Dorothy Garlock (18 page)

Authors: More Than Memory

BOOK: Dorothy Garlock

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“It’s just the two of us again, Kelly. It was dumb of me to think that there was a chance he would want me again. He wanted me, all right, but only for
one reason. He meant it when he said, ‘put a stallion in a stall with a mare in heat.’ That’s why he stayed, Kelly. He considered me a mare in heat eager to service a stallion.

“It was partly my fault. I wanted him to make love to me. He thinks I’m one of those bed-hoppers. Wouldn’t he be surprised to know that I’ve never been with another man?”

During the long day she had decided that it had been a mistake to come here. She would tough it out and not let Lute think she had run back to the city with her tail between her legs. She couldn’t go back to Chicago right now anyway. Elite Decorators didn’t expect her until spring. One thing was sure—from now on she would avoid Lute at all costs.

She cried for a little while before she went to sleep.

When morning came, the hum of the refrigerator told her the electricity had come on. She picked up the phone and heard the dial tone. She was connected to the world again.

At nine o’clock she called Earl Hutchinson and asked him to send someone out to clear the yard of fallen branches. The ice was disappearing, and the fallen tree limbs would prevent her from getting her car out. He was glad to oblige. He called back to say that someone would be out either late that afternoon or early in the morning.

By noon the house was comfortably warm, and Nelda began to put it in order. Moving the couch back into the living room was backbreaking work.
She did it in stages, then flopped down on it to get her breath.

Shortly after noon, Nelda heard Lute’s truck. He was coming to tend to his horses. If he should come to the house, she wanted to be prepared. She quickly put his radio out on the porch bench, locked the kitchen door, and went up the stairs to her bedroom. She lay down on the bed and covered herself with a blanket. Why she did this, she did not know, when she thought about it later.

Lute’s rap was loud on the door. Kelly, traitor that he was, barked a welcome, happy to see him. Lute banged on the door several more times; then she heard the porch door slam, and, later, the sound of the truck going down the lane.

When next Nelda went to the porch to let Kelly out, she saw the radio still on the bench where she had left it. Damn him! Why hadn’t he taken it? She wanted nothing of his. Nothing.

• • •

Early the next morning, Nelda heard a buzzing sound and Kelly making a fuss in the kitchen. She dressed hurriedly and went downstairs. A truck with high sideboards was parked in the yard and two men were loading the fallen branches. Those too large to lift were being cut with a chain saw.

Nelda put her coffee on to perk, then donned her coat and took Kelly outside. She wasn’t sure what he would do about the chain saw. City dog that he was, he might try to bite it. She needn’t have worried. Kelly was totally intimidated by the shrill sound
of the saw that cut into the thick branches as easily as a knife going through butter.

“Morning,” she said when the saw was finally still.

“Do you want any of this wood, ma’am?” The man who spoke was the one wielding the power saw.

“Would it be suitable for the cookstove in case we have another power failure?”

“Sure. I can cut some of this small stuff in short lengths.”

“I’d appreciate it. And please stack it at the end of the porch. Was there a lot of damage from the storm?”

“Quite a bit, but mostly power and telephone lines. Power and phones are still out south of the lake.”

Nelda was drinking her coffee at the kitchen table when Kelly let her know another vehicle was coming down the lane. It was also a truck with high sideboard. When it stopped, Lute got out. Nelda’s heart began to thump nervously. He talked for a moment to the men cleaning her yard, then went to the barn.

On a sudden impulse, Nelda grabbed up his radio and went out onto the porch.

“Mister,” she called to the man nearest her. “This is Mr. Hanson’s radio. Would you mind putting it on the seat of his truck?”

“Be glad to.”

“Thank you.”

Nelda went back into the house and locked the kitchen door. She didn’t think Lute would risk the embarrassment in front of the men of coming to the door
and not being admitted, but she didn’t want to take the chance.

She needn’t have taken the precaution. Lute didn’t knock at the door. He came out of the barn, got in his truck, and left.

The telephone rang. It was Rhetta calling to see how she had fared during the ice storm and to invite her to dinner on Saturday night.

“I’d love to come.” Nelda had to force an eager tone into her voice.

“Don’t dress up, for heaven’s sake! We’ll probably cook something on the grill.”

“Isn’t it too cold to cook outside?”

“It never gets too cold for Gary to grill. He cooks on the glassed-in porch. Oh, yes, one of our friends is building a house on the lakeshore, one of those big fancy places that will cost more in real-estate tax than some people make in a year. He could hardly contain himself when I told him we had a real live decorator from Chicago living in our midst. He’ll be at the party, so you may find yourself with a job.”

“Oh, Rhetta, I’m not a home decorator. I specialize in decorating commercial properties. You know, offices, cocktail lounges, stores, and the like.”

“That’s okay. He lives all over the place, but mostly in Minneapolis.” Rhetta talked on and Nelda half listened. “We’re dying to get you on the arts council. We need some new blood.”

“Don’t count on me, Rhetta. I may not be here that long. I’m getting pressured to return to Chicago. I’ve not decided yet when I’m going.”

“Nelda, no!” Rhetta wailed. “Promise you’ll give
us a chance to grow on you. We’re really quite nice people out here. Gary got used to us, and he had lived in London all his life.”

“I’ll certainly be here until Saturday night anyway.” Nelda laughed. “I’ll see you then.”

When she hung up the phone, she sat beside it for a long moment. It had been pleasant talking to Rhetta. Maybe what she needed was more women friends. She’d never had girlfriends in school . . . except Linda, and even that had never been a close friendship. She was two years younger than the kids in her class, a baby to the other girls. But she’d had Lute, he had been enough.

