The House on Seventh Street

by Karen Vorbeck Williams

She looked out over the spreading table of pink rocks. “There it is.” Winna pointed at a series of flat rocks, one balanced at the very brink over the canyon.

  “Why don’t you walk way out there and I’ll take your picture,” he said, dragging her toward the cliff by the hand.

  “Don’t, John,” she said as a sudden thrill of fear caught her. “I’m still a little shaky after my fall.”

  “I did it once,” he said, releasing her. John lifted his camera to take her picture with the balanced rock in the background. “Back in high school a bunch of us got liquored up and took turns walking out there. Smile.”

  “Look,” she said, pointing north, as two brave little swifts chased a hawk out of their territory overhead. “See the clouds way off to the west?”

  “A storm,” John said, leading her back toward the car. “We still have time.”

  Winna asked if he would put the top up on the car. “It’s so hot I’m crisp.”

  Back on the road, John explained that because of the approaching storm, they would not stop again until they reached the picnic site. Winna assumed he would park at the picnic tables with the view of Independence Monument itself, but he whizzed past the tall sandstone monolith towering alone at the conjunction of two canyons. As they drove off the mountain, he made no move to stop even though she hinted that she was getting hungry.

  “It won’t be long now,” he said. “Another twenty minutes.”

  Her mind was racing again. “Where did the jewels come from? Certainly not from Dolph. She must have had another lover.”

  “He’d have to be super rich to afford the jewels you found.”

  The conversation stopped as John took the car down back roads she had never traveled. He drove past a dry creek bed making its way through flat arid land whose only crop was parched tumbleweeds, past dry pastures sprinkled with cattle and horses, past a grove of spreading cottonwoods in whose gentle shade someone had parked a trailer. Finally, he turned onto north First Street and, almost immediately, onto a little dirt road Winna remembered very well. Slowly, he drove the car across the irrigation canal on a rickety old wooden bridge. He had taken her back to the place where they used to swim. He pulled to a stop alongside the canal.

  “This is where we’ll picnic.”

  “Perfect,” she said, “but aren’t we on some farmer’s land?”

  “Probably,” he said, opening the door. “Damn, it’s hot out there—so hot that it feels like it’s gotta rain.”

  “Let’s eat in the car with the air conditioner running,” she said.

  He closed the door and pushed back his seat before reaching around with one hand to lift the lid on the picnic basket. He felt around and pulled out a bottle of chilled white wine. “Can you reach the glasses while I open this?”

  “Sure,” she said, getting on her knees.

  “Look around in there and see what there is to eat.” He uncorked the bottle.

  “Cold fried chicken, potato salad—this is great. Who packed this for you?”

  “The gal at the deli.” He handed her a glass of wine.

  With plastic forks and paper containers of potato salad, marinated vegetables, and drumsticks, they relaxed into the cool leather seats.

  “I can’t believe I’m here,” she said, sipping wine, watching brown canal water swirl under the old bridge as it headed out to the thirsty fields.

  “Remember how we used to swim under that bridge?” John said.

  “We had to duck and come up under the bridge for air, then back under the water to the other side. Remember how dark it was and how our hair got tangled in spiders’ webs?”

  John said nothing. He leaned back in his seat. With the engine idling, they fell into silence as they ate.

  The wine tasted chilly and brisk and the food delicious. Winna thought back to summers sitting beside John on the bridge in her one-piece swimsuit, the sun burning her back. One moment John would kiss her, the next, he would hoot like a movie Indian and push her into the muddy water. She would let the current carry her away from the bridge and John. He would dive in and swim to catch her. His strong arms brought him swiftly alongside her floating body. Gently, he would right her, pulling her to the bank into the cattails and rushes where they dug their toes into the mud. Anchored, he would pull the top of her swimsuit down to the waist and cover her with kisses.

  John sighed. His head rested against the back of the car seat and he turned to look at her with a smile. “What were you thinking just now?”

  A dreamy smile was her only answer.

