend, or a couple weeks, or a month for the longest. It’s about 150 acres, with buildings for the classes and executive offices, then several small cottages for retreatants, and beyond that gardens to raise our organic vegetables. We’re trying to make it as self-sufficient as possible. There’s a three-bladed tall windmill that stores energy in a room full of batteries, for electricity, and solar panels for the water heater. The most recent building, a women’s residence hall, was built with straw bale walls, great insulation.” She looked eagerly to Peter for his appreciation. Something Margie had not given her. Or anyone else for that matter.

  “Someone must be courageous to trust those innovations.”

  “You’re skeptical,” Lydia said, feeling a bit let down. His inte
rest was just to be polite.

  “Well, I’m just thinking of the expense of using new ideas, before they get practical, you know, before they get to the point of mass production, which cuts the cost.” Peter adjusted his coat sleeves. He had a point, of course, Lydia thought. And at least he was still engaged in the subject, that was something.

  “I see. Well, the labor is done by volunteers who take room and board for their salary.” Lydia said. “It’s a privilege to be in on something that helps the earth survive. Instead of all these chemicals you have around here. For instance, we use things like lady bugs to eat the aphids, and goats to chomp on the weeds. Or just plain hand picking insects off the plants at times. Many willing hands makes the work go fast.” Lydia smiled at Peter, and nodded toward the back yard. “Like little girls to plant flowers.”

  “Well, that was a good trick,” Peter laughed. “As good as cards, I’d say.”

  “So,” Lydia said. “Can you teach me some card tricks? Or, better yet, show the girls some card tricks?”

  “But Lydia, you’ve gotten them interested in ghosts, and they’re expecting them to appear the night of their treasure hunt,” Margie said, using her most needling tone.

  “Now where did you get that notion?” Lydia asked in exasperation. “Jake is the one that is fostering their ghost expectations. I wouldn’t be surprised if he dresses up in a sheet and tries to spook them somewhere out on the school grounds. In that grove of trees, maybe. Or outside the gym in the bushes or something. I wouldn’t put it past him to set up some mirrors to reflect lights and shadows making them appear like apparitions.” She was gesturing excitedly, inwardly berating herself for the embarrassing display.

  “Oh, come on,” Margie exclaimed.

  “You can’t be serious,” Peter laughed.

  “He’s putting those two boys up to something,” Lydia said. “He’s got them placing clues in odd places. Just ask Pearl.”

  “She’s in on it, too?” Margie asked.

  “I didn’t mean that,” Lydia said, ready now to change the subject before her irritation got any bigger. She got up to get the dessert. When the topic gets too hot, go for food, she thought. “Hey, we’ve got some black walnut ice cream and carrot cake. How about it?”

  “Sure,” Peter said, fondling his red tie that lay in his lap. He had previously shed his coat at Margie’s suggestion. Margie jumped up to clear off the dishes and take the bowls of ice cream to the table. Lydia followed with the cake.

  “Do you know anything about the upcoming meeting of the school board, Peter? Is that box company going to be presenting a proposition?” Margie asked. It had been bothering her. What would it mean for their house, if a box company and all its noise and clutter came next door? She much preferred the idea of a museum.

  “I’m not representing anyone, remember. But I have heard that they propose to use the large common space on the first floor of the school house to set up their machines for making boxes. The class rooms would be used to store cardboard or whatever and finished boxes.” He took up his spoon but waited for Margie to start eating her ice cream first.

  “Won’t there be a lot of dust in such a production?” Margie asked. “I mean, cardboard being cut, that kind of thing.” She took a bite of ice cream and cake.

  “It’s just one plan. Others might come along.” Peter plunged into the dessert and nodded in satisfaction.

  “I can think of some betters ways to use that space.” Lydia said. “How about a place where people could bring their antiques and other stuff to be sold over the internet, like an eBay type of thing? Or rent the rooms out for Elderhostel programs, using some of the rooms for classrooms and some for sleeping quarters. Or rent it out to retreat groups. There would be great space for yoga exercises where each person has a mat spread out on the floor.” These are ideas she had brainstormed to herself in her meditations.

