Читать книгу Small-Town Girl - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 11

THE FIRST SIGN OF CHATSWORTH, approaching from the west along the Yellowhead highway from Yorkton, was the white grain elevator sitting next to the train tracks running parallel to the highway.

The boxlike structure—which resembled a milk carton more than a building, in Julie’s opinion—was a tangible reminder of why this town existed; to service the surrounding farms. Farmers hauled their grain to the elevator so it could be sold. They banked in Chatsworth and collected their mail there. Picked up groceries at Lucky’s grocery store, filled their tanks at Stanley’s garage and bought parts at the Handy Hardware to fix their broken-down tractors.

“This is it, isn’t it, Dad?” Ben slipped his earphones down his neck and leaned forward.

“You bet, son.” Russell had his foot off the gas and the left indicator light flashing. He waited as a grain truck heading west passed by, then turned the Volvo onto the main road toward Chatsworth. Behind them, the rented U-Haul bumped over the twin sets of train tracks.

The town wasn’t ugly, Julie conceded. Late-afternoon sunlight sparkled on the lake. The surrounding trees were tinged with early-autumn highlights. True, most of the homes were small and utilitarian, of little architectural interest. But the majority were well tended, and some of the flower gardens still looked spectacular, with late-blooming dahlias and mums.

Russell turned left again and stopped in front of the three-story, brick elementary school. “That’s where we’ll be going a week from Monday, Ben.”

Julie tried to put herself in her husband’s shoes. Could he really be happy to have exchanged his responsibilities at the university for the prospect of working here, in this modest structure, teaching grade-five students everything from spelling to art? Judging from the expression on his face, he was.

“Worried, Ben?” he asked.

Their son shrugged. “Not really.”

“Well, you’ll have to be good…with the church across the road and all.”

Julie turned to view the small white clapboard structure. “Your dad and I were married here, Ben.” How long ago that day seemed. She’d been so stressed, dealing with her parents and sister, all quite annoyed that she’d chosen to have her wedding so far from an international airport.

Having the ceremony in Chatsworth had been her concession to Russell and his family. And they’d been bouncing between her family and his ever since. One year Julie would take Ben with her to London; the next year their son joined Russell for a visit to Chatsworth. Rarely had they made these trips as a family, saving the bulk of their vacation dollars and days for Saltspring.

“Are we going to Grandma’s now?”

“Sure. Let’s just drive past our new house first.”

Julie could read the implications of the glance Russell shot her. He wanted her to like this house. He wanted her to like this town. He wanted her to think this was a wonderful adventure, a fresh start for their family. And she didn’t want to let him down.

But when Russell parked their Volvo in front of the unassuming bungalow on Lakeshore Drive, finding compliments was hard. This place wasn’t terrible. The white siding seemed in good shape; the windows looked new. The small porch in the front was cute, though desperately in need of paint. But it wasn’t their house in West Van. Not even close.

Oh, Russell… Where have you taken me?

“Look at that tree house! Do you see it, Dad?”

“You bet. I’ve always wanted a tree house. Maybe there’ll be another in the back for you.”

Finally able to smile, Julie pointed out one redeeming feature. “There’s a raspberry bush next to the garden.” They all loved raspberries.

“Awesome. Can I pick berries whenever I want to?”

“In the summer, sure. They’ve finished for the season now, though.” Russell put the car back into Drive. “We should get going. Grandma will be holding supper for us.”

Julie, tense already, felt a suspicious pressure in her temples. Surreptitiously, she dug one of her pain-relief pills from her handbag.

“Headache coming?” Russell asked as he glided the Volvo and U-Haul two blocks farther along Lakeshore Drive.

She nodded, swallowing back the medication with a swig from the water bottle she’d purchased at their last stop for gas in Regina.

Briefly, Russell rested his hand on her knee. Before she could cover it with her own, he’d reclaimed the steering wheel.

“We’re here.”

