The Duchess of Idaho

1. Chapter 1-3

“We haven’t seen you much since then.”

“I saw your parents and you that time I visited California. When was that now?”

“Around the time Johnny was born. He’s 18 now. He just graduated from high school.”

“Has it really been 18 years? Time flies, doesn’t it?” Annabelle pulled a packet of Virginia Slims and a blue lighter from her sweater vest pocket. She flicked the lighter, lit the cigarette, and inhaled.

“We might as well start laying everything out on the table since you’re here, Grace. I’m sure you’re wondering why your mother and I never kept in close touch. The truth is I love your mother, and I know she loves me, but we never got on so well. Your mother is, well, we’re not the same. Your mother and her books, you know. And she always had these crazy ideas, and I’ve had my own crazy ideas to contend with.”

“What kind of crazy ideas?”

“Oh.” Annabelle flicked cigarette ashes onto an empty plate. “When we left Idaho for Massachusetts Sarah acted like it was the best thing in the world. She was five years old, your mother, no higher than this,” Annabelle held her hand two feet off the floor, “and she kept saying, ‘I belong in Massachusetts. Massachusetts is my home.’ Every time we went anywhere in Boston she was always looking around like she was searching for something. Whenever I asked her what she was looking for she said she didn’t know. She’d know him when she saw him.”

“Him?”

“Odd, right? Especially for such a little girl. I was worried something was very wrong but we didn’t know anyone in Massachusetts and your Grandpa Miles said it was just a childhood flight of fancy and leave her be. It turned out that Miles was right, but it was a strange thing for a little girl to say no matter how you look at it. Then after Sarah finished college she upped and moved to Los Angeles. I still don’t know what that was about.” Annabelle eyed her granddaughter through the smokey haze. “Don’t you know any of this?”

“No,” Grace said. “I don’t.”

“You should ask your mother.”

“My mother doesn’t like to talk about her past. Neither of my parents do. I wonder…”

“Don’t keep us in suspense. What do you wonder?”

“I think my parents are hiding something from me.”

“I wouldn’t put much stock in it. Your Grandpa Miles and I, well, we had a secret or two in our day. Every family has some secret they have to contend with. Every family is different.”

“How is our family different?”

Annabelle sipped her tea as she considered. “We have our own ways. Did you see that red barn as you drove here?”

“Yes, I saw it.”

“What did you think of it?”

“I liked it well enough.”

“Well enough? Is that all?”

Grace fidgeted under Annabelle’s gaze. There was a weight to her grandmother’s stare—as though Annabelle pressed her down and held her still without touching her.

“The Wentworths have our own ways too,” was all Grace could think to say.

“I gathered as much.” Annabelle watched the quiet road through the window. She grew thoughtful as some birds flew past. “Has your mother ever mentioned our family in Idaho?”

“I didn’t know we had family here except for you.”

“Cousins.” Again, that inquisitive stare.

Grace finished her tea slowly to allow herself time to find a topic of discussion where she might actually be able to follow the conversation. “So you moved back to Idaho after Mom and Dad got married?”

“After Sarah married James and they were so wrapped up in each other I decided it was time to come home. I was never much for Boston, and I didn’t care a hoot for Salem.”

“Why? It’s just a seaside tourist town.”

“That’s what they want you to believe.” Annabelle leaned close to Grace, again with that laser-like stare. “You do look like James, though. You have Sarah’s curls but you have James’ blond hair and blue eyes. That’s crazy, isn’t it? It’s like dogs.”

“Like dogs?”

“You know how they say dogs and their owners start to look alike after a while. I’m sure there’s a person or two who’d say Casey and I look the same.” She nodded toward the sleeping cocker spaniel. “That must be it.” Annabelle nodded, satisfied with her answer. “If people and their dogs can start to look alike, then so can adopted children and their parents, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know any adopted children, Annabelle, but if I ever meet one I’ll let you know.”

Annabelle leaned back in her chair. “You don’t know any adopted children? Good heavens, child.” She took a long drag on her cigarette and stood as she stumped out the flame, shaking her head the entire time. “My mahjong club starts at 4 o’clock and it’s nearly that now.” She put her unfinished tea in the sink and gestured at the stove. “I made spaghetti and there’s tomato sauce in that pan. The meatballs are in the oven. They ought to be done by now. Help yourself to anything while I’m gone.”

Annabelle grabbed her keys from a drawer near the refrigerator and her quilt bag from a hook near the front door. “Don’t wait up. The games can run late, and I’m sure you’re tired. You’re in the loft bedroom at the top there.” She pointed to the staircase at the end of the kitchen. “And don’t forget to feed Casey. He may need a walk. He’s old but he’s spry in his way.”

Grace stood near the window and watched Annabelle get into her brown Honda Civic and drive away. Casey, the cocker spaniel, found his way into the kitchen, sitting near Grace’s feet and wagging his stumpy tail. He wasn’t at all frightened by the new person in his house; in fact, he nudged Grace’s hand for a pat, and she was happy to oblige.

“What have I gotten myself into?” Grace said.

When the dog didn’t answer, she ate the spaghetti and meatballs in silence. She washed the dishes, then sat on the kitchen floor and pet Casey’s long ears, finding comfort in the dog’s friendly presence. When Casey wandered off she explored the house.

