The Duchess of Idaho

2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Grace’s limbs jolted, a painful flash of static, and she sat up, panting. It took a moment to remember that she was in Annabelle’s house. She saw the old-fashioned furniture, the quilt on her bed, the tube television on the dresser, and she exhaled, resting back on the pillow.

“Too bad this wasn’t all a dream,” she said. “I could have woken up in California.”

She ran her hand over the indentation where Casey slept during the night. He wasn’t there, so he must have made his way downstairs on his own or Annabelle helped him. Grace groaned with the aches that come from sleeping in a hard, unfamiliar bed. Really, she felt exhausted, as if she hadn’t slept at all. She made her way into the kitchen, found the box of Earl Grey, and put the kettle on. Casey appeared, his stumpy tail dancing in greeting. Grace found his kibble in the cupboard, fed him, and gave him fresh water. While Grace waited for the tea to brew she watched the farm down the road come to life while Nampa awakened with a pink line along the horizon.

Still exhausted, she returned to the loft, crawled into bed, and pulled the quilt over her head. Overwhelmed by the strangeness of her surroundings, and upset for some reason by the reminder that she had cows for neighbors, she wept into her pillow.

Grandma Olivia is right, she thought. My parents do like to play things safe. But maybe caution isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe it’s better to think things through. I should have asked more questions about Idaho, about Annabelle. I should have known what I was getting myself into. As Grace thought about her parents’ home in Carmel, she drifted back to sleep.

The second time Grace awoke she heard Annabelle shuffling in the kitchen. Grace wasn’t up for any conversation so she stayed in her room. She remembered the tube television on the dresser and turned the clunky dial. She turned from station to station to see if there was anything on, anything at all that might distract her. She passed a quiz show and a cooking show. She saw a classic movie and stopped. She liked black and white films. Her father loved old movies and they had watched many together. Idaho felt a bit black and white to her, like Dorothy in Kansas where everything is rural, ordinary. The film on the tube television must have been from the 1950s based on the actors’ clothing and hairstyles. She recognized Van Johnson from an episode of “I Love Lucy” while the screen filled with happy smiles and soft shoe dancing and everyone was having a grand old time.

When the announcer said, “We’ll return to Duchess of Idaho after these messages,” Grace couldn’t have been more surprised. Why are people singing and dancing about Idaho? But she had nothing else to do, and she wasn’t ready to face Annabelle, so she propped the pillows against the wall, got back into bed, pulled the covers to her chin, and settled in to watch. It turned out that “Duchess of Idaho” is a title Esther Williams wins in a dance contest. But the movie was set in Sun Valley, Idaho, not Nampa, and who would want to be Duchess of Idaho anyway? Duchess of Potatoes is more like it.

When the movie ended, Grace made her way downstairs. Annabelle was resting in her recliner, her eyes glued to a tube television only slightly newer than the one in the loft.

“There’s bacon and eggs on the hot plate in the kitchen,” Annabelle said. “You can take care of yourself while I watch my stories, can’t you? We’ll start tackling the house tomorrow. Today I’m taking Daisy out for some exercise. Do you ride? Horses, I mean.”

“I rode a pony once when I was a kid.”

“That’s one more surprise for my ever-growing list. Your mother loves to ride, or at least she did when she was a child. If you want to ride Daisy or Chuck just let me know. They’re both well behaved and they’ll let you take them for a spin. I’ll teach you how to saddle up if you’d like.”

Grace thanked Annabelle, said maybe some other time, and left her grandmother in peace to watch the English soap opera that had her enthralled. Grace sat at the breakfast nook, ate her breakfast, and took a bottle of water up to the loft. As she checked her phone she saw a text from her mother asking how things were going. Grace put the phone away, thinking she’d respond to her mother later. When she went downstairs she stifled a laugh at the sight of Annabelle with her khaki trousers tucked into well-worn riding boots, a contrast to her hot pink blouse under a sweater vest of blue and purple flowers. Annabelle was buckling her riding hat under her chin.

