Her mother was waiting at the back door of the cookshack. "Annie, darling, I was beginning to worry. Did you get a late start?" She took the grocery bag in one arm and hugged Annie with the other.
Annie reached into the car for the second bag. "No, but I stopped a few times on the way. I was sleepy. How's Dad?"
"Your father is fine, as usual. He's out hiking with Ward."
"Uncle Ward came! I'm so glad. In his last letter, he said that he wasn't sure he could make it."
The screen door opened as they approached it. The tall, white-haired woman who held it looked Annie up and down. Her lips pursed as if she disliked what she saw.
"Well, miss, we were beginning to worry about you. And why haven't you been eating? You're skinny as a rail." She stepped aside, allowing Annie and her mother to enter.
"Hello, Gran." Annie put the bag on the counter and turned, tensing.
"'Hello, Gran.' Is that all you have to say for yourself? No smile, no hug, just 'hello, Gran?'"
Annie forced her mouth into a travesty of a smile. She went into her grandmother's arms, kissed her papery cheek. "I'm sorry, but it was a long, hot drive and I'm awfully tired. It really is great to see you, Gran."
"Still feeling sorry for yourself, I see." Gran stepped back, never releasing her hold on Annie's upper arms. "You look terrible. When was the last time you had your hair done? And you've lost weight. Too much. When are you going to accept that sorrow is part of living and go on with your life?"
Before Annie could snarl a reply, her mother interrupted. "Ma, please. Annie will recover in her own time and you won't help her by being unkind. Not all of us are as strong as you are."
"Strong? You build strength by fighting back, not by giving in."
"That's enough, Ma!" Thea's voice was sharp. "Now let Annie sit down and rest for a while. She's just driven nearly four hundred miles." She reached into the larger of the two refrigerators. "Would you like some lemonade, darling? It should be nice and cold."
Gran subsided into occasional mutters as she unloaded the sacks of food. Annie leaned against the refrigerator, sipping the tangy lemonade and watching her mother and grandmother move about the spacious kitchen. She'd forgotten how large it was.
This used to be where the ranch hands were fed, back when the Floating Nought was the family's home. She wouldn't be surprised if some of the equipment was left over from those days.
The range had six burners and two grills, each about two feet wide. The whole appliance had to be more than six feet long. Two refrigerators stood against the inside wall, a restaurant sized sink sat under the one window, and an oilcloth covered island occupied the middle of the room. Yards and yards of cupboards lined the walls.
She carried her lemonade into the dining room. The eight long tables and their attendant benches were just as she remembered them. The white paint was fresh and clean but the benches still looked hard and uncomfortable. She sat where she could look out one of the side windows, toward the river.
Her mother slid in beside her. "Annie, you know I don't mean to pry, but Gran's right. You look as if you've lost even more weight."
"I've been trying to eat, Mom, and sometimes I can. But it usually sticks in my throat."
"Self indulgence, that's what it is," Gran remarked from behind them.
"Gran! That's not fair. I have been trying to pull myself back together. It's just that tomorrow... it's been a year... Oh! Just leave me alone!" She set her glass down, hard. Some of the lemonade sloshed onto the table, but she didn't care. She had to get out, get away. Oh, God, why did I come?
Thea stood helpless as Annie stumbled through the kitchen and out the back door.
"Ma, you're carrying this tough love too far. Have you forgotten that tomorrow's the anniversary of Calvin's death?"
Cecile had stepped aside to let Annie pass. Now she turned back. Shaking her head, she said, "Sometimes being hard on someone you love is kinder in the long run than being gentle and sympathetic."
"You don't seem very kind to me. I had to talk fast to convince her to come at all. If you don't let up on her, you'll drive her away."
Cecile's faded eyes seemed to be staring at some infinitely painful image. "Thea, if I've learned any wisdom in nearly eighty-three years, it's that only the fighters survive. The weak give up and let the world kick them around. I don't want that kind of existence for my granddaughter."
"No, you want to kick her around instead," Thea accused.
