The House on Seventh Street (9 page)

“SOLAMENTE UNA
VEZ
…”
Connie Francis's voice sobbed above the hum of voices in the crowded restaurant.
Only one time.
Long ago, that voice had come to Winna under the stars, through the magic of Johnny Hodell's car radio. Now, a candle flickered on a restaurant table and Winna handed the waitress the menu.

John had been out of town and weeks had passed since Winna had seen him at the party. He'd come by that morning to take a look at the foundation and general wellbeing of the house on Seventh Street. He assessed the condition of the electrical service and pronounced the old furnace terminally ill. After the basement tour, she showed him some of the house's treasures. He complimented Seth's handiwork—the newly restored kitchen floor.

The waitress brought their drinks and a fresh basket of warm tortilla chips and salsa.

“Winna, I have a cheeky question,” John said, looking at her a tad sheepishly.

“Shoot.”

“Don't take this the wrong way. It's only a question,” he said as he looked into the depths of his margarita. “How's Chloe doing financially?”

“She gets by, I guess. She picked up a lot of cash from her last divorce—enough to buy a house. I thought Austin was such a nice man—he loved her madly. Anyway, she's certainly not well-off and she's not starving.”

He had another question. “How long has Chloe known that your father disinherited her?”

“She learned the same time I did, I believe—after Dad died. We were all sitting in Reed's office. It was an awful moment—‘everything to my daughter Edwina. To my daughter Chloe, the sum of one dollar.' Just awful.”

“You realize your father's accident could have been arranged—that's if one is prone to conspiracy theories, which I'm not.”

“It sounds like you are.” Winna doused her indignation with a big sip of her margarita. “My God, John, there's no way Chloe would ever do such a thing. Frankly, I find it offensive that you would even suggest it.”

“I'm sorry, Winna,” he said, pulling back. “I know it's none of my business.” He paused a moment in silence, took another sip, and said, “Are you saying you never even thought of the possibility?”

“Never.”

“Everyone in town wondered why he went over the cliff when his car didn't—it was such a weird accident. Did the police check out the car?”

“I don't know—it was an accident.” Winna stirred her drink with the straw. “I told you what I thought happened—what the police believed.”

“But how? Did they do an autopsy?”

“Yes, of all that was left. They found nothing suspicious, John.”

The food arrived. John was silent while the waitress bustled nearby.

“Enjoy!” she said and disappeared.

Enjoy? Ten million grams of fat. Winna stared into a platter full of chicken enchiladas under bubbling chili verde and melted cheese slathered with sour cream and sliced avocado, trying to decide which upset her more: her lack of discretion in ordering, or the man across the table.

“Looks good,” John said, digging into his enchiladas.

Winna said nothing as she cut into her food. She lifted a healthy bite of chicken smothered in tangy chili and cream into her mouth. “I'd like another margarita.”

“Now I know I've upset you,” John said. “Are you going to get drunk?”

“No, you're right, John. I won't have another but I am upset. Surely you don't blame me,” she said, tasting a bite of succulent chili relleno stuffed with melted cheese.

Their silence lasted until the warm food and tequila did their magic and Winna felt herself let go. “Okay, I admit I have had dark thoughts about Dad's accident.”

“Of course, it's only natural with all the stuff that goes on these days. The TV and newspapers are full of it.”

“Let me tell you
my
dark thoughts.” She rested her fork on her plate. “I'm afraid of Todd Cody, Chloe's lover. I don't know the man—but I do know Chloe. She's not capable of murder,” she said, picking up her glass for a sip of melted ice. “Todd, on the other hand, might be capable of arranging things so that he marries into money.”

John looked skeptical. “Is there that much—worth the bother?”

“Yes, it would be ‘worth the bother.'”

“And you think that's why he's going to marry your sister? See, I'm not so twisted after all,” he said with a wink.

THE NEXT MORNING as Winna and Emily sorted through shelves loaded with three different china patterns, Winna could not get her conversation with John the night before off her mind.

“John thinks that something sinister happened in Unaweep Canyon—that Chloe had something to do with Dad's death.”

“Really? I doubt we need to worry about that. But, Mom, I've been feeling guilty for not visiting Poppa Henry more often.”

