by Kim Pritekel
“Eleanor?” Emma said softly, emotion making her voice a bit nasally.
Without a word, Eleanor took the bowls to the stove where she held one out to be filled, ending up with two bowls filled and her mother’s left at the stove. She walked back to the table where her father had already sat at his place, his back to the wall.
Ed Landry was a tall man, rail thin with the same dark hair as his daughter, worn short and smoothed back from an angular face. His round-lensed spectacles were in place, face clean-shaven. Today, his gangly lower half was covered by pressed black trousers, long torso and bony shoulders and arms covered in a pressed white button-down shirt with a thin black tie. Eleanor knew it meant he was planning to work at the store all day.
He said nothing as his breakfast was placed before him; instead, he removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses on the white kerchief he always kept with him. As Eleanor sat, he spared her a glance.
“Did you read your verses this morning?” he asked.
“Yes, Father,” she replied softly, reaching for the bowl of brown sugar in the center of the table. She sprinkled in her allotted amount as she began to recite the Bible verses that had been left written on a page on her dresser overnight, just like they had been since she could read and comprehend in her fifteen years of life. Before that, he would read the verses to her and make her explain to him what she thought they meant.
As she spoke, her voice low and even, she was peripherally aware of her mother joining them with her own bowl of oatmeal. She noted that her mother brought a tissue up to dab at a bit of blood at the corner of her mouth. Anger filled her as she tightened her grip on her spoon.
“You’re not finished,” Ed said, mixing his own spoon into the thick goo in his bowl. “I left you with five.”
Sighing internally, Eleanor shook off her ire and continued with her interpretations of what she’d read.
“Acceptable,” he said when she was finished. “I expect not to have to ask next time, Eleanor. You should be excited and exuberant to speak of the Lord’s word.”
“Yes, Father.”
****
Ed pulled his 1927 dark green Ford pickup next to the lawn of the brick building with bold white letters across the front that read Brooke View Senior High. A few cars were parked out front, and a horse was tethered to the fence across the street.
Several of Eleanor’s classmates—as soon as classes began in two weeks—wandered around the area while others stood in pockets chatting. There were fewer than fifty in her upcoming sophomore class, which was scheduled to have its picture taken for that year’s yearbook at precisely ten fifteen in the morning.
“Your mother didn’t explain why the class picture is being taken today, Eleanor,” he said, glancing over at her from behind the wheel as he pulled the truck to a stop with the slightest squeak of brakes. “Can you explain how that makes sense?”
“From what the letter said,” she began softly, “this was the only day the photographer could be here to get everyone.” Expecting this question, she reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out the folded notification from the school. He took it from her and read it over.
“Very good,” he said, tucking the note into his shirt pocket.
“Thank you for the ride,” she said, pulling the handle to release the door latch when she hissed in pain, her father grabbing her left forearm with an iron grip. She was already bruised there. She met his hard gaze.
“The notification said this shouldn’t take more than an hour. I expect you at the store in exactly one hour.”
“Yes, Father,” she whispered, wanting to pull her arm away, but she knew better. Finally, she was released and climbed out of the truck.
She waited until he drove away before letting out a long shaky breath. Even when he wasn’t around, she felt as though she were being watched. Perhaps it was his God he was constantly shoving down her throat, or perhaps she knew her father was capable of anything. She personally struggled with the idea of such a vengeful God, so she figured her unease was far more grounded on Earth.
Shaking off her morose thoughts and fears, she looked around to see if there was anyone she knew who had arrived. Their tiny town of Brooke View was a farming community outside of Denver, though much of the land was owned by wealthy men, so the families were itinerant farm labor. Entire families—or single men—moved from town to town, working farms as they went, like locusts scouring the land as they headed west.
Since the big Wall Street crash in twenty-nine, families had become more transient than ever. The drought that continued to pummel much of the Midwest sent black blizzards up into the skies and dust storms across the Plains and even, word was, back East.
The acreage that the Landry farmhouse sat on had been in the family since Eleanor’s great-grandfather Elliot showed up in Colorado after serving in the cavalry with the 13th Pennsylvania, under Colonel Charlie Redmond during the Civil War.
“Are you in the sophomore class?”
Eleanor was yanked out of her thoughts by a cheery voice. She blinked a few times before settling her focus on the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen. Her deep auburn hair flowed in waves of what looked like satin. She’d never seen such soft-looking hair before, so healthy. Her features were delicate and angelic with slightly arched eyebrows, a jaw line that was proud but not harsh and angular like her father’s. The creaminess of her skin was incredible, and Eleanor could barely take her eyes off it. But what really got her was the aquamarine color of her eyes.
Those eyes were the only thing that seemed to put a bit of tarnish on this angel’s halo, as their owner seemed to have the natural—and likely unwitting—ability to pin someone to the spot with their sheer intensity. Later in life, Eleanor would come to understand those were called bedroom eyes, which were staring back at her expectantly.
Clearing her throat, Eleanor looked away. “Excuse me, what?”
“Are you here for the sophomore class picture?” the young woman asked again, seemingly unaware of how her presence was unnerving Eleanor.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I am.”
“Then come on!”
