The Long Road Home

by Mary Alice Monroe

  When she opened her eyes again, the darkness was not nearly so black. In the distance she could make out the conical forms of pines, the lines of fence posts, and scattered within their borders, round bales of hay resembling sleeping beasts in the fields. She followed the shadows as they crept across the pasture to Seth’s face. He was watching her with eyes as knowing as the owl.

  “I see. It’s beautiful here at night, so peaceful. Do you come out often?”

  He turned to lean again over the fence. “Most nights. Nights like tonight. Something’s in the air.” He turned his face toward her. “What do you hear?”

  She pricked her ears and closed her eyes. After a moment’s silence she replied, “I hear—or feel—change.”

  He didn’t reply but brought his hand to his chin and looked up at the sky. Slowly, his gaze shifted from the sky to her face. “Some people have an instinct about Nature, her animals and her garden. They’re just born with it. Sure, anybody can learn her signs and signals. But some, well, they can hear her direct. I like to think I can. I think you do too.”

  She looked up, surprised. “Me?”

  “Yeh-up. I’ve watched you with the animals. You and them understand each other. Go with your instincts.”

  “I don’t trust them.”

  “If’n you can’t trust yourself, who can you trust?”

  She thought of C.W.’s same words. And Oma’s.

  “When I close my eyes like this, I feel a peace so deep it stretches beyond this world. I feel if I can just go on living like I am now, working hard, loving hard, all will be right. But then the outside’s realities hit hard. Bills to pay, pipes to fix, my problems with the estate, New York. Doubts. Before I know it I’m caught in the grind, and I’m struggling so hard to keep it going that I forget the inner peace I had. And I’m lost. I make mistakes.” She shook her head. “I’m rambling.”

  “When you get all screwed up inside, that’s when you should git your nails into the soil. When you’re busy, the whole world may be going to hell, but you ain’t got time to worry about the details.”

  “Seth.” Nora laughed.

  He pursed his lips and scrunched his weathered face. With his missing teeth, Nora thought he looked like an ancient wise man or a shaman.

  “When you gonna ask me what you really want to know?”

  Nora’s head bobbed up. “What do you mean?”

  “A ewe don’t butt against a bucket lest she wants some grain. You’ve been walkin’ around, kickin’ up the dirt, and sniffin’ for something. I can’t give an answer lest I knows the question.”

  Nora blushed in the dark. It was no wonder his family adored him. “Seth, how well do you know C.W.?”

  “Well enough.”

  His answer was quick, his lips tight. She shuffled her feet, knowing he wasn’t going to offer details even if he knew them. “Do you trust him?”

  “With my life.” He rubbed his bristle and gave her a quizzical look.

  She needed someone to talk to. Some sage advice. Yet, what could she ask? Does C.W. have a dark past? Should I link my future to his? All were questions she had to ask herself.

  “Well.” She paused, letting him know she understood his reluctance to talk about C.W. “It’s late. I’d better get going.”

  “Yeh-up.”

  “Good night, Seth. See you in the morning.”

  “Bright and early.”

  She turned to walk back up the mountain.

  “It’s a long road up,” he called after her. “Take small steps.”

  She nodded and savored his words.

  On the way up the mountain, she felt the strain of the climb, pausing as she rounded Mike’s Bench. Moss clung thick to the marble. Like a silent film, visions of her years with Mike played in her mind. The early, happy years, when love was so easy to give and take. The later years, when ambition dominated, when time together grew short and silences grew long. Their love was lost before either of them realized it, and once realized, apathy gave rise to cruelty. In war, there can only be the victor and the vanquished.

  Love wasn’t all that was lost in those years. Nora lost her values, her dreams, and worst of all, her self-esteem. Now she had them back; she’d worked hard for them.

  Tonight she felt she was standing with one foot in her past and one foot in her future. It was time for her to listen. It was time to trust her instincts. It was time to forgive and, though not forget, to move on.

  Nora looked at the bench, and like a visitor at a grave, made peace with her past. She forgave Mike. She forgave Esther. Mostly, Nora forgave herself.

