The View From Here (2 page)
Read The View From Here Online
Authors: Cindy Myers
“Yeah, and he should have.” Reggie adjusted the visor to block the worst of the sun's glare as they turned west onto the highway. “He knew it, but he couldn't make himself do it.” He glanced at her. “Murph was a great guy, but he wasn't perfect.”
How great could a guy be who abandoned his wife and child, and never even tried to get in touch with them?
she thought. But she kept the idea to herself. “The papers you sent said he left a gold mine?”
she thought. But she kept the idea to herself. “The papers you sent said he left a gold mine?”
“The French Mistress.” Reggie chuckled. “Heck of a name for a mine, ain't it? No one knows if there ever really was a mistress, or if it was just wishful thinking on the part of some lonely miner.”
“So my father didn't name it?”
“Oh no. All these old mining claims were named over a hundred years ago. There's some pretty colorful ones: The Etta May, Colorado Princess, Last Chanceâthere's even one over in Lake County called the Codfish Balls Mine.”
A hundred years ago. “So there's not actually any gold?”
“Some people say there still is, but it's hard to get to, and not worth the money it would take to get at it. Some of the mines never had any to begin with. Though there were always rumors about the French Mistress.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“You'll understand better when you see the place. Your dad was quite a character.”
Characters were people in plays and books. They weren't realâjust as her father had never been real to her.
“What is it you do in Houston?” Reggie asked.
“I was the office manager for a shipping company.” Carter's company, actually. “I was laid off a few months ago.” Divorced, but the result was the same.
“Ah,” Reggie nodded. “The economy's hitting a lot of people hard.”
Carter's business was still booming, just without her. She'd thought about scrambling all the computer files before she left, but she hadn't had the heart to wish disaster on the woman who'd taken her place in the office.
Francine Dupree, aka the future Mrs. Carter Stevens, had no need to risk her manicure working in an office. The Dupree millions left to her by her first husband afforded her a life of shopping, spa treatments, and sleeping with other women's husbands.
How long before a forty-something shipping magnate with thinning hair and the beginnings of a paunch began to bore her? Carter had his moments, but the man had definitely been absent when charisma had been handed out. Maggie had always thought of him as “comfortable,” a quality she thought desirable in a marriage partner. Unlike her adventurous soldier father, Carter had seemed guaranteed to stick around for years to come. A man who insisted on staying in the only house they'd ever owned, who drove the same model of car year after year, and who wore clothes until they were threadbare seemed a good bet for stability.
So much for thinking she knew anything about odds. Maybe it was a good thing she wasn't headed to Vegas.
“Do you have any children?” Reggie asked.
“No.” The single syllable caused a tightness around her heart, the pang of deep regret. Carter hadn't wanted children, so they'd never had any. Of all the things he'd stolen from her, Maggie regretted this sacrifice the most.
“I've got two daughters,” Reggie volunteered. “And two granddaughters. Girls run in our family.”
“That's nice,” Maggie said. What else could she say?
“Do you have reservations at one of the hotels in town?” he asked. “I can stop by there if you want to check in before we run up to Murph's place.”
“Your letter said there was a house. I thought I'd stay there.”
Reggie flushed. “I'm not sure you'd like Murphy's place. I mean, it's not really fit for a woman like yourself.” He glanced at her gabardine slacks and matching jacket.
“I know my father was a bachelor and probably not much of a housekeeper, but I can clean the place up. It is mine now, right?”
“Yes, it's yours. And it's pretty clean. My wife and I emptied out the refrigerator and took out the trash so you wouldn't have to deal with that.”
“Then what's the problâOh, he didn't have a girlfriend living there, did he? Or a wife?” The weight of the idea pressed her down in the seat. No one had mentioned anything about this, but her dad had only been sixty. Why shouldn't he have remarried? Oh God, did she have brothers or sisters running around somewhere?
“No, no, there was no girlfriend. And Murph never remarried after your mother, at least as far as I know.” He nodded. “Yes, I'm sure I asked when we wrote up the will, and he was positive your mother was his only wife and you were his only child.”
