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A
DEAD WOMAN'S MIRROR
*
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The
three youngest Dahlquist children disappeared
in 1860, leaving no trace. Their mother, Abigail,
is still searching for them.
1
Belting out some old half-remembered
blues song by Marianne Faithful, Linnie
laughed at her attempt to sound sultry and desolate. Or even
sincere. It can be extremely difficult to attempt a melancholy
mood when one is not. Linnie wasn't an actress. Marianne had
been one of her favorites when she was very young, even back
during the early Beatles and Rolling Stones music when everything
was sunshine and happiness with Marianne, all make love not
war and halos of flowers. Now, though, Marianne's voice had
deepened and grown road-weary and full of pain and lost souls.
Linnie liked her music far more these days. Richer, she thought.
It was painted with a more interesting palette of color. She
used to know all the words. Both her sister and mother had been
terrific fans as well. Washing the evening dishes had been a
fun time together, singing and dancing with each other, dropping
suds and the dish cloth on the floor. Linnie often remembered
the fun they had doing this daily chore. She had tried to recreate
this doing her own chores, but she was always in too much of
a rush to be done with the work and on to other things. Belting
out some old half-remembered blues song by Marianne Faithful,
Linnie laughed at her attempt to sound sultry and desolate.
Or even sincere. It can be extremely difficult to attempt a
melancholy mood when one is not. Linnie was not an actor. Her
attitude was “what you see is what you get”. When
she was happy, she smiled; when she was not, she did not. Simple.
Marianne had been one of her favorites.
When Linnie was very young, her mother, a great fan of the 1960s-1970s
music, played nothing else. The early Beatles and Rolling Stones
era, when everything was sunshine and happiness with Marianne,
all “make love not war” and crowns of woven daisies
were the norm. Linnie had a photograph of her mother she especially
loved. In it, her mom sat on the ground with a puppy in her
lap, wearing a long muslin dress and a crown of daisies, gazing
up at the photographer with a saucy grin. Now, though, Marianne's
voice had deepened and grown road-weary and full of pain and
lost souls. Linnie liked her music far more these days. Richer,
she thought. It was as if some artist had painted her voice
with an added fascinating palette of color. She used to know
all the words. Both her sister and mother had known the words
as well. Her mother had the original vinyl albums, probably
worth something now. Washing the evening dishes had been a fun
time together, singing and dancing with each other, dropping
suds and the dishcloth on the floor. Linnie often remembered
the fun they had doing this daily chore. She had tried to recreate
this while doing her own chores, but she was always in too much
of a rush to finish with the work and move on to other things.
Now, just how does that line go? Linnie
sang at the top of her voice. It was only a fraction off key,
and she was in the shower with no one to listen. She stopped
because she could hear that her two golden retrievers had started
to howl along with her. Laughing aloud, she called out to them
to stop.
“I'm so sorry, babies! I.m not
destined to be a singer, am I?” The dogs pushed their wagging
bodies through the doorway into her tiny bathroom and stretched
out on the tile floor, preferring the cooler tiles to the carpet.
They were not quite used to this new abode yet and did not like
it when Linnie left the room without inviting them along. She
toweled herself off while still in the tub; there was absolutely
no room for her size sevens on the floor.
The fresh suburban scent of mown grass
wafted up to her from the dogs, almost a visible misty pale
green. They had bunched up her tub rug into a pile of sorts
and stretched out flat, filling the room like multi-shades of
golden flooring. They had been rolling around in the grass,
and there were splotches of bright green on their bodies--just
like grass stains on knees from childhood play.
“Okay guys, you've got to move
now so I can.” She needed to motivate the lazy animals
with her foot before they would believe her. Linnie padded to
the right out the door and then took another right into her
bedroom--her grandmother.s room, as she still thought of it.
This house had been her maternal grandparents. home for most
of Linnie's life. Linnie had moved in many years after they
had died, and she was thrilled to have the place. Just lucky,
she figured. More than luck, she supposed, because her uncle
had let all the cousins in on the fact that the place was up
for sale. Most of them already had homes or apartments they
did not want to give up, but Linnie was ready. Within one day
of the notice, she made an offer. The amount had not been quite
enough for the seller, so Uncle Bud helped her out. He wanted
some family member to have the place.
So many memories lived in these rooms,
small as they were. Larger than life memories in small spaces,
they all had come back to her, rolling over her like waving
grains in a meadow, warm and comfortable. It was the perfect
size for a single woman--a one-and-a-half-story frame house
with a full basement and a wide stairway up to the walk-in attic.
It suited her. In addition, it was a safe and familiar neighborhood.
Linnie planned to remodel the attic into a more useable space,
maybe a library or a studio. A studio for what purpose, she
had no idea. She possessed a little artistic talent, but she
had never tried to develop it much, just doodles and playing
with the art programs on her computer. She had one framed piece
of her own art from the third grade; it was a sketch of several
dogs. Linnie was always dreaming of the pet she would have one
day when living on her own with no parent to deny her request.
Most importantly, of course, directly in the middle of the sketch,
sat a golden retriever, always her favorite, even before she
knew anything about the breed.
