After the Summer Rain

by Gerri Hill

  She stood up then and nudged Fred with her hiking stick. “Coming or going?” He struggled to his feet, then shook himself. She motioned back down the trail from which they’d come. “Go on home.”

  He watched her as she walked on, then she saw him lie down again. Apparently he was going to wait on her to return. She really didn’t have time for a hike. She’d picked a huge basket of green beans that morning and needed to start her canning. There always seemed to be something to do, but she’d been craving a hike. Mainly because she knew her free time would be limited fairly soon.

  Because Stella had warned her that she didn’t think the new guest—Erin Ryder—would last more than a day with Rachel. That meant she would be dropped in Melanie’s lap sooner rather than later.

  “I get the feeling she didn’t come here willingly,” Stella had told her when she’d come by to visit. “When I left her at Rachel’s place earlier, I thought she was going to cry. She seemed completely lost and so, so sad. It almost broke my heart.”

  “Why come at all if not willingly?”

  “I don’t know. Her sister brought her to Silver City. It appears that the sister did all of the planning. Why, Erin didn’t even know about our rules, for goodness sake. She seemed shocked. And no cell phone service? Why, you’d think the world was coming to an end.”

  Melanie smiled as she walked on. Yeah, she knew that feeling. If she hadn’t fallen in love with the place, that may have been a deal breaker. She had been as attached to her phone as anyone. However, she’d found if she hiked to the top of the bluff behind her house—and the weather conditions were perfect—she got enough of a signal to call someone. Not that there was anyone to call. Not anymore. She’d been away too long now.

  Internet? Yes, she was the only one out here who had it. Satellite Internet was better than nothing, but it was sometimes slow and sometimes nonexistent, depending on the weather. And she and Angela were the only ones to have satellite TV, which she rarely turned on except during the long winter nights. Stella still made use of the old antenna on her house, which got her all of two stations. Some of the others didn’t have TV at all.

  But that was another of Stella’s rules—no sharing the Internet with guests. They were here to “get away from all that nonsense” was her mantra. And actually, that was usually the case. Stella was always upfront with the guests before they came. No cell phone service, no Internet, no nothing.

  “Maybe she’s sick,” Stella had offered. “Maybe she got a bad diagnosis. Cancer, maybe. Wouldn’t that be awful?” She’d waved her hand in the air. “I suppose you’ll find out soon enough, dear. I fear Rachel is going to run the young thing off.”

  “Young? How young?”

  “Oh, honey, at my age, everyone is young. She did look a bit unhealthy, though. Thin as a rail, clothes just hanging off her. Hard to say how old she is. Such a shame. She was probably once very pretty. I hope we can help heal her.”

  Melanie took a deep breath and looked up into the sky as she released it. There were enough of them here that they usually only had to host once per year, two at the most. If Stella lowered her cost, she’d probably have more customers, but the high prices kept the “riffraff” out, she claimed. And of course, if she actually advertised, they might have more guests too. Most of their visitors were from word-of-mouth or repeat customers and the rare ones who stumbled upon their rather simple website. Honestly, Melanie was thankful Stella didn’t do more. She’d become somewhat of a hermit, she supposed. Having to host complete strangers for a week at a time—or even a long weekend—took her out of her comfort zone.

  Three months?

  Oh, she really didn’t know how she was going to last three months. Her cabin was too small for extended company. She’d only added the second bedroom and tiny, tiny bathroom to the plans after Stella had insisted. Most of the guests, though, were never really underfoot. They went out on their own, hiking and exploring, usually only coming back in for meals.

  There was the one time she’d hosted a couple, both in their fifties, who wanted to experience the farm life. They thought maybe they might want to move out there some day. They hadn’t been interested in hiking. They’d been interested in the garden. Melanie had put them to work and after three days they’d decided that living in El Paso wasn’t so bad after all.

  She wondered what Erin Ryder would be like?

  “Guess I’m about to find out.”

  Chapter Seven

  “No.”

