Although worthwhile, the trip had cost me. I never used to be so parsimonious with time, but the older I got, the more precious it became. I looked forward to staying put until summer, and only leaving for the reunion in South Dakota.
Now, if only that man of mine would get his fine self back here, life would be perfect.
Perfect except for Aunt Marie. Nearly ninety, she was still pretty independent but had been frailer of late. Tomorrow I would visit, to reassure myself.
Unlocking the front door of our farmhouse, I hauled my bags inside and turned on the kitchen light. Standing there for a minute, taking it all in, a feeling of peace and safety blanketed me. The farmhouse had been in Curt’s family for years. He was born here. Literally—his mother didn’t make it to the hospital. When he married and had a child, his parents moved to town. They gave Curt and his wife the house, so they’d have a good place to raise their daughter. Which Curt did alone, as it turned out.
Years later, we spent our first night together here, in the early summer of my fiftieth year, but our reunion was brief. Although he wanted me to stay, to settle down again in Dickinson, I ricocheted around the country for a few years while he waited patiently for me to come home. And finally, I had, to this farmhouse with its white picket fence, horses, and a garden.
Jars of canned tomatoes lined our pantry. Chokecherry jam stood right alongside. With help from Aunt Marie, I’d put up all of it. My mother’s recipe cards taught me to cook, and my new sewing machine churned out placemats, curtains, and tablecloths. I had turned into a farm wife. Me, the former non-domestic, laser-focused, rush-hour-commuting corporate workaholic. And I had never been happier.
In this place, I felt rooted and whole. Every night, I slept well. Every day, I breathed the clean, fresh air of the northern plains, the land of my birth. I’d come full circle. I couldn’t wait to get unpacked and settle in.
I shivered. The place was freezing.
I raised the temperature on the thermostat, the cold, dusty air stinging my nostrils. At the door to Curt’s office, I paused as if seeing it again for the first time, that summer morning after our first night together. Twin wing chairs in chocolate leather bracketed the front window. A matching sofa was draped with a homemade quilt, a wedding gift from our friends. On his desk stood two framed photos, one of our daughter, Erin, graduating from UC Davis. The other was of our wedding kiss in a chapel in Barcelona.
After dropping my suitcase upstairs, I stuck a frozen dinner in the microwave and cracked open a fresh bottle of pinot noir. I texted Curt that I was home and missed him terribly, but he must still have been on his client’s research ship because he didn’t respond.
I slipped into our bed around midnight, still hoping.
THE NEXT MORNING, I awoke disoriented from all the travel. The coffee pot burbled and sighed as I pulled on my boots and coat, and hurried out to the barn in the frozen dawn. Again, both Looney and the colt acted wary of me. I let them out into the paddock while I replenished their hay, grain, and water buckets. The acrid air reminded me their stalls needed mucking out, but that could wait until the sun came up.
The eastern horizon revealed itself as a thin silver line when I returned to the house. I drank my first cup of coffee, reading the news on the computer and checking email. There was one from Curt, subject line Home Tonight, and I gave out a little whoop. The ship was back in port in Louisiana.
After all the years we’d lived apart, only to find each other later in life, I didn’t want to spend any more time away from him than necessary. I’d enjoyed visiting my friends, but now it was time to nest. I couldn’t wait to welcome my husband home. What a joy it would be to hold him, to lie snuggled under the covers again after nearly two months away from each other.
This was a new feeling. My first marriage had ended in a whimper, my ex-husband and I spent more than a decade feeling like roommates. By the time I was divorced at fifty, I’d thought sex was over. But Curt had reawakened me, surprising me with his patience and inventiveness, with his delight in pleasing me.
My toes curled. I wanted him home. Now.
