Finding the Way Back (25 page)

I looked at Connie. “What do you think?
Should we go through a dresser now?”

“I’m up for it.”

The first was a long dresser made of maple
with three small drawers across the top and two deeper drawers
underneath each small one. The other dresser was also maple, and
was a large wardrobe that stood between the far windows.

I pulled open the top left drawer while
Connie opened the opposite side. The one I opened held feminine
underclothes. I sifted through the drawer to the bottom. Nothing
but under things. Connie’s drawer held men’s underclothes. She also
looked all the way through to the bottom. Nothing extra was found.
The middle drawer was men’s socks. We looked through the other
drawers and found undershirts, slips and silk stockings with
garters and women’s socks. Everything you would expect in a dresser
but nothing unusual.

Disappointed, I went to sit on the bed. “That
was dissatisfying. I thought there would be something interesting
in that dresser. It just felt like it.”

“Your intuition must be off.” Connie sighed
and sat next to me. “Let’s go find lunch then we can just throw
most of that stuff away. I don’t think anyone is going to want used
under things. That’s just gross.”

After lunch we went up to finish in the
bedroom. Connie went through the dresser, throwing out the items,
while I swept and dusted the room.

When Connie was done we moseyed over to the
tall wardrobe. Opening the door we were faced with three shelves
and three drawers. The smell of aftershave wafted out. Even after
all these years, the smell of Old Spice was still strong. There
were sweaters on the shelves, most were wool and very worn. I
pulled out a caramel colored one with leather elbow patches.

Opening the top drawer, we groaned. It was
full of papers. I grabbed the top papers. Old receipts. Pushing the
drawer closed we decided to leave them until later. The next
drawers were the same. Intermixed with the receipts were
photographs in frames, cuff links, various flotsam and jetsam of
life. Connie lifted a framed photo of our grandmother from the
drawer. It was a candid shot of her looking at the camera and
laughing. She was sitting outside on an overturned tree with the
wind in her hair and an affectionate look on her face—like her love
was sent through the camera to the person taking the photo.

Connie handed me the photo, and pushed the
drawer back in. We placed it on the long dresser in reverence of
her memory and sadness to think she might still be trapped
somewhere on this plane of existence. We closed the wardrobe up and
left the papers for another day.

Feeling satisfied to have a second room in
pretty good order I looked around. We would have to scrape off the
blue patterned wallpaper, sand the floors, and replace the light
fixtures, but the bones of the room were good. The headboard was
unadorned maple planks, and was attractive in its simplicity. The
side tables were also small and basic. I looked at the lamps; they
would need to be replaced. Ugly, olive green bases, with lampshades
that used to be white but were now yellow, stood on the
nightstands. They looked to be a newer addition than the furniture.
Seventies-era early American decor. Yuck. It would be a charming
room after we redecorated with nineteen forties reproduction
touches that would bring a little glamour to the room. The windows
looked like they would probably need to be replaced although they
didn’t seem to be leaking yet. I could imagine the winter wind
whipping through them in January. Other than that, it was
surprising how little work it would take to bring this room back to
its former beauty.

“The dresser’s all clean, so you can put your
things in here now,” Connie said. She walked out to the hall with
her full trash bag.

“Sounds good. I’m going to change before
coming down.”

I unpacked my suitcase, putting everything
into the drawers we had just emptied. Noticing just how few things
I’d brought with me, I reminded myself that I really had to get
over to my mom’s to pick up more of my clothes. I kept putting it
off in all the excitement.

Finding my jean skirt and purple blouse I
realized how much better I felt when I took a little extra time on
my presentation. Reaching into my flowered carry-all I felt to the
bottom for the locket I knew I’d thrown into it when I was packing.
It was a large heart shaped pendent on a long chain. Simon had
given it to me for our first anniversary. I sat on the bed and
opened the locket. A small photo of me and Simon smiled up at me. I
was transported back to the time we had stayed in a historic hotel
on the edge of Lake Superior. He had planned the entire trip as a
surprise. The room had a balcony that looked out over the lake,
where we had sat and had a glass of wine. I felt a lump in my
throat and tears started to stream down my face. He had really
tried at first, when acquisition was his aim. Sticking with it was
what he didn’t do well. Pulling the photo out of the locket I tore
it up. We were no longer those people, and those times were gone. I
could mourn the loss but I needed to move past it. Wiping my face
with my hand, I slipped the necklace over my head. I still liked
the locket. It didn’t need to remind me of Simon.

