The Qualities of Wood Page 3

  ‘What tattoo would you get?’ Katherine asked.

  Vivian paused. ‘A rose, I think. On my ankle.’

  ‘The ankle might not be a good choice. Too exposed, don’t you think?’

  ‘Well, I’d never do it anyway. Nowell wouldn’t like it.’

  Katherine slowly nodded. ‘It’s the thought of something permanent. They like to think they invented you. Men, I mean.’ She touched Vivian’s arm. ‘I don’t know your husband well, of course. I was thinking more about an old boyfriend of mine.’

  They lingered on the porch. Katherine had beautiful greenish eyes and clear skin. She’s quite pretty, Vivian realized with surprise.

  ‘Betty used to sit out here all the time,’ Katherine said a little wistfully, ‘working on her needlepoint or crocheting.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘She used to throw bread to the birds, just like a regular old lady.’ Katherine laughed and Vivian joined in, as though old age was something they’d never have to worry about. She already felt comfortable around Katherine. She was easy to be with.

  The kitchen was cool and dark. Katherine sat at the table and Vivian poured lemonade into two of Grandma Gardiner’s glasses.

  ‘Betty was a sweet lady,’ Katherine said. ‘Always served me something. Just like you.’

  ‘How did you meet her?’

  ‘At a quilting class they had down at the high school. Max, my husband, thought it would be nice for me to have a hobby. I’ve never been one for sewing, but I thought it sounded alright.’

  ‘I’m no good at things like that,’ Vivian said.

  ‘What kind of women are we?’ She laughed. ‘But quilts are nice, right? I figured it might be fun to choose the pieces of fabric from things I had laying around the house, saving for God-knows-what. Like the dress I wore when I graduated from high school, or the kitchen curtains from our first apartment. When I started putting things together, pulling a shirt from here and an old sheet from there, it was real interesting.’

  ‘Things you had forgotten you had,’ Vivian ventured.

  Katherine nodded, leaning back so the chair made a crackling sound. ‘Going through those things was like looking through a photo album. Sometimes I’d sit with an old skirt or something, just feeling the fabric and remembering the way it felt to wear it. Quilting brings up memories as much as anything.’

  ‘I never thought of it that way,’ Vivian said, ‘and now I’m remembering all of the old clothes and things I probably have stored in boxes, tucked away and forgotten.’

  ‘It’s amazing what we keep lying around. The quilting class seemed like a good way to put some of it to use.’

  ‘So Mrs Gardiner was in the same class?’

  Katherine nodded. ‘She was the sweetest woman. The first night, she brought a big box of fabric and we reminisced over it.’

  Vivian thought guiltily about the box of sewing things and fabric swatches she had taken out to the trash that very morning. She wondered if it was still undamaged underneath the rest of the garbage. ‘Did she use all of her fabrics in the quilt?’

  Katherine laughed. ‘Neither of us did. We both realized we liked sitting around shooting the breeze more than we liked the sewing, so we quit the class. Besides, working with those women was like being in the military. The first week, the woman who elected herself leader of the group gave us an outline of how each meeting should go. They didn’t do any sewing the first three weeks, just sat around discussing the theme of the quilt, and looking over samples people brought in.’

  ‘Sounds pretty boring.’

  ‘I guess that’s how you do it, but I swear, it just seemed like a lot of nonsense to sew a blanket. If I ever did a quilt I would want it to be just mine. I don’t want to sew all my precious scraps together with strangers’.’

  ‘Did Mrs Gardiner like doing crafts and things?’

  ‘Normally, yes. I was a bad influence on her as far as that class goes.’ Katherine fluttered her fingers at Vivian. ‘We kept talking about doing our own quilts, but when I came to visit we’d usually get to talking about other things.’

  They sat quietly for a few moments while the shade enveloped them.

  ‘Betty was a nice woman,’ Katherine repeated. ‘Didn’t have many visitors, except her son every now and then. Before he passed, I mean.’

  ‘Her son?’

  ‘Yes, Sherman.’

