Strawberry Hill Chapter 15

Recommended 8 and up. Raleia Pendle always wished she was from an old-fashioned family from a bygone era who would be involved in every aspect of her life, but instead, she has modern (for 1976) hippie parents who keep their distance.
Raleia gets a taste of the past in Tidal, ME which was hit by a Tidal Wave in 1911 and is a living museum to the event. She also meets Ian Rutherford a recluse who hasn't left his house since the tidal wave hit. In this chapter, Raleia makes some dangerous choices.

Transcript

Greetings,

This is Alexandria LaFaye of Silvanosity,

And I'm here to share chapter 15 of Strawberry Hill.

When Relyea turned on the shower the next day,

She was shocked to hear three dog knights,

Joy to the world,

Come blasting out.

It took her half a second to realize someone had turned on the stereo downstairs,

And she felt stupid for being startled.

The music was so loud she could even hear it when she closed the shower door.

The steps were vibrating to the music as she came down the stairs.

Tiny,

Max,

And Tick were singing along at the top of their lungs.

Tick spun around the room like some crazed bird.

Tiny swayed to the beat and flipped pancakes.

Max squeezed oranges to the tune.

Relyea realized just how right Tiny had been the night before.

If Relyea's definition of love didn't match her parents',

Then their definition of fun had to be in separate dictionaries.

Everyone looked like they were having a blast,

But the music made Relyea's head ache.

Tick swirled around her,

Then grabbed her hand and pulled her into his bizarre dance.

Go with the beat,

Relyea told herself,

But it throbbed in her head.

All she did was stumble around and feel dizzy.

Come and get it,

Tiny yelled.

Tick bolted for the table.

Uh,

Can we turn the music down?

Relyea asked.

Sure,

Max smiled,

But he looked disappointed.

He went into the living room to turn the stereo down.

All of Tidal thanks you,

Relyea said as she came back into the kitchen.

Dropping into a seat,

She added,

Especially me.

Glad to help.

Relyea served her pancakes,

Keeping her eyes away from Tick so she didn't have to see the pancake monster eat.

Want to go with me to pick up some groceries?

Max asked Relyea.

I wouldn't mind the ride to the store.

I have to go up there anyway.

I'm going to the frog pit,

Tick said,

His chin covered with peanut butter.

The frog pit?

Relyea asked.

Yeah,

A bunch of frogs lay their eggs in this boggy swampy pit,

And then when the tadpoles get big enough,

The place turns into a frog pit.

Relyea imagined a pit filled with slimy jumping croaking frogs.

It gave her the shivers.

That's completely disgusting.

To you,

Maybe.

Tim wagged a pancake at her.

To me,

It's great.

You going somewhere with Zoe today?

Max asked.

No.

Relyea turned her plate in a circle.

I have to deliver Mr.

Rutherford's groceries.

It was one thing to have to cart his groceries up the driveway.

It was a whole other adventure to carry them all the way up to a sales from the store.

Without the car,

It would be torture.

And what was the use anyway?

He didn't even talk to her anymore.

She felt like telling Mr.

Peters to get to give the job back to Gary.

But it was her only source of income.

The remaining $5 from her summer savings wouldn't last until they went home in August.

If she wanted any spending money,

She'd have to lug the crate all the way up the hill.

Tick tells me the old guy's a real character,

Tiny said as she eased herself into a chair with a cup of tea in her hand.

A pretty impressive balancing act for a pregnant woman.

And Relyea's meal.

He's just gabbing about old stories.

Relyea glared at Tick,

Who smiled,

His teeth coated with peanut butter.

Relyea winced.

I figured as much.

So I wanted the real scoop from you.

He's just a cranky old guy who likes to be alone.

Uh huh.

Tiny nodded,

Taking his dip of tea.

Max smiled saying,

So he isn't the refined old fashioned gentleman you expected?

Relyea asked,

What's that supposed to mean?

Tiny and Max looks at each other and laughed.

What?

Relyea shouted.

Swollen in a laugh,

Max said,

Well,

Tiny,

I figured you'd really get into visiting with the old man,

Him being a real gentleman and all.

And then we could just leave you here entitled and you'd be perfectly happy.

You'd have the type of parent you always wanted.

Relyea felt like her insides were collapsing.

Her parents didn't even want her.

