“Maybe she was in the throes of some sort of hormonal flux.” Grampa blushed a bit right where his beard hair met the tops of his cheeks. He’s not a prude per se but he isn’t all that much for chatting about the workings of the human reproductive system in mixed company. Talking about bulls and heifers in the pasture was one thing. Mentioning a fellow Grange member’s biology was quite another. I knew I must be on to something if my question had gotten him to offer up such an uncomfortable excuse.
“I’d say Tansey is a bit past such things. As a matter of fact I’ve heard her say so with a great deal of relief. That can’t be it.”
“Maybe she is just overworked and exhausted. Knowlton is a good son but sometimes his taxidermical enthusiasms run away with him and he forgets his duties.”
“Tansey thrives on hard work. When she runs out of things to do at her own place she runs all over town snatching items off other people’s to-do lists just to feel justified in drawing breath each day.”
“Perhaps it will just remain a mystery. Some things are best left that way, don’t you think?” Grampa gave me a meaningful look. The sort of look that means the topic is dropped. Grampa is the kindest man I know. He is also the most stubborn. Once he’s decided something is dropped, it’s done. At least with him. I didn’t need to agree with him. I just needed to take my questions elsewhere.
* * *
Fortunately, my mother never had any such looks to give. Closed topics conflicted with her core theories of proper child rearing.
I found her in the library breathing deeply and stretching her long arms over her head. Her peasant skirt was one she had tie-dyed herself back in the fall and the colors swirled and made me a little dizzy as she swayed back and forth in front of the spirituality section of the library shelving.
The library is a higgledy-piggledy assortment of classic works of literature, genre fiction, and reference books, which reflect the assorted specialty interests of the family. Most of the books in front of my mother were in what Celadon would call the “woo-woo” category. New Age religious works, the writings of famous Victorian Spiritualists, and guides to astral projection featured heavily on those shelves.
Celadon stuck to the gardening references, the history of architecture, and nutrition for growing children. That and a pile of bodice-ripping romances she never mentioned. She liked to pretend to be above such things but if you entered the room quietly enough you could catch her engrossed in a tatty paperback with a title written in raised gold letters. It did the heart good to clear your throat and watch her stuff the book under a cushion on the couch and pretend she was studying a painting on the wall instead.
Today, though, my mother and I were alone in the room with its bright shafts of sunlight streaming in and cheering things up. Even in winter it was a warm and friendly place to be and it was rare to find it unoccupied by at least one family member. I was glad. Mom might not think a topic was ever closed but she also could tell when other people weren’t inclined to mention something. It was far better to get her on her own.
“Dani, how are the trees today?” She smiled at me.
“Nostalgic.” I told her about Grampa and how vulnerable he was feeling then slid the topic round to where I wanted it. “Tansey’s feeling a bit emotional, too.”
“Tansey? That doesn’t seem like her at all. Maybe I should run her natal chart and look for transits.” Mom is always looking to the stars to explain the lives of those around her. She had each of our natal charts cast before she sent out birth announcements. I’m a Virgo. Don’t get Celadon started on what that means in terms of my chances of marriage.
I told Mom about the call from Russ and the skeleton in the cellar. Then I told her about Tansey keeling over in the Stack.
“It seemed to be connected to the possibility that the body at the town hall was Spooner Duffy. Any idea why that would upset her so much?” There was usually no need to be subtle with my mother. Her mind wandered off in so many directions at the same time that her own thoughts obscured much of what others were saying to her anyway.
“Well, that doesn’t make any sense at all. As far as I can remember, Tansey barely knew Spooner Duffy.” Mom stopped swaying and gave me most of her attention. She still had a hazy look in her eyes like she was communing with the great beyond but she did turn to face me.
“Are you sure they weren’t close? She took it really badly from the way it looked to me.”
“Spooner was in town for only a few months and it was years ago. I guess I could be wrong about their level of connection.”
“How long ago was he in town?”
“Well, let’s see. Celadon was a toddler and I was pregnant with Loden at the time. Spooner was at the baby shower. He played some spoons with the band at the shower. They were silver baby spoons, if I remember correctly. He said their tone was different than the ones he usually played.” My mother’s memory might be roundabout in nature but it was generally accurate about the things that mattered to her.
Baby showers definitely were on her list of favorite things to remember. I think that was one of the main reasons she was so sorry I hadn’t produced any children yet. With two daughters she was expecting at least two more baby showers to be able to orchestrate. Nothing set her heart soaring like pretend cakes made out of cloth diapers.
“So almost thirty years, then?” I asked. I could see Mom doing the math in her head.
“That seems about right. It only seems like yesterday, though. Despite the fact Celadon’s kids are older than she was then. Where does the time go?” With that Mom started sniffling just like Grampa had done out in the sugar bush. I was spreading goodness and light at a rate likely to outdo the Boy Scouts and the three local churches at the same time.
“But like you always say, Mom, time is just an illusion. Right now I’m sure there are an infinite number of dimensions with all of us at all different ages spread out across space and time.” I reached up to pat her on the arm.
