The Gift of the Twin Houses Page 12

  “I can just imagine it.”

  “I didn’t know it at the time. I just trusted my instincts, not really knowing why I did what I did. I remember helping the doctor cast his leg, thinking how strong and good looking he was. Next thing I knew, I gave him my home phone number.” She giggled, and her cheeks reddened a little.

  “Soon after we began dating, I knew I’d fallen madly in love. We got engaged the next month and married five months later. The distance between our towns was difficult, and neither of us wanted to wait, so there was no point in carrying out a long engagement.”

  “Were you concerned that it was happening too quickly?”

  “I knew, actually I trusted, that I was in good hands with Tom. Coming into his family is the best thing that’s happened to me. I’m so blessed. You don’t need to be afraid, Sarah, if you and Papa are—”

  “Well.. .It’s not that.. .It’s.. .I’m not sure.. .I’m—”

  “Sorry, you don’t need to explain to me. I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s just that they’re unique men. I’m sure you’ve noticed. Things are different with them. Papa’s grandmother, Angela, had a lot to do with it. I’m sure he’s told you about her.”

  “Yes, I know about Angela.”

  “I wish I’d met her when she was alive. She must’ve been quite special. Tom says that Papa lost a big part of himself when she died. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

  “I’d say so. He’s so together.”

  “Exactly. I’ve admired and loved Papa so much since I first met him that I could never imagine his lacking anything. But nowadays he’s definitely a new man. I can see that he’s found that part Tom said he’d lost. I gather he’s back to his old self because I’ve never seen him so full of life and excitement. Tom’s so relieved to have his Papa back, and it’s all due to you, Sarah. Thanks.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, but I’m sure it has nothing to do with me.”

  The front-door chimes rang. Conrad had arrived with the Christmas lights, to “dress up the house.”

  In spite of our all-too-brief conversation, a bond had developed between Alyana and me. A beautiful woman with a shining spirit, she moved in this world with the assurance and radiance of inner peace. Her demeanor remained serene even when she reprimanded her children. Her long, soft black hair bounced around her shoulders with every step, happy to shine and frame her lovely face accentuated by deep green eyes. Her olive skin glowed with natural luster, and the softness of her touch only made it more appealing. Both her children had inherited her beauty and their father’s captivating qualities.

  The rest of the afternoon and evening, family bliss permeated the house. The children woke up from their naps to renewed storytelling by their grandfather of how he’d made the ornaments, and they volunteered their reenactments of the stories we had made up in the morning. Tom joined us after he closed the store, and we spent a fun-filled evening.

  After everyone left, I stepped outside. The snowfall had ceased, the wind didn’t blow, the Cascades slept serenely, and my house looked spectacular dressed in her Christmas colors lighting up the winter sky.

  As I readied myself for bed, I reflected back on not only this day but also on the days preceding it and the many gifts my house had bestowed upon me. Louise, the first inhabitant of my precious home, hadn’t welcomed her birth, yet in the end, Amy’s love had given rise to how exceptional the house had become.

  What a peculiar habit I’ve picked up, to relate to this house as if it’s a person.

  “Eccentric behavior, Sarah,” I chuckled.

  “Granted,” I answered, “but my home is more than a just a house, it has personality, it communicates its emotions, it has spirit’.’

  This spirit is what kept tugging at me when I least expected it. Just when I thought that all was peaceful and enjoyable, just as this day had been, I’d get the feeling it wasn’t quite so. At such times, the house would egg me on, reminding me that there were secrets still to be unearthed, that the journey hadn’t concluded, and that more was yet to come.

  Chapter 16

  The Courtship

  Conrad informed me that my formal introduction to the Cascades and its nearby environs, a must for the Thompson family, was to take place over several afternoons. He would pick me up early in the afternoon and take me to explore “my new neighborhood.” The weather turned out perfect, which allowed us to travel easily, walk in the snow, explore the neighboring towns and their shops, and enjoy each other’s company—a courtship in full swing.

  Conrad, the perfect tour guide, showed me the beauty that surrounded the Cascades, all the while narrating the history and local traditions of the different towns we visited. He spoke of the time when the gold fever struck in the North American West during the late nineteenth century and how the Okanogan and the Methow valleys attracted many a prospector from California to Alaska. It all started in 1848 when an employee at Sutter’s Mill in California found gold in the nearby American River and kindled the spark later known as the California Gold Rush.

  “That’s how California earned its name the Golden State,” Conrad said as we drove down Highway 20. “The procession of gold seekers trudged north for more than ten years through the Okanogan and headed for rumored riches from the Sierra Nevadas all the way into Canada.”

  We visited Winthrop first, a wonderful old town that had been restored to look as it did in the late nineteenth century with a surprising number of original facades still standing along its main street. The town has been restored to the mood of yesteryears, and one can easily imagine how cowboys, farmers, cattle ranchers, and miners must’ve lived.

  “Like most of Okanogan County towns in those days, mining was its lifeline,” Conrad explained. “In the 1890s, Winthrop changed from a small transition town to a bustling distribution spot. When Colonel Tom Hart built a road thirty-four miles into the Slate Creek area, Winthrop’s future was guaranteed.”