Picking up the small pile of clothing Connie
had left on the dresser top I joined her in the kitchen. “You look
nice,” she said. Connie had changed into a pair of white slacks and
a t-shirt embroidered with lace, and looked like she had just
stepped off the cover of a magazine. Seeing her, I was glad I’d
taken the time to dress a little bit nicer for our visit to Louise
and Ruth. We would be like the well brought up girls our mothers
wished we were but rarely got to see.

Chapter
Twenty-Seven

It was a beautiful spring day. The air was
fresh and clean with the sun shining down and warming the earth.
Louise had planted tulips along her sidewalk and they made a joyful
riot on the way to the front door. The house was similar to our
grandfather’s, another craftsman style house built in the thirties.
It was painted a rusty red color that was peeling and cracking.
There were three concrete steps that led to a faded blue door.
Someone had painted a Norwegian rosemaling design of flowers and
flourishes in bright colors that gave it a cheerful feel. Connie
reached up and knocked.

“Come on in,” we heard someone yell through
the door. We walked in and were greeted by a tiny, white poodle
that ran up to us and began jumping up and down and barking. “We
don’t stand on ceremony here. Come on in. You can leave your shoes
on. They’re not going to hurt anything.”

Louise appeared in the hallway, she had an
old-fashioned apron over her white blouse and red polyester pants.
“Tiny, come here,” she said as she grabbed for the little dog. She
picked him up and tucked him under an arm then showed us into the
kitchen. The round kitchen table looked like it was set for high
tea. Four places were set with pink Depression glass plates,
shining silver and white china cups on a white linen tablecloth.
There was a multi-tiered plate set with cookies, small square
sandwiches without crusts, and lefse. I turned and smiled at
Connie. Lefse, a soft tortilla-shaped flat wrap made from potatoes
and flour, was something our family made only at Christmas time. I
was so excited to have it for tea.

Connie raised her eyebrows at me and smiled
back. There was nothing more fun than an old-fashioned tea. We sat
in the chairs Louise indicated.

“Wow,” I exclaimed. “This is beautiful. You
didn’t need to go to all this trouble for us.”

“No trouble at all. Mother loves a tea party.
I’ll just go get her, shall I?” Louise said affably as she walked
out.

The kitchen was a bright room at the front of
the house. The cupboards were the original simple style from the
nineteen thirties, painted gleaming white and spotless. The windows
were framed in red gingham with ruffles around the edges.
Countertops of butcher board showed signs of actually being used as
a cutting board, but were now wiped clean. The floor was tiled in
red and covered with hand-made braided rugs. All around the room
was evidence of the Norwegian culture that families of the area
were so proud of, ours being just one of the few. A hutch, small
trunk and mantel clock were all rosemaled in red, blue and green
and I wondered if one of the women in the house were the artist. I
lusted after a plate with a Norwegian prayer that stood on the
hutch.

Louise came back in with Tiny still tucked
under one arm and a little old lady under the other. Louise’s
mother must have weighed in at eighty pounds and was probably not
even five feet tall. The little wizened face was wreathed with a
huge smile, her short white hair neatly curled, and her blue eyes
blazing with wit and humor. She wore a light blue house dress that
tied at the waist and adorable white tennis shoes. I could tell
instantly we were going to be friends. For some reason, I tended to
like elderly women and always felt a certain kinship with them.
They always seemed so wise and never minced words.

Introducing Connie and myself, Louise led her
mother to one of the chairs. “Nice to meet you,” Ruth said, sitting
down and placing a crisp white napkin in her lap. “So my daughter
tells me you’ve come to redo your grandfather’s house.”

