Authors: A Slender Thread
After three days at Grammy’s, Connie finally managed to make it down to the lake for a leisurely time of meditation. She sat on the end of the dock, lazily touching her toes to the water and contemplating her surroundings. The lake felt icy and even though the afternoon had warmed up nicely, Connie knew it would be at least June before the lake would be warm enough for swimming.
She relished the quiet afforded her. Her sisters were off somewhere engaged in conversation, and Connie desired nothing more than a moment to pull back from everything and study life at face value.
How strange it felt to be home again. She never seemed to get over the feeling that embraced her each time she pulled up the long lane to the farm. As much as she hated to admit it, this was the only place in the world where Connie felt truly happy. And Connie had tried it all.
Teaching physical education allowed her most of the summer off, as well as nice chunks of time in the winter. She had traveled throughout the world—skied, parachuted, mountain climbed, and in general, tried anything she thought might satisfy her yearnings. But it was always Grammy’s farm that made her feel at rest.
Closing her eyes, Connie could see herself driving through town, heading out west on Highway 56. She remembered the feeling of anxiety—a good anxiety—that made her heart pound in anticipation just like a child at Christmas. Then the gravel road turnoff came and she would head her car down the rural lane where fields of newly plowed dirt filled the air with a sweet, pungent odor. The trees were dressed out in the palest of green leaves, and vegetation alongside
the narrow lane was starting to show life anew.
Then a beautiful white house set atop a gently sloping hill came into view. Gram and “her girls” had terraced the walk down from the house with small self-constructed walls of native limestone. Atop each of these were tiny gardens of herbs and flowers, giving the front yard a well-manicured appearance.
All around the house were trees, a rarity on the prairies of Kansas. Willows, oaks, elms, and cottonwood dotted the landscape surrounding the house and lake, their thick and hearty limbs shading the Mitchell farm from the harsh Kansas sun. And then there were Grammy’s beloved fruit trees and flowering dogwoods and redbuds. Beyond the perimeters of the yard and lake area, rich Kansas soil was plowed for planting or already green with winter wheat. It was all glorious, and to Connie it was what came to mind when she thought of happiness and safety.
A rhythmic splash in the water caused her to open her eyes. Approaching from the west, Harry Jensen rowed his boat in a steady pace that brought him closer and closer to Connie’s sanctuary.
“Hello, Harry,” Connie said, giving a little wave. She would have just as soon been left alone, but Harry’s sudden appearance rather pleased her.
“Hi, Connie,” he said, reaching the dock. He tied off the boat and threw a brown paper sack onto the dock before climbing up. “How have you been?”
Connie shrugged and glanced down at her shoddy attire. She’d taken no care with her appearance, and now with Harry here, she felt almost self-conscious of the old college sweat shirt and well-worn jeans. “I’m okay.”
“I brought you ladies a smoked turkey.” He motioned to the sack and picked it up. “Mattie loves them.”
“I do too,” Connie said, unable to keep from grinning. “I’m a nut for barbecued and smoked meats.”
Harry came to the side where Connie sat. “Mind if I join you for a minute?”
“Not at all.” She waited until he’d stretched out on the dock beside her. His dusty jeans and threadbare work shirt helped to put her at ease. After all, this was just Harry. He was nearly a member of the family. She took a deep breath. “So how have you been? I mean, after all these years?”
Harry took off his ball cap and wiped his forehead. “Not bad, I guess. Certainly not bad enough to complain about it. How about you? You don’t look anything like the girl I remember.”
Connie took that as a compliment and smiled. “I thought a change was in order.”
“Why? There was nothing wrong with the way you looked before.”
“In your opinion, maybe, but to me there was a great deal to be desired.”
“How so?” Harry asked, seeming genuinely interested.
“I always felt I looked too much like everyone else,” Connie replied. “I mean, not in the same way Brook and Ashley look alike, but I just felt I got lost in the shuffle. No one ever noticed me. It’s hard to explain, but I wanted to find a way to be different, and at the same time—fit in. I hated being just one of the Mitchell girls, especially when I didn’t feel like one of them. But I also hate it now when people stare at me like I’m some sort of freak. I just bleached my hair and cut it—it’s not like I put in a nose ring or anything. Yesterday when I went to the store for Grammy, I must have had everyone in the place staring at me.”
