“You were just a toddler when we came back here the last time. You were too little to remember. Cala and Mike spent the whole time sliding down the banister. It’s a wonderful old house. All the beams and wainscoting are original, as are the wooden pegs they used for nails back in those days. The floors are solid oak. They could stand to be refinished at some point. The people Mr. Dunwoodie hired to clean everything up did a good job. It’s more than livable.”
“It’s freezing in here,” Calla grumbled.
“Guess that means you kids have to go outside to the woodshed and bring in some wood. Mr. Dunwoodie said he had two cords of cherry wood delivered. In the meantime I’ll turn up the thermostat and hope it works. Take your gear upstairs, pick out a bedroom, and put on an extra sweater. This house was always drafty, and heat rises,” Kristine said, pointing to the high ceilings. “I want to check out the kitchen to make sure the stove and water pump work.”
“Are you saying we have to pump water too?” There was such disgust on Mike’s face, Kristine cringed.
“If you want water, that’s exactly what you do,” Kristine said, her patience wearing thin. She wondered what her children would say and do when they saw the archaic contraption that heated the water in the upstairs bathroom.
Kristine was priming the pump in the kitchen when she heard her daughter’s screech. “One bathroom! There’s only one bathroom up here! What am I supposed to do? There’s no vanity either. What the hell is this . . . thing?”
Kristine knuckled her burning eyes. She would not cry. She absolutely would not cry. “You should be here, Logan. We should be doing this together. They wouldn’t be acting this way if you were here,” she muttered under her breath as a steady stream of rusty water shot from the pump spout. She continued to pump water because it was something to do. She didn’t want to think about what Cala would say when she washed her hair for the first time in the hard well water. She wished she could lie down and go to sleep and not wake up until Logan walked through the door.
“It’s sleeting out, Mom. The temperature is dropping,” Tyler said, coming up behind her. “How much wood do you want us to bring in? I counted ten fireplaces in this house. Which ones do you want to light?”
“I guess you better light the ones in the bedrooms and the one here in the kitchen and the one in the living room. The heater doesn’t seem to be working. The propane tank could be empty. I’ll look into it tomorrow. I don’t think we’ll freeze. My mother had wonderful quilts and down comforters on all the beds. A lot of wood, Tyler. There’s a wood carrier in the shed that holds a lot of wood. Off the top of my head I’d say you need four loads. Bring it to the kitchen door. If the three of you work at it, you should be able to drag it up the kitchen staircase. My father used to do it on his own, so I think you three robust children should be able to handle it. It’s called, work, Tyler.”
“There’s no television set, Mom.”
“So there isn’t. I guess you’ll just have to miss the tube for one day until our belongings get here tomorrow. Read a book.”
“This is like one of those houses you see in horror movies,” Mike said as he slammed through the kitchen door behind Tyler. “What do you mean there’s no television set?”
Kristine clenched her teeth so hard she thought her jaw would crack when she opened the refrigerator. Eggs, a can of coffee, bread, butter, jam, bacon, juice, and milk. “This certainly takes the guess-work out of what to cook for dinner,” she muttered. Tomorrow things will be better, she thought.
Since the preparation time for dinner would be ten minutes or so, Kristine gathered up her baggage to carry upstairs. She shivered as she walked through the old house, drafts swirling about her legs. She took a minute to marvel at the old furniture, antiques really, and the fact that everything was in such good condition. Her own comfortable, worn furniture wasn’t going to fit in anywhere in this barn of a house. Still, she would have to spread it out for the children’s sake and gradually get rid of it. There was a lot to be said for antiques.
Cala swept by her on her way down the stairs. “I can’t believe you’re making me carry in firewood. That’s a man’s job.”
Kristine turned. “Cala?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t say yeah. I need to know why the three of you are so ... belligerent today. Why are you fighting me over every little thing? We belong in the United States. We’re citizens of this country. This is where we belong. Daddy’s tour is over, and this is what we decided to do. I grant you it’s an adjustment, but if we all pull together, we can make it work. In September you and Mike will be going off to college, so what’s the big deal. It’s nine months out of your life.”
