Year of the Dog (15 page)

Mom, not wanting the attention off her, turned slowly to let me notice
her
Sunday clothes, a red dress with gold buttons and standup collar, her Christmas dress, which showed off her figure, and red leather stilt heels, which showed off her legs and more or less put her in my altitude range when we both stood. She checked her makeup for the second time and asked me if her hair looked too “bouffant” for up here, where people didn't seem to “do” hair. “A little,” I agreed, brushing it gingerly a tad flatter, more so she'd feel tended to than because it mattered.

She took the shoes off after modeling them for me, and put them in a plastic sack to carry. “I can just take my dress shoes and change at the door. I'm not going to ruin these, if you
knew what they cost me, in that slush out there. People must have to do that eleventy times a day up here, check their boots and their coats every time they go in a door somewhere. I'm certainly not going to call on my blood kin wearing
snow boots.
” Casting an eye on my new Banana Republic fir-green long skirt and white turtleneck sweater, she pronounced, “Young people at home hardly ever dress up any more either.”

If I'd been a serious drinker, I'd have fortified myself with one of the judge's jelly glasses of bourbon, which suddenly seemed like a grand plan. In addition to the stress of the rest of it, I felt sad leaving Beulah in her crate at home—how could she understand being so unwelcome to my people?—so I wouldn't have to worry that the jokers upstairs were going to break down my door and bring in a rutting Chow-Chow just for a laugh.

James had phoned last night to mention his conclusion that it was a bad idea after all for him to go along today. “It won't work,” he'd said. “It's a bad plan.”

“It'll be worse if you chicken out.”

“No, see, that'll give you something to talk about: me being a flake.”

“James.” I had suggested that he could come over and warm my bed, but he felt that as long as they were in town he shouldn't be littering my place with spoors.

“I've got
xenophobia,
” he'd explained.

“Well, I've got
familophobia.
”

“That would be
consanguinophobia.
”

“Don't show off,” I'd pleaded, “just promise you'll come. Having them here is giving me hives.”

But mercifully he'd called back and given in.

Today, we picked him up at his cottage, waiting in a swirl of falling snow, the lake a platter of gray behind him, the mountains faint shapes on the skyline. Having agreed to come, he'd dressed in his best: navy shirt, gray jacket under his
parka, khaki pants, his chin hair trimmed, no cap. Since I was driving, and since Mom sat up front beside me in the Honda she'd help me test-drive in the old days, James climbed in the back. He shook hands with Daddy, and then reached up front to shake hands with Mom.

“You must be glad to see Janey, Mrs. Daniels. I know she was looking forward to your visit.”

“Well. We certainly are.” Mom took a breath. “Jim—?”

“Uh, James.” His voice cracked.

“Well, James, I'm sure you know we have
family
here in your state, who we are going to see.”

Before James could answer, Daddy swiveled around to stare at Pete, who was standing in the front yard, waving his buddy goodbye. “Who's that there?”

“He's a fellow teacher,” James said. “He rents the garage apartment behind my house. Janey didn't warm to the idea of my having a female teacher living right out the back door, which I'm sure you can understand.”

“Certainly not,” Mom said, “that wouldn't be right.” She narrowed her eyes at him for thinking of it.

I watched Daddy in the rearview mirror. He looked like he was trying to follow the ins and outs of this matter of finding out that the young man still waving at our car did not necessarily have to be a matter to give his attention to. “You're a teacher, are you, boy?” he asked, as if another question was hiding beneath this one.

“Yes, sir, but primarily what I do is take students abroad, most years in the summer months. During the school term, I get them ready, I guess you could say. My country is The Netherlands; Pete, the guy who lives behind me, he takes his to Germany.”

Daddy nodded, as if this was outside his area. “Good,” he said.

Mom asked, “Do you speak a lot of languages, James? I
admire people who have that facility.”

“I get by over there,” he said, trying to meet my eyes in the mirror. “We get a lot of French practice here, being so near Montreal.”

“Well, now,” Mom said, “I have to admit it went out of my head, you being practically to Canada up here.”

