“We’re from St. Cyril’s.”
“That tells me where you’re from, not who you are,” the woman correctly pointed out. “Sometimes my memory fogs up, but you all look familiar.”
Harry introduced herself and Susan, as well as the dogs. The door opened, they stepped inside and set down the cartons.
“Of course.” Flo Rice nodded.
“Ma’am, this one is heavy. Would you like me to carry it to the kitchen?” Harry asked.
“That would be nice.” Miss Rice pointed Harry to the kitchen.
The house’s interior was tidy but quite chilly. A fire in a fireplace tried to heat the front rooms. When Harry placed the carton on the kitchen table she smelled a strong odor, felt some warmth, then noticed a small kerosene heater tucked into an old fireplace.
Susan stood back in the living room, trying to make conversation.
“I’m not Catholic,” said Miss Rice. “I was, once. I remember you all used to come to the stables,” she said to Susan. “Mrs. Valencia’s stables. I was a practicing Catholic then.” She set down her dog and folded her arms across her chest. “I thank you and the church. Once they took Latin out of the church, I lost interest, really.”
“Yes, ma’am,” both women replied, although neither one really knew what to say.
“Gas is too expensive.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Everything is too expensive.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Harry noticed a crucifix on one wall. That was it for anything that might be considered décor. Plain walls, plain floors, old furniture, but a bookcase filled with books, many with beautiful bindings.
“You two don’t read Latin, do you? Took it out of the schools, too.”
“Miss Rice, we both took four years of Latin in high school.” Susan hoped this was a pleasing answer.
“Good. But no Latin in schools now.”
“Miss Rice, I think private schools may offer it, but the state schools, maybe none.”
“Enforced stupidity!” Flo clamped her lips together.
“You’re right,” said Susan. Agreeing with the old lady was the only route to take, but she did think it was unwise to remove Latin. “Some schools don’t offer German either,” she added.
Harry had her hand on the doorknob as the dogs barked outside. “Ma’am, we wish you a Merry Christmas.”
“Are they wishing me a Merry Christmas, too?” A slight smile crossed her lips as the old lady regarded the menagerie. She picked up her little dog again.
“Miss Rice, I’m sure of it.” Harry smiled big.
As the old lady opened the door, she said, “Quo vadis?”
This means “Where do you go?” or in more elegant form, “Wither thou goest?”
“Vale.” The two said goodbye in Latin.
Before she closed her door, Flo said with some fierceness, “I know things.”
On the way home, Susan sighed. “How terrible to live alone like Mr. Thompson or Miss Rice. I guess the blue wavy line meant oddball.”
“Or worse. At least she has her dog. For some people it’s the choices they made or the turn they missed in the road. They wind up weird and alone.”
“I think some people are just too hard to get along with,” said Susan. “Sends others running in the opposite direction.” She paused. “I vaguely remember her when she worked for Mrs. Valencia at the stables. She didn’t seem odd then.”
“Time changes people.” Harry simply shrugged.
Charlene Vavilov was staring into space.
Charlene kept herself busy, but from time to time she’d find she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind would go blank or wander.
Fair Haristeen had stopped by the Ford dealership on his way back from a call Thursday in eastern Albemarle County.
He stood quietly outside the open door to her office, then cleared his throat.
The well-groomed middle-aged woman blinked, then forced a smile. “Fair, come in.”
He brought with him a small grooming kit for horses, a red-and-green box with a long handle. He placed it on her desk. “For Salsa.”
“Oh, he’ll love it.”
Charlene’s kind Thoroughbred Salsa was one of Fair’s patients. Charlene had grown up loving horses, but she also realized that in this part of the world, riding created opportunities. She had impressed this on her husband, Peter, but horses had scared him. Golf did not, however, and between these two sporting poles, the Vavilovs enhanced the Ford dealership. The number of F-250s and F-350s that horsemen bought to pull their rigs was the envy of the Ram and Silverado salespeople. Dodge and Chevy made good trucks, but Charlene showed up pulling her own rig with a Ford dually. And she was always ready to help another horseperson gain financing.
Peter invariably drove a Thunderbird or a new Ford SUV to the links.
Fair respected Charlene as a horsewoman and as a businesswoman. He had also respected Peter’s ad campaigns, created by Lou Higham. It was a tough business.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do for Salsa.” He paused. “Or you.”
She swallowed, leveled her eyes, misting over at the tall man. “Fair, I know you mean that. I wish there was something you, anyone could do. All I know to do is to keep working, keep myself occupied.”
“The showroom sparkles. And the decorations are wonderful.”
“Good people work here. I don’t know what I’d do without them. Your wife, Susan, all my friends, have been supportive. Arden has been a brick. She wanted to come into the showroom and work. I told her, ‘It’s almost Christmas. No. Go do stuff.’ And Tyler needs her. Pete did what he could to interest Tyler in sports. Lou can be hard on him. So I said, ‘Enjoy your boy while he’s still a boy.’ ” She smiled. “Alexander and Jarrad have helped, too. I told them it’s fine with me if they do things with their friends. They come here instead. Jarrad likes the accounting office.” Her voice registered her pride in her sons. “Alex likes the garage. They’ve been a big help. They are growing up so fast.”
“Charlene, you and Peter were good parents. And I don’t know how you hung on, especially during the worst of the gas crisis.” Fair prudently focused on business.
Despite the strange missing fingers, the initial autopsy report had declared Pete died of a heart attack. Happy to be able to talk about anything other than that verdict, she rose from behind the desk and sat next to Fair in an expensive Barcelona-leather-and-chrome chair.
“Ford sailed through some dreadful times,” she said. “Finally, we got farsighted, gutsy leadership, and I think we will make a decent profit this year. Not taking the bailout money, going through those hard years before GM and Chrysler Motors tanked. It paid off for Ford and for the dealers who hung on.”
“You always did have courage. Anyone that can ride Salsa when he’s having one of his bad mood days is gutsy.” Fair smiled.
She waved her hand. “Salsa’s so funny, you know.” She folded her hands, leaning toward Fair. “He knew. When I went into the stable after Peter died, he knew. He nuzzled me and put his head on my shoulder. I’ve tried to ride him a bit every day. I wouldn’t tell that to too many people. I love that horse.”
“He loves you.”
This brought tears to her eyes as she nodded. “Love is more powerful than any of us realizes.” She took a deep breath. “I’m a bit older than you, Fair. There’s a time when a woman does think about the future without her husband. Nine times out of ten, you men go first. But I never thought it would happen so soon. Peter burst with fresh ideas and good health. This came out of the blue.”
Fair reached over, taking her hand in his. “I’m sorry you have to think about it now.”
She squeezed his hand, then withdrew hers to wipe away tears. “Arden says take it a day at a time. Good advice for life, no matter when.”