The Skeleton of Remembrance

“Leo Lightfoot!” A musical voice stopped Leo mid-stride as she crossed the grocery store parking lot.

Uncle Paul took the paper bag from her arms. “Go on, say hello. I’ll wait for you in the truck.”

“It’s so good to see you.” Judy’s smile was broad. There was no artifice. She rested her arms across a large, pregnant swell and continued, “I heard you married Jake and moved to Tulsa.”

“Judy, hi.” Leo stood awkwardly, trying to fold into herself. The insecurities and shyness associated with high school returned. Of course, Leo remembered Judy Langard, the star of all of Tahlequah high school’s musical productions, the girl everyone said would make a name for their small town, who would burst onto the big screen; her voice and acting had been that good. Leo helped behind the scenes with every production except the one in the spring of their senior year when she left with Jake. She remembered watching Judy perform and sing, wishing she could be more like her, self-assured and confident. She was surprised Judy remembered her name. Self-consciously, Leo brushed a lock of hair from her face. “True, I did marry Jake, but that didn’t work out. We’re getting a divorce.” Saying the words for the first time out loud felt good.

“Glad you woke up. That guy was nothing but bad news.” A lump from Judy’s mid-abdomen popped upward. The tiny curve of a heel or an elbow made a steady track across her belly. Judy laughed. “Whoa, slow down, little one.” She gently touched the protrusion until it disappeared.

Leo watched, fascinated. “When are you due?”

“Two weeks to go, but I don’t think he’ll wait that long. He wants to join his two-year-old sister and get the party started.”

Leo did the calculations quickly. She wanted to ask but refrained.

As if reading her mind, Judy offered, “I tried to hide my pregnancy during our last musical production of the Wizard of Oz. Thank goodness for Dorothy’s billowing aproned dress. Brody and I graduated, then got married the following weekend. Our daughter was born a month later. The ride hasn’t been easy, that’s for sure, but we’re doing okay.” She paused and looked at her watch. “Oh man, I gotta get going. Brody can’t be late for work. Hey, why don’t you give me your number? We can get together, you know, talk and catch up.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a glittering gold-encased phone.

****

Leo jumped into the pickup. Uncle Paul waited until she buckled up. “Ready to move into your new digs and start your new life, kiddo?”

Leo held the grocery bag in her lap and offered him a quick smile along with a thumbs-up sign as he guided the truck onto Mahaney Avenue.

Just past the peaceful hamlet of Sleepy Hollow, population 206, off the main artery, on the road with no name, just an official number, an iron-rich path stained red from oxidation appeared. Uncle Paul navigated the umbilical cord tough, bumpy excuse of a driveway carefully. A canopy of trees sheltered the drive. As they unhurriedly bounced along, light and shade rippled through the truck’s window creating an impression that Leo was holding her breath just under the surface of a lake. The image stayed with her until the vehicle finally burst into a clearing. The long abandoned, round river stone house stood in an extensive field of prairie grass. On one side, a stand of scrub pines leaned inward as if offering a promise of protection. Two hundred yards away, a densely treed grove sprung upward. Leo jumped out of her uncle’s truck.

As she surveyed her new home, she had an overwhelming sense of familiarity. “I’ve been here before.”

Uncle Paul stood beside her. “You can’t possibly remember, can you?” Was there a catch in his voice? “The last time I brought you here, you were about two years old, maybe two and a half, but never….” He stopped.

“Never after my mom left.” Leo finished for him, and he nodded.

After helping Leo unload her bike, the groceries, and a bag of necessities her dad and Jennifer put together, he led her through the front door. Inside was temperate, cocooning. The still air held a sense of mystery, of time suspended. Leo walked through the circular interior, touching the furthermost wall as she moved. One living space flowed seamlessly into the other, without clear delineation, the entrance, sitting area, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. And at the center of the home, around which all other spaces revolved, sat a sturdy, cast iron wood-burning stove. The home’s contents contained nothing superfluous but everything essential to living.

Open shelving lined the kitchen with two china plates, two hand-blown glass goblets, and a dark red tea kettle. In a small wicker basket were forks, knives, and spoons, and near the window sat a walnut table with two carved chairs. Underneath a set of slanted, ladder-like stairs, which led to a smaller circular loft, was a raised double bed with built-in storage drawers. A toilet, a pedestal sink, and a sunken open shower with a rain-washed slate floor were in the bathroom. Four arched expansive windows, ones with no coverings, hugged the exterior wall, each perfectly spaced and each one with a purpose, allowing the home’s occupants to gaze outward in every direction: due north, south, east, and west. The interior was simple but elegantly designed. Each time Leo made the circuit, she noticed something new, a hidden closet, a recessed shelf for books–unpretentious, charming details, unexpected gifts.

Uncle Paul popped up from the storm cellar underneath the kitchen floor. He brushed cobwebs from his hair and smiled. “You’re all set. They turned the electricity back on this morning, and I primed the pump. Wait a few hours before you try and take a hot shower.”

It was hard for Leo to tell what he was thinking as he looked around. His usually easy-going expression was thoughtful and distant. What was he like back then? She tried to imagine a twenty-year-old Paul, flush with love and enthusiasm for his unfolding life. She can see him with his construction buddies, carefully crafting this home for his young bride. Her father, ten years old at the time, tagging along with a heavy hammer in his hand, seriously trying to help. She can also see her dad, tired of tediousness, racing around and around the circular interior, laughing out loud. A delighted puppy chasing his tail.

As he surveyed his long ago handy-work, Uncle Paul sighed deeply. He stretched and twisted a dormant vintage Edison-like bulb in its socket, which hung suspended over the kitchen sink. The light sprung to action as if having just awoken from a deep sleep.

“You’ll need to clean her up, kick out those field mice, check the bathroom cabinet for scorpions, and brush the spiders off the external stone. She’s a bit rough right now, but once you settle in, she’ll soften. In the summer, the insulating stone will keep you cool. In the winter, all you’ll need is the wood burner, and you’ll be warm. She’s yours for as long as you need her.” He paused and sized up his niece as if checking for broken parts. “There will be countless surprises if you are open to them. My goal was to have the natural world be an extension of our home. I wanted every season to bring something new and unexpected.”He laughed quickly and stated more to himself than to Leo, “But we all know how that went. When my wife left, she told me she was suffocating, that marriage and life in this house weren’t what she imagined.” His words contained no bitterness, the process of aquamation over time leaving little more than a washed, clean skeleton of memory.

“We didn’t live here long, and I’m not sure if the land still holds its secrets. My hope for you, Leo, is that this self-contained abode and the surrounding land will help you heal.” He stood by his truck, the driver’s door already open, and hugged her fiercely. He smiled the patented Lightfoot smile. “This is your journey, Leo, but remember, you’re not alone. Visit often, come for a cookout, invite us to dinner, or drop in unannounced. Cell phone coverage is bound to be spotty, but if you need anything, call. Or if you can’t reach us, send up a road flare, and we’ll be here.”

Leo watched until his taillights were no longer visible. From deep inside the stone house behind her, she could hear the faintest of footfalls, steps from the past moving toward her.