Maiden Run

By Joan L. Cannon

This is a story about what home can mean to those fortunate enough to have spent their early lives in a place with a family history. It opens when the three Adams children face the fateful summer when Maiden Run seems besieged. The echoes of that summer sound in each of their lives thereafter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Write Words Inc.
• Release date: Nov 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781613861479

Book preview

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Maiden Run

By Joa n L. Cannon

Published at Smashwords by Write Words, Inc.

Copyright 2004 by Joan L. Cannon

Chapter 1

Going Home

1966

Julia is on her way home for the first time in many years. There's a nagging voice in the back of her mind that she tries to hush telling her it's probably for the last time. It's this sense of an ending that makes her want to preserve whatever she can by recording it. She's thinking of her brother and sister and the children, and for their children. She wonders besides if what she intends to set down might provide material for stories she hasn't written yet. The notion occurs to her that such narratives might grow like accretions in a stream, taking shapes that look more random than perhaps they are. Like most writers, she's afraid she'll let an opportunity escape.

As memories unfurl across her mind's eye like the miles on the odometer, she resolves to do her best to preserve them—even those that are incomplete, even with the imagined details there's no way she could have seen at the time.

A journey like this is fraught with an amorphous burden, not just of the past, but of the unknown. She recalls Robert Frost's wonderfully sad and true poem in which he said, Home is the place where, when you have to go there, /they have to take you in. Like a Jungian memory, that knowledge has persisted with Julia all her life, until now, when at last she recognizes it.

At this point, as images gather in her head, they revive with them many questions that hovered only at the edges of her consciousness at the time they were happening. She thinks that the surprising and humbling gift and grace of increasing age is hindsight, with its improved perceptions. She is thinking as she speeds along that maybe reviewing that summer on the site might now reveal more than she was ever able to understand while they were all going through it together.

Supermarkets and car dealerships have sprung up along the highway, where once there were only pastures, corn fields, and woodlots. In the nearly twenty years since she's seen this village, it has become a suburb. Even though she was prepared for it, the sight disheartens her. She fears it might be just a foretaste of what the whole family is going to have to adjust to. Julia is old enough to know how futile resistance to what the world likes to call progress is, and she knows that all change isn't necessarily a personal affront to what she treasures, but even so, the unforeseen banality of the roadside view emphasizes her fear that nothing about this visit is likely to be less than painful.

Julia is thinking of that summer when she felt as if the farm were being invaded by strangers—strangers who threatened the Adamses because they threatened their home, and by extension, them. She muses at how often she is amazed at how little people perceive during the times when they're most in need of perceptiveness. That was a time when the changes that overtook them effectively separated the siblings from each other, as well as from Maiden Run. She fears that perhaps now, at last, some of those rifts will be permanent.

The real world forces her out of such musings and displaces these notions when she turns off the highway between stone gateposts, one of which bears the farm name on a bronze plaque. The gloss of sunlight on the letters Maiden Run shows how well Tom and Marian keep it polished. She thinks the mile-long drive lined with alternating maples and catalpas no longer seems as wide as it used to.

When she rounds the last curve that reveals the house, she immediately sees that the huge sugar maple that used to shade the east side of the rose garden is gone. When they were children, they used to soar on the swing that hung from a horizontal branch till they were high enough to catch a glimpse of water in Brave Brook, which runs in a little gully below the garden. Even the long, low brick house, shaded by shagbark hickories and blue spruces seems to have shrunk.

Julia thinks, Can it really contain the airy rooms I remember?

Then she sees Marian standing at the top of the steps leading to the open wide front door. When Julia stops the car, Marian runs quickly down and around to the driver's side, where Julia already has the window down. She is still a little overwhelmed by the clustering memories that swarm into her head.

Marian opens the car door. You made good time!

Julia gets out with a groan. Not good enough. She rubs her back. I'm stiff as a board. Getting too old to sit so long. She steps back from her sister-in-law's embrace.

