Celebration (3 page)

“Time to go!” Tom Zepack said.

“Do you have everything, Kris?” Logan asked.

“Yes. You know me. I was packed two weeks ago. We're ready.”

The kids barreled out to the car, Tom Zepack on their trail.

Kristine sucked in her breath. “I made some coffee, Logan. It's on the weak side because there wasn't enough left. I guess I cut it too close. Rinse the pot and throw it away or leave it for the new officer and his wife. Remember to take the wet towels with you.”

“Yeah, sure. Ah, listen, Kris, I'm sorry. I acted like a real ass earlier.”

“It's okay, Logan. We're all upset. We all knew this day was coming. Even though we thought we were prepared, we weren't. I guess I better get going. Tom is such a slow, careful driver. I don't want to miss the plane. Take care of yourself. Call me so I can meet you at the airport when you have your flight information.”

“Kris?”

“Yes.”

“We had a good life, didn't we?”

“The best. We've been happy. We have three wonderful kids. This move is hard on them because they know it's the last one. As Macala said, from here on in everything
counts.
”

“You sound strange, Kris. You aren't going . . .”

“No, I'm not going to make a scene. Take care of yourself, and hopefully we'll all be together for Christmas. I know just where I'm going to put the tree, too. I do love you, Logan. I just want you to know I will always love you.”

Logan nodded. “I feel the same way, Kris. Don't make this any harder than it is. Go on, Tom's waiting.”

Go on, Tom
'
s waiting.
That was all she was going to get? “See you,” she said in a choked voice.

“Bye, Dad,” the kids shouted from the car.

“Bye,” he shouted in return.

Kris climbed into the car, tears streaming down her cheeks. If nothing else, she had at least waited until her back was turned before she allowed the tears to flow. She looked out of the car window, expecting to see Logan outlined in the open doorway. The door was shut. She couldn't even wave good-bye.

“Relax, Mom, thirty days will go by just like this,” Macala said, snapping her fingers.

“Thirty whole days without that damn book,” Mike, her twin, said happily.

“I like the book. It's how things get done. Everyone needs structure in their life,” sixteen-year-old Tyler said, slouching down in the corner of the car.

“That's a crock, and you know it,” Mike said. “That stupid book stinks. You're just a suck-up. Get over it. The book is history.”

“Hear! Hear!” his twin said.

Kris continued to cry.

Chaplain Tom Zepack stared at the road in front of him, wondering what lay in store for the Kelly family once they returned to the States. With God's help they would all survive and lead happy productive lives. He was almost sure of it.

 

 

“This is it! It looks . . . shabby, Mom. Do we
really
have to live here?”

Kristine took a deep breath. “It does look shabby, Cala, but you have to remember that no one has lived here for over twenty-two years. This dreary, rainy day isn't helping either. By this time next year your dad and I will have it all fixed up. Paint works wonders.” It was hard to believe this strangled-sounding voice was coming from her own mouth.

“I don't think a bucket of paint is going to do it, Ma,” Mike said. “Did that banker guy get someone to clean it up? Is there any furniture? Did our stuff get here? Are we going to be sleeping on beds that are full of dust? Jeez, why can't we stay in town. This place is in the middle of
nowhere
. Do we have a telephone?”

“Of course there's a telephone. Mr. Dunwoodie said everything was hooked up and turned on. It's going to be okay. We're always jittery when we move to a new place. It was a beautiful estate when I was little. It can be that way again.”

“Ma, that was back in the Dark Ages. Look at it! Forget the way it looked
black then.
Are you seeing what we're seeing? Half the shutters are gone. The porch is sagging. Jeer, I bet it isn't safe; and take a gander at those steps—they're lopsided, too. It will cost a fortune to fix this baby up. Do you and Dad have a fortune?”

Did they? She had no clue. Logan had handled their finances from the day they got married.

“I think it's safe to say we have enough to get by. Repairs won't be done all at one time. We'll work on it. Now come on, let's exit this brand-new station wagon and open our front door. We're home. My old home, our home now. All those other places we lived were just buildings where your dad and I paid rent. This is home, like it or not.”