Maggie felt weak with relief, but disappointed, too. A half brother or sister might not be such a bad thing. When she was seven, she'd invented an imaginary sister, who slept in bed with her and shared half her chair at the table. The sister listened to all her whispered secrets and finished off the peas Maggie didn't like. A hollow space in her chest ached at the memory. It would be nice to think she had some remnant of family left in this world, now that both her parents were gone, but apparently her father had been as reluctant to take a second stab at marriage and parenting as her mother.
Which led to the question that had been nagging at her since she'd stepped on the plane to come here. “Reggie, what was my father like?”
“Murph was a great guy.”
Right, as if that told her anything. Did that mean he paid his bills on time and liked the same sports teams as Reggie? “My mother always gave me the impression he came back from Vietnam, well,
different.
I never knew if that meant he suffered from post-traumatic stress or a drug problem or what.” She went through a phase in high school where she read everything she could about the war and its veterans. She'd learned a lot, but nothing that gave her a clearer picture of her father.
different.
I never knew if that meant he suffered from post-traumatic stress or a drug problem or what.” She went through a phase in high school where she read everything she could about the war and its veterans. She'd learned a lot, but nothing that gave her a clearer picture of her father.
“He didn't talk about his war experience much,” Reggie said. “He drank too much sometimes, but he didn't make a real habit of it. He liked his privacy and all, but he wasn't really a hermit. He had plenty of friends in town. You'll meet some of them, I'm sure. They'll want to stop by and pay their respects.” He glanced at her again, a twinkle in his eye. “And they'll want to get a look at Murph's girl.”
“Then he wasn't . . . crazy? Mentally ill, I mean.”
Reggie's expression sobered. “Jacob Murphy was as sane as you or I,” he said. “Every once in a while he'd get to feeling downâhe'd go off into the mountains for a while until he got to feeling better. I guess some people would label that depression, but Murph got through it his own way and didn't seem the worse for it.”
She felt a surge of relief, accompanied by threatening tears. She blinked rapidly and dug her nails into her palms. “That's good,” she said. “My mother said there were problems when he first got back from the war. I guess she meant the drinking.”
“So you don't have any memories of him at all?” Reggie's voice was gentle.
“No, I was only a few days old when he left.” She cleared her throat. “I was shocked when I got your letterâsurprised he remembered me, or knew where to find me.”
“Apparently he'd been in touch with your mother. We found a few letters . . . they're in a box up at his cabin.”
“IâI didn't know.” Her voice sounded watery, and she clamped her lips shut, willing herself not to break down. Her mother had talked about Jake a lot in the last weeks of her life, but she'd never mentioned any letters, or even suggested Maggie try to get in touch. Was that because he'd asked her not to?
They were silent for the next few miles, rocketing past pale green fields dotted with wildflowers and clusters of grazing cattle. Then they topped a rise and Reggie pointed toward the horizon. “That's Mount Winston there. The one that looks kind of like a mastodon tooth, with snow on top.”
Mount Winston jutted from a range of slightly smaller peaks, stark silver and white against a sky so smooth and blue it reminded her of a porcelain plate. “It doesn't even look real,” she said. “It's like a movie set or something.”
Reggie chuckled. “It's real, all right. If there weren't all the trees in the way, you could see your dad's place, on the slopes of Mount Garnet.”
“Are there garnets there?”
“I don't think so. The story is it's named after a miner's wife. Though another version says Garnet was a prostitute.” He shrugged. “The truth gets muddied up sometimes.”
Especially when men are involved,
she thought, but kept her mouth shut. “Tell me about my dad's place,” she said. “What did I inherit?”
she thought, but kept her mouth shut. “Tell me about my dad's place,” she said. “What did I inherit?”
“There's thirty-two acres,” Reggie said. “Most of one side of Garnet Mountain. A house and a couple of outbuildings. A Jeepâit's old, but it still runs good. Oh, and a 2006 Polaris Switchback.”
She blinked. “A what?”
“Snowmobile. Really nice one, too.”