The front of the house consisted of
only two rooms, a large square country-style kitchen and a cozy
living room. A wide archway, rather than a door, separated the
two front rooms so it appeared to be more spacious than it actually
was. The rear of the building contained a hallway with a bedroom
at either end and a bathroom and large linen closet in the middle.
The door to the attic was on the wall between the front rooms
and it opened to a wide, gradual staircase, which Linnie loved.
The dogs could easily navigate their way up or down, unlike
many staircases in older homes where the steps were far too
steep and narrow for quadrupeds. However, until she finished
the floor, they could easily fall through and into the living
room; she needed to nail down real flooring first, before she
would allow the dogs up the stairs.
Linnie's uncle had built the house
at the same time he built the one next door for his own family.
He ran out of steam for the project before he had finished,
leaving the attic undeveloped except for storage.
A family tragedy had once occurred
on those stairs, as Linnie recollected. Her little brother had
cruelly tossed her Tiny Tears doll over the edge. The smooth
porcelain head had split wide open like an earthquake rending
in the ground when it hit the floor. The doll had been extra
special because it had once belonged to her mother and was irreplaceable.
She'd been so angry, she pounded her brother until her dad pulled
her off him, before baby brat, too, ended up with a cracked
head at the bottom of those stairs. He had never touched another
of her toys again; she smiled with a sense of triumph.
Linnie could not look at the wall to
the left of the attic door at the foot of the stairs without
seeing Da Vinci.s picture of the Last Supper that had hung there
when her grandparents owned the house. It had been in a gilded
frame, and she had loved looking at it, fantasizing about what
life entailed two thousand plus years before. Not much for supper,
she had noticed. Sometimes her granddad would take it down from
the wall and place it in her lap so she had a better look. Linnie
would trace the biblical figures with her tiny fingertips and
wonder what they were eating. Whatever it was, Linnie was sure
she would not like it.
She now stood in front of her grandmother's
dresser watching her fingers combing her hair in the oversized
ornate mirror framed in hand-carved oak flowers that hung above
the piece. Two years after the death of her grandmother, Linnie's
mom had offered the piece of furniture to her, the eldest daughter.
Thrilled, Linnie was even happier now with the dresser seated
in its original position. Nice karma, she thought.
Linnie gazed absentmindedly at her
reflection. Her complexion was even and ivory, pale at this
time, since she had little time to lounge in the sun cultivating
a tan and healthy outdoors look. Her hair was cut short for
summer with sparse, long bangs that were always in her eyes,
medium brown with hints of red, especially visible in the sunlight.
She looked athletic and strong, healthy and at peace with herself.
At 125 pounds, she was not cute or pretty, but had a certain
striking appearance that people found very attractive. When
she smiled, she was radiant. Now, as she looked at her reflection,
she found herself to be completely average, tall and straight,
but at least she had curves in the right places and strong muscles.
Her ready smile was usually present because she was generally
a happy, cheerful woman. People of all ages seemed drawn to
her smile, and she enjoyed many friends. She spent no amount
of time dwelling on her reflection or her choice of clothing,
but dressed hurriedly and left the room. Linnie was not the
kind of woman to fuss.
Linnie's eyes were a deep hazel, and
her vision was sharp. There was little she did not notice. She
did not like that about herself. She wished she saw less when
she looked at people. Her mother once told Linnie that she had
an extra sense in her eyes, one that allowed her to see inside
people, almost read their minds. Mostly Linnie liked what she
saw, but not always. It seemed to be a gift over which she had
no control. She could not turn it off or on or even predict
its arrival. She had years ago learned to go with the flow whether
it pleased her or not.
She glanced out the large living room
windows on her way to the kitchen, where she saw the trees her
grandfather had planted long ago. They were large now and shaded
the house with their beauty. Swaying in the breeze were poplar,
birch, elm, and sugar maple. What her grandfather had sparsely
planted when she was a girl now stood thick with shade and privacy.
A variety of flowering bushes and perennial beds surrounded
the house on three sides, things that other people had planted
over the years.
She had to share the driveway with
the house next door, but that had not been much of a problem.
When her grandparents had occupied the house and her uncle had
lived next door, he had not seen fit to put in two driveways
because her grandparents had no car. In fact, Linnie's kitchen
door was right off the drive, up three steps to the door. Convenient
when one had sacks of groceries.
Fencers were supposed to be coming
in a few days to put a chain-link fence around the backyard
so she could better keep track of the girls. All the backyards
on this side of the street were deep, wooded, and hilly. Her
dogs loved to wander, respecting no boundaries. They had already
touched noses and tails with most of the neighborhood pets,
children, and willing adults. They were as social as Linnie
and made friends just as easily.
Two houses down from the north side
of hers was a yard with a pond that her dogs simply could not
resist. That house had a Great Pyrenees that was just as irresistible
to her dogs. Each time Linnie took them out, they strained to
travel in that direction. She would be relieved to have the
fence installed.
Linnie was not sure yet, but she thought
her cousin lived in the pond house. When they were girls, Lily
and she had been tight friends until they lost touch during
their college years. Linnie's sister had said something about
what a coincidence it was that they both moved back to the old
street. As soon as Linnie was unpacked, she would go and check
it out.
