Kimberly Stuart (4 page)

“Where will I be living?”

Ms. Ellsworth switched from patting me to patting Cal on his shoulder. “With Cal and his family on their beautiful farm.”

“A farm?”

Cal gave me a sideways glance. “Yes, ma'am. A pig farm.”

I gripped the handle on my door. “I—” I said, and stopped to clear my throat. “I'm afraid that won't work. I've never lived on a farm.”

“You're kidding.” Cal's eyes sparkled with laughter, though his mouth stayed in the straightest of lines.

Ms. Ellsworth shifted in her seat, moving even farther into my personal space. “Cal's wife, Jayne, is a lovely girl. You'll get along splendidly, I just know it. She saw me in the grocery store last week when I was all a-flurry trying to find alternative arrangements for you. Jayne was such a doll and offered their attic, which I know you'll just love. It has lots of space and beautiful light. Jayne and Cal have fixed up that house so nice, haven't you, Cal?”

Cal nodded slowly. He seemed like a man who needed very little conversation, certainly not with Sally Jessy or a woman who required help getting into his truck.

I turned to face Ms. Ellsworth. “I don't mean to be rude, but is there a hotel in town? I'd hate to impose in someone's home.”

“Oh, it's no imposition at all,” Ms. Ellsworth said, dismissing the thought with the wave of a veiny hand. “And as for a hotel, I'm sure there will be openings sometime after spring break. I'm afraid we have only one hotel in town and it's booked solid with conference folks and parent visits until then.”

Last time I consulted a college calendar, spring break didn't hit until at least March, two months away. I looked out the window and wondered how much damage I'd incur on my mink were I to open my door and roll away from the truck as it sped toward its home on a pig farm.

I watched small gray hills blend into more small gray hills and wished for a paper bag in which to inhale.
Bad karma
, I thought mournfully. I closed my eyes, reliving all the times I was late to rehearsals, snippy about a conductor, demanding with contract negotiations.
And my blasted fortieth birthday,
I moaned inwardly. I
knew
I should have acknowledged it, thrown a red hat or purple boa party or whatever. Some celestial being was punishing me for pretending it didn't even happen.
Fine, I get it!
I'll be nice from now on—I promise!

“Ms. Maddox, are you all right?” Ms. Ellsworth popped her head around my shoulder. “You just,
ehm
, moaned.”

I'd forged little purple teeth marks into a knuckle on my right hand. “Did I?” I let my hand rest on the seat beside me. Ms. Ellsworth went back to her patting, this time my shoulder.

Soon we turned off the highway and onto a gravel road. Ahead of us loomed a large white farmhouse with red shutters and window boxes. In any other circumstances, a photo in
National Geographic,
say, the house would have struck me as curious, Norman Rockwellian even. But an odor was filtering through the car vents that accosted my every sense.

I was trapped, trapped in a land impervious to air purifiers.

Cal cut the engine and looked over at me. “Welcome to the country.”

Habitat

I was glad for Cal's help out of that blasted truck because by the time he'd cut the engine at the end of the gravel driveway, I was feeling lightheaded. Ms. Ellsworth was chittering about the wallpaper job she'd undertaken in her own home, and I couldn't possibly feign interest so I kept my mouth shut. Cal opened my door and helped me down before turning to give a hand to Ms. Ellsworth.

“… A pretty yellow floral print, see, which was just
perfect
with the slip covers but Ed said he couldn't get the three rolls I needed to his store for at least another six weeks and I …”

And so on and so forth while we picked our way over frozen mud toward a set of stairs on the side of the house. I had a death grip on Cal's arm and kept my nose buried in my coat to ward off the frigid temperatures and the stench that permeated the air around the house. I peeked out of my little cocoon and looked toward the barn, sure my eyes would be greeted with a slew of swine. Not a pig in sight. We shuffled onward, Ellsworth yipping and yapping along behind us.

Cal opened the door and a gush of warm air washed over us as we stepped into a bright kitchen. Children were scattered everywhere, all of them in some stage of running with the exception of a baby who was busy coating herself and her high chair with applesauce. A woman yelled in some other part of the house.

“Drew Jonas Hartley, you put that ax down right now. I do not want to have to tell your father you hit your brother over the head with it.”

Oh, sweet Lord
, I thought.
I'm in hell.

“Babe?” Cal called. He politely uncurled my fingers from his sleeve and bent over to untie his boots. “Company's here.” A swarm of children ran into the kitchen and jumped on Cal's back, shouting indecipherable greetings.

Jayne rounded the corner into the kitchen, yet another child squirming in her arms. She smiled and blushed furiously. “Cal,” she said, “I thought you said you'd ring the doorbell.” She walked toward me and put out her hand. “I'm Jayne Hartley. Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you,” I said, doing my best to smile. “I'm still quite surprised to be here.”

