by Mary Deal
“It's Orson,” Esmerelda said, lightly slapping her knee. “It started a few weeks after he went missing. Right after he disappeared, I used to talk to him all the time—told him I was finishing that workroom he started.” Her eyes began tearing. She stood and walked to a window and looked out over the levee. “Orson loved to play with gold. He had a sense of humor too. He paid a bunch of money to bring iron pyrite rocks down from Placer to use in place of gravel for the base of the workshop floor.”
“Fool's gold rocks?” Sara asked.
“Exactly,” Esmerelda said, wiping her eyes and turning to face them again. She tried to smile. “The rocks were delivered late. Supposed to be delivered during the week so the concrete could be poured before he left to go panning again.”
“He went missing late in the year, didn't he?” Daphine asked.
“November '95. Days were getting shorter. Was to be his last trip that year before bad weather set in.” Esmerelda put her hand to her forehead, like she was trying to remember. She related that the rocks were delivered on the Friday that Orson was scheduled to leave. They spread the dumped load out for the base of the floor and covered it with a tarp over the weekend to keep leaves and debris off until the concrete could be poured the following Monday.
“Then Orson left?” Sara asked.
“Right after we spread the rocks. I stayed at a friend's house in Walnut Grove that weekend, catering her affair,” Esmerelda said, smiling warmly. “The concrete for the floor was poured that Monday. Orson was to be away at least two weeks, but he hadn't even called to check on the concrete—or just to talk to me— and that was strange.” Her voice caught. “I thought he'd be home when the concrete cured, but he never came back.”
“I'm so sorry,” Daphine said, reaching over and touching Esmerelda's hand as she sat down. Daphine always exhibited heart-felt empathy for people and events.
“The Placer Sheriff had to go search for him because cellular didn't reach that far back in the hills in those days. If Orson wanted to call me, he'd have to drive into Placerville to use a regular phone.”
“It was you who notified the Sheriff?”
“Yes. Orson would have called. He was excited about the shop and he would have called. He always had to file a panning permit, so they knew exactly where he was to be. They found his campsite but no trace of him.” She breathed heavily, having great difficulty retelling the past. “Search party said his full ration of supplies were unused. His truck was locked. He hadn't even unpacked his tent. They believe he got lost soon as he arrived.”
“That's scary,” Sara said. “Of course, no one had reason to look for him right away, till you called the Sheriff.”
“I kept telling him,” Esmerelda said as she tapped her temple signifying sending mental messages. “I was finishing that room and I expected him to come home and see our dreams coming true.”
Sara shook her head sadly. “I appreciate you sharing this with us.” It brought up emotions she still felt about her own loss.
“After I finished that shop, that's when I began seeing his spirit.”
A cold chill ran up Sara's spine. ”You can pin-point it right to that time?
Esmerelda smiled bravely but didn't answer, like a person who knew what she was talking about. “C'mon, I'll show you the facility before the trainers arrive for the pups.” She disappeared into her bedroom to change and returned carrying a black jacket, wearing sleek black slacks, and a white silk blouse. She truly had great taste. She picked up the tray of edibles and took them into the kitchen and closed the door to keep the animals out till they returned.
“Oh, let's take the babies,” Daphine said. “I love them.”
“Okay. I'm not supposed to leave these pups alone anyway,” Esmerelda said. Pets have a fear of being abandoned. “The aides sometimes take them to visit the patients. It cheers the old folks. Keeps the pups used to being with people too.”
Chapter 10
Sara and Daphine carried the pups down the long flight of stairs. They were too small to run up and down on their own. Once at ground level, before the leashes could be attached, the pups scratched and clawed and both Sara and Daphine dropped them.
“Damned dogs,” Esmerelda said, coming up behind and placing a hand on Sara's shoulder. She smirked mysteriously. “They won't get far.”
The pups dashed across the lawn and parking lot, yipping and playfully biting one another, tumbling like a ball of energy across the grass. They scampered behind one of the buildings but soon came frantically running back, chased by a man swinging a rake. He was that obscene voyeur who shadowed them at the festival!