Kitsch was the word that popped into her mind. The vintage curio cabinets held shelves of Love Is dolls, Merry Mushroom creamer sets, and Berries novelty figurines. In the kitchen, Grace felt the pull of the 1970s even more strongly with the rattan window blinds, orange and yellow flowered wallpaper, and olive green formica countertops that matched the appliances.

Uneasy in the house, Grace decided to see more of the neighborhood. She attached Casey to his leash and walked him around the block. She marveled at the space, the wide sky unimpeded by tall buildings, the mountainous scenery. Back at Annabelle’s, she let Casey inside, then walked around back to make sure the horses had hay and water. The horses weren’t any more worried by her presence than Casey. She pet the animals behind their ears and they nickered in soft conversation. When the horses seemed fine, she went inside.

Exhausted, with no one to talk to but the dog, who didn’t have much to say except a low ruff now and again, Grace climbed the carpeted stairs to the loft bedroom. Instead of four walls, there were three with a railing facing the rest of the house, to keep people from falling down a flight, she guessed. Standing as close to the railing as she dared, she looked down into the living room.

Grace’s mind raced with excuses about what she could say to her grandmother about why she had to leave so soon, right this very minute. No wonder her mother never got along with Annabelle. What a stern, strange woman Annabelle is, she thought. She looked for a window to open but there wasn’t one and she coughed from the musty air. She imagined the walls of the old house falling down around her while she perished unseen under 1970s kitsch memorabilia.

Grace pulled herself away from the railing and sat on the edge of the bed. She exhaled and reminded herself that everything was all right. The walls were perfectly perpendicular. She was fine. She tried to turn her thoughts to more pleasant subjects and she remembered the cows near the red farmhouse, which reminded her of a story her father told her about the time he moved to Massachusetts with his father. He was born in London, James, although you’d never guess that to hear him speak with his perfect American accent. When James and his father first arrived in Salem, James was surprised at living next door to cows. Everywhere he looked all he saw was cows. He hated the cows, he said, until he found them to be rather agreeable in temperament. Grace nodded because now she was confronted with her own mooing neighbors.

She wandered back to the kitchen and watched the darkening sky through the window. A single car drove past and she sighed. In the distance she spotted the farm with the flatbed trucks stacked with newly harvested, dirt-caked spuds. She jumped when her phone buzzed but smiled at the name on the display—Grandma Olivia.

“Oh, good, dear. I was afraid you were sleeping already.”

“I’m here, Grandma.”

“What’s wrong?”

“How did you know something was wrong?”

“I know you too well, Grace Marie Wentworth. I could feel you struggling, something in your energy feels anxious, but I couldn’t make out the problem from here.”

“Massachusetts is far from Idaho.”

“Nowhere is too far when you love someone. What’s troubling you?”

“It still freaks me out when you can tell that something is bothering me.”

“What can I say? It’s the invisible world, dear. It’s magic. Now what’s on your mind?”

“I think I’m going to be lonely here.”

“Is it that bad?”

“It’s not bad. It’s…strange.”

“Give it time. The strangeness will pass. You’re there to help your grandmother, and that’s a good thing. Besides, Idaho is full of history, and for a budding historian like you I bet there’s a lot for you to discover there. Take advantage of the opportunities being in Idaho will bring. And it’s only for a few weeks, after all. You’ll be back in California before you know it.”

“You’re right, Grandma.”

“Besides, maybe it’s time you had a little adventure in your life. You like to play things safe like your mother, but I know you have some of your father’s adventuresome spirit. Johnny has that adventuresome spirit, that’s for sure. He loves England. He would, of course, with James being from London. Now your father has settled down and likes to play it safe like your mother. I suppose he’s earned it, if anyone has.”

“Grandma…”

“All I’m saying is give it a little time before you decide to go home. Will you promise me that?”

“I promise.”

“And call me any time, dear, no matter what time it is here in Salem. I’m always here for you.”

“I know, Grandma. Thank you.”

Grace returned to her loft bedroom and unpacked the larger rollaway bag. The bedroom was much like the rest of the house, old-fashioned and dark, with turquoise, gold, and brown pattered wallpaper while a blue and green patchwork quilt covered the bed. A long chestnut desk and a blue-cushioned wicker chair was pressed against the wall. A wicker bookcase filled with an antique-looking globe and old books stood near a print of farmlands. Grace stopped unpacking when she spotted the small tube television on the dresser. She turned the dial and the television sputtered to life, sort of. It flickered into grainy static.

As she waited to see if anything would show up on the screen she noticed a hatch door in the sloping ceiling. She was curious but too tired to see what was up there. Finally, the TV snapped on. It was a black and white set with only a dial to change the channels. She flipped the channels and found nothing interesting but local news and old movies. She sighed and turned the set off. She heard a whimper and looked over the rail to see Casey wagging his tail, looking up at her expectantly from the bottom of the stairs.

“Come on up, Casey. It’s okay.”

When Casey whimpered, Grace guessed the problem. She went downstairs, lifted the dog, who was heavier than he looked, and carried him up. He seemed content when she set him down next to her on the bed.

“We’ll keep each other company, Casey. What do you say to that?”

Soon Grace and the dog fell into a sound sleep.