A Strange Little Band Read online

  A Strange Little Band

  By

  Judith B. Glad

  Uncial Press Aloha, Oregon

  2009

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-079-3

  ISBN 10: 1-60174-079-4

  Copyright © 2009 by Judith B. Glad

  Cover art and design

  Copyright © 2009 by Judith B. Glad

  All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.

  Published by Uncial Press,

  an imprint of GCT, Inc.

  Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com

  For my family.

  Some I was born with, some I chose.

  There when I need them,

  there sometimes when I wish they weren't.

  But always there.

  "The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together."

  ~Erma Bombeck

  Descendants of John Blankenship

  1 John Blankenship 1900 - 1976

  +Althea McCray 1904 - 1981

  2 Thomas Blankenship 1923 - 1997

  +Cecile Heyward 1925

  3 Heyward Blankenship 1946

  3 Althea Blankenship 1949

  +Gilbert Ogilvie 1950

  4 Peter Ogilvie 1975

  +Kenna Chesney 1969

  5 Emma Ogilvie 2003

  5 Charlene Kendall Ogilvie 1990

  5 Owen Kendall Ogilvie 1988

  4 Albert Ogilvie 1978

  +Sha Li Sung 1975

  5 Gilbert Sung Ogilvie 2005

  4 Anna Cecile Ogilvie 1983

  +Walter Abbot 1970 (divorced)

  5 Walter Calvin Abbot 2002 - 2004

  4 Kristine Ogilvie 1985

  3 Frances Blankenship 1952

  +Manfred Rosenfeld 1944 - 1988

  4 Serhilda Rosenfeld 1989

  3 Kirby Blankenship 1954 - 1964

  3 Marcia Blankenship 1958 - 1997

  +Stephen Lewis 1955

  4 Cecile Lewis 1990

  4 Stephen Thomas Lewis 1994

  2 Elizabeth Blankenship 1926 - 2002

  +Robert Armstrong 1920 - 1995

  3 John Armstrong 1947

  +Jocelyn Dunne 1952

  4 Harriet Armstrong 1975

  3 Joanna Armstrong 1950

  3 Benjamin Armstrong 1954

  +Louisa Hansen 1956

  4 Eric Armstrong 1975

  +Jennifer Anderson 1975

  5 Norman Armstrong 1997

  5 Angela Armstrong 1999

  5 Joseph Armstrong 2001

  5 Bartram Armstrong 2003

  4 Evan Armstrong 1978

  4 Elaine Armstrong 1981

  +Stewart O'Neal 1975

  5 Jeremy O'Neal 2000

  5 Janice O'Neal 2002

  2 Harold Blankenship 1931 - 1968

  2 Harriet Blankenship 1935 - 1941

  Prologue

  A Year Ago...

  Margie Stennis waved a welcome. "Hi, Annie. Come on in the kitchen. Walter can watch the baby."

  "No, I--"

  "Go ahead," Ralph Stennis said, waving her toward the door where his wife stood. "We're going to take the kids out and run 'em ragged before supper."

  She bit her lip, but said nothing. Walter still had little to do with Calvin, although he was getting better, now that Cal was starting to talk. "All right, but call me if he--"

  "Annie, they're all daddies. They'll keep an eye on the kid," Margie said.

  Reluctantly she followed Margie into the kitchen where five other women were engaged in various chores. "What can I do?" she asked, after introductions.

  "Grab a glass of wine. Then you can help Jerri with the veggies. I should have picked up some already cut but I had all this broccoli, so I..." She turned away when her name was called.

  Jerri Elliott was the slim woman working at a cutting board. "Our husbands share a secretary." She stepped to one side to make room for Annie at the counter. "Here, you can dismember this cauliflower. I never can do it without making an awful mess."

  "Walter's talked about your husband. He's the one with the sailboat?"

  "That's Bob." She grinned at Annie. "And Walter's the one who rides the Yamaha, right. Boys and their toys, huh?"

  Annie smiled her agreement. As she cut up the cauliflower, she stole glances around the kitchen. Jerri was the only woman there even close to her age. The other four appeared to be in their late forties or fifties, but all were youthfully slim and dressed in designer clothing. She felt totally out of place in her denim pedal pushers and t-shirt, even if they had come from Nordstrom. She eyed Jerri's crisp chinos and polo shirt, noting that her sneakers' trim was the exact same shade of berry pink as her shirt. Obviously her idea of casual dress was an ocean removed from these women's. Well, she'd bet none of them had a toddler who was inclined to spill everything on his mother. "How old are your children?" she said to Jerri as she arranged white florets on the veggie platter.

  "Five and nine. They're monsters. I'll do K.P. any time it lets me dump them on their dad." Reaching past Annie, she pulled a colander full of freshly washed snow peas toward her. "These need stringing. If you'll do that, I'll get the dips ready."

  Once the appetizers had been set out for the men, the women returned to the kitchen. Annie would have rather stayed outside, where she could keep an eye on Cal, but Margie called her to join them. Inside, they gathered around the glass-topped table in a large breakfast nook. Margie refilled their wine glasses. The conversation turned to office gossip.