Daphine scooped up Latte and Sara chased Choco until she caught him.
The gangly man was covered with dirt and remained at the corner of the main building. He removed the knit cap he wore. Either his head was shaved or he wore his hair cut close. He didn't say anything, just stood and stared, like the mid-western farmer in the painting, American Gothic, by Grant Wood. But this man with the rake looked more sinister than puritan and humble.
“That's Tripp Unwyn, my groundskeeper. Doesn't like the pups. Might tear up his handiwork.” Esmerelda motioned in a sweeping gesture over the manicured grounds. The lawns were thick and lush. Each building, large and small, had decorative rocks and flowerbeds beside the walkways to each door.
“He does all this?” Sara asked.
“Mostly by himself. Doesn't want anyone ruining what he's created,” she said. “He even finds loads of free dirt when he needs it now and then.”
“Free dirt and rocks?” Sara asked. “I thought people charged for everything these days.”
“The extra dirt, and those small decorative boulders, he knows where to get everything for free.”
“He gives me the willies,” Daphine said.
“He's harmless,” Esmerelda said. “Old people like him can't retire. No place to go, so they just get grouchy.” She attached Latte's green leash.
“People need to see these cuties,” Sara said as she attached Choco's red leash. “That's how you'll get them adopted.”
“People don't know how to raise this breed,” Esmerelda said. “These two have been housebroken, they're papered and all, and they'll stay lovable in the right home.”
“If Tripp will stop swinging the rake at them,” Sara said.
Pit bull puppies respond to love and will stay gentle if not encouraged to follow their inbred instinct to react with aggression. Esmerelda had supplied much love and seemed to appreciate Sara's knowledge. She motioned them to follow and they entered the main hospice building through a doorway on the end.
The facility was once an old bunkhouse used by farm laborers decades earlier. A hallway down the middle had been widened, and rooms on each side partitioned off and made smaller to accommodate more patients. It smelled like a medical facility but not unpleasant.
Esmerelda held a finger to her mouth. Some patients were still sleeping. They peeked into the busy kitchen and then stepped into the sunroom.
“Tripp keeps the grounds manicured,” Esmerelda said. “He shames the rest of the workers to compete.”
She explained that after Orson went missing, her funds to keep River Hospice functional were running dry. “Orson's gold and his expensive, one-of-a-kind jewelry pieces kept the doors open. The only alternative was to throw the patients out into the fields and close shop.” She rolled her eyes upward and shook her head. “I wouldn't want that happening to me when I'm old and sick, and welfare is nearly non-existent.” She went on to say that two years after Orson went missing, she reluctantly sold Talbot House without having done much remodeling. “Fredrik had to move in here.” She gestured to a larger, nicer doorway near the end of the hallway. “Damned big heart. Never complained. We let him have the three largest rooms.”
As they passed Fredrik's door, he stepped into the hallway. “Taking a tour, ladies?” His eyes lit up. “Come in, please.” He gestured for Daphine to enter. She stepped backward. “No, come,
please.” He gestured to Esmerelda who stepped inside. When she did, with Mimie, Sara and Daphine picked up the dogs and followed.
His front room was masculine and tasteful. A floor to ceiling library covered the back wall with his desk and computer in front of the bookcases. The room was a little crowded but he had a fireplace.
Fredrik nuzzled up to the dogs and got them overly excited. Sara smiled, thinking that at any moment Fredrik might lick them back.
Finally, he asked, “See this space?” He spoke to Daphine as he gestured over the mantle. “This picture is old now. That painting I wanted to buy would have looked stunning up here.”
“You still wish to buy it?” Daphine had that twinkle in her eyes. How well Sara remembered the flirtatiousness of her long-time friend.
“Always wanted it. But one day it disappeared from your shop.” He sighed. “You must have sold it.”
Fredrik's art pieces and figurines were surreal, bordering on grotesque. All seemed to depict souls in death throes.
They exited the building through the rear door. Esmerelda jolted to a stop at the bottom of the short flight of stairs and Sara bumped into her. “I'm so sorry,” Sara said, feeling clumsy.
