Bethann was out of the car first. She took one direction, Richard the other. Christine stayed in the car, listening to the radio as she kept watch, never once letting Bethann out of her sight. She cracked the window. "Bethann, you're going too far. Come on, it's dark."
Bethann waved.
"I mean it, come back." Christine could hear Richard off in the distance, calling out every name imaginable that rhymed with Phoenix. It made her laugh, and her mind wander. Then a gust of wind rocked the car, vibrating the antenna with an eerie sound, and she got the creeps. "Bethann, come on."
A piece of paper landed on the windshield, startling her, and she jumped. Another gust of wind, and it soared onto the lawn. "Get that!" she told Bethann.
Bethann chased after it. Her mom was a neat freak, no litter, no mess. An even stronger gust sent it sailing again. "Dad, g-g-get that!" she shouted. Richard grabbed it, and the two of them hurried back to the shelter of the car.
"Damn!" Richard said, shivering as he got behind the wheel. "That wind whipped up out of nowhere."
It's this place, Christine thought, and locked the doors. "Here." She took the paper from Richard to put in the refuse container taped under the dash, but there was something about the feel of it, the weight.
"Turn the light on," she said.
Richard flipped the switch and leaned toward her to take a look. It was the closest they'd been in over a year. They were almost touching. "What in the...?"
Bethann edged up to see also, draping her arms over their shoulders, and they all stared in disbelief. It was Leah Oliver's birth certificate.
Outside the car and not twenty feet away, another gust of howling wind scattered the rest of her papers. This, as the large sugar maple, unseasonably, released sap from its charred trunk.
* * *
Richard met with James Howell the following day. The birth certificate had been the missing document, the one needed to execute the provisions of the will. Leah wanted her parents found, and until an exhaustive effort was made, using the savings she'd set aside for the search, the distribution of the estate would have to wait.
Klaus hated waiting. He despised it! He damned Leah and he damned his father, incessantly, to whoever would listen, mostly his employees since they had no choice. But his reaction was mild compared to what it would have been had he discovered the exact reason for the delay. Leah wanted her parents found so that she could leave them something. Something precious if they cared. She wanted to leave them her memory.
In his own right, Klaus was every bit as successful as his father when it came to business, though their methods varied greatly. Klaus Bukener Sr. had a reputation for making shrewd moves by calculation and timing. His son on the other hand, leaned more toward preying on the weak and vulnerable.
Klaus always considered his father to be his fiercest competitor and arch rival, even now, after his death, and continuously believed this mess with Maple Dale had been done on purpose, a kind of checkmate from the grave. The old man's last hurrah.
"Yeah, well we'll see."
When Klaus was just twenty-three, barely dry behind the ears and fresh out of college, his father executed what Klaus considered the first move in this lifelong game they would play.
Klaus had made a costly error in judgment, one his father stood by, watched, and then chastised him for. Not privately, mind you, but in front of the entire board of directors. Embarrassed, Klaus accused his father of setting him up so he could purposely fall on his face. He ranted and raved, and threw a real tantrum then. No longer satisfied with attacking him as merely his father, he challenged his integrity as chairman of the board. This was something that could not, and would not, be tolerated. He had to be put in his place. Klaus Bukener Sr. would have the final say that day.
"My son's learned a bitter lesson here, even though he feels I've deserted him when he most needed me to bail him out. I apologize for this display you have just witnessed. Sit down," he told Klaus, as he himself rose to his feet and looked around. "But what my son doesn't know is that I did bail him out. I've assumed the loss personally." He shook his head sadly. "Yet here he is, thinking I've turned my back on him. My own flesh and blood. And all because I have allowed him to make his own mistakes."
He hesitated, glaring at Klaus. "Yes, I could've reached in and saved you, plucked you from the drowning waters you'd sunk in. I could've done that easily! Very easily! But you fail to remember that you didn't ask for my help. In fact! I'd say you went so far the other way, you forgot where you came from!" He pounded the table, oblivious now to anyone in the room but his son. "In business, Klaus, you don't get to the top by the seat of your pants. Nor do you get there with your daddy wiping your ass! It takes guts! It takes strength And if you're a man, it takes even more than that. It takes a firm grip! Here!"
