Liz and Isabel had hoped to make better time coming back, but Monday’s rush-hour traffic slowed them down as they crossed into Massachusetts. Liz was exhausted. They’d had a good workout this morning, kayaking and then swimming with the dogs, and yesterday had been nonstop. After a blueberry-pancake breakfast Sunday morning, they’d taken the dogs on a short hike to a nearby waterfall and then spent the rest of the day rushing from sale to sale until the van couldn’t hold much more. There was room for books, though, and Liz made a point of taking Isabel to a few little-known shops tucked away along the back roads that would have heaps of musty old books sure to contain a few treasures.
And Isabel had found those treasures, a whole box full, her biggest find a complete set of oversized reference books entitled Character Sketches of Romance Fiction and the Drama. Replete with illustrations of wood engravings, etchings, and brilliant photogravures, the collection was a reader’s guide to plot and character summaries of the world’s most beloved stories. Isabel kept one out for the ride home and for two hours kept Liz entertained with stories ranging from Don Quixote to Puss-n-Boots. When Isabel grew tired of reading, she went over the book’s anatomy, commenting on the leather and cloth cover boards, the gilt-tooled motifs and silk-moiré end sheets. She said her thirty-dollar purchase would easily bring three hundred if she were inclined to sell, which she wasn’t, and she didn’t mind that the books’ spines were moderately rubbed because, as Isabel put it, the internals were exquisite.
Liz was sure Isabel’s “internals” were just as exquisite, but she was beginning to doubt she’d ever find out. She’d finally met a woman she could actually be with for days without wanting to run away, but something told her this love might be, in the end, unrequited—karma’s way of kicking her in the ass for the many hearts she’d broken.
“This may sound like a stupid question,” Liz said, “but why did you get that old dictionary? I mean, with the internet, does anyone even buy new dictionaries anymore?”
“They’re just fun to read, souvenirs of the past…reminders of change, progress, the passage of time.” She shrugged. “I love looking up words that don’t appear.”
Liz looked at her oddly. “Words that don’t appear?”
“Yes.” Isabel paused. “Take the word teenager, for instance. It didn’t appear in a dictionary until after World War Two. And you won’t find automobile, telephone, or camera in dictionaries from the early 1800s.”
“Ah, because they didn’t exist back then. Hmm…I never thought about that.”
“It must be fascinating to be a lexicographer—someone who compiles dictionaries.”
“I can’t think of a more exciting job.”
Isabel made a face at her. “I like old encyclopedias for the same reason. It’s interesting to look up people, theories, inventions that have changed the world and the way we think, and not find them there because they hadn’t yet been born, or developed, or invented.” Isabel looked over at her with the cutest apologetic smile. “I know. You think I’m eccentric.”
Liz laughed. “Engrossing, yes. Quirky, maybe. Eccentric? You’re too young to be eccentric. Check back with me in a few decades, and I’ll let you know.”
Isabel gave a soft snort of laughter as she unscrewed the top of a water bottle and took a drink. She had let her reserve down over the weekend, and Liz loved seeing her this animated and talkative.
“Do you think we can stop at the next rest area?” Isabel asked.
“I was just about to suggest that. I need coffee, and I know these dogs need to stretch their legs.” She glanced at Blue and Loosey, who were sandwiched together right behind the front seats. “Aww…you babies are such good travelers,” Liz said to them. “I’m sorry the ride back isn’t as comfortable as the one going up.”
“If you’re tired, I’ll drive the rest of the way,” Isabel offered.
“Yeah? Well, if you handled a race car, you can handle the van…if you don’t mind.”
“I love driving. I could drive all day long.”
Liz smiled over at her. “I think I learned that about you this weekend.”
* * *
Gwen and Rosa had finished eating and were having coffee on the porch when the phone rang. Rosa ran back in to answer it, and when she came back out she looked at Gwen’s bare feet. “That was Isabel. You better go get your sneakers. They’ll be here soon and need help unloading.”
“Really? How did she sound?”
“So excited. She go on and on about a video of her racing a car.” With a mimicking gesture, Rosa flapped her fingers like a talking puppet. “Boca del motor!”
Motormouth. That was a good sign. It meant Isabel was having a great time. Isabel tended to grow introspective and self-conscious when she stayed quiet for too long. Gwen nodded her satisfaction. She’d done well to force her to go away.
It was dusk when the van pulled up, and Rosa and Gwen were ready to help. The dogs bounded out like kids returning from a great adventure, so much to tell but no words for all they’d seen and done. Liz was the first to kiss both Rosa and Gwen and hand them a basket of wild Maine blueberries, two jars of jam, and a bottle of blueberry wine. Rosa took the gifts, and Gwen gave Liz a tight squeeze. Her warmth and energy were infectious. Isabel would be crazy to pass this woman up. “Thank you so much for taking her,” she whispered to Liz.
And then Isabel kissed her hello. “So?” Gwen asked. “You had a good time?”
