The Long Road Home Part 2

Nora's lips tightened. "How much is it worth? I'll buy it now."

"Look, dear. I'm sorry, but no can do. You can talk to Sotheby's about it, I guess, but I have to collect that ring now-and a few other items." His voice trailed as he searched the papers.

I'll bet you're sorry, Nora thought, steeped in bitterness. So, Bellows didn't come through for her after all. A simple kindness was beyond him. She couldn't trust him.

Blind rage colored her thinking. She flipped up the lid of her suitcase and pulled out her zip cloth jewelry bag. Without opening it, she held it out to the nameless man with the red hair and papers.

"Take it."

"Certainly not all of it," he moued, his blush making him look like an elongated carrot.

She jerked it toward him. The thin man stepped forward to retrieve the small bag, then stepped back again. He pulled out some Victorian beaded necklaces, a yellowed pearl necklace and earrings, a large cameo pin, and the solitary engagement ring. It was a pitiful show compared to the many-carat diamonds, rubies, and emeralds on the list.

"So much fuss about so little," she said softly. Her shoulders slumped. "It doesn't matter. Just take it and get out. Please."

The man paused, then selected out the pearls and set them delicately upon the suitcase. "I don't see those on the list," he muttered as he rushed out the door.

Nora picked up the pearls and rubbed them against her cheek. "Oma, I miss you," she said. She slipped the pearls around her neck and placed the earrings in her ears.

In the mirror, the burgundy notebook was visible in her bag. In that same bag, beneath wool sweaters, nestled a shirt box. And in that shirt box was a stash of personal letters, memos, and a pocket diary that she'd found on Mike's desk the day he died. Papers that were scattered next to an empty bottle of bourbon and a loaded ashtray.

Mike had called her to New York from her house in Connecticut, yelling over the wire that it was urgent. So she had come, against her better judgment, only to be ignored once again. Until that night, before he died.

"Don't trust anyone," he'd told her, roughly awakening her. He was drunk, again, and the sour smell of bourbon and smoke descended upon her like a winter cloud.

At first she was afraid. Something in his voice had changed; she heard it even in her sleepy stupor. The anger was gone. The arrogance was gone. In its place she heard desperation and fear.

"Don't trust anyone." That was all he'd said. That and a firm shake and an intense stare. So intense. Telling her in that gaze that he was leaving. Warning her that she was on her own now. Perhaps, too, that he was sorry. She liked to think that anyway.

Nora closed the suitcase, zipped it, and locked it. Whatever secrets lay hidden in that notebook, she'd uncover them later. On her own. One thing was certain-she would keep her secrets from Ralph Bellows.

"Mrs. MacKenzie?" Trude stood at the door, arms akimbo.

Nora could tell she'd overheard the entire exchange. "Well, I'm all set to go," said Nora with false enthusiasm.

Trude clenched her lips and nodded. "Well then, let's get you go."

Nora walked over and touched Trude's shoulder. "I wish I could take you with me."

"I not ask for much," Trude replied, opening the door once again for an offer.

Nora sighed and shook her head. "I couldn't pay you. I don't know how I can take care of myself, let alone anyone else. And what about Roman and the children?"

"They love mountains. Live good. Cheap."

For a wild second Nora considered it. How good it would be to have them nearby. Friendly faces and support.

"I wish I could," she replied, looking into Trude's disappointed face.

Trude nodded. "I know. I had to try, though."

Nora hugged Trude in a rush. Trude faltered, standing stiff in awkwardness. Nora felt awkward too at this rare show of physical contact. Suddenly, however, Trude responded and Nora felt true affection in the Polish woman's bear hug.

"You're the only family I've got left," Nora whispered.

"You take care of yourself, hear?" Trude said, pulling back and revealing a flash of tears. "Here. Piroshki for the car. I make them. You be sure to eat them."

"I will, I will." Nora laughed, moving back.

She picked up the suitcase. It was unusually heavy. With his papers and notes, Nora was taking Mike with her.

"I will carry for you," Trude said.

"No," Nora replied. "I have to carry this."

She took one last look at the apartment. The sun was setting now and poured in through the slats of blinds, creating vertical shadows across the parquet. Her luxury apartment never looked more the prison it had been for years.

"Don't trust anyone." Mike's last words to her sounded again in her head.

"I don't," she said to the ghost. Nora turned away, her shoulders drooping with the weight of Mike's message.

"I'll never trust anyone again."

3.

NORA PAID THE TOLL and asked for a receipt.

