The Scent of Rain and Lightning

11

ON HER DRIVE into Rose to try to salvage her son’s marriage, Annabelle realized she might need to slide in sideways rather than launch a frontal attack. She needed to dangle a lure in front of her daughter-in-law in the same way she offered apples to her horse to get him to come to her from far out in a pasture. As she drove through the flat landscape, for some reason it made her think of mountains, which gave her an idea, an expensive one that she thought might work with Laurie-especially with luxury-loving Laurie.

Feeling hopeful of her bright idea, she stopped first at Belle’s museum in the former bank to use the phone to call ahead. As she stood in front of the nineteenth-century limestone building and glanced up at the corner gargoyles, she realized she might use this opportunity to mend fences with her grumpy daughter while the men mended fences at the ranch. The gargoyles looked no more welcoming than Belle was likely to be, but she loved them, just as she loved her most difficult child-just as she loved all of her currently difficult children.

She raised an eyebrow at a stone gargoyle that glared back.

“Oh, come on,” she said to it, “look on the bright side.”

Since the ugly old thing presided over a failed bank, that seemed unlikely.

She pushed open the elegant front door, with its huge brass knob and murky leaded glass panes.

A brass bell rang over her head, announcing her arrival.

“Who’s that?” her daughter’s voice called from the back.

“Your mother! Are you in the vault?”

“Yes,” came the unwelcoming response.

She walked past the line of filigreed teller cages that lined one wall, wonderful remnants of bank transactions of old, now waiting for Belle to figure out how to use them in her museum. She inhaled, imagining she could smell old money, hear the bustle of commerce, the voices, the clink of coins, the slap of cash on marble.

On her way toward the cavernous bank vault that Belle used as her office, she glanced at black-and-white photos of sod houses, cattle drives, oil wells, stone fence posts, the pictures all lying on tables until Belle could frame and hang them. Despite her own and Hugh’s skepticism about the enterprise, she found herself drawn to the photos. When she stopped to look more closely at one, she found herself wanting to look at the next one, leading her to wonder if maybe, just maybe, other people would find them fascinating, too. She looked up at the molded tin ceiling. It really was a wonderful old building.

Tell her so, Annabelle reminded herself.

She hoped she wouldn’t have to ooh and ahh over a long-dead, flea-bitten buffalo, but she was willing to do it, willing to murmur, “Oh, what a handsome buffalo,” if there was any chance it would please her daughter.

Maybe she and Hugh were too critical; maybe more praise and interest would oil the squeaky hinges of their relationship with their only daughter. If that didn’t work, Annabelle knew what would, though she was a little ashamed of herself every time she did it. There was one subject on which she and Belle completely agreed and that was about the young woman who was daughter-in-law to one of them and sister-in-law to the other. Laurie-bless her heart, she thought wryly-had a bonding affect on her female in-laws.

She walked into the vault and the sound of typing.

Belle sat at an ancient rolltop desk that she’d scooped up from a farm sale, clattering away on an old typewriter. She wrote articles about local history, geology, and archaeology and shot them off to dozens of different magazines hoping to be published. Now and then she got an acceptance and earned a little money.

“Can you stop for a minute, honey?”

Belle typed a bit more and then halted, making a show out of slowing and then stopping one reluctant key at a time.

She turned in her old leather and wood swivel chair.

“I’m pretty busy, Mom.”

“You look good sitting there, Belle. You look like a real writer.”

“I am a real writer.”

“I know, I didn’t mean-those photos out front are fascinating.”

“Which ones?”

“The sod houses?”

“They’re the weaker ones. I’ve got better.”

“Oh, well…” She resorted to her strongest weapon. “I don’t want to interrupt you. I just need to use your phone to call Laurie.”

“Why?”

Annabelle battled inwardly with her scruples and then brushed them aside in favor of coaxing warmth from her child. “I’m worried about her and Hugh-Jay, Belle. I don’t like the way she flirts with Chase.”

Belle’s eyes got big. “You noticed?”

“Who could miss it?”

“It’s ridiculous. I don’t know how Hugh-Jay stands it.”

“It’s got to stop.”

They looked at each other in pleasant agreement, but then Belle looked doubtful. “Shouldn’t Hugh-Jay be the one to stop it, Mom? And anyway, it’s not like she flirts only with Chase.”

“Who else?”

“Who doesn’t she?”

“I’ve never seen her flirt with Bobby. Oh, I hate even saying that!”

“She’s got her ways.” A look of disgust crossed Belle’s face. “She picks on him and insults him. That’s as good as flirting to Bobby ’cause it knocks him down and keeps him interested.”

She stared at her daughter, impressed at her perception.

“Has she ever flirted with Meryl?”

“Not when I’m around,” Belle said with an indignant and proud lift to her chin. “But Meryl says she tries it at other times.”

“Oh, honey.”

Her daughter’s face was flushed. “Don’t worry, Mom. Meryl always makes sure she gets the message that he’s not available, not even to her.”

She felt a rush of compassion for her daughter who had spent her whole life in the shadow of a girl whose pretty face and vivacious manner got her everything she ever wanted. She remembered times when Belle looked as if she’d been crying after parties and other events when she was the wallflower to Laurie’s popularity. She recalled Belle’s barely hidden unhappiness when her oldest brother started dating, then got engaged, and then married Laurie. Thank God for Meryl Tapper, she thought, because he was the best revenge-a boy as nice as Belle’s own brother, and one who liked her exactly as she was, which wasn’t nearly as prickly when he was around to smooth her edges. When Meryl was with her, Belle was almost pretty, too, and her lovely complexion glowed with the pleasure of his attention. If Laurie ever did anything to threaten that happiness, Annabelle thought she would kill her.

Feeling guilty because Belle looked upset, she changed the subject. “Where were you last night, dear daughter?”

“Here.” The lift of Belle’s chin changed to a stubborn tilt.

“Not out with Meryl?”

“He was working.”

“That boy is always working.”

“Don’t patronize him.”

She sighed. “I didn’t mean to.” She and Hugh both had their fingers crossed for the match between Belle and the boy they loved like a fourth son. They’d helped send Meryl to college and law school and were the first to throw work his way when he hung out his shingle. Hugh liked to joke that maybe they could get a good son-in-law for their money even if he didn’t turn out to be a great lawyer. But it was beginning to look as if they had a chance of getting both-a fine lawyer right in the family. “After Belle,” Hugh liked to say, “a judge or jury will be a piece of cake for that boy.”

Rather than take the chance of falling into other conversational traps, she reached for the phone on the desk and called Laurie. When that was done and she was properly invited over, she gave Belle a long, somber look.

“What, Mom?”

Belle reached over to touch her mother’s knee.

“Something bad happened at the ranch last night, honey.”

She blinked back tears prompted partly by the wickedness of Billy Crosby, but mostly by the warmth of her daughter’s touch and the expression of concern on Belle’s face.

AFTER LEAVING THE BANK, she girded herself for her upcoming visit to the other challenging young woman in her family. Alone in her car, she closed her eyes and prayed for her eldest son’s marriage. Then, sending waves of love ahead of her toward her granddaughter, she prayed for Jody to always stay as sweet and happy and easy to get along with as she was now.