Esmerelda bent down and studied the flowerbeds and poked with a painted fingernail. She scraped dirt aside and brought out something that gleamed through the caked-on soil. “My ring!” She clasped it in her fist and stared wide-eyed off in the distance.
“Mrs. T?” Daphine asked. “How did one of your rings get into the flower beds?”
Esmerelda shook her head and continued to clean the ring. They came to one of the smaller structures. “That's where Tripp lives,” she said. It was a tiny duplex and the head cook lived in the other half. Tripp's clean and highly polished old pickup was parked in the single carport on his side of the structure with an old beat out sedan parked in the carport on the other side. Many gardening tools hung on the exterior wall of the cabin under the carport. Though used, and some were old, they were exceedingly clean and well kept.
Tripp was two doors down at the next bungalow, on his knees at the front door, picking the lock. The employee, who evidently lived there, loudly proclaimed, “I'm sorry. I've never lost my keys before.”
Something spooked the pups. They pulled against the leashes and finally went into the flowerbeds and dug around and peed and kicked dirt backwards over the spots.
Tripp saw them and grabbed up his rake and came running. He was so angry, he might have swung at the pups had they not been scooped up and held. Encircled in Daphine's arms, Latte's expression, the way her lip curled upward, and her stare, seemed to tell Tripp: Ha-ha! You can't catch me! Sara, holding Choco, stifled a grin and stepped aside.
Mimie had stayed at Esmerelda's side. A low growl rolled out of her throat.
Tripp's face turned crimson. “Ma'am, I hate animals in my flowers.” Infuriated, he carried the rake horizontally and shook it as he paced. He saw that the dirt was disturbed in the flowerbeds and went to rake it.
Esmerelda went to stand beside him. She opened her hand. “Tripp,” she said cautiously. “How did this get buried in one of the flower beds?”
“Awk!” Tripp said as he jumped backwards.
“I found it at the back door,” she said, gesturing toward the patient building. Esmerelda blew dirt from the ring.
“I didn't take it, Mrs. T. Maybe ask Fredrik. That's his private area back there. Honest, Mrs. T, I ain't been in your house.” He breathed heavily.
“I'm not accusing you, Tripp,” Esmerelda said. “Nor do I think Fredrik would steal. What I'm wondering is how it got into the flowerbeds.”
“Maybe it just fell off your finger.”
“Orson made this,” she said as she clasped it in her fist and pressed it to her heart. “You're right Tripp. When the weather's cold, my rings can slip right off my fingers.”
“Well, I didn't take it,” Tripp said, like a little boy who had been scolded. He pouted momentarily, then stooped down and laid his rake on the walkway. With fingertips, he brushed dirt off the decorative rocks. He blew a breath across them to further clean them. He seemed obsessed with those damned rocks. Finally, he stood and picked up his rake again. “I like things kept nice,” he said, all the while his anger seethed. He was definitely one strange human being. If his face got any redder, it would explode. He kept gasping for air.
“C'mon, Tripp,” Esmerelda said, starting up the three steps. She needed to diffuse the situation. “Come, sit down.” She opened his front door, and led him into his living room where she sat on an old couch and pulled him down beside her, like calming an upset boy. He acted just like one. The living room and open kitchen area were spotless. His furniture was decades old, common and over-used, but clean. He kept the old linoleum floors waxed and shiny. Yet, the open doorway to his bedroom at the back revealed a hovel. Belongings glutted the room, piled haphazard, surprising and curious, considering the cleanliness of the rest of the place.
Mimie stayed at the doorway. Sara wasn't about to leave Esmerelda alone with that crazy in the mood he was in. She stepped inside while Daphine stayed just outside the doorway for lack of space.
Tripp saw the dog in Sara's arms wiggling to get down. “Get that thing out of here!” He still clutched the rake and shook it at her.
Sara felt herself shaking, but not as hard as Tripp was. She turned to leave and noticed a large shadow box with a glass front hanging on the wall. It contained at least a dozen rocks of various elements, colors, and grades.