  “It’s not hard to learn, Erin. Why, in the three months you’ll be here, you could have a whole afghan knitted. Maybe even two, if you really work at it,” Rachel said with enthusiasm.

  Erin pushed the beans around on her plate, a plate that Rachel had fixed for her. Besides the beans—which were bland and tasteless—there was squash and broccoli, all cooked to a soft mush. Nothing else. There wasn’t even a saltshaker on the table. She put her fork down.

  “I think I’m full, Rachel.”

  “Full? Why, you haven’t eaten even half of it. No wonder you’re so thin,” she fussed. “As Stella said, we need to get some meat on your bones.”

  She stood up anyway and picked up her plate. “What should I do with this?”

  “Don’t you want to save it for later? Seems a waste to throw it away.”

  Erin put the plate beside the sink. Rachel could do with it as she pleased. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Bed? It’s not even seven o’clock.”

  Erin ignored that comment and shuffled off to her room. She closed the door, then leaned back against it, staring at her bags, which were still at the foot of the bed. A bed that was covered in a godawful flowery spread. She wasn’t really surprised when a tear ran down her cheek. Instead of wiping it away, she moved onto the bed. She curled into a ball and clutched a pillow to her.

  Her mind felt heavy. Her body felt heavy. So heavy, she was afraid the weight might crush her. After Sarah left her, she didn’t think she could possibly be any lonelier than she’d been. But right here, right now…

  This felt different somehow. Much worse. Maybe because she was out of her element, away from home, away from work, away from…who? Her friends? No. As Joyce had said, there were no friends anymore. Who did she have? Her dad? Joyce? Was that it?

  Yes. That was it. Them. And the job. But right here, right now she had no one, not even the job.

  She closed her eyes, no longer trying to keep her tears inside.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay with her,” she said as quietly as she could the next morning. Stella had come to check on her, and while Rachel poured them all a cup of coffee, decaf no less, Erin had leaned closer. “You’ve got to get me out of here.”

  “Of course, dear. You’re paying a pretty penny to be here. I won’t ask you to stay somewhere if you don’t want to.”

  A pretty penny? How much was she paying? Joyce had taken care of everything. Truth be told, if Erin had to look at a map, she wouldn’t even know where she was.

  Stella leaned closer too. “What is it that you don’t like, dear?”

  Erin blinked at her. It would be easier to tell her what she did like, which was nothing. “She served me beans and broccoli for dinner last night. We had the exact same thing for breakfast. She only has decaffeinated coffee and my head is about to split in two. There is no TV. She wants me to knit,” she finished. “Please. I need someplace else.”

  “Here’s your coffee,” Rachel said, putting a cup in front of her. Rachel turned to Stella, nearly beaming. “I think I’ve just about got her talked into knitting. We’re going to have so much fun.”

  If her head didn’t hurt so much, she would almost feel sorry for leaving. Rachel was obviously lonely and wanted the company. But her head did hurt and she didn’t feel sorry for her. Her hand was shaking as she took a sip of the useless decaffeinated coffee which had been diluted even further with cream. God, why hadn’t she stashed some Red Bulls in her bag?

  Stella
patted Rachel’s hand lovingly. “Rachel, dear, I hate to do this to you, but I’m going to have to pull Erin away from here.”

  Rachel’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she…she—”

  “I hate beans,” Erin said bluntly. “I hate decaf coffee. I hate broccoli. I might use the knitting needles as a weapon.”

  “But…”

  “I’m sorry.” She rubbed her temple. “I’m having major caffeine withdrawals—and I’m likely to go postal if I don’t get a real cup of coffee. Soon. Very soon.”

  Rachel frowned. “Go postal? I don’t understand.”

  “I think she means she’s going to throw a hissy fit and maybe start throwing things or something. Or worse, come after you with the knitting needles.”

  Rachel touched her chest, her eyes wide. “Oh, my.”

  Thirty minutes later, they were in Stella’s truck bouncing down the crude road, leaving Rachel standing on her porch, watching them.

