East of the Sun: a 20th century inspirational romance.

by Hope Franke Strauss

  Sophie jumped off the swing and ran to the slide, climbing the ladder like an expert. Eleanor followed her.

  “Careful, Mom. Watch your step.” Eden stood behind her, ready to help if she stumbled.

  “Wait, Mom. I’ll catch you.” Eden skipped to the front of the slide in time to watch Eleanor slip down. She needn’t have worried, for the speed at which her mother slid down posed no danger. Eleanor’s eyes were wide and bright with the thrill of her playground adventure. Other mothers of young children watched them with wonder and amusement, but Eden didn’t care. This was another priceless moment she knew she would cherish forever. She approached a complete stranger and asked her to take their picture.

  Eden, her mother and her daughter played together at the playground. She imagined the photo enlarged and framed hanging on the living room wall, something even Justin would be proud of.

  Eventually, Eden’s charges tired out and they headed home for milk and cookies. The simple things in life. Eden’s mind flickered repeatedly to thoughts of Cade and how he would have appreciated what just occurred. Who else could she share the events of the afternoon with who would actually care and find it joyful? She decided to call him later. Besides, Sophie always wanted to phone her dad.

  21

  Eleanor

  ELLIE reclined in the chair on the back porch. Mornings had her stomach reeling and her head spinning, but she was feeling better now. Later she would go back into the gardens. It was her refuge. She could lose herself there for hours, pruning, weeding and watering. She felt that as long as the gardens lived, a part of her mother would remain alive, too.

  But first she had to make a trip to Kippers Market. Pa would be angry if there were no food in the fridge when he got home. If he came home. More often than not he’d stop off at that awful pub to drink. Ellie hated the smell of alcohol on her pa’s breath, and she was afraid of his temper when he drank.

  After drinking a cool glass of water, she left. She tried to stay in the shade of the trees that sheltered the sidewalk. It was another hot, humid summer day, the kind of day that made her feel faint. When she arrived at the store, she stood near the fan for a long while.

  “Are you okay? You look pale.” Lillian Emerson worked there now. She stepped out from behind the counter and brought a stool over for her. “Here. Sit down.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be fine. It’s just this cotton-pickin’ heat.”

  Lillian returned to her place behind the counter. “It’s hot for everyone, but they don’t all faint when they come to the store.”

  The bell toned over the door. Lillian greeted the new customer. “Can I help you, Mrs. Cooper?”

  Ellie was thankful for the distraction. She didn’t like being under Lillian’s inquisitive eye. It was all she and Joshua could do to keep their clandestine rendezvous a secret from her. Ellie wondered if they had really succeeded.

  Feeling stronger, Ellie gathered the items she needed and set them on the counter.

  “That’s three dollars and eight cents.”

  “Wow, things are sure getting expensive.”

  “That’s inflation for you. Look, I’m off in ten minutes. Why don’t you wait for me and we can walk home together?”

  “Okay. I’ll be sitting on the bench out front in the shade.”

  Lillian watched her friend go. The rings around Ellie’s eyes concerned her. She hoped that she wasn’t coming down with something. She would consult the medical dictionary she had borrowed from her school library later.

  Mr. Kipper was in the back room, sorting through new stock. Mrs. Kipper was pregnant again. Everyone wondered, but nobody voiced their worry, if this one would make it. The last had been stillborn. Mrs. Kipper had been sullen for weeks, with no comfort coming from her husband that Lillian could see.

  Three of the older children, all boys, lost in a game of chase, ran through the store. Lillian frowned. Had they forgotten that their father was on the premises? If they had, they were remembering now. Lillian could hear Mr. Kipper barking at them in the back room. His fury was heightened when the boys tipped over a crate of canned peas. The cans were dented now, and couldn’t be sold at full price. He was in a rage. “How could you boys be so stupid?” he shouted.

  Lillian, grateful that the store was empty of customers for the moment, ran to the back room in hopes of distracting the unreasonable man. She was a fraction of a second too late, arriving in time to see a young boy being smacked across the head by the hand of his father. The force threw the child off balance, and as he fell to the floor, he scraped his forehead.

