Marble Girl
Marble Girl
When clouds lay upon the mountains
And lightly touch the trees
And sun-drenched aspens shower
Their golden gift of leaves
You’ll know I’m thinking of you
In the misty morning dew
In this Rocky Mountain splendor
Where I was kissed by you.
When the snow has brushed the heather
Silken pools caress the sky
And the Crystal River’s singing
About rod and reel and fly
You’ll know I am thinking of you
In the evening’s amber hue
In this Rocky Mountain Splendor
Where I was wed by you.
When the rolling thunder sermon
Peals forth on lightning’s drum
And the dragonflies are dancing
To a ruby throated hum
You’ll know I am thinking of you
In the lonely darkest blue
In this Rocky Mountain Splendor
Where I was loved by you
Ben found the poem in the sideboard the day before they were to arrive at his mountain home. He sat down heavily on a kitchen chair and swiped at the unbidden tears. It had been a year since she’d died, and it often felt like it happened decades ago, and other times like she disappeared only yesterday.
He remembered the day she’d given him the poem. Was it four, no five years ago. They’d gone to Twin Lakes, the tiny village along the route that twisted and turned through Independence Pass to Aspen. It had been a golden autumn afternoon, and the clouds had indeed lain upon the aspen-covered mountains. He’d gone into an artist’s store to look for fish art while she waited in the car. In a few short moments she had written the words that moved him so, and read them in her sweet voice when he returned.
That was the last trip they’d taken before she got sick, before the doctor’s remedies drained her energy, and made her dark hair fall out in clumps. The same old story told so often, yet so personal for him. The cancer had finally won, and he only felt a deep and lonely ache where the love had been.
An hour went by, as he scanned the cherished and painful memories, and finally returned to the present. What was he doing again? Oh, yes. Cleaning. That was why he’d found the poem. He’d been cleaning out the sideboard.
He wasn’t looking forward to their arrival. He wanted to be alone in his grief and mourning. Each day for the past year, he’d gotten up and done the daily chores, feeding the chickens and the two dogs, watering the garden in the summer, or cutting wood for the stove in winter, preparing the food that tasted like cardboard. Sometimes he thought about not eating at all, but she wouldn’t have liked that. So, he ate. Alone. And now they were coming, to interrupt the whole boring but survivable routine. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, although he’d tried most strenuously to prevent them from coming.
“You’re the only one, the only place,” they’d said. “They have nowhere else to go.”
“You have a responsibility,” his niece had said.
That really slayed him. Arlice, who’d never been responsible a day in her life, telling him he had to be responsible.
Well, he’d do his duty. They were, after all, family. But he didn’t have to like it, no matter what Mary said to him in the silent house.
He stood, carefully replaced the poem in the sideboard, and set to cleaning out the spare bedroom and the loft.
Chapter Two
Cammie Lynn was the first to arrive the following morning with Ben’s first guest.
“She hasn’t spoken in two years,” Cammie Lynn whispered. “It’s as if when… you know… what happened, she died, too, although not physically.”
Ben grimaced, remembering, and took the child’s suitcase.
“You know I tried to warn her about that biker guy,” Cammie Lynn said. “I told her, ‘Cherie, that guy is no good. You need to—'"
“That’s enough,” Ben said gruffly. “Thank you for watching her the past two years. You can be on your way.”
“Well, at least you could show a little gratitude!” Cammie Lynn exclaimed. “It’s not even like we’re family! But you wouldn’t take her—”
“My wife was sick, dying of cancer, for God’s sake. Show a little sense—especially in front of the little one!”
“I’ll have you know,” Cammie Lynn retorted, “we spent our own money on her—on clothes, and counselors and doctor’s visits. Never once did we ask you for a single penny! If Cherie hadn’t been my best friend—”
“Just go!” Ben said, trying to control his temper. “I’ll take her now, and you’re free of any responsibility.”
Cammie Lynn looked at the silent dark-haired girl and back at the angry gray-bearded man. The child had been through so much, and now to leave her with this… this horrid man seemed shameful. She felt like she was betraying her best friend all over again.
“If we weren’t going so far away, to Dubai, where my husband got a new job, we’d keep her,” Cammie Lynn said, as if pleading for his good will. “It would be the Christian thing to do.”
“You’ve done your duty. You’ll get good marks in heaven.” Ben turned away, leaving Cammie Lynn standing with her mouth hanging open.
“Harley, you’ll be okay here.” Cammie Lynn leaned down into the face of the eight-year-old, trying to reassure herself as much as the child. “Your grandfather will look after you now.”
The girl merely stared at the woman, took a step back, and turned to follow the man into the house.
Cammie Lynn watched the two trudge toward the rustic wood cabin, took a brief look around the shabby yard and the barking dogs, clenched her teeth in resolution, and climbed into the car to speed quickly away from the thought of what she was doing.
Chapter Three
Arlice cursed her mother for dying the month before and leaving her with the responsibility of the old aunt. She was darned if she was going to spend a dime of her inheritance taking care of the crazy old woman, no matter what she had promised her mother.
Now she found herself on a cross country journey with a woman in a strait jacket, who spit on her every chance she got. She sped through most of Texas, into Arizona and up through Colorado, Three days from Naples, Florida, to Marble, Colorado. She couldn’t get rid of the old whacko soon enough.
The first night at a motel in Louisiana, Arlice woke suddenly to find Aunt Gwen standing over her with a knife. Arlice screamed and knocked the woman down, wrestling the knife away from her. She’d thought about calling the police, but her mother’s will stipulated that if Aunt Gwen wasn’t cared for properly or if anything happened to her, Arlice wouldn’t inherit. If Arlice made sure Aunt Gwen was looked after, the trustees would release the first of several installments of a sizeable sum. So, she’d come up with this crazy scheme to foist the old woman onto her Uncle Ben. He was Gwen’s brother, well half-brother, after all.
