The Four Seasons

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Jilly’s breath caught. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “If Birdie finds out she’ll be crushed. She’ll think—” His face hardened with resolution. “I don’t want her to ever doubt that I loved her.”

  “Loved?” Her ears perked. “Past tense?”

  Dennis only shrugged in reply. “One thing is certain, I sure as hell don’t want Hannah dragged into this.”

  “You’re worrying too much. First of all, Hannah doesn’t even suspect the connection so she won’t be looking. Secondly, there is no baby. Spring, or whatever her name is, is twenty-six years old. Third, whatever the truth is, we’ll have to deal with it.”

  “It’s not always wise to expose all truths, Jilly. In families, sometimes it’s best to keep a few secrets.”

  “What you don’t know won’t hurt you, right?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Wrong.” She absently tapped her pockets for a cigarette and mentally cursed when she found nothing. She lifted her head, then saw with a wry smile a pack of Parliament cigarettes offered. Dennis smoked? She pulled out a cigarette, put it in her mouth, then bent a bit forward, allowing him to light it. She had to touch his hand to steady it, just a laying of the fingertips on his knuckles, but she felt the heat. Just the time it took for two drags, but it seemed to last forever. She pulled back, drawing in, then releasing a long plume. Oh, boy, she thought to herself. She would feel the spark now. Looking up, she knew from the uncertain expression on his face that he felt it, too.

  “Like old times,” he said.

  She was relieved to hear him chuckle. With his hands in his pockets, leaning against the porch beam with a shy smile on his face, she could see the high school boy in the man. “I didn’t know you still smoked.”

  “I sneak one once in a while.”

  It was a pitiful statement for a grown man to make. “Birdie?” she said with affection.

  “Yeah, Birdie.” His voice was pained.

  He loved his wife, it was written all over his face. “Listen, Dennis, I don’t want to hurt you or Birdie, or Rose, and least of all sweet Hannah. I won’t tell anyone anything. Unless they ask me. And then—” she lifted her hands “—I’ll tell the truth. We may think we’re lying for the family’s good, but the bottom line is we’re just perpetuating the lie.” She looked up at the old, deteriorating Victorian. “We’re cleaning house,” she continued. “Inside and out. And when we’re done, we’re all going to have to pack up our baggage, no matter how tattered, and move on.”

  Dennis looked at her for a long time. His seriousness was one of the things she liked best about him.

  “I’m asking you not to take Birdie and Hannah along.”

  “You’re asking the wrong person. That’s not up to me. But I won’t urge them to go. I can do this without them.”

  He considered this and she saw his face harden in decision. “I’m leaving now. Tell Birdie I’ve taken the train. I’ll leave the car for her.”

  Jilly did a double take. “You’re leaving Evanston?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m leaving Birdie.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s been a long time coming.”

  “If it’s about this trip, I’ll talk to her. I know she’s headstrong, but nothing is worth…”

  “No. It’s more than that. I’d rather she didn’t go.” He sent her a pulsing look. “You know why. But she’s determined and I know her too well to argue with her when her mind’s made up. And frankly, I’m tired of arguing. Tired of asking. Don’t, Jilly,” he said as she opened her mouth to speak. “Please. Just tell her that I’ve gone.”

  He turned, then stopped. When he turned back toward her she saw the emotions at war in his eyes. He placed his hands on her shoulders, kissed her forehead and said softly near her ear, “I wish I could have been there for you years ago, at least as a friend. I won’t stand in your way now.” He pulled back and his eyes dimmed. Suddenly he appeared older once again. “Goodbye, then, and good luck.”

  Her eyes moistened so she only saw a blur of motion when he walked down the stairs and away from the house.

  Dear DannyBoy,

  I can’t believe it! We’re actually going. Tomorrow morning.