The house in between them had a border
collie. The place across the street had two cocker spaniels,
so a fence was imperative. Linnie had seen that collie and the
Pyrenees at play running wildly through all the rear yards,
including hers. That, she thought, could cause problems with
two more lively bodies added to the mix.
China and Genna, her beloved girls,
went with her everywhere--even work on occasion. Gen was the
baby at three. A very blonde golden color, she was also the
largest. She reminded Linnie of the Monet haystack paintings.
China, at five, was the lively one and usually had her nose
in everything. She was a warm, caramel-gold color, and her fur
was wavy. Her bright eyes were as sharp as Linnie.s. Genna worried;
China investigated.
Linnie worked in a funky little neighborhood
called the West Bank, because of its location on the Mississippi
River by the University of Minnesota. She had been a student
there and just never had moved on. Linnie liked the variety
of people that milled about this area. People of all sorts,
all ages, and every ethnic group she could imagine. There were
many street gatherings with music, food, and dancing in the
summers. The events honored and represented these varied cultures.
Linnie rarely missed one.
The building that housed The West Bank
Gallery, where she put in many hours a day, also was home to
a pastry shop, coffee shop-café, bookstore, and music
store; Linnie shared the space with several friends. Their rented
building was spacious--old brick with enormous windows in the
front and along one side.
The pastry shop, Just Sweets, took
up the front with The West Bank Gallery, which was directly
behind it.
There were no real doors between, just
a wide hallway with a vine-patterned, wrought-iron gate. Bill's
Book Store and Sandy's Coffee-Cafe were in the same space and
took up most of the long and narrow alley along the side without
windows. Linnie had a difficult time staying away from the cozy
spot. Sandy's cafe had Tiffany-style lamps hung over the tables,
which added both an old-world charm and a romantic notion. Brighter
floor lamps snuggled next to comfortable, deep chairs in the
bookstore, giving the customers an open invitation to linger.
The bookshelves, lit with white, long, easy-on-the-eyes florescent
bulbs, were full of all types of interesting volumes, new, used,
and antique. The deep muted shades of blues and grays, violets
and dark reds invited customers to explore and drew many in
for entire afternoons. On rainy days, people would come and
spend the day. Everything they needed was here.
Another wrought-iron gate led off the
bookstore and opened to an annex to the building. This housed
a music store chock full of any music one could ever want. It
had the unlikely name of Music: Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow.
There were hard to find CDs, out-of-print music still in vinyl
only, as well as everything and anything else ever recorded,
so it seemed to Linnie. It was a treasure trove of sound. The
group had wired the entire building so the music flowed everywhere,
even the washrooms.
The whole conglomeration was more profitable
than she had expected, so she stayed. Each of the tiny businesses
did very well, and meeting their rent was no problem. In fact,
Linnie knew that this venture had led them all to open savings
accounts for the first time in their lives. However, what Linnie
really wanted to do was to find a real adventure, some excitement,
something that would change her life. Much as she truly loved
it the way it was, Linnie felt life was growing boring, restless.
Perhaps this move to her Gran's house would be just the ticket.
Linnie leashed the girls and headed
out for a walk. Unpacking all the boxes she had just finished
packing days before was not appealing. As she passed the house
with the Border collie, the dog raced from his porch to her
side. He had so much energy it did not appear that his feet
even touched the ground while he traveled over it.
“Butch! Come back here!”
A handsome man ran out after the collie. He stopped at the street
and grabbed his dog.
“Sorry. He.s harmless though.
Your beauties were just too much for the lad.” His smile
was warm and invited conversation.
“Hey, are you the person who just
moved in?” He pointed to her house.
“Yep. That'd be me. I'm Linnie
Willis. This is China and Genna. Genna is the lighter gold one.
China is the one who already is madly in love with your Butch.”
China was indeed eyeing the collie with moony eyes as she swished
her tail and danced around him in tiny steps. She was trying
to entice him with her girlish gracefulness. It was working.
“You've met Butch,” he grinned
again. “And I'm Jake Youngman.” He turned toward the
house and called out, “Hey, Andrew, come meet our newest
neighbor.”
Oh, well, Linnie thought to herself,
as another man came out to them and draped his arm loosely over
Jake's shoulders, putting an abrupt end to her fantasies. They
were obviously a couple. A close couple, she noticed as they
gazed lovingly at each other for a second. She could not have
everything, she supposed. She smiled warmly in spite of her
brief flash of disappointment.
“Happy to meet you. This street is filling up with us thirty-somethings.
Fun, don't you think? Plus, most of us have dogs.” He bent
down and looked into the amber liquid eyes of the still dancing
golden retrievers. “We like dogs around here, so you'll
fit right in, ladies.”
China politely sat and offered her
foot. With the first paw properly shaken, she lifted the other
one. Everyone chuckled happily, and Linnie knew moving here
had been a terrific idea. They said their good-byes and walked
on. Linnie looked with curiosity at the house she thought belonged
to her cousin, Lily. It would be such fun to get to know her
again. Maybe they could regain their closeness after so long.
