The Gift of the Twin Houses Page 6

  She’d packed all she could take in the little velvet bag that her grandmother Annie had given her, the same little bag that had been her wedding present when she’d married Grandpa Henry, and she wondered if it had been hard for Grandma to marry him.

  “I wish I would’ve asked her. I somehow feel she was all right with it, but I’d like to have heard the spoken words.”

  It hadn’t taken any time for Angela to pack. She’d been thinking about it for so long that she knew exactly what to take and how to pack it.

  She made the bed, hid her grandmother’s bag under it, and sat down. “It’s a nice room,” she said. She liked her room with all of her grandmother’s memories. The curtains they’d stitched together, the quilt they’d hemmed, Grandma’s armchair, and the doilies they’d had embroidered.

  Angela liked old things, particularly Grandma’s few possessions. They comforted her. They came from the woods of the Cascades, carefully crafted as furniture but bringing with them a part of the trees she loved so. Momma had wanted to get rid of them or put them all away in the attic since they were so old, but Angela had begged and begged, and Momma finally agreed to let her keep them.

  “I’m sure going to miss you,” she told her furniture. “I’ll keep you in my thoughts and dreams. I’ll never forget you,” she promised them.

  She looked at her guitar resting comfortably in the corner. She went to it and softly ran her fingers through the strings, listening to the soft hum they emitted. “I know, I know, but I can’t take you. You’ll be loved again. I don’t know by whom just yet, but I know you’ll be all right.”

  Her bookshelf was harder to deal with, and a couple of tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d packed two books to take with her, Mother Goose and One Thousand and One Nights. Now, she looked at her small library wondering if she shouldn’t take something else. “Maybe I can fit the Jane Austen books.” But she knew better; take one more and the others would want to come as well.

  She shook her head and sat back on her bed. As soon as the old clock in the living room rang eight, Momma would come in, kiss her on the forehead, and wish her a happy birthday. She could already smell the coffee brewing and the biscuits baking.

  Her parents always let her sleep in late on her birthday, even if for only a couple of hours. She knew that by the time breakfast was ready, her pa would have done her chores, milked the cows, and fed the hogs. All she would have to do would be to gather the eggs, but that could wait till after breakfast. Her pa was a good man, and the sadness of what the future held shook her. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Then she thought of her Momma, who would see to it that on her daughter’s birthday her chores around the house were forgiven. Angela would have the entire day to enjoy the woods, the birds, the flowers, and the streams. By dinnertime Momma would have baked a delicious cake and placed fourteen candles on it; they would sit down to a good dinner, laugh, and talk about their day. They would take her picture with her fourteen candles and give her a present. Then Pa would talk about...

  She couldn’t bring herself to even think about it, but it insisted. It would not be silenced. So she decided that thinking about it and saying it out loud would strengthen her resolve to leave home.

  “Pa is going to talk about Richard.” There, she said it. “He’ll say that in just one more year, I’ll marry Richard and our farms will join.”

  She stared into my eyes, and I felt her anguish and resolve.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to marry, but I know it shouldn’t be next year. There’s something I need to do first, something I need to learn before I marry.” She stood by her window, looking toward the neighboring farm, caressing the curtains she crocheted with her grandmother.

  “Richard knows I must leave. He doesn’t like it, but he understands. He’ll care for my parents.”

  She turned toward me.

  “My parents. will suffer terrible pain. But I must answer the call that yanks me away from them, or I’ll never be whole.”

  Her eyes overflowed with soundless tears, her grief palpable. I reached out for her with a hopeless desire to hold her in my arms and comfort her, but my phone rang, and Angela disappeared.

  Chapter 8

  Thanksgiving

  “H...hello,” my voice cracked with the sorrow of Angela’s story.

  “Hi, Sarah, you OK?” Conrad asked. “Did I call at a bad time?”

  “No. I’m OK. Just.. .reading something sad. I’m fine.”

  “Good. Have any plans for Thanksgiving?” he asked.

