Willow House Chapter 13

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 Strange Music

      My family history is kind of a long story, but . . . we have time.

     “My parents wanted to come here after Great-Grandpa Frank died,” I begin.

     Mrs. H. takes a deep breath. “Frank you say?”

     “Yes. I always forget his full name. It was kind of long. But, that’s what we called him.”

     “That must be why your middle name is Frances.”

     “How’d you know that?”

     “Your father told me during one of our conversations.”

     This is the first time she’s mentioned knowing my dad, but she doesn’t act like she’s been keeping it a secret.

     “Yeah, you get Frank from the name Francis with an ‘i’. Mine is spelled with an “e” ‘cause I’m a girl.” (She probably already knows this).

     She nods. “Was his last name Owens?”

     “No. My last name is Owens because Great Grandpa Frank’s daughter, my Grandma Winnie, married my Grandpa Owens.”

     “Winnie you say?”

     “Yeah. Her real name is something longer too, but we just always call her Grandma Winnie.”    

     “I see.” Mrs. H. has a big smile on her face. “And is Grandma Winnie still with us?”

     “No,” I reply.

     That big smile falls right off Mrs. Hallovich’s face.

     “She stayed behind in Clifton Falls,” I add.

     The smile returns. “Oh goodness! I thought . . .well, never mind what I thought. Do you get to see her often?”

     “Sure. Clifton Falls isn’t that far away.”

     “Lovely. Maybe someday I can be introduced to your grandmother.”

     I nod my head. I think they would get along great. Mrs. H. sure is nice to take such an interest. That’s one of the reasons I really like talking to her. She listens. She makes me feel like I’m important.

     The croquet game ends with Mrs. Hallovich being the winner. I’m okay with it, since it was my first time and all. She won’t stand a chance next time. 

     We walk back to the little iron table and chairs. Once we’re seated, she continues. “Did you spend a lot to time with your great-grandpa Frank?”

     “Yes. We used to see him all the time. He taught Dad everything he knows about the landscaping business.”

     “I understand that your father is very successful with that.”

     “He sure is.”

     “I invited him here several weeks ago. Such a nice boy.”

     I’ve never thought of my dad as a boy, but I certainly agree with the ‘nice’ part.

     “So, why did your parents choose to move to Saint Clair?”

     “I guess Grandpa Frank used to talk about it to my dad. It’s where he grew up.”

     “Did he now? And what did he say about it?”

     I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t think he talked much about his childhood, only that he really liked it here. My dad could probably tell you more.”

     “I just may have to ask him. Thank you.”

     We’re both quiet for a minute. I’m looking out through the willow branches, into the backyard, and noticing how much neater everything looks since the first day I was here. She must work really hard in the evenings after Tommy and I leave. Or . . . she’s hired someone besides my dad. I’m trying to figure out how to politely ask who’s doing her landscaping when she says, “do you like it here, Ella?”

     “Sure,” I say. In loyalty to my dad I add, “it’s pretty, but my dad would have planted more flowers.”

     Mrs. H. laughs. “I’m sure he would do an excellent job, but I meant Saint Clair. Do you like it here in Saint Clair?”

     “I love it here!” And that’s the truth. Saint Clair is beautiful.

     Mrs. Hallovich seems satisfied with my answers. She reaches out to pat me on the hand and at that exact moment we hear the sound of someone hitting piano keys. We both tip our heads to the side, my hat slides off and Mrs. H.’s eyes open wide. She reaches for the baby monitor at her waist.

     “Tommy must be awake!” she says.

     We rise and head to the back door, not running exactly, but faster than a walk. The closer we get, the clearer the notes become. It sounds like someone is having a piano lesson. Several clear notes, that begin to form a song, are followed by a few notes that definitely don’t.

     By the time we make it to the parlor, the clear notes have stopped, and it’s just Tommy plunking his fat, little fingers down onto random keys.

     Tommy turns to us. “Today,” he says.

     “I see you’ve found the piano, young man. However did you get the cover open?”

     Mrs. H. turns to me and we share a look. We both know what we heard and it sure sounded like Tommy hadn’t been alone. I’m kind of ashamed because I haven’t been keeping a close eye on him like I promised myself. At least he doesn’t seem scared.

     “Stay with him for a moment, Ella Dear.”

     Mrs. Hallovich hurries out of the room, her big hat flopping around on her head.  I see her stop to check the front door. It’s locked as it should be. She makes a sweep of the downstairs and returns in seconds.

     “Why don’t we go back out to the yard and play for a bit until your mother arrives.”

     That’s fine by me. I’m a little creeped out, and the afternoon shadows in here are long and dark and seem to be hiding things. Mrs. H. takes Tommy’s hand and we follow her back out into the sunshine.    

     I try to text Daleni when I get home, but I don’t get a message back. After a while I just call her house phone. Her mom tells me she’s shopping with her dad. They’re getting food for the party on Friday.

     I’m kind of glad she’s not there. I’d like to tell her about my day, but I’m still trying to figure it out myself. There’s been a lot of wonderful moments mixed in with the weird ones, and I can’t decide anymore which ones to talk about.

     I finished reading Anne of Green Gables. It was good but Anne sure was a chatterbox and got on my nerves a little. I’m getting hungry and can smell food. I go downstairs to see if Mom can use some help.

     

     “I stopped by Willow House today after work,” Dad says later, during dinner. “She told me she has a nephew helping her fix the place up. Have you seen him there?”

     “No,” I say. I’m a little insulted that Mrs. H. didn’t share anything about her family with me. “He must come over after we leave.”

     I haven’t given it too much thought, with everything else taking up so much of my brain space, but now that I think of it, I have been noticing how much different the house and yard are starting to look. How can a nephew get so much done so fast? Then . . . wait.

     “Mrs. Hallovich told me she was an only child. She can’t have a nephew.”

     “He can be from her husband’s side,” my mom says.

     “Oh yeah. I forgot about him.”

     “The place looks entirely different from the first day I was there,” Dad continues. “Just from the foyer I can see the new wallpaper, and the floor has been leveled, sanded, and varnished. I don’t know what they used, but there’s no chemical smell. It smells like . . . “

     “Lemons!” I finish for him.

     “Exactly!” He nods in my direction and winks at me. “Like everything is done with the magic of lemon furniture polish.”

     I hadn’t noticed everything that my dad has noticed, but he’s right. The house has changed a lot since Monday. Too much? One more mystery.

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