Just then, another beautiful man appeared in her line of sight.
He had exited this house and hopped into a sports car and took
off with a wave in her direction. Wow. Who else might live on
this street? So far, Linnie thought she could be friends with
them all.
The trio walked until Linnie was tired
and figured she could not put off the unpacking any longer,
if she actually wanted to eat.
Back in her kitchen, she found the
box that said "kitchen dishes" and another labeled
"silverware." She had set up the microwave earlier,
so all she needed was something tasty to put in it. Finally
locating a can of Progresso soup, she could not find the microwave
dishes and was too hungry to look, so she used the mug from
that morning's coffee.
Linnie ate slowly, sitting at her table
with her long legs tucked up under her chin. She had eaten soup
in this unlikely position ever since childhood and did it now
without thinking. The table had lived in this kitchen once before;
it was her grandmother.s and had sat in this exact spot for
so many years, just under the double windows at the front of
the house. She and her sister, Tracy, had played house under
this table with cousin Lily and her sister, Janey, hundreds
of times. Grandma would pull the tablecloth down to build them
a “wall” of sorts. They played tea party with tiny
cups and saucers. Pretend tea, actually Kool-aid, and Gran's
ginger cookies were served on a large, round flour tin covered
with an embroidered dishtowel as a tablecloth.
When the soup was finished, she wrapped
her arms around her legs like she had as a girl. Now no longer
full of hunger pangs, Linnie just watched the neighbors enjoying
their Saturday. The words to the song she had been singing earlier
sprang to mind again. Or not, as she still could not remember
the majority of them: something about being too alone and not
enjoying it, about wanting a lover or finding something lost.
She figured the words would not come, as she did not feel the
need of them. She was happy.
Linnie had recently finished with her
last love affair. It had been fun at first, until Josh became
possessive and wanted marriage. "Whoa," Linnie told
him. "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but there's no
way I can do that." Of course, Josh left her then, as he
should if he did indeed wanted marriage.
On the other hand, Linnie had become
really, really tired of just sex. That was one of the reasons
she had moved out of her West Bank apartment, where there were
too many single men and far too many parties, and into a real
neighborhood with families. At this time in her life, she wanted
the whole package. Maybe not kids right away, but definitely
a love, a permanent love, to come home to at the end of her
day. It did not have to be a marriage, which scared her a little.
However, a live-in lover to count on would be nice. Someone
who shared the same moments, the same jokes, who would be interested
in her words enough to actually listen. Someone who understood
her and liked her anyway. Someone more permanent. She supposed
it could have been Josh except that there was absolutely no
spark. Aren't there suppose to be bells, fireworks, or some
kind of magic that tells you, "This is it, girl"?
Linnie was aware that she was sometimes
difficult to like. She always spoke her mind first and thought
about it later. Not always a good thing, she had learned. People
say they like honesty, but just whose honesty was entirely another
question. She was the reason most of her relationships had ended,
like the most recent with Josh. After two solid years together,
he had decided that he did not like dogs in the apartment. (Of
course, that was after she turned down his proposal.) She pointed
to the door, and that was that. They were not even friends anymore.
Linnie guessed that, between the dogs and no marriage, Josh
decided he did not care for her enough to live together anymore.
Her business friends told her that her standards were simply
too high, and there was not a man alive who could fill Mr. Right.s
shoes. So far, nobody even came close. Well, if that was true,
sex was only going to happen if she was desperate. She would
rather just take care of that herself.
Linnie put the empty mug and spoon
in the sink. Glancing out the window over the sink, she wondered
if the dark green ivy growing on the brick wall across the driveway
was the same ivy that had grown there when Lily and her family
lived in that house. A couple on the young side of middle-aged
lived there now, with three young boys, the Jameson family.
There was no shortage of playmates for the girls around here.
She spent the remainder of the weekend
unpacking box after box and crate after crate, storing things
where it seemed they belonged. She had a good laugh when she
realized she was putting things exactly where her grandmother
had kept them.
In the corner between the windows and
the wall, separating the two front rooms stood a built-in cupboard
that served as a nook of a pantry. A small countertop with open
shelves above and closed below, it was a perfect storage space.
When Linnie placed a particularly beautiful serving bowl on
the top shelf, facing front so the pattern of lilacs and blue
bells were visible, it was definitely Gran.s room once again.
Hopefully Granny Em was having a laugh too, wherever she was
now.
Linnie paused in her work. It's funny,
she thought, when Gran had lived, the two of them were often
at odds. However, the older Linnie got the more she could see
her Gran in herself. Probably more even than her own mother,
or her other, sweeter grandmother whom she spent far less time
with as she grew up. Grandma Em was strong-willed and stubborn.
She liked things the way she liked them, and that was all there
was to it. There was never any doubt who was the boss of that
family. Even Linnie's dad did what Gran wanted him to do. He
might grumble about her interference under his breath, but he
would do it just the same. Linnie just hoped she would live
as long and as well.
Grandma Em had lost her beloved husband
long before he actually died. Linnie remembered his long, drawn-out,
and bedridden last years. She could not remember what finally
killed him, only that he was too frail and weighed almost nothing.