  “Is that when the twin houses were built? You think the owners were into mining? Is that why they’re so exquisitely put together? A bunch of money must’ve gone into their construction.”

  “I’d say yes to all of those questions, but who really knows?”

  “This town is so small; how has it survived all these years?”

  “Smarts. By 1915, most of the mines had shut down. Winthrop was hard hit since it depended so much on the mines, and its population dropped. It struggled through the Depression years amid rumors that it was destined to become a ghost town. But Winthrop hung on, reinvented itself, and emerged as a tourist attraction.”

  “That’s at the time your grandparents lived here.”

  “They got married, I think in 1922. So yes, they lived through all of this history.”

  I was so enamored with Winthrop and its resurrection from the ashes that we spent an entire afternoon visiting the small town, its shops, its museum, and its surroundings. I imagined Angela and Richard walking through the town, talking with neighbors, Jeremy going to school, and the three sisters gathering goods at the general store.

  We were strolling down Main Street when Conrad reached for my hand. Of course, I immediately felt tears well up with the pleasure of being a couple. But I didn’t embarrass him or myself; I simply enjoyed the feeling and allowed the tears to slowly wane.

  “Your turn to tell me a bit about your folks,” Conrad said.

  “Let’s see, where to begin? My parents were much in love and had, like I would imagine all couples have, quirks that made them unique. What my nana and I liked best about them was their little disagreements, which were just part of their playfulness, their private jokes, their secret ways of toying with each other.”

  “Sounds like they were fun to be with.”

  “They were. But where shall I start?”

  “With your dad.”

  “OK. He was a corporate attorney for the Gillette Company. Have you heard of it?”

  “Sure, they make razor blades and things of that sort.”

&nbs
p; “Their central offices were in Boston, and Global Gillette is where my dad worked. After he graduated from college, he was hired to work in their Mexico City offices, and when he rose up the corporate ladder, they transferred him to Boston. He’d been born to a wealthy family in Mexico and liked his independence. His folks had the same societal hypocrisies that my nana experienced in Spain with her in-laws.”

  “Rich socialists?”

  “No, not socialists. It wasn’t their political ideology that irked him. He thought them to be ostentatious and pretentious. My father, on the other hand, was a straightforward man and disliked their desire to impress others. When offered the transfer to the United States, he didn’t hesitate. He wanted to create his own life and be his own man, away from his family’s fortune and influence.”

  “That’s how your folks met, working for Gillette?”

  “No. My mother was a book editor, just like my nana had been, and worked for a publishing house. How they met is where their stories go their separate ways. My mother was finishing college with a major in literature, and she said they met attending a discussion on Margaret Mitchell’s novel Gone with the Wind. The way she told it was that my father was well read and liked literature as much as she did, in spite of being a lawyer.”

  “She didn’t like that he was a lawyer?”

  “No, that wasn’t it, but to recount the story of meeting her husband in a literary circle fit her need for class and elegance. She liked the fact that her husband could be thought of as being her intellectual equal. She was right on that score. My dad was an intellectual, but you wouldn’t have known it.”

  “Why?”

  “He never flaunted it. Mom didn’t flaunt it either, but given her work circle, she was expected to show her bookish know-how. He was the oddity, a corporate lawyer with impeccable artistic taste and knowledge. They both loved literature and the arts. They were well suited for each other.”

  “Come, let me show you this shop. You’ll get a kick out of it.” With that, he pulled me into what seemed to be an old saloon that had been converted into an old-fashioned store with barrels filled with knickknacks, clothes, and an assortment of oddities.

  We had dinner at an old-west type restaurant that boasted of making the best buffalo hamburgers in the region. We weren’t disappointed.

  As we left the restaurant and ambled down Main Street enjoying the crisp air of a clear winter night, Conrad took my hand and placed it on his arm, gently holding it in place with his other hand. In spite of wearing our gloves, I could feel his warmth.

  “Tell me your dad’s version of how he met your mom.”

  “He insisted that they’d met when she grabbed his hand in a movie theater while watching Gone with the Wind. He said the combination of her feminine fragility and forwardness swept him off his feet.”

  “I like his version,” Conrad chuckled.

  “My father—”

  “Wait, say his name again. I like hearing your Spanish accent.”

  “Ernesto.”

  “Ah. And your mother’s?”

  “Antonia.”

  He smiled and placed his arm around my shoulder, bringing me closer to him. “Go on. Finish your story.”

  “My father’s tale of how he proposed marriage to my mother also differed from hers. He insisted she proposed to him on the dance floor after kissing him at a New Year’s party. Her story went along the lines that in the middle of a dance, he carried her in his arms to the balcony, and as the twelfth chime rang, he dropped to his knees and proposed.”

  “I like her version. Which story do you believe?” he said as he opened the driver’s door to his truck.

  I slid all the way in. “I think there might be a bit of truth in both.”

  “They never agreed on one story?”

  “No. These are just a couple of the memories they disagreed on. Nana and I always enjoyed watching them argue about their different recollections. Nana said that it made it doubly good to have more than one story for each memory.”