  “I’m sorry,” Erin said again.

  “Nothing to apologize for, dear. Rachel has lost her zest for cooking, I’m afraid. She cooks up a big batch of beans every Sunday and eats on that all week. It suits her, but I’m afraid she doesn’t realize that she needs to offer her guests something more.”

  “Why did you put me with her then?”

  “Well, it was her turn.”

  “Her turn?”

  “We take turns hosting, you see. Whoever’s turn it is, they get a percentage of the money you’re paying—since they’re providing you with room and board—and the rest goes into the general fund. That money is used on repairs and such, whatever is needed.”

  “And that’s your sole source of income?”

  “We make out just fine. Expenses are minimal, for the most part.”

  “So…I don’t really even know what this place is. My sister kinda found you.”

  “I figured as much. I own all the land. I bought it with my grandmother’s inheritance. Seven hundred acres. When we accept someone new to the tribe, they’re free to pick out their homestead. They’re then responsible for their house, however they choose to live.”

  Erin frowned. “Why?”

  Stella frowned too. “Why what, dear?”

  “Why would someone live out here? Move here?”

  Stella laughed. “I moved here forty-three years ago. Being a lesbian out there in the world,” she said, motioning out the window, “was a scary thing back then. You couldn’t live openly. I understand it’s different today, but I wouldn’t know, really. The only time I get off the ranch is when we go to Silver City to shop or to pick up guests.”

  “So you’re all lesbians? Even Rachel?”

  “Yes. Well, that’s not actually a requirement any longer. A woman is a woman, I say. We have only two, however, who aren’t like the rest of us. They’re both in their late sixties now and perfectly content here with us.”

  “How many live here?”

  “Seventeen of us left. At one time, we had nearly thirty. But some moved away—they missed family—and others passed on. There’s not much new blood coming in. That’s why we were so excited when Melanie came here. She was a pretty young thing, barely thirty when she joined us. Then Angela came six years ago, I think it was. She’s young too. Not yet sixty.” She sighed wistfully. “The rest of us, we’re getting on in age. Some, like Rachel, can barely tend to their gardens. I worry what’s going to happen to us all. And God forbid if Mel or Angela moved away. I can’t even think about that.”

  The main road curved to the left around a large pine, but Stella took a smaller, less used road to the right, hitting a hole that jolted them both. Stella glanced at her, a smile on her face.

  “Are you…one of us, Erin?”

  Erin grabbed the dash as they bounced through another hole. “One of you? Are you asking if I’m gay?”

  “Lesbian, yes. In my day, gay referred to men.”

  “I see. Yes, I’m a lesbian. I assume that’s why my sister picked this place. She thought I’d fit in.”

  “Are you looking to escape the world out there, Erin?” she asked almost excitedly. “We’d love—”

  “No, no, no. This isn’t for me, Stella. I’m a city girl.”

  Stella scoffed. “I was born and raised on the outskirts of Los Angeles. And Valerie, believe it or not, was from Manhattan. You can’t get any more city than that.”

  Erin shook her head. “Sorry, no. I’m just here to do my time, then I’m gone.”

  “Do your time? Are you in trouble with the law?” she asked sharply. “Because your sister never—”

  “No. I’m in trouble with my father. And my sister. Not the law.”

  “So you have a three-month ‘sentence’ then?”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “What did you do to land you out here?”

  Erin stared out the window, noting they were following the creek again. She turned to Stella. “I guess I…I was trying to kill myself.”

  “Oh my.”

  Chapter Eight

  Melanie wasn’t really surprised to see Stella’s old truck coming down the lane. She glanced at the coffeepot, which was nearly empty. She poured what remained into her cup and went about making another pot. Fred barked a couple of times, alerting her to company, then he headed back to his spot under the rosebushes.

  She’d already tidied the cabin and got the guest room ready. She had a soup on the stove at a low simmer. She’d found soups to be a good starting point until she found out what her guests liked. Unlike most of the others who simply made their normal meals, she tried to be a little more accommodating to her guests’ tastes.

