Hallow House - Part Two (3 page)

"Somewhere," she sang, "over the rainbow..."

She drove by cotton field where the bolls were swelling to puffy ripeness, passed an orange grove with the fruit tiny and green on the branches and entered the outskirts of Porterville. On the main street her gleaming yellow Buick attracted whistles and call that she tried to ignore. She was thrilled with the convertible, her father's and stepmother's Christmas gift.

"We chose yellow because it'll be a striking contrast with your black hair and dark eyes," Vera had told her. "You're a very pretty girl and this is the time to show off."

Was she really pretty? Samara shifted gears outside of Porterville and turned onto the road leading home. Uncle Vince told her she was beautiful, but he and Vera were family. Certainly she wasn't particularly popular at Stanford.

Not that she didn't have dates. Samara sighed. The boys who asked her out were always the serious ones. Not serious about her necessarily but about their studies, their futures. Too serious to be much fun.

How she longed to have fun, to be like one of the casual, laughing coeds she saw on campus. She thought again of Uncle Vince, fun to be with, always rushing her off to San Francisco when he came to visit her at Stanford.

"You mean you've never been to swim at Sutro's Baths?" he'd said at his last visit. "Not at their best anymore, but for that reason even a better reminder of Rome's last decadent days."

When he'd taken her to the 1939 Golden Gate Exposition last year she'd joked about going to see Sally Rand's "Nude Ranch," never dreaming he'd actually bring her inside. She giggled at the memory. Daddy would have had a fit if he'd known. Actually she'd been embarrassed, but maybe Uncle Vince hadn't noticed.

Why couldn't she meet men who were handsome, dashing and romantic like her uncle?

She passed a dark-haired, olive-skinned man walking along the shoulder, hesitated, then braked the car. Wasn't he Sal Guerra, who used to work in her father's stables? "Sal?" she called.

He turned to stare, then grinned and approached the car. "Samara Gregory! You really grew up."

"Want a lift?"

His smile faded and he took a step back from the car. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"Thanks, I don't need any trouble."

Samara felt a sudden chill. She'd almost forgotten how it had been four years ago after the terror and deaths at Hallow House, when townspeople avoided the Gregorys. She started to shift, intending to drive off, then changed her mind. She run away from too many things.

"Trouble?" she repeated, determined to confront Sal.

"You've been away, but things haven't changed around her." His face was cold.

What was wrong with him? He'd been her friend from the time he came to work with the Hallow House horses until the day he left. He wasn't much older that she--maybe four years--and had there for her to depend on during those bad times with Sergei, when she'd desperately needed someone she could trust.

"You'll have to spell it out for me," she told him firmly. "Just the way you taught me to be a better rider."

Sal relaxed a little, shaking his head. "I figured you knew, but I guess maybe you were too isolated to catch on. You don't ask me to ride with you--I'm a Mexican."

"But you were born in Porterville. I remember you telling me."

He rolled his eyes. "What do they do in Stanford, lock the students in ivory towers?"

"I thought we were friends," she persisted, still unclear about what he meant.

"I worked for your father, Take another look at me, Samara, then at yourself. I'm Mexican. You're Anglo. Here in the valley, you got to remember that."

"Well, okay, but if I were my father would you ride with me?"

Sal laughed. "I can't believe you. You're what--nineteen? Twenty?--and still as innocent about the world as you were at fifteen. The hell with it." He opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. "Good to see you
, mi amigo
Samara."

She pulled the car back onto the road, then glanced at him. "Let me get this straight. Is it taboo for me to pick you up or for you to ride with me?"

"Both. Anglos don't mix with us in this valley, at least not Anglo girls and Mex boys."

"But all I'm doing is giving you a lift."

"I've seen friends of mine get beat up for less."

Samara couldn't believe her ears. Apparently Hallow House had really isolated her from the world. So had the Catholic girls' school she'd gone to. No wonder her Stanford friends called her incredibly naive.

"It seems stupid to me," she said.

Sal shrugged.

"What are you doing these days?" she asked.

"Trying to get enough money together to afford another year of college. I went to Cal Poly last year and used all I'd saved up. I'm good with animals, hope to be a veterinarian eventually."

"Where are you working this summer?"

"Up the road a couple miles. That's one of my jobs--ranch hand. I pick fruit and work in the fields, too. Anything I can find." Sal spoke matter-of-factly, without rancor.

"Are you married?"

He laughed. "Are you kidding? I can hardly support myself, much less a wife."

Something occurred to Samara, but she wasn't sure whether or not Sal would want to hear it. Finally she said, "My father might have a job where you could work up north in the canning plants. Would you be angry if I asked him?"

"A job's a job," he said, his voice taut with an emotion she couldn't identify.

"Once you were my only friend," she said. "You used to talk to me when no one else around even seemed to notice me. You were busy, but you made time for me. Please don't get mad if I try to repay you."

Sal said nothing for a time, finally grinning at her. "
Machismo.
A Spanish word that's hard to translate. Male pride's about the closest. If your father finds me a decent-paying job I'll swallow mine and take it. You always were a sweet girl. I used to think your brother treated you like dirt. He--" Sal broke off abruptly.

Seeing the stricken look on his face as he remembered what had happened to Sergei, she said, "It's all right."

After she dropped him off, though, she acknowledged to herself that it wasn't all right and might never be. It hurt to think about her dead twin, so she turned on the radio, even though she knew reception wasn't good in the foothills, the music distorted by static.

The clearest station she could find had a newscast, "President Roosevelt asked Congress today for an unprecedented five billion dollars for military appropriations this coming..."