“Add my name to the list of people who don't like it,” Cala snapped. “God, I will never bring anyone here. That's assuming I meet some farmer who is interested in me, which is so laughable it's beyond belief.”

“I second that,” Mike said as he hefted his bags from the backseat to dump them on the ground.

“Did Dad know what this dump looked like when he decided to ship us here?” Tyler demanded.

Kristine dropped her overnight bag on the ground. “Listen to me. I'm only going to say this one more time. This is our new home. No, Tyler, your father hasn't seen this house in fifteen years. Time takes its toll on everything and everyone. We have no other options. The farm your father grew up on is probably in worse shape than this one. Instead of fighting me every step of the way, help me. The four of us can make a beginning. I know that if your father was standing here, none of you would have opened your mouth. Why are you taking this out on me? I'm trying to do the best I can.”

“What page is that on in your book?” Cala snarled.

“Page sixty-two, and watch your mouth, young lady. End of discussion. Now move your asses and get in the house.”

“Wow!” young Tyler said as he walked around the spacious rooms. “Was I ever here, Mom?”

“You were just a toddler when we came back here the last time. You were too little to remember. Cala and Mike spent the whole time sliding down the banister. It's a wonderful old house. All the beams and wainscoting are original, as are the wooden pegs they used for nails back in those days. The floors are solid oak. They could stand to be refinished at some point. The people Mr. Dunwoodie hired to clean everything up did a good job. It's more than livable.”

“It's freezing in here,” Calla grumbled.

“Guess that means you kids have to go outside to the woodshed and bring in some wood. Mr. Dunwoodie said he had two cords of cherry wood delivered. In the meantime I'll turn up the thermostat and hope it works. Take your gear upstairs, pick out a bedroom, and put on an extra sweater. This house was always drafty, and heat rises,” Kristine said, pointing to the high ceilings. “I want to check out the kitchen to make sure the stove and water pump work.”

“Are you saying we have to
pump
water too?” There was such disgust on Mike's face, Kristine cringed.

“If you want water, that's exactly what you do,” Kristine said, her patience wearing thin. She wondered what her children would say and do when they saw the archaic contraption that heated the water in the upstairs bathroom.

Kristine was priming the pump in the kitchen when she heard her daughter's screech. “One bathroom! There's only one bathroom up here! What am I supposed to do? There's no vanity either. What the hell is this . . . thing?”

Kristine knuckled her burning eyes. She would not cry. She absolutely would not cry. “You should be here, Logan. We should be doing this together. They wouldn't be acting this way if you were here,” she muttered under her breath as a steady stream of rusty water shot from the pump spout. She continued to pump water because it was something to do. She didn't want to think about what Cala would say when she washed her hair for the first time in the hard well water. She wished she could lie down and go to sleep and not wake up until Logan walked through the door.

“It's sleeting out, Mom. The temperature is dropping,” Tyler said, coming up behind her. “How much wood do you want us to bring in? I counted ten fireplaces in this house. Which ones do you want to light?”

“I guess you better light the ones in the bedrooms and the one here in the kitchen and the one in the living room. The heater doesn't seem to be working. The propane tank could be empty. I'll look into it tomorrow. I don't think we'll freeze. My mother had wonderful quilts and down comforters on all the beds. A lot of wood, Tyler. There's a wood carrier in the shed that holds a lot of wood. Off the top of my head I'd say you need four loads. Bring it to the kitchen door. If the three of you work at it, you should be able to drag it up the kitchen staircase. My father used to do it on his own, so I think you three robust children should be able to handle it. It's called, work, Tyler.”

“There's no television set, Mom.”

“So there isn't. I guess you'll just have to miss the tube for one day until our belongings get here tomorrow. Read a book.”

“This is like one of those houses you see in horror movies,” Mike said as he slammed through the kitchen door behind Tyler. “What do you mean there's no television set?”

Kristine clenched her teeth so hard she thought her jaw would crack when she opened the refrigerator. Eggs,
a
can of coffee, bread, butter, jam, bacon, juice, and milk. “This certainly takes the guess-work out of what to cook for dinner,” she muttered.
Tomorrow things will be better,
she thought.