  “Ah, Mike,” she sighed, no longer feeling anger or resentment against him. “I’m sorry that your life ended the way it did. I’m sorry, too, that our marriage was not the heaven we envisioned. I don’t blame you entirely. We were both to blame. But you’re gone now. And I am stronger. I have to climb this mountain on my own.”

  She ran her fingers along the bench, creating two long streaks in the mud. Against the black, the gold on her right finger caught the moon’s light, giving it an eerie patina. Looking at it, Nora knew what it was time to do.

  Slipping to her knees, she dug through the rocks, creating a small hole in the mossy soil. Then, with a religious intensity, she carefully removed the ring and laid it in the hole. Nora stared at the bit of gold until a night cloud covered the moon and left her in darkness.

  “Good-bye, Mike,” she whispered, sprinkling the dirt over the ring and patting the mound firm.

  Nora hiked up the mountain, feeling every step. She was bone weary, putting one foot in front of the other with effort. When at last she slipped off her clothes, turned off the light, and pulled the covers to her chin, she felt freed from a burden that she had carried for years.

  Nora shivered under the down coverlets and tucked her hands between her knees. “Small steps,” she whispered as she fell into a deep sleep.

  C.W. woke early to the sound of honking horns on the street below. He had several visits to make that day, and time was of the essence. He dressed quickly, hailed a cab, barked out the address, and with a lurch, felt the hum beneath his feet.

  C.W. approached his sister’s house after watching Sidney depart for the office. The butler greeted him warmly.

  “Mr. Charles, sir! Oh, yes, do come in, sir. Mrs. Cornelia will be so pleased, Mr. Charles.” The old man’s hands shook with excitement as he took C.W.’s hat and coat, allowing himself the personal transgression of a gentle pat on C.W.’s sleeve.

  C.W. smiled warmly at Aengus, remembering the days when he was Master Charles, still in short pants. Aengus had been the family butler since Charles’s mother was alive, and he’d later guarded the motherless brood from Agatha’s sharp tongue. Agatha was no match for Aengus’s dry Irish wit. Aengus had the children doubled over with suppressed laughter as his zingers went clear over Agatha’s head.

  This morning it was bittersweet to see Aengus again. He was old and thin, and his once regal stance had been reduced by age to stooped sentimentality. Cornelia, of course, would never let him go. Years ago Aengus had, in his inimitable snobbish way, refused Agatha’s lucrative offers and had gratefully accepted a position in Cornelia’s new home. Aengus deftly guided the young bride as to the proper management of houseguests, the preferred weight and engraving of a lady’s stationery, and the disgrace of polyurethane finishes on antiques of quality.

  Aengus ushered C.W. into the foyer with as much decorum as the excited man could muster, then hurried off in search of Cornelia. C.W. scanned the dome-topped foyer with its intricate murals and marble floors. The room resembled a Fabergé egg, and was almost as priceless. A perfect introduction to Cornelia’s eastside brownstone, he thought.

  Each room was lavishly, yet tastefully, decorated and furnished. Magazine editors clamored for permission to photograph the unique rooms as representative of the epitome of style and grace. And yet, he had never felt at home here. No children ran across the polished floors. Not a single finger-print o
r a bit of chipped paint let him know this museum was a home.

  Having grown up with Cornelia, with her toys, horse gear, sports equipment, clothes—and even boyfriends—thrown every which way, her perfect house seemed an incongruity. And their mother would have felt like a caged bird in this house. Stoneridge, their family home in New Jersey, was always comfortable and relaxed because of, not despite, the antiques and richly colored carpets. It was, he knew, a matter of attitude.

  It had to be Sidney’s influence, he thought with a frown. He was such a perfectionist. Good for business, but a man shouldn’t bring his business home. He had always liked Sid, and he’d thought Cornelia was loosening him up a bit. Henry Strauss’s words came to mind: “Their marriage is in trouble.”

  “Well, look what the wind blew in.”

