The Siege (7 page)

II

I
t’d be a great day for a drive, Dale thought, if they weren’t driving north for the funeral of their best friend.

After packing, they took off just before noon, driving up Route One, stopping for a quick lunch at Burger King in Bangor, and then continuing up I-95 to Houlton. North of Bangor, though, the highway got pretty monotonous, just pine trees and open fields punctuated here and there by maybe a swamp or lake thrown in for variety. Between the boredom of the drive and the sadness they both felt, any pleasure they might have felt at having some time together quickly evaporated.

Larry’s death left Dale with an icy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was a physical emptiness that made him think of the dull concussion of a gun going off too close to his ear. But what was worse was seeing his own loss reflected in Angie’s face. She looked pale and aged beyond her years, and he found himself worrying how much of her youthful vigor would be lost forever. Through much of the ride, she sat silently, her head leaning against the window, her eyes staring blankly at the road unscrolling in front of them.

Several times along the way he had tried to talk to her about it, but after a few empty-sounding platitudes, variations of “Larry wouldn’t want you to be this way,” he fell silent, deciding that first of all, she had to absorb this loss at her own pace; and second, they would have plenty of time during this week and the months ahead to share their memories and feelings. He tried to resist the thought that he was simply avoiding dealing with it; but after losing Natalie, he knew emotional shock when he felt it.

They got off the Interstate at Exit 62, crossed the Meduxnekeag River, and after a quick “pit-stop” for gas and rest rooms at LeDoux’s Mobile station, started south toward Dyer on Route 2A.

The road wound through thick, green-shaded pine forest. Dale had the impression that they were driving through a twenty-mile-long tunnel from Houlton to Dyer, but at last they hit the north end of town. It had taken them longer to get there than Dale had expected and it was almost six o’clock when they pulled into an empty parking spot right in front of Kellerman’s restaurant.

“Looks like the local pizza-and-beer joint,” Dale said as he leaned over the steering wheel, regarding the restaurant.

Angie smiled weakly and nodded. “Looks like they serve breakfast here, too.”

Dale nodded. “Well, I guess it’s too much to expect to find a McDonald’s around here. Do you want to get something to eat now, or should we find a place to stay for the night and then come back?”

Angie let out a long, whistling sigh as she looked at the dirt-streaked front window of Kellerman’s. Sun-faded posters in the window announced the local fair and a variety of church suppers and social events.

“Let’s look for some place to stay, first. Maybe we’ll see a better restaurant,” she said tiredly.

Dale backed out into the street and started back up Main Street. He figured they called it Main Street around here because it didn’t look like there were too many other streets in town. They passed a church on the right and a combination town hall and police station on their left and came to an intersection with a blinking yellow light. Across the intersection, Dale saw the Mill Store with its stand of gas pumps. An overweight man in faded bib coveralls was slouched by the gas pumps when Dale pulled in.

“Excuse me,” Dale said, easing up to the pumps but positioning his car so it would be obvious he didn’t want gas.

The snoozing man snorted and, shaking his head, looked up with a furrowed squint. He pushed his hat back on his head, exposing thin, brown hair that looked like it needed a good wash.

“A-yuh,” he said, heaving himself up in his chair but not bothering to stand.

“I was wondering if you could tell me where I might find a room for the night.”

The man leaned back and scratched the underside of his unshaven jowls. His eyes remained half-closed as though in deep thought or half-sleep. For a moment, Dale thought he was trying to ignore him.

“Well,” he said, drawing out the word as if it was the required way to respond to an out-of-towner. “If yah come up 2-A, you must’a passed the Twin Oaks Motel right outside ’a Haynesville.”

Dale shook his head. “We drove down from Houlton. I was hoping, to find someplace right here in town, though.”

The man shifted forward again, and Dale thought for an instant that he was actually going to bother to stand up, but he merely leaned forward and hitched his thumb in the direction of the road leading back to Houlton. He looked down the road, as if to assure himself it hadn’t disappeared while he was napping.

