Bygones

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Remaining in the front room, Henry replied, “No. I took care of that yesterday.”

  “Where did you find clean ones?” The sounds of running water and a cupboard door opening and closing accompanied her words.

  “In a chest in Lisbeth’s bedroom.”

  There was an odd clatter, and then Deborah’s voice came again. “If they were shut up in a chest, they probably smell musty.”

  “I took them outside and threw them over the line to air them first.”

  Deborah didn’t respond. He plodded through the house to the kitchen, where he found her washing the casserole dish. She glanced up when he stopped beside the counter. “Light a lamp. I can’t see in here anymore.”

  “Will you need it? There’s only that one dish and fork.”

  Wordlessly, she reached into the soapy water and held up a handful of silverware. “I dumped the drawer full in here. Hated to waste the water.”

  Henry lit the lamp he had set on the small kitchen table and carried it to the counter.

  Deborah released a little snort. “How do you think our city dwellers will survive without electricity?”

  Henry opened a drawer, seeking a tea towel. On top of the neat stack of towels, he found the checked tablecloth. He draped it over the table while answering his sister. “Marie’s family didn’t have electricity when she was growing up, so it won’t be new to her.” Returning to the drawer, he grabbed a towel and began drying the silverware Deborah placed in the dish drainer.

  “Maybe, but it’s been awhile. And that girl of hers. . .she won’t know how to act.”

  Henry remembered Beth’s reaction when she found him standing in her living room. He smiled. “Oh, I suspect she’ll find a way to adapt.”

  “Where will she sleep? Lisbeth only had one bed.”

  “I put a cot in the sewing room.” The cot had come from his own basement—he kept it on hand for when he hosted summer sleepovers with his nephews. “It doesn’t look too bad with one of Lisbeth’s quilts over it.” He had chosen the red-and-white patchwork quilt with calico hearts embroidered in the centers of selected white squares. It had always been Marie’s favorite of the stack in Lisbeth’s linen closet.

  Deborah shot him a pointed look. “You look forward to their arrival, don’t you?” Her voice held a note of accusation.

  Henry shrugged, dropping dry forks and spoons into the plastic tray in the silverware drawer. “I don’t know what I feel. I just know it’s what Lisbeth wanted.”

  Deborah slammed another handful of silverware into the drainer. “What Lisbeth wanted. . . It would have been better if she’d just given everything to J.D. and Cornelia rather than stirring up this trouble.”

  Henry paused, leaning against the counter to stare at his sister. “What trouble?”

  Deborah didn’t look at him. “You know what I mean.” She swished her hand through the water and grabbed another spoon. “That girl of Marie’s coming here to sell the house and café. I think it’s shameful.”

  “J.D. and Cornelia would have sold it, too,” Henry pointed out. “How is that different?”

  “It just is!” Deborah snapped out the words. “J.D. and Cornelia had a right to it. This girl. . . Beth. . .she’s never even been here!”

  Henry could have reminded his sister that it wasn’t Beth’s fault she hadn’t been here, but he knew it would only cause an argument. Instead, he repeated softly, “It’s what Lisbeth wanted.”

  Deborah jerked up the sink plug and watched the water swirl down the drain.

  Henry dropped the last fork into the drawer, hung the damp towel on a rack above the sink, and gave Deborah a one-armed hug. “Thank you. Marie and Beth will appreciate this.”

  She stepped away from him, her expression grim. “I didn’t do it for Marie and Beth. I did it for you.” She pointed at him. “And you remember something, Henry. Marie has been in the world for a long time. She’s not the girl we once knew. I know what Lisbeth was trying to do here, but I have every confidence that three months in Sommerfeld will do little more than make her all the more determined to get away again. Don’t—” Her voice cracked, her expression softening. She dropped her hand and sighed. “Don’t let yourself get hurt a second time, Henry. Please?”

  “Deborah—”

  She snatched up her casserole dish and headed for the door. Over her shoulder, she ordered, “Things look fine in here now. Go home.”

  “Mom, stop at the next gas station, huh? I need a break.”

  Marie stifled a sigh. “Honey, it’s less than an hour to Sommerfeld. Can’t you last that long?”