"Nonsense! You've been kind and sympathetic and supportive to Annie for a year. We all have. I don't see any signs that it's helped much. She's still wallowing in her misery when she ought to be getting back to living. Do you want her to mourn Calvin for the rest of her life?"
"How can she escape it? Does a mother ever get completely over losing a child?"
Cecile's lined face fell into an expression of unutterable pain. "No. Never," she whispered. "But," she continued, in a strong, no-nonsense tone, "neither do you let your sorrow control you. Annie is doing just that. I think in some perverse way, she's enjoying it."
Thea made a sound of disagreement, but her mother's lifted hand prevented her from speaking.
"What that young woman needs now is to be shocked back into life. She's been encouraged to hide behind her grief while the world goes on without her. This week, I'm going to do my best to give her that shock and, if you've got the sense God gave a goose, Thea, you'll help me."
"I won't. I don't agree with your methods, Ma. A year isn't very long to grieve, not when..."
"It's long enough for the worst of the pain to subside. Thea, Annie is sinking into despair. I've been there; I know." She slapped the counter. "I can't stand that. She's too dear to me. So I'm going to push, until she gets good and mad. Sympathy hasn't worked; maybe anger will."
"If you think for a moment that I'm going to let you hurt Annie," Thea began, all her defensive maternal urges springing to life.
"I have no intention of hurting her. Just make her mad enough to bring her back to life. Now, are you going to help me peel potatoes, or are you going to stand there with your hackles up?" Cecile set a colander of washed potatoes on the table and handed Thea a knife.
Thea gave up. When Cecile Blankenship made up her mind to something, there was just no moving her. She did, however, resolve to protect Annie whenever she could.
She only half listened as they peeled. What if Ma was right?
No, she was dead wrong. Annie was depressed. She needed medical help, not emotional battering from those who were supposed to love her. "I wonder if she ever saw that counselor," she said, and realized she'd spoken aloud.
"Counselor? As in a psychiatrist? Good heavens, Thea, Annie isn't crazy."
"No, of course she's not. Doctor Wilson recommended that she see a grief counselor. He recommended one in Boise, but I don't know if she ever--"
"A grief counselor? When she's got the whole family to help her? Why in my day--"
"Ma, your day wasn't all that long ago. I'm sure there were grief counselors then." Dropping the last potato into the big cookpot, Thea went to the sink to wash her hands. She turned, leaning back against the counter. "Sometimes a family isn't enough. You've seen how Annie has pulled away from us. I tried to talk her out of moving to Boise, but she was determined to get away from anything that reminded her of Calvin.
"I've worried about her ever since the move, even though she assured me she was getting better. Now I see..." She closed her eyes, picturing her daughter as she'd seen her for the first time in three months. She'd gained extra weight with her pregnancy, and it had been stubborn, still clinging to her slight frame at Calvin's funeral.
Now she looked even slimmer than she had during her last adolescent growth spurt, when she'd often bemoaned the fact that all her bones stuck out. Dark smudges under her eyes only called attention to the lack of color in her face.
"Maybe you're right. I don't know. I just want her to heal, to be happy again." She looked across the room
to her mother. "I won't promise to be mean to Annie, but I won't try to stop you doing what you think is right. This week. Just this week, Ma. And if your method doesn't work, then I'll do what I can to get her to see a professional."
"Fair enough." Cecile pushed herself to her feet. "Good grief, look at the time. Let's get these potatoes on." She carried the cookpot to the stove. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm cheating. I brought gravy mix." After she had the potatoes on the burner, she bent over and peeked into the oven, where four whole chickens were roasting. "Almost done. I'll just turn this down and they'll keep until dinnertime."
* * * *
Annie fled toward the Pink House. Halfway there, she met her younger sister.
"Hey, you can't leave your car at the cookshack, Annie. It's against the rules."
"Then you go get it," Annie snapped. She pulled the keys from her pocket and tossed them to Kristi. "I am not going back up there to face Gran again."
"Okay. Hetty's waiting for you. See you later."
A twinge of envy ran through Annie as Kristi went bouncing on toward the cookshack. Once she, too, had been that young and carefree, that happy. Not any more, though. Maybe never again. She trudged down the dusty road, shoulders bowed under infinite weight.