  Vivian shook her head. ‘Nowell’s father. I don’t think he came out here much. He lived about four hours away.’

  ‘From what Betty said, he came regular as rain, several times a year. She was real proud of him, always talked about how successful he was and those two tall sons of his.’

  Nowell had told Vivian that his grandmother was stubborn and difficult and they hadn’t come to see her much. Even though he lived farther away than the rest, Nowell felt guilty for not visiting, especially now that she was gone and had left them both money and the house. Between the insurance settlement, the grandfather’s pension and Social Security, Grandma Gardiner had amassed quite an inheritance for her family. She divided the money equally between her three children: Nowell’s father and his two sisters, neither of whom had any children. Which left Nowell’s mother in charge of their third since Sherman was deceased.

  ‘What’s that for?’ Katherine asked.

  Vivian followed the direction of her gaze. Katherine was looking at the thick sheet that Nowell had hung, curtain-like, to divide his study from the kitchen. ‘My husband works on his writing in there.’

  ‘Is he working now?’

  ‘He works most of the day.’

  ‘I think I’ll just say hello.’

  Before Vivian could stop her, Katherine jumped up from the table, crossed the tile floor and flung back the curtain with the zest of discovery. ‘We meet again, Mr Gardiner!’

  Nowell looked over from his position in front of the window. He appeared to be looking outside, taking a break from the computer. Vivian expected him to be annoyed, but he smiled. ‘I thought I heard someone out there. Hello again.’

  Katherine gestured and her bracelets clinked together. ‘This sheet doesn’t block much noise, I would imagine.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ he said, ‘but it makes me feel sequestered.’

  ‘It’s all in appearances, isn’t it, the things we let ourselves believe?’

  Nowell made a move to join them, but Katherine waved him off. ‘No, you get back to your work,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to say hello. I thought I might take your wife into town, if she’s interested.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.’

  Katherine took one look around the room, made a quick inventory, then let the curtain fall back. ‘So, what about it? Want to ride into town with me?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Vivian gestured to her swimsuit. ‘I’ve been outside sweating.’

  ‘I’ll wait while you shower. I don’t mind.’ Katherine took her glass to the sink and rinsed it, as comfortable in the kitchen as though she’d been there a thousand times. ‘I thought I’d take you around and show you the hardware store, the crafts place. Your husband said you’d be doing some work around the house. I swear, it’s all I can do to keep my own place from falling into decay and ruin. It’s a big job, keeping a house going. Poor Betty was a hard worker, but her sight and energy were giving out. You should have seen how she kept this place before then. Neat as a pin, as they say.’

  ‘You’re sure you don’t mind waiting?’ Vivian asked.

  ‘Not at all. I’ll just sit out front for a while, see if those birds still come around.’

  ‘It’s very nice of you to take me. I’ve been avoiding driving that huge truck.’

  Katherine looked down at Vivian and then through the screen door at the old red truck. She shook her head, eyes gleaming. ‘Ain’t that just the way with men?’

  4

  The color of Katherine’s car made Vivian think of cool, green things: celery, lime sherbet, mint. Inside,
the seats were plush and velvety and Vivian let her body sink in.

  When Katherine started the engine, a deep voice crooned from the speakers. ‘Do you like Placido Domingo?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard him,’ Vivian told her.

  ‘That man’s voice melts me, I swear.’ Katherine turned down the music then went through a series of preparations. She adjusted her seat belt strap and the rearview mirror, retrieved her sunglasses from a tortoise-shelled case, put them on and checked her reflection. Then she twisted in the seat, flinging her right arm across the seat back. Finally, she slowly reversed down the long driveway.

  The scenery was just as it had been from the airport to the house, although they were headed in the opposite direction. Green rolling hills were broken up by plowed fields, the measured, parallel rows laid out as if by blueprint.

  ‘Where do you live?’ Vivian asked.

  Katherine’s eyes flickered toward her, then back to the road. ‘West of town. There’s a road that veers off this one; our place is set back about a mile.’

  ‘Big house?’

