The Return

by Margaret Guthrie

On Sunday a bright sun sparkled the dew on the grass and made it look like glittering glass beads. Easter was past. The sisters decided it was time they went to church and meet the girls’ parents as well as others they would have to meet sooner or later. It would not be the silent meditation of the Yoga Ranch that Lydia longed for, nor even the unprogrammed Friends Meeting where the congregation sat in silence, centered down to the Spirit within, spoke as they were led, gave testimony to that inner vision. Nor would it be the jog along the ocean beach that was Margie’s Sunday morning meditation in California.

  New Hope Friends had a minister, a choir, and the bulletin which programmed the order of service. They had heard the minister was young, fresh out of seminary, and newly wed. Lydia was glad they would not know the Kinnen past history but wondered what rumors would have preceded them.

  Though the church was not far, just on the outskirts of town on the other side, they drove, thinking maybe they’d drive around the country a little bit afterward, maybe even drive out to the cemetery and look for their parents and grandparents headstones.

  The building was fairly new, not the one they had attended as children. Its design was a simple one story brick building with plain windows, a slanted roof over the front entrance where wooden double doors were unadorned. Inside, the foyer held a table with literature, a place to hang coats, and a welcome sign. A small office was to one side and restrooms on the other.

  A sign notified the way to downstairs, where voices were heard.

  Lydia and Margie guessed there were Sunday School rooms down there along with an activities room and kitchen.

  Lydia and Margie entered the sanctuary and slipped into a seat at the back, hoping to avoid curious eyes. Lydia closed hers and listened to the buzz of conversations as people gathered for the service. It annoyed her actually. At the Ranch people kept silence in the chapel and started to settle into meditation before a leader appeared. She was glad Margie sat quietly beside her. She seemed at peace.

  Presently, the choir came in from a side door and took their places behind the pulpit. They kept the Friends simplicity by not wearing robes, though the women were in fairly uniform white blouses and dark skirts and the men in dark suits and white shirts. They stood as the minister came in and opened the service with a prayer.

  After the welcoming of visitors and friends, a hymn and short period of silent prayer, the minister started his sermon. Margie drifted into thoughts about Dianne who had received little spiritual training. It wasn’t that they hadn’t tried, but the churches they visited felt alien and superficial. The so-called New Age churches with large congregations seemed to have mostly motivational speakers with feel-good messages, while the main stream were too conservative, literal, and narrow. And the Friends she had encountered had been so engrossed in their activist activities that if you were not ready to write letters to congress, attend protest gatherings, help gather signatures on petitions, or pack up food and other items to be sent to disaster areas, you felt guilty and inadequate. Not that anyone ever said anything; it was her own feelings that bothered her.

  Perhaps some resentment about her parents’ activist life style had robbed them of their presence still lingered. Dying for one’s beliefs was a noble and cherished tradition in Friends’ history. But maybe Lydia had gotten it right. They were abandoned. By their parents, their grandparents, their community. Which brought her mind back to Dianne. Did Dianne feel abandoned, even though her choice was to stay in California where there was ‘some life’ as Dianne put it? Waitressing at that restaurant and bar near where she and her dad lived worried her. Did Brad ever check on what people she was exposed to? Did he ever check with her employers to know what they were like? Teenagers could be so single minded, which was good, and they could be naive, impulsive, which could be bad. Impulsive, like leading to actions never intended, one thing leading to another, until a whole evening could go by and end with an unspeakable deed. Like thirty years ago. It made her shiver to think about it.

  Lydia, sitting beside her, sensed Margie’s thoughts, noticed the defeated droop of her shoulders, felt the shiver that ran through her body. She took her hand, squeezed it and gave her a smile. At the Ranch right now the service would be coming to an end and the Leader preparing for the healing service, which was practiced every time. She mentally added Margie’s name to those who would be prayed for, visualized the group energizing for the long droning “om” they would repeat, visualized that healing vibration surrounding Margie and herself. She almost missed the minister announcing a final hymn, and the standing of the congregation, then the closing prayer. Lydia smiled to herself, thinking how people really weren’t so different deep down, all wanting that touch of God, peace, love. All really wanted to walk with Him and talk with Him and feel that comforting presence greater than themselves. No one wanted to be alone.