“Yeah!” Ben shot out of the back seat, not bothering to close the door behind him. Rivaling him for speed were his grandparents, who must have been watching at the window because they were already on the steps. Betty Matthew held out her arms and Ben hurled himself into her embrace.

Watching, Julie blinked rapidly. She’d been dreading this first encounter with the Matthews and now the moment had arrived.

Russell had her car door open. He held out his hand.

“Just a minute. I need to close my purse. You go ahead.”

She zipped the leather bag, then slung it on her shoulder. From the corner of her eye, she spied the keys dangling in the ignition. She imagined herself unhooking the U-Haul from the back. Driving off, windows open, music blaring.

That she found the image so appealing scared her. She didn’t really want to abandon her family. She wanted to rush from the car the way her husband and son had. She longed to be able to hug her in-laws, to smile naturally and joke about the misery of two twelve-hour days spent traveling.

But she’d never achieved that comfort level with her in-laws.

She felt stiff as she walked up the sidewalk, and had to force a smile when she reached the group.

“Julie. You look a little tired, dear.” Betty Matthew made the first move. Julie succumbed to an awkward embrace with the plump, shorter woman before turning to Russell’s father.

Age had rendered Larry an inch shorter than his son, but he was still slender and the almost-white hair on his head remained thick and curly. He smiled and pecked her on the cheek, while her lips touched only air.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you all! How was the drive? Come on in. I’ve got a roast waiting in the oven.”

Julie leaned close to her husband. “Should we lock the car?”

He smiled indulgently. “It’s okay, Julie.”

She glanced over her shoulder. A significant portion of their worldly goods were stowed in that U-Haul. Clothing, family photos, her favorite pieces of art. “I’m going back to get the keys, at least.”

Russell shrugged, following his parents inside. When Julie returned, keys in her purse and both car and U-Haul safely locked, she found the men in the living room. Larry had already served his son a cold beer, still in the bottle.

In the five years since her last visit, little had changed in this room save the addition of a few more framed photos and a couple of new knickknacks on the fake mantel. Fifteen years ago the Matthews had purchased their living room furniture with comfort and price the main concern. Those same principles guided the decor of the entire home.

“Mother’s in the kitchen,” Larry told her.

She nodded, accepting the dismissal, barely registering her husband’s faintly apologetic smile.

The kitchen was past the dining room to the right. She heard her mother-in-law before she saw her.

“Here’s a wooden spoon, Ben, honey. Stir the gravy for me, would you? I’ve made Yorkshire puddings. I remember how much you liked them last time you were here.”

No one seemed to notice Julie when she first stepped into the room. She stood straight, hands clasped in front of her, like a schoolgirl summoned to the principal.

“May I help?”

“Sure.”

Julie couldn’t miss the subtle tension that stiffened Betty’s voice. She noticed the effort with which Betty gave her a smile.

“I have a salad on the table. Could you put out the bottles of dressings? I’ve got Thousand Islands, Ranch and Italian.”

Julie smothered the impulse to offer to make a vinaigrette. She uncapped the bottles that she’d found lined up on the refrigerator door, then put them on the table as they were.

“Larry already carved the roast.” Betty took a white platter from the oven and removed the covering of foil. The meat was uniformly dark gray—very well done. “I’ll put out the gravy, then we can eat. Ben, would you call your dad and grandpa, please?”

Sitting at the table, listening to her husband say grace, Julie had a flash of prescience. This was only the first of many times the five of them would sit here. From now on, she would mark off the weeks of her life with Sunday dinners just like this one. She would become middle-aged in this town. Accumulate wrinkles and gray hairs. Maybe in time she would develop a taste for overcooked beef, and sofa sets covered in afghans, and pictures hung about a foot higher than eye level on the wall.

Julie tried, but she couldn’t eat the food on that particular Sunday. She couldn’t focus on the conversation, either. Ben looked happy. So did Russell. Her husband and her son seemed so real to her right then. Their voices were strong; their laughter, assured. She marveled at their ability to fit in, to adapt, to accept.

And secretly worried that this had been their kind of world all along.