  Beth huffed. “I need to go to the bathroom, okay?”

  “Well, if you’d lay off the sodas, maybe you wouldn’t need a bathroom every half hour.” Marie tried to inject humor into her tone, but she was aware of a biting undercurrent.

  Apparently Beth heard it, too, because she snapped, “I also need to stretch my legs. I’m tired of sitting.”

  Marie was tired of sitting, too. She and Beth had traded off driving during the day, but most of the time she’d been behind the wheel. The tug of the small trailer of belongings attached to the back of their car made Beth nervous. Marie’s nerves had been frayed, as well—mostly from the early-hour last-minute packing and from having to listen to Beth’s lengthy cell-phone conversations with her boyfriend. Marie was just about ready to snap.

  She held her tongue, however, recognizing that a large part of her unease was due to what waited at the end of their journey. The closer they got to her childhood home, the more the knot in her belly twisted. Despite Sally’s warning, she recognized a small glimmer of hope that someone—Mom or Dad, or one of her brothers or sisters—would be waiting at Lisbeth’s to welcome her back. She knew it was unlikely, maybe even ridiculous, and she did her best to squelch the niggling thought. But it hovered on the fringes of her mind, increasing her stomachache with every click of the odometer.

  “There’s a station.” Beth pointed ahead.

  Marie allowed the sigh to escape, but she slapped the turn signal and pulled off the highway into the station. Beth hopped out the moment the car stopped and dashed inside. Marie got out more slowly and walked to the hood of the car. She stretched, glancing across the landscape.

  An unwilling smile formed on her lips. In the west, the sun had slipped over the horizon, but the broad Kansas sky gave her the final evidence of its bright presence. Deep purple clouds, undergirded with fuchsia, hung high on the backdrop of cerulean blue, and airy wisps with brilliant orange rims hung close to the horizon.

  Beth stopped beside her mom’s shoulder. “What are you looking at?”

  Marie pointed. “The sunset. I’d forgotten how beautiful they could be. Aunt Lisbeth always said there was nothing like a Kansas sunset. She was right.”

  Beth smirked. “You’re not going to get all sentimental on me now, are you?”

  Marie shot her daughter a sharp look. “There are worse things than being sentimental. Being insensitive is one of them.”

  Beth rolled her eyes, and Marie’s gaze dropped to her daughter’s hand, where she held a super-sized fountain drink. “You said it’s just another hour. This won’t kick in until well after we get there.” Beth’s teasing grin eased a bit of Marie’s tension.

  She gave her daughter a playful tweak in the ribs. “Let’s go. We’re almost there.”

  SIX

  Well, there it is.”

  Beth sat up straight in the passenger seat, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from her eyes. Peering out the window through the dusky light, she caught a glimpse of a sign advertising harness making—harness making? Then the vehicle made a sharp left off the highway. Sure enough, there was the town. Sommerfeld. Hardly a town at all, really.

  “This is Main Street.” Mom sounded as though her tonsils were tied in a knot. The car slowed to a crawl. The headlights illuminated the double-wide, unpaved street.

  Main Street. . .unpaved. Beth swallowed a disparaging comment.

&
nbsp; Mom pointed to the first building on the left-hand side of the street. “There’s Lisbeth’s Café. . .now Beth’s Café.” She grinned, then shook her head, sighing. “My, the hours I spent there when I was a teenager. . .”

  My unexpected inheritance. Beth leaned down to squint through the driver’s-side window. The evening gloaming and absence of streetlights made it difficult to make out details, but the café appeared to be a rock building, two stories high, fronted by a brick sidewalk. Startled, she glanced right and left. All the sidewalks were brick.

  And not a soul was in sight. Anywhere.

  She whistled through her teeth and fought off a shiver.

  “What’s wrong?” Mom’s voice dropped to a whisper, adding to the eerie feeling of being in a ghost town.

  “Where is everybody?”

  Mom shrugged. “It’s Sunday. They’re all at home. I told you Sunday is a day of rest.”

  “Yeah, but. . .” Beth shook her head. The highway traffic less than a half mile to the south, contrasted against the absolute inactivity of the town, was too bizarre.

  “Over there is my brother Art’s business.” Mom pointed to the right.