When the meeting adjourned, Klaus cowered out, and on the way to his office, made a promise to himself. No one, not even his father, under any circumstances, would ever doubt if he had balls again. Ever.
* * *
What little energy Leah had was slowly draining. Days blended into nights and weeks as she searched for the horses, and when she did find them, all she had to do was close her tired eyes and suddenly they were gone again. Her hunt breeches, which had always been spotless, were now stained and torn. And her field boots, once impeccably polished and pliable, had stiffened and faded, and were getting harder and harder to distinguish from the dirt.
The nights were colder now and often she woke to a frost that seemed to go right through her. She couldn't find a blanket and had to rely on what loose straw was left in the hay loft to keep her and Phoenix warm. Come morning, it was never enough.
The days kept her going. While the sun still defied the temperature, she roamed the grounds with Phoenix and soaked up all the warmth she could. When tired, she would settle down under a willow. They were the only trees that still had their leaves now. The rest had fallen. One minute they were there, and the next they were gone. The willows were her only protection from the wind.
She leaned her head back against the trunk and closed her eyes. She could hear Phoenix stalking about, and could almost hear the thumping heart of a mole, hiding under the leaves, its fright sadly giving itself away. She knew Phoenix hunted from instinct, but wished he wouldn't torment his victims so. At the same time, she wondered how long it had been since she herself had eaten, and why she wasn't hungry.
She drifted off then and was in a dark forest. A forest in the shape of a tunnel, swirling round and round. She tried to grab the sides to keep from becoming dizzy, and focused on a strange light at the end of the tunnel. Sunlight, but in arcs, arms, stretched out to embrace her.
She opened her eyes quickly, only to shy from Phoenix as he feasted on his kill at her feet. She stared off in the distance, a minute, an hour, perhaps a day, then resumed her search for the horses. She was becoming impatient with them. It was Tuesday and they had to be rounded up for the lessons. Where were they? Where could they have gone? As she walked through the woods, everywhere, the time of year and neglect was taking its toll.
The grass was turning brown, the creeks narrowing. The paddocks and pastures, once clipped by grazing, were in need of brush-hogging. Weeds now choked the perimeters of the barn and arena. The clean smell of tanbark had been replaced with a musty odor. And mice, now rampant, ran across the beams and rafters fearlessly, all just two months from the day Leah had died.
* * *
Leah's parentage was readily obtained. Her father, Daniel Thorpe, was killed in the Korean War, apparently unaware of the seed planted in his fiancé'. Evelyn Ruminski was just seventeen when she gave birth to Leah, and only weeks after learning of Daniel's death. Poor and barely able to care for her ailing father, let alone a newborn child, she left the Catholic home for unwed mothers without looking back, less than twelve hours after she'd given birth. She denied herself the sanction of holding her daughter, a privilege she refused in penitence of her anger toward God and he
r country's army. She married at twenty-three to a John Collier, and at twenty-five, gave birth to another child, a daughter named Natasha.
At the time of the search, Evelyn had been dead sixteen months, preceded by her husband, who had passed away three years earlier. The Colliers had lived in Hudson, Ohio, and Natasha in Sandusky, where as a nun she taught school.
According to the information obtained, Evelyn left everything she owned to the Catholic home for unwed mothers, though there was no mention of the child she bore there. In Leah's file at the home, Evelyn had left a handwritten statement, composed only hours before giving Leah away. This, along with some notations made by the staff, was all the investigator needed to trace the rest. It's to be presumed that Evelyn's first born remained hidden in her past, but no one would ever know.
Richard laid the report down and looked across the room at Bethann and Christine, feeling as if he'd just read the epitaph of a lifelong friend. Leah's mother. How was it possible to have such compassion for someone you'd never met?
"Wh-what about N-N-Natasha?" Bethann asked.