  C.W. looked toward the familiar voice. Cornelia was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, and wearing an expression of mock displeasure. Tall and slender, with her short blond hair wisped around her face, she appeared a cocky youth. But when he crossed the distance and took her hands, closer inspection revealed new lines at the eyes and forehead, and her eyes had lost their usual brightness.

  “So, tomboy. You’ve forgotten your big brother already? Seems cheeky.”

  “Forget the boy who tortured me for most of my life? Never! I still owe you. So come here and collect your punishment.”

  She gave him a tight hug, one that lasted longer than a mere hello, the one she always gave him when something was wrong. He squeezed back and looked searchingly into her eyes. How true was Henry’s gossip?

  “How’re tricks?”

  Her smile faltered, but she rallied. “Oh, the usual. Dinners, parties, more parties. You haven’t missed a thing. Except maybe Louellen’s facelift. Makes even Agatha look good!”

  Laughing, they moved to the morning room, where they talked of days long gone until the conversation’s calendar moved forward to the present. C.W. coaxed and listened, until Cornelia finally remembered that he was her brother.

  “I hear your marriage is rocky.”

  Cornelia’s eyes flashed. “What gossip told you that?”

  C.W. only shrugged, but his eyes stared straight into hers.

  Cornelia flopped back onto the upholstery with total disregard for grace or decorum. “It’s just like you, Charles, to come back after almost a year of hiding to hit the nail on the head.”

  “I’m worried about you, Nelly. What’s up?”

  “It’s really all your fault. I should be mad at you, except—” she flipped him a glance “—I’ve been worried about you too.”

  C.W. felt a rush of affection for his sister.

  “Sidney’s under the gun at the bank,” she confided, serious now. “Ever since you left, pressure’s been building and his way of dealing with it is to take it all inside.” She pounded her fist into the silk upholstery. “If only he’d confide in me, trust me enough. I’d stand by him. I don’t give a damn about the money.”

  “Have you asked him to confide?”

  “Of course. He can’t talk about it. Or won’t.”

  C.W. knew that Sidney had kept his silence, and his word.

  Cornelia leaned far back and stretched her long legs out beside her brother’s, the way she’d done as a kid.

  “See,” she said, folding her hands across her belly. “Ever since you left there’s been a power struggle at the bank. Sidney feels abandoned by you, I’m sure. And the others. It’s got to hurt. He’s built a wall of secrecy to protect himself. The bigger it grows, the more even I am shut out. And if he won’t talk to me, then his worst fears will come true. I will stop believing in him. Then—what’s the point? My biological clock is ticking. I’ll leave for someone who will.”

  C.W. realized if Sidney didn’t confide the truth soon, he’d lose his wife. And there was a lesson there for himself.

  “Why don’t you step back in the bank? Become a partner? You were good, you know.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “I stepped aside to let Sidney take the lead. It was hard on him, having his wife more influential than he was.”

  “It’s time to step back in.”

  Cornelia gave him a queer look. “I know that tone. What are you scheming in that brain of yours, Charles?”

  C.W. leaned far forward, bringing his fingers to his chin. “This isn’t just a friendly visit, Nelly. It has to do with Sidney…and the bank.”

  She sat up but, like a Blair, remained quiet.

  “Tell me the truth. I need to know. Does Sidney harbor any jealousy or even hatred for me?” he quietly asked.

  “No, of course not!”

  “In your opinion, is he intrinsically honest. Can I trust him, against all odds?”

  “Yes. On both counts.”

  “Would he stab me in the back to gain control of the bank?”

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed.

  “No. Absolutely not. He thinks of you as a friend. As the brother he never had.”

  The air blew out of C.W., and with his elbows on his knees, he studied his shoes. He could trust Cornelia, not only for the truth, but for the brains to discern it.

  “Will you take your place in the bank as a Blair? If not before, then beside your husband?”

  Her face hardened in determination. “Yes, Charles. I will.”

  “Then I need your help. Keep Sidney out of this one for now. I’m sorry, but it’s for his own protection. I may take a fall and he’s safer at a distance. And I believe Agatha has spies in the woodwork,” he said, eyeing the walls of the room.

  “Agatha! I should have known. That bitch.”