“I'm to blame, honey,” Winna said, separating the Willow Tree plates from the Spode. “He was tough to visit—didn't know how to make you feel welcome. I didn't understand him so I couldn't help you understand him either.” She sat down and looked at her daughter. “Let me tell you a story about him—about the day he took me to Unaweep Canyon. Come sit down a minute.”

Emily took a chair as Winna's memory returned to the early eighties. “Once, when I came back home to see Daddy, he drove me there for a picnic. He knew all the side roads, how to get to the top of the cliffs. Those were still his drinking days and as we headed out of town toward Whitewater, I was glad there was no traffic. I couldn't tell if he was sober or not, but I'd seen him tuck a silver flask into his back pocket.

“We made it into the canyon just fine. It must have been late spring because the wet meadows were green and filled with wild blue lupines. The sky was another shade of blue with bright white clouds drifting south—you should see my pictures. Dad didn't mind stopping every time I shouted, ‘Photo op!' He'd pull over, I'd get out and wander around with my camera as long as I wanted. Each time I went back to the car, it seemed like he was a little drunker.

“At some point he turned off the highway and we drove up a dirt road that took us to the top of the canyon wall. He knew the way—exactly where he wanted to go. When we reached a turnoff, he parked the car and got out. He asked me to bring the picnic basket and follow. He headed down a footpath toward a cluster of pinyon pines. Walking toward a group of flat rocks shaded by junipers, we stopped at a spot very near the edge of the cliff with a view of the wide canyon below. From there, the road running through the canyon looked like a narrow gray line drawn on a map. I could feel the pull of gravity and was glad for the twisted tree limb that came between me and the sheer drop below—almost like the bar on a Ferris wheel seat.

“We sat down to eat in silence. Then Dad told me a story. It's the only story I remember him ever telling me. As he spoke, I realized what the canyon meant to him and that he had been there often. It is the only memory I have that helps me deal with the way he died.

“He said no one knows for sure how the canyon was formed—some say it was the rivers that came through there millions of years ago and others say glaciers created the canyon. Neither theory can be proven.

“Showing my geological ignorance, I suggested to him that the canyon had been there from the beginning of time. Who says it had to be formed by anything? Maybe that's just the way it is—the way it's always been.”

Winna paused and looked at her daughter. “And, Emily, here's what interests me—the old question. Is it nature or nurture? Was Daddy, am I, are you who you are because of how your parents raised you, or because you were born with a certain nature? The canyon made me wonder about that and it still does.”

“It's nature,” Emily said. “That's why people raised in the same family can be so different—like you and Chloe.”

“I don't know. The family treated Chloe and me very differently. Anyway, Daddy and I didn't talk about that. You couldn't talk about things like that with him.”

“Did you ever try?”

“Sure. If you asked a personal question, he'd drift away. Like once I asked why he dropped out of college and he said, ‘I wasn't much of a student.' He said it in a way that closed me off. It didn't help that he turned his back and left the room.”

“Maybe he had something to hide.”

“Maybe, but let me finish telling you about that day. He had more to tell me. The mystery of the canyon's formation wasn't the only unusual thing. He was drinking from his flask while we talked and the more he drank the longer his silences grew. I had always hated the silence between us and had a habit of rushing to fill it with words.

“He said that the canyon is open at both ends—that's unusual. There isn't a river there, but there are two streams. One runs in one direction and the other in another direction. He seemed to think that was mysterious and asked how two streams could run in opposite directions out of opposite ends of the same canyon.

“I didn't know and I doubted that what he said could possibly be true. He was slurring his words and his eyelids had dropped, making him look sleepy. By then I wanted to go, but he wasn't ready.

“I can still see his eyes moving slowly down the canyon and up to the blue horizon. He looked as if he had gone into a trance. He reached up and out with one hand like he wanted to show me whatever it was he saw. ‘This place—' He didn't say any more, but his face seemed alive—like it does in his baby picture—as if he were lost in a beautiful vision. For the first time in his life he was trying to share something with me.”

Winna suddenly stood up and returned to the stacks of plates on the dining room table. She looked at Emily and quickly wiped the tears off her cheek. “I was afraid, Emily. He was experiencing a beautiful moment, and I was afraid. All I could think was how I was going to get him back to the car and would he let me drive home.”