He was a stick of a man: quiet, sweet, loving, with eyes only
for his Em. Their time together was shorter than they would
have liked, Linnie was sure, but the love was so deep—you
could see it. Now, that was a kind of love worth waiting to
explore!
Linnie's mother, Grandma Em's daughter,
was nothing like Em at all. She was all her father, Martin.
Inside anyway. Soft, sweet, always the peacemaker in the family,
always the soother of hurt feelings. Linnie knew now that her
mother had let herself get lost in her husband.s much stronger
will. Rather than make a fuss or rock the boat, she never argued
with her husband. Sometimes she had seemed so very sad, but
Linnie never asked. Now she was gone, and Linnie thought about
her every day. She remembered her with a longing that was wistful
and so deep it hurt. Linnie wished there was more of her mother
in her veins, but she took after her father. She was bold, which
had gotten her into a load of trouble around her dad, who did
not tolerate any difference of opinion. If she had just learned
to keep her mouth shut, life would have been so much easier.
They only began to like each other shortly before his death.
He actually, sincerely said, “I love you, Linnie,”
at nearly the last possible minute. What a waste! If both, or
even just one of them, had let their stubbornness slide for
only a second, what kind of a relationship could they have enjoyed?
Ah, hindsight is always so clear and perceptive.
She thought about what her mother must
have been like before she became a wife and mother. The photographs
display a confidence that Linnie did not remember. Her mother
grew quieter each year and soon never seemed to voice her own
opinions ever, at least not while Linnie.s father was present.
The only times Linnie remembered her mother laughing and talking
freely were when she and Linnie, along with her sister, were
out on their own, lunching or shopping. Then her mother acted
as if she was enjoying her life, free to laugh at silly things,
able to make clear and often bold statements. At home, not so
much. Linnie was sorry she had not been more alert to her mother's
moods when she could have done something about them. What, she
did not know, but definitely something. What she had given up
for her family never became an issue for her mother, though.
At least not vocally, her love for her family shone in her eyes,
in the small things she did for them all. Once, when Linnie
had been too sick for school, her mom bought flowers and put
a few on each of her meal trays until the bouquet was huge.
Would Linnie get a chance to experience that? Not the way she
had been going. When her grandparents had been her age, marriage
came first and the sex only then. Not so these days. Sometimes
Linnie thought the old ways were better.
The entire household move only had
taken Linnie away from work for two days. Linnie had packed
up her apartment--consisting primarily of books, clothes, and
dog paraphernalia--and the Mayflower movers had done the actual
physical moving, dropping off the boxes and furniture at her
new address on Dellwood Avenue. Overall, it was an easy thing.
She already had met many of her neighbors,
who brought welcoming baskets and warm casseroles and plates
of cookies. She had forgotten what real neighbors were like.
There was enough food in her kitchen to feed herself for weeks.
Even a large box of Milk bone dog biscuits appeared on her doorstep
with a paw-print note from the cocker spaniels.
Most of the houses in the suburban
neighborhood were home to families, but there were a few singles.
It.s funny, too, that some of them had lived there their whole
lives, and others had moved back to the neighborhood as adults.
It was a nice, middle-class street; maybe that was the explanation
for her contentment these days. In any event, Linnie felt comfortable
enough to invite her co-worker friends, along with her neighbors,
over for drinks and dinner the following Saturday.
Every box and crate now empty, the
clothes placed neatly into dresser drawers, the books on the
shelves. By Sunday evening, the boxes and crates were in the
recycling bin. She even had an underwear drawer and a sock drawer,
neatly arranged. However, it would not take long in her speed
to be dressed and gone before the drawers would all be scrambled
like normal. Her summer dresses hung in the small closet; her
winter clothes were stored in the spare bedroom. Her bookshelves
were standing against the hallway walls because they were too
heavy to lug up the stairs by herself.
Linnie was a collector of books on
many subjects, but mostly fiction, and books about dogs, art,
and archaeology, her current interests. She had a fair number
of cookbooks as well, although little time to do anything more
than page through them and daydream. Every once in a while,
though, she took on what she called her spaghetti sauce project.
She had always loved the smell of the special sauce, but rarely
did the actual flavor live up to her ideal. Only once, at an
Italian restaurant called Victoria's, in a small town somewhere,
had the sauce met her standards. She had been trying to duplicate
it ever since. Not yet, however.
Linnie.s passion was to be completely
absorbed in the other worlds she found in books. She was good
at many things, but she had not found her true calling yet,
her true passion.
Her greatest ability was that she could
read people and dogs, that extra sense her mother had talked
about. She was able to decipher exactly what was happening in
their minds. With a single conversation, she knew exactly who
and what that person was. Rarely was she wrong. She could read
dogs by looking into their gaze. Most people looked for wagging
tails or the set of the ears, but Linnie knew those things could
lie. The eyes never lied, at least not to Linnie. In man or
canine. Never.
Following a deep, satisfied sigh, Linnie
went to answer her doorbell. She was smiling before she even
had cracked the door. Genna had run to the front door and China
to the side door, the equivalent of a back door in the kitchen.