Understanding dawned. “That's the second of the two vehicles you mentioned in your letter?”
He nodded. “Murph used the Switchback as much as the Jeep in the winter.”
Maggie's dreams of newfound wealth were melting as fast as ice cream on a hot sidewalk. “Tell me about the house.”
“It's an old miner's cabin. Not much to look at on the outside, but Murph fixed it up pretty nice over the yearsânew roof and windows, insulation and everything. It's got a good wood stove, so it's warm in the winter, and up on the side of the mountain like it is, you can't beat the view. 'Course, it's not the easiest place to get to, especially in the winter. And there aren't any neighbors to speak of. You'd probably be more comfortable in town.”
“It's not winter now,” Maggie said, curiosity building. “Why couldn't I stay there? Is there electricity? Plumbing?”
“The electricity comes from solar panels on the roof and a generator for backup. There's a propane stove and refrigerator. Bathroom with a shower and composting toilet Murph put in a few years ago. Said he got tired of digging his way to the outhouse every time it snowed.”
“A composting toiâ” She felt a little queasy. If only Barb were here. She'd find something witty or crass to say to lighten the moment. She'd make Maggie feel better about the mansion in the mountains and two sleek vehicles, which had all burned to the ground, replaced by an aging Jeep, a snowmobile, and an off-the-grid miner's shack with a composting toilet.
“I want to see the place,” she said. “Then I'll decide.”
“No problem,” Reggie said. “Like I said, the view alone is worth the trek up there, and there's probably a few things in the house you'll want to take with you.”
Maybe she'd find some rusty miner's relic to remember her dad by. She'd come here hoping for treasure, but really, that would be more fittingâsome worthless antique to commemorate their non-relationship.
A cluster of buildings came into view. “Welcome to Eureka,” Reggie said. He flipped on his blinker and turned the car off the highway, onto a wide dirt road flanked by wood-front buildings that looked straight out of an old John Wayne western. One weathered wooden front bore the legend: D
IRTY
S
ALLY
S
ALOON
.
IRTY
S
ALLY
S
ALOON
.
Maggie clamped her mouth shut, not wanting to be caught gaping like some yokel. “How big is Eureka?” she asked. “I mean, what's the population?”
“Four hundred or so permanent residents, though it can be ten times that many during tourist season.” He pointed a long finger at a weathered two-story building with a false front. “My office is upstairs there. Downstairs is the Last Dollar Cafe. The Laundromat and grocery are one street over, and the library is behind there. If the librarian, Cassie Wynock, approves of you, she'll let you use the library computers to e-mail. If she doesn't, come by my office and you can use mine.”
“If she
approves
of me?” Maggie did let her mouth drop open now.
approves
of me?” Maggie did let her mouth drop open now.
Reggie shrugged. “Cassie's kind of particular. And she and your dad got in a tussle once over a book he checked out and never turned in.”
“Oh, come on, now. She held a grudge over a late library book?”
“Well, apparently it was kind of a rare book on Eureka's history, and he kept it checked out for something like five years. He said he just forgot about it, but I suspect he did it because he knew it drove Cassie nuts.”
Maggie sympathized with Cassie. She didn't have a lot of patience with people who broke rules simply for the sake of breaking them. Then again, she'd spent her life walking carefully inside the lines.
They passed a driveway flanked on either side with stone columns and a large, colorful sign: L
IVING
W
ATERS
. A tall wooden fence obscured the property from view.
IVING
W
ATERS
. A tall wooden fence obscured the property from view.
Other books
The Billionaire's Vinegar by Benjamin Wallace
Sempre: Redemption by J. M. Darhower
Radiant Days by Elizabeth Hand
The Mauritius Command by Patrick O'Brian
The Recognitions (Dalkey Archive edition) by William Gaddis
Scrapbook of Secrets by Cox Bryan, Mollie
Becoming Richard Pryor by Scott Saul
Burial in the Clouds by Hiroyuki Agawa
Out of the Past by J. R. Roberts
The Killing of Emma Gross by Seaman, Damien