  “Thanksgiving? Uh.”

  “Be great if you could join me and my kids. Nothing fancy, just family.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d celebrated Thanksgiving. Over the years I learned to be content with the time off during the four-day weekend and simply enjoy long walks, window-shopping, or reading a good book. I’d deliberately forgotten what Thanksgiving was all about. If I didn’t think about it then I wouldn’t mind being all alone.

  I’d moved away from home when I graduated from college, and as the years went by, it just became too difficult to get together with my family back in Boston for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. As a result, we agreed that Christmas should be the time to visit since I usually enjoyed a couple of weeks off from work and could make the best of a long stay to celebrate the holidays.

  As I got older, I just didn’t feel like joining others for Thanksgiving dinner. I felt like the perennial old maid and didn’t care to be reminded of my social standing in life. The best antidote for that was to decline the invitations and ignore the reason for the time off from work altogether. So I did just that and put it out of my mind. I had lots of practice on how to do that to perfection.

  “Hello? Are you there?” Conrad’s voice shook me back.

  “Yes, sorry. I have no plans, but.. .well, this is so sudden. Didn’t expect an invitation.”

  “It’ll be just like the old times when the folks that lived in our houses used to get together for the holidays. C’mon, you’ll enjoy it. No sense in being all by yourself. ”

  “Well.. .OK, that’ll be lovely. Thanks.”

  I accepted the invitation mostly because I wanted to see him again but also out of curiosity. When he said that my coming to his house would be like old times when the two households gathered for the holidays, I was hooked. I wanted to hear the stories of these gatherings, hoped to catch a glimpse of my secret companions in some photos of his, and maybe even find a photograph or two that told me more about the history of my house.

  By the time Thanksgiving Day rolled around, I looked forward to whatever new discoveries were about to come my way. The first one appeared when I took a last look in the mirror. To my total amazement, my reflection in the mirror was quite nice. I actually looked pretty good. I hadn’t liked myself for so long that this reflection shook me up a bit. If someone had asked me back then to describe myself, I would’ve answered, “Not noticeable.” A simple woman, neither ugly nor pretty, not tall, not short, fat, or thin, mostly average, with shoulder-length brown hair now sprinkled with white. Neither loud nor quiet or particularly shy. Someone who, on first acquaintance, you might easily ignore or forget about. Even though my friends have told me on numerous occasions how pleasing and attractive I am, I never believed them.

  On this Thanksgiving Day, everything about me looked different. Truth be told, I came across quite pretty. Nothing had changed. My hair was the same, my features the same, weight, complexion, all as usual. However, everything came together to create an image of a good-looking woman. I couldn’t get used to it. I kept glancing in the mirror over and over. Every time I walked by my dresser, I’d take a peek.

  Still looking fine, the mirror would confirm.

  Maybe it was my house giving me courage to join Conrad and his family by telling me I was attractive and reassuring me that I wouldn’t feel out of place. But the dresser and the mirror were from my old life, and they hadn’t shown me as an attractive woma
n in the past.

  A puzzling state of affairs, to say the least.

  So with no logical explanation for the difference, I kept expecting the reflection to show the Sarah of yesteryears. But the unattractive Sarah never showed up. Whatever the reason, I looked nice, even attractive, as a matter of fact. I felt like a schoolgirl going out on her first date.

  Thanksgiving dinner with Conrad was far from being on a date, but regardless, it felt like one. The fact that he’d called and asked me out made it feel like one. The location and the reason for our getting together weren’t important. What mattered was that he wanted to see me.

  “Enough, Sarah,” I told myself. “You’re behaving like a teenager. You’re not going on a date. You’re going to a family dinner.”

  With the sound of my words, anxiety crept up. I hadn’t gone out with a man in so long that I didn’t know how to behave. What was appropriate nowadays? What wasn’t? But before I could get myself all worked up worrying about how to behave, the doorbell chimes beckoned. Conrad had arrived.