  I’m nervous. I’m scared. And it’s all absolutely delicious. Imagine me, going on a trip! I’ve gone over the route a hundred times. I got the best maps from the Internet. Plus, I’m making lots of tapes of my favorite music to listen to in the car, packing nutritious snacks so we won’t have to eat junk, and don’t laugh, but I’m even bringing lots of bubble bath. Jilly says it’s her best remedy for being keyed up. I could keep a journal, but I have you. I love knowing I’ll be able to write to you on the road. I remember what you wrote about looking forward to my letters at the end of the day. It’s true for me as well. It makes me feel more connected to you.

  Bye-bye!

  Rosebud

  Dear Rosebud,

  Welcome to my world. You will love the open road. Sometimes the traffic can be tough around the cities, but in the country, especially up in northern Wisconsin where you’re headed, the hills are mild and the roads are winding. You’ll see big dairy farms with black and whites grazing, silos waiting to be filled with grain, and pretty soon, you might catch the first faint spring green haze that seems to float around the gray tree branches.

  I’m still heading west toward Wichita. The roads here are flat and I can see for miles. Easy driving. Times like these, I wish you were sitting here beside me chatting, instead of only talking on this e-mail. As I ride along I think of you. I wonder what you look like. What color is your hair? Your eyes? What’s your smile like?

  Curious,

  DannyBoy

  11

  JILLY, BIRDIE, ROSE AND HANNAH drove north toward Wisconsin. They’d packed lightly, stashing their luggage in the back of the Land Rover along with Rose’s laptop computer, bottles of water and juice, audiotapes, books, and several bags of groceries that Rose had insisted that they’d need.

  Birdie had volunteered to take the first turn at the wheel. Dressed for comfort in khakis, a long-sleeved flannel shirt and a down vest, she drove with her eyes on the road, not much in the mood for conversation. Jilly took her turn next. She enjoyed the feel of the road and the scenery; it had been a long time since she’d traveled across America. Likewise, Rose’s eyes, vivid behind her pale lashes, were limpid with worry as she turned to gaze out the window. She was dressed simply in a long denim skirt and a white cotton sweater. Her tiny feet were tucked into scuffed black penny loafers and were propped up over bags of snacks she had packed for the journey. Her long red hair was tied back in its usual braid and hung over her shoulder.

  Jilly’s heart ached for her. Even though she’d been excited to go, the act of leaving the house that morning had been a trial. She had to count the bags in the back of the car over and over, then she went over the route with a simmering Birdie for the tenth time, and before she’d leave, she had to check that she had locked every door. Jilly had traveled so much in her life, she’d felt jaded in comparison.

  “I suppose we should start thinking about a place to spend the night,” she suggested.

  “I’ve marked the page of the area we’ll be staying in,” said Rose, opening up the tour guide from the AAA. “It’s slim pickings, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m starved,” Hannah moaned.

  “Let’s settle into the motel first and then find a place to eat,” Birdie replied.

  “Or we can bring food in,” Rose said.

  “I don’t care where we stay as long as it has a nice bathroom,” Jilly chimed in. “I’m dying for a hot bath.”

  “We should probably get two rooms. One for Hannah and me, and one for you and Rose,” added Birdie. “I’ll cover the cost of ours and you two can split the other.”

  “I want to stay with Aunt Jilly,” Hannah said.

  Birdie felt the pang of rebuff and replied, “Do what you want. Makes no differenc
e to me. Oh, look, there’s a sign for a Marriott. They’re usually quite nice.”

  “That’s not one of the ones I circled.” Rose flipped through the pages until she found the listing. “It’s pretty expensive.”

  “How much?”

  “Let’s see…One hundred forty-five for a double.” She frowned and skipped a beat. “How many nights will we be there?”

  “I can’t afford it,” Jilly said bluntly, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

  “What?” Birdie said with surprise.

  Jilly’s hands tightened on the wheel. The day had brought them closer together, and the feeling of camaraderie was high. It was now or never. “I guess this is as good a time as any.” She cleared her throat. “I’m broke.” She glanced in the rearview mirror to see all eyes on her. “I’m not kidding. I don’t know how long this search will take or how much cash I’ll have to lay out for information. I figure I’ve got enough to last a few weeks if we stay at modest motels and away from four-star restaurants. I’m talking real modest motels, Birdie. As in, clean would be nice, if you get my meaning.”