  Katherine shook her head. ‘No, it’s just me and Max. We’ve lived here all our lives, got married at the local chapel. Max owns one of the two dry-cleaning businesses in town. He used to have the only one until a few years ago. A family from out east moved here and opened one near the town center.’

  ‘Did they take away much business?’

  Katherine waved her hand and her thin gold bracelets clanked against each other. ‘Oh, no. We’ve got loyal customers. Of course, there’s always new people moving in. Mr Vega’s store has a good location in the mini-mall and new equipment, but we’ve done fine, just fine.’ She patted the steering wheel. ‘Max bought me this new car a few years ago for our anniversary. Ten years then, thirteen now.’

  ‘It’s nice.’

  Katherine glanced at Vivian’s hand. ‘How long have you been married?’

  ‘Just over four years,’ Vivian said.

  ‘Newlyweds,’ she said, a wry grin spreading across her face. Then she turned towards the window. ‘Sometimes I think I could drive around all day, but there’s not much to look at, just the fields and a cow here and there. It’s peaceful, though. About forty miles outside of town, some scenic roads wind up into the steeper hills. I’ll take you some day. We’ll pack a picnic.’

  Katherine was a good driver, cautious but not distractedly so, despite her preliminary procedures in the driveway. Her hands looked natural on the steering wheel and her back fit precisely to the seat. She wore huge, square sunglasses with gold ornamentation that matched the tone of the bracelets jangling on her arm.

  Vivian leaned back against the seat. She was glad to get away. Being at the house was relaxing, but Nowell immersed himself in his writing and much of the time left her alone. Sometimes at night they watched television together, but there wasn’t much to talk about. During the routine of her job in the city, Vivian had often daydreamed about coming to the house, about long walks in the country and the time to do whatever she wanted. Yet here she was, feeling lonely and a little stir-crazy after only a week. She decided to ask Katherine to show her some places in town, like the library and the movie theater. She needed to find things to keep busy, besides the work on the house.

  She liked Katherine’s easy manner. She reminded Vivian of her mother, the way she took charge of things, planning and deciding and leaving little for anyone else to worry about. But Katherine was much younger than her mother, at an age where Vivian imagined herself carpooling children to soccer games and band practice, staying home to nurse sore throats. Yet here was Katherine, childless and seemingly unharmed by it.

  ‘Your husband says you’re staying for a year?’

  Vivian looked over. ‘Give or take. Nowell’s writing his book and I’ve got the house to organize.’

  Katherine shook her head. ‘Big job.’

  ‘I’m starting to think so.’

  ‘I’m happy to help out,’ Katherine said.

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t ask you…’

  ‘I’d be glad for the work and glad for the company,’ she interrupted.

  They passed a road maintenance crew. A large truck pressed the newly laid asphalt like a rolling pin on dough while two workers in orange vests sat at the edge of the road, shouting to each other over the truck’s clamor and eating their lunches from brown paper sacks. One of the men leaned back and laughed, slapping his thigh. A third man turned a hand-held stop sign around and waved Katherine through.

  ‘I can’t believe they’re finally paving this,’ she said. ‘All of the roads out here are still dirt. There’s a main interstate nearby, but it leaves off miles outside of town. Just swings right by us, never comes close. It’s bizarre, I swear, like this town’s been bypassed by the entire modern world.’

  The scattered farmhouses along the road started to appear more frequently and form neighborhoods. Suddenly, they were in town. They passed other buildings, a square gray post office, a blue-shuttered Sheriff Department. In a plaza surrounded by cobblestone and benches, a tall statue cast a narrow shadow over the road.

  ‘Who’s the guy on the horse?’ Vivian asked.

  ‘William Clement, the founder of the town.’

  ‘Was he a soldier?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘I thought with statues, they only put soldiers on horses. One foot of the horse is raised if the man died in battle, or something like that.’