  My heart leapt. I checked myself in the mirror one more time to see if I was still all right, and thank goodness, I was. I winked at myself as I left the room.

  “What an odd thing to do,” I thought out loud as I rushed down the stairs. “Why would you wink at yourself?” I shook my head and laughed. “Well, Sarah, you’re full of yourself tonight.”

  I stopped before opening the front door, took a deep breath, and relaxed. A somewhat more serene Sarah opened the front door.

  “Hi,” I said, and was glad I’d forgotten to turn on the porch light because I’m sure I blushed when I saw him. He looked so handsome in his turtleneck and tweed jacket.

  “Evening, Sarah. You ought to light your porch. It’s pretty dark out here.”

  I did, and he helped me with my coat.

  “It smells good in this house.. .bread and pies. Nice. Did you rehearse baking the pies as you did with the bread?”

  “Four times.” Before I could say anything more, he picked up the pies and bread I had laid out on the wooden bench of the coat rack by the front door.

  “Should be good then. Can’t wait to taste them. C’mon.” He escorted me out, closing the door behind us.

  “You look beautiful tonight,” he said, and I blushed again, thankful that my back was turned to him as I walked down the porch.

  He opened the door to the passenger side, and once I settled in, he carefully placed the pies and bread on my lap.

  When he climbed into the truck, he was shivering.

  “Conrad why aren’t you wearing your winter jacket?”

  “It’s just a short way between our houses.”

  The ride to his house was indeed quite brief, and as we drove closer, I noticed that he’d placed a bunch of floodlights to illuminate his home. I looked at it and gasped.

  “Yep,” he said, “twins. Built the same year by the same folks, I guess. Thought I’d light it up so you could see it well.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? ”

  “And spoil the surprise?”

  He helped me out of the truck, and as we went up the stairs and crossed the porch toward the front door, it felt as if we were entering my own home.

  The inside of his house had the exact same layout as mine. With different furnishings, unique decorations, and personal touches here and there, his house had its own personality.

  “A good old girl as well,” Conrad said. “Been in my family for years.”

  The house welcomed me, offering warm friendship, and I felt immediately at ease. “Thank you,” I whispered, and caressed the banister as we went into the kitchen.

  “You know Tom, and this is Alyana. Their critters are Elan and Nina, and the one in the oven is still waiting for a name. Don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl just yet. Kids, this is Sarah. I’ll be back in a bit. Got to collect the floodlights.”

  “Nice to see you, Sarah,” Tom said as he shook my hand. “Wait up, Dad, and I’ll help you.” He rushed out.

  “Hi, Sarah.” Alyana shook my hand and smiled. “Surprised about the houses?”

  “You bet. Twins?” I asked.

  “For sure. Distinct personalities but twins nonetheless. Pretty unusual houses for these parts, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. You know how they came to be?”

  “No. Just that they’ve been here for many a year. Your house, though, is more feminine than this one. Once you’re in the houses, you can feel that this one grew up with a man in residence, and I don’t mean Conrad, the other with a woman. Maybe whoever built them had that in mind.”

  “You can feel those things?”

  “Oh, it’s just a guess.”

  Conrad’s loving, kind, and down-to-earth family welcomed me with open arms. In no time they made me feel as if I belonged and had been a friend of the family for years. There was no awkwardness between us, no pretension, nothing but the simplicity of being ourselves.

  Through the evening however, Alyana’s comment about the houses puzzled me. It seemed unusual for someone to openly share an impression so unique, unless you were like me—different.

  After visiting for a while, Alyana left to finish fixing dinner, and I offered to help. Tom kept the little ones in the living room with their grandfather, leaving us “girls” to tend to the food. Under normal circumstances, or in my past life, I would’ve bristled if a man had referred to me as girl, but the term had been offered with no mal intent; instead, it carried with it the innocence of thinking of us as young and full of femininity.

  “Thanks for baking the bread and the pies. It was a big help. Baking is what takes the most time,” Alyana said.