“Why don’t you come out with me now?” Annabelle said. “You’re not doing anything and there’s no reason for you to sit around feeling sorry for yourself.” Before Grace could respond, Annabelle shook her head. “I’ve seen that pucker on your face since you got here. Idaho might not be to your taste, but you have to give it a chance, that’s all I’m saying. Besides, it might do you good to slow down a little, see the sights, enjoy the simple things. I’ll teach you to cook, and sew, and mend, and quilt too. You never know when those skills will come in handy.”

“I can cook a bit,” Grace said. “And it’s easy enough to buy clothes or blankets.”

“Sometimes there’s nowhere to buy them.”

“Are you saying there are no stores in Idaho? Mom said there’s a mall in Boise.”

“There’s more than that now. But it never hurts to have some practical skills, you know.”

Grace nodded. “It would be nice to be better at cooking, and I wouldn’t mind learning how to quilt.” She gestured at the quilts hanging from a rack on the wall. “Did you make those?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. My mother taught me, as her mother taught her, and her mother taught her, all the way back to when our people first settled here in the nineteenth century. Our family came over on the Oregon Trail. Didn’t your mother tell you that?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“What do you Wentworths talk about all day? And you interested in history and all. I wonder about Sarah sometimes, honestly I do. I used to try to teach her family things that have been passed down the generations but she was never interested. She likes to cook and garden, Sarah, but sewing, quilting, churning butter, now those are skills that will come in handy no matter what life has in store for you.”

“Churning butter?” Grace struggled not to laugh. “All right, Annabelle. I’ll try some new things while I’m here. Grandma said I should open myself to the possibilities of being in Idaho.”

“Grandma? You mean James’ mother?”

“No, Dad’s mom died before I was born. I mean Olivia Phillips. She’s like a mother to my parents and a grandmother to Johnny and me.”

“So you call your own grandmother Annabelle and a family friend Grandma? Whatever floats your boat there, Grace. But don’t forget that I actually am your grandmother. My DNA runs through your veins. I have some family stories I can tell you, and I may even know a thing or two about you.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just…”

“You and I are virtually strangers. You’re right, we are, and I’m sorry for it, I am. I’ve been interested in you since the day your parents brought you home. I wonder if you’re the one after all.”

“What do you mean by the one?”

Annabelle shook her head. “I mean nothing. I’m an old woman talking nonsense. I want to get to know you now you’re here, Grace, that’s all. Now that I think of it, I insist you come riding with me. I’ll settle you on Chuck. He’s a nice boy, an easy-going gelding.”

“I don’t have the right clothes for riding.”

“Chuck’s no fashionista. He doesn’t give two figs what you’re wearing. So long as you can sit astride and hold him steady, he’ll do the work.” Grace tried to think of a good excuse, but Annabelle was having none of it. “Do you have some pressing engagement, Missy?”

“I suppose I don’t.”

“Come along then. Don’t dawdle.”

Grace followed her grandmother to the mud room where Annabelle found a second riding hat. Annabelle helped Grace tug on the black riding boots that came to her thighs, big but not dangerously so. Annabelle wondered aloud at Grace’s jeans, which might be too tight to ride in.

“Let’s see if you can straddle without ripping your bloomers and showing your hoo-hoo to the world.”

Grace couldn’t help laughing. She was stern, Annabelle, but there was a sense of humor beneath that no-nonsense attitude. They stepped into the afternoon light and the tops of the mountains glowed gold in the distance. Annabelle led the two horses from their stables and saddled them both. She showed Grace how to lift herself up and held Chuck steady while Grace mounted, awkwardly, but she made it on her first try without kicking the horse and startling him.

“All right then,” Annabelle said. “Make sure you’re balanced and steady up there. Don’t be afraid. Chuck’s a good boy. Aren’t you, sweetie pie?” Annabelle stroked the horse’s cheek as she squinted at Grace in the saddle. “Not bad for your first try. Now lean back a little. You look like a wooden board. That’s better. You want Chuck to know you feel natural up there.”