  “Winna, every time I look into those eyes, I see you as you were back then—so lovable, at first so scared to give in to me,” he said, putting his hand on her cheek. “You are the most maddening woman I’ve ever known.”

  “Back in high school I spent a year kissing you, touching you, trying to get you to give in to me and when you did, I spent another year making love to you every chance I got. I haven’t forgotten, Winna.”

  Saying nothing, she put her glass down and reclined into his kiss.

  He turned and, without a word, moved the picnic things onto the back seat. He settled back into his seat and took her into his arms. “You can’t go back to New Hampshire, Winna.”

  “I can’t?”

  “No, we’re in love.”

  “We are?”

  “I am,” he said, before he kissed her again. “Still in love.”

  She closed her eyes and drifted with John back to a hot summer day when they were young, to the canal and the cool water, where clasping him near with both arms and legs was the most urgent business in the world.

  Suddenly, he pulled away, put his hands on the wheel, and backed the car down the canal bank and over the bridge. “I’m taking you home,” he said.

  Winna did not refuse.

  A THUNDEROUS SHATTERING of the atmosphere by a bolt of lightning woke Winna and John from their afternoon nap. She shivered from the air conditioning as one bolt after the other lit up the room and gusts of dry wind rattled the wall of windows.

  “Where’s the rain?” he asked sleepily, as she drew a white blanket over his naked form.

  “Mother Nature’s going to have a temper tantrum first.” Quite aware that her body was no longer the young body he had known, she pulled on her tunic. “Shall I close the drapes?”

  “No,” he said, taking her hand. “Come here. Let’s watch the storm.”

  He plumped up their pillows and leaned back, tugging her against him. The view from John’s bed looked off the mountain. From their vantage point, they watched colossal blue-black storm clouds hovering above the valley as long fiery fingers of lightning streaked the sky with a vengeance.

  He sleepily nuzzled her ear. “A fitting conclusion, don’t you think?”

  She kissed him lightly and whispered, “Definitely worth the forty-year wait.”

  “Hell—we wasted a lot of time,” he said, yawning. “I’m not seventeen anymore. I’m exhausted.” He closed his eyes and, with a smile on his lips, drifted off.

  She lay a while in his arms feeling his breath against her neck, watching the sky as the storm finally brought the rain. Coming first as splats against the dusty window, the rain built to a crystal deluge washing the window clean. Wishing she were still seventeen, she gently slipped out of his arms and walked barefoot into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

  The thunder had passed and a glint of radiant sunlight lit up the dampened red earth. As a steady gentle rain began to fall, the sun disappeared behind a dark rain cloud. Mercifully wetting everything, rain beaded up on cactus flesh, slid down blades of grass, dripped off twisted branches of pinyon pines, and ran in little rivulets into the thirsty ground. She thought of the creek beds on the mesa, flowing with rainwater, cutting deeper into the floor of the canyons. She wished she were out there with her camera.

  The sight from a different kitchen window during a thunderstorm came to mind—Walt running away from her, taking shelter under a spreading maple. How like hi
m to leave in the middle of an argument and put himself in harm’s way under the tallest tree in the landscape. She remembered cuddling Emily in the middle of the night after thunder had startled her awake. Winna would take her out to the porch. It was their ritual to snuggle under a blanket on the porch swing. She had made up a story about young robins that watched the storm from their nest in the cherry tree. Emily insisted she tell it every time it stormed.

  Winna sat down on one of the tall bar stools with her tea. She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly, smiling at herself. What have I done? She wanted to sing, to dance, to eat, to make love again. Her long suppressed desire for Johnny, the remembrance of their first love brought tears to her eyes and she began to tremble, knowing this was something she no longer wanted to live without.

  The rain had stopped and the late afternoon sun lit up the landscape which, washed clean of dust, gleamed like a well-watered garden. She felt a hand on her shoulder and kisses on the back of her neck.

  “Are you hungry?” John asked as he leaned to open the refrigerator door.

