Lady Blues

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  “Sure you can. Grab those stakes and follow me.”

  We marked the row with string, and knelt beside it with the bags of onions.

  “You hand them to me, one at a time, okay, sport?”

  He nodded, proud that I trusted him with such an important job.

  “Let’s start with those.” I pointed to the onions named “Candy,” an early sweet variety. “Now separate the plants carefully. See? Like this.”

  I showed him how to pull the small white bulbs apart without damaging the greens. He managed to do quite well, concentrating on his task. I set each plant in the ground, leaving plenty of room for its neighbors to expand and grow into luscious yellow globes.

  Forty-five minutes later, we finished. The twins had stayed in the playhouse, surprisingly quiet. After putting the tools and tiller away, I ducked my head into their abode. Both girls sat with their backs to me, in the dirt.

  “We make pies,” Marion said.

  My heart sank. They slowly turned toward me, revealing a puddle in the middle of the playhouse. Nice and mucky, it provided excellent material for making mud pies. A few misshapen globs lay on the ground, but most of the mud covered my granddaughters.

  “I see. Yes you did. What good little cooks you are.”

  Marion smiled proudly through the grime. Celeste splashed with her already muddied hands, splattering more mud over herself and her sister.

  Just as I beckoned to them, Freddie pulled into the drive. I sighed. Bad timing.

  My daughter trotted toward us, and Johnny zoomed at her, chattering about onions and how they’d turn into candy.

  “Really? Candy?” she said, laughing as he pulled her toward the garden.

  The twins emerged in all their glory, worse than I’d realized. Celeste’s red curls, plastered to her head, had turned brown. Mud smeared Marion’s cheeks.

  After making a fuss over the row of onions, Freddie stared at her daughters and gasped in horror. “Dad!” she chided.

  I held up my hands and pleaded guilty. “Sorry. I’ll give them baths if you’re tired.”

  Rolling her eyes, she snorted a laugh. “It’s okay, Dad. It’s just a little mud.”

  Shades of the twins’ favorite cartoon hit me. In the Adventures of Peppa Pig, the pigs’ favorite activity included jumping in muddy puddles. Whenever Mommy Pig became upset at the mess, Daddy Pig countered with, “It’s just a little mud.”

  Freddie laughed again, and scooted backwards when Marion tried to flatten herself against her clean khaki slacks. “Whoa there, little one. Let’s get you in the tub. After that, we’ll do hugs.”

  Johnny wasn’t much cleaner, with caked dirt on his knees and brown hands. Then again, neither was I.

  He pulled on my hand as we followed the muddy procession inside. “I’m too big to take a bath with dem.”

  I looked down at him, realizing he was right. At five-years-old, he deserved a bit of privacy.

  “No problem, buddy. Why don’t you take a shower in my bathroom while they take their bath?”

  Delighted at this turn of events, he skipped forward and darted toward the porch.

  “Don’t forget to take off your boots before you go inside!” I yelled.

  He either didn’t hear me, or ignored me, and tromped inside with his muddy boots.

  Chapter Twelve

  We arrived in the kitchen to the deafening squeal of the smoke alarm.

  Smoke poured from the oven, stinging my eyes. I pushed the children back onto the porch, and spun around to grab the fire extinguisher from the wall. Before I could say a word, Freddie rushed forward and opened the oven, the absolute worst thing she could have done. Oxygen fanned the flames.

  My meatloaf erupted in a fiery explosion, billowing out of the oven, and reaching for the walls. Freddie fell back, one arm raised to protect her face.

  Siegfried arrived in an instant, horrified. “Mein Gott!” he cried, pulling Freddie away from the flames.

  Lily, her face frozen and chalk white, appeared in the great room doorway.

  “Freddie, keep the kids outside,” I shouted, pulling the pin from the extinguisher nozzle. “Sig, stand back.”

  Siegfried backed up while I sprayed white foam all over the oven. A stray flame leapt up the back wall and ignited grease in the filter beneath the microwave. I’d been nervous before, but now my stomach dropped. I panicked. “Everyone out!”