They wanted to offload her on some ancient hermit who didn't even like her.

Jumping up from her seat,

She ran for the front door.

Relyea,

Max shouted after her.

He was laughing.

How could he be so mean?

Relyea felt like running until she collapsed,

But she went down to the ocean instead.

The waves seemed to be as angry as she was as they crashed against the rocks.

Standing on the rocks above the tidal pools as they slowly filled with water,

Relyea wondered if anybody got along with their parents.

Was she hoping for a dream that no one could have?

Did God throw people who didn't fit together on purpose?

The question made Relyea think of the day Tiny disappeared.

It was only a month or so after Mayetta died.

Tick was sleeping over at a friend's house and Max was off presenting a paper at some frog lover's conference somewhere.

Relyea wasn't too happy about having to spend the weekend with Tiny.

All she did was walk around in a daze.

It was like living with a ghost.

Relyea had planned to hide out in her room all weekend.

She figured Tiny wouldn't even notice her absence.

And her plan worked,

But all too well.

Halfway through the book she was reading,

Relyea realized she hadn't heard Tiny at all.

It made her nervous.

So she went in search of her mom.

She checked the whole house.

Found no one.

The garden was empty and the back gate hung open.

Tick had a fort in the trees behind the house,

So she went out there.

Only the stray cat that begged for food sat on the wooden platform.

Relyea followed the path that led up to the park,

Overlooking the river.

Climbing the first bluff,

Relyea saw Tiny.

Perched on a rock,

Tiny looked so still and thoughtful,

Like the painting of a woman,

Not the real thing.

Relyea didn't want to say anything,

So she just stood there.

Tiny must have felt her,

Because she spoke,

Saying,

You know,

I think the soul's like a muscle.

It doesn't grow if you don't work it.

Relyea thought it was some silly riddle her mom made up to make her feel better.

Relyea looked out over the sea and wondered how God could allow enormous waves to swallow up a hundred people and let little babies die and stick families together who didn't belong with each other.

So she thought maybe he was giving the world a workout.

Relyea laughed at the thought and threw an empty shell back into the sea.

As the wave licked her toes,

Relyea realized that Rutherford never went to the sea.

He was a short walk from the ocean and he never did more than gaze at it out of a window.

Was he afraid of the water?

What if he was on the beach the day the tide wave hit?

It frightened him so horribly he never left his cozy home on the hill ever again.

That would be enough to make her hide from the world.

Relyea felt sorry for him,

But she didn't want to do something nice.

So she decided to bring the groceries up to him.

Going into town from the seaside allowed her to do a little window shopping.

She stopped at the hardware store.

From the street she could see the tiny wooden drawers filled with screws and nails and washers,

No doubt.

The barbershop still had the swirling pool out front,

But someone had come along and painted the white stripes seawater blue.

Passing a thrift store,

Relyea had to look in.

The window was cluttered with old toys,

Cast iron trucks,

Dancing monkey coin banks,

Hula hoops,

And wiggly eyed dolls with curly hair and hard plastic bodies.

The store itself was packed wall to wall with baby carriages,

Cribs,

Luggage,

Stuff,

And a lot of other stuff.

The store was packed wall to wall with baby carriages,

Cribs,

Luggage stacked to the ceiling,

Rack after rack of clothes,

And misfit lengths of hose hung from hooks with shovels,

Brooms,

And a wagon.

It was just what she needed.

For the right price,

She'd have the perfect way to get Rutherford's groceries up the hill.

The old skateboard trick wouldn't work for the whole trip.

The woman inside wore a dress that made Relyea think of Leave It to Believers' June Cleaver.

The fitted waist,

The full skirt that came to her knees,

And the pointy little cuffs on the short sleeves,

The platform shoes on her feet,

And Gibson Girl bun on her head made the lady fit right into the store with its hodgepodge of bits and pieces from various decades.

Seeing Relyea,

The lady smiled,

Saying,

Hello there.

What can I get for you?

That wagon,

Relyea said,

Pointing to the wall.

How much is it?

The woman tilted her head back to give it a good look.

Two dollars,

She asked,

Turning back to Relyea.

Okay.

Relyea handed over the money and wheeled away a squeaky old wagon that leaned to the left.

But it sure made a heck of a lot easier to get it all up that hill.

She had to keep switching arms to prevent either one from being pulled from the socket.

