Trudy took a sip of wine, welcoming the dry, full-bodied flavor and any calming agents the wine might dispense. After Aunt Star took her seat and hooked her cane over the back of her chair, Trudy pulled out a chair to join her.
She wanted so badly to talk about the eyeglasses Zia dug up, to discuss the circumstances surrounding the awful night when Aunt Star cajoled her and Georgia into silence. Trudy wanted to ask her all these things, but instead, she sipped her wine, placed slices of cheese and apple on crackers, and munched away. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
At one point, Mr. Grumples brushed against her ankles, meowed, and jumped onto her lap. He curled into a ball on top of her cloth napkin and began purring. “Well, hello, Mr. Grumples. You’re pretty friendly for a curmudgeon.”
Aunt Star raised her glass and cocked an eyebrow. “Mr. Grumples is picky about who he chooses to associate with, but he knows a kindred spirit when he sees one.” She sampled her wine, smacking her lips with pleasure. After she set her glass down, she gazed at the cat. “Mr. Grumples showed up here one morning a few years ago, all scratched up and bleeding. Guess he’d been in some kind of fight. I’d lost Miss Pearl, my white Persian, and I wasn’t exactly in the mood to take in some alley cat looking for a handout.”
Trudy ran her hand through his rich fur, enjoying the warmth of his plump body, the vibrations he made every time he purred. “He’s a smart cat,” she murmured, grinning at her aunt. “Who better to patch him up than a nurse?”
“A sucker you mean,” she cackled, but a smile emitted from her eyes as she gazed across the table.
Seconds passed. Satisfied he’d been properly petted, the cat jumped down and darted under the table.
With her hands free, Trudy picked up her wine and admired the contrast of dark Burgundy against the pink stemware. Inhaling the deep earthy aroma, she took a sip and out of nowhere, Clay’s voice echoed through her mind as if they were still sitting in the diner back in Pardon having breakfast. What did that guy do to you?
Closing her eyes, she set the glass down, feeling flushed. When she opened them again, she plucked up a grape, nibbled it, and then popped another one into her mouth. As she chewed, the ugly assault of words from that horrible night in her mother’s kitchen prodded her as if the monster were here in Star’s tiny kitchen. You’re not worth a poke anymore.
Crinkling the cloth napkin between her fingers on her lap, Trudy breathed through her nose then blurted out, “What did Dub do to you? I mean long before he attacked Georgia that night in the kitchen?”
Aunt Star stiffened, her frosty pink lips parted in shock before she clamped them shut. Grabbing her cane, she pushed herself up from the table. With one hand gripping the crook of her cane and the other the back of her chair, she took a deep breath, lifted her shoulders, then dropped them with a loud exhale. “He raped me. When I was thirteen.”
Trudy stared at her, seeing the pain etched all over her aunt’s soft face, her cheeks as inflamed as the letters spray-painted in red across Dub’s grave.
“Come on, Mr. Grumples,” her aunt huffed. The cat darted out from under the table and disappeared around the corner.
“Did you tell anyone?” Trudy followed her aunt into the living room where she made a fuss plumping up a pillow with the tip of her cane.
“Didn’t have to.” Aunt Star straightened, looking around as if she couldn’t remember why she walked into the room. “His mother waltzed in and caught him in the act. He had me pinned down in the pool house, dry-humping me from behind like some animal, both hands on my bare breasts. We’d been swimming and I went into the pool house to use the restroom and…”
Trudy leaned against the doorframe, wincing. Her chest squeezed with pain. She took several deep breaths, hoping to slow her heart rate. “I hope Aunt Gladys beat the crap out of him. I don’t guess she called the police?”
Aunt Star shook her head. “Not hardly, but she smacked him good across his bare back with a pool pole. Left a huge welt.” With both hands gripping her cane, Aunt Star lifted her quivering chin in defiance. “Some will argue that I wasn’t raped, because like Aunt Gladys said, ‘At lease he didn’t penetrate you.’ But that’s hogwash; I don’t need a dictionary to tell me I was violated.”
Aunt Star took a deep breath and continued, “I’d been swimming at the mansion dozens of times as a kid. But something changed when Dub hit puberty. He became mean, aggressive. And that day as he was assaulting me, he snarled in my ear, ‘Keep your mouth shut, slut. If you tell anyone, I’ll hurt you good.’”
