Bygones (8 page)

W
ell, there it is.”

Beth sat up straight in the passenger seat, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from her eyes. Peering out the window through the dusky light, she caught a glimpse of a sign advertising harness making—
harness
making? Then the vehicle made a sharp left off the highway. Sure enough, there was the town. Sommerfeld. Hardly a town at all, really.

“This is Main Street.” Mom sounded as though her tonsils were tied in a knot. The car slowed to a crawl. The headlights illuminated the double-wide, unpaved street.

Main Street. . .unpaved. Beth swallowed a disparaging comment.

Mom pointed to the first building on the left-hand side of the street. “There’s Lisbeth’s Café. . .now Beth’s Café.” She grinned, then shook her head, sighing. “My, the hours I spent there when I was a teenager. . .”

My unexpected inheritance
. Beth leaned down to squint through the driver’s-side window. The evening gloaming and absence of streetlights made it difficult to make out details, but the café appeared to be a rock building, two stories high, fronted by a brick sidewalk. Startled, she glanced right and left. All the sidewalks were brick.

And not a soul was in sight. Anywhere.

She whistled through her teeth and fought off a shiver.

“What’s wrong?” Mom’s voice dropped to a whisper, adding to the eerie feeling of being in a ghost town.

“Where is everybody?”

Mom shrugged. “It’s Sunday. They’re all at home. I told you Sunday is a day of rest.”

“Yeah, but. . .” Beth shook her head. The highway traffic less than a half mile to the south, contrasted against the absolute inactivity of the town, was too bizarre.

“Over there is my brother Art’s business.” Mom pointed to the right.

Out loud, Beth read the sign above the door of the large wooden building. “Koeppler Feed and Seed—Quality Implements and Agricultural Products.” Turning to her mother, she whistled through her teeth. “This is wild, Mom. It’s like being on a movie set for a Western.”

Mom laughed softly. “Well, it is unpretentious. But it’s hardly the thing movies are made of.”

Beth nearly wore out her neck looking back and forth as Mom made a left turn followed by a second turn one block farther. They drove in silence past two blocks of residential houses, most of which appeared to have been constructed in the earlier part of the twentieth century, increasing Beth’s sense of stepping back in time.

The car finally pulled into the dirt side yard of a quaint bungalow with a high-peaked roof and a railed porch that extended halfway across the front and around the north side.

At first glance the house appeared dark, but as their car pulled around to the back, a pale yellow light glowed, gently illuminating the window at the northwest corner. Mom stopped the car behind the house and shut off the ignition. Then, with a huge, heaving sigh,
she stared at the building.

“Well, this is it. Your new home sweet home.” She sat, unmoving, her hands gripping the steering wheel.

Beth frowned. “Are you okay?”

Mom’s laugh sounded forced. “As okay as an old lady can be after driving thirteen hours straight.” She rubbed the back of her neck and yawned. The action seemed feigned. “I sure hope that light in there means somebody has made up the bed. I’m not sure I have the energy to do it myself.”

Both women climbed out of the car and walked toward the back porch. A black iron gaslight stood along the grassless footpath from the dirt driveway to the house, but it wasn’t burning, leaving the path dark. Mom stepped onto the wood-planked porch and twisted the doorknob. “Locked.”

Beth tipped sideways, trying to peek through the door’s window. “What’ll we do?”

For a moment Mom stood there, staring at the knob. Then she bent over to lift the corner of a plastic mat in front of the back door. She held up a key and offered a weak smile. “Just like always.”

Beth gaped. “Outside? Where anyone could find it?”

Mom laughed again, the sound more authentic this time. “You’re not in the city anymore, Beth. Things are. . .different here.” She turned the key in the lock, pushed the door open, then gestured for Beth to enter.

Beth stepped into a dimly lit, narrow room with doorways springing in all directions. She slid her hand along the wall beside the door. “I can’t find the light switch.”

Mom stepped in and closed the door. “Honey, I told you. No electricity. Follow the glow.”

The glow, as Mom called it, came from the open doorway along the north wall. Beth walked through the doorway and found herself in
a simple kitchen with white painted cabinets and a small, round table covered with a cheerful red-and-white-checked cloth. A cordless lamp sat on the countertop, sending out a meager amount of light. The only light in the entire house.

Beth shook her head. “Primitive.”

Mom moved past her but stopped at the table. She fingered the cloth, her face pinched. After a moment, she released the tablecloth and picked up the lamp by its handle. Smiling in Beth’s direction, she said, “Shall we explore?”

With a shrug, Beth followed her mom around a corner and into the dining room. A square wooden table flanked by four chairs filled the center of the uncarpeted floor. A glass-front cabinet holding simple white dishes stood along the west wall—the only other piece of furniture in the room.

Beth resisted another shiver, her feet echoing on the hardwood floor as she trailed behind her mother through a wide doorway to what was obviously the living room. A couch sat beneath one window, with a small wood table on spindly legs at one end. Beside the little table sat a curved-back rocking chair. Mom crossed to it and sat down, placing the lamp on the table. The lamp clearly lit Mom’s face. Although she seemed pale and her eyes looked tired—or sad?—a smile curved her lips.

“This was Aunt Lisbeth’s favorite seat.” Mom’s hands caressed the worn arms of the rocker. “When I was little, I used to run in here and climb into it before she could, just to see her put her hands on her hips and scowl at me. She could make the fiercest face while her eyes just twinkled, letting me know she was only teasing. And I would scowl back.” She laughed softly. “I wouldn’t have dared to scowl at any other adult, but Aunt Lisbeth was different.” She stared across the room, seemingly lost in thought.