I glanced at the Felix the Cat pendulum clock over the kitchen sink. I needed to get cracking. Time was flying by, and I had a ton of things to do today, but my computer was addictive. Jesse had sent me photos of the renovation project she and Sandy were wreaking on the guest house. Rita had left a couple of messages about her and Grady tying the knot this summer in the Black Hills. Fern and Belle were home at their mansion in Wyoming, and Fern was in full grumble about Belle’s plans to start a camp for underprivileged children.
I closed the laptop. My world was settling down, and I was ready.
Aunt Marie was expecting me around ten, and I’d promised to drop by St. Joseph’s to see Father Engel and Lanie. Before Curt arrived, the house needed sprucing up, there was laundry to do, and we were low on groceries.
I locked the house and headed for the carport adjacent to the barn. Last night’s snow had dusted the ground, and the air was crisp and dry, but the clouds were breaking up, and the sun blinding. March in North Dakota was extreme, but I liked it. Between storms, the winter sky is the color of blue opal and often raked by high cirrus clouds. Our climbing roses, their winter skeletons scrawny and brown, wrapped around the white fence rails. The fence needed repainting this year.
As I unlocked my pickup truck, I heard the colt whinnying frantically. He was running up and down the paddock fence, his head riveted on one particular sight in the distance.
The vanishing figure of his dam, who was galloping away across open fields.
Peeved but intrigued, I started up the truck and chased after her. I had a hunch where she was going.
Sure enough. Down a pitted driveway, past a derelict travel trailer and a rusted car up on jacks, our neighbor, Alice, had just come out of the house and grabbed on to Looney’s halter. She held on, desperately avoiding being stepped on while the exuberant horse danced.
I parked the truck and helped the girl get Looney into the corral. “Thanks for catching my horse.”
“I was expecting her.” Alice smiled, a dimple appearing in her left cheek. She was in her mid-twenties, thin as a reed in spite of her heavy jacket, with glasses and long brown hair tied in a ponytail. “Ever since Curt left, she comes over every morning.”
“Really. I had no idea she was a jumper.”
“I did. Look at those legs.” Alice baby-talked at Looney, who nickered. “It’s mean to Bob, though. He hates it.”
“‘Bob’?”
Alice blushed. “I named the colt that. I figured it would do, temporarily.” She leaned on the wobbly rails of the old corral, admiring my horse.
“Do you expect that to hold her?”
“It has so far. Be right back.” Alice disappeared into the house, returning with a bag of apple slices. “I keep them in the freezer for her.” Looney gobbled them like the greedy girl she was, then stood and allowed us to stroke her nose and neck. She was imperial, regal, at ease—as opposed to when she was home in her own barn.
“Her colt needs to nurse,” I said. “I can’t believe she’d just run off and leave him.”
“She doesn’t exactly. We go get him.” Alice leaned on the corral, watching as Looney lowered her head to drink from the water tank.
“You ride her?”
“Yeah, but only bareback. She hates saddles.”
“Saddle or not, she won’t let me on her. At all.” When we got Looney, she was a rescue who’d been abused, and I was respectful of her trauma, careful to give her space. When she surprised us by being pregnant, she became even more stand-offish. Again, I didn’t push.
And she repaid me by running off and falling in love with the neighbor.
Looney shook her head, her long black mane flying. “She’s so beautiful,” said Alice.
“Would you mind if I left her—them—here for a while? I have a bunch of errands to run, and I don’t want to stick her in the barn all day.”
“Not a bit. I enjoy their company.”
My last glance at the corral saw Alice climbing up on my horse’s back, riding her with just a halter and lead.
I DROVE OVER TO THE west end of town to Jim and Lorraine’s house, where Aunt Marie lived in a cottage on their property. Curt had added planters and drip lines to the front porch, so she could still garden, albeit from a chair.
The boards creaked as I crossed the porch and knocked.
“Just a second.” Her dear old voice reached me through the door. I heard her footsteps, and the locks clicking open.
There she stood in a faded pink bathrobe, grey braids crowning her head like an elderly Heidi, grey eyes in deeply creased skin. Her resemblance to my mother was crushing.
