Authors: More Than Memory

Dorothy Garlock (10 page)

BOOK: Dorothy Garlock

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The atmosphere was suddenly cooler. Her heart sank as she realized that he was putting her on trial, too. She hoped her stomach would settle down and that she wouldn’t burst into tears again.

She pushed back her chair. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’ve got to be going. Mom’s putting sweet corn in the freezer tomorrow, and I promised her that I’d pick and husk it tonight.”

“In the dark?”

“I’ve got a light on the tractor. Mom wants to
get it done. She’s going to California at the end of the week to visit her sister.” He squatted down beside Kelly and fondled the dog’s ears. “He’ll be out for a while yet. When he comes to, he’ll be thirsty. Don’t let him fill up on water—it’ll make him sick.”

The telephone rang and Nelda answered it.

“How’s my babe?” The voice of Aldus Falerri boomed in her ear.

“Fine, thank you.” Her eyes went to Lute, pleading with him not to leave.

“When are ya comin’ home, puss?”

Oh, Lord, I hope Lute can’t hear this
.

“I’m not sure, Mr. . . . ah, Aldus. I’ve got a lot to do here.”

“Hurry up, puss, or I might come out and carry ya back.”

“No, don’t do that. I’ll call you.”

“I’ll be waitin’, puss. Aldus Falerri ain’t used to waitin’.”

“I know. Good-bye.”

Nelda hung up the phone before the man at the other end could reply.

“Boyfriend?”

“No! I decorated his nightclub. Thanks for taking us to the vet’s. I don’t know how I’d have managed otherwise.”

“You’d have managed,” he responded matter-of-factly. “Thanks for the supper. Or, I guess the upper crust in Chicago say ‘dinner.’” At the door he turned and looked at her.

She stood at the table, her hands clutching the top of the ladder-backed chair.

“I saw your picture in a magazine after you’d decorated the club rooms in some fancy hotel. You looked like one of those high-society dames. I never thought to see you here, living in an old farmhouse, hanging clothes on the line. What are you trying to prove, Nelda?”

She felt as if he had kicked her in the stomach. She could only stare blankly. Inside, she was hollow, unable to think. Then rising anger helped her find her voice.

“Why should I be trying to prove anything? I told you once my reasons for coming here and I don’t need to explain them futher.”
He thinks I have some ulterior motive for coming here,
she reflected.
He believes that I’ll pack up and leave if the going gets rough
. Mentally straightening her spine, she reminded herself that the only person she needed to prove anything to was herself.

If he noticed the anger in her reply, Lute showed no evidence of it. His lack of response infuriated her even more.

“I’ll get my bike and be off,” he said tersely as he crossed the porch to the screened door.

Nelda went to the porch and watched him. The yard light was still on. He turned back and looked at her, lifted his arm briefly in salute, and disappeared around the corner of the house. She stood at the door until distance ate up the sound of the motorcycle.

Lute’s sudden antagonism had banished some of her hopes for a reconciliation, but not all; for, as she
quickly reminded herself, he had not remarried, and he was still wearing his wedding ring.

• • •

When the phone rang the next morning as Nelda was drinking coffee and listening to the news on the radio, she groaned thinking that it might be Aldus Falerri. The call was from Rhetta, the veterinarian’s wife. She wanted to know if it would be convenient for her to stop by that morning.

Nelda was pleased she was going to have a real visitor. Though Ervin Olsen came by often, he seldom stayed more than five minutes, and she had to admit that she longed for a little chitchat.

Right on time, a small yellow Volkswagen came up the lane and a tall, large-boned woman got out. She had thick, wheat-colored hair tied at the nape of her neck, a suntanned face, and friendly brown eyes. Nelda met her at the back door.

“Hello. I’m Rhetta.” The smiling woman extended a hand in greeting.

“I’m Nelda, obviously. Do come in.”

“Gary told me to get myself over here and welcome you to our metropolis. How’s your dog doing?”

In ten minutes they were chatting as if they had known each other for years.

“I swear to goodness, Nelda, if I take on any more projects, Gary will raffle me off at the next veterinary convention. I had decided that I was absolutely not going to be the next president of the Women’s Club even if they got down on their knees and begged me, and what did I do? I sat there like I was dead from the neck up, and they elected me!
Now I’ve got the membership drive, the charity ball, the drive to expand the library, et cetera, et cetera.”

“It sounds to me as if you have your hands full. What about your children? Did you say they were twelve and fourteen?”

“Our boys are so self-sufficient they scare me! The only thing they’ll ever need a woman for is sex. They cook, do their own laundry, clean their rooms, manage their own money. They both think the sun rises and sets with their father. The other hero in their lives is Lute. He’s taught them gun safety, how to drive a tractor—he even took them to the north woods in Minnesota and taught them what to do if they should ever be stranded up there on one of the many fishing trips they make with Lute and Gary.”

In order to hide her elation on hearing these things about Lute, Nelda got up and refilled their coffee cups.

“Have you known Lute long?” she asked as casually as possible.

“Four . . . no, maybe five years now. We’ve been here six years and met Lute as soon as he came home from the Navy. He’s sure come a long way since then. He farms the place left to him and his mother, and he bought some adjoining land. That boy works like a son of a gun. I understand he leases another section. He’s got equipment you wouldn’t believe—four-row planters, two-row pickers, and even his own corn sheller. After he shells his own, he shells for others.”