Trudy pushed away from the doorframe and plopped down on the sofa catawampus from the leather recliner. “What a disgusting pig. I’m sorry, Aunt Star. Me and Georgia and Bogey only knew him as a creep, someone Momma and Daddy ordered us to avoid.”
Aunt Star gripped her cane, her chest heaved with each breath. She looked around for Mr. Grumples. He’d curled up in a corner of her recliner.
Aunt Star resumed her story, as if she hadn’t heard Trudy’s last comment. Once Star began the telling, she couldn’t seem to stop. Maybe that would bode well when Trudy got around to pressing her about the eyeglasses. “Of course Dub blamed me. Told his mother I led him on. She told him to shut up, that his father would handle it when he got home from work.”
Trudy hesitated, doing the math. “Where was my mom? She would’ve been eleven then.”
Aunt Star leaned on her cane even more. “Jewel was at church camp. Mother had gone along to chaperone. My dad was still at the garage. Aunt Gladys drove me home in her Cadillac. I’ll never forget the way she looked down her nose as she approached our working-class neighborhood. As she parked in front of our gray stucco with a giant swamp cooler plugged into the living room window, she told me to stop blubbering. Laid a guilt trip on me. Told me to get over it. Boys will be boys, and if I didn’t want that kind of attention, I better stop parading myself in front of her son. The next time I swam at her house, I better cover up. Wear one of my daddy’s grimy T-shirts from work. The last thing she said before she drove off was, ‘Don’t tell anyone what happened, I mean it. If word gets out, who you think people will believe? The son of one of the most respected and wealthiest men in town, or you, the daughter of an auto mechanic?’”
Incredulous, Trudy gnawed at her right thumbnail. “It’s a good thing that old hag is dead or I’d be payin’ Gladys a visit.”
Aunt Star let out a puff of air. “In some odd way, she was both my accuser and my protector. Anytime I was at their home, she made sure I was never alone in the same room with Dub. The same went for Jewel. A few years later, Dub got sent to New Mexico Military Institute in Roswell. God knows why. At some point he got kicked out and returned to Pardon. I shudder to think who else he tormented and terrorized.”
Perhaps the lady in the Lexus at the cemetery, Trudy thought, keeping it to herself for now because Star’s revelation was a lot to process all at once. And if she pushed too fast, her aunt might shut down before Trudy could bring up the eyeglasses.
With measured breaths, she stared at the blue river snaking through the canyon in the painting. Like Aunt Star, she pictured herself floating down that river, the sun hot on her back, the water cool and cleansing. But could any amount of healing water truly wash away the pain of abuse? Regardless of the severity, abuse was abuse, whether it was sexual, mental, or verbal.
Aunt Star’s voice drifted as she hobbled toward the small hallway away from the living room. “We better use the facilities before we go see your sister.”
With that, Trudy hoisted herself off the couch and went into the kitchen to put the fruit and cheese back in the refrigerator. At the baker’s rack, she paused and ran a finger one more time over the tiny yellow star stitched into the upper right-hand corner of the label. And the name Star Hurn stitched in bright pink. Maybe Aunt Star would open up more once Trudy got her out of the house.
Later, as she went to help Aunt Star into the Camaro, Trudy asked, “Did Grandma Lily know what happened to you?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I was too afraid to tell anyone after Aunt Gladys shamed me into silence. Uncle Manifred wielded a lot of power in that town. Still does. He could’ve made life difficult for Mother and Daddy.”
After Trudy backed out of the driveway and headed south toward Railroad Avenue, she said, “So how did Momma know to be afraid of him if you didn’t tell anyone? You said she was at church camp when it happened.”
Aunt Star’s chest rose and fell as she gazed straight ahead. “Because I started having nightmares, and apparently one night I talked in my sleep and Jewel overheard me screaming for Dub to get off me.”
CHAPTER 25
Walking in Her Footsteps
“I STILL say they should rename this street Harvey Girl Way. Those gals were more than glorified waitresses…they had gumption. They were risktakers who helped bring a certain civility to the American West.” Aunt Star gripped her cane stashed between her legs and gazed out the passenger window at the back side of the historic Castaneda Hotel, a massive two-story mission revivalstyle building on Railroad Avenue.