Samara switched it off. There seemed to be nothing in the news anymore except the war in Europe. That certainly didn't have anything to do with her.

As she coasted down the last hill, she choked up when she caught sight of Hallow House. Joy and anticipation mixed with an underlying faint dread, as though the wraith of Sergei waited there for her along with her father, stepmother and her sisters.

She passed the snarling wolves perched on stone columns to either side of the now always open gates, then the spreading branches of the valley oaks lining the drive hid all but the chimneys and the twin towers. Some of the giant camellia bushes between the oaks were still in bloom, reds and pinks and whites. Camellias were so beautiful with their perfect flowers, but they'd always disappointed her by having no scent. Was everything flawed in some way?

The pine grove rose behind the house to her left, orange groves climbed the hillside to her right. As she turned the last curve and left the oaks behind she heard children shouting. There Hallow House was, just ahead of her, white and imposing with its columns and towers and balconies. Three little girls ran down the steps, heading for the drive. Five-year-old Johanna was in the lead, the almost four year old twins behind her, their chubby legs churning. Samara braked to a stop.

"Gee, what a pretty car, Samara. I didn't get to ride in it yet, will you take me for a ride sometime?" Johanna's words tumbled from her without her usual stammer.

Samara got out and hugged her sister. "Let me get unpacked first."

Naomi and Katrina each grabbed one of her legs, "Sammy!" they cried in unison.

She crouched down and hugged them, too, looking from one set of brown eyes to the other. "Let me guess," she said, poking her fingers into one of the twin's ribs. "You're Naomi, right?"

They both giggled, but wouldn't tell her. She looked over their heads at Johanna, who nodded.

"I could tell because you got here first after Johanna," she said.

Naomi nodded vigorously. "First," she repeated.

Samara smiled at all three of her sisters, thinking the twins looked more alike than ever, absolutely identical. Johanna was still too solemn, her big gray eyes fixed expectantly on Samara.

"Are you h-home to s-stay now?" she asked, the stutter barely evident, nowhere near as bad as it had been.

"I'm not sure. But for all summer anyway, Jo-Jo."

"I can swim," Naomi announced.

"Me, too," Katrina said.

Samara glanced toward the pool, hidden by the house. Her father had added the enclosed swimming pool soon after he married Vera, leaving the old outdoor one for the enjoyment of the ranch workers. She was tired and sticky from the drive, so a swim right now would feel good. The June, sun though low in the western sky, was still hot.

Jose came up the drive from the garage and she noticed with a shock that his hair was almost all gray. When had that happened? But he still walked with a spring in his step, belying his age.

"Is good to see you," he told her. "You want me to bring suitcases?"

"Oh, yes, thank you, Jose." She handed him the car keys. " How are you?"

"Good. I tell the horses you come home. They miss you."

"I learned to ride on the p-pony," Johanna said. "So I can go with you when you ride."

Samara felt a catch in her throat. Johanna had always been afraid of horses--the pony included. How hard it must have been for her to put aside her fear. She tousled the girl's fine, pale hair. "Good for you. I'll enjoy having you ride along with me."

"I'm k-kind of slow."

"I don't mind." As she spoke, Samara had a swift vision of Sergei, years before, galloping away from her, calling back taunts about her being a slowpoke.

Hearing someone call her name, she turned, saw Vera on the steps and hurried to greet her with a hug.

"You look wonderful, "Vera exclaimed. "Your father is out in the grove inspecting some new trees. We weren't sure you'd be here before dinner."

"Have I time for a swim?"

Vera glanced at her watch. "I don't know why not. I'd join you but I have to finish my calls. I'm in the middle of this project--"

"Vaccinations again?" Samara asked, smiling. Vera was always caught up in some scheme top upgrade the health of the valley children.

"No, this is political. I'm upset about the refugees from Europe--especially the Jews. Nobody in Washington seems to take their plight seriously. You'd think after that disgraceful episode of the St. Louis last year when all those Jewish refugees were sent back from Havana to certain death in Germany because we wouldn't let their ship land here--"

Samara held up her hand. "Don't tell me any more till after my swim."

She hurried to her room and came out with a white terrycloth robe over a black one-piece swimsuit. She opened the door into the passageway separating the pool from the house and hurried through it. Dropping her robe when she reached the pool, she dived into the water, rose to the surface and found herself face to face with a total stranger. Startled, she grabbed for the side of the pool and hung on.

The man shook water from his face and smiled. He was extraordinarily handsome with bright blue eyes and short-cropped blond hair. His white teeth shone to advantage against his tanned skin.

"I'm Mark Schroeder," he said, speaking with a slight accent. "You must be Samara. For a week Johanna has talked of nothing except your arrival."

Samara pulled herself up to sit on the side of the pool and he joined her, sitting close enough so she was aware of him, but not so close she was uncomfortable. "I didn't expect to find anyone swimming," she said, feeling slightly breathless at his nearness. She wondered what he was doing at here.

"Johanna and I swim every afternoon. She's becoming quite good. Today she insisted on waiting for you so I'm alone." His devastating smile flashed again. "I was alone. This is much better."

She felt his eyes on her and brought her head up to look directly at him. It took effort. This was one of the times she'd rather hide behind the curtain of her hair as she used to do when she was younger. Meeting his bright blue gaze, she caught her breath.

Admiration and a hint of something else, was evident in his eyes. Desire? She'd dreamed of an interesting man looking at her like that, and here at Hallow House, unexpectedly, was this handsome stranger. Why hadn't Vera told her about him?