Eleanor gasped as her arm was grabbed in both hands as she tried to tug her toward where the photographer was setting up his camera and the teens were gathering. She stopped and released Eleanor’s arm.
Without a word, she gently took the arm in her hands again, fingertips smoothing a feather touch over the bruises, which were four perfect fingerprints. Eleanor was ashamed and began to pull her arm away, but the young woman gently wrapped her hands around the deep bruise as she moved to stand next to her. She gave her a warm smile.
“I think you’ll be standing next to me in the picture,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Um,” Eleanor managed, her body stiffening at the proximity of this beauty who held her arm. “I think he goes alphabetically.”
“I’m Lysette Landon,” she said, holding out her opposite hand.
Eleanor smiled, briefly taking the hand. “Eleanor Landry.”
“See?” Lysette laughed, such a wonderful sound to Eleanor’s ears. “Meant to be,” she said, getting them started toward their classmates.
“Okay, everyone, please gather around!” the older man called out, his box camera set up on a tripod. “If you are a sophomore, please come here, and I need you to get in groups based on the letter of your last name!”
“Come on, my fellow L,” Lysette said with a grin, pulling Eleanor to stand over with her and another boy, who Eleanor recognized as Karl Lutz, the son of the barber. “Hello, Karl, my love,” Lysette said, giving the boy a kiss to the cheek, which made him blush. “Do you know my new friend Ellie?”
Eleanor looked at her, never going by any shortened version of her name before. Seeming to sense this, Lysette met her surprised gaze.
“You don’t mind if I call you Ellie, do you?” She wrinkled her nose. “You’re too beautiful to be something so staid as an Eleanor.”
It was
Eleanor’s turn to blush. “No,” she near-whispered. “I don’t mind.”
“Yes, I know her.” Karl gave Eleanor a quick smile and nod. “Hey, Eleanor.”
“Hi, Karl.”
“You see,” Lysette explained, her fingernails lightly and absently trailing up and down the underside of Eleanor’s arm, sending delicious chills throughout her body. “Karl used to go to Oakbur Academy with me in Denver.” She looked from Karl to Eleanor. “It’s this really ritzy, pompous school that I hated and finally escaped because my mother decided she wanted to paint nature this year. So,” she concluded with a huge smile, “here I am!”
Eleanor felt exhausted by the energy Lysette exuded, her bright smile, piercing eyes, and torturous touch. “Um, welcome,” she finally said.
Lysette giggled, hugging Eleanor closer to her side. “You’re adorable.”
Eventually, the photographer was able to get everyone standing on the three-tiered mobile stage that was usually used for choir concerts.
“All right, everyone,” the frazzled photographer muttered from behind his large bulky camera. “Keep those smiles in place.”
“I think my face is frozen with this smile,” Lysette whispered.
“No talking, please!” the photographer yelled out in frustration.
“Oops.”
“I said, no talking!”
After what felt like hours, they were finally finished. Feeling antsy, Eleanor turned to Karl. “Do you know what time it is?”
He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. “It’s eleven-oh-nine.”
“Wonderful! Lunch and malts on me!” Lysette exclaimed, clapping her hands as she looked from one to the other.
“Oh, god,” Eleanor gasped, her stomach in knots. “I have to go.” Without so much as a second glance, she ran off, six minutes to get to the store.
Five and a half minutes later, she rushed into Brooke View General Store, out of breath and sweating. She saw her father helping a woman cut some fabric, his glare in her general direction pointed. She looked away, knowing she was still in trouble.
Chapter Three
“These are my parents, Roger and Alice McKay, when they got married in 1921 in County Cork, Ireland, and then they moved to Nebraska.” A hand flung out from behind the page the student was reading from in a staccato voice, pointing to the black and white picture of a couple dressed in their wedding best.
Eleanor sat behind her desk watching, trying to hide her smile as she watched her second-to-last student present his family tree project.
“And they moved into this house where my mom got pregnant with me, so they moved to Colorado and ended up here in Woodland where I was born.” The page was lowered, revealing the freckled face of Benjamin McKay. “The end.” The class of seventeen clapped politely as the boy hurried back to his seat.
“Thank you, Ben,” Eleanor said. “And finally, Jimmy, would you please share your project with us?”
“Yes, Miss Brannon.” Jimmy Vaughn pushed his chair back from his desk before he stood, his sugar board in hand, yet Eleanor noticed no prewritten remarks.
Eleanor studied him as he walked up the center aisle of desks headed to the front of the room where he’d present next to her desk. In the three months the students had been in her class, she’d always liked Jimmy. He was a bright kid with a spunky attitude. He had confidence that she couldn’t have dreamed of having at fourteen. He was a handsome young man, tall and lanky, though he’d likely fill out with age. His hair was cut short and slicked back from his face and was a rich mahogany in color. His eyes were an equally rich brown, but now she saw it: his smile. How on earth had she missed his smile?
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he began, giving them a mischievous grin, a trademark of his. He set up his sugar board on the stand Eleanor had there for that purpose. “I’m James Vaughn Jr., otherwise known as Jimmy, and I’m here to tell you about those that I call family, and yes,” he added with a wink, “I do think they’re all out of their tree.”