  “Now how many people would come to Iowa to take yoga lessons, Lydia?” Margie laughed. “That’s a city thing.” She let out a guttural sound that made Lydia cringe.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think someone with imagination could find lots of uses for the New Hope school building if it can’t continue as a school. It really is a shame there are so few children that busing them to Delora is cheaper.” Lydia thought of Mr. Stephenson’s criticism of those sending their kids to boarding school. The “rich Quakers.” She really doubted they were rich, not with the other figures she had heard regarding the expensive machinery and farmers constantly borrowing money to get their new crops in, then paying off their debts when the crops were harvested.

  “Yes,” Peter agreed. “But, as I say, I’m not in on this particular project. But there is something I’ve been wanting to ask you two.” He held an empty spoon in the air and directed it to Margie, then Lydia.

  “OK,” they both said in unison.

  “This printing shop. How’s it going?” Peter’s brown eyes deepened and his smile expressed concern. Lydia could see why Margie was attracted.

  “It’s going,” Margie said. “Sherrie has gone now and we’re planning an open house soon. We’ve got Persia’s poetry book finished and she’s agreed to read from it and sign books that day. We’ll have some door prizes and refreshments and hopefully the farmers and their families will take off some time to come in and give us a little support. Plus people from Delora and other towns around. Of course we’ve sent invitations to all our customers.”

  “Am I invited?” Peter asked.

  “Of course,” Margie laughed.

  “So when’s the date?”

  “I want to wait until after the community meeting. I want to hear what people say about the school. And this house. Aaand, I’m not sure what they think about my living here. Are they going to accept me as a business woman?”

  “Margie, Sherrie was accepted. She didn’t actually grow up here as I understand it. Her parents were here a couple years or so, just long enough for her to graduate from high school, then they left. Why, I don’t know. But she’s accepted.” Lydia knew exactly what Margie was thinking. Would the community accept someone who reminded them of the most painful thing they had ever experienced? That didn’t seem to go away? But she didn’t know how to countermand it.

  “Right. She didn’t have any ghosts in the closet.” Margie sent Lydia a scathing look.

  “You know something?” Peter interjected. “You’ll do just fine. This community is actually pretty accepting. People get divorces, they remarry, stay here, keep going to church. It’s all part of the family.” He put a gentle hand on Margie’s shoulder. “You’ll see.”

  “You speak as if you know,” Lydia said. “But you don’t live here, you live in Delora.”

  “I’ve done a lot of legal work with people here,” he explained. “I’ve written up their divorce papers, made out their wills, represented them in court when they get speeding tickets, sat in on house closings, done foreclosures. Etc., etc. I’m not a highly paid attorney with complicated cases, but I do get into personal squabbles once in a while.” Peter laughed again, his stomach jiggling, his hand smoothing his tie. Lydia began to recognize his defense modes.

  “All right, I accept that,” Lydia said. “And I bet you make out contracts, too. Like Margie’s printing business. And I guess you know our trust details inside and out. And did you help Margie with her alimony squabble? Her ex’s miserly attitude?” Lydia smiled, noticing the red blush rising on Margie’s cheeks.

  “Lydia, for goodness sake. What business is it of yours?”

  Margie began.

  “You’re my sister, my only family. Hey, I’m glad for you, Margie. I’m just a little amused that you fall for another lawyer,” she said in a teasing way. She watched Peter look away, perhaps to distance himself.

  “Peter has been a good ally. And he’s nothing like my ex. Peter is...steady, and, and, comfortable.” Margie had started to say Peter was
not ambitious, meaning not looking for a judgeship, but that sounded too much like a criticism. She looked at Peter and smiled. Peter did indeed look calm and comfortable, as if he were not easily provoked. “He went through those teenage years with three daughters and survived.”