  The extinguisher squirted the last bits of foam. Racing to the great room, I grabbed the larger canister near the fireplace. When I skidded back to the kitchen, I caught sight of Lily running out the door, sobbing hysterically with Siegfried in close pursuit. The smoke alarm continued to screech.

  I pulled the pin and sprayed the foam back and forth across the face of the stove and the wall. This time, the wider stream snuffed out the flames in seconds.

  I stared, heart pounding, extinguisher poised to squirt if the fire erupted again. My breath came in heavy gasps. Sweat trickled along my brow and jaw. I mopped at it with my shirtsleeve and, after a few minutes, I let my arms drop.

  The extinguisher clattered to the floor.

  I reached up to flip open the alarm cover and remove the battery, and finally dropped onto a kitchen chair, staring at the mess. The stove seemed unharmed, but soot layered the back wall between the burners and the microwave. My poor meatloaf sizzled and dripped with foam. The potatoes, blackened nubs, emitted crackles and pops.

  Freddie edged inside, holding her hands out to keep the children from pouring back into the kitchen. “Dad? Are you okay? Is the fire out?”

  I nodded and got up. “Everything’s okay, honey. You can come back inside soon. But first, let’s get some air in here.”

  After propping open the door and windows, I stabbed the potatoes with a long-handled fork and tossed them into the sink. I grabbed the meatloaf pan with potholders and did the same, dousing it with water. It steamed, and turned to mush.

  “Damn,” I whispered.

  Freddie came up behind me, followed by Johnny and the twins. “Dad! Watch what you say around—”

  “Damn,” said Celeste.

  We both stared at her, open-mouthed. I tried to backpedal. “No, baby, we don’t say that. Say—”

  “Damn!” she said again, pointing to the oven.

  Freddie laughed with a tinge of hysteria. Although I’d controlled the blaze, it hadn’t looked good for a few minutes. I heard the same panic in her brittle laughter that had risen in me a few minutes ago.

  “Okay, let’s try distraction,” she said, ushering the children into the great room. She turned to call back over her shoulder, “You’d better order Chinese, Dad. We’re starving.”

  I leaned against the counter, collecting myself. Reflected from the toaster, smoke-reddened eyes stared back at me. Reaching up, I closed them and massaged my eyelids, marveling how life could switch from controlled chaos to insanity in a split second.

  After a few minutes, I straightened and headed for the wall phone. The owner of the Yellow Moon Chinese restaurant recognized my voice, and prepared for a long order. I pictured him circling our usual selections before I announced them. He murmured his usual, “Ah ha,” with each item.

  “Six pork egg rolls and six shrimp egg rolls. Two large orders of House Special Fried Rice, Mushroom Egg Foo Yung, Orange Chicken, Beef and Peapods, Chicken Lo Mein, and Sweet and Sour Shrimp.”

  He repeated the order rapid-fire and told me it would be ready in ten minutes. I recognized his pat answer, and planned on twenty. Our order always took a little longer to assemble.

  I hung up and looked outside for Siegfried, hoping he’d be able to pick up the food. With sinking heart, I watched him disappear around the barn at a lope, shouting Lily’s name.

  ***

  Siegfried followed Lily, and though I itched to help, I figured he’d want to handle this alone, so I stayed put.

  Camille’s VW Beetle bounced around the corner, making its way up the gravel drive. She braked when she spotted me.
Lips taut, eyes wide, she rolled down the window and leaned out. “What’s wrong?”

  She knew me too well.

  I leaned in to kiss her.

  Shelby sat in the passenger seat with her iPod firmly in place, oblivious to the world. The words tumbled from my mouth as I told her about the fire.

  “…then Lily panicked. She took off.” I pointed toward the blurry dot on the hillside. “Sig’s gone after her.”

  Concern flashed over her features, but she pulled herself together when Shelby removed her earplugs to listen. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I ordered takeout, since the meatloaf looks like a lump of charcoal. Would you mind picking up the food?”

  “Sure thing. Where?”

  “The usual. Yellow Moon.”

  I leaned down for a good-bye kiss and pushed sixty dollars into her hand. She made a U-turn and headed down the driveway.