Since the preparation time for dinner would be ten minutes or so, Kristine gathered up her baggage to carry upstairs. She shivered as she walked through the old house, drafts swirling about her legs. She took a minute to marvel at the old furniture, antiques really, and the fact that everything was in such good condition. Her own comfortable, worn furniture wasn't going to fit in anywhere in this barn of a house. Still, she would have to spread it out for the children's sake and gradually get rid of it. There was a lot to be said for antiques.

Cala swept by her on her way down the stairs. “I can't believe you're making me carry in firewood. That's a man's job.”

Kristine turned. “Cala?”

“Yeah.”

“Don't say yeah. I need to know why the three of you are so ... belligerent today. Why are you fighting me over every little thing? We belong in the United States. We're citizens of this country. This is where we belong. Daddy's tour is over, and this is what we decided to do. I grant you it's an adjustment, but if we all pull together, we can make it work. In September you and Mike will be going off to college, so what's the big deal. It's nine months out of your life.”

“Daddy said it was your idea to come back here. He said since you never squawked about moving all over the world every couple of years, it was your turn now. Daddy didn't care. He would have been happy staying in Germany. We didn't want to come back here. You're the one who wanted this move.”

“Of course I wanted it. Your father did, too. He was upset, Cala, about being passed over. He had no other choice. What kind of work would he have done over there? Nothing that paid any kind of money, that's for certain. I would never renounce my citizenship to live in a foreign country. There's too much unrest in Europe. I wanted us to be safe on our own soil.”

“Skip it, Mom. We're here, so what difference does it make. Don't think I'm joining one of those farmer 4-H clubs, either. I'm not going to have one thing in common with anyone around here. I know it, and so do Tyler and Mike. Right now Mike and I could go right into our second year of college. Tyler could be a freshman. Instead, we're going to be going to some rinky-dink high school where we have to take classes we took two years ago. It's not fair. There's no stimulation in doing something like that. You didn't think about that, did you?”

“No, I didn't. I will now, though. Perhaps something can be worked out. I've been away so long I don't know what the requirements or procedures are these days. Tomorrow when I take you to school I'll find out. In the meantime, will you cut me some slack and help your brothers.”

“Sure, Mom. When I finish doing that, do you want me to plow the south forty?” Calla shot over her shoulder as she continued to stomp down the steps.

Kristine made her way to her old bedroom at the end of the long hallway. Her hand trembled as she turned the flowered white-ceramic knob. She found it amazing that everything was as she remembered it. The double four-poster was polished, as were the two oak dressers. Years ago there had been dresser scarves on them, along with all the junk young girls needed or thought they needed. The cushions on the old Boston rocker were faded but fluffed up by one of the cleaning crew who had gone through the house. The windows sparkled behind the Venetian blinds. She wondered what had happened to the Priscilla curtains her mother favored for the dormer windows. Rotted, she supposed. The seat cushion on the window seat matched the one on the old rocker. It, too, was faded but fluffed up. Old toys that were probably antiques by now marched across the white shelving that covered all four walls. How strange that her mother had kept things the way Kristine left them when she went off to college. She wondered if her mother ever came into this room when she was at school just to sit in the rocker and remember happy days when she was little. Reminiscing about past birthday parties, Christmases, and, of course, all those times when she was sick in bed with a cold.

Kristine sat down on the rocker, amazed that the dry old wood didn't squeak on the shiny hardwood floor. She'd had a big old tiger cat named Solomon back then who sat on the rocker or on the window seat to wait for her to come home from school. He'd died when she was in her second year of college. Logan had never understood why she had to rush home because a stupid cat died. That was probably the only time in her life when she'd stood up to Logan and told him she didn't give a good rat's ass if he understood or not. She'd done nothing but cry for a solid week. Her first experience with death. She was back at school less than two weeks when she was summoned home a second time. Nothing in the world could have prepared her for the deaths of her parents. According to Dunwoodie, her parents' banker and trusted advisor, the barn had caught fire and her parents had rushed in to save the dogs and been overcome with smoke.