“I see.”
“Draw real good.”
I nodded agreement. “The letter, Shirlee?”
“Oh.” She smiled wider, cuffed the side of her head with one fist. “I forget.”
We returned to the bedroom. She opened one of the dresser drawers. Inside were precisely ordered piles of garments- more of the same bleached-out stuff I’d seen on the clothesline. She slid one hand under the clothes, retrieved an envelope, and handed it to me.
Smudged with fingerprints, handled to tissue-fineness. The postmark, Long Island, New York, 1971. The address written in large block letters:
MR. AND MRS. JASPER RANSOM
RURAL ROUTE 4
WILLOW GLEN, CALIFORNIA
Inside was a single sheet of white stationery. The letterhead said:
FORSYTHE TEACHERS COLLEGE FOR WOMEN
WOODBURN MANOR
LONG ISLAND, N.Y. 11946
The same block lettering had been used for the text:
DEAR MOM AND DAD:
I’M HERE AT SCHOOL. THE PLANE RIDE WAS GOOD. EVERYONE IS BEING NICE TO ME. I LIKE IT, BUT I MISS YOU VERY MUCH.
PLEASE REMEMBER TO FIX THE WINDOWS BEFORE THE RAINS COME. THEY MAY COME EARLY, SO PLEASE BE CAREFUL. REMEMBER HOW WET YOU GOT LAST YEAR. IF YOU NEED HELP MRS. LEIDECKER WILL HELP. SHE SAID SHE WILL CHECK TO SEE IF YOU ARE O.K.
DAD, THANKS FOR THE BEAUTIFUL DRAWINGS. I LOOKED AT THEM WHEN I WAS ON THE PLANE. OTHER PEOPLE SAW THEM AND SAID THEY WERE BEAUTIFUL. GOOD ENOUGH TO EAT. KEEP DRAWING AND SEND ME MORE. MRS. LEIDECKER WILL HELP YOU SEND THEM TO ME.
I DO MISS YOU. IT WAS HARD TO LEAVE. BUT I DO WANT TO BE A TEACHER AND I KNOW YOU WANT THAT TOO. THIS IS A GOOD SCHOOL. WHEN I AM A TEACHER I WILL COME BACK AND TEACH IN WILLOW GLEN. I PROMISE TO WRITE. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES.
LOVE,
SHARON
I slipped the letter back into the envelope. Shirlee Ransom was looking at me, smiling. It took several seconds before I could speak.
“It’s a nice letter, Shirlee. A beautiful letter.”
“Yes.”
I handed it back to her. “Do you have more?”
She shook her head. “We had. Lots. Big rains came in, and whoosh.” She waved her arms. “Everything wash away,” she said. “Dollies. Toys. Papers.” She pointed to the wax-paper windows. “Rain comes in.”
“Why don’t you put in glass windows?”
She laughed. “Mizz Leiderk says glass, Shirlee. Glass is good. Strong. Try. Jasp say no, no. Jasp likes the air.”
“Mrs. Leidecker sounds like a good friend.”
“Yes.”
“Was… is she Sharon’s friend too?”
“Teacher.” She tapped her forehead. “Real smart.”
“Sharon wanted to be a teacher too,” I said. “She went to school in New York to become a teacher.”
Nod. “Four-set college.”
“Forsythe College?”
Nod. “Far away.”
“After she became a teacher, did she come back here to Willow Glen?”
“No. Too smart. Calfurna.”
“California?”
“Yes. Far away.”
“Did she write you from California?”
Troubled look. I regretted the question.
“Yes.”
“When’s the last time you heard from her?”
She bit her finger, twisted her mouth. “Crismus.”
“Last Christmas?”
“Yes.” Without conviction.
She’d talked about a sixteen-year-old letter as if it had arrived today. Thought California was some distant place. I wondered if she could read, asked her:
“Christmas a long time ago?”
“Yes.”
Something else atop the dresser caught my eye: a corner of blue leatherette under the apple drawings. I pulled it out. A savings passbook from a bank in Yucaipa. She didn’t seem to mind my intrusion. Feeling like a burglar anyway, I opened the book.
Several years’ worth of transactions in an unwavering pattern: $500 cash deposits on the first of each month. Occasional withdrawals. A carry-over balance of $78,000 and some change. The account was in trusteeship for Jasper Ransom and Shirlee Ransom, co-tenants. The trustee, Helen A. Leidecker.
“Money,” said Shirlee. Proud smile.
I put the book back where I’d found it.
“Shirlee, where was Sharon born?”
Look of bafflement.
“Did you give birth to her? Did she come out of your tummy?”
Giggles.
I heard footsteps and turned.
A man came in. He saw me, hitched up his pants, raised his eyebrows, and shuffled over to his wife’s side.
He wasn’t much bigger than she- barely over five feet- and about her age. Balding, with virtually no chin and very large, very soft-looking blue eyes. A fleshy nose tunneled between the eyes, shadowing a protruding upper lip. His mouth hung slightly open. He had only a few, yellowed teeth. An Andy Gump face, coated with fine white hair that resembled soap film. His shoulders so narrow that his short arms seemed to grow out of his neck. His hands dangled at his sides and ended in pudgy hands with splayed fingers. He wore a white T-shirt several sizes too large for him, gray work pants tied with a string around the waist, and high-top sneakers. The pants were pressed. His fly was open.
“Ooh, Jasp,” said Shirlee, hiding her mouth with her hand and pointing.
He looked puzzled. She giggled and pulled up his zipper, patted him playfully on the cheek. He blushed, looked down.
“Hi,” I said, holding out my hand. “My name is Alex.”
He ignored me. Seemed preoccupied with his sneakers.
“Mr. Ransom… Jasper-”
Shirlee broke in. “Don’ hear. Nuthin’. Don’ talk.”