Marian, you never change! Marian's hair is still crow-wing black; her dark eyes, fringed with heavy lashes, retain their mysterious depth. Her figure is still supple, though no longer willowy as it still was when the two saw each other the last time in a lovely post-war reunion filled with the pleasures of showing off their children and getting reacquainted.

You look pretty much the same yourself, Marian says, except for a few grey hairs. Here, I'll help with your bags. Tom's gone over to the barn.

Julia sighs and unlatches the trunk. That's okay. This is all I have. She hefts her single suitcase out, then turns turn to look out across the lawn. Purple shadows fall from each tree trunk along the grass. Golden light edging every object reminds her of the Maxfield Parrish print that used to hang in her bedroom. She inhales, savoring the incomparable scents of country air in September, all the sweeter for belonging to Maiden Run.

Marion says, They just cut the grass this morning. It smells good, doesn't it?

I don't know another place that has as many lovely smells. Julia smiles, warmed by her pleasure in being here. She remembers standing in full sun on just such a day as this, during the war, but earlier in the summer. Maybe just the smell of freshly-mown grass has brought the scene back?

Marian is already on her way up the four steps to the door. Without turning her head, she says, Have you forgotten manuring the fields and cleaning turkey pens, not to mention the pigs?

Julia pulls herself out of her reverie and laughs. What kind of farm would be without those indispensable smells: insecticides, fertilizers, cow manure? She never did learn to appreciate the fumes of silage or ammonia in the cow barn, but she thinks how she still loves the smell of horses.

The Adams family is gathering for the last time in this house where they were born. Julia is saddened, thinking how this must be agonizing for Marian and Tom, who have given their lives to the care of the place. They met and married here (as she and I did), and reared their children here. Hugh and Connie are due to arrive tomorrow morning, along with Julia's Catherine and Eric. As she walks along the wide upstairs hall toward the room she'll be using, she thinks of the happy vacations the cousins have spent here. She is aware that Catherine is as distressed as the others doubtless are She and Eric have talked themselves out. She is sure Estelle will probably feel this less than any of the rest of them.

She sets her suitcase on the stand at the foot of the bed and stands, looking around the familiar room. Marian has followed her into the room and is opening the closet to check for hangars. Julia turns to her. Have you heard from Stella?

She called last night to say she'd be coming, but I don't know when to expect her. The two exchange a brief glance of complicity. They don't know what to expect from Stella.

By the time Julia finishes unpacking, Tom is back. Marian is a wonderful cook, and has filled the house with delicious aromas that waft through from the kitchen. Julia comes quickly down the stairs to Tom, who waits for her at the bottom. They hug. He's looking thinner, a little weary, otherwise much the same. Tom has a head of thick brown hair, now grey at the temples, and a wiry body that looks much less strong that it is. He has eyes that change from green to hazel and back again.

All three go to sit in the living room with drinks. Julia notices that some of the smaller furniture is gone from the huge room, but the massive still enfolds her with legs curled up, the way she always used to sit in it, with her back to the triple window overlooking the hillside that falls away down to the trees that conceal the river at the bottom of the slope.

Marian is leaning back in Jonathan's wing chair with its sagging seat. Tom has settled on the piano bench, which he has pulled out in front of the fireplace. Even without the full array of pictures, photographs, and ornaments that always used to stand scattered on top of the piano and on tables, the ambience is exactly as it has always been—like a mohair afghan—warm and weightless.

The flaming sunset shines on Tom's fine-boned face, flushing his skin so he looks like a young man. Behind Julia, the light places her regular features in shadow but burnishes her still brown hair with highlights. It makes Marian's dusky complexion glow. She and her husband are a handsome pair. Orange light reflects on polished walnut and mahogany and picks out jewel colors in the old Oriental rug. Julia finds herself awash in nostalgia and affection.

Marian is following her gaze as she surveys the space around them. This room is large, welcoming, handsomely furnished with old things, and completely without pretention. Nothing in it fails to speak of hard and affectionate use and care. What will you do with your piano, Julia?