“Yes, we have,” I answered, copying our
hostess. “Of course, we have a lot to clean out first.”

Louise poured tea into a china pot that
matched the teacups and brought it to the table. “We’ve watched
that house fill up for years,” she said. “He kept the shades pulled
upstairs but it didn’t seem to faze him about the main floor. He
would come home at least once a week with a bag from somewhere. I
know he was a regular on the auction circuit.” Louise poured us
each a cup of tea and sat down with us, still holding Tiny. She
settled him on her lap and he quickly curled up to take a nap.

Turning to Louise, Ruth admonished her, “I
don’t think it’s polite to have the dog at the table when we have
guests.”

“I’m sure these ladies don’t mind, do you,”
she answered, looking up at us hopefully.

I could tell this was a long running feud and
was determined not to get in the middle of it so I just smiled and
picked up my cup watching Connie do the same.

“Louise,” Ruth said in a stern voice and then
Louise reluctantly got up and put the dog on a little bed in the
corner. Ruth obviously ran a tight ship.

Louise came back to the table in good
spirits. Apparently she didn’t hold a grudge. “Sorry to digress,
back to the old house. What are your plans?”

“Well, we’d like to keep the style of the
house faithful to the original but with a little bit of a modern
take,” I answered.

Connie added, “Laney is a wonderful
decorator. You should have seen her previous house. A mixture of
vintage, modern and traditional. It was so chic.”

“That will be lovely,” Ruth said. “You’ll
have to invite us over to see the results. I haven’t been in the
house since before your grandmother died.”

“Maybe we’ll be able to meet the ghost,”
Louise added, smiling.

“Possibly. We can’t seem to get away from
it,” I said. Taking the opening provided I added, “So is there
anything you could tell us about the old house that we should know?
Is it built over an old cemetery? Was there trouble in this house?
Did anything happen when it was built? Or did the first owners die
in the house?”

Louise and Ruth were quiet a long moment. “We
don’t want to tell tales out of turn,” Ruth began tentatively, then
continued in earnest. “The past is the past. Maybe we shouldn’t
resurrect old hurts and scandals.”

“But everyone likes a good story,” Louise
added, encouraging her as if knowing the old woman wanted to tell
more. “Especially in a small town.”

I could tell that Ruth and Louise knew
something and I had a feeling it wouldn’t take very much to
overcome their resistance to ‘tell tales out of turn.’ “It’s okay.
It’s not gossip I’m after. It’s history I’m looking for. Anything
that might give us a better idea of why there might have been some
kind of trouble at one time or other.” I looked at them doe-eyed
and innocently. After all, history wasn’t gossip.

Ruth looked me in the eye and eagerly dove
into the story. “Your grandmamma was a good lady. She was kind,
gentle and beautiful. You remind me of her a lot, Laney. You have
her eyes. She had a light inside her, and men came like a moth to
the flame. They couldn’t help themselves. Whether or not she had
any interest in them, they ran after her. You know what it’s like
to be young. After a while, it kind of went to her head. I’m not
judging her, I would have loved to live that way for a while when I
was young too, but I never had quite the charm. Your grandpa was in
love with her from the first, everyone in town knew it. They were
friends in school but it didn’t go any further for her. When she
turned twenty-one her daddy who owned the town dry goods store
threw her a party. This was after World War Two, I think, nineteen
fifty or nineteen fifty-one. Everyone in town was invited. It was
quite the shindig. They had it at the Knights of Columbus hall.
They hung twinkling lights and crepe paper in pink and purple. It
was magical. That night she took up with a young traveling
salesman. He was a tall, dark haired, gorgeous young man. Every
young woman fell for him but he was nothing but trouble. I could
see that—too slick for his own good, if you know what I mean. For
the next month the whole town was talking about how he and Teo were
carrying on. But he was only around for his own fun and when he
tired of her, he just went off. She was heartbroken, you could see
that. That’s when your grandfather started to seriously woo her. I
think she was just so sad and desperate she grabbed him like a
lifeline. At first your grandfather was ecstatic but I think after
a while he realized he would always be second place in her
heart.”