by Gayle Hayes
"My dad was very proud of his father, but he'd never talk about him. His death was a shock for my dad. He and mom wouldn't discuss my grandmother. I still don't know what led to the rift between my parents and her. It must've been pretty serious, though, for them to refuse to acknowledge her."
"Frances could be opinionated, but she never mentioned having words with John."
"Did you know my parents, too?" Emma asked.
"I met John the summer of '81 before he and your grandpa left for the Bob. He was a bright young man. I imagine he was about twenty. Your grandpa said he'd named him for the president 'cause he was conceived during Kennedy's campaign for the White House. Are your folks in Denver also?" Harold asked.
"They've been gone for almost eight years. They came to my college graduation and got in an accident on the way back to Arizona. That was the only time I ever wished I wasn't an only child. I've never felt more alone than I was then. I thought about contacting my grandmother, but I didn't know how she'd feel about me."
"That's too bad. John was very bright and a real gentleman. Did he go on to med school?" Harold asked.
"He did. He'd just formed a partnership with another cardiologist before he died. We were planning a fall trip to Europe for my graduation present. I never did go. I buried myself in law school and was fortunate to find a clerkship before I'd even passed the bar. I'll go someday."
Harold paid the tab for lunch and then suggested they postpone Frances' instructions until the next day so Emma could check into her room and take some time to relax. He took the long way to the Buffalo Jump Inn to avoid the Republican rally for Mitt Romney in the park. This presidential election was shaping up like the one four years earlier when both Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama visited Montana in their run for the presidency. Organizers hoped Governor Romney would visit Buffalo Jump to ensure his victory in the June primary. The occasion of another rally and the memories of Frances left Harold with the feeling his life had come full circle. If it was merely the random repetition of history, why did he have the pervasive feeling there was something ominous about Emma's visit to Buffalo Jump?
CHAPTER SIX
The Buffalo Jump Inn and Art Gallery was built in the style of a Swiss chalet in the 1930's by the Civilian Conservation Corps to provide employment for those who lost jobs after the stock market crash. A parking area was not provided, because only government employees stayed at the inn when they were on official business. They took the train as far as Great Falls and then were delivered by a Model A six-passenger van to the inn. When they required transportation around Buffalo Jump, horses were more useful on rugged, narrow paths than cars.
After an acre of lodgepole pine had been logged off the property in 1965, the inn was expanded to include parking, and the electrical service was upgraded. Before Frances and Claude Favager visited for the first time in June of 1981, the inn was completely overhauled with modern plumbing, refinished hardwood floors, and wall-to-wall carpet in guest rooms.
Following her retirement from nursing, Phyllis Carle purchased the inn and added an intimate café with a limited menu. French doors accessed a new deck with six glass-topped tables protected by huge off-white canvas umbrellas. The umbrellas formed a canopy and helped to brighten the drab gray of the weathered shake roof and siding. Phyllis added pizzazz by hiring a crew to enclose the deck with sections of red fencing between wrought iron posts topped with capstones resembling carriage lamps, which illuminated automatically at dusk. Huge mounds of red and white petunias filled and overflowed baskets hung along the deck and on the street lamp in front of the inn. Phyllis had transformed a nondescript aging hotel into the belle of Buffalo Jump.
Each of the dozen rooms at the inn was decorated in a theme reflecting some aspect of Montana. Phyllis had contracted with a local quilting circle to design and construct quilts in the theme of each room. A 52-inch flat-screen television in the hospitality room was the only one in the inn. Phyllis did this for several reasons. She wanted to provide a respite from technology for her guests. Televisions annoyed neighbors in older establishments without sound proofing. People tended to eat in bed while watching television, creating spills and stains that were time consuming and expensive to remove. A television spoiled the atmosphere she cultivated in rooms like the Rankin Suite. Rather than updating the rooms for internet connections, Phyllis had sacrificed one guest room to make a business center.
Harold had kept Phyllis in the loop as promised concerning Emma Favager's possible visit to Buffalo Jump. Phyllis prepared one of her nicest rooms for Frances Favager's granddaughter. It was the Rankin Suite decorated to honor the first woman elected to the United States Congress. Two portraits of Jeannette Rankin in her customary wide-brimmed hat and sedate dress hung on the wall opposite and over the bed. The peace symbol was the centerpiece of the quilt. Miss Rankin was the only member of the U.S. Congress to vote against both World War I and World War II in addition to her work for peace throughout her life. Red, white, and blue fabric comprised the border and represented her patriotic service. The background between the borders of the quilt was a collage of banners that were reproductions of those used during the Suffragist Movement, which was another Rankin cause. She introduced the amendment that would be ratified as the nineteenth and would give women the right to vote.
Phyllis had met Harold and Emma at the entrance to the inn. As she explained the significance of the furnishings in the Rankin Suite, Emma listened intently while studying the portraits of Jeannette Rankin. Although Emma admired all that Miss Rankin had accomplished, she thought the portraits were very somber. She wondered if the Congresswoman was truly happy. Perhaps, Emma was merely projecting her own lack of fulfillment onto Miss Rankin.