All discussion about the assault in the pool house had stopped minutes earlier when Trudy revved the engine and Aunt Star leaned back in her seat and laughed that they were “street racing.” A few seconds of going fast and hearing her aunt’s laughter reminded Trudy of summer vacations as a kid when they visited Pardon and hung out with their fun-loving aunt before they moved back to Pardon for good and she became the family caretaker.
Trudy parked next to the curb and cut the engine. “Holy moly, with the exception of her hairdo and spiffy new aqua specs, I’d say there stands Lily Knutson’s ghost framed in that archway. Her costume looks authentic.” She blasted the horn at her sister a couple of times, mimicking the passenger trains of old chugging into the depot next door with carloads of hungry passengers.
Her coppery hair puffed up in a loose bun, Georgia Cutterbuck waved enthusiastically from the walkway of the arcade that wrapped around the horseshoe-shaped building. Clad in a longsleeved black dress and starched white apron that fell just below her knees, and topped with a black bow tie, she lifted her skirt a few inches and broke into a cancan.
“That’s my sister,” Trudy chuckled. “She’s got a dance move for every occasion. If I tried that, I’d fall and break my hip.”
Aunt Star pushed her door open and plopped her cane on the ground. “Dance a few steps for me, Georgia girl. I’m out of breath just watching.”
In a pair of black Mary Jane shoes with one-inch heels, Georgia tap-danced down the brick promenade then spun and tapped back toward them. “You girls ready for the tour?” Her husky laughter echoed up and down the arched breezeway.
“Shoot, yeah,” Aunt Star shouted, grinning up at her niece. “I wish your grandma could see you in that getup. After listening to her stories when we were kids, Jewel and I always suspected being a Harvey Girl was the highlight of her life.”
“Look at you,” Trudy hollered, rushing around to help their aunt out of the Camaro. “For a second you looked like Grandma Lily in those old photos of her in uniform.”
Georgia laughed, the lenses of her new eyewear accentuating her hazel eyes that crinkled at the corners. “Except I’m twice the age Grandma was when she worked here, and she wore her hair in a bob.”
Meandering through the gate in a chain link fence that skirted the perimeter of the building, Aunt Star cleared her throat and proclaimed, “The Castaneda was built by the Santa Fe Railroad in conjunction with the Fred Harvey Company and opened in 1899 as the first flagship trackside hotel on the Santa Fe line.” She paused to catch her breath. “This grand ol’ dame boasts a tall bell tower seen for miles around and a central courtyard that faces east toward the tracks.”
Georgia clasped her hands and squealed like a woman half her age. “So you were listening the whole time I was practicing my spiel?”
“Heck yeah, and if I wasn’t so old, I’d be sportin’ one of those costumes and helping you give tours.” Reaching for the metal rail, Aunt Star gazed up at the gray sky then huffed as she navigated the two steps leading to the veranda. “Sure smells like snow although I didn’t see it in the forecast.” She walked over to one of the arches and peered at the depot next door. “Aw, the glamorous days of train travel. At least Amtrak still stops through here.” She leaned on her cane as if lost in thought.
Before stepping up onto the veranda, Trudy glanced at the sky then noticed the faded white lettering that curved around the top of the arch. The stylized wording Castaneda Hotel reminded her of a sign she’d seen over a cantina somewhere on her travels.
With Aunt Star out of earshot, Trudy reached to hug her sister and whispered in her ear, “We need to talk. It’s about the perv.”
Georgia lowered her voice. “Wait till we’re upstairs.”
After they embraced, they held each other at arm’s length, both trying to outdo the other with compliments. “You look happy,” Trudy said, nudging her sister on the cheek.
“So do you.” Georgia grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. “You’ll have to bring Clay next time.”
“He wanted to come, but…” Trudy flicked her head in their aunt’s direction. “You know…”
Georgia nodded then led them down the walkway to a pair of double doors. “Okay, ladies, you want the official tour or the family tour?”
Trudy and Aunt Star exchanged glances and shrugged. “The family tour’s fine if it means you get out of here sooner, but I’m still paying the full fee,” Trudy assured her.