“Just ’crost the street up there, on your right, didn’t you see the sign for Appleby’s?”

Dale glanced quickly at Angie, and they exchanged shrugs.

“Lil Appleby rents out a couple of rooms, ’specially now with harvest comin’ up. I dunno. Maybe she ain’t got any right now. You might wanna check there first.”

“Okay, thanks,” Dale said, shifting the car into gear and starting to pull away slowly.

Now that the man was fully awake, though, he didn’t seem to want to let him go. With a loud grunt, he hoisted himself to his feet and waddled over to the car. He leaned down close to the window and glanced over at Angie, who shifted uncomfortably.

“If Mrs. A. don’t have any rooms left, I’d say your best bet was to head back to Houlton. If you don’t mind me askin’, what you want to stay in a town like this for?”

Dale felt a tingling tension in his stomach, and as the words formed in his mind, his eyes began to sting.

“Well, uh, a friend of mine died and we’ve come up for the funeral.”

“Umm, yeah. Larry Cole, right?” the man said, nodding his head slowly up and down. His eyes squinted tighter, making him look all the more pig-like. “Pity somethin’ like that could happen, and to a nice fella like Larry. Shit!”

“Yeah, well—thanks,” Dale said. Without another word, he pulled out into the street. Less than half a mile down the road, they saw a sign in front of a large, white house: APPLEBY’S BED AND BREAKFAST. ROOMS BY THE DAY AND WEEK. Although there was a wide driveway leading up behind the house, Dale pulled up to the curb in front of the house and parked in the shade of a tall blue spruce.

The house sat on a slight rise well back from the road. It was a towering, three-story Victorian painted white with black shutters and trim. All along in front of the house and lining the walkway up to the front door were carefully tended garden plots, still bursting with color even this late in the summer. Obviously, someone knew how to plan and care for the flowers. Sidelight windows surrounded the heavy door. On the left side of the house was a large bay window, and as Dale and Angie looked up at the house, they saw the silhouette of someone standing there, looking out at them.

“They don’t have a ‘no vacancy’ sign out,” Dale said. “Maybe we’re in luck.” He was glancing at Angie, trying to gauge her reaction, but her face remained passive.
She’s not even listening to me
, he thought.
She’s still thinking about Larry
.

As they got out of the car and started up toward the front door, the silhouette in the front window drew away and disappeared. Dale pressed the doorbell button, and from deep within the house, they heard a faint “ding-dong.”

“Avon calling,” Angie said, chuckling under her breath. They were both snickering when they heard footsteps approach the door and saw motion behind the curtained sidelight. They straightened up when the door latch jiggled, and the heavy door swung inward.

“Good afternoon,” Dale said, smiling at the stocky, white-haired woman who stood in the doorway. She looked to be in her late sixties and like the man at the gas station, had heavy, fleshy jowls. Dale found himself wondering if everyone in town had jowls like that. Maybe it was from eating potatoes all the time! She didn’t have the gas station attendant’s squinty, pig-like eyes, though. Hers were bright, sparkling blue, like ice on a sunny winter day.

The woman smiled and, stepping to one side, invited them in with a sweeping wave of her hand. Dale opened the screen door and stepped back to let Angie enter first. He eased the door shut behind him to make sure it didn’t slam.

“My name is Dale Harmon, and this is my daughter, Angela. You must be Mrs. Appleby. The man at the gas station said you might have a room we could rent for a few days. I didn’t notice a no vacancy sign.”

“Good old Sparky,” the woman said. “Call me Lil.” She extended her hand to Dale and shook it firmly. “And, sure, I have a room. Just one left, but it’s one of the nicest.” She looked smaller now than she did standing in the doorway, and she reeked of an overpowering flowery perfume.

The house, or what Dale could see from the entryway, seemed an extension of the old woman: cozy, warm, and hospitable. The stairs leading up from the hallway were covered by a dark red runner rug. On one wall beside a small desk with a registration book, a delicately carved grandfather clock measured the time with a slow, steady
tick-tock
.