  “Famished,” she said, snuggling against his broad back, which filled the white terry cloth bathrobe he wore tied at the waist. She touched the white hair that curled over the back of his collar.

  “I love the back of your head,” she said, tugging on his sleeve.

  With the refrigerator lit up behind him, he turned and flashed a big grin. “Well that’s a start.”

  “John,” she said, wrapping her arms around his back as he perused the contents of his well-stocked refrigerator. “I’m going back to New Hampshire to put my house on the market.”

  33

  WINNA DIALED CHLOE’S phone number, but it was Todd, not Chloe, that she wanted to speak with. Adolph Whitaker’s boyhood home and Juliana’s letters were what she had in mind, or at the very least found papers or objects that had belonged to Dolph, something that might reveal why her grandmother had been in possession of a fortune in jewelry.

  Todd answered the telephone and offered to get Chloe.

  “No. I called to talk with you. Do you have a minute?” she asked.

  “For you, Winnie, I have all night,” he said, sounding a little buzzed.

  “I just wanted to ask a few questions about that house you guys tore down on First Street—the one where you’re building a donut shop.”

  “Yep, what about it? You ain’t going to rip into me for tearing down Grand Junction history are you?”

  “No, I’m not—though I’m sure the architecture of the house was more interesting than the donut shop will be. What kind of house was it? Had it been abandoned or had someone lived there?”

  “It was old clapboard with a big front porch hanging off it. From the looks of the inside, someone lived there, but they picked up and walked away from it. Don’t know how the donut folks got a hold of it.”

  “Did they leave anything behind?”

  “Yep, some old junk and furniture. We bulldozed the whole mess and carried it off. Why?”

  “That’s the house where Adolph Whitaker grew up.”

  “The dude who wrote those sissy letters?”

  “The very same.”

  “I’ll be damned. Imagine that.”

  “I’m trying to learn more about him. You didn’t find anything did you—like old letters?” Her question came with a nervous chuckle.

  “Nope.”

  “Who else worked with you on that job?”

  “Just the usual crew—and Seth Taylor—we signed him on for a couple of days.”

  “Look, Todd, would you do me a favor and ask the one man you trust the most if he saw anyone carry anything off?”

  “Sure enough, Winnie, but that kinda thing ain’t allowed—not without my go-ahead. Say, did you talk to the police about the missing jewelry?”

  Winna was ready to humble herself, to confess to the fact that she had allowed a misunderstanding about the jewels. “Let me talk to Chloe. Why don’t you stay on the line?”

  Todd called for Chloe to pick up the other phone and, right away, she heard her sister’s voice. “Hello?” She sounded depressed.

  “Hi, sis, I wanted to let you know that I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

  “Good news first, please,” Chloe sighed.

  “Well, the good news is that the jewelry wasn’t stolen.” A moment of silence followed. “The bad is that I let you guys leave with the wrong impression. All I can say is I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have scared you like that.”

  “Where is it? It sure as hell wasn’t where we put it.”

  “It’s in the safe deposit box. I put it there the day after my fall. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what got into me yesterday.”

  “I do. That’s when Mercury slipped into retrograde.” Chloe sounded exhausted.

  ONCE SHE HAD decided to stay in Grand Junction, Winna felt a weight lift from her shoulders and work at the house had new purpose. The pressure to go home was off and she slipped comfortably into what seemed right—being in Grand Junction with her family and bringing life back to the old family home. After her bold announcement to John, she had worried that maybe she was about to make a mistake. The house was, or could be, fabulous, but there were problems: the break-ins and her on-and-off suspicion that someone wished her dead.

  She met with Seth a couple of times and they delved into plans for her office and darkroom and the restoration of the house and rose garden. Winna had reassured herself that she wanted to live close enough to be a grandmother to Isabelle and an extra hand for her daughter. She wanted to turn Juliana’s old house into her “house beautiful”—and she was in love with John.