Julia hesitates, looking at the instrument, and sighs. Sell it, of course. There's no room in our house for a grand piano, even as small as this one. Besides, it would cost a fortune to have it moved. She shrugs, trying for a light touch. I managed with the spinet in our apartment for years. I hardly play now anyway.

Tom drinks, ice clinking in his glass, then he rises and walks over to the open French doors that lead out onto the terrace. Julia never had to explain or elaborate in conversations with Tom. She senses that he has decided not to voice a thought. He looks out over the western view, more than half a mile to the dense trees along the river, making it invisible at this time of the year. Beyond it lie humped purple backs of distant low hills, silhouetted against the blazing horizon where the sun's disk hangs flat just above them, its lower edge already cut from view by its descent. Inside, shadows are gathering fast.

Julia rubs her arms. Shut the door, will you, Tom? I'm getting chilly.

Marian gets up, saying, I'll get you a sweater.

Oh, don't bother, thanks. It's just the draft, I think.

By supper time, Estelle has still not appeared. They're running out of small talk, burdened as their thoughts are with the reason they are here together at this time.

Tom looks at his watch. Should we wait for Stella?

He and Marian exchange a glance before she says, If we wait for her, as you well know, we might not eat till ten.

Tom takes the tray in one hand, drains his glass, and starts out the door. I'm starved. Let's eat.

When they have finished and cleared the table, Stella still hasn't arrived. Using her long drive as a pretext, Julia retires early. She lies in her old double bed, imagining she can hear the rippling of the Run, as the weight of sleep bears down on her. It's too far from the house for her to hear it, but behind closed lids, she can see the water gliding and sometimes tumbling between forest-shaded banks festooned with maidenhair fern and moss. She pictures the cascade where one margin of the stream is a sheer wall of perpetually seeping shale decorated with rare hart's tongue fern and tough polypody, where little beige snails leave stuttery trails shining behind them. As it flows to the river, out in the sun, it crosses meadows and cow pasture and curves in an ox-bow through grass and wildflowers. There are lush beds of dark green, spicy watercress. They used to stalk crayfish and make them scuttle for cover once they saw the children's shadows. There, the bottom is made up of stones as small and rounded and polished as beads. She remembers they used to find tracks of raccoons, mice, birds, and even otters on the miniature sandy beaches that lie glaring in the sun.

The placidity of home flows over Julia like the stream over its pebbles, and with an unheard whisper, sleep creeps up and claims her.

Chapter 2

Memory of Unexpected Visitors

1935

The invasion (as Julia still think of it as she begins to make notes) began on a cool, sunny June morning when she was coming back from her morning ride. In those days, her favorite recreation was with the horses. Only with them or the piano could she escape domestic duties, boredom, and the vision she had of a changeless future for herself. Riding also put out of mind the disturbing news from Europe, news that even the Adams family, in their rural semi-isolation, would in the end be unable to escape. On a horse, you have to pay attention to what you're doing. Mussolini invading some place called Abyssinia, and some bantam German reinstating compulsory military service seemed at the time to have nothing to do with the world-wide trials of the Great Depression. Almost everyone was trying to ignore clouds on the international horizon. They had acquaintances who were much more interested in the prize money offered in golf tournaments than in what was happening over three thousand miles from American shores. Even their father, while he read a New York paper every day, discussed other matters.

Julia never missed at least an hour a day on horseback when the weather was good. Mending, menu planning, house cleaning, invasions and saber-rattling, soup kitchens and bread lines, all faded out of her mind, to be replaced by pleasure in the outdoors. There, on horseback, she answered to no one, and the strength and will of the animal answered only to her.

That day, as she was walking home from the barn through the shade where a bridge crosses the brook, she caught sight of a dusty little panel truck sitting in the sunlight in front of the house. The driver, a heavy-set man wearing a farmer's straw hat, had just slammed the door. A lean, younger man in a grey Stetson stood at the passenger side. Both men surveyed the house and then turned to look across the lawn. Neither of them saw the girl approaching through the dense shadows of the trees. The older man began to walk back towards the kitchen entrance.