“Daddy said it was your idea to come back here. He said since you never squawked about moving all over the world every couple of years, it was your turn now. Daddy didn’t care. He would have been happy staying in Germany. We didn’t want to come back here. You’re the one who wanted this move.”
“Of course I wanted it. Your father did, too. He was upset, Cala, about being passed over. He had no other choice. What kind of work would he have done over there? Nothing that paid any kind of money, that’s for certain. I would never renounce my citizenship to live in a foreign country. There’s too much unrest in Europe. I wanted us to be safe on our own soil.”
“Skip it, Mom. We’re here, so what difference does it make. Don’t think I’m joining one of those farmer 4-H clubs, either. I’m not going to have one thing in common with anyone around here. I know it, and so do Tyler and Mike. Right now Mike and I could go right into our second year of college. Tyler could be a freshman. Instead, we’re going to be going to some rinky-dink high school where we have to take classes we took two years ago. It’s not fair. There’s no stimulation in doing something like that. You didn’t think about that, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. I will now, though. Perhaps something can be worked out. I’ve been away so long I don’t know what the requirements or procedures are these days. Tomorrow when I take you to school I’ll find out. In the meantime, will you cut me some slack and help your brothers.”
“Sure, Mom. When I finish doing that, do you want me to plow the south forty?” Calla shot over her shoulder as she continued to stomp down the steps.
Kristine made her way to her old bedroom at the end of the long hallway. Her hand trembled as she turned the flowered white-ceramic knob. She found it amazing that everything was as she remembered it. The double four-poster was polished, as were the two oak dressers. Years ago there had been dresser scarves on them, along with all the junk young girls needed or thought they needed. The cushions on the old Boston rocker were faded but fluffed up by one of the cleaning crew who had gone through the house. The windows sparkled behind the Venetian blinds. She wondered what had happened to the Priscilla curtains her mother favored for the dormer windows. Rotted, she supposed. The seat cushion on the window seat matched the one on the old rocker. It, too, was faded but fluffed up. Old toys that were probably antiques by now marched across the white shelving that covered all four walls. How strange that her mother had kept things the way Kristine left them when she went off to college. She wondered if her mother ever came into this room when she was at school just to sit in the rocker and remember happy days when she was little. Reminiscing about past birthday parties, Christmases, and, of course, all those times when she was sick in bed with a cold.
Kristine sat down on the rocker, amazed that the dry old wood didn’t squeak on the shiny hardwood floor. She’d had a big old tiger cat named Solomon back then who sat on the rocker or on the window seat to wait for her to come home from school. He’d died when she was in her second year of college. Logan had never understood why she had to rush home because a stupid cat died. That was probably the only time in her life when she’d stood up to Logan and told him she didn’t give a good rat’s ass if he understood or not. She’d done nothing but cry for a solid week. Her first experience with death. She was back at school less
than two weeks when she was summoned home a second time. Nothing in the world could have prepared her for the deaths of her parents. According to Dunwoodie, her parents’ banker and trusted advisor, the barn had caught fire and her parents had rushed in to save the dogs and been overcome with smoke.
She hadn’t gone back to school that semester. Instead she’d sat in her rocker for months trying to figure out where her life was going. Logan had been so supportive during that awful time. It was Logan who put the dust covers on all the furniture, Logan who did all the things necessary to closing up a house, Logan who locked the door for the last time, and Logan who drove her away and held her hand when she looked back over her shoulder, tears streaming down her cheeks.
They’d come back to Virginia fifteen years ago when Logan’s elderly father passed away. Even then she was barely able to open the door and walk through her old home. Logan held her hand that time, too, while she struggled with the key.
Kristine rubbed at the tears in her eyes. It was all so long ago. Another time, another life.
As she unpacked her bag, Kristine wondered if living here with her family would be as good as the life they had led in all the foreign countries they’d lived in.