Emily hesitated and looked away from her mother.

“He scared me too, Mom. I don't know why. He was just so distant, so vacant—like nobody was home.”

WINNA ARRIVED
AT
the Crystal Café for her lunch date with Kate. She picked a table with a view of Main Street. The street had changed since the fifties when she and Johnny had dragged Main in his convertible. Now it was more like a downtown mall with planters full of trees, shrubs, and flowers. Bronze sculptures decorated the sidewalks. Traffic had to slow as the street curved and snaked its way past all the plantings.
The trees are a nice addition
, Winna thought. They filtered the hard-edged light, giving a pleasant cooling shade to the sidewalks and parked cars. But Main Street no longer looked like the nineteenth-century Western street she first knew.

She looked up just as Kate came through the door. She looked like she'd just left the beauty parlor. Spotting Winna right away, she brightened and scurried through the line of people now waiting for tables.

“Hi, Winna,” she called. “Always on time.”

Winna gave her a hug and they sat down. Kate reached for Winna's hand, patting it like the hand of a child. “You are a wonder. I've always wanted to ask why you've never done anything with your hair.”

Winna assumed she meant why she had not colored away the gray. “I guess I like it. Have you colored yours?” she asked, giving Kate's flawlessly even dark-brown hair a quick glance.

“You bet.” Kate smiled and winked, fluffing her “do” with one hand. “I don't have your courage.”

Remembering Kate's tendency to speak her mind, Winna laughed. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” Kate said. “You know me better than anyone.”

Winna had to admit she probably did. “We practically lived together for how many years?”

“Well, I moved to Peach Tree Ridge when I was in eighth grade—I think you were a freshman. We were together almost every day—especially in summer.”

“Sometimes I wonder if we had way too much freedom—riding off on our horses, swimming in the canal. When I think about the wild things we did—the trouble we could have gotten into—l'm amazed we're still alive.”

After ordering lunch, Winna confessed that she had always been jealous of Kate's clothes. “You were so sweet to let me borrow them.”

“I thought yours were better—believe me! If I hadn't, I wouldn't have traded with you so often. Remember how we used to call each other the night before school, plan what we were going to wear the next day, and meet under the pear trees to swap?”

“Remember the ghost ranch? I was thinking about that the other day—what fun it was for us to pack up and ride all that way out to the foothills with our sleeping bags and something to cook for dinner and breakfast.”

“These days people can't let their kids have adventures like that—it's a shame. We knew how to take care of ourselves, make a fire, cook something to eat, and sleep out under the stars.”

To this day, Winna could not remember any other adventure from her youth that compared to riding off with Kate through the countryside to an abandoned farmstead in the shadow of the Book Cliffs several miles from home. Arriving late in the afternoon, they had unloaded their sleeping bags and rations near the house and let the horses go in the old pasture, certain that the ramshackle fence would fool them into thinking they could not escape. Searching for firewood, laying a fire—they were masters of the task at hand.

Like a traveler coming home after a long journey, Winna had stepped onto the old porch full of anticipation. They knew nothing about the house's former owners or why they had deserted the place, and would lie around the campfire at night making up love stories with tragic endings.

“Every summer when we visited the house, it had changed—seemed more haunted,” Winna said. “One by one, the windows were shot out and the furniture stolen.”

Kate's face lit up. “Remember the night we tried to sleep indoors?”

“Of course. I count that as my one and only encounter with ghosts. I'll have to encourage Chloe with that story. She thinks I'm hopelessly skeptical about the unseen.”

“What imaginations we had!”

“After that one terrifying night, we never tried that again.”

Winna remembered making camp outside—in back of the house—lighting the campfire, roasting wienies on a stick, and eating baked beans from the fire-warmed blackened can. The sun set over Pinyon Mesa, lighting the sky pink and violet, and more wood was thrown on the fire. Fully dressed except for boots, they had burrowed into their sleeping bags. The moon rose high and Winna could see the horses still grazing the dry pasture. When she turned her eyes up to the sky, it seemed that the stars were close enough to touch.