Off to the left was a sitting room whose built-in shelves, Dale could see, were lined with old books. There were leather-bound volumes and “recent” bestsellers with faded and worn dust jackets. Two pine-green leather chairs, glossy with age, faced a fireplace. Between the two chairs was a dark wood, oval table with several copies of
National Geographic
fanned out. To the right was a small parlor with warm, dark paneling and two fringed couches facing another fireplace. In one corner, almost as an afterthought, was a small television set with a rabbit-ear antenna. Dale wondered what stations you could pick up way out here, maybe something from Canada. Throughout the entryway and two rooms, the polished hardwood floor was covered by several handmade scatter rugs.

“I charge thirty-five dollars a night,” Lil said. “That includes breakfast, if you’d like. So if you’ll just fill out this registration card, we’ll be all set.” She led Dale over to the desk and stood aside while he leaned over the desk and signed in.

Angie, meanwhile, was still lost in looking around the house. She felt as though she had literally stepped back into another century. The TV was the only thing that broke the illusion. The house seemed to shut out the rest of the world and embrace her with a warmth she had never experienced before. She could imagine herself living in a house like this and being happy for the rest of her life, even so far away from everything.

“You must be, oh, I’d say twelve, going on thirteen,” Mrs. Appleby said, propping her chin on her forefinger as she stared at Angie, smiling.

One side of Angie’s face twisted into a smile as she nodded. “Exactly,” she said. “Are you a mind-reader?”

Mrs. Appleby smiled and shook her head. “Oh, no. It’s just that I have a granddaughter who looks about your age. Her name’s Lisa. She’s off somewhere now, but I’ll just bet the two of you will hit it off just fine.”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Angie said, still glancing around, trying to absorb the peaceful quiet of the house. The prospect of having someone her age in the house brightened her spirits even more. From somewhere inside the house, there came a loud bang followed by the sound of running feet.

“Ah,” said Mrs. Appleby, “I’ll bet that’s her now.”

In a flurry of activity that seemed to contradict the ancient quiet of the house, a young girl with long, dark braids bouncing on her shoulders burst into the hallway. She was dressed in jeans and a light yellow T-shirt with a brightly colored parrot design. Her face was flushed from running.

“Hi, grammy,” she gasped. Breathing heavily, she leaned over to catch her breath but took the opportunity to glance slyly at Angie.

“Lisa, this is Mr. Harmon and his daughter, Angie. They’ll be staying with us for a day or two. Maybe you can show Angie around town a little.”

Dale had finished with the registration card and, as he handed it back to Mrs. Appleby, he glanced at Lisa and gave her a warm smile. There was no doubt that she was related to the older woman, he thought. Her eyes had the same blue intensity of her grandmother’s.

“You know,” Mrs. Appleby said, looking at Dale. “I shouldn’t be prying into your business, but you never mentioned why you folks are up this way. Are you taking a family vacation?”

Dale stiffened as chilled fingers gripped his stomach. For a moment, he had forgotten why they were in town. Carefully placing the pen back on the desk so he could avoid eye contact with her, he said softly, “No. We’ve come up from Thomaston for…” His throat caught, and he almost couldn’t continue. “For Larry Cole’s funeral. He worked with me down in Augusta.”

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Appleby said, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. “Wasn’t that a shame? I’ve known Larry’s mother and father since they were children. As a matter of fact, I had both his parents and him in class when I taught. Of course, I’ve been retired for twelve years, now. I started taking a few boarders to keep myself busy. But wasn’t that accident a shame? Now with his father gone, that just leaves poor Mildred. It’s a terrible tragedy when you lose a child. Terrible!”

Dale couldn’t shake the feeling that Lillian Appleby was speaking from personal experience. It seemed obvious that Lisa lived here with her, and there had been no mention of her parents.

“Actually,” Dale said, clearing his throat, “I was hoping someone could tell me where his mother lives. I wanted to stop by the house and visit her before the funeral.”