  “Just learned how to bake, so I hope you all like what I fixed.”

  “Papa says you’re a good baker and cook, so they must be delicious.” “Don’t know about being good, really. I just started all of that as well.” “He doesn’t pay folks compliments unless he means it. I got the veggies and the turkey under control. How about giving me a hand with the salad?” “Sure thing.”

  “Sarah, you seemed a bit taken aback when I made the comment about the houses.”

  “Nothing really, just an unusual impression, don’t you think?”

  “Unusual? No, not at all; things and places influence the people in them. Papa tells us you’re very taken by the Cascades and your valley.”

  I am.

  “Same with these houses. One senses things about them.”

  “1 guess.”

  Certainly she had no misgivings with this exchange, but the years of training to keep everything tight to my chest didn’t allow me to share my own impressions of the twin houses.

  1n no time we fixed the salad and got the turkey ready to be served.

  “Papa likes to carve the turkey at the table, and my little ones get a kick out of the electric knife. The turkey platter is in the upper cupboard.”

  1 got the platter down and rinsed it. As 1 dried it, 1 noticed the intricate pattern. 1t was hand painted with delicate leaves and small flowers.

  “Isn’t it beautiful? 1t belonged to Papa’s great-grandmother Annie. 1 don’t know how they could’ve afforded such an elegant platter; they were all very simple folk. One of the many mysteries surrounding the twin houses, 1 guess.”

  “They lived here in this house?”

  “1 think so. 1f it’s OK with you, 1’d appreciate it if you’d transfer the turkey onto it. 1 don’t want to lift it in my current condition. My mobility is somewhat limited. 1’ve gotten way too big with this baby.”

  Thanksgiving dinner proved unforgettable. No pressure to perform, no expectations, not one single glance of reproach at my solitude, a happy and comfortable gathering with family. They accepted me without reservation, and it felt wonderful.

  The bread and pies 1 baked were well received and quite good. 1’d baked a pumpkin pie and a pecan pie from scratch. The first couple of pies 1 prepared were OK but not as good as these. 1 perfected the instructions by adding what my pa
late asked for, and 1’d finally achieved what 1 thought to be perfection. They all claimed that my baking was exceptional, and Alyana even asked me for the recipe. 1’d never been asked for a recipe in my entire life, an understandable fact given that 1’d never baked or really cooked. 1 could hardly contain my sense of pride at having created something they liked and wished me to share.

  “Sarah, 1 don’t know if you’ll be going to visit family for Christmas,” Alyana said as they were leaving, “but if you’re staying, we’d love to have you over to our place.”

  “I—” my voice caught in my throat as my eyes welled up. For a moment I could only stare at her. When I regained some composure, I managed to say, “I’d love to Alyana. I have no family to go to. I’m all that’s left.”

  I sounded pitiful. How could I have just blurted out such personal grief?

  “Well, then we’re your family now,” she said with such ease that it left no doubt that she meant it. “We start real early with the little ones opening their presents, and we just go through the morning and afternoon cooking, hiking, playing, and enjoying each other’s company. Would that be OK with you?”

  “Of course. Thank you so much. You’re sure it’s all right with the men? I don’t want to intrude.”

  “They’d be delighted. We haven’t seen Papa so happy in years. He’s a caretaker, you know. That’s just plainly who he is, and ever since he’s been helping you, he feels useful again. Please say yes.”

  I couldn’t repress more tears. They just insisted on showing up. Words refused to come out, so I nodded.

  Alyana hugged me and kissed me on the cheek—such a simple gesture, yet so meaningful. At least it was for me.

  “What’s going on?” Conrad, with Elan in his arms, had just stepped into the foyer. Tom came right behind him carrying a slepping Nina.

  “Girl stuff,” Alyana chuckled. “She’s agreed to come for Christmas, so Papa, pick her up bright and early.”

  After hugs and kisses for everyone, we watched them leave. “How lovely they are,” I whispered.