We looked at each other for a moment, and then her smile broke. She hugged me with everything she had. In two short months, she’d aged. Poor thing was so shrunken now. She was a couple years younger than my mom, but they’d been like twins. I cried as I held her. Her smallness was a sign, but I couldn’t imagine a world without her, too.
When we broke apart, she said, “I can heat up coffee cake if you're hungry. I made it yesterday.”
I followed her inside, where the warm air was rich with cinnamon and vanilla. She shuffled through the living room, where every surface was covered with dust, and magazines spilled out of a basket beside the couch. In the kitchen, a bank of windows afforded a view of farm fields. They were fallow now, but in spring and summer, they’d be lush with dark green alfalfa. Aunt Marie could open her windows to the fragrance of newly turned earth or fresh-cut hay.
She poured coffee, and I cut two slices of coffee cake to warm in the microwave. A cobweb draped from the ceiling to the stove hood, and dust bunnies clustered in the corners of the kitchen. The stove was sticky with grease.
Like my mother, Aunt Marie had been a fastidious housekeeper, so this uncleanliness was either the result of obliviousness or disability. I was torn between sadness for my aunt’s decline and irritation at my cousin for not noticing.
I poured milk in my coffee and stirred it. “How’re Jim and Lorraine?”
“Busy, busy, busy. The both of them. You’d think at their age they’d be ready to retire.”
Lorraine and Jim looked to be in great shape financially, given his veterinary practice and her job managing a law firm in town. Their six children were all grown and self-sufficient. When we saw the signs that Aunt Marie would soon need more help, they’d built the cottage specifically for her. It gave her a sense of independence, but with the reassurance of her family nearby. Unfortunately, that reassurance seemed to be falling short.
I sipped my coffee, blanched, and ran to the sink to spit out the rank brew.
Aunt Marie watched in anguish as I dumped out the spoiled milk from a refrigerator that was almost bare. “I’m sorry, honey. I meant to go grocery shopping. Lorraine and I have been trying to coordinate our schedules.”
My aunt didn’t drive anymore. “Do you want to go now? I’m not doing anything.”
She made a face. “I’m a little under the weather. Don’t feel like wandering around a big store. I’ll see if Lorraine can take me tomorrow.”
“At least let me get you a few staples.” I pulled a tablet from my purse and started making a list. “And if you need help, call me. I’m home now.”
Aunt Marie promised she would. “Enough about me. Tell me about your vacation. You went to California?”
As I filled her in, emphasizing the good parts, it sounded like I’d been gone a very long time. “And Curt’s flying in tonight. I can’t wait. I feel like nesting.”
“Cold as it’s been, not much else a person can do.” Aunt Marie grimaced as she moved her left leg. It was swollen, but she minimized my concern with a wave of her hand. “You get to be my age, comes with the territory.”
“Have you asked your doctor about it?”
“They don’t know much.” She stirred sugar into a new cup of coffee. “Lorraine tell you I had a stroke?”
I set my cup down, hard. “When?”
“Over the last month. I’ve had several. You know, those mini-strokes. TSAs, I think they call them.”
“What did the doctor say? How bad were they? What’s the prognosis?”
Aunt Marie held up a hand. “I’m fine.”
How could she be fine? “Are you able to get up and down the stairs and out to the car?”
“If I go slow.” She smiled at me, and now I noticed it was crooked in a way that was new. “Stop worrying, Karen. There’s always somebody to help me. Some of my old friends in town still drive.”
That wasn’t very reassuring. “What about the senior bus?”
“I called them once, but they said they don’t come out this far.”
“How long has it been since you left the house?”
She rested her chin on her hand and gazed out the window. “Maybe a few weeks.”
I stifled my frustration so as not to alarm her and carried our dishes to the sink. We talked for a while longer, but she began yawning, so I hugged her goodbye and left, promising to return later with a few groceries. Driving away, I had to keep reminding myself not to speed. I hadn’t had a ticket in fifteen years and wasn’t about to start now.