That evening Phyllis hosted a dinner for Emma at the inn. Harold had changed into a powder blue shirt and navy sport coat. Carole wore beige capris with a hot pink blouse and matching wedges. Phyllis wore white slacks and a pale yellow linen top. They were sitting at the umbrella table closest to the French doors of the café when Emma found them. She had changed into a lime green loose-fitting dress with spaghetti straps and matching flip flops. Harold stood up and pulled out the chair next to him for Emma. Phyllis introduced her to Carole and went inside to get a glass of Chablis. When she returned with Emma's wine, Phyllis set down four small plates, napkins, and a large plate of appetizers.
Harold raised his glass. "I propose a toast to our beloved friend and Emma's grandmother, Frances. May she rest in peace," he said.
"To Frances. To Franny," Phyllis and Carole said at once.
"To grandmother Favager," Emma said, self-consciously.
"This is probably as good a time as any to let you know Frances left instructions for Emma to spend some time with Carole and Phyllis before Emma can claim her inheritance," Harold said.
"I can't imagine why," Phyllis said.
Carole patted Emma's hand. "Well, I think it's a grand idea, Emma."
"Mr. Lowe said I need to write an essay about what I learn from you," Emma said.
Phyllis rolled her eyes and thought this sounded typical of Frances Favager's manipulative behavior.
"First off, you'll have to stop calling me Mr. Lowe, Emma. I'm Babe to most folks here," he said. "When I started grade school, there were two of us named Harold in the same class. Miss O'Shaughnessy asked me my middle name. I told her it's Babineaux after my mother's side. She decided to call me Babe, and it stuck." Harold laughed.
"I'm sorry. It just doesn't feel right. Maybe it will seem more natural after I know you better. What if I call you Harold?" Emma asked.
"I answer to Harold, too," he said. "If you're around here long enough, you'll find I get called all sorts of names. Stick to Harold." He and Carole laughed. Phyllis laughed in spite of herself.
"I'm free tomorrow, if you want to start with me," Phyllis said. She was trying her best to be hospitable.
"I need to be in Great Falls on Monday, but I'm free on Tuesday," Carole said. We could start with
brunch at my house if you'd like."
"Good. That was painless," Harold said. "Emma, I think you'll enjoy yourself here. If something doesn't suit, you let any one of us know. We want to make this a memorable visit for you," Harold said.
A waitress whispered to Phyllis, and she suggested the four take their drinks and go into the dining room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Although Emma had planned to sleep later than usual on Sunday morning, her neighbor's shower woke her before six o'clock. She got out of bed to use the bathroom and noticed an envelope on the floor by the door. The note inside was from Phyllis Carle. She apologized for having to change their plans, but she had an emergency. Phyllis left a photo album at the front desk for Emma and hoped she would enjoy seeing photos of her grandmother. It was only then Emma realized she had no idea what her grandmother looked like and had never been curious.
The Rankin Suite only qualified as such because of a small sitting room, which was separate from the main bedroom and bath. Emma pulled on her lavender sweat pants and top, poured a cup of coffee, and took it to the sitting room. One wall was mostly window. Emma sat in a bone wicker chair with a fan back and nestled into the generous cushions. The fabric was bright with Indian paintbrushes, lupine, and Shasta daisies. Emma elevated her feet on a matching stool. She could see the north fork of Buffalo Creek coursing through the grounds of the inn. It was late spring, and the creek was running high and fast with snow melt. Emma closed her eyes, listening to the soothing sound of water tumbling over rocks.
When Emma opened her eyes, she realized she'd been sleeping for an hour. She was glad Phyllis was called away. The day was shaping up to be a much-needed leisurely Sunday. It was never easy to leave the law office. With her large caseload, there was always a client with a problem or court date to be handled by the attorney on duty. For the most part, all the attorneys were capable of handling whatever arose, but Emma's cases were not merely bread and butter to her. She had a system set up for managing her caseload, and it took time to get the cases back on track after she returned to the office. She had been the duty attorney the week before leaving for Montana. On top of handling her own court appearances, the additional workload of other attorneys who were out of the office left her feeling exhausted. As she did periodically at such times, Emma questioned whether or not her life was turning out as she had hoped.
After showering and changing into her jeans and a long-sleeved pale blue cotton shirt and tan and navy slip-on shoes, Emma walked to the lobby for the continental breakfast. Then she stopped at the front desk and asked the clerk for the photo album Phyllis had left for her. Emma went back to her room for a sweater and then headed for the lawn at the rear of the inn. She settled into a chaise lounge. All around and high above her, lodgepole pines towered and swayed in the breeze. Wild rose, chokecherry, and dogwood bushes were tucked in amongst the trees and fragrant with flowers. Pine squirrels argued over a nearby bird feeder while chickadees waited in the wings for both to leave. A hawk circled overhead. In the background, Emma could hear the soothing sound of Buffalo Creek.
Emma opened the photo album, breezed through the first section and went to the second section labeled 1981. She recognized Phyllis, even though she was thirty years younger and her hair was shoulder length instead of short. She was thinner and smiling broadly, which she had not done since Emma met her. Phyllis was with various family members and friends. One photo showed her in her nursing uniform with other nurses who had formed a club to give scholarships to promising high school students.