From that moment on, Arlice never took the strait jacket off her aunt, even to allow her to use the bathroom. She stopped only briefly at rest stops for a quick nap.
Today was the last straw. At a rest stop outside Pueblo, Colorado, Aunt Gwen had sprinted away and been nearly run over by a truck. Fortunately, the truck avoided hitting her, and Arlice roughly grabbed her arm and forced her back into the car. Someone had called the police, who stopped her along I-25. It took every ounce of ingenuity to explain to the officer why her aunt was in a strait jacket and running toward a pickup that nearly plowed her down. The officer finally let them go after calling Uncle Ben to confirm her story.
Arlice was so enraged, she pulled onto a side road off the highway and forced the old woman into the trunk of the car as punishment. The thought of jail and losing the inheritance were the only things that kept her from killing the old bitch right then and there.
Arlice slammed the driver’s door, jammed the car into gear, fishtailed a circle on the dirt road and sped back toward the interstate, furiously muttering at the horrible old woman. Every so often, she looked in the rearview mirror and hurled a string of expletives at the figure in the trunk.
Outside Carbondale, she parked in a deserted lot, searched the area to make sure no one was watching, and opened the trunk latch. The smell nearly knocked her to her knees. Was she dead? She smelled so bad. No, she’d just soiled herself. Her stringy gray hair clung to her sweaty head. When she opened her eyes, she spat a great glob of sticky phlegm at Arlice, which arced up and hit her in the eye.
“I’ll bet you’ve been saving that up,” Arlice said grimly, and wiped away the spittle. “Well, another half hour, and I’ll never, ever have to see you again, you old witch!”
Arlice pulled the old woman’s hair, and spit into her eye. Then she roughly helped her out of the trunk and put her in the back seat.
“Lay down and don’t spit at me again, Aunt Gwen, or I swear I’ll leave you by the side of the road to rot, which I should have done in Florida!”
The old woman lay down, exhausted. She closed her eyes and breathed shallowly.
When she reached the turnoff to Marble, Arlice pulled the car to the side of the road. She pulled the nearly comatose Gwen to a sitting position and managed to take off the strait jacket, trying not to breathe in the stench. She pulled the seat belt around her and buckled it in place. She thought about tidying the woman’s appearance before Uncle Ben saw her, but the thought of touching the woman again nearly gagged her.
Five minutes later Arlice parked the car in the driveway of Uncle Ben’s cabin.
“Ran into some trouble, did you,” Uncle Ben said, a slight smile mocking her.
“She’s all yours,” Arlice said and opened the back door of the car.
Ben recoiled from the smell. “God, what did you do to her!”
“There were some minor… difficulties,” Arlice said tightly.
“So I gathered.” Ben took a breath, held it, and gently pulled the old woman out of the car. She weighed next to nothing. “You didn’t tell me she was in this bad of shape,” he said angrily.
Arlice slammed the car door, climbed into the driver’s seat, and sped down the driveway.
“She’s at her brother’s,” Arlice said into the phone after dialing the trust attorney’s number. “You can call him and confirm. Release the money!”
She never looked back, and she smiled triumphantly the entire way back to Florida.
Chapter Four
Anthony Rigazzi checked the map to see where he’d taken the wrong turn. He knew he should have called Ben first, but he wanted to surprise him, to see the look on his face when he showed up on his doorstep. He was also afraid if he called, Ben would refuse to see him.
Anthony had spent summers at his older brother’s cabin as a boy, fishing in Beaver Lake and hiking in the surrounding mountains. Mary was a first-rate cook and had always been kind to him. They were some of the best memories of his youth.
He tried to remember how he and Ben had fallen out but couldn’t pinpoint what started the whole fracas. They hadn’t spoken in thirty years, and Anthony was on a mission to right the past wrongs. Maybe then he’d find the path he was searching for, as life certainly hadn’t gone the way he’d expected. At forty-five, he was intent on finding the answers.
The GPS had taken him onto a high, razor-thin mountain road. He’d reached a point where half the dirt road had crumbled into the valley below, and there wasn’t room to go forward. He backed the car, trying not to look down into the nothingness of the abyss beside him, finally reaching a small turnout where he carefully maneuvered the car around and traveled back the way he had come, holding his breath until he regained the main road.
He stopped at a convenience store and bought a map, no longer trusting the GPS to direct him to his destination. He checked the address he had written down and rechecked the map. It would take another two hours to go the other way, but he had time. He wasn’t expected at his new job for another couple of days. He sped down the two-lane highway, wondering what he would find when he reached his brother’s home.
“Liz, I hate to ask, with you running the inn and all, but could you come over and help me with my sister? She’s in a bad way.”
“Well,” Liz hesitated, “Gracie will be here in a little while and she could cover the front desk for a few minutes, I guess.”
“I’d really appreciate it,” Ben said and hung up before Liz could change her mind.
After Mary died, Ben and Liz occasionally shared lunch together at the sole restaurant in Marble. Compared to Mary’s multi-faceted personality, Ben usually thought of Liz as tolerably average, but she was a good friend to have in a pinch.
“She really needs a shower,” Ben said when Liz arrived. “And I’m… well, I’m her brother and I haven’t seen her in a long time.”
Liz squatted in front of the chair where the woman sat, head slumped, lank gray hair hiding her face. “What’s her name?” Liz asked softly.
“Gwendolyn,” Ben answered. “Everyone calls her Gwen.”
“Gwen, dear,” Liz said kindly. “What can we do to make you feel a little better?”
Gwen did not look up or respond.