“Pow! Pow-pow-pow
pow!”
A boy as tall as the countertops careened around the kitchen shooting his fingers. “You're dead!” he said to Cal.

“Not funny, young man,” Cal said and the boy stopped in his tracks. “Put the guns away.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said and ran with another boy out of the room. I heard a thud and one of the boys started wailing. Cal left to investigate.

Ms. Ellsworth was in the corner with the high chair baby talking in a high-pitched voice. She turned to my hostess. “Jayne, Ms. Maddox was concerned this would be an imposition.”

“Oh, goodness, no,” Jayne said. Her eyes were the color of cornflower and framed with dark eyelashes. She pushed a strand of her pale blonde bob behind her ear. “You're no trouble. We enjoy company.”

How on earth that was true with an entire elementary school already living under one roof, I certainly didn't know.

“Ms. Maddox,” Ms. Ellsworth said. She was shoveling a spoonful of what appeared to be gruel into the baby's mouth. My stomach turned. “She might not have the courage to tell you herself so I will.” She nodded toward Jayne. “Our Jaynie has a lovely singing voice herself. Had a solo in the Maplewood High Swing Choir all four years.”

Jayne let the squirming child out of her arms. He ran out of the kitchen as soon as his feet hit the linoleum. “Miranda, please.” Jayne shook her head and looked down at her hands. “That was a long, long time ago.” She looked up and gave me a small smile. “Ms. Maddox, I so enjoy your work. You have”—she took a deep breath and her voice got small—“you have a wonderful instrument.”

“Thank you, Jayne,” I said, wondering how a pig farmer's wife got a hold of Deutsche Grammophon recordings. “I'd love to hear you sing as well.”

She looked horrified.

Cal came back into the kitchen holding a little boy in each arm.

Ellsworth kissed the applesauce child on the cheek. “Well, I'll let you folks get settled. Cal, you mind putting those boots back on and giving me a ride back to town?”

Cal nodded and looked at his wife. “I'll take the older two with me. We'll be back for dinner in an hour.”

An hour?
It took sixty minutes to get to town and back? Was he crossing Midtown during rush hour? I felt the lightheadedness return. A half-hour's drive from a ten-thousand-person metropolis, and I had
chosen
this.

Ms. Ellsworth embraced me. I hadn't realized how short she was until her nose was buried in my sternum. She pulled back, eyes suddenly bright with tears. “We are so honored to have you in Maplewood, Ms. Maddox.” She bit her lower lip. “If I may speak for our department, I want you to know this is a dream come true.”

I gulped, feeling just a tad guilty for wondering about return flights leaving in the morning. “I appreciate your kindness, Ms. Ellsworth.”

She took a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose loudly enough to make it squeak. “Well,” she said, turning to Cal and the boys. Jayne had suited them up in coats that made them immobile. Oversized stocking caps shrouded their eyes.

“Shall we?” Ellsworth said.

Jayne closed the door behind them and took my coat from a hook by the door. “I'll show you upstairs.”

A half hour later, I stood at the top of the attic stairs and waited for Jayne to shut the door at the bottom. I hurried to the bed and began rummaging around in my purse for my cell. After punching in the number, I lowered myself onto an upholstered chair by one of two large windows. First ring. Jayne's footsteps receded until I could only hear the occasional high-pitched yell of a child. Second ring. If he didn't answer, I'd hurl myself off—

“Avi Feldman.”

“Oh, thank God. Avi, it's me. Sadie.”

“Sadie! Speak of the mezzo devil herself. I'm at dinner with Marc, Alyanna, and Michelle, and we were just talking about you.”

I heard some giggling in the background. “Avi, there's been a mix-up with my accommodations. You have to help.”

“What is it, love? Wait—let me move to a quieter spot. You know Lime at this hour on a Thursday.”

Oh, did I ever. My mouth watered to think of one bite of their
picadillo
, washed down with a
mojito
. I would wither out here in the land of Velveeta.

“Okay. I can hear you. What's this about the bungalow?” Avi's voice was still inappropriately loud but I suspected most things would seem that way out here in God's country.

“They sold the bungalow.”

“Who sold it?”

“I don't know. The college realtor. And there's no room in the lone hotel until late March.”

“You can't be serious. I'll call them.”

“Please, Avi.”

“Where are you now?”

I sighed. “On a pig farm.”

There was a slight pause and then laughter. “I'm sorry,” Avi said, gathering himself. “It's just such an incongruous picture: famous soprano meets”—and he snorted here—“swine and slop.” He broke into new peals of giggles.