  Walter had only been at Stennis Investment for five months, and this was the first company party they'd been invited to. She suspected, as she listened to the women's conversation, that she probably would be less than a perfect corporate wife, since she spent her days at a computer, instead of shopping and doing volunteer work.

  Ralph stuck his head through the sliding door to the deck. "We can eat whenever you want, Margie. I think the natives are getting restless."

  "We'll start bringing out the food in a bit then. Open another bottle of wine. That will pacify them."

  Rising, Annie said, "I should check--"

  "Now you sit yourself down and enjoy your wine, Annie." Ralph said from the doorway. "Your boy's just fine. Having a great time picking Margie's daisies."

  "Oh no!"

  "Never mind, Annie. He'll do no harm. You ought to see the damage our grandchildren do when they're here."

  A quick look into the back yard revealed Calvin with the Elliott children. He was doing his best catch a ball the older boy tossed to him. She sat back down and allowed her wineglass to be topped off. It was delicious, a mildly sweet Oregon Riesling, very relaxing. The nervousness she'd felt at meeting Walter's business associates had all but dissolved. By the time Margie decided they should carry to food to the deck, she was enjoying herself.

  Jerri's two and the three teenagers caused enough confusion that it took several minutes for the buffet table to get set up. At last Annie was free to join Walter. "Where's Calvin," she said, when she saw him standin
g alone by the railing.

  "I don't know. He's around here somewhere."

  "Walter, he's just a baby. You have to keep your eye on him every minute." She stood on tiptoe, trying to see the entire backyard. She couldn't. Clusters of shrubs and winding paths broke up the vast space. "I can't see him. " Fear made her voice shrill.

  "He was over there picking the heads off of daisies the last time I saw him," Walter said.

  Calvin had been picking daisies a half hour ago, when Ralph had assured her of his safety. He was only twenty months old. Nothing could hold his attention for a half hour. "Walter, we've got to find him!"

  "Good God, Annie, will you calm down. You're making a fool of yourself." He did set his wineglass down and followed her down the stairs. "You go look around the play area. It's behind those tall shrubs."

  "If I ever have a big yard, the play area is going to be in plain sight," Annie muttered as she strode across the lawn, ignoring the winding, graveled path. No matter how old the kids, they needed to have an eye kept on them. Witness some of the mischief she and her sibs and cousins had gotten into.

  The play area was empty. Fear sitting in her belly like a block of ice, Annie walked along the elegantly landscaped border of the big yard. "Calvin, where are you? It's time to eat, darling. Please come out." She peered behind shrubs and parted tall ornamental grasses. The white wrought iron fence worried her. Above the fancy scroll, its pickets looked far enough apart for a small child to slip through.

  Walter met her halfway up the far side. He looked worried now, which scared her even more. "I'm going to ask the others to help. He's got to be here somewhere. Maybe he crawled under a bush and fell asleep."

  "Yes, maybe he did." Oh, God, please let that be it.

  Soon everyone was combing the backyard, peering under bushes, wading into the masses of flowering perennials. The incessant calls of "Calvin! Calvin, where are you?" made the lump of fear in Annie's belly grow, until it seemed to fill her whole insides.

  The daisies were indeed decapitated. Some lay flat, as if someone had walked across them. A small pile of daisy flowers lay on the ground just beyond the fence.

  "Calvin," she whispered. "Oh, my God. Calvin!" She was running by the time she passed through the gate. She dashed across the wide expanse of lawn between the houses. A brick path led around to the back, into the elegantly landscaped, white-iron-fenced yard.

  The fishpond was landscaped in the Japanese manner. Her mind registered that much before it recognized the small shape floating among the lily pads.

  "Calvin!"

  Chapter One

  This Year...

  A Friday Evening in August

  His mother wrinkled her nose as a draft of stale air enveloped them. "It smells musty."

  "I'll open windows upstairs if you can get those on this floor." Ward set the bags of groceries on the oak commode in the entry. A good thing they'd come a day early. He could just imagine Joss's reaction to the smell.

  "There used to be one of those box fans in the utility closet," she called after him. "If it still works, you could set it to exhaust out of the attic dormer."

  He waved a hand in agreement, but continued up the stairs. His feet left prints on the dusty treads, another sign that they needed to find a better housekeeping service.

  Or maybe they should simply sell the place. God knew, it wasn't paying for itself, even with the recent rent increase.

  As he fought with stuck windows and dusty blinds, he considered what the reaction would be if he brought up selling what was left of the Floating Nought. His mother was the only remaining heir, so it was purely her decision. But the rest of the family would have strong opinions, and wouldn't be shy about speaking them.

  The air was already smelling fresher when he went back downstairs. His mother had set the box fan in the front door, blowing in. Independent as ever, and still damned impatient. He decided to leave it there while he unloaded the car. He'd already convinced her to sleep on the Hide-A-Bed in the living room tonight, so best clear the air for her before he worried about the upper floors. No one else would arrive until tomorrow anyhow.