“I don’t.”

“But you will.”

Grace exhaled and tried to relax her muscles. He was indeed a nice boy, Chuck, waiting patiently for Grace to settle. Annabelle demonstrated how to click her tongue to make Chuck go, how to slow or stop by gently releasing the reins. “After all, the bit’s in their mouth and you don’t want someone yanking your tongue out when they’re ready to stop, now, do you? I didn’t think so. When you’re ready to stop say ‘Whoa’ and release your pressure. That’s all there is to it. But don’t worry. Chuck will follow Daisy and me. You won’t have to think too much.”

Annabelle and Daisy trotted away, slowly to give Grace time to get going. Grace clicked her tongue the way Annabelle showed her but nothing happened. Chuck thought a moment, as if he were unsure whether or not Grace meant that odd sound as an order. He must have decided it was since he began following Daisy. He took his time with his steps, a nice, slow gait that allowed Grace time to acclimate to the movement and enjoy the scenery. As they trotted along, Grace saw that Nampa was more inhabited than she thought, though she reveled in the rural panorama of farms and mountains. Wisps of clouds floated cotton-like above their heads.

Grace exhaled fully for the first time since arriving in Idaho. “Maybe I don’t have to rush home after all,” she said.

“You were going to make the great skedaddle, then?”

“I said that out loud?”

“Were you?”

“It’s just…” Grace didn’t want to offend her grandmother. “It’s so different here from what I’m used to.”

“But you were in Oregon for college, weren’t you? Studying history?”

“That’s right, but Portland is closer to what I know at Berkeley.”

“You don’t feel any connection to Idaho at all?”

“I haven’t been here long enough to feel anything in particular about Idaho.”

Annabelle sighed. “Look, Grace. I know I’m an old lady, but I am your grandmother and I do care about you, even if I haven’t been wonderful about showing it all these years.” Annabelle stared straight ahead, as though the conversation hit too close for comfort. Then she glanced at Grace from under the pointed brim of her riding hat. “I’m glad you came, you know. I’m glad I have a chance to get to know my granddaughter. That’s all.”

“I’m glad I came, Annabelle. It’s beautiful here, and I would like to learn those skills from you, I would.”

“So, no great skedaddle?”

“No skedaddling. At least not until after I’ve done what I’ve come to do, which is help you clean out the house.”

“That makes me happy, Grace.”

They continued at an easy pace. Cars passed in the distance while children jumped from their school buses with their cartoon character backpacks swinging from their shoulders. Daisy and Chuck trotted toward Old Nampa, the downtown area, and Grace was charmed. With its Art Deco-style brick buildings and brick sidewalks, its old-time Post Office, and charming shops, it had the feel of a quaint life from a bygone era.

“There’s music down here sometimes,” Annabelle said, “along with food trucks and cafés if you’re into that sort of thing.” Annabelle nodded toward Grace. “Maybe it isn’t as bad as you thought?”

Annabelle nodded at two older ladies, and from the pleasant greeting between them Grace guessed they knew each other. It was nice to see Annabelle in a different light, chatting with her friends. Grace had to admit that Annabelle was growing on her. A bit.

The ladies continued their walk and Annabelle turned Daisy around. “Now let’s head on home, Grace. I want to show you how to plant tomatoes and there’s a recipe for quick-bake biscuits you should know.”

Insomnia was something Grace had dealt with her whole life. She was indeed her father’s daughter.

When her family first moved to California from Massachusetts, they lived near Berkeley since both of her parents worked at the university. Then, when her parents retired they bought the turquoise-colored house in Carmel-by-the-Sea. The whole Wentworth family loved that house, but Grace in particular adored it. When she lived there she never wanted to sleep. She didn’t want to miss a moment of the whispering ocean breeze, afraid that if she dozed off even for a moment she’d miss a pronouncement of great importance. Her father must have felt the same. How many times had she crawled out of bed in the deepest night to find him hovering near the bay window, the one with the view toward the water, his eyes far away, the street lamp reflecting like mirrors off his eyeglasses, his head hanging as though his thoughts weighed him down? Other nights she found him at the dining room table, a cup of Earl Grey beside him, his laptop open, surrounded by research for his scholarly tomes about Victorian literature, books he had been wanting to write forever, he said, and now that he was retired he finally had the time. Whenever James saw Grace beside him he smiled.