  Siegfried had gained ground, pausing halfway up the hill Lily had just crested. She darted into the woods. For a petite woman, she fled with surprising speed.

  If you’d nearly been burned to death, you’d run fast, too.

  I wandered toward the paddock and leaned against the peeling white boards, watching Siegfried vanish behind the tree line. Maggie nickered and trotted toward me, glossy black mane rippling. She tossed her head in the air, begging for a treat.

  “Hey, girl.” I reached out, palm up. With a velvety soft muzzle, she snuffled and licked my skin.

  “You like that, huh?” Although she had a mineral salt block in her stall, she seemed to prefer the human variety of salt.

  I patted her neck, stroking the soft brown fur just beginning to shed. Her thick winter fuzz would soon smooth into a burnished sheen. Diablo, her chestnut pasture mate, watched us from the middle of his field, snorted, and returned to the sweet April grass. In Diablo’s world, food was king.

  I relaxed by the fence, trying to enjoy the warmth of the late afternoon. It was too early to feed the horses, so I combed Maggie’s mane with my fingers and talked to her. She sniffed my pockets, looking for sugar cubes. Fifteen minutes had passed when my cell phone vibrated. I pulled it out, expecting it to be Camille. The screen proved me wrong, showing Siegfried’s number.

  “Professor! Please come quickly. Lily will not wake up.” His voice caught as he choked on the words.

  “Where are you?” The signal faded and the connection crackled. One bar of reception flickered on the screen. I tried to move to another spot in the yard, but lost him. After dialing twice to with no luck, I snapped the phone shut and headed for the woods.

  I sprinted through new alfalfa, pumping my legs hard. The sky stretched over the valley, brilliant in saturated cobalt blue. As if in direct opposition to the turmoil that was my life, cottony clouds waltzed overhead, as if unaware of the drama playing below.

  I pounded up the hill, ignoring the stitch in my side and wishing I’d hopped on Maggie’s back instead of going on foot. The mare would have covered the ground in seconds.

  After five minutes of steady running, my breath came in shortened gasps, syncopated with the pounding of my heart. Blood rushed in my ears, deafening. I urged myself onward, sweat soaking my shirt.

  Just a few more yards.

  I redoubled my effort and soon reached the edge of the field where alfalfa met a border of blackberry canes.

  “Sig!” I called, swinging into the path. “Where are you?”

  Silence.

  Worried, I skidded to a stop and faced a decision.

  Right or left? Which trail did Lily choose?

  I tore up the right-most trail, startling a white-tailed rabbit. She hopped off the path and burrowed beneath a thick stand of wild raspberries. Overhead, the sun dappled through limbs not yet fully engulfed in leaves. Beech, maple, pine—their branches moved in the breeze.

  I stopped again to catch my breath, doubled over as sweet scents of spring bathed my senses. Ferns whispered beside me, their fronds curled tightly. Trillium blanketed the forest floor, white with innocence. Fleecing the ground, their heads nodded and petals sighed beneath the trees. A red squirrel spiraled up a Catawba tree nearby, chastising me for the intrusion.

  Each detail hit my brain with surprising clarity as I gasped and sucked air. After a few seconds, my heart slowed and I veered in the direction of Siegfried’s voice that called to me from farther up the slope.

  The clearing appeared. There was our old campsite, the location of a fire almost two years ago. Surprised at how quickly nature recovered, I bounded between the blackened stumps sprouting bouquets of green saplings, searching for a flash of color in the distance.

  I stopped to cup my hands around my mouth and let loose a rib rattling shout. “Siegfried!”

  My voice echoed, mocking me. Overhead, a cloud darkened the sun, graying colors, vibrant only minutes before. When the reverberations died down, I heard Siegfried, muted and distant.

  “Professor. Over here.”

  His voice ricocheted off tree trunks and boulders lining the path. It had come from off-trail, not up the hill in the direction I normally would go. My gut clenched when I realized Lily must have darted toward the Devil’s Notch, the gully that cleaved the hillside, channeling rushing streams into the valley.

  I pushed through briars and slapping branches of thick pines, stopping short at the top of the notch. The cliff dropped sharply here, leading to the stream churning cold below.