Now that she was off the Thruway, she felt New York was truly behind her. In her head, she knew that a place could not make someone happy or unhappy, rather the life one led there. But her heart didn't buy it. In her heart, she believed she'd be happier once she crossed the Vermont border.

The small white sign with green lettering welcomed her to the Green Mountain State. Speeding by at fifty miles per hour she felt a rush of exhilaration as she crossed the line. "Whoopee!" she called aloud as she rolled down the window and stuck her nose out like any perk-eared dog. Fresh cool air gushed in. She inhaled deeply. Vermont did feel better. The mountains were prettier, the gra.s.s was greener, and, hot dog-she was headed home.

The Volvo hummed along on the state highway, past small towns with red general stores and lone gas stations that boasted two pumps. Nora paid attention to all the markers now; it had been a while since she'd traveled these roads. She chewed her lip as she navigated the journey. Did she turn left at this blinking light? Which way did she veer when the road split by the green warehouse?

Following both memory and instinct, she guided the car toward the small mountain she called home. A brook ambled over white rocks along the side of the road, black-and-white cows chewed lazily in the pastures. She pa.s.sed Ed's syrup stand, rounded a steep turn, and there it was. She recognized it immediately. Why had she thought she wouldn't?

Her mountain. The center of the small tree-covered mountain sagged like a saddle on an old horse. A first memory flashed.

"Let's hike to the saddle," Mike said. He already had his boots on, a picnic basket packed with crusty bread, strong-smelling cheese, and a cold bottle of white wine, and in his arm he carried a red-and-black wool blanket. His eyes flashed in invitation.

Nora grabbed a sweater and Mike. "Let's go."

The saddle was a long hike up, across steep terrain, over marble and granite boulders, and through muddy valleys. But once there the gra.s.s was as soft as baby hair. Wild berries flourished and the sun shone freely up where the trees didn't grow. It was a favorite resting place of deer. A heavenly spot-divine for lovemaking.

Nora tightened her fingers on the steering wheel. "Mike, Mike," she murmured. She was afraid of her grief and the unexpected turns it took. Was it a good idea to come back here of all places? The one place they had been happy.

The road curved and led into the neighboring town, really just one long road between Victorian farmhouses that were now antiques stores and bed-and-breakfasts, a needlepoint shop, the post office, a hardware store, a pizza parlor, and, busiest of all, the corner grocery. Nora pulled in to pick up some supplies.

The small store was in fact grocery, liquor store, bookstore, and video rental shop all rolled into one confined s.p.a.ce. The front four-square windows were plastered with local notices: the firemen were having a water show in Rutland on Sat.u.r.day, Wild Bird Weekend brought a special seed sale, and a brightly colored banner invited everyone to a contra dance in October. Baskets of apples, squash, and mums bordered the store's narrow entry. Nora selected two apples and squeezed in past the baskets.

Inside, the small store was dimly lit and the precious floor s.p.a.ce was crammed with more baskets filled with corn, potatoes, and onions. In the front of the store, the few shelves were crammed with dry goods, and in the rear of the store stood rows and rows of dusty alcohol bottles. Nora wrinkled her nose as dust tickled it. She wouldn't find everything she needed here, but she'd find enough to make do. The wooden floors creaked as she crossed them but they were well swept. A plastic mat covered the grayed wooden counter, and on it sat a shiny nickel-plated cash register with the drawer half open.

"h.e.l.lo," Nora chirped.

The old woman behind the counter gummed her lips a moment and gave Nora a thorough once-over. "'Lo," she replied.

The woman was no one Nora had ever seen before. It appeared no more talk was coming, thank heavens. Nora wasn't up to questions yet. She cut a swath through the store, grabbing quickly. Coffee, eggs, milk, bread, and she was done.

"Thank you. Bye."

"Yeh-up."

If she shopped there daily for the next ten years, Nora doubted she'd ever get more of a response than that. Vermonters weren't a chatty group.

At last she made the final turn by the marshy pond. The car veered off the paved road and rumbled along a dirt town road, not fit for tourists. She stretched out her cramped legs and arms and slowed to a crawl. The meadows were on a higher plain than the road and were separated by a low stone fence bordered by pine, maple, and apple trees. She began searching for something-a barn, a tree, a pond-anything familiar.

She pa.s.sed the Johnston house, her nearest neighbors. The small cape with pale green asphalt siding appeared to be slipping down. Its sills were sloped, the front porch leaned, and there was chokecherry now where there used to be flowers.