“I think she’s dehydrated,” Liz said, eying her critically. “Let’s get some fluids into her. And some broth will help. Do you have some soup you can heat up?”
Ben nodded and removed a can from the shelf.
“Lean on me, Gwen,” Liz said after Gwen had taken several sips of water. “We’ll get you into a nice warm bath.” To Ben she said, “I think she’s too weak to stand. I’ll have her sit down in the tub if you’ll help me get her there, and I’ll need your help to get her out, but I’ll cover her up first.”
“Understood,” Ben said.
From the loft overlooking the living room, a small face watched curiously. Who were these people?
“Now what?” Ben muttered irritably when he heard the knock on the door.
“Hi, Ben. Remember me?” At Ben’s confused look, Anthony said, “It’s your brother, Anthony.”
“Ben! Come help me! Quickly!” Liz called urgently.
“Check the soup,” Ben commanded and left the man standing on the doorstep.
Not the welcome I hoped for, Anthony thought.
Not much had changed as far as he could remember. The same large room, huge old wood stove, dark stained wood paneling, and a narrow hallway to the two bedrooms. He looked up at the loft where he’d slept as a boy and saw a small face gazing down at him.
“Well, hello!” Anthony said, smiling. “Who are you?”
The child didn’t answer.
Ben and Liz emerged into the hallway, and between them carried Gwen to the spare bedroom.
“She cried when I put her in the tub, poor thing,” Liz said as they re-entered the living room. “Try to get a few spoonfuls of soup into her when she wakes up.”
“I appreciate your help, Liz,” Ben said.
“It’s so sad,” Liz said. “She’s covered in bruises! Some new, some old.”
“When I get my hands on that wretched niece…”
“Oh, hello,” Liz said, spying Anthony standing at the stove.
“Meet Anthony, my brother.”
“Nice to meet you!” Liz said, gazing appreciatively at the handsome man. “Ben, you never mentioned a brother.”
“Long story,” Ben said
cryptically. "He's my stepbrother."
“Well, I’ve got to get back to the inn,” Liz said into the awkward silence, “but I’ll come back this evening and see how she’s doing.”
“Thank you again, Liz,” Ben said, escorting her to the door. “Little one,” Ben said, gazing up at Harley, “you better come down and have some lunch if you’re hungry.”
Harley carefully climbed down the ladder. She hadn’t eaten since the day before in the anxious knowledge she was being uprooted to another new home.
“This is my granddaughter, Harley. And Harley, this is your Uncle Tony.”
The girl sat down in a chair at the table without a word and awaited her bowl of soup.
Chapter Five
Gwen felt more alive than she had in a long time. The healthy mountain air, the good simple food Ben served, and the walks around Beaver Lake began to help her body to heal.
She had a vague recollection of a terrible car ride, and of being assaulted by someone. She tried, as with most things that hurt, to bury the memory deep into her unconsciousness. That’s what she did with Giovanni and the baby and most of the time it worked.
The current thread of thought that nagged and would not be silent concerned the strange man who constantly followed her with his eyes whenever she was inside the cabin. He reminded her slightly of Ben, but in a darker, more dangerous way. And he was singing in the middle of the night after that girl woke screaming, reminding her of things she preferred to leave deeply buried. And that strange little girl who never said a word. Just watched everything and everyone with those huge, hollow eyes, as if her life depended on it.
Gwen liked being away from them and the cabin, exploring further and further around the small village. With each passing day, she felt a little stronger, a little less befuddled.
“I thought you were leaving for your new job,” Ben said after Gwen had left for her afternoon walk.
The two men were sitting on Ben’s porch enjoying cold beers on the unusually hot June afternoon, while Harley napped inside. A dozen empty bottles sat on the table between them.
They’d barely said two words since his arrival, and Anthony decided it was time to have a conversation. He bought two chilled twelve-packs of longnecks at the Marble General Store and hoped to loosen Ben’s tongue. Anthony’s scheme was working as he uncapped two more bottles and handed one to Ben, but not the way he’d hoped.
“It’s been two weeks and you’re still here, eating my food, sleeping on my couch. Don’t you need to be working somewhere to support yourself instead of sponging off me?”
“I postponed going to the new job. I’ve been helping Liz at the inn with some repairs, in case you haven’t noticed. It’s earning me a little money. You need me to pay you? You low on funds?”
Ben snorted. “I’d say you were more interested in Liz than repairs.”
“No, I’d say it’s the other way around. She keeps coming to talk to me while I’m working. And, by the way, her nephew is a little punk. He’s staying there for a week. Besides, she’s not my type.”
“Maybe Gwen is your type?”
Anthony drew a breath in amazement. “I had no idea the great famous opera singer, Gwendolyn Rodolfo, was your sister.”
“Same mother. Different fathers. You need to leave Gwen alone.”
“Where did that come from? I haven’t said Boo to her.” Anthony took a long swig of beer. He hazily watched a large hawk circle high above on an air current.
“You can’t hurt her again… like she was hurt before.”
“I don’t think you know this, but she saved my life as a teenager,” Anthony said in a conspiratorial stage whisper, ignoring Ben’s warning, “and now that I’ve found her, I can’t just leave. I was so in love with her!”
“Don’t be so dramatic! You were always so damn dramatic,” Ben said in annoyance.
“Do you remember my mother?”
“Vaguely. Very lively as I recall.”
“Well, my mother was always screaming about how horrible the Italians were. How her Italian husband ruined her life after less than a year of marriage. How I ruined her life. She refused to have anything Italian in the house. I was Italian, at least half or more was. And the only thing that saved me from killing myself was Gwendolyn Rodolfo’s voice, singing Mimi’s part in Puccini’s tragic La Boheme, which I listened to in secret over and over again when my mother wasn’t home, so she wouldn’t break the record. I thought, if there was something that beautiful written about death, I could hope for a better life. I know it sounds odd, but it’s true.”
