Sleeping Beauty (27 page)

But Anne loved Tamarack, and knew every inch of the town and the valley. She knew where to pick wild strawberries and raspberries; she knew the paths deer took at night; and she spent hours talking to the old people who had been in Tamarack when Ethan first arrived and who still thought of the town as theirs in spite of all the changes he had brought. Most of those old people were gone by the time she returned with Gail. And much of the old Tamarack was gone, too.

It was as beautiful as ever, but where once it had been like one large neighborhood, now it was a large town. Anne saw a few hamburger and barbecue restaurants left over from the past, one old-fashioned general store, a gas station in the middle of town, and the elementary school, but everything else was changed. Houses and town houses lined the streets, shoulder to shoulder on the narrow lots in town, and spreading beyond the town into the valley and up forested slopes. Estates and golf courses had taken over the fields where Ethan had watched horses graze. Most of the miner's cottages had been torn down and replaced with sleek homes with two-story living rooms and copper roofs. New restaurants had opened, with imported French and Italian chefs, and dozens of new shops, their display cases and racks filled with glittering necklaces and faceted rings, cashmere bathrobes and fur-trimmed ski suits, mink-lined leather jackets and designer sweaters and shoes.

“I can buy the most expensive silver in the world, but I can't always find a wastebasket for the bathroom,” Gail said with a laugh as she and Anne walked on the mall.

Anne smiled but did not reply. She was trying to remember where everything had been when she roamed these
streets as a child. Their plane had landed late the night before, and she had known from the lights on the ground how far the town now stretched beyond what she remembered, but it was only this morning that she understood how much had changed. She and Gail walked with crowds of tourists on either side of a small, shaded stream that wound its way down the center of the cobblestone mall past shops and outdoor cafes, and Anne recalled Ethan's tales of the days when cars bogged down as spring rains turned the streets to mud. “It does beat mud,” she said with another smile. “In fact, it's charming. It's just not Tamarack.”

“It is to me,” Gail said. “It's the only one I know.” They reached the end of the mall and walked into the park, pausing to watch the children on slides and swings. “After you left, when I came with Marian and Fred and their kids, all I cared about was skiing, and I hardly noticed the town. The first time I came in the summer was with some friends from college to go rafting and hiking. That was when I met Leo. He was Grandpa's assistant; he'd been here almost a year and was already practically running the place.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Fifteen years this month. That was the most wonderful summer; I spent the days hiking and the nights in bed with Leo. Then, after I finished college we were married, and by then Leo was president of The Tamarack Company and the town was our bread and butter, so I had to start paying lots of attention to it.”

At the far side of the park, Gail stopped and looked back at the crowded mall and the buildings of the town: restored office buildings and hotels from the 1890s, new brick buildings that blended with the old, and fake Victorians far fancier than the genuine ones had been. “We still own so much of this town,” she said. “You have no idea what Grandpa bought when he started coming here. I guess nobody cared—or maybe they thought they'd found a sucker and they laughed behind his back—but there was a time when he owned the whole west end, half the east end, the whole mall area, most of Main Street, all the land along the base of Tamarack Mountain, and the mining claims on
the mountain. That didn't include what he bought in the rest of the valley. Of course he sold a lot of it to other developers, even though he wanted to do it all himself; there just wasn't time. But we still own over fifteen percent of the town and the three biggest ranches in the valley, and it's home and we love it. I can't imagine not having it; it would have killed Grandpa if he'd known Daddy wants to sell it.”

“Is he in trouble?” Anne asked. “Does he need the money?”

“That's what he says. He was supposed to build a huge development outside Chicago, and then the government canceled a highway that would have connected it to the city, so all the reasons for the development disappeared. And I guess Daddy put a lot of money up front. Too much, William says. Well, I suppose he is in a lot of trouble, but Tamarack isn't; we're doing fine. And it would be crazy to sell it; we
can't
sell it. We promised Grandpa we'd take care of it for him. And it's part of us; everything we have is here.”