“You laugh like a girl,” I snapped. I'd begun to pace the length of the attic. “Is this why I pay you twenty percent?”

He sobered immediately. “There's no need to get personal, love. I'll call the college tomorrow and see about another rental house. And I'll ask about the hotel in the meantime. I'll take care of it, Sadie. Don't think about it again until we talk tomorrow.”

“Easy for you to say. You aren't sleeping in the attic.”

“Oh, you are
not.”
He lowered his tone to dish. “Is it creepy? Do you think it's haunted?”

“Do you imagine yourself to be a helpful person?”

“Is it an old house?”

“At least a century.”

Avi whistled. “Jews don't believe in exorcisms and such but I might recommend calling upon the nearest Catholic. Just to be safe.”

I massaged the bridge of my nose with my fingers. “Avi, I don't know if I can do this.” I squeezed my eyes shut but hot tears brimmed through my lashes.

“Oh, Sadie, of course you can.” Avi was quiet a moment, and then, “Are you crying?”

“Of course not,” I said. I wiped both cheeks with the back of my hand. Turn it on, turn it off—that was one grace earned after a life of performing. “I'm just tired.” I cleared my throat and dabbed on a little confidence. “I'll talk with you tomorrow. Think results, agent-who-got-me-into-this-mess.”

“Positive thinking, love. Keeps the spirits at bay.”

I clicked the phone shut. A quilt cushioned my collapse on the bed where I could lie and let the tears fall as they would.
I should have just said no to Avi,
I thought. What did he know, anyway? So I had a few unpaid bills. So I hadn't nabbed the typical concert lineup. Everyone had off seasons. When had it become a good business decision to run with one's tail between her legs toward the nearest stretch of wilderness?

One hotel,
I moaned to myself, awash in a fresh wave of tears. I was living in a town with one hotel. Cecilia Bartoli was likely, in that very moment, ordering room service in a Four Seasons and I was waiting in a drafty attic for a cowbell to announce the call for “supper.”

Fully absorbed in my luxurious self-pitying, I propped myself up on a pillow to take stock of my surroundings. I blotted my eyes with a tissue and looked around the room.

Ms. Ellsworth had been right. Jayne and Cal did have a lovely home, if one were in the market for pig farmhouses. Jayne had led me through the dining room and living area, up one flight of stairs, past a cove of bedrooms, then up one more flight to the attic. Jayne had picked her way nimbly through all three floors, over toys, puzzles, games, and dolls. I'd nearly broken my neck on a disjointed train track while listening to Jayne's tour. She'd said the house had been in Cal's family since his great-grandfather had built it. Its polished oak floors, wraparound porch, and yawning picture windows had me wondering if a wayward Walton would come around the corner calling for John-Boy.

We'd accessed the set of stairs leading to the attic through a small door. I barely missed the threshold without grazing the top of my head. Jayne had taken the steps two at a time, the baby giggling on her hip. She wasn't even breathing hard, whereas I was hoping for an oxygen tank waiting at the summit. What with the truck vaulting and the stair climbing, I'd be in decathalon condition after a semester in the Midwest.

Jayne had gestured to the room. “Well, here we are,” she said shyly. “It's all ready for you.”

I sat back on the bed now and rubbed the bottom of my left foot with both hands. The space from one end of the attic to the other was larger than my first two apartments. Cal and Jayne had painted the walls of their home in a warm and fresh palette of colors, a welcome relief after hearing Ms. Ellsworth go on about her floral wallpaper. My tour through the rest of the house had glimpsed apple green, tangerine, aquamarine, and chocolate brown. This room was the crown and painted terracotta with eggshell trim. I looked out the window nearest the bed and figured my view encompassed most of Iowa and half of whatever state it butted up against.

I took a shaky breath and a break from rubbing my toes to stand and stretch. At the end of the room, a door opened to a small restroom, an afterthought, Jayne said, when Cal had figured out the plumbing would be possible. I was grateful for the decision to include a private commode, as the idea of sharing a toilet with all those little bladders sent shivers down my spine.

I checked my watch and saw I should begin the descent to the dinner table. Jayne had insisted I rest and not try to help preparing the meal. My weak protest went unheeded, a fortuitous circumstance for the Hartleys, as they escaped my cooking. Richard had once accused me of trying to poison him. I rose from the bed and took one more look out the window. A tepid winter sun was setting over a barren field. I'd never in my life seen so much open space, each millimeter of it touched by pale pink light. I wondered if people around here saw this as beauty or if, like me, the endless space made them feel wobbly, as if stranded on a tightrope when the wind was picking up. I turned to go downstairs and passed my bags, sitting at attention by the door, untouched and ready for a trip home, just in case.