Alice was a potter. She had learned the craft from her mother and, after her husband died, she made her living by selling plates and bowls and mugs to gift shops all over the state. Every weekday summer morning, while Dave and Jason rode their bikes along the back roads of Brookfield, I would sit in Alice’s workshop, drawing and coloring in my sketchbook while she turned cold, ugly lumps of clay into lovely souvenirs. Each piece was hand-painted with a small moose or a deer or a clump of blueberries, because that’s what the tourists like.

   But every once in awhile, after her clay was centered on the bat, waiting to be formed, she’d stare out the window, out at her backyard. I never knew exactly what it was she was looking at, but I knew she wasn’t actually seeing the backyard. And when her foot gently kicked the wheel into motion again her pale, blue eyes were soft and distant, like she was still in that Far Away place. Her strong, lean fingers would coax the wet clay, guide it; let it reveal itself to her rather than bending it to her will. And when the wheel finally came to a stop she’d survey her new creation with a smile and say:

   “That’s so I don’t forget why I started doing this in the first place.”

   And one day I was brave enough to ask her, “Why did you start making pottery?”

   She nodded towards my sketchbook. “The same reason you started drawing.”

   “Because it’s fun?”

   “Well…that’s part of the reason.”

   Then she started up her potter’s wheel and went to work on another mug. I went back to my sketchbook. I didn’t bother to ask her what the rest of the reason was. I knew she’d tell me when she was ready.

   She was ready two days later.

   We watched through the window as the boys took off on their bikes and when they were out of sight she said, “Tess, I have something for you.”

   She held my hand, led me out the back door and into her workshop. Standing in the corner was a three-legged wooden easel. Beside that, on a stool, sat an open wooden box filled with a dozen tubes of acrylic paint and a package of paintbrushes. I let go of her hand and ran over to it, examined each tube. Rolled the names of the colors around in my mind.

   And that’s when she brought it out. A fresh, new canvas.

   “It’s so big, Alice. What am I supposed to paint?”

   “Tess, there is no supposed to. You just paint whatever it is you’re feeling.”

   “But…what if I make a mistake?” You can erase something you draw with a pencil, and even throw away something you colored with a crayon if you mess it up. But a canvas seemed so…permanent. There’s no going back if you do it wrong.

   “You’ll just have to incorporate your mistakes into your painting.” And then she strolled over to her wheel without another word. Leaving me alone. Alone with the canvas.

   I looked at it for a good long time. It was white. Blank. Scary. I touched it gently, ran my fingers along the rough surface. Thousands of little threads, woven together into a cloth, stretched over a solid, wooden frame. I looked out the window and into the backyard, to the place where Alice always seemed to get her inspiration. And it worked. Because I saw it, standing there, shining merrily in the hot, golden summer sun. Jason’s swingset.

   As much as I loved watching Alice in her workshop every morning, what I loved even more was what happened every day after lunch, after the boys were done with their bike ride. Swingset races. I always lost, every time, but I never cared. It was the most fun ever.

   Pump faster, Tess. You can do it! Faster. Now...let go!

   Ever.

   Jason’s swingset was blue; nothing but cold, rigid metal poles. But in my painting it glowed with Cadmium Red and Yellow Ochre and the top bar was pitched, just like a roof. Because that’s how it looked--how it felt--in my mind. Warm and safe. It was my haven. The swingset, the backyard, the workshop, the house…all of it.

   It was home.

   And when Alice looked at it she smiled, too, because she knew that it meant I loved her. And I smiled right back, because I had discovered why Alice made her pottery. Not the cookie-cutter trinkets she sold in gift shops to keep a roof over her head, over Jason’s head, and to put food in their bellies. But the vases and bottles that came off the wheel when she wrapped her heart around the clay…instead of her hands. And the reason was this:

   There are some things you just can’t say out loud. Some feelings you can’t find any words for. They have to find a different way to escape. A better way. A truer way.

   That’s the way it was with the orchard. Because it was more than just five bare apple trees waiting to bloom. It was a sign, a message. It was trying to tell me that everything was going to be alright. That I was going to be alright.

   I set a fresh canvas down on the same easel Alice had given me on that perfect summer day so many years before. It was scratched, worn, stained with paint. I’d had to repair the back leg three times in the past five years. But it was still up to the job. Then I opened up the windows, closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Cool night air. Spring air. Because it was here. Finally.

   I picked up my palette, gripped it in my hand, loaded it with color. I closed my eyes once more and remembered the orchard the way it had looked that day, more than two months earlier. Remembered the cold, bitter snow, the even colder despair. The loneliness. All the other countless emotions I couldn’t put names to. Then had come the hot tears that brought the flowers, even through the snow. The flowers that were really a promise. Something to cling to.

   Hope.