But I was mad. How could her own daughter neglect her like that?
I TAPPED ON THE OFFICE door at St. Joseph’s and pushed it open. Inside the light-filled space, my friend Lanie sat glued to a computer screen.
“Be right with you,” she said, not looking up. When she finished and saw it was me, she cried out and lumbered over for a hug.
“How’s the new job?” I said when I came up for air.
“It was a mess when I started, but things are coming along. Give me another week and we’ll be totally organized. What’s been happening with you?” She went back to her chair, which creaked and groaned as she sat down. Father Engel had been a little afraid of Lanie, with her no-nonsense attitude and squinty-eyed determination, but she was perfect for the job.
Father drove up as I was starting to tell her about Aunt Marie. He took the steps two at a time, still the energetic youngster despite gray-blond hair. His grin at seeing me quickly turned to worry. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“This time, nothing.” Laughing, I shook his hand. “Lanie has it all under control. I’m just visiting.”
He sat in the other chair, and we visited for a while, the three of us discussing Aunt Marie’s isolation. While I spoke, Lanie took notes. “I knew this would be an issue for our older parishioners, so I’m putting together a network of home visitors. They’ll get in touch with her. And we’ll be happy to bring her Communion. Won’t you, Father?”
He nodded obediently.
I smiled to myself, happy to see the church office was in good hands. I stood. “Would you mind walking me out?”
Father Engel put his coat back on, and we followed the sidewalk around the side of the church, to the familiar bench where we’d sat one summer morning, almost seven years ago. That was a couple days after Mom’s funeral, and he’d helped me with my grief.
We sat down, and I pulled my coat tighter. The sun didn’t reach us there in the shadow of the church, and the air was freezing. “I’ll talk fast.”
“No hurry.” He reached under the bench, opened a metal box, and tossed a handful of seed mix toward the statue of St. Joseph.
“I’m furious at Lorraine. I can hardly believe how neglectful she is toward my aunt.” While I complained, a half-dozen black-and-grey chickadees flitted over and began feeding.
Father Engel listened, nodding. “I wouldn’t be too hard on her. She’s afraid of her mother’s life coming to an end. This is what denial looks like.”
“I can understand that, but in the meantime, Aunt Marie suffers.”
“Life is suffering.” He brushed the seed dust from his hands. “Older people know this, but after living such a long time, they’re often stronger than younger people. More at peace. Your aunt might
not perceive her life the same way you do.”
“But her house is dirty, and she’s becoming a recluse.” I had to look away, to hide a flash of anger. “Maybe you should go visit her.”
“Matters of hygiene, yes. That should be addressed. But as to overall difficulty, remember Marie lived through the Dust Bowl,” he said. “Starvation, the Depression, the death of loved ones. Yet here she is, almost ninety, in a fairly comfortable situation—” Seeing my consternation, he said, “If you think this is a case of elder abuse, I can give you a number to call.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m worried about her leg, and I can’t believe she hasn’t seen a doctor.”
“Make the appointment and take her. We can’t wait around for enlightenment to conk Lorraine on the head.” He smiled at me. “In the meantime, Marie is blessed to have you.”
Although Father Engel usually pissed me off at least once during our frequent conversations, I was glad to have him in my world. “Thank God I’m back in North Dakota,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere for a long, long time.”
“See your aunt as often as possible,” he said. “I’ll bring her Communion, and Lanie will make sure she gets visitors.”
I nodded, grateful for his strength and common sense.
“Let’s pray together before you go.”
I closed my eyes and felt the comfort of his gentle words wash over me. At this point in my life, I wasn’t sure of my faith anymore, but I sometimes felt there was a spiritual force making things happen, gentling us in a positive direction in spite of our oblivion.
AT THE GROCERY STORE, I hurried up and down the aisles, buying for myself and Aunt Marie. When the cart was full, I topped it off with a couple of roasted chickens, one for each of us.
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