Rhetta’s large capable hands turned her glass around and around. Nelda sensed the woman’s eyes
glued to her while she talked about Lute. A question about her and Lute was coming, and before Nelda could head it off, it was asked.

“You’re Nelda, the mother of Lute’s little girl?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. Nelda isn’t a common name around here.”

After a slightly awkward silence Nelda was compelled to offer a reason for her being here.

“My grandparents left me this farm. Earl Hutchinson is the executor of the estate, and he leased the land to Lute.” She laughed nervously. “I didn’t know that until I got here.”

Nelda’s eyes were bright and her fingers tightly gripped her cup. She knew that Rhetta noticed.

“Yeah, our Lute has done well for himself. He deserves it; he puts in long hours. Gary and I have wondered what drives him. Did he tell you that he owns the sale barn? I suspect that the bank owns a share of it, but not for long. Lute knows farming and cattle like the back of his hand. He’ll make a go of it.”

“I’m sure,” Nelda mumbled.

“Well, I’ve got to scoot. I’m on the committee to explore the idea of an indoor community swimming pool; and if I don’t want to be put in charge of raising the money for it, I’d better be there to say no.”

When Rhetta stood, Nelda was surprised to realize how tall and sturdy her new friend was.

“Why build a pool when you’re so close to a lovely lake?” Nelda asked.

“The swimming season here is short for one thing, and there are so many cottages around the lake that it’s beginning to get dirty. Years ago, they tell me, the lake was so clear you could see to the bottom—so the name Clear Lake. It’s not that clear anymore, but we’re working on it.”

“Stop, stop!” Nelda laughed. “I’m convinced.”

“Good! I’ll get you onto the committee.”

“I’m not
that
convinced!” Nelda protested.

“Will you come to supper some night? It might be hot dogs.”

“I love hot dogs.”

“Ahhh . . .” Rhetta sighed with relief. “I thought that coming from the big city you’d expect Chicken Kiev, or something equally impossible for me to make.”

“Just because I lived in a big city doesn’t mean I have gourmet tastes. I don’t cook much for myself. Alongside one of my usual meals, a tuna sandwich looks like a feast.”

“That’s comforting to hear. I hate people who think everything worth doing is worth doing well. Thanks for the coffee and the chat.” Rhetta talked nonstop until she folded herself into the small Volkswagen, yelled “’Bye,” and slammed the door.

C
hapter
S
ix

A
S THE DAYS PASSED
N
ELDA BEGAN TO FEEL THAT
the brief hint of a reconciliation with Lute had never happened. He was putting up hay, she knew. A tractor pulling a wagon piled high with bales had gone by while she was out with Kelly.

A sense of belonging had settled over her, and she looked around the farmhouse with pride at what she had accomplished. She had worked all one day cleaning out the garage, carrying some things to the barn and piling junk in a heap to be hauled away. In a far corner on the floor among cardboard boxes, she discovered a fairly new clean blanket, an empty brown paper bag, and a Baby Ruth wrapper. Who had left them there? As she shook the blanket out and put it on the back porch, she felt a small tingle of fear course down her spine.

By the end of the day, the Ford was crowded into the building that had never before housed a car; her grandpa’s pickup had been too long to fit.

When Ervin Olsen pulled into the lane for one of his brief visits the following morning, he found
Nelda tinkering with an old power mower she had pulled out of the garage. She asked him how to start the machine. He took one look and shook his head.

“That machine is old as the hills and has been sittin’ there longer’n that. It ain’t never goin’ to start.”

“Oh, shoot. The yard needs mowing. Grandpa never let it get this high.”

“Tell ya what. Cliff Peterson, down at the farm store, has mowers. Hop in and we’ll go take a look.”

Before noon, Nelda, wearing an old pair of pedal pushers and a scarf around her head, was happily walking behind a new power mower with Ervin looking on and grinning broadly.

“Don’t that beat all—old Eli’s city granddaughter out mowing like an old hand. ’Course I’ll have to take some of the credit.” He chuckled. After loading her old mower to take back to Cliff to use for parts, he climbed into his pickup and announced that he was off to spread the news.

Gary stopped by several times to check on Kelly. The Irish setter was still stiff and sore and moved cautiously from the house to his favorite spot under a lilac bush. Nelda fretted and tried to cater to his every whim, constantly reminding herself of Gary’s brisk announcement that in a few weeks Kelly would be “right as a London rain.”

“I think you’ve decided that city life isn’t so bad after all, haven’t you?” Nelda patiently held the screen door open so the dog could painfully climb the three steps necessary to reach the porch. “Just as soon as you’re able, we’ll go for a long walk, and you’ll begin to like it here again.”

The veterinarian’s visits had cheered up several mornings. He dropped by to check Kelly when he was in the area. The Englishman had a genuine interest in her work. Nelda enjoyed explaining to him about the specimens she was pressing and the groups of wildflowers she had hanging upside down on the porch.

“Did Rhetta see this? She’ll ring you in to teach an arts and crafts class for one of her clubs.”

“Oh, no. That’s out of my line. I’m not a teacher.”

When the phone rang the next morning, Nelda expected it to be the vet’s wife.

“Nelda, this is Linda.”

“Linda. How are you?”

“Fine. I have the car today. If you’re not busy, I thought I would come out this afternoon while Eric’s in school.”

BOOK: Dorothy Garlock

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