“Thanks, sweetie. I appreciate you trying to make me feel better. I know you don’t believe that sort of thing any more than your father ever did.” She tugged a lacy hankie out of the depths of her skirt pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Of course, now he knows I was right but it isn’t very nice to say ‘I told you so’ to someone who has passed through the golden gate.” She turned back to the bookshelf and began swaying gently once more. I had all the information I was likely to get from her for now.
* * *
With so much to think about there was only one thing to do. I needed to work to get my mind off the morning and there was certainly plenty of work to be done at Greener Pastures during sugaring season. I filled a travel mug with coffee for the walk between the farmhouse and the sugarhouse. The sugarhouse is set a few hundred yards back from the main house and makes for a short but discernible commute.
There have been times, especially lately, when I wished my family life and my work life had a little more breathing room betwixt and between them but on a cold morning like this one I was glad to arrive at my destination without needing to scrape a car.
The woodstove was still smoldering away, keeping the place warm and the evaporator was chugging along doing its job of turning forty gallons of sap into a single gallon of syrup. There is a lot of excess water in the sap that needs to be boiled off. Educating the public about just what goes into making their syrup is one of the best parts of the job. Which is one of the reasons I love the maple festival so much. People come from all over the country and oftentimes the world to see for themselves how syrup is made and to participate in some winter fun.
The Greene family has been helping to organize and facilitate the festival for as long as it has been happening. Every year it gets a little bigger and in my opinion, a little better. Just the street food vendors alone are enough to make the drive worth it. There are maple-glazed doughnuts, maple bacon wrapped hot dogs, maple popcorn ba
lls. Some vendors sell maple soda, others make crepes they drizzle with the sweet stuff.
Even though the festival is full of fun and worth every minute invested in its preparation, it does come at the busiest time of the year for the sugaring business. I wished every year there was a way to spread things out a bit more but there wasn’t. The festival had to occur when things were in high gear in order to let the visitors see the inner workings of the maple industry.
One of the things we do through Greener Pastures is to educate people on the importance of land stewardship and the environmental impact of their daily decisions. People start to think more seriously about their choices when they understand that global warming may mean the end of the maple syrup industry. What we take for granted as a yearly occurrence may indeed end up obsolete.
I was adding a note to drop a dead man’s spoons off at the police station to my yard-long to-do list when my cell phone rang with the tone I had assigned to Graham’s number.
“I didn’t see you at the Stack. Does that mean you got out of lunch with Hazel?”
“If only. She insisted we go to the coffee shop at Loon Lodge.” Things were worse than I could have imagined. Loon Lodge was on the far side of Sugar Grove and it had a reputation as the place to go to rent a room on the cheap and on the sly.
“I am so sorry. Did you manage to stay put in the restaurant?” I hated to consider that my octogenarian aunt might have rounded more bases with Graham than I had managed to do myself. We had been seeing each other for a couple of months but they’ve been busy ones and I’m not a fast mover in the romance department even when my calendar is empty.
“It took some doing but I kept the both of us parked at a table in the center of the restaurant.”
“How did you manage to avoid a dark booth in the back?”
“I shook my head at the waitress and flashed my badge. There was no way I was climbing into a booth with her. After the way she behaved in the truck on the way over I’d rather be mauled by a bear.”
“She’s got a bite like a pit bull. Once she sinks her teeth into someone almost nothing makes her let go.”
“The only way I managed to steer her away from some deeply disturbing suggestions was to encourage her to talk about her granddaughter Jade.”
“Good thinking. Jade is her Achilles’ heel. How did you think to do that?”
“Fortunately, I read up on hostage negotiations in my spare time.”
“How did you manage to escape?”
“I texted one of the other guys in the department and had him call me with an imaginary report of snowmobilers chasing a bull moose.”
“Smart, but I bet she asked if she could ride along.”
“She did. The only way I got out of it was to tell her she would have to surrender her flask while on duty.”
“You really are a miracle worker.”
“I just got lucky. I think it would be best if I didn’t drop by until after Hazel finishes her visit.” I felt my heart sink. I enjoyed it when Graham just popped in unexpectedly. The whole family seemed to love him. Which I guess was the problem. Some loved him too much.
“You’re probably right. It may be awhile though. Hazel’s visits tend to drag on.”
“We’ll just have to sneak around. It might be kind of fun.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately about getting my own place. Maybe this is just the push I needed.” As nice as living at home could be between the great food, even better company, and easy commute, there was the grandparents’ overnight-guest policy to consider. They loved entertaining but if Graham stayed over he slept in the guest room. And there were questions about where I was going to be sleeping if I stayed out overnight.
“That sounds drastic.”
“Drastic might be just what I need.” I meant it, too. For some time I had been thinking it was time to push myself out of the nest. After all, how could I complain that the family treated me like a kid if I never lived like an adult?
We chatted a bit longer then disconnected and I fired up the computer and began scrolling through apartments-for-rent pages. I pulled out a pad of paper and halfheartedly made a note of several and the contact information. I was definitely interested in an apartment but I didn’t want to move out of town.