But it was better than lugging the crate in her arms.

Relyea planned to politely ask Mr.

Rutherford to return the encyclopedia,

Then ask him questions about it,

Like,

Did he learn that Alaska became a state in 1959?

Or that airplanes can travel at the speed of sound?

She'd draw him into a conversation,

Then apologize at just the right time.

She didn't mean anything by asking if Callista was a maid.

It just surprised her,

That's all.

It seemed odd that a rich guy would marry his maid.

Like a fairy tale,

Even.

Relyea went straight to the kitchen door,

Expecting that he didn't want her to go in there.

But he didn't open the door.

She'd arrived earlier than usual,

So she knocked.

There was no answer.

She remembered Mr.

Peters,

The store owner,

Telling her how Rutherford usually left the money on the doorstep.

She checked,

Even under the mat,

But there was nothing there.

She walked around to the front door,

Nothing again.

What if he had fallen down and hurt himself?

Or he could be ignoring her.

Or sitting on the toilet.

Knocking again,

Relyea waited.

Nothing happened.

Putting her ear to the door,

She hoped to hear some noise.

There wasn't so much as the creak of a floorboard.

She'd thought about those stories of reclusive old people dying in their apartments.

It took days for anyone to find them.

The loneliness of it all made her frantic.

She hammered on the door.

No answer.

She tested the knob.

It turned.

She opened the door.

The slight creak gave her a chill.

She called out,

Mr.

Rutherford.

He didn't call back.

So she went in.

Each time she entered a room and found nothing,

It made her feel more anxious.

She panicked when she reached the last room on the bottom floor and ran up the back stairs to search the second floor at high speed.

Racing down the front steps,

She ran out the door shouting,

Mr.

Rutherford.

If he was dead,

He'd never answer.

She searched the barn.

To her surprise,

He had a horse,

Three goats,

Two cows,

And a handful of pigs.

There was a small wooden cart in the corner with a cargo-sized sleigh leaning against the wall behind it.

The place looked like the barn in Charlotte's Web,

Except for the bear traps hanging over the doorways.

They were all lined up in a row like some odd kind of barn decoration.

Walking through the barn,

Grellia thought back to the boys' story about there being traps in the woods.

They might have only been half-lying,

After all.

Going up the back door,

She saw the chicken coop and a fuzzy parade of chicks following one of the hens.

He had a whole hobby farm.

That realization made her think he was probably tending an animal.

She thought he was probably tending an animal somewhere,

And she would make a total fool of herself if she kept running around like a madwoman.

But she had to find him,

Just the same.

There was a small shed with no windows behind the chicken coop.

At first,

She figured it was the outhouse.

But then she remembered he had indoor plumbing.

Opening the door,

She got blasted by a bear.

It was an ice house,

Half full of hay-covered ice.

So that's where he got the ice to keep his food cool,

Grellia thought.

The large sleigh suddenly made sense.

He must have cut that ice out of the pond,

Zoe told her about it,

And dragged it all the way down to his house.

That was a lot of work for an old man,

Grellia thought.

Walking down the path that led away from the barn,

She saw a little hill.

She climbed over a hill and came to a plateau of gardens.

There were enough plants there to make the garden of any king look like a window box.

Green beans,

Peas,

Carrots,

Potatoes,

Watermelons,

Squash,

Zucchini,

Rutabaga,

Cucumbers,

Tomatoes,

Corn,

And row after row of the path continued into the woods.

So she followed it.

Skirting a ridge,

She went deeper into the forest.

She could see a clearing ahead,

The sun bright against green plants on a slope.

Coming to the edge of the clearing,

She saw that the plants had white flowers she recognized.

But she didn't know where from.

The clearing was actually a large hill that slanted towards the road.

The plants covered the hill.

She could even see corkscrew vines,

Straight runners,

And half-ripe strawberries poking out here and there.

It was an enormous strawberry patch.

And down the hill,

Stooping to cut back new runners,

A straw hat on his head and cotton gloves on his hands,

Stood Mr.

Rutherford.

They're beautiful,

Raye shouted.

Rutherford jumped as if he'd received an electric shock.

He stared at her a moment.

She couldn't see his face under the hat,

So there was no way to tell if he was smiling or frowning.

Then he charged up the hill like some crazed farmer shouting,

Get off my land!