“A Romantic and dramatic!” Ben rolled his eyes in disdain.
“What’s wrong with being a romantic?”
“Being romantic doesn’t pay the bills. Life isn’t an opera. You have to be a man and make a living!”
“I’ve worked steadily since I was fifteen!”
“Was she really that awful? Your mother?”
“Worse. The only other thing that saved me was when she married Darren. He treated me like a son.”
“Too bad he didn’t treat me like a son after he married your mother.”
“Were you jealous?”
“Of course I was jealous! Damn it! He left me and my mother for you and your mother! We saw him less and less after that until I didn’t see him at all.”
“Why did you let me come to your house in the summers then? After all, I’m only your stepbrother.”
“You want the truth?
“Yes.”
“My father asked us, me and Mary, to let you stay. I think he felt sorry for you cooped up in the house with your mother, or maybe it made it worse for him with you there, and so he called and said would it be okay for you to spend the summer. He did that three or four years.”
“Darren did that?”
“Yeah, and I at least got to see him when he dropped you off and picked you up. Then he died and we lost the connection. But it looks like you invited yourself again for this summer, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess I did,” Anthony admitted. “Those were the best memories of my life, the summers spent here. I guess maybe I'm trying to find something that was lost.”
Anthony flashed back to his fifteen-year-old self, standing on the roof of the apartment building where he and his mother moved after Darren died in the car accident. It was June and he kept hoping every day that Ben and Mary would call to have him spend the summer, to be relieved from his mother’s raging and sniping. To somehow comfort him from the loss.
As the days wore on, and he didn’t hear from them, he stood closer and closer to the edge of the roof, thinking about how it would feel to fly off. Then he received the record from Mary, and Gwendolyn Rodolfo’s voice drew him back to the land of the living.
“Mary sent the record.”
“What?”
“Mary sent me the record of Gwendolyn Rodolfo singing Mimi in La Boheme that saved my life.”
“Mary was good that way, knowing what people needed,” Ben said, and after a moment admitted: “She told me we should ask you to come and stay that summer, but I didn’t want to. I blamed you and your mother for his death.”
Anthony sat in stunned silence.
“It was an accident, Ben. Somebody ran a red light and hit him.”
“I know. But it was all wrapped up with you. The anger and the grief. I should have listened to her. Mary knew what we should have done. She always did.”
“I’m sorry she’s gone, Ben.”
“So am I. She was a good woman. Better than I deserved.”
“To Mary!” Anthony said and raised his bottle in salute. Ben did the same. “To Mary.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Anthony said after a few minutes of silence, “I don’t think Darren was very happy being married to my mother. She was an angry, mean Armenian, soured by my Italian father leaving her before I was born. So, he usually bore the brunt of her rantings and ravings, or I did.”
“That somehow does make me
feel better,” Ben said, smiling for the first time since Anthony had arrived on
his doorstep. “Too bad for you."
“You’re a son of a bitch! You have no idea what I went through!” Anthony yelled and jumped from his chair. Thinking about the past had set his emotions on a high flame.
“Sit! Sit down!” Ben ordered. “Let’s not start this again, after we’re finally making up.”
Anthony slowly sat, allowing his boiling Italian blood to simmer. He had after all, come to make amends, not start a fresh war.
“Look, Tony,” Ben said, “I’m serious about you staying away from Gwen. I’ve seen how you look at her. And now I understand why. But she’s been very, very hurt, and I can’t have her hurt that way again. She hasn’t spoken in twenty-two years because of it, not since she was thirty years old.”
“Twenty-two years! Not speaking or singing?”
“Not a peep.”
“I thought maybe she was just saving her voice. That’s why she wasn’t talking. What happened?”
“You must promise not to speak of this to anyone. It’s actually a huge family secret.”
“I promise.” Anthony leaned closer. He was glad the beer was loosening Ben’s tongue.
“Well, Gwen had an affair with Giovanni Paluso.”
Anthony paused to think of where he’d heard that name. “The guy who sang Marcello’s part in the opera on my record?”
“Yes. She was going to have a baby, his baby, and when he left her to go back to his wife, she had a breakdown. She ended up in a hospital, and Giovanni took the child to be raised by his wife. Gwen never got over it. As far as I know she has never seen the child. She’s been in and out of mental hospitals ever since. Or staying with her sister, Arlice’s mother. They have the same father, different mothers. I think her father was Italian. She’d come home to our place after visiting him speaking Italian. And now that I think about it, my mother would not speak for months afterwards. I don’t know. Maybe she passed that on to Harley and Gwen. Anyway, you need to stay away from her! And if you can’t, it’s best that you leave. Now! I don’t want her hurt like that again.”
Anthony thought about this for a moment, put the half-finished bottle on the table, rose from his chair, and stalked unsteadily down the driveway.
“And get a job!” Ben yelled after him.
There were too many conflicting emotions coursing through Anthony’s brain. How dare Ben tell him what to do?
Then he started thinking about what Ben had said. Memories flooded back, mostly centered around Gwendolyn Rodolfo. His overactive dramatic imagination began worrying about her. He never imagined she would actually enter his life as a real live person. And then to know the tragic outcome of her life—could he stand on the sidelines and not try to help? He knew on some level she was really just a part of his past imagination. Still, she had some sort of hold over him, speaking, singing, or not.