The house was close to the road but she pa.s.sed without stopping. She was too near her final destination to stop for h.e.l.los. The vista opened up and she smiled seeing Skeleton Tree Pond, acres of fresh spring water so cold Mike swore it could stop the heart. She felt the first p.r.i.c.kle of excitement along her neck.

The b.u.mpy road curved around the lower barn where sheep stood in small cl.u.s.ters. In the field beyond, fifty, maybe more, lazily chewed in the sun. They raised their white faces as she pa.s.sed, ears p.r.i.c.ked. Nora smiled again, feeling an instant bond with the gentle creatures.

She was on her own land now. Four hundred acres, most of them vertical, all of them green. She was surrounded by green, interspersed now with the oranges, reds, and golds of an early fall. A few yards ahead she spotted the pair of marble monoliths that signaled the foot of her private road. The stones blended in with its surroundings, so only a careful eye could spot the entry. Mike had wanted to build an imposing brick gate, but Nora had persuaded him that, at least in Vermont, nature should prevail.

She made the turn and slowed to a stop. Her road curved gracefully and disappeared behind a small hill, but Nora wasn't fooled. She knew that beyond that hill the pastoral road made the grand prix seem like child's play. It turned and twisted sharply and inclined straight up, making it a hair-raising trip in spots where the gravel gave way to dirt.

The unanswered question was: How was the road? Did Seth put down the gravel? Did the rain wash out gullies so deep a tire could get caught? Why hadn't she stopped at the Johnstons'? Even now she could back up and travel back down the road.

Something inside of her resisted. A new independence told her to handle it herself. She was tired of asking for help. Sooner or later she'd have to deal with this road and sooner came now.

Gear in first, she let the clutch up and pressed the accelerator. On up she went, past the hill, past berry bushes long since picked clean by the birds, around big rocks that had lost hold and fallen to the road. Leaf-laden branches arched low, brushing the windshield as she pa.s.sed and giving off an eerie squeak. Then the road began to incline steeply and the gravel bed grew thin. Nora pressed the accelerator a tad, scuttled up twenty yards and then felt the wheels slip.

Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Her foot pressed the accelerator, yet her car slid backward down the steep dirt road. Pushing the pedal to the floor, she leaned far forward and whispered, "Go, go."

The Volvo whined as its wheels dug to dirt, spitting gravel and swinging its rear across the narrow road like a wild bronco. She headed straight for the steep bank. Nora slammed on the brakes.

Nausea swept over her as she shifted her gaze from the steep road ahead to the shallow cliff beside her. Unable to move forward, terrified to slip backward, she was in limbo. "What do I do? What do I do?" she muttered in a litany as she laid her head against the wheel.

There was no reply. She was very alone. In the density of the forest surrounding her she sensed the presence of animals-crouched and watching. Squirrels, deer, porcupines, bears, and scores of others she couldn't even identify. She heard every snap of a branch in the uneasy quiet. Each call of a wild bird seemed to say, "Go away. You don't belong here."

"d.a.m.n you, Mike!" she swore as she hit the steering wheel with her fist. A September wind caught the curse and carried it across the Vermont mountains. The echo diminished into a menacing breeze that floated through the car like the whisper of a ghost. She shuddered and closed her eyes.

Why curse Mike? It was childish-and too late. She got out a short laugh. Mike never got stuck here. He had skidded on this same road, but instead of cowering as she was, he'd grind into first gear and will that heap of metal up the mountain. Only once he didn't make it, and that was when the snow was so deep even the tractor couldn't get up to the house. Nonetheless, he had sold the car as worthless.

"Well, there's no Mike now," she blurted out as she raised her head. "This is it. Nora MacKenzie. Your first test. There's no turning back. Home is ahead."

She let out a ragged breath as reason took over. With a thrust of determination, she shifted into first then slowly, with ease, let out the clutch.

"Come on, you hunk o' junk," she said. The tires spun, whined, and slipped back a few inches. Nora bit her lip and fought the temptation to hit the gas. Instead, she yanked the wheels away from a dirt patch. With a jerk, the tires caught on the firm roadbed and lurched forward.

"Go, go, go," she crooned as the metal beast struggled up the steep incline and slowly rounded the final curve.

With the care of a captain in shallow waters, she turned the wheels away from the loose patches of gravel and rode the crest. At last, the high-pitched drone of the engine lowered as the incline flattened and she emerged from the tunnellike foliage into the light of a clearing. She hooted triumphantly.