Get the hell off my land!

There was so much rage in his voice.

Raye feared he'd hurt her.

She turned and ran,

Starting on the chickens as she passed their pen.

She ran through the barn to the chaotic tune of their cackling.

Too scared to run around the house,

Raye plunged straight into the woods.

She emerged on the road out of breath and scratched up.

The buzz and whirl of bugs the only thing she heard as she tried to catch her breath.

Rutherford didn't follow her.

What the heck did I do to him?

Raye wondered.

There wasn't a single no trespassing sign anywhere on his property.

They had been friends.

How was she to know he went ballistic if people walked on his precious land?

What did he think?

She was going to steal a strawberry runner and start a patch of her own?

Grab a chicken as she ran through the barnyard?

He was way out of line.

Raye stood up,

Her hands on her hips,

Ready to turn around and march up the hill to confront him.

She was fed up with everyone yelling at her and telling her what she did wrong.

It was her turn to let somebody know a line had been crossed.

Her battery was fully charged by the time she reached his front door.

She had half a notion to pull the bag of spaghetti out of the crate on the stoop and stomp all over it,

But clenched a fist to bang on the screen door instead.

Her hand,

Midair,

She froze.

Rutherford was slumped in a chair in the parlor,

Crying.

He straightened his back and took a deep gulp of air,

As if he was trying to stop,

But then crumpled back into sobs.

It made Raye feel guilty to see him like that.

But she couldn't leave him alone.

Stepping inside,

She walked into the room,

Slowly,

Afraid of startling him.

Mr.

Rutherford?

He shielded his face from her,

Muttering,

Go away,

Relia.

Go away.

I didn't mean to upset you.

He turned away from her,

Then went to the window.

Please leave.

You shouldn't be alone.

And who are you to decide that?

Relia felt like someone had flipped a switch inside her.

She was no longer in control.

The words were just coming out automatically.

Nobody should cry alone.

It is my fault that I'm alone.

He stared at Relia,

His eyes blurry with tears,

His face suddenly young,

Like a little kid's.

I made you cry.

No,

You didn't.

He forced a smile.

I did that all by myself.

I came with the groceries and you weren't around.

I got worried.

I'm sorry for snooping.

Shaking his head,

He said,

Don't you understand?

This has nothing to do with you.

Nothing.

He was almost shouting.

The force of his anger and frustration broke something inside her.

She lost all control and just started crying.

It made her feel like an idiot.

But she couldn't stop.

He came forward and put his hand on her shoulder.

My goodness.

What have I said to upset you?

I tried to explain it.

It wasn't you,

Relia.

Not the other day when you asked me about Callista.

Not today when you showed up in the strawberry patch.

It's me.

All me.

Relia didn't even know why she was crying.

It just all came out in spurts.

She wanted him to hold her,

But she knew it wouldn't be right to ask him to.

They didn't even know each other.

He kept talking as if it would make her stop crying,

Saying,

I lost Callista.

It was my fault.

It still hurts to think about it.

Even after all these years,

Relia wasn't fully listening.

Her mind was fighting to sort out the jumble inside it.

Seeing her father laugh as he said they'd leave her behind.

Her fear of Mr.

Rutherford.

His anger.

The shame.

She felt ashamed of standing there crying,

Snot dripping down her face as Mr.

Rutherford confessed to her.

And she couldn't even clear out her head enough to listen.

Can I have a Kleenex?

She blubbered.

Kleenex?

He sounded so nervous.

What is that?

His confusion made Relia feel even worse.

I need something to wipe my face.

Oh,

He rushed over to his desk,

Then came back with a handkerchief.

Relia wiped her face and began to laugh.

Me,

Tiny and Max were right.

You and I were meant for each other.

Excuse me?

Sniffling.

Relia said,

Tiny and Max,

They're my parents.

They think I should stay here with you.

Rutherford shook his head and took a step back.

Wait,

Just a minute.

Your parents want you to stay here with me?

They were just teasing.

They thought you and I got along better than I do with them.

Rutherford raised his eyebrows.

That might stem from the fact that you feel the need to call them Max and Tiny.

That's their names.

They don't want to be called mom and dad.

He dropped into the chair beside her.

Tiny?

Your mother's name is Tiny?

Relia hated that question.

It felt like someone poked her in the chest with a fondue fork every time she heard it.