  There was a stunned silence.

  Jilly flushed, but was relieved to have told them.

  “What happened to all your money?” Rose asked when she could find her voice. “You had gobs of dough. And what about your fur coat and jewelry?”

  “Your husband was a Rothschild!” Birdie exclaimed.

  “The jewelry’s been sold. This ring?” Jilly lifted her hand and wiggled her finger, upon which sat a chunk of diamond. “Fake. You never get anything for a fur so I kept it, and as for my last husband, he was as fake as the ring. A handsome but poor relation to the main branch of the family. He swindled my money to pay off his gambling debts. I woke up one morning with a hangover and an empty bank account.”

  “The creep!” Hannah exclaimed, but it was clear from her dazzled expression that she was eating this drama up.

  “You’re lucky to be rid of him,” Birdie said.

  Jilly was pleased to see fury shoot from her sister’s eyes. “Well, yeah, I know that now. Unfortunately it was a very expensive mistake made at a bad time in my life. In four short years my charming husband managed to squander what it took me twenty years to save. The cushion I’d planned on is gone and I can’t readily make my fortune again. I’m too old.”

  “You’re not old,” Rose countered.

  “Look at Hannah’s fresh skin, then look at mine. The camera never lies.” She peeked in the rearview mirror and her eyes crinkled to see Hannah sit up, alert and glowing to have been singled out for the compliment. “So the bottom line is, until I get my hands on my share from the sale of the house, I’m living on a shoestring.” She paused. “I’m sorry I was such a stinker about the money when we read the will, but now you know why. Being broke scares me.”

  “I understand.” Rose’s lips turned upward in a teasing smile. “Especially if you’re as broke as me.”

  “Oh, I get it,” Birdie chimed in. “I guess you think I’m Miss Flushpockets on this joyride.”

  “Relatively speaking,” Jilly said with a laugh that spread to the others.

  “I’m glad you’re all laughing. Here’s the punch line. Ready? I’m spread so thin with mortgage payments, I’m in the same boat as you. It’s all on paper. All the cash is tied up. I’m what’s known as house poor.”

  “So we’re all in the same boat? Well whaddaya know?” Jilly tooted the horn as they started laughing in earnest.

  “I hate to say it,” Birdie said to Jilly when the laughing subsided, “but I’m rather glad you’re broke.” She smirked. “It levels the playing field a bit.”

  “You lived such a glamorous life,” Hannah said with an awestruck expression. “Compared to us.”

  “It wasn’t so glamorous,” Jilly replied thoughtfully. “Actually, it got very tedious. Everyone trying to compete with one another, no one ever really listening, or caring. There wasn’t anyone you could really trust. Ambition can get quite ugly. It was all about being seen. Very empty, actually. Very lonely.”

  Rose leaned forward in the seat, resting her arm on the headrest. “But won’t you miss living in Paris?”

  “Me? No, not at all. My career is over.” She paused, then added with a hint of sentiment, “It was time to come home.”

  Home. Rose had always thought of Evanston, Illinois, as home. She’d never lived anywhere else. What would it be like, she wondered, to explore a new place, to create a new home, all on one’s own? How would she go about trying to find a new grocery store, or get a new library card? How would she feel not knowing where to go for the best flowers or bread, or to walk down the street and have no one know her name? She turned her head and stared out the window at the strange landscape they whisked by.

  Home. Birdie shivered under her down vest, wondering what was to become of her home. How could Dennis just leave on the afternoon train to Milwaukee without saying a word to her? They were tense, that was all, she told herself. The funeral, Jilly’s arrival, the will, and now this search for Spring—it was all too much. She’d call him later tonight, just to make sure he was all right. He was cruel to call her a nag. She had to keep on top of things or else everything at home would fall apart. That was her job, as the mom. She was only trying to help him—and Hannah. She glanced at her daughter on the seat beside her. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the worry that her home had fallen apart already.