“But could the family lose Chatham Development?”

“I don't know. Maybe. But why trade Tamarack for a company that's been going downhill for a long time?”

“Has it?” Anne felt a sudden pang of pity for her father. How hard it must have been for him to watch that happen, and measure himself against Ethan, and know the family was doing the same.

“Leo knows more of the financial stuff than I do, but that's the gist of it,” Gail said. They walked to her car. “The main thing is, we've got to stop Daddy from selling—talk to him, bargain, try to help him in Chicago, whatever it takes. He's awfully worried about building something big before he retires, and he can't do that without money, and he says he can't get money without selling Tamarack.” She started the car and turned onto Main Street. “Do you want anything special for lunch? We can stop at the store.”

“Whatever you have is fine.”

They drove across a bridge high above a churning river, and turned onto a narrow road that climbed steadily above the valley to a broad wooded plateau with fenced grazing
lands and open meadows thick with bluebells. Anne recognized landmarks and knew it was the meadow she had called her magic place. Memories swept her, far more than they had in Lake Forest the day before; it was as if, this time, she truly had come home. In the past years she had traveled to mountain resorts throughout Europe, but none of them had touched her in this way, with the ache of loss, and paradise rediscovered. She gazed at it, drinking it in; she could not look enough.

Gail drove past woods and meadows for half a mile and then through a gate to a winding drive that led to a low, rambling house of dark wood that blended into the trees. “Grandpa built it for us when we were married,” she said, parking in front. “He built three others up here at the same time; we each have forty acres. I love the privacy.”

Anne stepped from the car. Surrounding them, range on range of jagged peaks faded into the distance, some still streaked with snow patches in deep crevasses. Before her, the house nestled in a clearing surrounded by fields of wildflowers, and beyond them, forests and meadows of tall wild grass that rippled in the cool breeze. Bird songs floated on the stillness. No other house was visible. “Who lives in the other houses?”

“People from town.” Gail looked at her across the hood of the car. “Nobody from the family, if that's what you're asking. Even if they do visit, their houses are in town. And I told you, Vince is never here; he's too busy running the world. At least that's how he talked about it to Grandpa on the phone. Grandpa told me his opinion of Colorado went down when they elected Vince. He said he had grave concerns for a country that had Vince helping run—”

“Doesn't Marian come here at all?” Anne asked.

“I'm sorry,” Gail said. “I don't know why I did that; I'm not usually stupid. I won't talk about him; I can't imagine why I got started. Let's go inside.”

“It's funny,” Anne said after a moment, “the Chathams aren't much of a family, at least not the kind people write songs about, but there doesn't seem to be any way to talk
about some of them without talking about all of them. Maybe that's what family means: everyone intertwined, even when they don't want to be. I guess I do have to know about all of them. But in small doses.”

“Like medicine. Three times a day.”

“Well, twice would probably be plenty.”

They laughed and went into the house. It was low ceilinged, warm, and casual. Sunlight streamed through a wall of windows that framed the range of mountains running the length of the valley, with Tamarack Mountain in the center. “You've always been intertwined with us,” said Gail. “I always thought so, even when I was so angry at you for leaving. I'd make family trees for school projects or sometimes for Christmas presents, and I'd put the two of us so close together it was almost one name—GailAnne, Gail Chatham Anne Chatham—and I kept thinking—what is it?”

Anne was shaking her head. “That isn't my name. I changed it a long time ago.”

Gail stared at her. “To what?”

“Garnett.”

“Mother's name? But why?”

“I didn't want to be a Chatham anymore. And I didn't want anyone to find me. Did they even try?”

“Grandpa hired detectives and they tried for a long time, and then they gave up. Anne Garnett. It's nice. But why didn't you say anything on the plane last night when I introduced you to Leo?”

“You said, ‘This is my sister, Anne.' That was enough.”

“Anne Garnett,” Gail said wonderingly. “It sounds strange.”