He’d seen her travel toward the trail into the mountains, and decided he needed to keep an eye on her. He couldn’t let anything happen to his Gwen. And that scared him, because he was becoming obsessive. That hadn’t worked out very well in the past, when he became obsessed with a woman. And this one was damaged—maybe beyond repair. Maybe it was just best if he did go away. He’d have to think about what he wanted to do, what he should do. Then the remembered aria of Rodolfo and Mimi singing together on the rooftop of the garret in the first Act overwhelmed him with emotion. Life was going to be all right!
Gwen took one last look at the glorious gray-green shimmering aspens and the regal forest green pines from the high vantage point on the narrow road overlooking the valley before beginning the trek back the way she had come. Close to the outskirts of the village, she thought she saw that irritating man’s look of surprise at seeing her. He turned around, as if he didn’t want her to see him. Was he following her? She might have to talk to Ben about him. Talk to Ben. Ha! She laughed a silent, mirthless laugh, deep inside and rumbly, and the frozen-ess that had plagued her for over two decades splintered just a bit.
Chapter Six
“Did you have a good nap, little one?”
Harley rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She liked it when he called her little one. It made her feel safe, like she could sleep for more than a few minutes before slamming awake in terror.
She’d had The Dream every night since she went to live with Cammie Lynn, nightmares that tore screams from her over and over again, until she woke, heart beating like a herd of horses, leaving her to tremble and worry for the rest of the night. She saw the dark valleys beneath her eyes deepen each morning when she looked in the mirror but was helpless to stop the nightly onslaught.
At Grandfather Ben’s she still had The Dream and awoke to the sound of her own screams, but he would stand at the bottom of the ladder and gently say in his deep comforting voice, “It’s only a dream, little one. Go back to sleep.” And the other man, the one who slept on the couch, would begin to sing. She didn’t understand the words, but she liked the melody, and she would soon drift off, until The Dream roared once again. The deep valleys beneath her eyes were less black, more yellow.
“I have something I’d like to show you,” Ben said. “Are you feeling up to leaving the cabin today?”
He was talking funny, like Doug used to when he and Mom were sitting at the table with bottles in their hands, and then Doug would... She quickly closed that door, or tried to. It was staying open more often lately.
She thought about Grandfather Ben’s suggestion, weighing her curiosity with The Fear. So far, she hadn’t felt safe enough to venture outside the cabin for even a moment during the past two weeks. She looked into his serious face, feeling that he understood how hard this was for her, and nodded. He opened the door, went outside, and she followed tentatively.
“These are my dogs, little one,” Ben said. “The smaller one is Tyler, and the bigger one is Sebastian. Say hello to Harley.” The two dogs barked hellos, and Harley stood shyly behind Ben, peeking from behind to inspect the two greeters.
“I have six chickens, all with names that you can learn later. They give us the eggs we eat each morning.”
Harley examined the chickens, clucking and strutting around the fenced yard beside the two dogs, and then searched Grandfather Ben’s face to see if he was playing a joke. When she realized he was being serious, she nodded in acknowledgement.
“If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to show you something that was your grandmother’s.”
Harley searched her thoughts and feelings. Her curiosity won again and she nodded her head.
Ben slowly zig-zagged down the driveway, leaning this way and that, until reaching the lane that ran past a lake. Beaver Lake he called it. Further on, there was a small building on their left, a wooden one-story with a two-story tower attached at one corner. White frozen animals, foxes and mountain lions, peeked through the tall grass.
“Those are Grandma Mary's marble sculptures, and this was Grandma Mary’s studio. I think she would have liked you to see it.”
Ben waited for Harley to think about this. She heard the pain in his voice and recognized it. She nodded her assent, although not without anxiety. If Grandfather Ben was afraid, how could she face what was in there?
Ben removed a key from his pocket, took a deep breath, and walked resolutely toward the door. “I haven’t been here since Grandma Mary died a year ago, or before that, come to think of it, when she was sick.”
Ah, that was it. Grandfather Ben had somebody he loved die too.
He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. The hinges creaked loudly, as if protesting that Ben was entering and not Mary. The blinds were closed and Ben traveled around the room, opening them to let in the summer light. Harley peered inside, hesitant to enter. She finally took several steps inside. It smelled Good in here. She felt a radiant ray of sunshine on her face and felt Grandma Mary smiling at her.
“She was such a good woman,” Ben said, wiping away tears. “She was too good for me,” he muttered.
Harley stood in the middle of the room, eyes closed, and let the energy of the space surround and embrace her.
“Grandma Mary was a sculptor. She made animals and statues from the white marble that is mined here. That’s why the place is called Marble. I used to work in the mine.”
Harley slowly stepped through the room, gazing at each piece, finished and unfinished. She looked at a picture of herself when she was three or four tacked to a board, surrounded by flowers and hearts. She wondered how it came to be there, because she couldn’t remember a time when she’d met Grandma Mary. Her mother said once that she and her father didn’t get along, and he wouldn’t let Grandma Mary see them.
“Mary told me not to hold a grudge with Cherie, to forgive her, that we couldn’t get those years back.” Ben was talking to himself and then turned to Harley.
“Grandma Mary was sick when your mom… when your mom…” Ben paused, his voice unsteady. “Or I would have taken you instead of Cammie Lynn.”
Harley knew he was saying something important, but her brain only heard your mom. She turned and ran out of the building, down the lane past the lake, past the fenced yard and barking dogs, into the cabin and up the ladder, where she pulled a blanket over her head, rocked back and forth, and silently sobbed.
Chapter Seven
“I have a job!” Anthony announced a few days later upon entering the cabin.
“Where have you been?” Ben demanded. “You disappear without a word. How am I supposed to deal with not knowing what happened to you?”
“I didn’t think you cared,” Anthony said. “You told me to leave. Find a job.”
“You’re an idiot!” Ben exclaimed. He was sitting on the couch, eyes bloodshot, with several empty bottles of whiskey sitting on the coffee table in front of him.