  ‘Really?’ Katherine’s eyebrows made two reddish-brown points above her sunglasses. ‘I never heard of that. As far as I know, he wasn’t a soldier. He thought he was pretty important, though. Huge ego. Named everything after himself and kept a pack of Indians as slaves, just about. Of course they were here in the Midwest before we came along. Lost everything.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Yet everyone wants to look up to Clement, make him a hero. Some people around here claim to be descendants, either on the white side or the Indian side, and they make a big deal out of it. Back in ’82 when the new library was dedicated, there was a peaceful demonstration that ended not so peacefully. Made the national news.’

  Vivian gazed out the window. ‘People like to have heroes, I guess.’

  ‘So do I, but I like mine realistic like people are, with good and bad parts but trying to do right. From what I’ve heard, Willie wouldn’t have known right if it hit him upside the head. He did terrible things, and people line up to claim they’re related.’ She turned the car into a mini-mall parking lot. There were plenty of open spaces and she took one in front of Clement’s Hardware. ‘See what I mean?’ She motioned toward the store sign and turned the engine off. ‘Here’s one of the famous descendants now.’

  Inside, they bought cleaning supplies, wood stain, and a small tool set. There was no one in the store except for the elderly man who took their money. As they left, Katherine grabbed Vivian’s arm and turned her towards the far side of the mall where there was a donut shop and a dry-cleaners. ‘The dreaded enemy,’ she whispered.

  ‘What? Is that the other dry-cleaners?’

  The store had faded posters in the windows, photographs of models in outdated clothing. The sign read ‘Kwik Kleaners’ in cursive red letters.

  ‘At least they’re not Clements,’ Vivian said.

  Katherine chuckled. ‘Oh, but they could be. On the Indian side somewhere, possibly migrated south and now they’ve returned for their rightful place. They’re everywhere!’ She pretended to choke herself and Vivian laughed.

  They stopped at an ice-cream parlor for double scoops and ate them at a table outside. The ice-cream melted quickly in the afternoon sun and Vivian felt like a kid sneaking a snack close to dinner, something that was never allowed when she was growing up. She felt guilty and excited, as though Nowell would care.

  ‘So what kind of books does your husband write?’ Katherine asked. ‘Betty only said that one of her grandsons was a writer and one worked construction.’

  ‘She passed
away before Nowell’s first novel was published. He’s written one book, a mystery, and is working on the second.’

  ‘You’re kidding! I love mysteries. I’d like to read it. Would he autograph a copy for me?’

  ‘He’ll be flattered that you asked.’

  ‘I’ll pick up a copy in town this week. What’s the title?’

  Vivian wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin. ‘Actually, it’s in limited release. You may have some trouble finding it. Besides, I’m sure Nowell would love to give you a copy. He has some at the house.’

  ‘Great!’ Katherine said. ‘What’s it about? Don’t tell me too much, I hate that.’

  Vivian bit her lower lip, contemplating what to say. ‘It’s a murder mystery about the deaths of two young men. Is that enough?’

  Katherine nodded. ‘If I know too much beforehand, the whole experience is ruined. That’s the whole point of a mystery, isn’t it? The not knowing.’

  Vivian read Nowell’s book for the first time just before it was ready for printing. He had gone to visit his mother and left the manuscript on the kitchen table at their apartment. He had tucked a note under the cover: Couldn’t have done it without you. Two nights later, she finished it. She never read mysteries, although as a child, she loved hiding games and scary movies, the tight feeling of suspense and the release of discovery. Nowell’s book, Random Victim, seemed well written and it held her interest although she had guessed the ending. She couldn’t remember much about the story now.

  They finished their ice-cream and started the drive back to the house. Katherine pointed out the library, a two-story brick building near the plaza with William Clement’s statue, and the movie theater on the same street, between a clothing store and a diner. The current film was only about a month old; Vivian was encouraged by this. Maybe she wasn’t out of touch with civilization after all, she thought.

  ‘This was the first downtown street,’ Katherine told her. ‘Most of these buildings are very old.’ She drove slowly down the street and like a tour guide, described the various businesses: who owned them, how good they were for shopping. They went by the Sheriff Department again, and the Post Office. USPS was stenciled on the front in blue letters.