Half-way up Topanga Canyon, Carl Snowman turned the Mercury stationwagon into the steep and curving driveway, past the mailbox that carried a Los Angeles Times flag, and through the leafy gardens that eventually took them up to the house. He parked the stationwagon at an angle, and jammed on the brake tight, so that it wouldn’t ran back downhill.
‘We’ve finished the extension now, you know,’ he told Season, switching off the engine, and opening his door. The key alarm buzzed plaintively in the warm evening air. ‘The playroom, the spare bedroom, everything. Sally can have a whale of a time.’
He opened the door for Season, and helped her out. Sally was in the back, covered by a rug, fast asleep after the flight. They had been delayed for three hours at Albuquerque, because of a refuelling problem and by the time they had reached Los Angeles, Season had been feeling distinctly frayed. Standing in the terminal at Albuquerque, staring out through the tinted windows at the sun-rippled concrete and the gleaming aeroplanes, she had been tempted to book a flight straight back to Wichita, and return to Ed.
It was only her urgent need to be herself, as well as Mrs Edward Hardesty, that had kept her away from the American Airlines desk. I have to give myself a try, she had told herself. If I don’t try, then I’ll never find out.
At the top of the cedarwood steps, the door of the house opened, and Season’s sister Vee appeared in the lighted doorway. She was two years younger than Season, but their friends invariably thought she was older. Her hair was bleached Beverly Hills white, and she had a deep California tan. Apart from that, she wore the smocks and Gloria Vanderbilt jeans of a determinedly casual movie director’s wife. Her hoop earrings swung as she kissed Season on both cheeks.
‘You’re so late! I expected you hours ago! I was beginning to think something awful had happened! Poor old Carl had to call the airline five times to make sure you weren’t scattered all over the Grand Canyon!’
‘It was something to do with the fuel,’ said Season. ‘I got to see rather more of Albuquerque air terminal than I really wanted to.’
‘Well, don’t you worry,’ fussed Vee. ‘You can rest up tonight, and sleep as long as you want tomorrow. I have your favourite dinner for you, and a bottle of champagne on ice, and you can take your shoes off and relax. Oh – and will you take a look at Sally! Hasn’t she grown?’
Carl was just lifting Sally out of the back of the stationwagon. He carried her across to the wooden steps in a careful and fatherly way – which wasn’t surprising when you knew that he had four children of his own by a previous marriage, the youngest of whom was ten. He was a stocky, well-preserved forty-five-year-old, with cropped white hair and a square Polish-looking face. He made sensitive and not very successful movies about young kids dropping out from school – Pursuit of Happiness-type pictures.
Sally stood in the hallway rubbing her eyes as Carl went to carry up the cases. Season said, ‘Don’t worry, honey – we’ll soon get you to bed. Would you like some milk and cookies?’
The inside of the Snowman house was built in natural, fragrant-smelling wood, with Navajo scatter rugs on the floor, and even an authentic cigar-store Indian presiding over the dining-area. The furniture was a self-conscious mixture of Italian stainless-steel and carved Mexican-Spanish, in red and gold. Already set out on the table, lit by trefoil candle-holders, were plates of salad and guacamole and taco chips.
‘We’re eating Mexican?’ asked Season. ‘That’s wonderful. I haven’t eaten Mexican in centuries. All we ever eat in Kansas is beef, and more beef, and for a change we have beef.’
‘You’re sure Sally doesn’t want to join us for dinner?’
‘No, no—’ said Season. ‘She’s tired. I’ll take her straight to bed. I’d like to wash up myself.’
‘Oh, before you go up – you must meet Granger. Granger – come and say hello to my favourite and only sister!’
From a corner of the living-area, carrying a large crystal tumbler of scotch, a lithe, blond-haired man appeared, wearing a black turtle-neck sweater, black trousers, and black shoes. He had a lean, ascetic face, with a hawkish nose. His eyes were very pale, as if the pupils had been bleached like a pair of blue jeans, from indigo to almost no colour at all. Around his neck was a massive silver crucifix, on which was impaled the body of Christ, in eighteen carat gold.
‘This is Granger Hughes,’ said Vee. ‘Granger, this is my dearly-beloved sister. Season Hardesty.’
Granger took Season’s hand, bowed, and kissed it. ‘I’m charmed,’ he said. ‘Coleridge wrote that “all seasons shall be sweet to thee,” and how right he was.’
‘Well, he’s dead now,’ said Season, slightly embarrassed. ‘True,’ said Granger, ‘but I’m pleased to see that you’re keeping his sentiments alive. You’re a very pretty woman.’