  Before her life in Grand Junction could begin, Winna had to return to New Hampshire to sell her house and make plans to transfer her business. The morning before her flight to Boston, she looked down on the lawn and out to the street from a window in Edwin’s second story bedroom. The lawn was turning brown and she wondered if she should save water and just let it go dormant.

  Seth’s truck pulled into the drive and parked behind her car. He had promised to come by with the paint Winna had picked out for the kitchen. She wanted to ask him if he would paint the kitchen while she was away.

  Hurrying downstairs to let Seth in the door, she heard the phone ring and picked it up in the hall. It was Emily wanting to chat. She’d been invited to speak at the town planning board’s August meeting.

  Emily had written enough columns and letters to city officials and it had finally paid off. Her voice came to Winna’s ear full of enthusiasm. “They want to talk about sustainable landscaping for all the town parks.”

  “That’s just fantastic. If you can convince them, Grand Junction could become a model throughout the Southwest,” Winna said, excited for her daughter. “Look, honey, Seth just arrived—I’ll call you back, okay?”

  Winna went to the kitchen door wondering why Seth hadn’t rung the bell or knocked. She opened the door, but no Seth. She looked out at the drive and saw that his truck was still there. Where was he?

  Winna stepped down from the stoop and turned to look at the back yard. When she didn’t see him there, she walked around the front of her car, startled to see Seth kneeling by her right rear tire. There were tools on the ground. Intent on his work, he didn’t see her standing there.

  Immediately, she thought of the cracked brake fluid reservoir. Why was Seth fooling around with her tire? She stepped back out of sight and retreated through the open kitchen door. Hardly able to breathe, she quietly closed it. Standing inside, her back to the door, she told herself that she should just go outside and ask him what the hell he was doing. But she was afraid.

  From the window, she saw Seth throw his tools in the back of his truck, then lift a box she assumed was the paint. He looked normal—not like he had murder in mind. She pulled away from the window and waited for a knock on the door.

  The doorbell rang. She jumped, but her feet were glued to the floor. Should she let him in? The urgency of th
e second ring came like a command and she opened the door.

  “Good morning, Winna. Where do you want me to unload the paint?”

  Why is he smiling at me? She opened her mouth to speak but didn’t know what she was supposed to say. Had he asked a question? Was that smile the hook she was supposed to swallow? She knew she had better get hold of herself.

  “Yes—Seth—I’m sorry—good morning—I was just—uh—”

  “Are you okay?” He was chuckling, looking at her like he thought she had just lost her mind. “The paint? Where do you want me to put it?”

  “Ah, sure. Why don’t you just leave it in the garage?” She looked past him, then at the floor. Suddenly she knew what to say. “I’m on my way out—ah—I have a great idea. While I’m away in New Hampshire, you can enjoy to a two-week vacation from me.” She hoped she looked cheerful, unruffled. “We’ll paint when I get back,” she said, forcing a smile.

  Seth looked puzzled, like he sensed something wrong, but he turned and headed for the garage. “By the way,” he said, turning to look over his shoulder. “I found your hubcap lying on the ground and did my best to fix it.”

  “Thanks,” she said, doubting him, wishing he would go.

  Seth smiled at her. “Well, have a safe trip.” His face brightened. “Be sure and take lots of pictures.”

  Winna got his joke and managed a laugh.

  She closed the door and locked it.

  THAT EVENING, SHE packed her suitcase, laptop, and photo equipment, hoping two weeks would be long enough to wrap up things at home. She thought back to her afternoon drive to J & B Auto Repair, made after she had convinced herself that Seth had been tampering with her tire.

  Charlie was busy, but the young man at the front desk took a look. He removed the hubcap and tire and examined it carefully. She had told him that she had just seen someone fooling around with the tire and that she just wanted to make sure it was not going to fall off on her way up or down a mountain. He found nothing wrong with the tire, but told her that the snap locks on the hubcap looked worn. He suggested she get new hubcaps. Feeling stupid and paranoid, she drove home hoping she hadn’t hurt Seth’s feelings.