Beth sank onto the couch. It was stiff and the fabric scratchy,
unlike the cushiony velvet sofa at home. “Mom?”

A few seconds passed before her mother turned to look at her.

“If there’s no electricity, how will we get heat in here?”

Her mother looked disappointed by the question. Another lengthy pause followed before she pushed off the rocking chair. Picking up the lamp, she said, “Follow me.”

She led Beth back through the dining room, through a different doorway, ending in the utility porch. Swinging open a door, she pointed. “There’s a coal-burning furnace in the basement. That’s what heats the house.” She sniffed, and Beth did the same, inhaling a thick, musty odor. “Someone already has it going, but if you’re cold, I’ll go put in some more coal.”

Beth peered down the dark, wooden stairs and shook her head. “No, that’s okay. I’ll just put on a hoodie.” She hugged herself, knowing the chill came from something more than the temperature of the house. “It looks creepy down there.”

Mom smiled. “We’ll have to go down eventually anyway. Want to see how the furnace works?”

Beth gave an adamant shake of her head. “No, thanks!”

“All right, then.” Mom closed the door and faced Beth. “Let me show you Lisbeth’s bedroom—there’s only one bedroom, so we’ll have to share the bed.”

Beth made a face. “Great.”

Mom sighed. “Beth, I tried to prepare you for all this before we came, but you didn’t want to talk about it, remember? You said you preferred to find out everything when you got here rather than get scared enough to change your mind. Now that we’re here, I’d rather you didn’t complain constantly.”

Beth threw her hands outward. “Who’s complaining?”

Mom looked at her with one eyebrow raised and her mouth quirked to the side.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I know you said it would be simple, but I had no idea. . . . How did you live like this? Coal-burning furnaces, no lights, everything so. . .bare.”

“I suppose when you don’t know any different, it doesn’t seem like a hardship.” Heading for the back door, she said, “Why don’t we get our suitcases and then I’ll show you the bedroom? And the bathroom. I imagine by now your pop has kicked in.”

Beth recognized the teasing note. She matched it, clasping her hands beneath her chin in a mock gesture of supplication. “
Pleeease
don’t tell me the bathroom is actually an outhouse.”

Mom laughed, and her curls bounced as she shook her head. “Oh, no, we have indoor plumbing.”

“Well, let’s be grateful for small favors.” Beth followed her mom outside. The cool air nipped at her, carrying a fresh scent very different from that of home. A rustle overhead followed by a flapping indicated some kind of night bird took flight from the trees, and Beth involuntarily ducked. Yet when she looked upward, seeking the location of the bird, she found herself mesmerized by the endless expanse of sky.

She’d never seen so many stars, and the plump three-quarter moon appeared as bright as a halogen against the velvety black. “Wow.”

Mom swung a suitcase from the back of the trailer and paused, peering upward. She smiled. “Oh, yes. With all the city lights, a person forgets how brilliant the stars truly are.” She took in a deep breath, released it slowly, and said, “ ‘The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.’ ”

At her mother’s wistful tone, Beth jerked her gaze to look at her. Mom’s eyes glittered as brightly as the stars. Suddenly uncomfortable but not sure why, Beth forced a hint of mockery into her voice. “ ‘Sheweth’?”

Mom gave a start, looking at Beth sheepishly. “Oh.” She laughed
lightly. “Something I memorized as a child. Funny. . .” She nibbled her lower lip, her gaze returning to the sky. “I haven’t thought about that in years.”

Beth waited, her arms folded around her middle. Her mother stared upward, a smile barely tipping the corners of her lips. What was Mom thinking—remembering? For some reason, Beth felt afraid to ask.

After a long while, Mom released an airy sigh, then aimed a bright smile in Beth’s direction. “Well, let’s get these suitcases inside and unpacked, huh? The rest can wait until tomorrow and sunlight.”

Marie pulled the stiff sheet and chenille spread to her chin and stared at the ceiling. From down the hall, a series of squeaks indicated Beth wiggled on the cot. An odd warmth filled her face as she thought about that cot. The second, smaller bedroom had always been Lisbeth’s sewing room. Someone had taken down the folding table she’d used to cut fabric or lay out quilt squares and put up the cot, obviously for their use. And she knew who had done it.

When she’d called yesterday, Henry had been eating lunch in the café, so Deborah had called him to the telephone. He had sounded dismayed when she’d said she and Beth would be coming the next day. She could still hear his startled, “But there’s no time for preparation.” That had been her intention—she hadn’t wanted him to feel obligated to get things ready for her. Then he’d asked, “Do you remember Lisbeth only has one bed in her house? Will it work for you and your daughter to share?”

Marie’s hesitation before replying that it would be fine no doubt communicated her true feelings about having to bunk with Beth. He must have brought in the cot. And covered it with the bright heart-appliquéd quilt Marie had always loved. Did he remember her
preference for bright colors when he’d fixed up the cot?

Her chest felt tight, and she pushed that thought away. How silly to take a trip down Memory Lane. Yet she couldn’t deny being in Lisbeth’s house, being in Sommerfeld, was tugging her backward in time.

She closed her eyes, her body tired, yet her mind refused to shut down. Outside, under the stars, the Bible verse from Psalms had slipped from her mouth so easily. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d quoted a scripture. Yet it had happened effortlessly, as if it had been lying dormant, waiting for an opportunity to present itself.