‘Thank you,’ Season told him. She wasn’t used to compliments, and she knew that he had made her blush. Out in Kansas, the nearest she had ever received to a compliment was that she was ‘sassy’. She glanced towards Vee for some moral support, but Vee was simply grinning her toothy California grin and taking Granger’s suavity for granted.
‘Are you a priest, or something?’ Season asked Granger. ‘You seem to have all the necessary accoutrements.’
‘I’m a priest of sorts,’ said Granger, with a cryptic smile. Vee said, ‘He’s more than a priest. Season. He’s a spiritual leader. Carl and I met him through Dr Schauman – that’s our analyst. We went to a wine-and-cheese party at Bobby Wanderelli’s – you know Bobby Wanderelli who plays the cousin in The Fortune Saga on television? I mean, it’s a terrible show but he’s a wonderful person. You’d have to be wonderful to play that part for three series and stay sane! Anyway, Granger was there and Dr Schauman introduced us. He said he felt that both of our lives could do with some of Granger’s religious solidity. Granger’s very literal in his interpretation of the scriptures, you know. He believes that all the miracles that Christ performed actually happened – you know, like raising Lazarus and walking on water – and he thinks we can all achieve the same kind of miracles if we give ourselves to Christ.’
Season was watching Granger the whole time that Vee was talking. He had a slight smile on his face, but his eyes were giving away nothing. When Vee had finished. Season nodded as if to say, well, Mr Hughes, very impressive.
‘I call my group “The Church of the Practical Miracle”,’ said Granger.
‘And you really believe you can work miracles, the way Christ did?’
‘You sound cynical,’ said Granger. ‘You don’t believe in what the Bible tells us about Jesus?’
‘Maybe I’m just tired,’ said Season. ‘You’ll have to forgive me, but I’ve just flown here from Kansas, with a three-hour stopover in New Mexico. I don’t think anybody would feel like performing miracles after that, or even witnessing one. You’ll excuse me.’
‘Wait,’ said Granger, and the sharp way in which he said it made Season pause. ‘Wait,’ he said again, in a gentler voice.
Season looked at him. ‘Mr Hughes – Granger – I really want to go take a shower.’
He stepped closer. His eyes stared into hers unfalteringly. She could smell the cologne he was wearing. It was dry, like Kansas grass. Vetiver, probably, or Monsieur Worth. Somehow it seemed rather odd for a self-styled spiritual leader to be wearing Monsieur Worth.
‘You’re feeling tense, aren’t you?’ he asked her. ‘Your mind feels wound up like a clockspring, and you’re exhausted.’
She looked at Vee again, but Vee was enjoying every minute.
Granger raised his hands. They were long-fingered, with professionally-manicured nails. He wore no rings at all, nor bracelets.
‘Allow me to touch your forehead,’ he said. ‘I promise you that you will feel better.’
Season hesitated, but Vee said, ‘Go on. Season, he’s marvellous. You’ll feel so much better.’
Season suddenly realised that she was reacting like an uptight Wichita farmer’s wife. Don’t you go tampering with them things you don’t understand the nature of, young man. She smiled, and relaxed, and said, ‘All right I’m willing to try anything once. Provided it’s moral, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Granger, warmly. He extended his fingers, and with the cool tips of them, touched Season’s forehead just above her eyebrows. ‘Do you want to close your eyes?’ he asked her. ‘You don’t have to.’
‘Close them,’ prompted Vee. ‘You’ll be amazed what you see. You know, like the visions you get in back of your eyelids.’
‘Now,’ said Granger, ‘I want you to feel the power that is flowing through my hands in the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ. It is the power of healing, the power of forgiveness, the power of purity. All those feelings which were troubling you, all those uncertainties, they will all resolve themselves. Jesus hears your troubles, and knows of your indecision and he understands. He will help you.’
Strangely, Season began to feel soothed. She could imagine some kind of gentle warmth radiating from Granger’s fingertips, and smoothing out the knots and crumples that the day had made in her mind. She wasn’t sure about Jesus, but the reassurance that someone understood how uncertain she felt, and how anxious about her marriage – that reassurance in itself was enough to calm her.
Granger murmured, ‘You’re a very lovely, magnetic person, Season. You have an aura about you which makes you both attractive and sympathetic. I don’t think in my whole time in the service of Our Lord that I’ve ever come across anyone with whom I felt so close so quickly.’
Season opened her eyes. Granger was staring at her through the cage of his upraised fingers. The pupils in those washed-out irises of his were contracted almost to pinpoints.
‘How do you feel?’ he asked her, lowering his hands.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Better, I think.’
‘Isn’t he marvellous?’ enthused Vee.
‘Well, I certainly feel less harassed,’ agreed Season, brushing back her blonde hair with her hand. ‘Are you staying to dinner. Granger?’