  At the break of the meeting, people didn’t wait to get out of the pews before welcoming them with an extended hand. They had been sitting near an older couple who Margie had whispered to her were Charles and Hazel Lambert. He was the carpenter Margie had consulted with.

  “Well, of course you are Lydia Kinnen,” Hazel said with a gracious smile. “You could be Brenda herself if I didn’t know better.” She held Lydia’s hand in her own two soft ones, talking on about how wonderful people her parents had been. Lydia could see moisture in the woman’s eyes, her face deep-lined with age or wisdom, her head bobbing slightly from early Parkinsons perhaps, her voice a bit shaky. Fragile was what went through Lydia’s mind. Yet a certain fundamental solidity, like one who knew what was right, good, true.

  They slowly moved out of the pew toward the door where the minister shook hands. Charles Lambert held forth with Margie, his words overlapping with his wife’s, but it seemed she kept hearing the word “house” and she found herself listening less to Hazel and more to Charles. Hazel obviously noticed.

  “He’s a carpenter, you know,” Hazel said, “since retiring from the farm, that is. He can’t do the heavy work any longer, but our grandson is a big help. He’s done a lot of work with your house over the years. If you want someone who knows that house, just ask Charles.” Lydia nodded, but saw no point in saying she already knew.

  When they shook hands with the minister, Charles introduced Margie and Hazel introduced Lydia. The man was cordial and somewhat indifferent, which was a relief to Lydia. No past history needed to be revealed.

  Once they were outside in the open air and free to move about, Charles turned to Lydia, leaving his hand on Margie’s arm. “You know,” he said to both, “I’ve been thinking more about the house. You’ve probably heard that there’s differences of opinion about what to do with it. I hear you’re sort of being pushed to make a decision. Have any of those realtors been at you yet?”

  “Well, Jake mentioned one we could call,” Margie said. “We haven’t done so yet, though.” She didn’t tell him that Sherrie had said the realtor was on the Park committee. Of course, Sherrie could have been mistaken. And it could be that members of the committee were divided on what they wanted. And weren’t they assured by Stanley that their house and the school were two separate issues?

  “And who was that?” Charles queried with raised eyebrows.

  “John Cramer,” Margie replied.

  Charles snorted. “I might have known. Cramer is a developer.” He spit out the word as if it were poison, as if ‘developer’ were the same as thief, or shark, or tax evader. “He won’t preserve the house, girls, even though he might say so. Once he gets his hand on the property he’ll tear down the house, then turn around and try to sell it to the Park Committee for an increased price.” Charles drew his hands together and exhaled. “Jake, Jake,” he said, shaking his head. Lydia noticed that his hands shook a bit, but she judged it was to control anger, rather than his wife’s probable Parkinsons. “Jake has some issues he’s trying to put to rest. He’s bitter and resentful, just
because his dad gave up on life. But Jake chose to carry on, doing his father’s job. Maybe his memories are different than ours. Maybe he just remembers how he let those kids into the gym and how that one act led to other acts that changed everything.” He stood close to Hazel as if depending on her to temper his emotions. Which she did.

  “Now Charles,” Hazel smiled, lifting her eyes to his. Then she put her hand up to pick off a piece of lint from his collar in a clever distraction.

  “Well, that house has a history. It’s old enough to be on the historical register. A good solid house they don’t make much anymore. When your family lived there it was taken care of. Seems like once they were gone, the house grew sad. Renters didn’t help. But Margie, I could go in there and tell you exactly what’s needed to fix it up, bring it up to code and make it into a museum. We don’t have one in this town, you know.”

  “So you’re on the side of those who want a park?” Lydia asked.

  “The whole place, the gym, the schoolhouse. All of it. Should be a state park. Unless, of course, you plan to live there.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Lydia said with a little laugh. “Do you?” she turned to Margie.