Neither dog had any experience with a doorbell. Before the door
was completely open, an enormous white shape pushed its way
into the kitchen followed by a very pregnant woman.
“Linnie, I thought it was you.
My friend Jake said a woman named Linnie and her two dogs had
moved in. I couldn.t believe it!” She threw her arms around
Linnie and pulled her in as close as possible with the big belly
in the way.
“Lily!” That was all she could get out, as emotion
from so many lost years simply took over. Both women cried in
happiness for just a second, until rudely interrupted by large
warm bodies cuddling between them, forcing the cousins apart.
Laughing now, Linnie introduced China and Genna.
“They usually have better manners
than this, but I don.t think they know this is home yet and
they aren't positive what, if any, rules apply. And who is this
lovely creature?”
“Ollie. This is my first baby,
Ollie. My second baby isn.t due for two months yet.” Lily
patted her tummy lovingly and tossed a lamenting gaze at her
dog.
Linnie looked into Ollie.s face and instantly fell in love with
the dog. She sat on the floor and Ollie sat in her lap and leaned
her head over Linnie.s shoulder.
“That.s one of her favorite ways
to sit. Unfortunately we haven.t been able to accomplish it
lately,” said Lily ruefully, a sad sort of smile on her
temporarily chubby cheeks.
“No, I can see that. Exciting,
though? The pregnancy, I mean.”
“Very. I didn.t think I would
ever want children. Really, but then I fell in love with John-Alan
Morgan. He wants several.” She laughed cheerfully. “I
said one at a time, dear sir.”
“Maybe not, cousin. Look at yourself.
We do have twins in this family, one set in our mothers' generation
and one in ours.”
“Oh, God! I haven.t let myself
think that way,” Lily laughed again. “But, now you
are here! I cannot tell you how happy I am about this.”
The cousins were quite different in
temperament. All the same, they had been close as children.
Lily was more of a lone wolf who enjoyed time to herself and
easily entertained herself. Linnie was a social butterfly who
craved the excitement of parties and gatherings of all kinds.
She would rather be with a group of friends than alone with
a good book, which was what Lily preferred. Linnie was a collector
of books while Lily actually read them.
When they were younger, spending time
together was important to both. They even resembled each other;
their mothers had been sisters. Their hair was almost the same
shade, although Linnie's was straight and slightly coarse while
Lily's hung to her shoulders in soft waves. With hazel eyes
of nearly the identical shade, both were the same tall, straight,
slim shape, although Lily was a little curvier compared to Linnie's
slender stick shape.
The long-lost cousins talked well into
the night. Lily.s husband finally came to collect her. The way
the lovers looked at each other warmed even Linnie. Lily moved
into John-Alan.s side in a much-practiced motion, his arm sliding
around her waist as he kissed her. They said their goodbyes,
as they leaned against each other. This was the real thing,
just like Granny Em.
2
Linnie went back to work Monday morning.
At this early hour, the West Bank already smelled invitingly
of foreign spices from the Indian restaurant gearing up for
lunch, and fresh, warm bread from the Italian bakery. A sharper
scent of chilidogs with everything moved up the street towards
her, making her hungry and slightly stinging her nose with the
freshly ground chili powder used to make the treat. Happy voices
were calling greetings to friends across the streets where summer
students chatted at sidewalk cafés over piles of books
and large mugs of coffee. It smelled like French roast this
morning.
God, how she loved this neighborhood!
It was like a small town within a large city. Most of the buildings
were older brick, the kind where the bricks are many colors
and even the painted ones were reclaiming their original reddish
hue. Windows in shops were large and filled with eclectic goods
like tapestries from the Far East, woven baskets from Amish
communities, pottery from local artists, and fancier china from
Europe, casual clothes from an earlier hippie era, as well as
cashmere sweaters for those prone to dress up. Linnie liked
the hippie style, even though she was born too late to have
been a part of that time. She liked the bright tie-dyed colors,
patterns, and the comfort of it all. She was not the silk and
cashmere type. Some of her favorite shops were those brimming
with handcrafted jewelry, made of semi-precious stones and her
special favorite, agates and fossils.
The sidewalks, too, were old, cracked
but still held together by vines growing snugly to the ground.
Some of the businesses had replaced these squares of concrete
while others had not, creating a quilted, patchwork look to
the walks. The tree branches that hung over the sidewalks shaded
the effect like four-poster bed canopies. Linnie and her business
partners had received a notice from the city that their building
needed to replace the sidewalks by a certain future date--soon,
the notice informed the recipients. It was unfortunate, in her
opinion. She felt the change, although most likely needed, would
detract from the charm of the place.
Brightly colored awnings, flapping
in gently blowing breezes, hung over the windows that faced
into the sun giving the street a carnival appearance. The sidewalks
would soon to be covered with tables showing off wares, artist's
booths, sale merchandise, and slightly used textbooks. Street
musicians often wandered the blocks in warm weather, entertaining
shoppers and students alike.