“You either?” he’d say.

“Not a wink.”

James made Grace ginger and turmeric tea, no caffeine for her that late, and they would sit in that comfortable silence they had together.

“Well,” her father would say, “I’ve been a night owl for as long as I can remember and so it seems are you. You are a true Wentworth.”

“Isn’t Mom a Wentworth?”

“She certainly is. But you’re my blood, and while your mother has my heart forever and a day, my blood doesn’t flow through her veins like it does yours.” He smiled. “Oh, yes, my Gracie. You’re a Wentworth indeed.”

After Grace finished her tea she would finally feel sleepy. She would wash out her cup and saucer, set them in the dish rack beside the kitchen sink, and smile at her father as she headed back to her room. Every time, without fail, her father said the same words.

“Say good night, Gracie.”

And every time Grace would laugh.

“Dad, you’ve been saying that Burns and Allen joke since I was a baby.”

“Say good night, Gracie.”

“Good night, Gracie.”

After a day of helping Annabelle make biscuits and gravy from scratch and planting tomatoes, Grace felt tired in a good way. As she got ready for bed, her phone rang.

“Grace?” Sarah asked. “Is everything all right?”

In the background she heard her father. “Gracie? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m all right, Mom. Tell Dad I’m fine. Why are you asking?”

“I texted you but you never answered back. Then Olivia said she felt something odd in your energy and she felt it again this morning. Is Annabelle treating you all right?”

“Annabelle is fine. She’s…”

“An acquired taste?” Sarah asked.

“Yes.”

“Stubborn,” James said.

“Apparently, I’m drawn to stubborn people,” said Sarah. “Grace, I know Annabelle can be stern, but believe me, under that tough exterior is a woman who would give her heart away if someone in her family needed it.”

“I think I see that now.”

“I’m glad. She and I have never seen eye to eye, as I’m sure she’s told you, but I’ve never doubted that she loved me in her way. Are you sure you don’t want me to come?”

“No, Mom. It’s okay. I feel better today. Annabelle and I have been horseback riding and we’ve gardened and baked together. Annabelle wants to teach me to cook and sew, and I did enjoy the horseback riding even if I am a little sore now. It’s certainly pretty here in Idaho.”

“Yes,” Sarah said, “it’s very pretty there.”

“And it is an interesting old house, like you said.”

“Have you found anything for the Antiques Roadshow yet?” Sarah asked.

“We haven’t started cleaning anything out, but I wouldn’t be surprised if something worth a lot of money popped up.”

James’ voice grew louder in the background. “Are you sure you don’t want to come home, Gracie?”

“Mom, will you please tell Dad that I’m a grown woman and I don’t need you two checking up on me every five minutes? How many times have you spoken to Johnny since he left?”

“As a matter of fact, we spoke to him last night,” Sarah said. “He’s flying to France today. And we know you’re a grown woman, but no matter how old you are you will always be our child and we will always worry about you.”

“I know, Mom, I do. But I’m fine. I promise. Annabelle can be cranky, but the truth is I’m starting to like her. I want to get to know her better and learn more about our family. How come you never told me our family came west on the Oregon Trail?”

“I should have, Grace, you’re right. For me, my life started when I met your father and that was in Salem. Anything before that is, well, before that. If you need anything, anything at all, call us any time day or night.”

“I will, Mom.”

“I love you, Grace.”

Then she heard, “Say good night, Gracie.”

“Dad.”

“Say good night, Gracie.”

“Good night, Gracie.”

Grace hung up the phone, annoyed with her parents but thankful for them too. She knew they would be her soft place to fall for as long as she needed them.