Ten Thousand Truths (3 page)

Rachel had not missed the emphasis Mrs. Thompson had put on the words
very difficult
. The funny part was that Social Services seemed to have complete faith in the Harriets' methods, too, and Rachel was quite sure if they really knew what some of those methods were, that wouldn't be the case.
Is it a good method to tie an 18-month-old boy to his crib by both legs to keep him from trying to climb out?
Rachel wondered.
Should Bob really buy his cigarettes and beer with the birthday money of a kid too stupid to tell anybody?

Amelia stood up and took her plate to the sink. Then she walked over to the stove, swung down the door of a long compartment, grabbed a potholder, and pulled out a still-warm pie. The crust was light brown with blotches of deep blue juice that had bubbled in places on the sides and top.

“My grandmother always said it's not a good blueberry pie if it doesn't boil over in the oven. If that's true, then this one is going to be excellent.”

Crystal got up and poured the boiling water from the kettle into a brown teapot. Then she grabbed a cup and saucer covered with purple flowers from the pantry and set it down in front of where Amelia had been sitting. Rachel stared at the pie as Amelia started cutting generous pieces, placing them on small glass plates. She had not seen a homemade pie in any of the other places she had lived. Looking at the golden crust, she remembered when she and Caleb would get on stools on either side of their mother and watch her roll pastry out with a rolling pin. She would always let them take a turn rolling and if they messed up she would laugh and patch the crust together. “It doesn't matter what it looks like, it just matters if it tastes good,” she would always say.

Chelsea got up, poured the steaming tea into the cup, and passed Amelia a plastic bottle that looked like a beehive. Without a word they both sat back down and started eating their pieces of blueberry pie.
What were they,
wondered Rachel,
the tag team tea girls?

“A cup of tea on Walton Lake Road,” Amelia said to Rachel. “What could beat it, except I suppose high tea at the Empress Hotel? I've always dreamed about having high tea at the Empress Hotel. But these girls are the next best thing. They always make me a lovely cup of tea with just a spoonful of honey—and always in my favourite cup and saucer. Pansies have beautiful expressive faces and I always see sweet faces on the pansies on this beautiful cup. Honey is the only food that does not spoil. Honey has been found in tombs of Egyptian Pharaohs and when tasted by archaeologists they found it to be still edible.”

Chapter 2

Wet Dogs and Underwear

Rachel was up to her elbows in hot soapy water. Raymond held a red checked dishcloth and dried each dish she set on the drainer as if it were a treasured family heirloom. After he dried it, he passed it to Crystal, who would walk into the pantry to put it away on the shelf. This laborious exercise, combined with the silence, made the task seem almost dreamlike to Rachel.
Maybe this
is
a dream,
she thought to herself.
And soon I'll wake up back in my bedroom at the Harriets' and none of the crap of the last few days will have taken place.
She had long given up hoping a dream would take her back to waking up at 619 Regent Street with her Mom's or Caleb's voice breaking through her sleep. In fact, she had long since forgotten what either of those voices sounded like.

Amelia had gone to lay down for a nap. Before going upstairs, she had explained to Rachel that Chelsea had asked for her hour today right after lunch. The hour thing apparently was one of the two so-called rules that Amelia had. The first was that everyone was required to spend one hour a day alone at the lake. The second was “Do Your Part.” Rachel thought both rules sounded really stupid.
An hour alone at the lake. What kind of a rule is that?
Rachel wondered.

Amelia had told Rachel that when Chelsea came up from the lake she could go down for her hour. Apparently they took turns choosing their hours in order of their birthday months. She'd said that tomorrow Rachel would get first choice and then they would continue with their rotation. It didn't seem to Rachel like such a big thing to get first choice of when you could sit by a lake for an hour by yourself.

Rachel was just washing the roasting pan that the chicken had been cooked in when Raymond let out a squeal that sounded sort of like the name Zac. It was the first word that had been said in the kitchen since Amelia had left the room. Raymond threw the dish towel down on the drainer and rushed out the door. Rachel could hear a man's voice holler, “Hey, Buddy!” from the yard and she looked out the window to see a tall skinny man with shoulder-length hair who she assumed was Zac passing a box of groceries to Raymond.
Not much wonder he's so excited,
Rachel thought.
The kid obviously loves food.

Crystal walked out the door and Chelsea came around the corner of the house at the same time. They both hugged Zac before grabbing boxes of groceries from the back of his truck. Rachel let the lukewarm water out of the sink and rinsed the grime from the sides. If nothing else, Margaret Harriet had taught her how to clean stuff. Rachel wondered who was doing her dirty work now.