The door unlocked, she signed for shipments for all the small
businesses in her building and set about opening the boxes addressed
to her. The day turned into a brisk one for shoppers as soon
as she opened. There had been no time for visiting with anyone,
just brief hugs, hellos, and work. She was happy to be there,
though. This was her life. By day's end, Linnie had organized
a small picnic supper at her new house. She hurried to get home
and get the dogs walked before the friends would arrive.
James Roane arrived first as usual.
He did not like to miss anything. James was in his early forties,
but looked younger, with thin black hair cropped very close
to his head. James was going bald; he said that he might as
well get used to no hair. He dressed like the college student
he would always be, as he was in no hurry to finish with a degree.
He liked to say he did not know what he wanted to do when he
grew up, and Linnie got that. He was a little bit chubby and
not tall--maybe five foot nine--dressed as always in a rock
T-shirt from the seventies (The Grateful Dead today) and faded,
much-patched blue jeans. He was famous all over the campus for
his sense of humor. He ran the music part of the business. He
was gay, and all of his friends were women. He secretly loved
being treated like one of the girls. James was the friend they
all turned to for advice on relationships. Linnie had used him
for her own sounding board more than once.
Bill and Sandy Tremolo came next. They
had been married for so long they talked alike and always knew
what the other was thinking, so they finished sentences for
each other, which was good because Sandy tended to stop talking
in the middle of a thought. Bill was tall and thin with hair
so short and blonde it was nearly invisible, and Sandy was plump,
short, and very beautiful. Her shoulder-length dark blonde hair
was thick and softly styled. She had eyes that any starlet in
Hollywood would envy, large and deep brown with extraordinary
lashes. She was by far the life force of the odd little group,
an organizer extraordinaire. She ran the coffee shop and was
an expert on gourmet coffees the world over. Enticing scents
from the freshly ground beans filled the building with wild
imaginings of worlds never seen. Bill ran the bookstore, containing
both new and used books, but thought he would maybe rather work
in a library somewhere. On the other hand, maybe he would write
the books he loved so much. They had one child, a daughter.
That child was constantly on the move and rarely came home to
the Twin Cities. Sandy lamented that fact often.
Carol Anne Burke ran the bakery. It
was only open for a few hours a day, but many regular customers
came in for the snacks, which she did extraordinarily well.
She baked during the early hours and laid out her wares, which
disappeared quickly. She did not actually need to work, but
she loved her bakery and her friends, so she came every day.
Carol Anne had been putting all of her pastry recipes together
and planned to publish them soon. She loved baking pastries,
and one could taste that love in every bite. She had been through
two unfortunate marriages in her young life and was currently
off men completely. James liked to point out that, since he
was a gay man, they could still spend time together. They got
along better than most couples Linnie knew. Carol Anne was cute
and pert with short bouncy yellow-blonde curls that framed her
pixie face. She was very feminine in her choice of clothing--like
the short yellow skirt and white peasant style blouse she was
wearing that day. She was the youngest in the group, in her
late twenties Linnie guessed. Everyone loved her dearly. (Well,
except the men she had married.) She was quiet, shy, and somewhat
timid.
She had co-founded a parrot rescue league in the Twin Cities
and would much rather come face to face with an angry African
Grey or Macaw than an irritated customer. Her home was always
full of happy parrots and their paraphernalia. Some were Carol
Anne.s own birds, and others were up for adoption. She required
that people go through a long, drawn-out process before they
could adopt one of her babies, with references and pages of
questions that had to be filled out in detail. Next, she would
visit the potential new home and check it thoroughly for anything
that might cause harm to her charges. At one potential home,
Carol Ann insisted the adopter get rid of all her non-stick
cookware, replacing them with stainless steel, because the non-stick
produced a toxin if overheated, potentially causing harm to
the birds. The person complied and got the parrot. Carol Anne
figured that the birds had such rough lives already that the
next home should be the best one possible.
She recently had told Linnie two stories
of her rescued birds. One, a timid cockatoo, had belonged to
an older couple who loved her like a child. They had her out
of her cage nearly all day and fed her properly. When they passed
away, a relative took the bird because she felt it was expected.
Unfortunately, this person didn't have a clue how to give the
creature what it needed, and the sad little thing spent all
of its time confined to a too-small cage and ate only seed.
Never handled anymore, it became afraid of everything. Carol
Anne heard about it from one of her veterinarian friends and
paid a visit. The new owner was absolutely thrilled to give
the bird away. Carol Anne, always the diplomat, convinced her
not to feel guilty about it, since not everyone was cut out
to be a bird owner. Six months later, the bird was rehabilitated
and had a happy life once more. In another rescue, a small conure
lived with a family of noisy young children who were constantly
sticking twigs into the cage and teasing the bird. It was handed
over to the shelter because it bit anyone and everyone who got
too near its cage. Birds, Carol Anne said, were often cage territorial
anyway, and the behavior of the family only contributed to the
behavior of the bird. With Carol Anne's infinite patience, she
took months to work the tension out of the bird.
Then there was George. George Dahlquist
and Linnie had been best friends since the first grade. George
said he remembered Linnie from kindergarten, but she doubted
it. He had a hair salon next door to The West Bank Gallery.