  Margie actually blushed, then shrugged. “Maybe,” she admitted. “But maybe not,” she added. Lydia couldn’t help but wonder what that meant. Did Peter have something to do with it?

  The conversation ended when Jennifer and Tanya came over with their moms in tow. Shirley Seward introduced herself and Tanya first, then Charlette Harris and Jennifer. Charles and Hazel stepped back but did not leave. It just became a larger group, the older couple looking comfortable and pleased. Shirley explained that their husbands were in the fields, the weather being so beautiful. “After all, God made it necessary for us to eat,” she laughed nervously, looking especially at Hazel.

  “Yes, honey, we understand. God made the weather, too,” Hazel replied with a smile and Shirley looked relieved.

  “But I thought Mike was ill, Charlette?” Charles asked, a concerned look coming over his face. Shirley looked over at her sister as if this was news.

  “Oh, the ulcers were acting up, Mr. Lambert.” Charlette gave a little embarrassed laugh. “Now they’ve put him on a new medicine. And totally off the caffeine.”

  “Well, we mustn’t have him fainting again,” Charles said. “It might not be in such a handy place.” He had a twinkle in his eyes.

  Hazel turned to Lydia and Margie to explain. “It was at the town hall meeting inaugurating our new Fire and Rescue truck when he just keeled over, almost into the arms of our two volunteer paramedics. They loaded him in and took him to the hospital.”

  Charlette covered her face with her hands and turned away, as if wanting to hide. Hazel put her arm around her. “Oh, dear, you know we’re all concerned, that’s all.”

  “Yes, yes, I know.” She laughed, then. “Guess we couldn’t have planned a better trial run. It’s just that he wants to be so strong and self-sufficient and then something like that happens.”

  Lydia thought of the words his big brother Dale from the other side wanted to pass along to him, ‘it’s OK, don’t take life so seriously.’ It was not bad advice, but would she ever be able to deliver it?

  Charlette cleverly changed the subject by saying she guessed they knew about the end of school party, and apologized for the girls “if they are being a nuisance.” She directed this to Lydia, gave her a tentative smile. “They met you at school? then over at your place?”

  “In Pearl Palmer’s class,” Lydia acknowledged. Then she laughed.“And when I was working at all those bushes and vines covering that old shed. Oh, they were so interested in that shed.” Charlette looked puzzled. The two girls stared at Lydia wide-eyed and seemed to be holding their breath. Lydia guessed they hadn’t told their mothers about asking her to let out the dead children. “I promised them something for the treasure hunt,” she said, glancing over to see the girls relaxing and giving her a grateful look.

  These sisters, Lydia was thinking, were really not so much older than she and Margie, five years, seven maybe. Thirty years ago, when she and Margie were pre-teens and they were teens, that difference felt much greater. Now Shirley and Charlette’s daughter and granddaughter were the pre-teens, the little girls.

  “You don’t really have to do that, Ms. Kinnen,” said Shirley. “The girls sometimes get too...persuasive.” She gave the girls a disapproving look and they returned it with a look of total innocence, blank of all expression.

  “Oh, no trouble, Shirley,” Lydia said with a sympathetic smile. “And please, I’m Lydia. Hey, I’ve already got something for the hunt. But shouldn’t it go to whoever’s laying out the treasures? Those boys, maybe? Morgan and Cliff?”

  “Wellll,” Tanya said, corkscrewing her lips as if deciding the right words. “They’re just making the map.”

  “Sure,” Jennifer piped up. “They’re writing out the clues to where we go for the next treasure.”

  “Then you shouldn’t know what it is.”

  “But then they’ll know everything and we won’t have any secrets.” The whine was good, but not very persuasive. Lydia smiled and said she’s need to check with their teacher. That’d give her another chance to pick Pearl’s mind about this community and its inhabitants.

  “They’re going to end up in the gym,” Charlette pointed out. “We mothers will have refreshments there.”

  “Perhaps we can help with the food,” Margie offered. Lydia saw her strained expression, sensing her heart was not really in it. But she was proud of her just the same for making the effort.