  “That should make for a good consultant,” Lydia laughed. “Much better than my inexperience.“

  “Well, we never know what life will give us,” Peter said. “Sometimes it’s totally unfathomable, and we just do the best we can to keep going. I guess you know what I mean.” He stirred his ice cream into a mush, and carefully lifted his full spoon to his mouth.

  Lydia nodded. Margie went silent and solemn.

  “So, how well did you know our parents?” Lydia asked, figuring it was time to find out some things. She dug into her ice cream and let a bite slowly melt in her mouth.

  “I never met them. Your grandparents came to me for help with their estate after what happened. They were pretty devastated, you know, having a hard time thinking through what they should do.” He remembered back. This was one of his first cases. Never before had he had to act as a kind of counselor. He remembered how nervous he was, realizing how dependent they were on his advice, how they trusted him to do what was best. “They left it up to me to do what I could.”

  Margie caught his look, his eyes going off to some place in the room that was distant from them. “Well, whatever you did came out just fine.”

  In the silence that followed the first crickets started making their calls and the robins started their repertoire of evening songs. The sun and moon were attempting to change positions and their glow spread over the land.

  “So, what do you think about Margie’s Dianne?” Lydia asked, breaking the spell that seemed to be settling in.

  “Pretty typical, I’d say.”

  “You going to urge her to come out here this summer?”

  “No, I’m not going to get into that one.” He laughed.

  Peter turned toward her with those brown eyes and she had to remember they weren’t for her. He had pushed his bowl away and sipped on the coffee Margie had brought.

  “It’d be different,” Lydia said. Not quite like the Ranch, but not a bit like L.A. “She could take my place.”

  “Oh, right. Like she’d become vegetarian?” said Margie with a snort. “And shut off the TV, not listen to her favorite bands, or go to movies? She’s already called it dullsville. Dianne cannot possibly become you, Lydia.” Margie shook her head. “No, Dianne would find the quiet and isolation quite difficult.”

  “She could adjust if you kept her busy,” Peter said. He looked around, trying to see what a teenager would find of interest. “No TV? No video games? Ahh, but you do have computers.” He chuckled. “And New Hope doesn’t have a movie house.”

  “Or a mall,” Margie added. “Dianne would find it so deficient.” She sighed. “I don’t even know what kind of work she could find to do.” She splayed her arms in a gesture of hopelessness.

  “Would she be interested in looking up court records for an attorney, you think? Checking out land deeds for a title company?” Peter threw it out, his forehead wrinkled as if he were considering a particular idea that had just come to him.

  “Peter, you think?” Margie looked at him with wide eager eyes. Her whole body became more alert.

  “Can she drive? Have a license?” He stroked his tie again.

  “Yes, unfortunately. Her dad even bought her a car.”

  “Then she’s all set,” Peter laughed. “That is, if she might be interested. And if this certain attorney is open to it.” He pursed his lips, sat back and put his hands in his pockets.

  “Oh Peter. Can I ask her? Is it all right?”

  “It’s something we could explore,” he said. “It is a serious job, not just made up. She’d have to really be interested.” He gave Margie a thoughtful look. She nodded, understanding that he might be sticking his neck out on this one.

  “Well, that opens some doors to the future,” Lydia remarked. “Now if we can close some doors around here on the past, we might have accomplished something.” They looked at her not quite comprehending, but it didn’t matter.

  Lydia watched the fireflies in the back yard, remembering how they tried to catch them when they were kids. Put them in bottles. All that insect energy trying to light up the world. She hoped that Margie and Dianne could be together and work out their interpersonal relationship in a loving way. She felt grateful for Peter. Perhaps he was the exact new element that was needed for bring balance, peace and harmony into the situation. Perhaps he could free her from dealing with Margie, so she could put all her energy and attention on finding out what was necessary for her mother to be satisfied and move on. She wondered what part Dale on the Other Side could play in all this? When would she get to talk to Mike and find out what ghosts were haunting him? Was he inadvertently keeping Dale earth bound? Sometimes people did that when they were feeling so guilty about what they saw as their part in a death.

  Chapter 17