  “Oh my gosh!” Lillian said, running to his aid. Mr. Kipper cussed under his breath and left the room.

  “Let me look at that,” she said softly to the young boy. His face muscles pressed inward like a prune as he fought back tears.

  “That needs a bandage. Come with me. All of you,” Lillian instructed. The frightened children followed her to the medicine cabinet and watched with admiration as this pretty girl attended to their brother’s wound. Each child was rewarded with a sucking candy she slipped to them on the sly.

  “Now, don’t come back to this store again,” she said with compassion, “unless you mean to work.”

  22

  Eden

  IT WAS STRANGE. Eden felt bubbly-happy about phoning Cade and sharing her day with him. Maybe she missed having a normal adult around to whom she could talk about everyday normal things. Maybe she missed Cade?

  She wouldn’t let herself think that. Yet, as soon as the snack was finished she eagerly picked up the phone. “Ya wanna call Daddy, Sophie?”

  “Yeah!”

  “I’ll dial. You talk.” Eden listened for the first ring, then gave the receiver to Sophie, joyfully anticipating her gregarious “Hi, Daddy!”

  Instead, Sophie’s face twisted in disappointment. Eden reached for the receiver, “Cade?”

  “He’s not available at the moment. May I take a message?” A very familiar female voice spoke, and Eden’s blood thinned.

  “Hillary? Is that you?”

  “Eden?”

  “Where’s Cade?”

  “He’s, uh, he’s in the shower, Eden.”

  The shower? With her there?

  “What’s going on, Hill? What are you doing there?”

  “Cade and I, um, I’m just visiting, you know.”

  “Don't tell me that you and… No, you wouldn’t. Would you?”

  “It’s nothing, Eden.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t know what you’re all upset about, really. I mean, hey, what’s fair for the goose, is like, fair for the gander, right? Did you expect Cade to go solo while you’re free to date whoever you like?”

  “But you?” Eden’s voice was dry and shaky. “I thought you were my friend?”

  “I am your friend. Don’t take it personally. Cade’s a wonderful guy. He’s sensitive, fun and great looking. Too good a catch to pass up.”

  Eden couldn’t stand listening to her former friend spouting off about her infatuation with her husband. Stupidly, all she could choke out was a feeble request to let him know she had called.

  Thankfully, Sophie had left the kitchen when she realised her dad wasn’t coming to the phone. Eden sank into the nearest chair, her stomach twisting into painful knots. She lit a cigarette and puffed madly.

  Hilary had said she’d regret it one day. She was right.

  Marti came over the next night, and Eden was grateful for the distraction. She had spent so much time stewing over Cade and Hillary, she was barely able to function personally, much less take proper care of Eleanor and Sophie.

  At first she was angry at Hillary and her betrayal as a friend. Then she hated Cade for moving on so quickly and for choosing her. But she couldn’t blame them, could she? Not really. She was the one who’d left. She was the first to date someone else. If they were happy together, she should be happy for them.

  So, why did she feel so horrible?

  The truth stabbed
and twisted, making her heart bleed. She still had feelings for Cade.

  It took Hillary’s interest in her husband to shake her up. Cade was her husband, not Hillary’s. Leaving him was dumb, dumb, dumb. She got it now. How could she be so stupid?

  Eden decided to conceal her personal agony, too ashamed to admit to Marti that she had also been right—she had sacrificed too much. Eden hoped vainly that she could pull it off despite being one to wear her feelings on her sleeve. As it turned out, Marti had news that clouded her usual perceptiveness.

  “Marti, you’re glowing. What’s up?”

  Marti blushed and played with her hair, and then she fiddled with the rings on her fingers. Suddenly, she thrust out her left hand to display a fat, glittering diamond. “I’m getting married!”

  Eden was struck dumb. “Wh… wh… how?”

  Marti laughed. “He asked. I accepted.”

  “Who? I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend.”

  “I know. We’ve been friends for a long time, and well, to be honest, I was afraid to tell you.”

  “For Pete’s sake, why?”

  She shrugged. “You have high standards. I didn’t think Arnold would stack up.”