   I opened my eyes and let it come out. It surged out of me, a swift, hot current--right through the bristles and onto the canvas. All night long. I missed the sunrise, didn’t even think to look out at what colors it was bringing to the morning, to the day. I just kept right on painting until it was done.

   And by then, of course, it was time to get ready for work. Because there’s always work. Even after you’ve spent the night pouring out your heart and soul and gut onto thousands of little woven threads. So I took my shower, got into my grubby work clothes, grabbed a quick breakfast and skipped down the stairs.

   And ran right into Brian. He was wearing a great, big smile and I knew why.

   “You’re chipper this morning.”

   “Well,” I said, “it’s a beautiful morning.”

   It was. Sunny and green and almost warm. He held the door open for me and I skipped down the porch steps, too. Looked all around, at all the trees. The maples in between the pines that lined the road were starting to come alive. Newborn leaves of the palest spring green, the prettiest green of all. I turned towards the orchard, my heart nearly leaping inside of me, because I knew. It was time for it to come to life, too. Finally.

   Except that it wasn’t. The branches were still bare.

   I looked back at Brian. “What…what’s wrong with the orchard?”

   “Uh…what do you mean?”

   “Well, look at it.”

   He did. Then he shrugged. “Pretty nasty, huh? Charlie wants me to knock all those trees down. I’ll probably get to it some time next weekend.”

   He said it like it was nothing.

   “Knock ‘em down? Why?” I asked it even though--really--I already knew. I just needed to hear him say it. To hear the truth.

   “Well…they’re just rotting away out there.”

   They were. They were dead. So I said the only thing I could say:

   “Oh.”

   And I left for work without another word. I cleaned for the doctor and the real estate agent who both still hadn’t paid me, then headed to Zeke’s house. I gave him my estimate, which he accepted, and gave the place a good, thorough cleaning. Then I drove home, showered away the stink of cleaning chemicals, and fell asleep on the couch. Dreamt--like I knew I would--about the orchard. It called out to me even while I was sleeping. Even in my dream I knew it was dead. But it still whispered:

   Then:

   And that made me smile. Even in my dream. Because it knew my name.

   “Tess?”

   Shaking; gentle at first. Then rocking. A hand on my shoulder. Rocking me awake. I opened my eyes. Red hair. Freckles. Bright green eyes.

   Anne of Green Gables.

   “Cassidy?”

   “Brian wants to know if you wanna eat supper with us and play Penny Poker.”

   I sat up, cleared my throat, and tried to focus.

   Supper. Penny Poker?

   “I’m supposed to tell you that he got one of the pizzas with just vegetables.”

   “Um, your parents are here, too?”

   “Yep. Do you know you have raccoon eyes?”

   “Do I? Thanks.”

   “You’re welcome. So, are you coming?”

   “Tell them I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

   “Okay. See ya.”

   She ran down the stairs and I ran over to the window, looked out at the orchard. Because in that land of barely awake, I couldn’t remember if it was really dead and rotting away or if that was just part of my dream. But no. It was still dead. Which meant that, very soon, it would be gone.

   I fixed my hair and makeup. Red lipstick. Just so. Then I changed my clothes. Tight, red button-up shirt. Low cut. Because I knew.

   And not just sex, although that would be good, because I needed that, too. But there was a Something that was inside of him that I wanted to have with me. Something in his eyes that told me it was all going to be alright.

   And I really needed that.

   I trotted down the stairs towards vegetable pizza and Brian and new friends. Hellos and chit chat. Supper and beer. Then Jeff dug out the cards. I had scrounged around in my coat pockets and all my drawers before I’d come downstairs and managed to scrape together three dollars. I traded it in for six rolls of pennies. I lost two hands before I caught Laura looking at my roots.

   “I’ll be in again soon.”

   She nodded. She heard what I didn’t say.

   Brian must have heard it, too, because he said, “You got room in your schedule for another house cleaning job?”

   Damn right. “Is it a one time deal or a weekly thing?”

   “Weekly. Remember your buddy from Zeke’s last night? The Yankee fan?”

   “How do you know about that?”

   They all laughed and Jeff said, “You’re kidding, right?”

   “No. I’m not.”

   “Know about what?” Cassidy asked.

   Brian smiled at her. “Hey kiddo, remember those tadpoles I told you about?”

   She beamed. “The ones in the backyard?”

   “Yep. Why don’t you go check ‘em out.”

   She hesitated for a few seconds, looked at her parents, then me, then Brian again. The Great Debate. Tadpoles or adult conversation? She shrugged and ran out the door, headed towards the vernal pool on the edge of the woods.

   Brian continued. “Tess, you holler out something like that in a bar fulla guys and...well, it’s gonna get around.”

   “Jesus, that didn’t take long.” Not even twenty-four hours. So much for my clean slate. I looked at my cards and folded. My hand was shit.

   “Hey, don’t take it that way. You’re their new hero.”