  Home. Jilly drove for a while in a comfortable silence, rolling the word over in her mind. It held such meaning, even for a homeless wretch like herself. She’d lived in houses and flats, one more grand than the next, all over Europe. But she’d never really considered anywhere else home but the old Victorian on Michigan Avenue. With its overgrown hydrangeas, wraparound porch and marvelous filigree, it was the place where she stored all her memories.

  Yet, driving north in this large car with her sisters and niece, it occurred to her that this small space was home, too. And whatever two-star motel they could afford to stay in tonight would also be home. Whenever, wherever the Seasons were together, that was home. Because home wasn’t a place but a state of mind.

  “Are we there yet?”

  The sisters smirked at the classic kid’s remark from Hannah.

  “Did you know that the polka is Wisconsin’s state dance?” volunteered Rose, trying to make things interesting.

  “It’s getting late,” said Birdie with a groan. She was driving the last leg of the trip. “I think we should just take the next motel we can find.”

  “Please do,” Jilly said, gently massaging her neck, “before Rose tells us the state flower.”

  “It’s the wood violet.”

  Everyone groaned.

  They had long passed through Green Bay, a bustling town dominated by paper mills and bordered by hardwood forests. They’d also passed plenty of Holiday Inns, Comfort Suites and Super 8 Motels. They’d all agreed to move on closer to Marian House. Now they were back in the country, snaking around wooded hills and muddy fields still littered with patches of snow and ice. It was a harsh landscape this time of year. Spring had not yet taken hold this far north.

  Birdie was getting worried. The temperature was dropping by the minute as the late afternoon cast a gray pall on the horizon. She hoped it wouldn’t snow. She boosted the heater a bit, deciding that she didn’t care how much the next place cost. She’d pay for everyone, go into debt, whatever, if she could just get out of the car. She rubbed the small of her back; it was killing her. They should be in the town of Hodges soon, she told herself, pushing on the gas pedal and risking the ticket.

  A half hour later they arrived at the small dairy town. Hodges was a quaint place, though rather depressed. Charming redbrick buildings tilting with age and disrepair were graced with elaborate but timeworn architectural details. They lined both sides of Main Street and housed the town’s newspaper, a small drugstore, a diner, a bank, a bookstore, Meeske’s grocery and a number of antique shops. Birdie slowed to th
e speed limit of twenty-five, and as they drove along the narrow street, they all peered out the windows with heightened curiosity.

  “This would have been a thriving town back when dairy farming was booming,” Birdie commented.

  “It’s like something out of a Stephen King novel,” Hannah said.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s charming,” Rose said. “Did you know that milk and cheese products are still the chief exports of Wisconsin?”

  “I could go for a little wine and cheese about now,” said Jilly.

  “Let’s just hope they have a motel.”

  Jilly was about to say “Don’t worry, we’ll find a place” when she saw a small sign: River’s End Motel. Clean Rooms, Friendly Service, Reasonable Prices.

  “Sounds like our place,” Birdie exclaimed, noting the address. “What a nice name, River’s End.”

  They all agreed and had visions of comfortable beds, a television and a prettyish little river meandering outside their window. As Birdie crossed a charming bridge over a narrow river of clear water, her hopes soared. They passed a lovely white house with black shutters that was a bed-and-breakfast. Unfortunately, it had an Occupied sign in the window. The road dipped lower. They crossed a railroad track and there, wedged on a narrow strip of land between the track and a shallow tributary of the river, was the River’s End Motel.

  Her heart sank, and from the silence in the car, she knew the feeling was mutual. There was no graceful entry or even a driveway to the motel. A dozen small rooms fanned to the left, each with an identical picture window and a cheap brown wood door. A dozen identical rooms spread to the right, joined by a small A-framed office.

  “Oh, great,” said Jilly, giving voice to what they were all thinking. “Just what we wanted. A cheap imitation of an early Howard Johnson. Man, oh man, if the girls in Paris could see me now.”

  “Paris? Heck, if the girls in Milwaukee could see me now,” Hannah joined in.

  Birdie pulled to a stop in front of the office and rolled down the window. “It’s worse than I thought. The building is made of cement blocks. Look, you can see the square outlines under that lovely shade of poo-brown paint.”