Julia called out, Hello! Can I help you?

The visitors turned, and the heavy one took off his hat, waiting with a broad grin on his florid face for her to come up to them.

Good morning, Miss…? He hesitated.

Something bordering on insolence in his expression and the pointed way he paused annoyed Julia. She ignored his implied question. What can I do for you?

We're here to see Mr. Adams, the man answered, showing a mouthful of large, crooked teeth. My name is Parsons. We're from Inland Enterprises. He paused, waiting for her to speak. She looked him up and down. Miss…? he said again.

She was annoyed. She thought if he knew the family's surname name, he ought to be able to guess hers. Which Mr. Adams? she inquired, knowing it would be her father." She went ahead of them up to the front door.

We're here to speak to Mr. Jonathan Adams, the man said. I want to see the owner.

Julia relented, and turned to go up the steps. If you'll follow me, I'll find out if he can see you.

She knew their Great Dane Ajax would be lying on the rug inside the door. When she opened it, he saw she wasn't alone and scrambled to his feet with a roar, plunging at the opening, his hind feet kicking the rug into a pleated heap. Though Julia had deliberately turned her back, out of the corner of her eye she could see Parsons jump to one side quite nimbly for a man of his girth. Fortunately, his companion had not followed him too closely, or there might have been a rather comical pile-up at the bottom of the steps.

Julia said, All right, Ajax—down. The dog obeyed, and she turned away to hide her smile. She gestured to the open door of the farm office just to the right of the front door. If you'll take a seat in there, I'll find Mr. Adams.

The two men sidled through the office door, Parsons keeping an eye on Ajax, who by then stood leaning against Julia with his tail swinging. Satisfied with the impression their pet had made on the visitors, she took him with her as she went off to find her father.

He was in the morning room, reading one of the three newspapers he subscribed to. Elizabeth, the calico cat, was curled against his ankle. Sunlight flooded the room and made a nimbus of his white hair. Elizabeth looked up at Ajax with one side of her face mashed sideways from sleep like a crooked biscuit, but almost immediately put her head down and went back to sleep.

Dad, there are a couple of men from Inland Enterprises to see you. She pronounced the name like a question. I put them in the office.

He lowered his paper and raised one thick white eyebrow. Inland? That's a mining outfit. Wonder what they want. All right, I'll go find out. He folded the paper and added it to the pile beside his chair before he got laboriously to his feet, dislodging Elizabeth, and left the room with Ajax at his heels.

Of course, Julia was curious about the visitors, but in those days, she was expected to mind the grocery and laundry lists and stay out of what Jonathan called men's affairs. She went upstairs to change out of boots and riding pants before driving out to the highway for the mail, which was delivered to the rural box by the gate.

On the way there in the family Ford, Julia enjoyed the still-fresh verdure of early summer, though she was already dreading the somnolent length of hot days ahead. The trees planted along the road cast a dappled shade; grasses and wildflowers flourished in the triangles formed by zigzagging split rails of given-and-take fences on both sides of the road. Beyond them stretched fields of oats and stippled rows of healthy young corn. Blond dust billowed up behind the car.

When she got to the main road, she climbed out and walked along the concrete to our mailbox. When she pulled out the bundle of mail, she was surprised to find an envelope from Estelle. As a rule, she wrote only as often as duty demanded, which didn't include letters to her sister or brother. The fact that this one was addressed to her, rather than to her father made Julia wonder she could want.

When she got back to the house, the truck belonging to the Inland men was just pulling away from the door and rattling around the loop in the driveway. Julia noticed the man in the Stetson looking out the back window at her through the cloud of dust her car had already raised.

She parked by the kitchen entrance and went in that way to take her place in the dining room. Jonathan came slowly in and lowered himself into his chair carefully, supporting his weight on its arms until he was all the way down. They bowed their heads.