  “Marti. I would’ve been happy for you,” Eden said, although the truth of her words bit at her. “I am happy for you. Really. Come in. Sit down. Tell me more about him.”

  Marti recited a long list of Arnold’s virtues and explained how their friendship evolved into this state of perfect bliss. Eden smiled and nodded in all the right places, but her heart and mind did a painful tango with Cade and Hillary verses Cade and Eden images.

  Finally, Marti stopped long enough to take a breath.

  “That’s great, Marti. I’m sincerely happy for you both. So, when do I get to meet this wonderful guy?”

  “Soon. I’ll bring him over to meet you one day.”

  “I’d like that.” And so the evening went. More discussion about Marti and Arnold and more persistent thoughts of Cade and Hillary. By the time Marti went home, Eden had a splitting headache.

  23

  Eden

  EDEN had left tending to Aunt Lillian’s affairs for too long. She finally called up the apartment manager where Aunt Lillian had lived and made an appointment to see the place. Her plan was to retrieve anything of value, doubting all the while that she would come across anything remotely worth keeping, and then arrange to sell or donate everything else.

  The houses on the left side of the busy freeway were old and run down, crowed together with barely enough space between them to pass through. Trash was tucked in along the front steps, cracks lined the foundation, and every fifth home bore a Canadian flag doubling as a curtain. One could almost picture squatters or refugees occupying these places but with the rent in the city being sky high, it was often young families or students who resided there.

  Across the four-lane main drag, enormous, glamorous, monster houses lined the street. These homes were made up of three or four stories of architecturally designed glass and steel, paved drives and sharply landscaped yards, and were owned and occupied by upper echelon success stories.

  It was down a street such as this that they traveled, bumper to bumper, to a stop nearby a narrow off-street that could easily be missed due to the heavy foliage that blocked the street sign. Aunt Lillian lived in the apartment complex one block down.

  Eden pulled into the parking lot at the back, yanked the park brake, and removed the keys. It wouldn’t do to lock herself out in this neighbourhood. She helped Eleanor out and locked the doors. Eleanor had finally agreed to use a cane to walk but it was a slow and laborious process. How Eden missed the days of dashing to and fro.

  The apartment building itself was simple and unimpressive: three stories high, rectangular in shape, stained stucco siding. Eden spotted the grimy intercom with the list of surnames and apartment numbers. L. Emerson was listed beside the number 304. She pushed 101 for the manager.

  “Who is it?” He spoke in a raspy voice she could barely understand.

  “It’s Eden Kelley. I’m here to see Lillian Emerson’s apartment.”

  “You’ll have to speak up. C’aint hear ya.”

  Eden shouted her name and purpose at the little black box. The door buzzed and they walked in.

  The first door on the right opened and a robust, red-faced gentlemen Eden guessed to be in his sixties, with a five o’clock shadow—it was only ten thirty in the morning—greeted them in the hall.

  “Howdy. I’m Harry. Let me just get the extra key and I’ll let ya in.”

  The household aromas of fifty-some tenants mingled together with a musty, smoky, greasy essence. The complex wasn’t exactly a dump. Eden could tell someone was making an effort to keep the place up with fresh paint and new pictures in the lobby, but the carpet was dated and worn despite apparent shampooings.

  The quiver of the elevator as it moved upward, plus the tight confined space unsettled Eleanor. She moved in closer to Eden and clasped her arm tightly. Sharing the experience with a large, strange man in a muscle shirt, Eden was sure, didn’t help either.

  “I’ve missed seeing Miss Emerson around. So sorry to hear she ain’t comin’ back.” Harry opened the door to 304. “Here ya be, Miss. Everything’s just the way she left it. Make sure you lock the door when ya leave. Let me know what ya decide.” He turned back to the elevator leaving Eden and Eleanor to be greeted with a waft of stale air. Eden went directly to the window and hoisted it open.