Georgia adjusted her glasses. “Thanks, girls. I feel funny charging you though. Being family and all.”
“Bah.” Aunt Star jutted her chin in the air. “Would Lillian Gertrude Knutson have traveled all the way from Kansas to work here for free? Heck no. She answered the call for ‘Young women, eighteen to thirty, of good character, attractive, and intelligent.’ They were promised good wages, room, and board. This is extra income for you, lovey. No need to apologize.”
Georgia curled her fingers over her lips and averted her eyes. “Just trying to pay off my house and student loans. Been a long day. I have to be back here by nine in the morning. The tour director and I and another Harvey Girl are expecting a Rotary Club from Albuquerque and a busload of college students from Las Cruces. So as soon as we’re done here, I’ll run the key back to the Plaza Hotel, change out of this uniform, and we can meet at Charlie’s for an early supper.”
“Will Gil be joining us?” Aunt Star asked as Georgia propped the door open to let her pass.
“Not tonight. He’s teaching an acting class to some disadvantaged kids so we’ll hook up with him tomorrow afternoon at the Plaza.”
As Georgia went to lock the door behind them, Trudy noticed her sister wince. “Your hands bothering you today?”
Her sister made a fist. “My right one. Probably the weather. As long as this arthritis doesn’t affect my feet, I’m good.”
Inside the large lobby, Trudy gaped at the high pressed-tin ceilings, crown molding everywhere, the long elegant check-in counter to the left and the black and white tile floor leading to the grand L-shaped staircase to the right. The room was stripped bare of furniture except for a painted desk and a straight-backed chair in the corner nook by the stairs. Something tickled the back of her neck and she spun, slapping the air behind her.
Georgia giggled, pulling her hand away in time. “Some say this place is haunted, sis.”
Trudy shivered but shrugged it off. “Have you ever experienced anything weird while you’re here?”
Her lips crimped in a wry grin, Georgia let her gaze travel up the grand staircase painted white, past the maroon-carpeted risers, to the landing flooded with natural light from a huge skylight above the stairwell. “One time I thought I heard laughter upstairs. Maybe one of Aunt Star’s former patients escaped from the state mental hospital.”
Shaking her head, Aunt Star frowned then walked over to inspect the stairs, her breathing labored with each step. �
��Don’t suppose they’ve put an elevator in yet?”
“Not yet,” Georgia apologized. “But one’s coming with the renovation.”
“I figured as much,” Aunt Star sighed. “I’ll hang out down here when you girls head up.”
Rubbing her right hand, Georgia nodded toward the nook by the stairs. “Back in Grandma Lily’s day, a newsstand stood over there. They sold everything from postcards to tobacco to trinkets and souvenirs.”
“Sounds like an airport,” Trudy quipped, walking over to peek through a set of double doors into a huge dining room that appeared as big as a ballroom. Aunt Star sidled up next to her, sounding winded.
Georgia sashayed across the lobby and motioned for them to follow her through the double doors. “The dining hall could seat over a hundred people and the lunchroom half that. Grandma Lily earned about fifty dollars per month, along with room and board. Sadly, only white women were hired back then. Someone like Lupi couldn’t have applied to work as a Harvey Girl until around the Second World War.”
Trudy shook her head. “Thank goodness times have changed.”
Halfway across the dining room, Aunt Star stopped to catch her breath. “Let’s hope we don’t regress.” She glanced around then stared at the floor. “Girls, we are literally walking in Lillian Knutson’s footsteps. I never thought I’d live to see this day.”
Trudy strode back toward her. “Haven’t you been in here before?”
Aunt Star shook her head. “This place was boarded up for years. I’ve only seen it from the outside. The bar was opened off and on. But nobody I know hung out down here. It’ll be nice to see it shine again. Mother and the other girls would be pleased, I’m sure.”
They meandered into the kitchen with its high ceilings. Georgia pointed out the original oven that took up an entire brick wall, a huge icebox that resembled a wardrobe, an industrial dishwasher, and a long countertop where mounds of dough over the years had been rolled out for bread and pastries. “Everything was baked fresh on the premises,” Georgia explained.
The Flying Cutterbucks Page 23