Without thinking,

She said,

Your wife was a maid?

Cantankerous little brat.

He tried to frown,

But he started to smile.

They laughed.

Taking a deep breath,

He said,

Callista was a terrible maid.

My mom's actually really tiny.

She's only four feet,

Six inches.

Goodness,

That is tiny.

Rutherford got up and started to pace.

Not the nervous,

Heads down,

Quick turn kind of pacing,

But the long step,

Hands behind the back,

Head tilted and thought kind.

Callista became a maid out of protest.

Her mother wanted her to go to finishing school.

Callista had her heart set on going to college to be an architect.

An architect?

It didn't sound too exciting to Relia.

Women make quite good architects.

Look at Julia Morgan.

She designed the new Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco after the big quake and the bell tower at Mills College to name but two of her works.

Relia didn't know the woman or the buildings,

But she thought it was pretty ironic that Mr.

Rutherford thought women could be architects,

But they couldn't carry a stupid crate of groceries.

I know they can.

I just thought it might be a boring job.

Oh,

He nodded,

His face getting a bit red.

See there I go again,

Assuming one thing when you mean another.

He smiled.

Relia noticed for the first time that it made the hairs over his ears stand up.

She smiled too.

Callista thought being a maid had to be the farthest thing from finishing school possible,

And to continue her rebellion,

She disrupted more than she cleaned.

What do you mean?

Rutherford laughed.

She put out the wrong dishes for almost every meal.

You mean you had different sets for different occasions?

Relia imagined a white set with yellow tea roses for breakfast on the lawn,

Blue dishes with real gold trim for dinner parties,

And a sterling silver tea set with brilliant white china to match.

It sounded wonderful to Relia.

The closest her family came to having a special set of dishes was using paper plates when Tani wasn't in the mood to wash anything.

He gave her the,

Oh you foolish child,

Look she always got from Max and said,

That means there's more to wash and clean and store and buy.

It's all frivolous.

I think it's beautiful.

Well,

Callista thought it was silly to dirty dishes from five different sets in one day.

A waste of time and space,

So she just used the one she wanted.

My mother was certain Callista was completely daft.

Was she?

You couldn't remember what that word meant.

No.

Rutherford winced.

She was the smartest woman I ever knew.

These books are all hers.

He waved his hand to indicate the books on the shelves.

I hated to read.

It was stuffy and old-fashioned.

I wanted anything new and exciting.

Racing motor cars and hang gliding.

It drove my mother insane.

Running off a cliff under a bulky ugly kite certainly wasn't Relia's idea of a good time,

And it made her stomach drop just thinking about it.

And racing in an old car,

Those things burst a tire going over a rock and could tip over if someone was on the wrong side of the car,

And when they sneezed,

Racing them would be suicide.

It's amazing you didn't get killed.

Killed?

Rutherford laughed.

My biggest physical threat was my own mother.

She took after me with the fireplace poker when she first found out I was racing cars.

Really?

Relia giggled at the thought of a dignified woman with perfectly styled hair,

A string of pearls,

And a long flowing gown racing after her son waving a black sooty poker in the air.

And what did Callista think of all your stunts?

Relia sat on the arm of the chair.

She even tried hang gliding.

He stopped and leaned a little to the left as if he was directing the glider.

And?

She thought it was divine.

As he spoke,

Relia thought of them together,

Floating over a canyon,

A river moving like a pale snake below them,

The wind buoying them like salt water.

Callista was clinging to the bar,

Mr.

Rutherford above her to guide their flight.

They probably didn't even have safety harnesses back then.

Heck,

It took until the 1950s to get seat belts into cars.

Of course,

He bowed his head.

When we landed,

She said she'd never do it again.

Why?

She said it was tempting the angels with jealousy.

That's beautiful.

He waved the idea away,

But he was smiling with the memory of it.

He said,

She always talked like that.

A side effect of all her reading,

I think.

Relia stared at all the books.

She couldn't believe they had sat there for decades with no one to read them.

It was like building a library,

Then locking all the doors and burying the key.

Don't you read?

As little as possible.

He took a step toward the window.

I prefer to be outside in the open air,

But not with people.

You've got that right.

People are annoying,

Like flies buzzing around your head when you've worked up a sweat.

They won't leave you alone.

You think I'm a fly?