All the places listed were at least fifteen minutes away when the roads were good. Here in New Hampshire that comprised about three months of the year. Between snow, frost heaves, potholes, and construction, which slowed things down for the other nine months, I’d be looking at a half-hour commute if I was lucky. Giving up on the Internet I started racking my brain for people I knew in town who might have a place to rent but no one came immediately to mind.
Five
I hadn’t slept as well as usual. It seemed like half the night I dreamt about spoons rattling up against human bones. The other half I was holding the train of Hazel’s wedding dress as she staggered down the aisle to meet her groom, Graham. What I needed more than anything was a walk in the sugar bush. Wandering among the trees always brightens my mood. Besides, during sugaring season the trees need checking every day.
I double-knotted my bootlaces, yanked my jacket zipper up to my chin, and pulled my hat down snug over my ears. Grandma knits up windproof hats from bulky wool so tight you can hold water in them. I was grateful for a new one in my Christmas stocking every year. Thus guarded against the elements I plunged out into the cold and stopped at the base of the sugarhouse porch long enough to strap on my snowshoes.
Crunching up along the trail to the woods I enjoyed the fresh air and the call of the blue jays announcing my arrival to all the other birds. Jay is the middle name of our police dispatcher, Myra. I wondered if it had turned her into the gossip she delighted in being.
My favorite birds, the chickadees, flitted here, there, and everywhere not even seeming to notice my appearance. I reached a tree with a plastic tube snaking round it and checked the line for flow. Everything seemed to be right as rain.
The month before the weather had been so cold the temperatures had never come close to above freezing. And that hadn’t even taken windchill into account. The sun had been out every day for two weeks but the sap never budged a drop. It was simply too cold for anything to flow at all.
In order to make maple syrup you need cold nights and warm days. Now by warm I don’t mean bathing suit weather, just temperatures a bit above freezing so the sap begins to run. Trees know when to wake up and I like to be there with a smile and a bucket when they do.
I had been out deep in the sugar bush for a couple hours checking taps and tubing when a twig snapped behind me. Knowlton was just standing there with his coat unzipped leaning up against a tree. He didn’t look at me, which was unusual.
Generally Knowlton has to be beaten off with a stick studded with rusty nails and poisoned frog juice and even then he’s hard to shake. But today, he didn’t look like he even knew where he was. As much as I wanted to be the sort of person who could just keep going and leave him standing there all alone I couldn’t.
“What’s up, Knowlton? You’re looking a little lost.” I shocked myself even further by putting my hand on his sleeve. That managed to snap him out of his lethargy just a bit.
“Ma’s not doing so good.” So that was the trouble. All the girls in the Greene family interest Knowlton but no one replaces Tansey in his affections. Which may be why he is still available, but it is sort of sweet, too.
“Was she badly hurt in the fall?” It had been quite a distance from the counter stool to the floor and Tansey was not a young woman. The bruising alone had to be slowing her down.
“She’s a bit stiff and there’s a lump the size of a new potato on the back of her head but that’s not the trouble.”
“Well, what is?”
“You know how Ma always seems like she knows what she’s doing even if she’s got no reason to think
so?” Knowlton asked. I nodded. Tansey was the sort who would think she could perform open-heart surgery on herself because she watched a twenty-minute video on the Internet. “She can’t even decide what to have for breakfast. Yesterday she told me she was thinking about selling the farm and moving south.”
“Moving south? Tansey overheats by mid-April. She must have hit her head harder than anyone thought. Did they do any scans at the hospital?”
“She wouldn’t let them. Said it would cost too much.”
“Why would she be talking about moving?”
“She won’t say anything except that she wants me to have a good life. I told her I was staying here no matter what and she burst into tears.”
“Tansey was crying?” This was more than I could imagine. Tansey didn’t cry any more than she wore stockings and poufy dresses.
“At the breakfast table, right before she spooned some fried egg yolk into her coffee. I don’t know what to do.” Knowlton looked at me and his eyes were filling with tears. That was about enough of that. Work could wait.
“Come on. We’re going to see your mother.” I grabbed him by the arm.
“I can’t go with you. She’ll know I was talking about her and she will get even more upset.”
“Fine. I’ll go on without you. I’ll tell her I’m stopping by on festival business. She won’t know you spoke to me.” Tansey was one of the co-chairs of the festival and it was necessary to speak to her from time to time. If she was unraveling about something it was going to impact the whole project.
“Thanks, Dani. Knowing you’re gonna talk to her makes me feel even better than the news about Jade coming home to stay.”
* * *
When I got back to the house I found Grandma in the kitchen peeling carrots into an enamelware pot we use for compostables. Her shoulders were pinned up around her ears the way they always were when stress made her gather in on herself. Hazel has that effect on a lot of people. Hazel was nowhere in sight but the evidence of her was already piling up. Enough shopping bags to fill a covered wagon completely cluttered the kitchen table.
A Sticky Situation Page 4