   “Well, what does the Yankee guy have to do with the job?”

   “The couple he sold that camp to called me for an estimate today, to remodel the upstairs, and the wife was bitching about how filthy it is. She didn’t exactly strike me as the type who’d do the job herself, so I gave her one of your cards.”

   “Oh. Well, thanks…”

   Conversation lagged until Laura mentioned Zeke. He’d been in to have his hair cut the day before and she’d wanted to ask whether he was seeing anyone new, but didn’t dare. I could have answered, but I let Brian do it.

   “Nope. He’s too buried inside that fucking bar of his.”

   It’s what I’d figured. When you clean a person’s house you get to know things about them. Zeke’s house was the kind of mess that said:

   I’m never home. And when I am I’m by myself.

   It had been a week, he’d said, since he’d done any housework, yet the only dishes in the sink were seven cereal bowls, seven coffee mugs and seven spoons. Dust accumulated over the remote controls and books and the telephone. And the saddest clues: only one rumpled pillow, only one toothbrush.

   Jeff shook his head. “The man needs to get a life outside that place.”

   “He won’t. He’s afraid to leave anyone else in charge.”

   “Control freak?” I asked.

   “Not really,” Laura said. “It’s just that he and his mom almost lost the diner once. I think he feels like it’s his responsibility to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

   Brian scoffed. “The only reason they almost lost it was because of those church people.”

   Laura glared at him. “Don’t you look at me like that. They weren’t from my church.”

   “Your church, their church. It’s all the same.”

   Jeff rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Old argument here, I could see, and one I wanted no part of. Still, not being familiar with New Mills’ ancient history, I asked, “What happened? Did people freak out when they discovered Zeke’s gay?”

   Brian nodded. “He came out about ten years ago. The minister of the church Laura and Jeff don’t go to told his followers that they should boycott the bar and the diner. I guess he figured Fran would make Zeke leave or something. All she did was say fuck you and stayed open anyway. She made Zeke stay open, too, ‘cause he was gonna take off so she could save the diner at least.” He shrugged. “But they all came around eventually.”

   “What made them change their minds?”

   Jeff laughed as he dealt out another hand. “It’s the only bar in town. The only place to eat out during the winter, too, unless you wanna drive to Westville.”

   “Funny thing,” Brian said, “is that those same church people were in there every night getting plowed for years and years before their minister caused all the problems. And once the whole thing blew over they were right back there, at it again. Still are, too.”

   I was familiar with that brand of piety. “Bible potluck. Pick and choose which sins you’re gonna pile on your plate. And I’m Catholic, so all I have to do is go to a priest and run it through the dishwasher so I can start all over again.”

   Brian laughed so hard that he choked on his beer. Jeff said nothing and Laura squirmed in her seat.

   “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you guys were Catholic, too.”

   Cassidy picked that moment to wander back into the house. “You’re Catholic, Tess?”

   I nodded.

   Her face lit up. “You should come to church with us on Sunday.”

   “I...uh, well thanks. But--”

   “And then maybe Brian would come, too.”

   Brian shook his head and tossed a handful of pennies into the pot. “Nope. Brian wouldn’t come even then.”

   Cassidy looked at him, a little wounded; almost teary eyed. “That’s what you always say. You don’t believe in God. Do you?”

   He considered for a moment, held her gaze; silent. Torn. He loved her, didn’t want to make her cry, and he could stop it with a little lie. She’d probably know it was a lie, but sometimes that’s what we need. The struggle was plain on his face. He tried to smile, tried to say something that was kind, but he couldn’t do it. He was too filled with some kind of bitterness that even she, as young as she was, could feel. And there was no way she could understand that it wasn’t directed at her.

   “No, Cass. I don’t.”

   “But...” Real tears now. “But I don’t want you to go to hell.”

   Laura stepped in to steer her daughter’s boat to a safe shore. “Cassidy, Brian isn’t going to hell. He’s just mad at God right now. That’s all. It’s like when you got into that fight with Brittany last week. You were mad and you wouldn’t talk to her even when she called on the phone. But then you realized that you missed her and you talked the problem over with her at school and now you’re friends again. It’s just like that.”

   Cassidy nodded and looked at Brian. He was looking at his cards.

   We played four more hands of Penny Poker. I lost them all, even with Cassidy’s help and found myself two dollars and eleven cents poorer than I’d started the evening. Jeff was nearly five dollars richer. He stretched and looked at Brian. Then he grinned and said, “We’d better get going.” He collected his cards while I collected the beer and supper mess.

   I said a quick goodbye to the three of them and watched Brian walk out onto the porch to say his own goodbyes. Before she left Cassidy gave him a huge hug, wrapped her little arms tightly around his neck. Then she whispered something in his ear. He nodded and kissed her forehead. He stayed on the porch and watched silently until their car was out of sight.

Chapter 8

Chapter 10

Table of Contents

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