  “This is business,” he replied evenly. “Are you willing to risk a fortune?”

  “For my husband, yes.”

  “Then fasten your moneybelt, sister, ’cause I’ve got a plan.”

  27

  “COME ON, YOU ALL,” called out Seth. “There’s a flock of ewes and lambs what needs movin’.” He strode over to the barn door and stood at its entry.

  Nora walked up beside him and tilted her head back to peer at the sky. She felt the moisture in the air and didn’t like the look of the dark fast-moving clouds. A broad, gray front was moving in over the mountains like a lid being pulled over the earth.

  “What do you think?” she asked Seth.

  “Hard to say. It’s been a cold summer and a warm fall. The weather, she’s been moody.” He seemed pensive. Seth’s eyes screwed up, making a prunelike face, then he donned his cap with a decisive snap. “Best get those ewes to the north pasture before the weather hits.”

  Seth divided the work crews into two typical groups: the men and the women. Seth, Frank, and Junior were to move the ewes to their new pasture. Nora and Esther were to lead the weaned lambs to the lower barn.

  Willow was in this group. Nora watched with pride as her runt, filled out and strong, trotted with his cousins behind her grain bucket. His hooves pranced with a jaunty air.

  Over her shoulder, she watched the men spread out in the fields to escort the ewes to their winter pasture. The windbreak of pines and maples that surrounded the northern pasture would buffer the ladies from the blustery cold winds. Frank and Junior clanked their grain buckets and sang out, “Come on, girls. Come on!” in their melodic voices while Seth led the way.

  The ewes pricked their ears and trotted in a herd beside the men, occasionally nudging their legs and butting the grain buckets. The sun shone warm and bright, coloring the men’s fading tans.

  Nora witnessed their male bonding and thought them akin to their Neanderthal ancestors out on a tribal hunt. They joked, laughed, and shared the success of the job. As she watched them disappear behind a cloak of trees, Nora felt a twinge of envy.

  “Come on, babies,” she called out, shaking her grain bucket and leading her first group of fledglings to the lower barn. They rallied behind her, one or two catching up and butting her legs.

  “That’s not polite.” She laughed as she marched on.

  Th
e moment she entered the lower barn, she sensed a dark mood. Esther was leaning against the gray barn wall, staring out the door. Her flop hat was in her hands and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail that was off center and already losing most of its hold upon her slumped shoulders.

  From behind, the lambs bounded into the barn. They gamboled as they raced down the alley.

  “Ready or not, here we come,” shouted Nora.

  Esther didn’t respond to her gaiety. She picked up the rear, shooing in with her hat the hesitant ones. Without their mothers to follow, the lambs bleated piteously.

  Nora lowered her voice to a soothing croon, calling the lambs into the pen with a gentle shake of her grain bucket.

  “Poor babies,” she sang in low, soothing tones. “Where did your mamas go? Don’t you worry. Nora’s going to take good care of you. Yes, she is.” She talked and patted while Esther closed the gate behind her with a sullen face.

  “I don’t see why they don’t go out to pasture with the ewes like they always done,” Esther muttered.

  Nora looked up slowly and saw Esther’s combative pose and heard the resentment in her voice. She let a moment pass before responding in the respectful manner C.W. had always shown her.

  “As you know, this is a late lambing. These babies would have a hard time of it out in the pasture. We’re going to try something new this year.”

  Esther snorted and gave the feed bunk a shake.

  “C.W. and I have discussed this in full,” Nora explained. “Frankly, Esther, I have to try a more economical system.” She kept her gaze steady.

  Esther’s face twisted and she looked away. “Well, whatever you say. You’re the expert at my jobs now. Seems I’m not needed here anymore.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Nora said, closing the pen gate and gathering her wits. “I’d like to talk to you about that.”

  “So. This is it. You’re letting me go.”

  “Yes.”

  Esther paced back and forth, firing up her resentment.

  “Well, it took you longer than I figured. So. How does it feel giving your husband’s girlfriend the boot, huh?” Esther’s anger made her mean. Her lips turned down and her nostrils flared as she stopped in front of Nora.