Richard sighed and glanced at the report. "According to this, she's dead also." He hesitated. "It says she died on a mission for her faith."
"H-H-How?"
Richard read silently over the last paragraph again, and looked at Christine before answering. "She died out of the country."
Bethann got up and started across the room. "Does it s-s-say how?"
Richard nodded, but wouldn't let her see the report. There were too many details. "Apparently she died of malaria."
Bethann started to cry, and cried throughout the night. It didn't seem fair. Leah had never known her family. She never knew anything about them. And now they'd never know anything about her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Christine felt like the weather, a steady, dreary downpour from a dull gray sky, that seemed to go on forever. Bethann had left for school a good half hour ago and although she was normally in the habit of leaving soon after, she couldn't quite convince herself to venture out. She'd made an effort, several in fact. She'd even put on her coat and opened the door, but that was as far as she got She ended up sitting back down with another cup of coffee.
Richard mistook the slammed door as her leaving and came downstairs a few moments later, startling himself as well as Christine. "Sorry, I thought you left."
"I can't. I've tried. It's so gloomy out there."
Richard smiled as he sat down across from her, and was quiet for a moment. "Are you okay?"
Christine shrugged. "I will be," she said, implying she just needed to finish her coffee first.
Richard nodded and got up for one himself. "I thought you cut back in the morning."
"Me? Why?" She frowned, and when Richard held up the almost full pot, realized what he meant. "Oh. No, I usually make another one just before I leave."
Richard looked at her. "For me? Thank you," he said, and no sooner said, he wished he hadn't. It was too late. The room filled with a sudden closeness, a penetrating familiarity, and Christine instinctively reached for her purse to leave. Shad was lying in her way, all stretched out, she remarked hastily about how trusting he was, how he never moved, and with that, stepped over him and started out the door.
Richard stopped her. "I love you, Christine," he said softly.
She wouldn't look at him. She couldn't. Not with the past welling up so vividly in her eyes. She stared at the door instead, an inanimate object. A second, maybe two. As long as it took to see clearly again. Then she walked out.
* * *
Christine, more than anyone, wished she could be different, wished things could be different. As it was, she could spend hours building a case for her and Richard's relationship, days. And at any given moment, one small thought would creep in and it would all come crashing down around her, scattering fragments of an eighteen-year marriage all to hell. If only she could be as forgiving as she was relentless, as bending as she was steadfast. But she was who she was, and if there was anything she was certain about, it was that.
While still in her teens, she knew exactly what she wanted out of life, and always, it revolved around Richard. They were going to go to college together, get married, have one or two children, live in a Colonial nestled by a brook on a brick-paved road in Chagrin Falls, surrounded by abundant wealth, and they were going to live happily ever after.
She planned to always drive a Cadillac, wear only natural fabrics, forgetting that such a thing as polyester ever existed, and her shoes would be all leather, not just the uppers. In the summer, she'd wear only canvas espadrilles, and only a neutral color. She would be always be well groomed, never appearing to be anything less, would always wear the proper amount of makeup, minimal, a classic hairstyle and clear fingernail polish at all times. And her jeweled adornments would only be gold and diamonds.
Christine was one of three children. Her father worked as a builder's laborer, her mother a part-time secretary. They were a struggling family, financially. By the time Christine graduated from high school, she'd gone to nine different schools and had moved ten times. The one home she did love was an old farm house, where she entertained the idea of owning a horse. But her family relocated before she could save up enough money, and moved back into an apartment.
This aside, Christine was raised in an atmosphere of warmth and caring, chock-full of Sunday gatherings and family reunions. Her father was witty, smiled a lot, and had a hardy laugh. He loved to play pinochle, watch The Three Stooges, and was a man rich and abundant in family and friends. Her mother was very religious, was always praising the Lord when things went well and cursing the devil when things went wrong, and loved to cook. Their home was constantly filled with the aroma of things like fresh-perked coffee, homemade buns, pies, and pot roast. Christine's friends loved to tag along with her after school, knowing something fresh from the oven awaited them. Hot cross buns at Easter, gingerbread at Halloween.