  Once Cecile had stowed the groceries they'd brought and he had moved his gear into the Blue House, they sat together at the long table in the kitchen. Ward had a beer and Cecile a tall glass of tea without ice. "I doubt anyone has refilled the ice cube trays since last summer," she said as she stirred in the contents of a blue sweetener packet. "The cleaners should check."

  "The housekeeping service doesn't seem able to keep the floors clean, so filling ice cube trays is probably beyond them," Ward said. "I'm going to talk to the property management people, see if they can't find us a more dependable service."

  "We need someone local. Someone who can keep an eye on the place." Her voice took on a querulous note, one he'd never heard until recently. She looked tired, too, even though they'd broken their journey in Baker City.

  Ward thought back to his youth, when his father would think nothing of driving five or six hundred miles in a day--and that was before freeways. Ma had seemed tireless then, always ready to tell stories or sing, to keep him and his sibs from killing each other. She still had incredible stamina for her age, but at eighty-three she was slowing down.

  No, she didn't have the energy she used to, but she wasn't about to admit it. He hoped this next week wouldn't wear her out. A family reunion where everyone got along would be tiring enough for her. This one promised to be hell on wheels.

  Damn, but he wished he'd been able to talk her out of inviting everyone. Talk about an explosive mixture.

  "I wish Annie had come over with us. I still don't trust her to come on her own."

  "She's an adult, Ma. It's her decision."

  Cecile picked up and put down her glass, leaving wet rings on the Formica tabletop. "She's still...fragile. It's been a year, and she's still blaming herself." Her mouth tightened. "If only she hadn't insisted on moving to Boise. She'd have been better off where we could keep an eye on her."

  "That may have been why she moved. So you wouldn't be keeping an eye on her." He reached across and clasped her hand. "Stop worrying about Annie, Ma. When I called her last month, she sounded like she was in better spirits. Healing takes time."

  "I know." Her eyes closed. "I know so well," she whispered.

  He'd never known how to comfort her. Ward waited; she would conquer her sorrow as she always had.

  "Will Frances come, do you think?" she said, startling him from his own dark memories.

  "God, I hope not."

  "Ward! She's your sister."

  "A relationship she's done her best to forget. I can't believe you invited her, Ma. Talk about a disruptive force."

  A disapproving shake of her head as she lifted her glass and drained it. "It's getting dark. I think I'll call it a day. I'll need all my energy tomorrow."

  He stood as she did. "You can sleep in. Nobody's apt to arrive before early afternoon."

  "No, I want to get up and watch the dawn. It's never the same in Portland." Gathering her tote and a paperback novel, she went toward the door, pausing only to set her glass in the sink. "I'll see you in the morning. Don't stay on the phone all night. You're on vacation, remember?"

  He laughed. "Self-employed means you don't get vacations, Ma. You only get paid if you do work." He wasn't being strictly accurate. In the past year he'd been pulling back from active management and taking on more of an advisory role. The first steps to retirement. He hoped.

  He bent to kiss her cheek. Still as soft and lilac scented as it had been fifty-odd years ago. "Good night."

  * * * *

  Saturday

  There was nothing like towing a trailer on a winding, mountain road to force a man into patience. What worried Clay was the driver ahead--an accident looking for a place to happen.

  A woman. She'd passed him, just outside Mountain Home, and he'd caught a glimpse of an unmistakably feminine profile.

  At last the road ahead straightene
d and the no-passing zone ended. Before Clay could make up his mind to pass, the green Neon slowed again, then drifted across the double center line, headed straight for the abrupt drop-off beyond.

  He laid on the horn, without evident result.

  "Damn woman! She is asleep!" The unwieldy combination of three-quarter ton pickup and travel trailer swayed slightly in answer to his hand on the wheel. Wishing there was a guard rail between the other lane and empty space, he eased up close behind the small car. This time he hit the switch for the air horns. He winced at the blast of sound, knowing his ears would be ringing for a good long while.

  The Neon jerked back into its lane,. then sped up, pulling away from him. Clay accelerated just enough to keep up. By God, he'd give her a piece of his mind. Some women shouldn't be granted driver's licenses.

  Again he switched on the horns. "Pull over, you dumb broad," he muttered, "before you get us both killed." A semi, loaded with bawling cattle, came around a curve ahead. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he thought about what could have happened if they'd had been half a mile closer.

  A couple of miles down the road, the Neon pulled off onto a wide shoulder. Clay edged in behind it. He set the brake and climbed out, determined to scare some sense into her.

  The Neon's driver was slumped in the seat, head resting against the steering wheel. He tried the door. Locked. He tapped on the window.

  No reaction. "Damn it, woman, I know you can't be asleep. Open this door."

  Her head moved, slowly. Turned.

  "Get out." An edge of anger was still in his voice and Clay forced it down. "Ma'am, you need to get out, walk around a little. You almost went off the road."

  She fumbled at her seat belt. As it slid open, her hand went to the door handle.

  Clay stepped back, pasted a smile on his face. He hoped it was reassuring.

  It must have been, because she opened the door and slowly, stiffly, got out. She moved like a woman three times her age. Two short, unsteady steps took her back to the rear quarter panel, where she leaned and stared vacantly across the gray-green sagebrush hills.