  “Sounds like you were a happy kid,” he said as we drove down Highway 2 on our way home.

  “Yes. We were an easygoing type of family. When I was six, we moved to downtown Boston and fell into a routine.”

  “Where did you move from?”

  Suddenly I realized I’d just given him a glimpse of the event that caused my family to run away from the home of my birth.

  “Oh, nowhere special.” I could hear my own voice quivering.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t mean anything. You’re just making it sound like I do,” I snapped.

  “OK. Never mind.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s OK.”

  He drove in silence, and I looked out the window, hoping to shut out a past that I didn’t want to deal with.

  The following days we visited Twisp, Carlton, Methow, and Pateros. Every sightseeing trip ended with a nice dinner at one of the local restaurants or coffee shops, a fun drive back to my home, and an evening of sitting in each other’s arms in front of the fire chatting and kissing. Yet my inability to tell him the reason my family had escaped hung between us. Somehow, I needed to address it.

  When we stopped for dinner after our visit to Lake Chelan, I blurted out, “We moved from the suburbs to downtown Boston.”

  “Listen, Sarah, you don’t have to tell me—”

  “You’d asked if I was a happy kid, and I was. I got jumpy for nothing. My family didn’t have any major ups and downs. We were pretty boring really. My mother read all the time, focused on improving herself and of course me. My nana, ever vigilant, always protected my independence. My father watched over all of us and supported our endeavors as long as they didn’t expose us to harm. The only rub for my dad was my paternal grandparents. He never interfered with my upbringing other than making sure that his parents didn’t influence me. He was so much like my nana that the two of them could’ve been related. Ideologically they were in total unison, and neither wanted any inducement of hypocritical societal norms to be a part of me. So when my paternal grandparents traveled to Boston to visit, I was never left alone with them—always under my father’s watchful eye or my mother’s or grandmother’s. When we traveled to Mexico, my nana never left my side. All my life my father kept me at a safe distance from his parents and his siblings.” “Boy. What was so wrong with his folks?”

  “Nothing wrong, just snobs. They were the type that liked to flaunt their money and standing in life. They used money to gain respect and love instead of earning it. My dad didn’t like that.”

  “Ah, I get it.”

  I knew he wasn’t satisfied, but I hoped that I’d gained some time to summon my courage.

  The lovely town of Leavenworth came next. “This town thrived with railway and timber industries,” Conrad explained. “And when they were lost, it began a slow decline as well. Inspired by the effect of the Cascades and that the town looked like some Bavarian alpine villages in Germany, Leavenworth was turned into a Bavarian tourist attraction. As you can see, their efforts worked. Lots of tourists come by, and it’s turned out great for the local economy. ” Like all the other towns, Leavenworth had been decorated for Christmas and also merited an entire afternoon meandering through its shops. By now I was accustomed to walking hand in hand with Conrad, and as we entered each shop, I noticed we had fallen into an easy routine of exchanging opinions and making jokes about all the knickknacks we looked at, like old married couples.

  When we emerged from one of the stores, the sun had set, and the Christmas lights all over town were lit. We stood admiring the imposing Christmas tree that adorned the main square when Conrad held me in his arms and kissed me. How special it felt to be kissed in public. He held me in his arms for a while before we turned our attention back to the tree.

  “Do you have any sisters or brothers?”

  I sighed with relief. He was finally asking me about my family again. “No. My mother was just like Angel
a’s mom. After me, she couldn’t have any more children. It’s a bit sad really. My side of the family ends with me.”

  “You have us now.”

  This time, I couldn’t help but cry. What a wonderful image he had just offered me. His words created such elation that I had no choice but to allow the force of the emotion to release through my tears.

  It didn’t matter that we were in the middle of town, outdoors, and surrounded by many people. Just as a volcano erupts, so did I. I cried and cried while Conrad reassuringly held me in his arms. My tears washed away the old feelings of loneliness and isolation while welcoming the new sensation of companionship and togetherness. After my tears subsided, he kissed my cheeks and the tip of my nose.

  “Better now?”

  “Better. Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. Christmas gets me too. Plus I liked holding you in my arms.”

  A couple of nights later, we were sitting in front of my fireplace after a fun afternoon of sightseeing when Conrad opened the door to my forbidden past.

  “The other day, you mentioned that after you were six you fell into a routine with your folks. Why six? No routine before that?”

  I broke our embrace and sat up. Obviously I hadn’t been able to erase the impression I’d created. I wanted to bolt, to run away, and to avoid this conversation. Most importantly, I didn’t want to remember.

  Conrad gently placed his hand on my back and I jumped.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  I stood frozen before the fire.

  “What’s wrong, Sarah?”

  “I.. .well.. .It’s just that—”

  “ I get it. This is something you don’t want to speak about. It’s OK. You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I should. Really, I.. .well.. .It’s just that I’ve kept this to myself for so long that.. .well.. .I don’t.. .I’m not sure that—”

  “Then don’t tell me.”

  I turned to him, took a deep breath, and plunged into the truth.