Most people thought he was gay, but he was not interested much
in sex of any kind. There just was not time in his life for
something so messy, not to mention emotional. He was a neat
freak and liked living alone so no one could bother his many
collections. His house was like a museum. Toy trains ran on
tracks throughout his house, with one Lionel set larger than
the others. He had built tracks along the walls at eye level
with gently sloping inclines, steep descents, and tunnels. The
tracks traveled all over the first floor of his house. Tiny
villages and farms along with trestles, mountains, lakes, and
forests sat in various spots. Even Linnie liked to play engineer.
There was little furniture in his house, just trains and their
tracks.
George was kind and fun, and Linnie
would rather spend time with him than anyone because he was
so easy going and relaxed, as long as they were away from his
own house. He was always up for an adventure or just a quiet
evening in front of a television screen. Rich, black curls hung
in his dark blue eyes, which were always smiling. George was
simply high on life.
He was maybe three or four inches taller
than Linnie, and one of their favorite pass times together was
ballroom dancing. George taught dancing in a turn-of-the-century
dance studio near the university and often called on Linnie
to be his partner. They both loved the studio, which dated back
to the early 1900s. It had been the place for many formal dances
and competitions. Sometimes Linnie thought that she could see
these dancers out of the corners of her eyes swirling past in
their tuxedos and long graceful gowns.
The ceilings were domed and high, covered
by copper plates stamped with intricate floral designs. Mirrors
on the walls made it look huge, and they spent hours laughing
and dancing until they dropped.
They felt they knew each other better
than anyone else ever could. In addition, George was the absolute
best person to hug that Linnie knew. That was enough for George,
but not for Linnie--not any more. Many times, they had talked
about living together or even getting married, but they never
would. It would ruin what they had, which was precious to both.
Besides, Linnie was sure there was more for them both waiting
at the edges of life, just out of sight.
James started the grill, and he and
Carol Anne worked on marinating the steaks. Sandy was putting
together a green salad. She said the greens got slimy if she
added the dressing too soon. Bill made the garlic bread, and
Linnie and George made vegetable kabobs out of fresh summer
squash, tomatoes, pearl onions, and peppers. Before too long,
the glorious smell of roasting meat enticed Jake and Andrew
to the party. They added fresh corn-on-the-cob to the grill.
Linnie went over to Lily.s to collect her and John. Thank God
for so many to watch the frolicking dogs who were ever underfoot!
The young boys from the house on the other side joined them,
as did their parents. With the cut-up chicken they brought there
was plenty of food. Four or five bottles of wine later, all
but George had gone home. There was nothing to clean up except
for a few dishes. George opened yet another bottle, and he and
Linnie collapsed on her sofa, passing the bottle between them.
“You have some fun neighbors.
That.s a new thing for you, isn.t it? Those little boys are
terrific. Maybe I.d like to have a few of those creatures running
around in my aging life.”
Linnie gave him a sideways look. “Will
you be able to share your toys?” she asked.
“Of course" George then changed
the subject. "Your cousin is a lot like you, and Jake and
Andrew will become terrific friends. I foresee it.” His
eyes took on a fake dreamy appearance, and Linnie knew he was
teasing.
“I guess it is. New for me, I
mean, to have real neighbors. Haven't done that since I was
a kid. Apartment neighbors are not quite the same thing. I think
I'll like it here.”
“I think you seem lonely, just
a little. I bet no one else sees it.”
“Maybe a bit. I want to fall in
love,” she admitted. “I haven't yet. Not the real
thing anyway, like Lily and John or Jake and Andrew. Or your
parents. Remember the time we caught them half naked and kissing
in the swimming pool?” Linnie laughed at the memory.
“Yes. I didn't think they'd ever
forgive me for coming home early and for bringing you with me.”
“Your brother, Forest, took us
out for ice cream to give your folks time to get it all together.”
Linnie felt a little tug on her heartstrings as she thought
of Forest. What a crush she had on him in high school! Two years
their elder and totally involved in the art department, he had
little time to notice her. However, her eyes always sought him
out. She had not been brave enough at that time to do anything
about it though.
“Or, most likely, to give them
time to finish what they.d started.” George stood to drive
himself home. He wobbled to the door and Linnie slipped her
hand into his pocket and confiscated his keys.
“No, you don't, my pleasantly
drunken fool. I now have a spare bed for these emergencies.”
Linnie led him to it, shoved him into the bed and left for her
own. Her dogs were already passed out on the rug, worn out from
all their fun. She stripped, thinking about Forest, better known
to her and George as "Woods". He was the most handsome
and exotic man Linnie had ever set her eyes on. All through
high school, no one else could come close. Often she would turn
down an invitation just so she could stay at home and daydream
about Forest.
However, it was fruitless. She was
George's friend and way below the notice of the older, more
glamorous brother. She loved everything about him long before
she knew what love was all about. She watched the way he moved,
as graceful as her pet cat. She watched the way he so carefully
chose his words. He thought everything through before speaking
aloud. His thick, wavy, black hair was always too long, and
the errant curls would slip into his eyes, exactly like George's
curls, only with Forest this made her weak in the knees. Now,
she could sleep, most likely dreaming of Forest. It would not
be the first time.