Relia was disgusted.

Heavens no,

He turned to her scowling.

I should have said most people.

Does that make you feel any better?

Relia shrugged,

Then joined him at the window.

Why do you think people are like that?

Have you ever been to a dinner party?

The mere mention of the term sent Relia to an elegant parlor after the meal.

Guests in tuxedos and fine evening gowns would fill the room,

Laughing and talking,

Their voices like doves in the rafters of an old barn.

Relia would mingle in a deep blue velvet gown that whispered against the floor as she walked,

Stopping to ask about the Harrington's new boathouse and the Garfield's trip to France.

I think they're wonderful,

She told Rutherford.

He gave a snorting laugh.

Ha!

Be forced to attend a hundred of them a year,

Sometimes three to four in one day,

And it'll take that lilt right out of your voice.

A hundred?

Maybe a hundred movies,

Or a hundred good books,

Or a hundred gifts on your birthday party.

But dinner parties were meant to be special,

Once a season events that you could remember for months to come,

Not days.

Days?

Every year he turned and leaned against the window.

We went to parties and hosted parties like it was a competition.

The whole house got turned upside down,

Everyone scurrying to and fro like wild animals trying to outrun a forest fire.

Relia could see it all.

There'd be a grand hallway with vault-like doors leading off in every direction.

One maid darted through with a tea service,

The butler following after her with a vase of calla lilies.

Two other women dragged a Persian rug into the library.

Shouts came from all over the house.

Don't forget the polish,

Margaret.

There are fresh linens for the green room,

Katie.

I don't see my reflection in the dining room floor.

Rutherford's voice carried her through to the night of the party.

As a child,

I was told to eat my food properly and remain silent.

If I so much as put my cuff in a sauce,

I was sentenced to a week in my best suit.

Every day I had to practice my table skills over and over until I developed hives at the mention of Bernays sauce.

She shuddered at the thought of replaying the same mistake over and over.

It would be like being permanently stuck inside an instant replay.

And the people,

He shook his head in disgust,

Were in costumes that looked ridiculous anywhere else.

They'd spent a fortune to look like carnival clowns in their stiff shirt fronts.

Those things never seemed to roll up as they do in the picture shows.

I wish they had.

I'd like to see my father take an uppercut from his own suit.

I laughed at the thought of a crusty old gentsman with a finely groomed mustache puffing away at a cigar as he gets walloped in the chin by this stiff shirt front he wore.

And the women,

They could barely move.

One time,

It took three men to help Lady Venteville get up the stairs leading to our dining room.

She had so much fabric in her dress,

I think you could have covered a polo field with the skirt alone.

Ray laughed.

They don't talk to you.

They talk at you.

Mr.

Rutherford began to speak in a pinched falsetto.

So,

Ian dear,

How are you faring at the university?

Stunning,

Your instructors,

No doubt.

They did not want to hear that I was failing chemistry or that I'd never even attended a lecture in my ancient history class.

Aurelia was stunned.

He didn't like school.

Who wouldn't relish the chance to study all the subjects of the world,

Learn how they built the pyramids,

Why Napoleon feared cats,

What actually went on during the French Revolution,

The things they didn't teach kids in the sixth grade at Greenfield Elementary.

And they were everywhere.

Rutherford put his hands in the air for emphasis.

You go to a polo match and the very same women who were scandalized when you belched in public as a child.

It is going on and on about her beautiful and talented young,

Surprisingly still single daughter,

Hoping you'll take the darn hint and invite the poor unwed sap to a party or take her on a picnic with your family.

Heaven forbid that you offer to take her to the motor races or to the vaudeville show.

Places like that are the devil's playground,

You know.

Comedy shows are evil?

What a concept,

Aurelia thought.

The people he knew were strange.

Then Aurelia realized that Rutherford was as divided as she was.

He thought that many of the rules of his time were silly,

But he still believed women should wear long skirts and avoid physical labor.

Aurelia longed for the refinement of his time,

But loathed all the petty little rules.

So where did that leave them?

She wondered.

A question drifted into her mind,

So she said it out loud.

Why didn't you just go where normal people are?

Like the movies or a park or something?

Normal people?

There are such folks?

He smiled.

Yes,

My mom doesn't give a hoot if you're messy while eating.