  There. To the north—a flash of color, violet and white.

  Branches smacked my arms and face. I sidestepped through the narrow trail at the top of the ledge. Pushing through heavy brush, I broke into a clearing. At the bottom of the ravine lay Lily, with Siegfried crouched close beside her.

  He spotted me and waved. “Professor! Down here.”

  “I’m coming, buddy. Hang on.”

  I hurried down the embankment, dislodging stones and grabbing saplings sprouting from the hillside. I swung down the hill, from tree to tree, slid for a portion of the descent on my backside, and finally made the bottom of the ravine.

  When I reached them, Lily’s eyes were closed. She moaned, curled on her side. Blood stained her lavender blouse near her midriff.

  Siegfried raised his tearful eyes to mine. “Mein, Gott. Help her, Professor. Bitte.”

  I knelt beside Lily, feeling her arms and legs for breaks. Aside from a badly swollen ankle, her limbs seemed intact. The blood on her blouse came from a gash on her side. It wasn’t deep, and the ooze on the surface had begun to congeal as her platelets did their job.

  “Lily?” I touched her face. Her eyes fluttered open, focusing on me. Absently, she reached toward her ankle, moaning again, but I sensed that her pain was more emotional than physical.

  “Will she be okay?” Sig asked.

  “Looks like her ankle. But she’s still scared, buddy.”

  Relief washed his features, quickly replaced by empathy. “Let me hold her, Professor.” He squeezed past me and lifted her to his lap in one smooth motion. Cradling her in his massive arms, he crooned soothing words of love and comfort in German. She folded into his chest, wrapping her arms around him, molding herself to his muscled physique.

  I looked away; the intimacy was too tender and moving. I felt like an intruder.

  He continued to murmur to her, repeating the same phrases.

  I closed my eyes and breathed the April air, losing myself to the backdrop of whispering water and windswept branches.

  It had been one helluva day.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Siegfried stood with Lily cradled in his arms. We both glanced up the hill and shook our heads simultaneously.

  “No way we’re climbing back up that hill.” I gestured downstream. “We should follow the creek until it meets up with our fields, down below.”

  “Ja. Come on. Auf gehts.”

  The rocky streambed stretched twenty feet on either side of the frigid water bubbling down the incline. We picked our way along the embankment, kee
ping as far from the cold water as possible, walking where the stones merged with grass. After a fifteen-minute trudge, we finally emerged into the open expanse of fields leading to our house.

  Lily’s head nodded against Siegfried’s shoulder, bobbing gently as flotsam on the surf. Proud and fierce, her warrior-savior bore her home.

  When we closed in on the house, Lily’s head snapped up, her eyes widened in fear.

  “It is okay,” Siegfried whispered to her, motioning with his head toward our house that stood whole and, from the outside, appeared untouched by flames. “The fire is out. No one was hurt, Lily.”

  Her eyes searched the property, as if trying to resolve her memory with the vision. After a moment, she relaxed against Siegfried and he carried her inside.

  Freddie met us at the door. “What happened?”

  He eased Lily into the bedroom and gently laid her on the bed. “She fell into the gorge. The fire frightened her, and she just kept running.” Siegfried turned to Freddie, pointing to the gash on Lily’s side. “Can you fix it?”

  “Of course.” Although my daughter was an animal vet, she’d learned the basics of wound treatment and frequently helped us with minor medical emergencies. “Oh, you poor thing. First the fire at your shop, then this.”

  She tended to Lily’s wound. Perching on the side of the double bed in Mrs. Pierce’s bedroom, she spoke soothingly to her patient, explaining each step of the process as if Lily spoke and understood English. I watched, realizing the similarities between this and Freddie’s usual animal patients who also spoke no English. Treating the woman with respect and gentle authority, she worked with dexterity until she had cleaned and dressed the wound.

  We sat close by and watched. As usual, my mind wandered. The bed in which Lily slept, while currently assigned to Mrs. Pierce, had belonged to Elsbeth at the end of her life. When the cancer claimed her, when the dreaded treatments floored her, when the tumor sometimes forced her into a raving madwoman, she lay here.

  Right here.