Logan’s picture was the first thing that came out of her bag. She set it on the night table next to a small onyx clock that no longer told time. It would be the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes in the morning and the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes at night. “I wish you were here, Logan,” she whispered. “We should be here together.” She was jolted to awareness when she heard a loud thump and squabbling coming from the hallway.
“Now look what you did. I’m not picking it up. You were supposed to hold up your end, Tyler. God, I hate it when you act like a press. ”
“Stuff it, Cala. I’m soaking wet, and I’m freezing. Mike should be on the bottom and I should be on the top with you.”
“Guess what, you jerk, we’re cold and wet, too. We still have three more loads to go, so get moving.”
“Do it yourself. I’ll make my own fire with my own wood. I’m sick and tired of getting dumped on by the two of you. I don’t give a shit if you’re twins or not. So there.”
“That’s enough,” Kris shouted from the hallway. “The quicker you get those fires going, the sooner you’ll be warm. You won’t be able to take a hot bath because there’s no propane.”
“Are you saving there’s no shower? I hate taking a bath because you just sit in your own dirty water. I hate this stinking place. I really hate it!” Cala said tearfully.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Now, get moving, and someone has to clean up all the splinters from the steps. I’ll start dinner.”
“I’m not hungry,” Mike muttered.
“Me either,” Tyler grumbled.
“What could there possibly be to eat in this dump?” Cala said, blowing her nose.
Kristine threw her hands in the air. “Fine, don’t eat. Starve. I’ve had it with the three of you.” She stared at the phone that suddenly pealed to life. A phone call! She picked up the receiver to hear her husband’s cheerful voice.
“Logan! Oh, Logan, it’s so good to hear from you. Is everything okay?”
“More to the point, is everything okay with you?”
“No. The kids hate it. There’s no heat. They’re giving me such a hard time. I guess we’re all just tired. The house is fine inside. It’s clean and there’s some food. Tomorrow I’ll get the propane. It’s sleeting out, and this house is drafty. At least the phone is working. I picked up our new station wagon.” Kristine lowered her voice to a hushed whisper so the children wouldn’t hear her. “This is the right thing, isn’t it, Logan. Moving here, I mean.”
“Kristine, what’s going on?”
“It’s the kids. They’re mouthy, disrespectful, and they hate it. Maybe it’s first-day jitters and tomorrow will be the first day of school in what they refer to as a rinky-dink farm school. Look. You didn’t call me to hear me complain. Do you miss us?”
“Of course I miss you. That’s why I called. Did the furniture get there?”
“Dunwoodie said it would arrive tomorrow afternoon. Do you think I should call a plumber to install a shower? No one likes to take a bath.”
“Sure. Make sure it’s all done before I get there. I hate a messy bathroom.” Logan chuckled. “Make sure you position my chair just right.”
“Yes, sir, Colonel Kelly, sir.”
“I’ll say good-bye then. I’ll try to call again next week. Take care of things, Kris. Love you, old girl. Let me talk to the kids now.”
Kristine crooked her finger at her oldest son. “Your father wants to talk to you.”
“Ah shit,” she heard Mike mutter. Cala sat down on the top step, her eyes murderous. Tyler leaned against the wall, shivering.
Kristine stepped over the fallen logs on the steps as she made her way to the kitchen. Her shoulders straightened imperceptibly as she slid strips of bacon into an old cast-iron skillet. Suddenly she felt better than she had in weeks. Logan would straighten the kids out in two seconds. Her husband loved her, but then she’d known that. Still, it was nice to hear the words occasionally. Now if she could just get the kids back on track, maybe things would fall into place.
What seemed like a long time later she heard movement behind her. She turned to see her three bedraggled-looking children. She smiled. “Dinner’s almost ready. Change your clothes. By the time you get down here the kitchen will be warm and toasty.”
“We’re sorry, Mom,” the three of them said in unison.
They were just mouthing words. Their eyes said they weren’t sorry at all. “Me too. Hurry now before you catch cold.”
“I’m starved,” Mike said.