  Out loud, Beth read the sign above the door of the large wooden building. “Koeppler Feed and Seed—Quality Implements and Agricultural Products.” Turning to her mother, she whistled through her teeth. “This is wild, Mom. It’s like being on a movie set for a Western.”

  Mom laughed softly. “Well, it is unpretentious. But it’s hardly the thing movies are made of.”

  Beth nearly wore out her neck looking back and forth as Mom made a left turn followed by a second turn one block farther. They drove in silence past two blocks of residential houses, most of which appeared to have been constructed in the earlier part of the twentieth century, increasing Beth’s sense of stepping back in time.

  The car finally pulled into the dirt side yard of a quaint bungalow with a high-peaked roof and a railed porch that extended halfway across the front and around the north side.

  At first glance the house appeared dark, but as their car pulled around to the back, a pale yellow light glowed, gently illuminating the window at the northwest corner. Mom stopped the car behind the house and shut off the ignition. Then, with a huge, heaving sigh, she stared at the building.

  “Well, this is it. Your new home sweet home.” She sat, unmoving, her hands gripping the steering wheel.

  Beth frowned. “Are you okay?”

  Mom’s laugh sounded forced. “As okay as an old lady can be after driving thirteen hours straight.” She rubbed the back of her neck and yawned. The action seemed feigned. “I sure hope that light in there means somebody has made up the bed. I’m not sure I have the energy to do it myself.”

  Both women climbed out of the car and walked toward the back porch. A black iron gaslight stood along the grassless footpath from the dirt driveway to the house, but it wasn’t burning, leaving the path dark. Mom stepped onto the wood-planked porch and twisted the doorknob. “Locked.”

  Beth tipped sideways, trying to peek through the door’s window. “What’ll we do?”

  For a moment Mom stood there, staring at the knob. Then she bent over to lift the corner of a plastic mat in front of the back door. She held up a key and offered a weak smile. “Just like always.”

  Beth gaped. “Outside? Where anyone could find it?”

  Mom laughed again, the sound more authentic this time. “You’re not in the city anymore, Beth. Things are. . .different here.” She turned the key in the lock, pushed the door open, then gestured for Beth to enter.

  Beth stepped into a dimly lit, narrow room with doorways springing in all directions. She slid her hand along the wall beside the door. “I can’t find the light switch.”

  Mom stepped in and closed the door. “Honey, I told you. No electricity. Follow the glow.”

  The glow, as Mom called it, came from the open doorway along the north wall. Beth walked through the doorway and found herself in a simple kitchen with white painted cabinets and a small, round table covered with a cheerful red-and-white-checked cloth. A cordless lamp sat on the countertop, sending out a meager amount of light. The only light in the entire house.

  Beth shook her head. “Primitive.”

  Mom moved past her but stopped at the table. She fingered the cloth, her face pinched. After a moment, she released the tablecloth and picked up the lamp by its handle. Smiling in Beth’s direction, she said, “Shall we explore?”

  With a shrug, Beth followed her mom around a corner and into the dining room. A square wooden table flanked by four chairs filled the center of the uncarpeted floor. A glass-front cabinet holding simple white dishes stood along the west wall—the only other piece of furniture in the room.

  Beth resisted another shiver, her feet echoing on the hardwood floor as she trailed behind her mother through a wide doorway to what was obviously the living room. A couch sat beneath one window, with a small wood table on spindly legs at one end. Beside the little table sat a curved-back rocking chair. Mom crossed to it and sat down, placing the lamp on the table. The lamp clearly lit Mom’s face. Although she seemed pale and her eyes looked tired—or sad?—a smile curved her lips.

  “This was Aunt Lisbeth’s favorite seat.” Mom’s hands caressed the worn arms of the rocker. “When I was little, I used to run in here and climb into it before she could, just to see her put her hands on her hips and scowl at me. She could make the fiercest face while her eyes just twinkled, letting me know she was only teasing. And I would scowl back.” She laughed softly. “I wouldn’t have dared to scowl at any other adult, but Aunt Lisbeth was different.” She stared across the room, seemingly lost in thought.

  Beth sank onto the couch. It was stiff and the fabric scratchy, unlike the cushiony velvet sofa at home. “Mom?”