In fact,

Whenever she eats spaghetti,

She always gets sauce right here,

Where you point it to the center of her chest.

That's a true test of good spaghetti.

If it doesn't leave a spot,

It wasn't that good,

He laughed.

That's an excellent idea,

But it wasn't all that easy.

Everyone in Rockbridge knew exactly who I was.

To say Rutherford and Rockbridge was like saying Rockefeller in Manhattan.

Really?

Well,

It was odd.

The Rockefellers were rich enough to build American castles,

While the royalty of Europe could no longer afford to maintain their own,

So they turned them into museums.

If I so much as went into a malt shop,

People were sneering over their Sundays and blaming me for every terrible thing my father did.

Close down the textile mill,

Block the unions in the rail yard,

Employ people at 30 cents an hour when everyone else in the state had gone up to 50.

Raya remembered pictures she'd seen of John D.

Rockefeller leaving a New York courthouse where he was trying to defend his right to control the entire oil industry in the United States.

He looked so hard and cruel as she imagined a plantation owner would look when he sold a family of slaves to three different bidders.

That's awful.

Raya looked out into the trees.

The only option was to leave Rockbridge behind and find a way to keep my parents from searching for me.

Rutherford walked away from her.

His head bowed,

His hands started to shake.

So I married Calista and moved here.

Raya was confused.

Rutherford obviously admired Calista deeply.

Her defiance,

Her courage,

The poetry and the way she viewed the world.

But was that love?

He didn't say he loved her.

He didn't say it as if he loved her so much he couldn't be without her.

He said he married her to keep his parents from hunting for him.

That sounded empty.

His marriage wasn't the fairy tale she'd imagined.

Sitting in the parlor reading together was how she'd always imagined them together.

But he hated reading.

In fact,

Rutherford was nothing like the man she saw when she looked at the house he lived in.

He was no refined gentleman.

He was a crazed daredevil who ran away from home.

And what about Calista?

He obviously missed her something awful.

Why did he think he deserved to be without her?

Had she drowned and he couldn't save her?

Raya didn't have the heart to ask.

Unsure of what to do,

She whispered.

Rutherford nodded.

I'll get the money.

Raya waited on the doorstep.

Rutherford brought the money.

He handed it to her without even looking up.

I told you,

I deserve to be alone.

Raya didn't know what to say.

She half shook her head as she pulled her wagon off down the hill.

Did anybody deserve to be alone?

Maybe a murderer like Charles Manson or James Earl Ray.

They deserve to live on a deserted island with nothing but rocks,

Saltwater,

And sand crabs so big they could snap off your foot.

But Mr.

Rutherford wasn't cruel or evil.

Just maybe a little selfish.

Opening the door on the gate,

Raya thought about Calista.

It was her that Raya really wanted to meet.

A woman who read from leather-bound books,

Cut fresh flowers for the house,

Shopped in an open market,

And wore beautiful woven hats to keep out the sun.

But what had happened to her?

Had she died in the Tataway?

Was that why Rutherford thought it was his fault?

He saw it coming from his house on top of the hill and knew his wife was down buying fresh fruit,

But he could do nothing about it.

The thought gave Raya the chills.

She felt worse than ever.

Rutherford turned out to be a selfish old man.

Her parents wanted to give her away,

And she was stuck in a dinky sea town with nothing to do.

Hanging out with Zoe was fun,

But the only really good thing she had to look forward to was the new baby.

The little one had to be all right.

Someone had to get something good out of Tataway,

And a birthplace with such a wild history would top even Tick's fake story about being a moon baby.

You know,

A lot of times the stories we tell ourselves about the world or the people we know are so different from the truth.

We imagine what people are like on the inside,

What they're thinking or feeling.

Should we really do that,

Though?

Shouldn't we find out what they're really like,

Learn about their past,

What they fear,

What they hope for,

What they want,

What they really think of us?

Sometimes that's a very difficult question to ask,

But then again,

Risk often leads to reward.

Maybe they think something wonderful about us,

But the truth is there probably are one or two people who think things about us that may not be true at all,

And that gives us the chance to correct their story.

I wonder how many people in your life have a story to tell you that will change the way you see things.

Maybe them,

Maybe you,

Maybe the world around you.

I invite you to ask to hear a few stories and find out.

This has been Alexandria LaFaye of Silvanocity.

Be well,

Until next time.