Lute. Nearly everywhere her thoughts wandered, she found him. How had she managed to carry on all those years in Chicago, she wondered. Chicago—being there was how she managed it—far enough away and totally occupied in a kind of work that had no relationship with Lute. Maybe she should sell the farm, go away, and never return. Even if she did that, she doubted that she could ever purge her thoughts of him now, after . . .

She pulled herself up short and concluded that at least somewhere else there wouldn’t be as many reminders. But what had become of the Nelda who had resolved to provide proof of her maturity, her talent, her stamina—to Lute, to herself? Damn! How was she ever going to straighten out her life?

Thankfully, her inner struggles were called to a halt right after she had eaten a tuna salad she’d thrown together while jousting with her mental giants. Ervin Olsen arrived, pulled up close to the door
and honked. Nelda pulled on her coat and went out to the truck. He rolled down the window.

“I see ya got things cleaned up already.”

“Mr. Hutchinson sent the men out. It didn’t take long.”

“I figured Lute would be over here, Johnny on the spot.”

“Why would he? Just because he rents the land and the barn doesn’t mean he’s responsible for the yard.”

“I stopped at his place the other day, and he was loading up wood to bring over here.”

“It was neighborly of him. Was there a lot of damage?” she asked to change the subject.

“Fair amount. Was far worse back in ’36. A month went by, and it didn’t get above zero. Had to dig graves with a pickax. A body came in from back East someplace, and there was so much snow they couldn’t find where to bury it.”

“Kelly, come back here,” Nelda called when the dog strayed out into the old cow lot.

“Got to be getting along. I’m glad it’s warmed up some. We’ll be getting snow soon now. What we just had wasn’t snow weather. It was too cold. We’ve not had a Thanksgiving without snow since I was knee-high to a pup.”

“Come again, Mr. Olsen.” Nelda backed away from the truck and held on to Kelly’s collar.

Nelda waved and watched the truck go back down the lane. It seemed like it took forever for it to reach the road. Ervin could never be accused of being a speed demon. He was off to spread the news
that Earl Hutchinson had sent someone out to take care of her yard. Thank goodness he didn’t know that Lute had spent the night here.

Just before she went to bed the phone rang for the second time that day. When Nelda picked it up, she heard a low laugh on the other end of the line.

“I got somethin’ for ya. It’s bigger and harder than old Earl’s. Bigger’n Lute’s too . . .”

Nelda slammed down the receiver and began to shake. This pervert was someone who had seen her with Mr. Hutchinson and who knew of her connection with Lute. As she waited to see if he would call back she concentrated on keeping her fear at bay. He knew where she lived, she was sure of that. Was he getting into her house some way? Leaving things, moving things—just to scare her? She checked the doors, called Kelly, and went upstairs.

From a shoe box, high on a closet shelf, she took out the small pistol that one of her coworkers had insisted she bring on her trip from Chicago. She had laughed at first, then they began telling the stories of the killer Starkweather. Nelda had been around guns all her life. In Germany, with her father when he was stationed there, she had learned, at his insistence, how to load and fire several types of guns. She never thought that she would ever thank him for anything, but she did that now.

With the loaded pistol in a drawer beside the bed she lay in, she opened her mind to the events of the past week. The obscene phone caller was only one of her worries.

Lute thought that she had come back to the farm
as a lark—something of a change of pace from her job in Chicago—and when the newness wore off that she would leave again. She considered long and hard the reason she had come here. It truly was because she had reached a crossroads in her life, and that here at Grandma’s house she could figure out what mattered and what didn’t—and even maybe what to do about her future. She hadn’t counted on Lute’s being here. Now everything was jumbled in her head.

She closed her eyes and prayed for sleep.

• • •

On Saturday morning she went into town to buy groceries and see Mr. Hutchinson. She had called first to make sure that he would be in.

After a greeting, the receptionist waved her back to Mr. Hutchinson’s office. He stood and held out his hand.

“Hello. Did you have any trouble getting into town?”

“Not a bit. We drive in snow and ice in Chicago, too.”

“I suppose so. Have a seat.” He picked up a pencil and slid it back and forth between his fingers. “What do you think about our north Iowa ice storms?”

“I can think of several things that I like better than having the power go off. I managed fine.”

“Lute said that he’d look after you.”

Lute again
. “It was neighborly of him to bring wood for the cookstove. Thanks for checking with him. I’ve come to you with another problem, Mr. Hutchinson. I’ve received several disturbing
telephone calls. Do you know if there is a way to trace the calls?”

“There are in some areas. I don’t know about here. I can talk with Bob Halford at the phone company for you. Are the calls threatening?”

“They are obscene.”

“Good Lord! Have you reported the calls to Chief Larsen?”

“No, the farm is outside his jurisdiction. I’m going to buy a whistle today. A friend in Chicago had annoying calls. Every time the person called, she blew a loud whistle into the phone, and after a while he stopped.”

“I don’t like to think of you alone out there—”

“Don’t worry about me. I have a pistol, and I know how to use it. I don’t have many things to thank my father for, but I have that.”

“Speaking of your father. I’ve had another letter from him. It seems he tried to get in touch with you at your job in Chicago, and they told him that you were here.”

Nelda frowned. “What does he want?”

“He’s still interested in buying the farm. He’s prepared to pay cash.”

“His new wife must be in the money.”

“She is, and she’s the one who wants the farm.”

“Why? They’ll never live there.”

“She raises Arabians and thinks it would be great to have a stable on her husband’s family farm.”

“I’ll never sell to him. Never.”

“Even if you can get an outlandish price?”