The house wasn't really pink. More of a rosy taupe. She wondered if making it the girls' bunkhouse and assigning the boys to the Blue House next door had been someone's idea of a joke. The last time she'd been here, everyone had bunked in the old barn, the adults in the curtained-off stalls and the kids in the central aisle. This was far better.
The living room was furnished with sturdy pine furniture, its upholstery a bright red and blue plaid. There were no curtains at the windows, which gave a view to the east, of rolling, pine-covered hills rising to distant mountains--the Tetons. Annie stepped close and leaned her forehead against the glass. Forest stretched as far as she could see and beyond. Yellowstone Park was less than fifteen miles away, and everything between here and there was either Floating Nought land or National Forest.
What would happen if I walked out of here and just kept walking? Even as a child, she'd wondered. Now she found herself tempted to find the answer. Her life didn't seem to have any purpose, so why not?
"Annie? Back here."
Annie followed Hetty's voice to the farther bedroom, where her cousin lounged on a lower bunk. Besides two sets of peeled-log bunks, a rustic pine dresser and matching chest of drawers occupied the room. "We get the bottom beds," Hetty said. "I decided I was too old to be climbing around in the dark."
"Who else is in here?" The thought of sharing a room with three others, even family, made her want to run and hide. She'd hoped to have a bedroom to herself, or to share with no one but Hetty.
"Charlene and CeCe, which should make for an interesting week. Kristi's in the other room with the littles. She actually volunteered." Hetty shook her head, as if astonished.
"Littles?"
"Angela, Janice and Emma."
"I know I'm supposed to know who they are, but I'm drawing a blank. Is one of them Eric's daughter? She's awfully young, isn't she?"
"Gran says Angela's almost seven. The other two are two and three, but I don't remember which is which. I think Emma's Peter's daughter."
"I think you're right. God, Het, I should know more about my own niece. I've been so out of it." She turned to look out the window, not wanting Hetty to see the welling tears. Emma was just about the age Calvin had been last year... No I won't think about Calvin. Not now..
"One of those drawers is for you," Hetty said. "While this isn't the Ritz, there's a bit of closet and drawer space for all of us."
Annie sank down onto her bunk. "Het, I don't think this is going to work. I can't stay here. It's going to be too crowded, too noisy. And there's no privacy."
"Bull feathers! If you've gotten modest in your old age, you can dress in the bathroom. There are two, one up near the kitchen, the other right across the hall. But I don't see what difference it makes. We're all family."
"That's not what I meant," Annie said.
"No, I don't suppose it is." Hetty sighed. "What you're really saying is that you want a place to hide. Look, Annie, I know you want to wallow in your misery, and I suppose you have a right to, if that's what you enjoy. But you're just going to have to wallow publicly this week if you feel you really have to." Hetty tossed a paperback onto her bed. "Gosh, who knows, maybe you'll even enjoy yourself now and then.
"Aunt Althea would be really hurt if you were to leave, and Gran would probably chase you down and bring you back. Besides, I thought you'd had to jump through hoops to get this week off. Are you going to waste it, just because our elegant accommodations aren't private enough to suit you?"
Annie smiled in spite of herself. "Elegant? Rustic would be the more appropriate word, I think."
"Perhaps you're right. Anyway, you're staying, if I have to chain you to this bed. Okay?"
"Okay," Annie agreed, reluctantly. She leaned back and closed her eyes against Hetty's level gaze. "I had a terrible time staying awake on the way over. Can you wake me when it's time to go to dinner?" To her surprise, the mattress was quite comfortable. Her pretense drifted slowly into real sleep.
Chapter Three
"Wake up, children. We're here."
CeCe kept her eyes closed and didn't move. Angela was a dead weight against her, hot and sweaty and sticky. She'd been pretending to be asleep ever since they'd left Idaho Falls. If she'd been awake, she'd have had to listen to more of Jennifer's opinions about neglectful fathers and girls who didn't act like ladies.
Oh, Daddy, why did you make me come? I could have stayed with Gretchen. Her folks wouldn't have minded. I could have raced today, instead of having to put up with Jennifer and Eric and their spoiled brats.