Ahead, perched high on her mountain overlooking the Vermont mountain ranges, was a sunlit terrace. And standing proudly in its center was her house. Nora's heart swelled when she spied the peak of the redwood and brick structure looming high above the purple heather. Next appeared the large, angular windows divided by a mammoth beam and lastly, the broad wooden deck that stretched like a smile across the breadth of the house. Nora couldn't help smiling in return.

Pulling up in front, she danced her fingers along the wheel. She couldn't wait to get out of the car. She yanked on the brake and scrambled out. The air was cooler that high up and its pine-scented breezes caressed her cheeks. She inhaled deeply, tasting its sweetness. Sporting a triumphant grin, she stretched her arms wide to take into her soul the majestic Vermont mountain range, blanketed now in a homey patchwork quilt of greens, purples, reds, and oranges.

Her hands might be shaky, she thought, and maybe her knees were wobbly. So what if she didn't know what her next step would be. She felt exultant. She had made it to the top! In an inspired rush, she tugged the gold band off her left finger and threw it with desperate force into the horizon.

"I'm home!" she cried to the mountains, bringing her arms around her chest in a bear hug. The echo bounced back to her, repeating "home, home, home," in rea.s.suring repet.i.tion.

From above came a deep, resonant response.

"Looking for someone?"

To Nora, it was thunder in the mountains. Fear struck her marrow like a lightning bolt. She jerked her head toward the second-story deck where a man, dressed only in a pair of worn, unb.u.t.toned jeans, towered above her. His eyes glared with suspicion from under a towel as he rubbed his wet hair. Across his chest, droplets of water cascaded like a waterfall down a mountainside.

Questions froze in her throat. Suddenly her mountain seemed very small and she felt trapped under the harsh gaze of the man on the deck above her. He was a stranger-an intruder. She was alone and vulnerable. She had to get out and get out fast. Spinning on her heel, Nora lunged for the car door.

"Hey! You! Stop!" shouted the man as he threw off the towel and pounded down the stairs.

A scream caught in her throat as Nora leaped into the Volvo and punched down the door lock just as the man grabbed the handle. He shook the handle, cursing.

"Look, lady," he shouted, dipping his head to peer in. Water dripped from his dark blond hair down his broken nose. On either side, his eyes blazed. She froze as would a deer in a flash of light. Only when he pressed hands as large as bear paws across her windshield did she bolt upright and insert her keys.

"Let go, mister," she shouted. He didn't. Nora started the engine yelling, "I'm warning you."

"And I'm warning you."

With shaky hands, Nora rammed the gearshift and roared into reverse, sending the man and gravel flying. Again, she slipped into first, jerked the wheel around and hit the gas. From the corner of her eye she saw him leap out of the way of the moving car, then heard him pound the rear in frustration. Nora cringed but kept her eyes on the winding drive ahead. She knew she was going too fast as she neared the first sharp curve and hit the brakes. They locked, sending the car skidding across the gravel straight toward the steep bank. She corrected the steering wheel, but the wheels had locked. She'd lost control. Her muscles tensed, her mouth opened, and time stood still. Nora was filled with the sickening knowledge that she was going to crash.

She covered her head as she hit the tree.

He heard the crash as he reached the door of the house.

"Aw, d.a.m.n," he muttered, swinging wide the door and dashing inside. Within seconds, he had grabbed his keys and jacket and was rushing toward his Jeep, b.u.t.toning his pants along the way. The gravel dug into his bare feet, but he ran without pause to the car, hit the accelerator, and sped down the road. After the first curve he spotted the blue Volvo in the ditch and sucked in his breath. The car lay buried under a broken limb and its foliage. He saw again the New York license plates.

With dread, he ran to the driver's seat and peered in through the broken gla.s.s. The woman lay crumpled against the steering wheel. Jiggling the handle of the locked door, he cursed again. The pa.s.senger door was blocked by a heavy limb. He'd have to move it but wasn't sure he could. Focusing on the limb, he grabbed it and heaved the limb away from the door, all the while still cursing the woman for showing up here at all. He yanked open the crumpled door and crawled in beside her.

She was beautiful. It was one of those futile thoughts that pop into one's mind at the wrong time. Shaking his head, he reached to pick up her wrist. It was thin and fragile, like the wing of a wounded sparrow. He laid his own large, callused fingers upon her pulse. Nothing had ever felt so good as that steady beat. The stranger was now a real person.