Raymond was talking a mile a minute as he told Zac all the exciting news of the day: 31 boxes of raspberries, Sam killed a mole, a chicken got out, and he had seen the loons at the lake this morning.

“You must be Rachel,” Zac said as he walked into the kitchen. He extended his arm for a handshake. Rachel wiped her wet hand on her pant leg and clumsily shook Zac's hand. “Amelia said I should get some extra groceries and something as a special treat for you. I bought you some peaches. You haven't tasted heaven until you've had Amelia's peach cobbler smothered with whipped cream. This basket is all yours, though, so you can decide if you want her to use some for a cobbler or if you just want to eat them all yourself.

I got another basket of peaches for everyone else, and a couple of bags of Ketchup chips for you all to share.”

He turned toward the other kids, who were looking at him like he was some lanky version of Santa Claus. “Raymond, let's you and I go see where that chicken got out while the girls put the groceries away. Oh, and I picked up the part I ordered for the David Brown. Maybe tomorrow afternoon you could come over and help me take the old fuel filter off and put the new piece on?”

Raymond followed Zac out the door. Rachel picked up the basket of peaches Zac had set on the table in front of her. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten a fresh peach. She picked one up and felt the fuzzy skin on her fingertips. She set it back in the basket, then picked it up again, not quite able to believe that these were really all for her. She looked down at her peach again, then took a big bite and felt the juice drip down her chin, savouring the sweetness. She turned her head away from the twins, who were walking back and forth from the grocery boxes to the pantry.
I'm almost crying, for God's sake,
she reprimanded herself.
It's just a peach. What's wrong with me?

Sam and Bud followed Rachel down the hill toward the lake.
Does it count as an hour alone if the dogs are with me?
she wondered. Truthfully, she was really quite pleased that both dogs had followed her and not stayed in the garden where Chelsea and Crystal were picking yellow beans. Raymond and Zac were doing something over at the shed where Rachel guessed the chickens were kept. She could hear the pounding of a hammer. The sound faded as she got closer to the water. Sam dropped a stick at Rachel's feet and she picked it up, assuming that he wanted her to throw it. She flung it a ways out into the water and Sam bounded into the lake after it.

Rachel sat on a nearby rock and untied her laces. Sam had the stick back on the ground in front of her before she'd had time to remove her sneakers and socks. She threw it a bit farther this time. She watched as Bud, who was a little ways down the shore, explored a flower of some kind that was swaying in the breeze. Sam came back and dropped his stick again. This time Rachel waded out into the lake a bit before throwing it. After a few more throws, Sam took the stick in his mouth and curled up in a sunny spot on the shore.

Rachel walked to the end of the dock and sat down, dangling her feet in the cool water. Bud followed her out and sat down on the weathered boards beside her. Rachel stared at the gently rippling water. She wondered if they swam in this lake. The kids at the Harriets' all had memberships to the aquatic centre down the street, but Rachel had always refused to go. She told them there was no way she was going to waste her time there when she could be hanging out with her friends at the ball field or the skate park. But the real reason she never went was because she didn't know how to swim. She couldn't even do the dog paddle. She thought about walking out to her waist and letting herself drop into the water.
What would it feel like to float?
she wondered.

A large fly buzzed around Rachel's head and she swatted it with her hand. Bud moved closer and laid his head on her lap. Rachel patted his head and shifted her weight a bit. She could hear the hammering sound again. She heard another sound she guessed was a bird. She closed her eyes, listening to the echoing call. In the background she could hear the lapping of the water and the trees moving slightly in the breeze. The sound of Bud's breathing was mixed with the other sounds. It was so very quiet here, yet not quiet at all.

Rachel heard Amelia call her name. She stood up and walked to the end of the dock, shaking off the cramp in her leg from sitting too long in one position. Sam raised his head and shook himself awake. He picked up his stick and brought it to Rachel again. She threw it toward the path that led up the hill. Both dogs started the walk up without her as she put her socks and sneakers back on. When she stood up she could see that Amelia was walking down the path toward her.

“Did you hear the loons?” Amelia asked as she got closer. “There's a pair and two young ones on the lake this year. If you're really lucky they will come close enough for you to have a good look at them.” Amelia continued talking before Rachel had a chance to answer. “Did Sam keep you busy throwing his stick? You met Zac, did you? He and Raymond have gone for a load of firewood now. He'll bring us the kitchen wood first and after we get that all in the shed he'll bring the furnace wood. We put that in the basement through the end window. Zac has a chute thing rigged up that makes putting it in pretty easy. Then we stack it up against the north wall.”