  With one more glance around the cabin, she went to the door, pausing to look at herself in the small mirror that was on the wall. She brushed at the blond hair that fell into her eyes and automatically tucked it behind one ear in what she knew was a nervous gesture. Then she took a deep breath and opened the door just as Stella was coming up the steps.

  Melanie’s gaze went past Stella, landing on a tall but very thin woman. Thin…gaunt almost. She had dark circles under her eyes and her brown hair hung limply—lifeless—around her face. Melanie stared at her for a moment, recognizing something—herself, perhaps?—in her dark eyes. She looked lost. Melanie wondered if Stella’s guess that she was ill might indeed be correct. The clothes she wore appeared to be two sizes too large for her.

  “Good morning,” she said pleasantly.

  “Good morning, dear.” Stella stepped aside. “This is Erin Ryder. Things didn’t work out with Rachel, I’m afraid. Erin, this is Melanie West. Everyone calls her Mel. I hope you’ll be more comfortable here.”

  Melanie held her hand out to greet the other woman, but the woman’s dark, hazel eyes looked past her. “Do you have any coffee? Real coffee? Please?”

  Melanie lowered her hand with a quick glance at Stella. “Real coffee?”

  “Not that decaf crap,” the woman said bluntly.

  “Oh. Yes.”

  Stella leaned closer. “Caffeine withdrawal. Headache. It’s not pretty,” she whispered loud enough for Erin to hear.

  “I see. Of course.” She pushed the door open fully. “Come in. I just made a fresh pot.”

  Erin walked in ahead of them both, heading directly for the kitchen and her coffee. Melanie closed the door, watching; Erin’s hands were shaking as she poured a cup. The cabin was open, nothing separating the living room from the kitchen except a breakfast bar, as she called it. It could also be called a lunch and dinner bar as that was her only table.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Melanie whispered to Stella.

  “I’m not sure. She’s a little…well, grumpy.”

  “Great,” she murmured.

  “Let me get her bags, dear.”

  “I’ll help you.” Melanie glanced back at the woman who was leaning against her counter, holding the cup of coffee between both hands as if it was a life-sustaining elixir. And perhaps it was. She had a fee
ling this was going to be a very long three months.

  “Oh, Mel. Now you know how Rachel is,” Stella said as they walked off the porch. “Her and her beans. Poor Erin there got served last night’s dinner for breakfast too.”

  “Yes, we all know how Rachel is. Why do you still continue to let her host? They never last. It seems to have gotten worse in the last few years.”

  “I know, but she so looks forward to the company.”

  Melanie laughed. “She must know that she runs them off. And this one? She looks…I don’t know, frail—yet tough at the same time.”

  “She told me that this was a jail sentence for her. She doesn’t want to be here, but it’s something her father and sister are making her do.” She leaned closer to her, her voice quiet. “She must have tried to commit suicide or something.”

  “What?” she asked sharply, her breath catching. “And you’re dumping her off with me? I don’t make a very good therapist, Stella.”

  “Who should I leave her with then?”

  “How about Angela?”

  Stella shook her head. “No. Angela has no patience.”

  “And I do?”

  “Of course you do, Mel. We’re all demanding of your time. There’s so much we can’t do anymore. You always come when we ask, never complaining.”

  “That’s completely different. This? I don’t do drama well. And this one? If she doesn’t want to be here? There’s going to be drama.”

  “Oh, Mel…you can handle her.” She patted her hand reassuringly. “Perhaps you should skip beans for dinner, though.”

  With a sigh, she watched Stella drive off. Suicide? No. She could not handle that. She absolutely could not handle that. Then she turned to stare at the door. Her door. She took several deep breaths, then picked up two of the three bags of luggage and went inside. She found Erin Ryder still in the kitchen, staring out the window. Melanie followed her gaze, seeing the chickens scratching in what was left of the spring grasses.