“The best. I want to be a race-car driver!”
Gwen just shook her head. She’d sent Isabel off in hopes the weekend would lead to romance, not a career change.
“Wait until you watch the video,” Liz said. “Isabel was amazing, a real natural on the circuit…and she just happens to look adorable in a helmet and jumpsuit.” And when Isabel blushed, Liz changed the subject and looked up at the porch. “Is Bertha still here?”
“Mm-hm. She’s somewhere in the trees, probably in bed for the night.” Gwen gave a helpless shrug and shook her head. “I can’t get her to come into the house at night anymore.” She turned her attention to Isabel to make a subtle point. “It appears Bertha has decided to grow up, fall in love, and make a life with her new companion.”
“Oh boy…” Liz said. “I haven’t talked to Sam. She must be heartbroken.”
“I think she’s more upset than she lets on. And ‘oh boy’ is right,” Gwen said. “Rosa and I have determined that Bertha’s either a lesbian…or Bertha’s Bert.”
Liz’s jaw dropped, and she covered her mouth. “Oh no! Bertha’s a boy? How can you tell?”
“Well, for starters, we witnessed Bertha mounting the other bird,” Gwen said with a poker face. “And then we stuck around for the copulation, just to be sure.”
“Oh, no. How did Sam take it?”
“She doesn’t know. I’m waiting for her to adjust to the idea of Bertha wanting to live here before breaking the news.”
“Poor Sam,” Isabel said, before politely interrupting the conversation. “Listen, I think we should pull the van around to the barn and unload before it gets too dark.” The cottage wouldn’t be ready for furniture for a few more weeks, and the barn would provide dry storage and give them space to clean and work on the pieces they’d bought.
“Yeah. Let’s do that. And then I really need to hit the road.”
“You’re not hitting any road,” Gwen said. “Sam’s room is ready for you, and dinner’s on the stove.”
Isabel looked at Liz. “Please stay,” she said. “I know you’re tired, and I’d rather you didn’t drive home.”
Rosa got the dogs into the house so Liz could back the van around to the barn. Isabel directed her in, shooing away the outdoor cats that ran out of the open barn to greet her.
“My goodness!” Gwen said when Liz opened the back doors of the van. The space was packed, piled to the ceiling.
“Everything up front is for the cottage. The rest is going back with me to the city.”
They began by sliding out a huge stack of barn-wood panels that Liz would use as a wall covering in the bedroom. She’d find the perfect color paint for the other three walls, something cooler than taupe, warmer than gray, that would complement the weathered wood and pop the white of the rustic birch headboard they’d found. If any panels were left, they’d build a pot hanger for the kitchen wall.
Isabel pulled out a lobster trap and held it up for Rosa to see. “You think Eugene will help us turn this into an end table?”
“You know he’ll help you do anything, chica.”
Smiling, Isabel carried it into the barn, careful not to trip over the dozen cats inspecting the items, then took a moment to pet and talk to each one of them. “Did they eat yet?”
“Everyone’s been fed,” Gwen said as she lifted out the first of two heavy stoneware pieces and squealed with delight. “Burley Winter,” she said, immediately recognizing the pottery. “These must be a hundred years old.” Both were half brown and half white. One was a five-gallon whiskey jug that would look nice on the floor with dried flowers or pussy willows; the other was a two-gallon butter crock that would serve as a utensil holder in the kitchen.
Rosa picked up a large bulbous lamp with two hands, its round glass globe encased in a metal cage. “What’s this?”
“It’s an onion lamp,” Liz answered. “An old reproduction of the lanterns used for nighttime working on fishing schooners. We thought it would look great hanging over a small table in the dining area.”
“You know, Liz, I really like your sense of style,” Gwen said, and then she winked at Rosa. “When this cottage is done, I might want to move into it and let the girls have the house.”
Isabel shot a nervous look at her and then glanced away, as if embarrassed by the fact that Gwen always saw clear through to her emotions.
“You know I would never refuse that house, and I wouldn’t change a thing in it,” Liz joked as they lifted out the remaining items: the headboard and weathered barn window, the glass panes of which Liz would replace with mirrors; a narrow hall table Isabel would refinish; a hand-carved, life-size loon; two vintage fruit crates for magazines or books; a huge galvanized basket to hold fruit; and an old milk can that would make a perfect stand for a pot of flowers outside the cottage door.
The only thing left was the largest and heaviest of their finds—a vintage cupboard almost as wide as the van and six feet high. The original white paint was worn along the edges and crackled all over, so that the dark wood beneath showed through. Untouched, it would make a perfect pantry or maybe even a bookcase. The cupboard was lying on its back, and Liz and Isabel slid it out almost all the way, letting the far corners rest on the bumper until Gwen and Rosa came around.
“It’s very heavy, so let’s each take an end and carry it flat until we get it into the barn,” Isabel suggested.