  A few seconds passed before her mother turned to look at her.

  “If there’s no electricity, how will we get heat in here?”

  Her mother looked disappointed by the question. Another lengthy pause followed before she pushed off the rocking chair. Picking up the lamp, she said, “Follow me.”

  She led Beth back through the dining room, through a different doorway, ending in the utility porch. Swinging open a door, she pointed. “There’s a coal-burning furnace in the basement. That’s what heats the house.” She sniffed, and Beth did the same, inhaling a thick, musty odor. “Someone already has it going, but if you’re cold, I’ll go put in some more coal.”

  Beth peered down the dark, wooden stairs and shook her head. “No, that’s okay. I’ll just put on a hoodie.” She hugged herself, knowing the chill came from something more than the temperature of the house. “It looks creepy down there.”

  Mom smiled. “We’ll have to go down eventually anyway. Want to see how the furnace works?”

  Beth gave an adamant shake of her head. “No, thanks!”

  “All right, then.” Mom closed the door and faced Beth. “Let me show you Lisbeth’s bedroom—there’s only one bedroom, so we’ll have to share the bed.”

  Beth made a face. “Great.”

  Mom sighed. “Beth, I tried to prepare you for all this before we came, but you didn’t want to talk about it, remember? You said you preferred to find out everything when you got here rather than get scared enough to change your mind. Now that we’re here, I’d rather you didn’t complain constantly.”

  Beth threw her hands outward. “Who’s complaining?”

  Mom looked at her with one eyebrow raised and her mouth quirked to the side.

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I know you said it would be simple, but I had no idea. . . . How did you live like this? Coal-burning furnaces, no lights, everything so. . .bare.”

  “I suppose when you don’t know any different, it doesn’t seem like a hardship.” Heading for the back door, she said, “Why don’t we get our suitcases and then I’ll show you the bedroom? And the bathroom. I imagine by now your pop has kicked in.”

  Beth recognized the teasi
ng note. She matched it, clasping her hands beneath her chin in a mock gesture of supplication. “Pleeease don’t tell me the bathroom is actually an outhouse.”

  Mom laughed, and her curls bounced as she shook her head. “Oh, no, we have indoor plumbing.”

  “Well, let’s be grateful for small favors.” Beth followed her mom outside. The cool air nipped at her, carrying a fresh scent very different from that of home. A rustle overhead followed by a flapping indicated some kind of night bird took flight from the trees, and Beth involuntarily ducked. Yet when she looked upward, seeking the location of the bird, she found herself mesmerized by the endless expanse of sky.

  She’d never seen so many stars, and the plump three-quarter moon appeared as bright as a halogen against the velvety black. “Wow.”

  Mom swung a suitcase from the back of the trailer and paused, peering upward. She smiled. “Oh, yes. With all the city lights, a person forgets how brilliant the stars truly are.” She took in a deep breath, released it slowly, and said, “ ‘The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.’ ”

  At her mother’s wistful tone, Beth jerked her gaze to look at her. Mom’s eyes glittered as brightly as the stars. Suddenly uncomfortable but not sure why, Beth forced a hint of mockery into her voice. “ ‘Sheweth’?”

  Mom gave a start, looking at Beth sheepishly. “Oh.” She laughed lightly. “Something I memorized as a child. Funny. . .” She nibbled her lower lip, her gaze returning to the sky. “I haven’t thought about that in years.”

  Beth waited, her arms folded around her middle. Her mother stared upward, a smile barely tipping the corners of her lips. What was Mom thinking—remembering? For some reason, Beth felt afraid to ask.

  After a long while, Mom released an airy sigh, then aimed a bright smile in Beth’s direction. “Well, let’s get these suitcases inside and unpacked, huh? The rest can wait until tomorrow and sunlight.”

  Marie pulled the stiff sheet and chenille spread to her chin and stared at the ceiling. From down the hall, a series of squeaks indicated Beth wiggled on the cot. An odd warmth filled her face as she thought about that cot. The second, smaller bedroom had always been Lisbeth’s sewing room. Someone had taken down the folding table she’d used to cut fabric or lay out quilt squares and put up the cot, obviously for their use. And she knew who had done it.