Granger shook his head. ‘I regret not. I have a meeting tonight. Even a church has to be run like a business these days. I have to fill out Form One-o-two-three for the IRS with my accountants.’
‘Didn’t Jesus throw the money-changers out of the temple?’ asked Season.
‘He certainly did,’ agreed Granger. ‘And one day, I hope I can do the same. That’ll be a miracle worth praying for.’
They saw Granger to the door. Carl had already taken Sally upstairs to her bedroom in the extension, and they could hear her giggling and screaming as Carl chased her across the landing with a Cookie Monster glove-puppet Granger stepped out on to the elevated wooden porch, and looked out over the warm twinkling Los Angeles night.
‘Thank you for your hospitality, Vee,’ he said. ‘And thank you for introducing me to Season. You take good care of her while she’s here. She’s a very special person.’
‘It was good to meet you,’ said Season. Granger took her hand, and gave it a quick, affectionate squeeze.
They both stood by the railing as Granger walked around to the car port at the side of the house. A few moments later, he reappeared in a glossy black Eldorado, booped the horn a couple of times, and drove off down to the road. They watched his tail-lights disappear through the leaves.
‘Well,’ said Vee. ‘What do you think of our spiritual leader? Quite miraculous, isn’t he?’
‘He’s good-looking. Maybe a little theatrical.’
‘Theatrical? Well, he may be theatrical by Kansas standards, but by Hollywood standards he’s positively normal. You ought to see the guru that Marjorie Newman goes to see. Hairy, and yukky, and not too particular about the condition of his loincloth, either. I think Granger’s a doll. If I wasn’t so much in love with Carl, I think I might be tempted to test his spirituality for weak spots.’
They went inside, and the screen door banged behind them. ‘You must come and see the extension,’ said Vee. ‘First we had fires, then we had a mudslide, but somehow we managed to survive long enough to finish it off. Thank God we don’t have any more disasters on the slate.’
‘I ought to call Ed and tell him we’ve arrived safely,’ said Season. ‘Is there a phone in my room?’
‘Oh, sure. Listen – let’s go upstairs and I’ll show you around. Then you can come down and have something to eat. Mind you – the way prices have been shooting up around here, we’re lucky to have half a tomato to nibble on.’
‘There’s been some kind of trouble with the vegetable crop here, hasn’t there?’ asked Season. ‘Some tomato grower was talking to me on the plane. And trying to make a pass, I might add. At least until Sally came walking along the aisle, calling me “mommy”.’
‘I don’t suppose it’s anything as bad as that wheat blight you’ve had in Kansas,’ said Vee, leading Season up a curving wooden staircase to an oak-panelled passageway. ‘But you have to do your marketing pretty early in the day if you want fresh lettuce and celery. By mid-morning, most of the stuff’s gone. Still – they say it’s just a “temporary shortfall”.’
‘You should have seen the farm,’ Season said. ‘The wheat was all black and drooping for miles. Poor Ed was absolutely heartbroken.’
‘I expect Ursula was, too.’
Season raised her eyes to heaven. ‘Don’t talk to me about Ursula. She’s like one of those terrible women in an Edgar Allen Poe story. She’d have me beheaded if she thought it would help South Burlington Farm.’
‘This is your room,’ Vee told her opening the door of a wide, airy, studio with a sloping dormer roof and a polished wooden floor. ‘You wait till you wake up in the morning. There’s a beautiful view of the canyon. Your shower’s through there, and your telephone’s right over on the desk.’
‘Vee, it’s beautiful,’ said Season. ‘I just know that we’re going to feel right at home here.’
Vee held her arm. ‘You’re okay, aren’t you? I mean, Ed didn’t take it too bad?’
Season lowered her eyes. ‘He didn’t want me to go, if that’s what you mean. He was more upset than he was saying. But he knows I have to get away from Kansas, even if it’s only for a week.’
‘What about your marriage?’
‘Well, I don’t know. I’ll have to see how I feel. Ed doesn’t want to give up the farm and I don’t want him to give it up, either. If I took South Burlington away from him, just for my own selfish reasons, it would be like castrating him. He’s a farmer, Vee, and when I married him I never even realised. But whether I can face up to going back to Kansas or not…’
Vee ran her hand through her sister’s blonde hair. ‘It’s that bad, huh?’
Season nodded. ‘It’s wheat and it’s sky and that’s all.’ Vee kissed her. ‘You wash up, get yourself ready. Carl will take care of Sally. And listen. Season, whatever happens, just remember we love you.’
Season’s eyes filled up with tears. She held her hand over her mouth and the tears slid down her cheeks and clung on her fingers like diamonds. ‘I’m sorry, Vee,’ she said. ‘I’m tired, that’s all.’
‘Sure,’ said Vee, hugging her. ‘I’ll see you in a while.’