“You been drinking since I left?”
“So what if I have! It’s nothing to you!”
“Where’s Gwen?” Anthony looked around the cabin, noting the dirty dishes on the table, clothes strewn about, and the unpleasant smell.
“Haven’t seen her,” Ben said. “She’s probably out walking. Not much to happen to her here in Marble.”
Anthony disagreed but didn’t say so.
“And where’s Harley?”
“She’s been spending time at Mary’s studio. She’s probably there.”
“But you don’t know? Christ!”
Anthony turned on his heels and stalked angrily to the studio Ben had pointed out earlier in his visit.
“Harley? Harley, are you in here?”
He pushed open the door, called her name several times, and nearly ran into Eric, Liz’s nephew. Anthony had met him when he did a few repairs at the inn the day before the conversation with Ben. The fourteen-year-old’s face was flushed and he looked flustered.
“Eric? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, uh Hi, Mr. Rigazzi!”
“Is Harley here?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. She’s up in the tower.” Eric laughed a nervous laugh. “Well, I gotta go. I leave tomorrow to go home.” He quickly rushed out of the studio. Anthony didn’t trust the boy. He was too polite, too patronizing as if he were covering up something.
Anthony climbed the winding staircase into the small circular room. Harley was laying on the mattress of a small day bed, staring into space.
“Did he hurt you?” Anthony asked softly.
Harley shook her head No. You called my name and stopped him before he could, she thought.
“But he tried to, didn’t he?” Her hollow eyes showed fear. “And he said he’d hurt you or Ben or Gwen if you told, right?”
Harley hesitantly nodded once and looked away.
“It’s not your fault.” Anthony sat down beside her. “I’ll say it again, you’re not to blame!”
He saw her lip tremble, and her breathing become shallow.
“Someone did hurt you, though, didn’t they? In the past.”
He watched her lips stiffen, holding in the words.
“That wasn’t your fault either. Was it the man who hurt your mother? Did he hurt you, too?”
He saw her go utterly still, and knew It was true. Anthony’s anger flared. He’d done a little Internet digging while he was in Glenwood Springs. Doug “Stonewall” Thompson was a white bag of trash, a member of a biker gang, who killed Cherie, Harley’s mother, Ben’s daughter, in a jealous fit of rage, and then killed himself, all while Harley hid in a closet and heard the whole fight. And then to know he’d abused Harley as well. Anthony wanted to kill the guy all over again.
“Harley, I want to say something to you. I won’t say it if you don’t want me to, but I think it will help.”
She didn’t respond, so he plowed on.
“Before I came to Ben’s house, I was a policeman, a detective. It was my job to catch guys like Doug and bring them to justice. Put them in jail. And while I can’t do that with Doug…”
He saw her shudder every time he said the name.
“I can tell you this. It was never, ever the fault of the children. It was always the fault of those bad, bad men.”
He saw her cringe away from his words.
“You couldn’t have saved your mother from that bad guy. She made the choice to stay with him. You did the right thing though. You stayed hidden. Now you can honor your mother by deciding to live again, to overcome the fear, and start experiencing new things. Do you think you can do that?”
Harley shrugged her shoulders, shrinking away from him.
“You don’t have to decide right now. Just think about it, okay?”
Harley sat up and flung her arms around Anthony. He felt her trembling, and her shallow, fearful breathing. She took a deep shuddering breath and slowly exhaled. For the first time in two years, she felt some of the tension drain from her body. As he held her tenderly, she fell sound asleep against Anthony Rigazzi’s steady, beating heart.
Gwen stood close to the edge of the high mountain trail. It was a game she liked to play, to see how close she could get without jumping off. The urge to jump was nearly overwhelming the closer she came to the rim. There was an adrenaline rush that made her feel alive.
Ben had been drinking for days, not really doing anything like cooking or cleaning, and that irritating man had disappeared, leaving her feeling alone and lonely, although she didn’t like to admit it. And there was the child, the girl who looked more dead than alive. She couldn’t stand any of it. She thought of the freedom of just letting go, of flying off the with hawks and sparrows.
“Don’t do it!”
What was he doing here?
“At least not until I tell you a story. Will you come back with me to the cabin? So I can tell you a story about how you saved me once upon a time a long time ago?”
He extended his hand, and she hesitated, thinking about the alluring drop to the valley far below. And then she let him lead her to the Jeep.
“I got a new job,” he explained, as he helped her to sit in the passenger seat and reached over to buckle the seat belt. “I’m giving tours of the high mountain roads, and they’re letting me use this Jeep. The guy who had the job had to leave suddenly, and I saw the advertisement on the door of the Marble General Store when I came back from Glenwood Springs. You know they have a really neat pool, and…” he continued talking as he backed the jeep, turned it around, and headed down the rough dirt trail.
“I’ll say it again,” Ben said. “Where have you been?”
“I went to Glenwood Springs to get some supplies.” He had needed time to think about the conversation he had with Ben, and the memories it dredged up. “I bought a tent and camped out for a few nights. If it’s okay I’ll sleep in the tent in your yard.” He realized he had a hard time sleeping in the cabin so close to Gwen and the feelings that roiled up as well. He had decided Ben was right and he needed to be careful where she was concerned.
Ben snorted. “Good for nothing, that’s what you are!”
“I sure missed that positive attitude! You want some eggs and bacon?” Anthony turned the eggs over easy with the spatula.
“Like I said, eating my food. Sleeping on my couch.”
“First of all, Ben, I’m no longer sleeping on your couch. I’m sleeping in a tent. And secondly, I’ve brought back enough groceries to feed an army, so I’m not eating your food. I'm eating my food. Now you want some of this, or not?”