“Well, you do look different. Not that folks around here don’t ever dye their hair.”
“But that’s no call to be rude. They could have just minded their own business. I didn’t ask for the extra attention.”
Harry chuckled. “That’s a bit like painting the tractor pink, then getting mad when folks notice.”
Connie grinned. “Well, I suppose you have a point. But with all the people showing up for Rachelle’s funeral, I can’t imagine why they’d worry about me.”
“I think folks probably recognized you, but knew you weren’t the way they remembered you. Maybe folks just wondered what had gotten into you.”
Connie frowned. Harry had always been one to speak his mind. “Well, enough about me. What about you? I hear you’re getting married to Sarah Hooper in the fall.”
“That’s the plan,” Harry replied, revealing no interest in elaborating further.
Connie watched him look out over the lake. His jaw was set in a firm way that suggested she had touched a nerve. And his eyes, although accented by tiny laugh lines at the corners, were fixed and brooding. She couldn’t help but wonder why he seemed so serious all of a sudden. Had the talk of marriage somehow put a kink in their conversation? She thought of Ashley and how close he had once been to her. Maybe that was the problem.
Their conversation lagged while the gentle lapping sound of the water against the dock and shore made a melodic symphony. Overhead, a bevy of robins, blue jays, and orioles joined in as they called to their mates from the trees. Gram called it “nature’s music.” Connie smiled as she remembered Grammy trying to get her to stop and listen.
“You can hear things growing,”
Grammy had told her,
“but first you have to be quiet and listen.”
She thought in that moment that Gram had been right. She could almost hear things growing around her. If nothing else, she could hear Harry’s rhythmic breathing and somehow that seemed just as natural as the sound of the water. Harry was so much a part of the land and the farm. It seemed only right that he spend his life here.
“So how have you found things?” Harry finally asked. “Has the farm changed much since your last visit?”
“Not that much,” Connie admitted. “Grammy hasn’t changed much either. She still looks too young to have all of us for granddaughters.”
Harry smiled again, and the shadowy look in his eyes seemed to pass away. “Mattie is eternally young. I think keeping busy has kept her that way.”
“Probably so.”
“And what about your sisters? Have they changed much?”
“Ashley is too perfect. Brook, too famous. Deirdre is too preoccupied trying to please everyone, and Erica is too busy trying to become a world-class flute player.”
“And what are you?” Harry asked, fixing his gaze on her face.
“I’m too out of place,” Connie said sadly.
“How so?”
He seemed genuinely interested, and because Connie felt strangely comfortable with this old family friend, she decided to answer him. “I suppose I’ve never fit in this family. I wanted to. But there were many strikes against me. I’m a middle child, and not only that, but the middle child of all girls. It’s bad enough to be the middle of three kids, but I’m the middle of five. At least with three, the middle child usually ends up on someone else’s side—she has an ally at least part of the time. But the middle child of five is just stuck. She has two siblings older and two siblings younger and they cling to each other in a way that ostracizes that middle person.
“And to make it worse, my older two siblings are twins and the younger two might as well be. And they all share the same father, while my father was an unknown figure—the momentary indiscretion of a rocky marriage.”
“That was hardly your fault,” Harry said softly.
“Maybe not,” Connie admitted, “but it isolates me in a way that no one else shares.”
“Seems to me you all have special qualities that make you unique. I wouldn’t give too much credit to blaming life’s problems on being a middle child. You could have just as easily been first born or last, and then what would you blame?”
Connie felt a sense of indignation. “So you’re saying I’m being silly—maybe even stupid?”
Harry seemed unconcerned by her harsh tone. “I’m saying a person can waste a lot of their time looking for something or someone to blame for their miseries. Why not stop worrying about who or what’s to blame and just get on with your life? Accept responsibility for what belongs to you, and don’t worry about the stuff that doesn’t.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Does it have to be hard?” Harry asked softly.