The women turned the conversation to the present, catching up with recent events. Kate was busy golfing at the country club three mornings a week, playing tennis once a week with her husband and another couple. She and Jim also belonged to a folk dance group that met once a month for a hoedown.

No wonder she's so slim
, Winna thought. Kate still had horses and invited her to ride. A standing invitation Winna planned to accept. When their lunch arrived, a cheeseburger for her and a salad for Kate, Winna told Kate all about Adolph Whitaker's letters and the jumble of treasures and trash packed into the old house. Kate wanted to know about Winna's plans for the future, especially what she was thinking about John.

“We saw each other for dinner. We're getting reacquainted. That's all,” she said.

Kate picked through her salad, avoiding the tomatoes and red onion. Winna guessed she wasn't very hungry. “You remember he married Maggie?” Kate said.

Winna nodded yes. “Did you see much of her after high school?”

Kate looked thoughtful. “Now that you mention it, I'd say not. Why do you ask?”

“I wrote her a couple of times and she never responded. I felt a little disappointed—hurt, actually.” Winna regretted the waver in her voice following that admission.

“Once she got involved with John, she moved to Boulder and took a job of some kind there,” Kate said. “She may not have gotten your letters. He was in school. I think they got married there. I got the impression that it was all very hush-hush.”

“Maybe she was pregnant?”

“I don't know. They never had children,” Kate seemed to drift for a second before she went on. “When they came back to town—before he went to Vietnam—I didn't hear from her. Bumped into her here and there. She was friendly enough, but didn't seem interested in resuming our relationship.”

“Tell me about her death.” Even though John had recently told her what had happened, Winna wondered what Kate knew.

Kate shook her head as if she still couldn't believe it. “I was so shocked—she was a fine skier. John was with her when it happened. She ran into a tree and broke her neck.”

“Did he see it happen?”

“I think so. You know she was so good that he actually liked skiing with her. Jim won't ski with me.”

“Johnny never skied with me,” Winna admitted, “but Maggie would—and you. I think I was the poorest skier of the lot—a real gaper.”

“No you weren't. I remember having lots of fun with you—especially on trails. God, we had fun,” Kate reached for Winna's hand.

Winna smiled and opened her mouth to add her assent, but she wasn't fast enough.

“After the war, John came home lost and troubled—he was doing drugs. He and my Jim have always been best friends—like brothers, really. At one point Jim sat him down for a heart-to-heart. John was stealing money from his father to pay for drugs and gambling debts.”

“Really? That's hard to believe. He told Jim that?” Winna said, feeling stunned, troubled.

“Yes—like a confession of sorts. He hated himself. Mr. Hodell was quite old then and had trusted his son to take over the business. John was devastated when he died and started going to Gamblers Anonymous. He wanted to pull himself and his father's business back into shape and asked Jim to help him.”

“How could Jim trust him? I mean, after stealing from his father?”

“Jim loves him like a brother and believed in him—he still does. He didn't go into business with him until John got his act together—then Jim became the financial brains.” Kate looked sure, as if she was confident that John had reformed.

Thinking Kate's husband might well be a saint, Winna asked, “How has that worked out?”

“Very well. Jim is a good manager and John is a good contractor. They don't get mixed up in each other's territory and, if I may say so, they operate the leading firm in the area. Once John cleaned up his act, he stayed cleaned up. We are kind of proud of him for that.”

Kate had told Winna more about John's past than he had. Winna sipped a second cup of tea as they talked and laughed and told stories from the past. When she looked at her watch, it was nearly three o'clock. They had forgotten the time.

“Oh, Lordy, it's late,” Kate said as they prepared to go. “Promise that you'll go riding with me soon.”

They hugged, pecked each other's cheeks, and said goodbye.

That night, lying in bed in Juliana's bedroom, Winna remembered Kate as a girl—her dark hair and snapping green eyes, her body straight as a stick. Winna's body had developed sooner than Kate's and her friend had teased her about having big boobs. Winna chuckled to herself. The night of the sweetheart formal she had helped Kate stuff her strapless bra with Kleenex. She wondered if Kate would remember that. The memory delighted her but she fell asleep thinking of beautiful Maggie, her eyes like a doll's eyes, smiling blue, fringed with thick black lashes. And now she was dead.