Ben stood none too steadily. Harley and Gwen appeared at the table, too. The three sat down, took a collective sigh, and watched Anthony place the servings on each of their plates. It was as if something was finally right again in the world.
Chapter Eight
Harley held the violin lovingly. The tower had apparently been Mary’s second studio where she wrote and painted. Harley found stories and illustrations in a cabinet, and behind them the violin. She plucked a few notes and passed the bow over the strings. It sounded awful and wonderful.
Her mother, Cherie, during a few months of sobriety, had signed her up for violin lessons when she was four or five, and Harley remembered some of the instruction.
Uncle Tony had told her and Gwen the story of the record Grandma Mary had sent that saved his life. Sometimes he played the music of the opera for them on a record player he found in that place he had gone to. Glenwood Springs.
She hummed the melody and tried working out some of the fingering. It was tiring. She was thinking about Uncle Tony’s words—to try and start to live again. She was trying.
Anthony was driving the Jeep and keeping up a steady conversation with Gwen, who sat beside him, loving the wind flying over the windshield onto her face.
He’s different since he came back, she thought. Like someone turned on the light switch and he came out of the dark. She liked the cadence and timbre of his voice. She wasn’t paying attention to the words, just letting the sound cascade around her like beautiful notes. What was he saying?
“…so I was sleeping in the tent somewhere in the mountains next to a stream, feeling like I was really roughing it after only a day, Ha, and I had this dream, like an epiphany—is that the right word? And like a fairy godmother hit me on the head with a wand or something, a lightbulb went off in my head! I’d spent my whole life wishing for someone to take care of me, because I didn’t have it when I was a kid. But I was taking care of myself just fine, so what I really needed now in my life was to take care of someone else. To protect them. So I started thinking about you, and Harley, even about Ben, and that’s when I knew—I had to come back and see if…”
She lost the rest of his words, feeling like a gentle shower of rain had just descended upon her, nourishing the parched soul that had been so wounded. She closed her eyes, took a deep shuddering breath and exhaled, and fell asleep beside him.
When she woke, the Jeep was parked in a high mountain meadow, filled with deep golden-green grass and blue and pink wildflowers. The sun was shining, and a few plump clouds raced above. He’d spread a red and white checked tablecloth on the grass, setting upon it two plates and a bottle of wine with a woven straw bottom.
“I was wondering when you were going to wake up,” he said gently. “You hungry?”
Famished! she thought.
“Good! I brought lots of food, so you better eat up. Italian Chianti wine, too.”
He helped her out of the Jeep and stood close as she wobbled toward the tablecloth. She thought she’d been feeling stronger.
“It’s the thin mountain air this high up. Less oxygen. I’m feeling it, too.”
Who was supposed to eat all this food? He’d brought chicken, spaghetti with Bolognese sauce, and sandwiches, salads, and cookies. There was enough to feed twenty people.
“I thought you needed fattening up,” he said. “You’re a little on the too thin side.”
She frowned at him. Was he insulting her?
“No insult intended.”
She sat and he piled food on her plate. She watched him in fascination and finally put up her hand. Enough!
She nibbled away while he talked nearly nonstop between bites, saying anything that came to mind.
Finally, they both put down their wine glasses and plates. Anthony gazed around.
“It looks like the scene from the beginning of The Sound of Music when Julie Andrews twirls around and starts singing.”
Gwen gazed at him and their surroundings, stood up, walked toward the middle of the meadow and spun around. She flung out her arms, opened her mouth to belt out a note—and a tiny rusty croak was the result.
Anthony chuckled. “Well, it’s a start.”
Gwen sat beside him, blushing.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh.”
She punched him in the arm.
“Ouch. That hurt!” he said playfully.
She laid down on the tablecloth and placed her open palm in his lap. He gazed down at her and placed his large palm in her small one. She turned toward him onto her side, and soon was sleeping peacefully.
Chapter Nine
Jeep trips were scheduled every day for the remainder of the summer into September. Anthony enjoyed being out in the Rocky Mountains but missed being with Gwen and Harley during the day. He prepared dinner every evening and told funny stories about the tourists he toted around the high places.
Ben tolerated them all, but desperately wanted his privacy back. He became more and more grumpy as the days passed, so Harley and Gwen spent more time away from the cabin.
Gwen traveled on foot up the thin trail into the high country, but never again too close to the edge. Her rusty croaks were becoming tantalizing trills as she practiced reusing and stretching her vocal chords, away from the village where people would hear.
Harley practiced the violin for hours in the tower studio. Her fingers ached, but her heart sang at the melodies she was producing. It was during one of her resting breaks that she found the sculpture of Marble Girl in a closet. Her grandmother had captured the essence of Harley as if she were stepping out of the white stone.
Harley spent many hours studying the sculpture, seeing her resemblance and realizing her grandmother had been thinking about her as she created it. She felt close to Grandma Mary sitting there and began silently sharing things about her life. She felt Grandma Mary would have loved her and she would have loved Grandma Mary.
A few times a week Harley went to Liz’s office at the inn, one of the few places that had Internet in the small hamlet. Harley would watch YouTube videos providing instruction on the violin. She made a cardboard sign that said “Thank you” and would show it to Liz when she left. “You’re welcome!” Liz would say. “Come back any time.”
It all helped to fill the lonely time when Anthony was in the mountains working.
One evening after dinner Harley placed her small hand in his large one and pulled him toward the door of the cabin.
“You have something you want to show me?” Anthony asked.
Harley guided him into the tower room and showed him several stories and illustrations that Mary had created. He shuffled through the papers.
“These are very good!”
Harley nodded and looked up at him expectantly.
“You want to do something with these?”
Harley pointed to a book lying on the table.