  “Are you going to get the ghosts out of there before then?” Jennifer asked Lydia, as if this were a simple matter, and not an unusual request.

  “What?” Charlette gave her granddaughter a look of horror, of deep embarrassment, once again seeming to barely hold the cover over a family secret.

  “Well, Mom, this is the ghost lady, the one who’s called them up to be there at the end of our party.” Jennifer’s chin went up defiantly.

  “Jennifer!” Charlette’s mouth tightened, and the veins stood out along the side of her face. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Kin.., Lydia, Margie. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.” But she narrowed her eyes at Tanya, suggesting she was the likely culprit. Tanya, the teaser, blinked her pretty brown eyes, tried to keep a straight face and succeeded until Jennifer gave her a poke. Then Tanya turned away only to giggle into the startled faces of Charles and Hazel.

  Lydia wasn’t about to let this go. If the girls really heard or saw things she’d like to know. But if they were just pulling her leg, she’d like to know that, too. “Prove it,” she challenged. “Tell us what you’ve seen.” She watched Jennifer consider. The girl crossed her arms, took her time to think up her story.

  Margie pursed her lips as if suppressing a scream and looked away. Tanya pulled in her cheeks and puckered her lips. Lydia waited.

  “In the gym, that corner near the boys’ lockers. You know.” Jennifer looked at her mom and aunt as if they would verify it all. “We’ve told you about it.”

  “Not now!” Shirley said. “This is not the time.” She put a hand on her niece’s shoulder, tried to turn her toward the direction of the car. Jennifer, however, refused to be turned.

  “What happens there?” Lydia asked. She gave Shirley and Charlette a pleading look. Charles and Hazel, Margie, all stood silent, as if pretending not to be there.

  “It’s on the stairs, as if someone’s coming down,” Jennifer said in a grumpy way, “only no one really is.” She looked down at her feet like she was sorry about going this far, that maybe whatever point she had wanted to make was past the time of its effectiveness. As if she’d gotten more shock reaction than she had bargained for.

  “Or stumbling,” Tanya suggested, too eagerly. The little group stood there in utter disbelief. Tanya looked at Jennifer expectantly, then when she didn’t
go on, said “And then there’s like someone bouncing a basketball on the court, only no one is there.” She was holding her own, now. Jennifer seemed to have backed out of the spotlight.

  “When does this happen?” Lydia asked keeping her voice as temperate as she could, but inside feeling confusion, a sense of betrayal almost. Margie stared at something in the distance, her body gone still as a statue.

  “At night when you have to go down there to the bathroom. No one wants to go down there alone.” Tanya’s eyes sparkled.

  “This is your own experience?” Lydia asked, her suspicions of made-up tales increasing.

  “It’s just known,” Jennifer said, shrugging indifferently. Lydia gave her a quizzical look. “Tanya’s brother said so,” Jennifer offered. “When the boys go down to the lockers after a game they feel someone watching them.”

  “That’s right,” Tanya verified.

  “But he’s in boarding school,” Lydia pointed out. It was curious how important these stories seemed to be to the girls. And it also crossed her mind that maybe boarding school was as much to get the boys away from the stories as it was to help them get a better education. What would it feel like to have your children come up with stories about the very people you were with the night they died coming back as ghosts? She thought it might very well be maddening. Maddening enough to want the school closed?

  “Oh, your brother,” Shirley said, letting out a long raspy sound. “He was teasing. You girls just eat up those stories. What’s so fascinating about ghosts?” She looked angry and close to tears. Lydia felt sorry for her.

  “I suppose ghosts would liven up a treasure hunt on the school grounds,” Lydia grinned, trying to lighten up the tension that was building. “Maybe when you come over tomorrow noon we can talk about why ghosts are so fascinating.”

  “Don’t encourage them,” Charlette said, her eyes troubled and piercing, but her tone permissive as if happy to let someone else deal with a troubling phenomenon. “They’ll just run you ragged.”

  “Maybe,” Lydia said, smiling. “Or maybe we’ll all learn something we need to learn.”

  


  Chapter 13