During which tooth-pulling conversation, my daddy still had part of his mind, I could tell, on the young man who lived behind James. But then, the boy was right, it wouldn't be decent, him having some girl living back there, not and be dating the daughter of Talbot H. Daniels. When you were dealing with unmarried people, which he was glad to say he did not have to do in his business with any regularity, he could see it got sticky.

Mom reached over and gave my knee a squeeze—conveying that this young man was all right, or that she'd done her best to make conversation, what could you do with men who never helped you out, or maybe she was just grabbing onto me for good luck. Because there we were at Aunt May's, at last.

A relief to everyone, by that time.

27

JAMES AND I, walking slightly ahead across the deep packed snow, could hear Mom, in her velcroed boots, griping about whoever heard of a yard this size without a sidewalk. We could hear Daddy say, “You sure this is it?”

“That was neat,” I told James, letting my parka put a squeeze on his. “The bit about my not wanting a woman in your garage apartment.”

“Do you?”

“You did good with them.”

His voice sounded raspy with nerves. “I pretended they were the parents of one of my kids.”

We rang the bell, and as soon as Aunt May opened the door, Mom dashed in, popped off her boots, slipped them into a paper sack from which she'd taken her red high heels, and passed the sack and her teddy-bear fake fur to Daddy—who stood there holding his green car coat and now her coat and the boots dripping through the paper. “Aunt May,” she gushed, once she'd got herself ready. “Aren't you nice to invite your visiting family to your lovely home.”

“Hello, Ida Jean, it's been a long time.” Aunt May, in an elegant long wine velvet dress with an antique brooch on the shoulder, welcomed Mom and relieved Daddy of the wet boots. “Good afternoon, Janey,” she said to me, giving me a
brief hug before turning her attention to the men. “Talbot, I'm sure you don't remember me from the old days, but aren't you the prosperous looking merchant now.” She presented her cheek to him, in the way of kissing kin, and then whisked his armload of dripping wraps into the front hall closet. “And you must be James.” She took his parka and offered her hand, which wore a large ruby ring. “Janey has told me so much about you.”

He looked at me, panicked, then looked back to see her smiling and finally relaxed enough to say, “I've heard, uh, about you, too.”

“Come in, do, please, all of you.” Aunt May took Mom's arm and escorted her into the large windowed sitting room massed with white poinsettias, and full of old things which Mom did not know the value of: rugs, books, furniture, her aunt.

“Isn't this different,” Mom said, eyes wide, holding the wrapped mysteries close to her gold-buttoned chest, already slipping her feet out of her tight red shoes. “Potted flowers instead of a tree, that's so imaginative. But you always were different, Mama said.”

Aunt May guided us to the half-circle of chairs arranged before a blazing fire. “Foolish of us, I'm sure, my sister and me, your mother, falling out. She sided with our daddy when he broke up the first real romance of my life. I have to admit to you, Ida Jean, I bore her a grudge even after it had all washed away.”

“That's not my business, I'm sure,” Mom said, lowering her eyes, as if she hadn't heard Grandmama say a zillion times that May had been prickly as a pin cushion from day one. “I just want to say how nice it is for you to have this little party for us. And I want to thank you for all the very nice things you have done for our Janey, why, without you, she wouldn't know a single soul up here in the whole state of Vermont.”

Aunt May, getting us settled, said she'd made the all-white fruitcake which her own mother used to make, Mom's grand-mama—and she was sure that Ida Jean must have made it, too, from the very same recipe. She said that at first she'd thought to serve us toddies, so nice in front of a fire, but had fixed, instead, also her mother's special recipe, a floating island custard thin as buttermilk, much better with bourbon than ordinary eggnog. “I also have spiced cider,” she added, “if anyone would rather?”

Mom, maybe afraid the moment would get away from her and we'd all be eating and then saying our goodbyes, poked her package toward Aunt May. “I hope it's all right, but I brought brand new copies of Mr. Greenwood's books which I personally have read all of and appreciated. I hate pushy people and I would never do that, but I wonder if I could get them autographed? If he's planning on
being here
? Mr. Greenwood?”