“You want to make a book of these?”
Yes! Harley nodded enthusiastically, then frowned.
“But you’re afraid Ben won’t want you to.”
Harley sat down dejectedly on the day bed.
“You want me to talk to Ben?”
Would you? her eyes said.
“He and I aren’t on the best speaking terms right now. But I’ll try and find the right time and say something. Okay?”
She steepled her hands together in thanks. Then she pointed to one of the stories, pointed to him and then the space beside her.
“You want me to read this to you?”
The Calling was the title.
Mary had written a story about a place in your mind that allows you to call to someone you love and bring them to you. It was very good and very touching, a wonderful love story. Anthony had to wipe away a tear, and Harley leaned against him, sighing deeply at the end in pleasure.
“I see what you mean,” Anthony said. “This is very good. I’ll see what I can do to talk to Ben when the time is right.”
Gwen’s voice was improving every day. She still reserved her practice sessions to the wide outdoors high in the mountains, along burbling streams that sang beside her, or among the rustling of the aspen trees. Her range was expanding and the clarity of the pitch was beginning to match what it had been before. She was enjoying singing again.
One day on a bright August afternoon, she decided to try singing the favorite song she sang with Giovanni from La Boheme. Fear threatened to choke her, but she told It to be quiet. She stood on the high mountain trail and let the notes ring out in Italian.
Rodolfo …Rodolfo loves me and avoids me;
my Rodolfo is consumed
with jealousy.
A step, a word,
a necklace, a flower
make him suspicious,
so that he is vexed and angry.
Sometimes at night I pretend to be asleep,
and I can feel him intently spying
on my dreams in my face.
He constantly cries:
you're no good to me;
find yourself another lover,
you're no good to me!
Alas! Alas!
It's the fury talking inside him,
I know, but what can I answer him, Marcello?
To her surprise, a male voice answered not far
away, singing the counterpoint from the opera.
MARCELLO
Two people like you
shouldn't live together.
A young man walked up the trail singing his heart out, gesturing the way… Giovanni had! He even looked a little like Giovanni!
“Gwendolyn?” he asked softly.
“Tomas?” she whispered in disbelief, gently cupping his face with her hands, searching his features and seeing so much of Giovanni in him, but also herself.
“But, how…?” she whispered.
“Your friend Anthony,” Tomas gestured toward Anthony leaning against the front of the Jeep not far away, “found me and told me you were here. He told me what had happened… And I wanted to meet you.”
She began to cry and then continued the aria and Tomas Paluso answered.
MIMÌ
You I re right; you're right;
we must part.
Help us, oh do help us;
we have tried …
…many times, but in vain.
MARCELLO
I'm easy going with Musetta, …
... and she with me, because ...
…we love lightheartedly.
Singing and laughter, these are the flowers
of lasting love!
MIMÌ
You're right, you're right, we must leave one another …
…Do what you can for the best.
“You have made my life complete,” she whispered.
And he smiled. “Mine is too, now. Mother. May I call you Mother?”
"Yes, my dearest son. It is the sweetest music to my ears."
Chapter Ten
On a golden September afternoon, Anthony drove the Jeep to the high mountain meadow where he and Gwen had lunch in June. It was a different Gwen who sat beside him, gazing at the autumn splendor and enjoying his company. She was healthy, beautiful and full of hope. The clouds lay upon the mountains, and the aspens were showering their gift of leaves. It was the perfect setting for what he wanted to say.
Anthony spread the red and white checked tablecloth on the grass. Gwen walked to the middle of the meadow, spun around, and broke forth in song. The Sound of Music echoed from the mountaintops, a far cry from the rusty chirp she had made in June. Everything about the scene was breathtaking.
Anthony smiled at her and took her hand when she returned toward the banquet spread upon the tablecloth.
“I have something I want to talk to you about,” he said as they seated themselves.
“Yes?” she whispered. Singing was becoming easier, speaking not as much yet.
“My job driving tourists around the mountains is nearly over. I’ve enjoyed being here so much!”
Please don’t go, she thought. Please don’t tell me you’re leaving.
“I’ve applied for a job with the Carbondale Police Department. and they let me know they’ll be hiring me the first of October. It’s only a forty-minute commute from here in Marble, so I’m renting a house here.” He cleared his throat, somewhat fearing what her response would be. “I want you and Harley to live with me. And we’ll have a place for Tomas to stay when he comes to visit from New York between opera performances. And we can keep an eye on grumpy old Ben.”
Anthony maneuvered onto one knee. “Gwendolyn Rodolfo, I’ve loved you my whole life, now more than ever. Will you marry me?
“You know I will,” she sang.
“You saved me for the second time!” he smiled jubilantly.
“No, my love. You saved me,” she said and fell into his arms to be kissed again and again.
Harley stood in the center of the tower studio, playing “Are They Gone?” from La Boheme on the violin. From below and up the winding staircase came a beautiful voice singing the words in Italian. Gwen’s lovely face appeared above the stairs.
Have they gone? I pretended to be asleep
because I wanted to be left alone with you.
I've so many things to tell you . . .
or rather only one, but that one huge as the ocean,
as deep and infinite as the sea.
You are my love and my whole life.
“My dear child,” Gwen said softly, sitting on the day bed with Harley before her, “Anthony asked me to marry him, and we would like you to live with us, to be our daughter.”
“Yes!” Harley shouted joyfully, thrusting her arms up triumphantly, holding the violin and bow, the first words she had spoken in over two years.”I’ve been calling and calling for a new mother,” Harley whispered, “and I’m so happy it’s you!”
“I’m happy it’s me, too,” Gwen said with tears in her eyes.
And the Marble Girl smiled and smiled.
Copyright August 2021 Laura Deane LLC