The mood in New Hope had made a definite shift. School was out and energies were concentrated on the business of farming—caring for the fields and the animals. Scores of new pigs had to be tended to on some farms. The big machines had to be cared for, kept running productively. Breakdowns were inevitable and costly, so they had to take priority to any pleasurable activities. There were no extra ‘doings’ at the school and gym. Nothing extra going on in the church. For Lydia and Margie, this sudden lack of children’s laughter and noise, the absence of cars and busses turning into the school drive next door, was as big a let-down as when a high-powered conference was over and one was the last straggler to leave for home.
For Margie, it meant a slow-down in her business. No more letters or flyers to print for the school. She had to find a way to attract new business, maybe some long-distance work, printing the book for an author that didn’t expect a large audience, maybe something for friends or family. That would mean advertising, and waiting. With her new interest in Peter, she had determined to stay in New Hope and make it her home. It wasn’t far to drive to Delora, not as far as many suburbanites commuted to their work in cities. And Dianne had decided to take up Peter’s offer of work at the title company he was associated with. She was coming next week, her father consenting to drive with her, then fly back. He no doubt wanted to check out the room Margie was preparing for Dianne, as well as Peter. Not that she had said anything about him being a boyfriend, but she supposed he suspected that. The room she was preparing was where her parents had slept. It was a large room, with a double bed, large dresser, and space for a desk for Dianne’s computer. She would come with her cell phone, so no need to install one. That was one convenience of new technology.
As for Peter, Margie hoped he could stand up to the judge, the federal judge who felt himself so superior and self-important. She had warned Peter. He had smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not that he’ll be here long,” he laughed. “I’m sure this little town holds no lure for him.”
“True. But he may have plenty to say about what he thinks is wrong or backward with the place.” Margie could see Brad snorting at Peter’s office in the charming little building across the street from the ancient court house. It had been the home of one of Delora’s doctors when doctors had an office and waiting room in the front of their house, worked alone and made house calls. It had polished hard-wood floors and a curved hard-wood banister and stairs that led to the second floor.
Now it was offices of several professionals—another attorney, a couple accountants, a private investigator, and one marriage counselor. They shared the kitchen and bathrooms. None of them lived there.
For Lydia, the new quietness reminded her that she needed to get back to The Ranch, even though she had been asked to teach a Sunday School class for the 10-12 year olds, which would include the girls she had learned to care about. She hesitated on stretching the feeling to love. Sure, she wanted to know about them, what interests they were developing, but couldn’t that be done by an occasional letter, or email? Maybe it was because of that request she felt the need to get back. She just didn’t want to go into the Christian scriptures and discuss angels and the after life which had been hinted at. She just couldn’t confine herself to one set of scriptures. The Bhagavad Gita and other Oriental texts were waiting for her to further exploration. Besides, she was no authority on the Bible. No, staying here wasn’t in her agenda. She felt fairly comfortable that the ghosts had been laid to rest, unless Jennifer and Tanya’s brothers who were coming home for the summer wanted to keep that stirred up. But she didn’t think they would. They’d be too busy with work on the farms. Besides, there was a new presence in the Harris household. Jennifer’s mother had returned, and she had heard the young woman was pregnant. That would certainly keep the family occupied for a while.
Jennifer’s mother, Rebecca, wasn’t the only one expecting, Lydia had learned. Meagan’s mother, too. Then there was Jake’s sister’s daughter, who lived now in Delora. His niece had come to live with her grandmother, who was getting feeble and worn out working at the nursing home and seeing her husband, Jake Jackson, Sr., succumb more and more to forgetfulness and irritability. Jake had told her this when he was tending the bonfire at the back of the property, burning the vines and debris she had pulled off the old shed. He had been downright pleasant on that occasion. He even taught her how to build a bin of grass and leaves for making mulch. As if she were going to stick around and garden. Hah. She’d put in some vegetables and flowers. Even kept the lawn mowed front and back. It had been fun for a while. Backbreaking, though. And now, in June, it was getting hot and humid, with mosquitoes in the evenings and flies in the daytime. Not that The Ranch would be that much better. Even so, she was yearning to be back with the people she knew, the people she could really talk to. Things here were moving on.
Lydia felt in her bones that these new pregnancies were the souls coming back that left thirty years ago in turmoil and maybe torment. Her mother. Dale. And the third? She couldn’t figure that one out. Didn’t seem to be her father. One of her grandparents? Dale’s mother Alice? Maybe, maybe. But she did know that her mother was no longer calling to her in dreams. Her why’s may have been answered on the other side, or maybe not. Maybe she had to be in a body again, with physical senses, to learn what it was she needed to learn. Maybe Dale, too. No longer did Lydia find him coming through from cyberspace as she sat at the computer with her “muse.” She’d had to work to get her course on Truth and Interpersonal Relations in some kind of order. And that was another reason to get back to the Yoga Ranch. She had promised and they were making out the course schedules for the summer retreats.
There was only one thing left to do here. That was the private memorial service to be held in the gym for her parents. Where the five then teen-agers, now middle-agers, could congregate and bring a healing energy to that corner where the most grievous and hard to understand event had occurred to change their lives forever.
Chapter 24
The little service was set to occur the next day, Saturday, at 8:00 in the evening, to accommodate chores that had to be done. It was private, with just Margie and Lydia, Stanley and Shirley, Mike and Charlette, and Jake who showed up with his father in a wheelchair, and his mother. It was an odd little group that gathered in the far corner of the basement room in the gym. There had been a quiet planning, each one offering to bring a simple item of tribute to the two teachers who had fallen there.
Mike was dressed in white open-collared shirt and good trousers, and had in his hand a leaf, long, narrow, dark green. It represented the marijuana that he had smoked only once.
Charlette was in a simple pink dress and white shoes and had in her hand a picture of her parents, who had tried to keep lives from going under when the rough spots threatened.
Stanley was dressed similarly to Mike, casual but neat, and brought a silver dollar, representing the precious metal of friendship and respect.
Shirley wore blue, and brought a blue ribbon representing first place, honoring teachers she had looked up to.
Jake was dressed in a grey suit and brought his parents. Though his father may not have known what was going on, it seemed there were tears in his eyes and off and on a bit of voice, sigh, groan, perhaps recognition of something special, something properly closing. His mother, Mavis, arthritic and subdued, brought a card with the simple words May you rest in peace.
Margie brought a sprig of mint to represent the freshness that we all need in life when things look dark.
Lydia was the one who guided them through a service that was for healing, for remembering we are all on our way, mistakes happening, toward knowing the Truth that will set us free, which is Love, honoring the spirit of love in each of us, the spirit that is eternal, living beyond this life, this body. And though we cannot go back and redo in our present life, we can go on and do better in the next. Life after life.
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a note about the writer:
Margaret Guthrie received a B.A. in literature from Pacific University, Forest Grove, OR, and a Master of Social Work from the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI. She is the author of Silent Truth, a novel, and three poetry books. She is a member of Trail Ridge Writers, Columbine Poets of Colorado, Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers, and the Lyons Itinerant Poetry Society. She lives with her husband in Estes Park, CO.
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