“I could eat a horse,” Tyler said.
“I’ll settle for three eggs, four pieces of toast, and six slices of hacon.” Cala said.
“Coming right up,” Kristine said cheerfully as she struck a match to light the logs in the cavernous kitchen fireplace.
2
Kristine stared at the less-than-perfect Christmas decoration on her kitchen table, her eyes watering with the intensity of her gaze. The bright red holly berries were withered, the spiky green leaves were turning yellow and looked dry, their edges curling under. She wished she’d been more creative and taken more time with it. Last year she’d decorated the house in Germany from top to bottom. She’d started the day after Thanksgiving, finishing late in the afternoon on December 10, the day Logan chose for their annual Christmas party. Everything had been so festive and fragrant. She’d done it all and when each guest left at the end of the night, she’d handed them a gaily wrapped gift of homemade Christmas cookies.
She’d been so happy that day. Logan and the children had been in exceptional spirits, and it had been contagious. She’d even gotten a new red-velvet gown trimmed in faux ermine, an extravagance she winced over from time to time, and a new hairdo and a cosmetic makeover. Logan had leered at her all night long. Like a silly schoolgirl, her heart had fluttered and pounded all night long at the thought of what would happen after the last guest left. Logan had always been an exceptional lover, but that night he’d performed like a master.
Kristine shivered as she drew her sweater tighter across her chest. The fire was blazing in the kitchen, the heat was on full blast, and she was still cold. She looked down at the cold tea in her cup. Should she make a fresh cup? Did she even want more tea? Her movements were robotic as she filled the teakettle. The gas jet swooshed to life.
She paced from one end of the kitchen to the other, her shoes making clicking sounds on the old Virginia brick, careful to avert her eyes from the calendar hanging next to the refrigerator. She knew every printed word on the calendar issued by the Reynolds Propane Company. She’d stared at it a hundred times a day, her eyes watering as she ticked off the days until Logan’s arrival. Somewhere, somehow, something had gone awry. There were three too many Xs on the calendar, which mean
t Logan was four days overdue. Christmas was five short days away. One letter and one phone call in thirty-four days had to mean there was a snafu somewhere along the chain of command. She tried not to look at the red X with the big red circle she’d drawn around December 16. Maybe there would be a letter in today’s mail. Her gaze swept to the kitchen clock. Thirty more minutes until the mailman tooted his horn out by the road. One toot meant no mail. Two toots of the foggy-sounding horn meant mail. She kept the house purposely quiet around this time of day, turning off the kitchen radio and the new television set in the living room to make sure she heard the horn.
“Logan, I am going to strangle you when you get here for causing me all this worry. How much trouble is it to make one phone call, send one scribbled postcard? This is so unfair of you.” Damn, if I don’t watch it, I’ll be blubbering all over the place.
Kristine continued to pace as she waited for the water to boil. She really needed to make a new one and this time put some creative effort into it. In a rush of something she couldn’t define, she picked up the dried-out Christmas centerpiece and tossed it in the trash can under the sink. Now, all she had to contend with was the calendar. She wished she could ignore it, but the propane advertisement drew her like a magnet. She turned away as she tried to focus on the old-fashioned kitchen. Everything now looked halfhearted. The red-checkered curtains were too short and too faded. The braided rugs were skimpy and looked out of place on the expanse of brick floor. The place mats that matched the curtains were wrinkled and tacky-looking on the claw-footed monster table. Now that the centerpiece was gone, the table looked forlorn. There was no life in this kitchen the way there always had been life and energy in her other kitchens around the world. The kids always did their homework at the kitchen table with hot cups of cocoa. Now they huddled in their rooms with the doors shut.
Nothing was working out the way it was supposed to. A chill ran up Kristine’s arm just as the kettle whistled. At the same moment the kettle shot off its plume of steam, the phone rang and the mailman tooted twice. Kris burst into tears while she struggled with the gas burner. She managed to pick up the phone and to say hello in a garbled voice she didn’t recognize as her own.
Celebration Page 3