Connie shrugged. “It seems like it always is.” She met his compassionate gaze and turned away. Why did he have to be so patient—so nice?
“So do you have someone special in your life?” Harry asked, changing the subject.
Connie grimaced. She hadn’t wanted to discuss her love life with her own family, much less Harry Jensen. He’d never understand the choices she’d made—neither would Mattie or her sisters. How could she explain that she just didn’t feel the same way they did? She couldn’t begin to think about permanently settling down in marriage before knowing that she completely understood the person she was marrying.
“So?” Harry pressed. “Is there some special guy?”
“There’ve been special guys,” Connie replied, still not wanting to give up too much information.
“What about now?”
Connie drew a deep breath. “I’m seeing someone.” She neglected to add that this particular someone was living in her apartment back in Topeka. She hadn’t found the nerve to even be honest with Deirdre and Erica on the ride down to Mattie’s.
“So what does he do?” Harry questioned.
Connie grew very uncomfortable. “Why the third degree? Why are you so interested in me all of a sudden?”
Harry laughed, leaving her completely unnerved. “First it was a problem because no one noticed you, then you get uptight because folks at the grocery store stared at you. Then you feel that no one
cares, and now when I show some interest in your life, you act as though it’s the most intrusive attack ever made on you. Come on, Connie. Make up your mind.”
“You always were one for getting right to the heart of things,” Connie said, trying hard not to notice how his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. “I remember how it was.”
“Remember what?” Harry seemed genuinely curious.
His soft-spoken manner caused a spark of electricity to run up Connie’s spine. She looked away quickly. “I remember you giving me a hard time. I always thought you were very bossy and way too serious.”
“And I thought you were just a ragamuffin tagalong,” Harry replied, the joy of the memory clear in his tone. “I remember how you used to spy on Ashley and me.”
“Somebody needed to,” Connie said, smiling in spite of herself. She looked up to find Harry blushing. “See, you remember.”
“That’s beside the point. We behaved well enough.” “Probably because you knew you had an audience.” “Remember when I taught you how to pitch a softball?” Harry questioned, changing the subject.
Connie did remember, figuring she had probably developed her love of sports because of Harry’s gentle, patient instruction. “You were a good teacher,” she said, allowing herself to meet his gaze. His eyes seemed to break through her façade of strength. The feeling was both startling and terrifying.
“I’ll bet you’re a great teacher,” he encouraged, his voice soft.
“I try to be. I try to remember the things you taught me.” She smiled up at him. The time Harry had spent with her as a kid had always been special, for she had basked in his praise and longed for his approval.
Suddenly uncomfortable with the feelings her memories evoked, Connie no longer wanted to remember the past or any of the pleasant moments she’d shared with Harry.
“I’m really surprised you remember any of it,” Harry said, not
seeming to notice her discomfort. “Half the time I wasn’t even sure you were listening.”
Connie felt the tension evaporate as she took offense. “I listen when people care enough to talk to me and not lecture.”
“Why is it when someone fails to agree with you or bothers to ask difficult questions,” Harry began, “you automatically title it a lecture? I think most of the time people are downright afraid to talk to you for fear you’ll misunderstand their motives.”
“Oh, never mind,” she said, getting to her feet. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
Harry stood as well and picked up the turkey. “Don’t expect me to or don’t want me to?”
Connie put her hands on her hips and stared at his grinning face. “You are insufferable, Mr. Jensen.”
His grin broadened into a full smile. “And you are stronger and more capable than you give yourself credit for. Probably the reason more people don’t get close to you is that you intimidate them with your strength.”
Connie recognized the compliment but refused to give in to flattery. Instead, she protected herself by buffering herself against his gentle spirit. “But I don’t intimidate you, do I?”
“No, intimidate would definitely be the wrong word.”
He had taken her completely off guard. “What would be the right word?” Connie asked, softening her tone.
“Hmm,” Harry murmured thoughtfully. “I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”