  Eleanor sat in a wooden rocking chair, tightly gripping her cane, it seemed to Eden, for dear life, and began to sing off key, “We’ll build a dream house so lovely…”

  “It’s okay, Mom. It’s Lillian’s place, remember?” Eden chided herself for using the word “remember.” She turned her back to Eleanor and looked around. Not much had changed since the last time she had been there, except it seemed to have shrunk. It had been years since she last laid eyes on the place—aqua counter tops with little black and silver speckles, pink sink and bathroom fixtures and an avocado-coloured shag rug. Grimacing, Eden absorbed the enormity of the task before her. Aunt Lil had saved everything. Every bit of space was occupied by something. There was excess furniture, and the countertops and shelves were cluttered with ornaments and porcelain figurines.

  Eden fished through the cupboards to find them packed with dishes and plastic containers. She mentally calculated the excessive number of Tupperware parties Aunt Lillian must have attended over the years.

  There was no way she was going to go through all that stuff. She called a second hand charity organisation and arranged for a truck to come clear it out. Anything they didn’t want would go to the dump.

  “Just you and me forever and a day…” Eleanor sang on, rocking back and forth in the creaky old chair. “Love will not die…”

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that, Mom.” Maybe it was the stuffy air, or her general state of sleep deprivation, but the creaking chair made Eden’s skin feel like it was crawling off her body. Eleanor’s singing should have appealed to Eden’s soft side, but instead it added to her anxiety, and she tensed like a wound-up toy. She had an invisible key sticking out of her back and an unseen hand was cruelly twisting it. She almost grabbed Eleanor’s arm and dashed out of the place, but something tugged at her conscience. Aunt Lil’s whole life was in that apartment. Eden owed it to her to at least spot check the place. Maybe she had valuables hiding in some secret wall safe or stuffed in an old pillow. You never knew with old folks.

  If Aunt Lillian had anything of value, Eden thought it would probably be in her bedroom. Eleanor followed her there and sat on the bed, her off-pitch singing increasing in volume.

  “… west of the moon…”

  “Mom, if you’re going to be in here with me, you’ll have to stop that singing. I mean it.” Another twist of the key in her back. Eden massaged her temples. Now she had a headache.

  The dresser top flaunted several fancy perfume bottles and more figurines. What was it
with old people and figurines?

  The drawers were filled with the expected: large-sized bras and underpants, nightgowns, polyester slacks, and a full selection of scarves. Rummaging through the stuff racked Eden with uneasiness. She felt like a cat burglar. Besides, Aunt Lillian wasn’t even dead. This was an incredible invasion of privacy, but she knew it had to be done.

  Eleanor howled, “…east of the sun, and west of the moon…”

  “Mom, please, please, stop that!” Eden whipped a small pillow across the room. Eleanor didn’t seem to notice. She’d been on repeat with this song for several days now. It wouldn’t hurt her to sing a different one occasionally, would it? Mix it up a bit.

  A dusty photograph in a cheap frame sat beside a box of Kleenex. Eden plucked a tissue to wipe off the dust. It was a picture Eden recognised from her mother’s collection: her mom and dad the day they graduated. Shiny bronze “1946” pins were attached to the caps.

  It was hard for Eden to believe that the woman in this picture was the same woman now singing like a sad cat on the edge of the bed. Her mother really was beautiful when she was younger. Her eyes were clear and full of promise for the future.

  Then there was her dad. So young and skinny! Even in her earliest memories her dad had a round belly and grey streaky hair. It was a curiosity to her that even though they were obviously friends from a very young age, her parents didn’t get married until so many years later.

  Slowly, it washed over her, something unsettling—a question.. She started rifling through more of Aunt Lillian’s things. What went on during those eighteen years? Suddenly Eden had to know. A piece of history she never cared about or even thought of much before instantly obsessed her. There had to be clues to the past, somewhere in that room.

  “Mom, what happened back then? Huh? Why do I get the feeling you and Dad hid something from me?”

  Eden searched the closet. Nothing but old dresses on hangers and rows of size eight shoes. She rifled through the drawers and night tables on either side of the bed. Nose spray and a bottle of prescription pills on one side, a couple paperback novels on the other. Nothing to help her quest. She knelt down to peek under the bed, blowing dust bunnies away from her face. Bingo. Old photo albums.