The fact that Rachel didn't say anything didn't keep Amelia from talking the whole way up to the house. They stopped at the end of the house where a clothesline was set up. Colourful clothes filled the line from one end to the other. Amelia picked up a large wicker basket that sat on the ground and passed it to Rachel. “Take the clothes off the line and bring them in, please. I'm going inside to make a chicken pot pie for supper. You can fold the laundry, and then I'll show you where everything goes and give you a tour of the rest of the house.”

Rachel pulled the line toward her, none too happy about having to touch what she supposed was everybody's underwear. As if reading her mind, Amelia stopped and turned back toward her. “Can you believe there's a law in the state of Minnesota that makes it illegal to hang male and female underwear on the same clothesline? Silly, isn't it? It's just a piece of clothing like any other.” She laughed to herself as she headed into the house.

Two sets of underwear in assorted pastel colours were the first things Rachel took off the line. The days of the week were embroidered on the front of them and both Fridays were missing.
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum take the organizing of their undergarments very seriously
, she thought. Next came several large pairs of boxers. She took the clothespins off them quickly and dropped them in the basket, trying not to think about the big butt they covered. Then there was a row of granny panties. She couldn't believe she was going to have to fold them. Socks came next. About twenty pairs stretched out along the line. Then she took off several T-shirts and blouses. A huge pair of blue jeans came next and as Rachel set them in the basket she laughed, thinking that she could probably get her entire body into one leg of these massive things. Several towels and face cloths were the last things on the line. After taking them off, she put the clothespins in a bag hanging nearby and picked up the laundry basket. As she walked toward the house she could see the twins lying on opposite ends of a hammock fastened to two old trees in the middle of the lawn. They were giggling as Crystal made the hammock sway from side to side. The first word she had heard either of them say came from Chelsea as she hollered for her sister to stop.

The kitchen was very hot when Rachel walked in with the laundry basket. Amelia was putting a piece of wood in the stove while holding the lid in her other hand with a tool of some kind. “I need a hot fire to cook the crust of the pie,” she explained, hanging the tool on the back of the stove and walking over to the table.

Rachel could see that there was a dish on the table already filled with chicken and vegetables. Amelia spooned gravy onto the mixture then carried the dish into the pantry. Rachel could hear the sound of the wooden rolling pin clunking against the counter, and a couple of minutes later when Amelia emerged, the pie was covered with pastry. She opened the oven door and slid it onto the rack.

“I may as well stick a peach cobbler in the oven while it's hot,” Amelia said as she walked over to the table and reached for a peach from the communal basket. She peeled the skin, cut it away from the pit, and sliced it into a baking dish.

Rachel folded the towels and facecloths and set them on a chair. She picked up a flowered blouse and started to fold it. “The peaches are really good.” The sound of her own voice startled Rachel. She couldn't even remember putting the thought together and deciding to speak it—the words had just come out and at first she wasn't even sure if Amelia had heard her.

“Have another one,” Amelia answered. “That whole basket is yours and they go bad so quickly. It's like so much else in our lives. We have to enjoy it while we have it.”

Amelia pushed Rachel's basket toward her. Rachel noticed that she had left the pit of the first one she ate in the basket. She picked it out and set it on the newspaper that held the peelings and pits of the ones Amelia was putting in the dish and then picked out another peach. She sat down and took a bite. The second peach seemed sweeter and tasted even better to her than the first one had.

Rachel followed Amelia into a room with an old couch and chair. A larger table surrounded by an assortment of wooden chairs sat off to the side. There was a desk in one corner and Rachel could see an old-fashioned black phone sitting on it.
So there
is
communication with the outside world, after all,
Rachel thought.

Amelia led Rachel upstairs. At the top of the stairs was a landing with an old rocking chair and a big trunk sitting near a window. A rug made with squares of bright colours sat on the floor in front of the rocker. Several doors led to rooms off the landing, but they were all closed. Amelia pointed to each of the doors and told Rachel whose bedroom it was without opening them. “We try to keep our privacy here, though I will check your room now and again,” she said. “Oh, and in an old house like this is you don't want to leave food lying around or we'll be overrun with mice.”

Amelia opened a door and walked into the room. There was no window so she had to pull a chain on a fixture hanging from the ceiling for them to be able to see. Every wall of the room was lined from floor to ceiling with shelves, and each shelf was filled with books or magazines. There were also books piled on the tables, benches, and chairs. One wall was completely filled with yellow-bound
National Geographic
magazines.