“Okay,” said Liz, “on the count of three. One, two—”
The four of them lifted, but after a few steps Rosa started losing her grip. “Espera, espera!” she yelled, and they all stopped.
“All right, all right, we’re waiting.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “Hurry up, before I lose my end.”
Rosa struggled for a moment, then let her end slip to the ground. “Ay, Dios mío!” She leaned forward and held her abdomen.
“Are you okay?” Liz asked with sudden concern. “Did you hurt your stomach?”
“No, no, is not my stomach.” Rosa huffed and puffed, mumbling in broken English as her hand moved down to her groin. “Is my lady parts. I think they just fell out.”
Gwen made a face at Rosa, struggling to hold on to her end and trying not to laugh. “Did you drop your uterus?”
“Dios mío! I drop something for sure. Is in my underpants.”
Isabel’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I no wanna look because…whatever drop out, I can’t put it back.”
One glance between Gwen and Liz, and they both tightened their lips to keep from laughing. Still holding the heavy load, which was feeling heavier by the second, Liz raised one foot behind her and pretended to inspect the bottom of her shoe. “I think it was an ovary you lost, and it’s not in your underpants anymore. I just stepped on it.”
Gwen played along. “I hope you don’t need it anymore, Rosa, because it’s flat as a pancake.”
That was all the four of them needed to start heaving with laughter, and the harder they laughed the weaker their arms got, so that one by one they lost their grip and let the cupboard slide to the ground.
Gwen gestured at Liz and tried to speak, but she was laughing so hard the words came out in squeaks. “Don’t fret, Rosa. I’m sure Liz, our resident antiquarian and designer, will repurpose and turn it into something beautiful for the cottage.” And with that they broke into another fit of laughter and laughed until they couldn’t breathe, Isabel included.
“Oh my goodness…let’s give this another try,” Gwen said when they’d regained both their composure and the strength to lift the cupboard again. Liz and Gwen picked up one end, and Isabel moved Rosa out of the way and took the other end by herself.
“Dios mío!” Rosa complained as she watched them carry it. “Why you get something so heavy, chica?”
“Never mind that,” Isabel said, and when Rosa looked away Isabel mouthed the words drama queen. “Just keep the cats out of the way for us so we don’t trip. Por favor.”
It was almost dark by the time they were done, and Gwen walked back into the barn to shut off the lights and turn on a nightlight. “I’ll lock the cats up,” she said to Isabel. “You two go wash your hands and have dinner.”
While Liz and Isabel brought the van back around to the house, Gwen and Rosa shut the barn doors, keeping the cats safe from wandering coyotes and the early morning crows who mercilessly chased them for pure enjoyment.
On the way back to the house Gwen looked up at the rising moon and stars and thought of Sam. She always thought of Sam. No matter what she was doing, that woman had become permanent background music, and she regretted that their passion had cooled the other night. It was not just seeing Alley, but seeing her on the patio, that had filled her with terror. For as long as Alley’s ghost had appeared, it had always been by the pond, and she’d never been afraid; after all, who wouldn’t want to see the spirit of a beloved pet, a confirmation of their continued existence? Yet something about her unexpected appearance outside the windows of the ballroom struck fear in her, and for the first time ever she worried that the vision might be a bad omen.
“It’s a nice night,” she said to Rosa and looked around. “It’s supposed to be cool again.”
“Sí,” Rosa said. She began humming and spread her arms as she walked, as if feeling for something palpable in the air. When she reached the porch, she stopped and looked back at Gwen. “It’s gone,” she said.
“What is?”
“The fantasma. The espíritu.”
Gwen looked at her, perplexed. “Alley?”
“Sí.”
“Gone where?”
Rosa shrugged. “I dunno…maybe to the other side…but she’s not here.”
It was strange how Gwen could see the ghost of her dog clear as day but never actually felt her presence, and how Rosa always felt her presence but never saw more than a white mist. And then there was Sam, who could see and feel and communicate with the ghost, for God’s sake. There was something about Sam, but Gwen hadn’t quite figured it out yet.
Had Alley, after several years of being earthbound, of being unresolved, unfinished, finally found a way to cross the invisible chasm between life and death? Whatever had happened, Rosa would insist that Sam had played a part, and for this very reason she’d kept from telling her about the ghost coming up to the windows the other night.
Tears welled in her eyes as she started walking again. Was it possible that her dearly departed dog truly had departed? That she would not see her again until she herself crossed that chasm? She felt ashamed of herself just then, ashamed to think her beloved companion had come to the window, maybe only to say good-bye—so long, farewell until we meet again—and that she had recoiled from the sight of the dog she’d loved with all her heart.
Gwen climbed the porch steps and paused to wipe her tears. She ran a finger under each eye, careful not to smudge her eyeliner. Then she pulled herself together, put on a perfectly enthusiastic smile, and went inside to make drinks and hear all about the girls’ trip to Maine.