Bless this food to our use and us to thy service, in Christ's name, amen. Jonathan picked up his napkin and nodded at the pile of mail beside his daughter's plate. Anything interesting? He leaned forward, sipping from his soup spoon.

She held up the envelope, address turned toward him. A letter from Stella.

Go ahead and read it—this isn't a formal meal.

Julia put her spoon down and tore open the flap. Dear Julie… she read silently. How about a little visit this summer? I thought it would be nice to cut out of the city in the hot weather and do some flower paintings—that's my big interest now—and Maiden Run's gardens are one of its better amenities—I thought I'd have Vivian Bauer come with me—you remember I told you about her when I was home at Christmas—the poet who supports herself as a secretary—She could use a vacation—well, the truth is, they laid her off. We'll drive, so we ought to be there about the 16th or 17th—don't bother making up the guest room—we don't mind sharing. What's your news? But what am I saying—what news can there be out there in agriculture land? How's Himself? Your ever lovin'—Stella. Estelle invariably wrote without punctuation except dashes, as if she were unable to slow down her thoughts enough to express them conventionally.

Julia looked up at her father, who was attending to his soup. She says she's coming for a visit. It sounds as if it might be for the whole summer, but I can't tell for sure.

He raised his eyebrows. Oh? When is she planning to arrive?

Maybe by Saturday. Julia read the note aloud, trying to make it sound less headlong than it looked.

Jonathan put his spoon down. Well, that's fine for her, but we can't have the friend right away. She'll have to wait for a few days.

Why not? Besides being curious, Julia wondered how she might dissuade her notoriously determined sister from something she'd already planned.

Don't worry, her father said, as if reading her mind. I'll call her tonight and talk to her myself. He reached for one of the half sandwiches on the plate between them. I want to have a bit of a family conference without strangers in our midst. Her friend can come in the middle of the week, by train.

Conference? Julia echoed.

Jonathan had a mouthful of ham and cheese sandwich, so he just nodded. Julia took a sandwich for herself, musing on how he habitually generated suspense. This was a habit that had earned him a reputation as a raconteur. For several minutes she ate in silence while she curbed her impatience, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing that she'd been successfully baited.

Finally Jonathan leaned back, hands folded across his belt, and began to roll his thumbs slowly around each other, a gesture she knew signaled inner tension and frequently foretold either bad news or a lecture. He cleared his throat lightly.

Those men from Inland Enterprises were engineers from the petroleum division.

Petroleum? You mean oil?

Oil, yes, and gas. Inland has been doing a survey of the whole central part of the state. It seems some of the topography around here suggests a possibility of formations a long way underground that might be, as they put it, 'profitably developed.'

Julia stopped eating. They think they might find oil here?

What they said is that they thought there was a chance. They want permission to do a detailed survey, possibly followed by some testing.

What did you tell them?

Jonathan examined his sandwich as if he had never seen one like it before. I told them I'd let them know within two weeks. He looked back at Julia.First we'll get the three of you together—it's fortuitous that Estelle plans to come home just now—and we'll talk about it.

Julia asked, We three?

Jonathan closed his eyes for a moment. Julia realized she'd been repeating nearly everything he said. Then he nodded. His face had taken on a serious, almost solemn expression. We have to face facts, Julia.The farm will soon belong to you—you and Thomas and Estelle. So it's you who should make a decision like this, a decision that might have such a…, he cleared his throat again, …a far-reaching effect on Maiden Run.

Dad, you've always made all decisions about the farm. Why stop now?

It's time, he answered, his eyes on his soup bowl. Then he laid his napkin beside his plate and began to push himself upright until he could press the chair away from the table with his thighs and straighten his legs. He started out of the room, walking stiffly. At the door, he paused and turned to face her. Just finish up your lunch. I'm going to lie down for a while.

Julia sat watching him depart with his slightly rocking