“I'm giving the girls a tour of my facility,” Esmerelda said, as if reminding Tripp who was in charge. “They were appreciating your handiwork around the grounds.”
Sara went to stand at the doorway while she and Daphine tried to keep the wiggling puppies calm. “You're exceptional with plants,” Sara said.
Tripp kept an eye on the dogs and seemed confused but smiled at the mention of the well-kept grounds. 'I like perty flowers.”
“I see you're a rock collector,” she said, trying to sound pleased to soften Tripp's mood. “Where do you—?”
“I gotta git back to work.” He said stood abruptly, shaking the rake again. “Go on, git!”
Esmerelda stood and patted Tripp's shoulder. “Don't worry about the pups. I'm looking for a home for them.”
“Good. Good. I don't want them tearing up my flowers.”
“The cooks are baking brownies,” Esmerelda said. “Come over after work, Tripp, and get some.”
Tripp's rigid posture melted. “Brownies for me?” he asked like a little boy. “Did I do good today, Mrs. T?” He seemed more relaxed but the gleam in his eyes still gave him away. He looked straight into Sara's eyes. Without blinking, he said, “I don't mind you hanging around, girlie, 'cause you're kinda' perty. But them dogs could ruin everything I done.”
Tripp's ingratiating attitude made her skin crawl. She was no girlie. She had gray in her hair and a few wrinkles. What was he trying to prove? She walked away without so much as a smile.
As they walked the property, Esmerelda said, “Tripp told me that long ago he had a rock collection of about 30 samples. He forgot how many. His dad threw them away, so Tripp started collecting again as he did odd-jobs around the valley.”
“Well, he hasn't collected that many more, has he?” Sara asked, remembering the shadow box.
“Oh, but he does collect. The rocks at his front steps and over the grounds,” Esmerelda said, gesturing to other flowerbeds. “He collects from wherever he travels.”
As they wandered the grounds, making their way back to her house, Esmerelda mentioned the upcoming anniversary for River Hospice to be celebrated near the end of August. She had plans for a public reception to take place just about the time of Fredrik's birthday. “Kill two birds at one time,” she said, but her heart wasn't in her words.
Sara had the feeling that money was scarce. Esmerelda would probably never admit such a thing, but having two obligatory parties in one would be less expensive. Esmere
lda didn't seem the type to elicit sympathy. Sara totally admired this widow with a gutsy attitude and good old-fashioned pride.
About time to leave, Esmerelda said, “I'm sorry Tripp mistreated you.”
“He's got a lot of misplaced anger,” Sara said. “Too bad he takes it out on the dogs.” Receiving only love was how pit bulls, in particular, tolerated living with another animal or being held by strangers. “I'm sorry they got away from us.”
Sara looked over the grounds again. Esmerelda and Orson once shared a heartfelt plan to help the elderly. Esmerelda was trying desperately to living out that dream. One part of her was convinced Orson was dead, while another part of her still hoped he would return. Sadly, Esmerelda, before too many more years passed, would end up a patient in the very facility that she and her husband established. Not much to look forward to alone. Sara felt warmed by Orson and Esmerelda's contribution to the people of the Delta.
She caught a glimpse of Fredrik watching them out of the window at the end doorway of the patient building. He jumped back, as if not wishing to be spotted, and then turned quickly and disappeared. She looked across the lawns toward the canal that separated the property from the adjacent farm fields. Gawky great blue herons foraged in the open fields. Other birds flew in. At the edge of the hospice property, Tripp bare handedly shoved a huge boulder aside. For a man in his sixties, he only looked feeble.
“I think his mind's deteriorating,” Esmerelda said as she also watched. “These energetic pups make him nervous.”
“Maybe it's time to let him go,” Daphine said.
“I've thought about it,” Esmerelda said. “You know, he and Orson had a big blow out just weeks before Orson left on that trip.”
“About what?” Sara asked.
“I wish I knew. He worked for us for so long and was so nice. He might have wanted more pay. We only had enough gold at any one time to accumulate a small supply of jewelry for sale. When low on funds Orson would go up north again. We weren't rich.”