“Well, for that matter, so does Gail Calder.”

Gail laughed. “Not to me; not after ten years. I don't know why I said your name sounded strange; I wouldn't have said that if you'd changed it because you'd gotten married. I guess we just don't expect women to do it on their own.”

“It's the only good reason to do it,” Anne said. “We
should have any name we want; so should men. Why should people be stuck with names they don't like?”

“Because it's the law. Isn't it? Isn't it illegal just to change your name whenever you feel like it?”

“You can call yourself anything you want as long as it isn't for the purpose of defrauding someone.”

“Oh. Well, it sounds pretty chancy to me. I like knowing the rules so I know what to expect.”

“So do I,” Anne said. “But it isn't always that simple.”

“I liked having a new name,” Gail said as they went into the kitchen. “Did you?”

“Yes. It helped make me free.” She gave a swift glance around the room. “This is wonderful; people who live in apartments dream of kitchens like this. What can I do to help?”

“We'll make sandwiches. Leo and the kids will be home soon and they'll be ravenous. Saturday-morning softball does that, it seems.”

She put lettuce leaves into the sink, handed Anne a loaf of rye bread, and took sliced turkey from the refrigerator. The two women worked quietly at the center island. The kitchen was lined with pale gold pine cabinets with white enamel handles. Indian rugs were scattered on the maple floor, and along one wall was a long pine table surrounded by a collection of unmatched chairs. Next to the door was a tall mirror, and Anne glanced at it as she made the sandwiches. She and Gail looked more alike today than yesterday: each wearing Gail's jeans and checked shirts, each with her dark hair pulled back and tied with a bandanna. Gail's clothes fit Anne almost perfectly, they had discovered, but Anne had bought a few things that morning for the brief time she planned to be in Tamarack.

She kept glancing at the mirror as they worked. It felt good to see herself, twinlike, with Gail; it was comforting, like driving up here and feeling at home.

“Oh, I was telling you who comes here,” Gail said. “Marian and Fred usually come for a couple of weeks in the winter. Their son, Keith, lives here, I already told you that,
and their daughter, Rose—she lives in Lake Forest—she's married to Walter Holland, a poor little man who makes you want to cry, he's so afraid we're going to gobble him up—he works for the company in Chicago and he plays the poor relation until you want to shake him and tell him for God's sake go off and make a life away from all of us, but he stays, and personally I think he likes being part of the Chathams and enjoys feeling sorry for himself. Where was I?”

“Telling me who comes here,” Anne said, laughing. “What about Nina?”

“Nina has had five husbands, two sons, and six dogs since you left. No, that's not right; she was married when you were at home, wasn't she? Let's see. Two husbands before you left; three since. She comes up here to recover from the disappointments of her divorces. When she's married, she and her husband, whoever he is, go to Europe. She's very sweet, you know, and I'm sorry she has so much trouble with marriages; I told her once she ought to live with a man if she likes him and not think about marriage for five years, or maybe forever, but she said that would make her seem unstable, and she still thought it was immoral to live with anyone without marriage.”

“That
would make her seem unstable?” Anne asked.

Gail laughed. “More than all her divorces, I guess. In her mind.”

“Is she married now?” Anne asked.

“No, but looking. She may yet find the love of her life. She's only fifty-eight, after all, and very energetic.”

“And Fred? I never paid any attention to him. What's he like?”

“Still good-looking in that odd, bony sort of way; I haven't figured out how smart he is. He's got a roving eye, especially for secretaries, which I think is dumb. Grandpa didn't like him, but he gets along with Daddy and Vince. And Marian, I guess; they've been married a long time. Let's eat on the deck; it's so lovely out.” The telephone rang and Gail answered it. “Yes, Keith,” she said. She frowned and glanced at Anne. “No,” she said slowly, “she's not here. I don't know where she is. She left after the funeral.” She was
silent, listening. “Yes, we talked afterward, but then she left. Keith, if she wants to see any of us, she'll let us know.”