When Emma turned the page, she saw an attractive brunette who reminded her of herself. Phyllis had labeled the photo of her and Frances, Canyon Ferry Day Use Area July 4th. There were other photos of Frances at cookouts in various backyards as well as one with her holding a fishing pole in one hand and a trout in the other. Emma looked for some clue to explain why her parents had severed all ties with Frances Favager.
Then Emma noticed there were several photos showing a much younger and handsome Harold Lowe. His hair was dark instead of white, and he, like Phyllis, was much thinner. Emma studied the photo to see if it was Harold's hand wrapped around Frances' waist. She saw the look on his face in another photo as he gazed at Frances unaware of the camera. Emma was convinced Harold must have been attracted to her grandmother. Knowing her grandmother had passed away and seeing Harold at seventy-five, it would not have otherwise occurred to Emma that there had been any romantic connection between the two. Emma knew her grandfather had been killed in an airplane crash while on a diplomatic mission in the fall of 1981 and that her father was crushed by his loss. She wondered if her grandmother and Harold were having an affair during the summer of 1981. If that were true, it might explain why her parents had severed their connection to Frances.
There were no photos of Frances in the section labeled 1982. Phyllis, Carole, and Harold were clowning on the golf course. Along with photos of the three friends at Thanksgiving and Christmas, Emma noticed several photos taken of Phyllis and Harold as they posed cheek to cheek or cuddled for the camera. Emma began to wonder if both Frances and Phyllis had been in love with Harold.
Emma was so relaxed that she forgot to turn on her cell phone. She waited for the phone to boot and was relieved no one had called. She left the photo album in her room, changed into a pair of sneakers, and wrapped her sweater around her waist. Then she left the inn and strolled along one side of the street.
Main Street of Buffalo Jump was uninterrupted by side streets and long enough to support about two dozen businesses. It could have been the subject of a Norman Rockwell painting. Every other shop was an art gallery or restaurant. Only the Big Horn Saloon catered to the party crowd. Emma did not see a grocery store or gas station. There were no reminders of the more mundane needs of daily life. Surrounded by nothing except some of the finer things in life, one could not help but feel more cheerful, optimistic, and deserving.
The merchants of Buffalo Jump had created an amusement park for adults with disposable income and good taste who shopped for gifts or rewards for themselves. The restaurants were spacious. The shops with gourmet food, bakery, kitchen gadgets, homemade candy and ice cream, greeting cards, Made in Montana gifts, boutique clothing, a variety of artistic creations in almost every media, and cut flowers were crowded. The displays were artfully done and tested one's resolve to merely browse.
Exteriors of buildings were well maintained and painted in bright primary colors. Boxes of colorful petunias, mums, and pansies were hung in front of windows. With the exception of a few people eating brunch at a sidewalk café or strolling leisurely, the street was quiet. There was no litter anywhere.
Then Emma heard voices singing In the Garden. It was her favorite hymn in the days when she and her parents attended church together. It was sung at their funeral, too. That was the last time Emma went to church. Now, she sat on a bench at one end of Main Street and watched people stream out of the small white church adorned by a steeple topped with a cross. The church was built after World War II by local veterans who were grateful to God for sparing their lives.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Harold Lowe was starting to feel weary and light-headed. He'd been scraping the loose paint on the north side of his bungalow all morning. He knew he was out of shape, but it was easier to overlook while sitting behind his laptop working on letters and legal documents. With muscles tensed, he'd been holding onto the ladder for more than an hour. The strain, along with the constant scraping and brushing, wore him down. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and then carefully reached for each step with one leg and then the other, his legs trembling. Once again, he resolved to start an exercise routine, or at least to walk for a little while each day.
It was a lovely Sunday morning, and Harold enjoyed being outside. He had yearned to get out of the office once spring arrived, but he enjoyed having an indoor occupation during the long winter. Many of his friends retired from more physically demanding jobs, and all except one pass
ed away within a short time after retiring. He was proud of the fact he had not aged as much as they did. Instead of having leathery skin, back pain, and arthritic knees, he remained relatively young looking. He began eating better after his heart attack and had taken a turn on the treadmill every morning for the first year after his surgery. Then he seemed to slow down as life sped up, and it took at least ten hours, six days a week to keep up.
Harold sat on the porch swing to rest. The lot across the street was still vacant, and he hoped it would stay that way with the recession. If someone were to build a two-story house, or even a one-story house, it would not be the same view. He was unable to actually see the Rocky Mountain Front, but he knew it was there. He would feel claustrophobic if he was surrounded by homes. He listened to a Meadowlark and thought about Frances Favager. This was his first opportunity for quiet reflection since the letter arrived about her death.
The last time Harold saw Frances was twenty years earlier when she returned to Montana to fulfill Claude's last wish to scatter his ashes in the Bob Marshall Wilderness Area. After he and John spent six weeks with various guides there during the summer of 1981, Claude told both John and Frances that he wanted to spend eternity in the wilderness. Frances returned to Buffalo Jump the summer after Claude died, but she did not have his ashes with her. She did not make another trip to Montana until 1992.