"Cecile, keep your eye on Joseph. Don't let him run off until he's met Aunt Cecile." Jennifer stopped gathering kids' toys into the big mesh tote and frowned at CeCe. "This is going to be confusing. It' s unfortunate you were named after her."
"My name is CeCe. 'See-see'. There's nothing confusing about that." She pretended she didn't see Eric's disapproving glance. Honestly! Nobody ever called her Cecile.
The old lady who stepped down from the porch of the Big House opened her arms wide, like she was going to hug them all at once. Instead she cupped CeCe's chin. "You look so much like your mother, darling. So much." Her voice trembled on the last words.
CeCe didn't even mind the hug. It felt, somehow, like Mama's used to.
"Did you bring your bicycle? I know you missed some races, but we don't want you to let your practice slide while you're here."
"She brought her bicycle," Eric said, sounding just as grumpy as he had when he'd discovered he was expected to load the big box on the roof rack. "Silliest thing I ever heard." He stepped back and caught Jennifer around the waist. "Gran, this is my wife. Jennifer."
"No worse than bringing golf clubs or fishing tackle. Hello, Jennifer, it's wonderful to meet you at last. And your lovely children...?"
Jennifer clapped her hands, and the kids lined up like obedient little puppies, tall to short.
CeCe had never seen anything like it.
"Children, this is your Great-aunt Cecile--"
"All the kids call me Gran," the old lady interrupted.
"I'm afraid I can't allow that. So confusing, since they already have two grandmothers." She scowled at Joseph, who was inching out of line. "Norman is the eldest, then Angela, and Joseph and Bartram." She laid her hand on each kid's head as she spoke the names. "Say hello to Great-aunt Cecile, children."
They all muttered something intelligible.
Gran hugged each one like she really wanted to and wasn't being polite. Once she'd finished with the baby, she turned to where Tommy was leaning against the van. "Stephen?"
"I'm Tommy," her brother insisted. Dad still called him Junior, but nobody else did.
"Tommy, of course. I'll remember that. I'm so glad you're here." She sounde
d like she really was, too.
He didn't move. "Yeah."
"You didn't want to come, did you?"
"Uh-uh."
"Well," Gran said, not trying to hug him, "I hope we can change your mind. There's lots to do here."
Tommy shrugged, that you can't impress me shrug that drove Daddy wild.
A tall man emerged from the house. "Here comes someone else. I'll bet it's Peter," he said.
They all turned to look at the big van pulling a tent trailer up the hill from the main road.
"Charlene's just your age, CeCe," Gran said. "She's new to the family, so I hope you'll help us make her feel at home."
"Me? I mean, I don't know anybody here." She'd been about two the last time they'd come to a family Gathering. How'd Gran expect her to know anything?
"Yes, but you're part of us, and Charlene and Owen are brand new. They'll feel out of place unless we make them welcome."
CeCe remembered who they were. Uncle Peter, Mama's older brother, had married a woman with two kids. An older woman, Gran had said in one of her letters to Daddy.
Instead of unpacking her bike from the box it had traveled in, she waited beside Gran as the van pulled into the parking area. The back door slid open and a tall girl with long hair stepped out. Right behind her was a guy--her brother? Oh my God. He's gorgeous!
* * * *
Peter stretched. He was stiff from driving all day, all several days. And not entirely comfortable. No one in the family had met Kenna. They'd decided against having family present at their wedding, mostly because she hadn't wanted to invite her in-laws. They still considered her part of the family, and she felt stifled by their possessiveness. Nice folks, but they seemed to expect her to devote the rest of her life to keeping her dead husband's memory alive.
Kenna was scared. He knew that, even if she hadn't admitted it. Slipping his arm around her waist, he pulled her with him. "Gran, here's the person to thank for us getting here. If she hadn't insisted on meeting my family..." Not quite the truth, but close enough to ensure her a hearty welcome.
Sure enough, she was snatched away from him, into the arms of his grandmother, his father, his mother, and his... His sister? "Kristie?"
A Strange Little Band Page 3
