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Kelly stood in the rental car lot of the Glacier Park International Airport and stared to the east. The granite mountains she’d vaguely remembered seemed much more imposing, solidly blocking the way to the rest of America. Only two roads went through, she remembered: the twisty scenic road through Glacier National Park and the only slightly less convoluted route to the south of it.
Somehow, she was going to have to carve out some time for the park during the week she was here. Who knew when she’d get back again?
With a sigh, she got into the Toyota pickup truck she’d rented and started it up. Cleaning out a house often involved moving things out. At least she was prepared.
Navigating from the airport, she headed toward the park and then north to Whitefish, where she had an appointment to meet Bruce Henderson.
The attorney’s office was in a small house just off the town’s main drag. Many of the houses in that area had been converted to small businesses, leaving the main downtown area to the tourist shops and restaurants. The door was open, only the screen door keeping the few bugs out.
She pulled open the door and stepped into a comfortable waiting room. As soon as she settled into one of the overstuffed armchairs, an inner door opened and Bruce—at least she assumed it was Bruce—emerged from a hallway. His thinning hair revealed his years, but his physical appearance and movements were of a much younger man.
“Hello, Kelly,” he said as she rose. “I feel like I know you already. Henrietta told me so much about you.”
“Nice to meet you.”
He led her back to the office where he went over the documents she needed to sign, as well as gave her a copy of the will. “Henrietta insisted I use as simple language as possible. None of that legal speak,” he added in a voice close to that of an older woman who suffered no nonsense. He smiled, his dark brown eyes losing focus for a moment. He must have enjoyed a memory.
She glanced through the papers he’d given her, paying special attention to the clause about selling. “So no matter how long it takes,” she said, “I must find my grandmother’s note and show it to you before I can list the property.”
“That’s right.”
“What if I never find it? What if she forgot to write it?”
“Look,” he said, a touch of irritation in his voice, “I’m quite sure that your grandmother wrote that note before she even changed her will. She was not a woman to leave things to chance. Everything she did had a purpose.”
“She wanted me to come back to Montana,” Kelly said.
“It seems that way.”
“But for what purpose? My home is in California. There is nothing for me here.”
“Your grandmother apparently thought differently. I understand you’re a teacher. So I’ll tell you what. If you can’t find it by the time summer ends, we’ll talk about what to do next. Okay?”
Summer ends? She had a whole list of things to accomplish in California. She couldn’t stay here for the summer.
“Thank you,” she said. But she was going to find that note and fast. Even if she had to tear the entire retreat center apart.
HER GRANDMOTHER’S PLACE was at the end of the point by the small town of Promise Cove on Whitefish Lake. Kelly made a left by Culver’s General Store, a place she remembered for its old-fashioned candy counter but little else. Threading through the pines, she stopped only to open the gate to the center.
Not bothering to bring anything with her except her purse and keys, she carefully locked the truck before taking the path to the front door. Weeds and brush crowded the walkway, and the logs that made up the side of the house were graying.
Her hand trembled a bit as she inserted the key in the lock. The door, stiff with disuse, protested as she opened it,
The first thing she saw was the baby grand coated with a good layer of dust. When had that appeared? It had never been here during visits with her mother, only an aging upright. Next to it, the large glass window, which also needed a good cleaning, looked out over the cove and beyond to the lake that extended all the way to the town of Whitefish. As a young girl, she could sit in her favorite armchair, staring out at the water while her grandmother’s soft, classical music played in the background and savory aromas drifted in from the kitchen on the other side of the great room.
The fireplace on the wall shared with the kitchen looked as if it hadn’t been used in a while. There were no ashes, but a few logs and kindling had been set up to start a fire whenever she wanted. Who had been so kind?
To the right of the great room, the large dining room table and its set of mismatched chairs was as she remembered it, although it was also dusty. The kitchen toward the back was neat, with dated appliances. The new owner could take care of that.
She peeked in the mudroom. Freezer, washer, and dryer. Good. She had no idea where the nearest laundromat was. Bruce had assured her that the electricity was on and the water operated from a pump that had been checked out recently by a local handyman.
Returning to the great room, she looked around again. There was peace here. Her grandmother had accepted much that had happened to her, including her husband’s desertion when Cynthia was only a few months old.
“It wasn’t to be,” her grandmother had told Kelly when she’d asked. “There was no point in making a fuss about it. Begging wouldn’t bring him back to me, not in a good way. The only thing was to figure out a way to make a living and get on with it. Fortunately, this property had belonged to my parents, and we hadn’t gotten around to putting his name on it, so I had a place to begin.”
Kelly climbed the stairs to the second floor. The bathroom was here, along with a large bed covered with quilts, the iron bedstead dark against the log walls. A second fireplace rose above the one on the ground floor, serving as an anchor point for the sitting area that had been created with a large, braided rug and a padded rocking chair. Books and papers lined one outside wall, while the opposite wall held another large-paned window.
She turned the rocker toward the window and sank down. The great expanse of the lake lay in front of her, graying in the dimming light of evening.
What if she turned everything on its head and stayed in Promise Cove for the summer? The garage could wait. Her children didn’t need her now; they could call Montana as well as California. If she ever decided to play again, there was a piano ready and waiting.
Not that she could see the point.
She stood so abruptly the rocking chair took a couple of hard thumps before going still again.
It was all nonsense. She’d find the note, show it to Bruce, and then get back to where she belonged.
Decision made, she retrieved her things, freshened up in the bathroom, and went back to the truck to fetch her lone suitcase.
ONCE SHE’D HUNG UP her clothes, she walked around the property. The note could be anywhere. How was she going to explore all of those buildings in a week? Her grandmother wouldn’t have made it that difficult, would she?
The note had to be in the house. That was the only thing that made sense.
Kelly headed back to the kitchen, hoping there was something there she could cook for dinner. After a day of flying, driving, seeing an attorney, and dealing with the house and its memories, she was out of energy for the people who’d be shopping at Custer’s.
The same person who had set up the fires—but not dusted— had apparently thought of other needs. There were towels in the upstairs bathroom, the sheets on the bed appeared clean, and best of all, there were several cans of soup in the cabinet and pre-packaged meals in the freezer.
A microwave stood in one corner, so she opted for a freezer meal. While it cooked, she looked at the book she grabbed from one of the upstairs bookcases: Montana Sunrises, Poems from a Quiet Land. To her surprise, the author was her grandmother, Henrietta R. Paulson. She leafed through the book and settled on one to read.
Silent footsteps remain where others walked,
Native, white, coyote, wolf.
The whispers of their passing still linger
In the soft pines of the earth.
The ding of the microwave brought her back to reality, even though she was tempted to stay in the world her grandmother had created. What had it been like to live in this beautiful place and create poems that resonated with such bliss?