Aunt May took the package, crumpling the paper for the fire, and, holding up the stack of matching hardbacks, selected one to open. “Ah,
Hush, Sweet Charlotte.
That worked all right, didn't it? Certainly you shall have your inscriptions, Ida Jean. I don't know if Bert—you know writers, at least you know what they say, they aren't too sociable.” She looked at Mom in a friendly way. “He may not join us, there's no way to soften that fact.”

Mom's face fell. “Sure, I understand. He must be very busy, I know, with writing. But I already told everybody I was coming here to see—.” She tried not to let the talk of him dwindle away.

Aunt May looked sympathetic. “I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I told you a little secret. I recently found a poem I hadn't read for years, and passed it along to Bert—librarians you know are good sources. I'm sure he'll have himself a new title soon. Here's a bit of it, Thackeray it is:

Charlotte, having seen his body

Borne before her on a shutter,

Like a well-conducted person,

Went on cutting bread and butter.”

She smiled at Mom, her niece, like this was going to make sense to her.

Mom looked blank and then confused, and finally said, “I'm sure that will be suspenseful.”

“Do you think?” Aunt May asked solemnly.

Then we heard the front door open, and felt a rush of cold air even with the warm fire, as well as a gale-size rush of anxiety, for there was Kitty, wearing a long dress of soft lavender wool, which fell loosely from a yoke on her small frame.

At the sight of her, Aunt May rose quickly and crossed the space between them. “Kitty, how lovely you look.” They came into the room together, arms linked. “Ida Jean, you have here the very next thing to Bert Greenwood in the flesh, Kitty Boisvert, the author's researcher; you might even say the author's right hand.”

Kitty smiled warmly, showing her slightly crooked teeth. “May, you do it all. What on earth would a writer do without a librarian to look up all those pesky details? I just paint the era to be recalled with broad brushstrokes.” Running her fingers though her curly graying hair, she looked about. “Now then, of course I know Janey, and this would be her young man and aren't you nice looking. And here is—it must be—Ida Jean. Let me shake your hand. And you have to be Janey's father, wouldn't that be right? I'm honored to be included in this family event, although I know—and don't for a moment try to deny it—that you'd much rather have Bert Greenwood himself here than a poor emissary.”

Mom held out her hand with the Christmas-red nails, and nodded her head up and down, being close to tears with
disappointment.

The women, so much more elegantly dressed than we were, went into the kitchen to fetch us our floating island with bourbon and our all-white fruit cake. It took them a while, and we could hear their chatter, their talk about which tray to use, did we need spoons, how about the long-handled iced-tea spoons? And at first we all sat, staring at the fireplace, tongue-tied and waiting.

Finally, James got up and pretended to poke the fire, adjust the logs, and then, casually, he pulled up a chair next to my daddy, who looked startled and began to fiddle with his tie, getting the fir trees to line up straight. Daddy hadn't spoken a word so far, only perking up earlier when Aunt May made mention of
toddies
and
bourbon.
He coughed a minute to find his voice, then asked, “You been here to this house before, boy?”

James shook his head. “This is my first time. I know this area and the road with the cemeteries, and the road down below along the river, from having lived around here. This isn't that big of a town. But I never met Janey's aunt in person before. I imagine you did.”

“Can't say I have. My wife's mother, quite a pistol, not the same sort as this one by a long shot, talked about her sister. They'd had a falling out. That happens, is my personal experience, in families.”

“My students say that.” James's arm started up as if longing to wrap itself around his neck, but resisted. He leaned back and stuck his hand in his jacket pocket, then took it out and clasped his hands behind his head. “So,” he said.

Daddy, getting warmed up to the idea of a conversation, asked him, “Your folks live here? You grow up here? Your daddy a teacher, too? Seems like sometimes everybody in a family does the one thing, that's what they all do.”

I bit my lip. Sort of like watching Beulah take the stairs at
Puppy Evaluation: I wanted to help out but held myself back. Then, just at the instant that James looked cornered and said, “Uh, well, sir,” Aunt May and Kitty came into the room carrying trays.