Don’t know…Don’t know…Don’t know.
Getting details from Willard is like squeezing blood from aturnip. He, alone, could have stymied the entire Spanish Inquisition.
If the conversation leaves much to be desired, at least thecorned beef and bread are tasty. I linger over the apple pie with a cup of tea,long after the handyman retires to the basement bedroom. I am just finishing mylast bite when there is a knock at the front door. Taking up my cane, I leavethe kitchen, cross the parlor, and open it.
“I’d like to rent a room,” the man says. “Have you any tospare?”
That distinctive, almost musical voice. I know thisperson. How could I not, we went through hell together. It’s Gabriel, my archangel! And he isn’t crushed under the rubble at Ironwood but standing righthere on my stoop.
Gabriel seems as surprised as I am by our unexpected reunion. “Hester?”he asks. “Is it really you?”
I smile and nod, gesturing for him to enter the house.
“They told me at Hollister’s that I might find lodging here,but I expected an old widow.”
Using the chalk and slate, I write—JUST MOVED IN. SO GLAD YOUARE WELL.
“And you? I heard of what you endured from Faust. All to exposehis depravity and free the inmates.”
GETTING BETTER NOW.
“That is a relief to know,” Gabriel says. “I’ve never forgottenhow kind you were to me at Ironwood. I’m a stronger man because of it. Lessaches and pains, fewer sorrows.”
He sounds bemused, as though the times that I healed him stillremain a mystery. Gabriel’s just too polite to have me explain how the miracleoccured. Caught up in the happiness of our reunion, I push the chalk too hardagainst the slate and it squeaks.
Gabriel laughs, but my face flushes while I write. DO YOU LIVEIN STONEHENGE?
“In the woods just outside of town.”
WOODS?
“I left Ironwood City and wandered for a time, until I tookwork at the forge here. I’ve tried to find accommodations, but people fear myface.”
Again I scribble quickly on the slate. WELCOME TO STAY,GABRIEL.
“You may wish to reconsider. I don’t want the townspeople to shunyou for housing me.”
NONSENSE. COME LOOK AT THE ROOMS.
Gabriel follows me to the stairs. We reach the second storylanding, and he sets his luggage on the floor. “I’ve always wanted to ask,” hesays. “How did you know that my name is Gabriel? Everyone called me Lazarus atIronwood.”
I am slow to write an answer now, wondering how to explainabout magic and ancient powers. The tiny space allotted me on the slate wouldnot do such a message justice.
GOOD GUESSER?
Gabriel laughs. “No one is that good.”
WOMEN’S INTUITION?
Another chuckle. “Never mind. Keep your secrets. I trust you.”
I offer him his choice of the four rooms upstairs. Mrs. Woodrow,the former owner, left behind some pallets and mattresses. They are broken inplaces, and a little saggy, but Gabriel doesn’t care. He is happy to select thebedroom with northern exposure—even if we do need to carry in another mattressand frame to oblige the length of his legs.
I go downstairs and take one of the blankets from my bed. It issoft and smells of lavender. My new tenant is delighted. ARE YOU HUNGRY? I askhim.
“No, thank you, madam.”
My fingers are growing stiff after all this enthusiastic chalkwork. BREAKFAST AT SEVEN. HOPE YOU LIKE OATS.
Gabriel steps into his room. “There’s nothing better in themorning,” he replies before closing the door.
Willard sits down next to Gabriel, a bowl of hot oatmealbefore him, and begins muttering holy words in Arapahoe. A shaky start, but I’msure it won’t take long for Little Hawk to warm up to our new roommate.
The afternoon is chock-full of housewifery. It is a success,excluding the temporary misplacement of my cane, tripping over a chair, and akitchen towel catching on fire. Carver, the old gambler ghost, fades in and outfor several hours. I enjoy his visit, despite the fact he’s mourning the lossof his favorite deck of invisible cards. At my urging, Carver summons his ghost-sightand I make him tour my new home. Looking at the rooms through his eyes, I’m ratherpleased overall. The house is a little run-down, but it has potential.
I haven’t seen Carver for some time, although this isn’tunexpected. It’s feast or famine with the old gambler—he’s either constantlyunderfoot or completely removed for months. Where does the ghost go? Is there anotherVisionary in his life?
An hour before supper, Kelly shows up, claiming he needs a cupof Earl Grey above all else—although I know it’s really to check on me andconfirm the latest gossip.
“He really does look like Frankenstein,” Kelly says afterGabriel goes to his room.
I act as though I didn’t hear that and sip my tea.
“Is it wise, having him around? What do you know of the man?”
Quite a lot, I sign and pour him another cup.
Fortunately, Kelly moves on to a different topic. “Have youheard that Miss Collins is now engaged to Mr. Baker?”
Lovely!
“I noticed the announcement in the Gazette—wedding’s inSeptember.” The biscuit jar rattles as Kelly pilfers it. “Oh, and I saw themysterious Mary Arden as well. First sighting I’ve ever had of the woman.”
Mary Arden? In town? It’s taken her long enough.
I sense a sudden reticence in the doctor, as though histhoughts have veered in an unpleasant direction. What’s wrong?.
He takes a bite of the oatmeal biscuit. Chews slowly.
Well?
Kelly washes down his biscuit with tea, and sits back in hischair. “Apparently, the Craddock’s have lost their ranch. That’s what the rumormill is saying anyway. The whole family is moving to California to live withrelations.”
The whole family? Does that mean Tom’s leaving? I spill myentire cup of Earl Grey and Kelly begins mopping it up with a napkin. He takesthe sodden table cloth to the sink, giving me a moment to myself. I cross myarms, imagining a life without Tom’s presence. Though we are not now what weonce were, it has been a comfort knowing he lives nearby, alive and well butfor the drinking. I can’t imagine not hearing his voice again, not passing himin town by chance. Yet those are selfish reasons