Eleanor smiled as she turned her chair to watch him, studying his profile. She’d intentionally waited to call on him last, needing to steel herself for whatever the gregarious teen might say.
“Let’s start at the top,” Jimmy said, turning to the sugar board. “My granddad Davis Landon fought in World War I, and it was in France where he met a firecracker named Adalyn Brodeur. Very French. Anyway, Granddad dragged Grandma home to Denver where the Landon family owned a whole bunch of land, including some farmland in Brooke View and over by Castlewood Canyon before it was trashed by the flood,” he added with a grin. “So their oldest, my mother, Lysette…”
Eleanor listened, but as he went on, his voice became nothing more than an echo in her mind, details long known shared with his classmates. She pasted a polite smile on her lips, his words disappearing as random images danced before her mind’s eye. He’d come back into focus with a gesture of his hands, the quirk of his lips in such a disarming expression, just like her.
She brought her hand up, resting her chin on her fingers and tilting her head slightly to the side, looking for all the world like she was the diligent teacher, paying attention to every single word Jimmy Vaughn was saying. The truth was, she was imaging her standing up there, presenting the very same assignment in Mr. Gleason’s class, which she had. Eleanor had so much fun helping her put her presentation together, she’d decided to add it to her own curriculum when she’d become a teacher eight years before.
As he moved on to his father, she caught bits and pieces:
...James Vaughn Sr.…
…met at a soda counter…
…local attorney…
“And so,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, indicating himself with a large gesture. “You’re stuck with me, the fruit of their love.” A few of his classmates gasped at such language while others giggled. “Oh, and my annoying little sister, Bronte.” He turned to Eleanor. “That’s it, Miss Brannon. Would you like to give me my A now or wait until everyone else has had a chance to receive a grade?”
Eleanor burst into laughter, fully rooted in the present as she pushed to her feet and waved him away like an annoying fly. “All right, everyone. Excellent job on the family tree assignment.” The bell rang its shrill end-of-class alarm. “Don’t forget, we have the test on the previous four chapters Monday,” she called out over the sound of scooting chairs, talking kids, and students rummaging through their bags and gathering their belongings.
“Miss Brannon?”
She turned where she’d walked over to the blackboard to erase the day’s lessons. “Yeah, Jimmy?”
“Thanks for such a fun project.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. He stood a head taller than she did. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“You see, my mother told me she had an assignment like this once,” he said, all grins. “She was excited to help me get it together. We spent all last weekend in the attic going through trunks to find family pictures and Granddad’s medals from the war.”
She smiled, arms crossing over her chest. “Yeah?” she said. “Your mom got into it, huh?” she asked, affection in her voice that apparently didn’t go unnoticed by Jimmy as he eyed her quizzically. She cleared her throat and dropped her arms back to her side, the eraser clutched in her right hand. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Also glad it gave you some time with your mother.”
“Jimmy, come on!”
Eleanor turned to see a young girl, twelve or thirteen, standing in the open doorway of the classroom. She was the spitting image of Lysette, though her hair was more blond than auburn.
“Aunt Josie is waiting for us.”
Eleanor’s attention was instantly caught by the name, the smile of the woman behind it flashing across her mind’s eye.
Jimmy glanced at the girl and nodded at her words before turning back to Eleanor. “Well, thanks again, Miss Brannon. See you Monday.”
“Have a good weekend, Jimmy.” She watched the obvious
siblings leave, then returned to her task of wiping down the blackboard.
“Jimmy has a crush,” she heard the girl tease in a sing-song voice.
“Shut up, you little insect.”
Eleanor chuckled to herself.
****
The leather strap of her satchel slung over her arm, Eleanor pulled the ends of her long wool coat closer to her body as she left the brick school building. It was a cool evening, though beautiful as the scent of autumn was in the air. She loved the fall, and as she headed down Coulson Court toward home, she tucked her hands into the pockets of the warm coat.
Woodland was a quaint town with fewer than twenty thousand people, and though so many knew your name, it was easy to get lost in it. It butted up to the foothills, so the views of the Rockies were breathtaking while it still possessed the charm of a valley town.
She smiled and waved as a car buzzed by, a student from the previous school year calling out a greeting from the open car window. Eleanor looked both ways before hurrying across to the tree-lined residential street that she’d walk along until she took a right onto Main Street, which was dotted with small businesses, including the pharmacy above which her apartment was located.
She smiled as Mr. Bowman, the postman who was walking his route, nodded at her. Nearing the Macon Theater, she slowed and glanced up at the marquee. The one theater in town was a place to find her nearly every weekend. She loved going to the picture show, but this week, she was disappointed as the sign advertised The Last Wagon, which had begun showing that day.
Not a fan of westerns, she continued on, only to stop when she noticed a man in his shirtsleeves with suspenders and tie standing outside a doorway across the street. He was leaning against the building smoking a cigarette. His dark brown hair was parted neatly on the side and smoothed back from a handsome face while his black-rimmed glasses were perched just so on his nose.
“Evenin’!” he called out, raising a hand when he spotted her. “Beautiful fall day.”