Holidays were steeped in tradition. Memorial Day and the Fourth of July were spent picnicking at Metropolitan Park, the highlight being when her grandmother would swing a baseball bat at least once, to prove that she still could. Thanksgiving brought family for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Christmas Eve her mother would spin angel hair on the tree to keep the magic safe throughout the year. They were permitted to open one gift then, new pajamas of course. Christmas morning always started with a prayer.
Even Labor Day had a ritual, the one responsible for it being Christine's least favorite holiday. It signaled the time to make the annual back-to-school trip to Zayres. In addition to the shopping cart being stuffed with three sets of loose-leaf folders, paper, spiral notebooks, pencils and pens, there were the clothes. Too brightly colored and too polyester as far as Christine was concerned. And a package of socks, nylons when they got older, one bra, a slip, and seven pairs of panties in assorted colors, with a different day of the week cheerfully embroidered on each.
Birthdays were grand affairs too. The gifts were usually homemade, wrapped in tissue paper, and secured with any kind of tape that happened to be around the house. But they were treasures nonetheless. She and her sisters always made gifts for her parents as well. And never once did they get the feeling that it wasn't exactly what had been wished for. Memories.
Then there was the family car. Old. Ancient. A clunker with mechanical problems. Appropriate terms for any car they had while Christine was growing up. Transportation specials that inevitably always broke down at the leanest of times. Often, as a result, her father had to walk to work, his huge black lunch pail tucked under one arm, an extra thermos under the other, and a bounce in his stride. A man who for the most part always seemed to be happy, though sometimes Christine couldn't understand why. To the best of her knowledge, he had never owned a new suit, even in his younger days, let alone a new car. Her mother too, was always doing without. Her wedding band had been bought at a dime store, the gold plating wore off after just a month or two. And her reading glasses came fr
om the drugstore. Reading glasses and a magnifying glass.
This was hardly tragic by any standards, but on top of this were the conversations Christine overheard at night. The ones where her mother and father would talk about making ends meet. Arguments. Bitter arguments. Her mother crying, her father eventually apologizing. This was when he would always say, "Don't worry, we'll get by," word for word almost every time. "We always do, don't we."
Sometime around the age of sixteen, and after they'd just moved again, Christine began imagining a different life and the plan to have it. She saw no reason why a family with as much love as hers should ever have to settle for less. It wasn't that money was everything in life to her, it was just that is seemed to be the only thing missing. Yes, she told herself, I'm going to have it all. And while she was at it, she was going to make sure her parents had real wedding bands. And she was going to take her mother shopping. They weren't going to Zayres either. They were going to Joseph Hornes. First, second, and third floor. And not only that, she was going to park her brand new car at the end of the mall, so they could ceremoniously stroll past the five and dime. She even knew the first thing they were going to buy. China dishes. A set of twelve place settings to be used everyday, morning, noon, and night. And they were going to buy silverware. Not stainless steel, silverware, and enough so that it didn't have to be washed between the main meal and dessert on holidays.
Somehow she managed to do it all too, well ahead of schedule, and was comfortable in that happily ever after until a little over a year ago. Looking back on it now as she drove to Maple Dale, she wondered if she hadn't been so hell bent on fulfilling her dreams, that she pushed Richard into being an unwilling part of it, pushed him much too hard.
Richard on the other hand, grew up in an atmosphere similar to the one portrayed on the Ozzie and Harriet reruns. His parents were upper middle class, quite content in their neat little mortgage-free bungalow with black shutters that were painted every three years whether they needed it or not. Ideal parents. Parents who had their children's college money put away long before they were even out of grade school, longtime residents and pillars of the community. Richard's father was a patent attorney, and seemed always to be in a three-piece suit with a striped tie. His mother was a legal secretary when they met, but after marrying, retired to raise the children and never once missed her career. She had a full life with Richard and his twin sister Julie. And if she had any spare time, she volunteered it to her favorite charity.
Maple Dale (Maple Dale Series) Page 6
