I stopped in the same spot as always—the patch of dirt and gravel after the curve that gave us our first sight of the house. We’d huddled there in that spot as the house burned, as far away as safety required but where we could still see it. I’d pulled my young daughter into my arms, attempting to shield her, but I knew she was sneaking peeks through my fingers, and she was shaking. For myself, I couldn’t take my eyes away—out of respect and grief? Or horror? Disbelief? Probably everything rolled up into one dreadful image—of flames through the windows, then erupting through the roof. I’d tightened my arms around Ellen, and we’d waited, knowing someone would see such a huge blaze in the dark of night and call it in.
Ellen said she remembered that night, that I had picked her up from our bed and carried her out past the flames into the night. I recalled that, too, but I also remembered waking up to the squeak of the springs as the mattress shifted. I’d opened my eyes to see Ellen settling back into bed beside me. I assumed she’d gone to the bathroom. I reached over to make sure she had the blankets pulled up over her—for a summer night, it was a chilly one—then drifted back off myself. Until I woke again. This time I knew in an instant that something had gone very, very wrong inside our home.
Ellen didn’t seem to recall having gotten up in the night before the fire started, and I wouldn’t remind her. Regardless of what she might have done, the fire wasn’t her fault.
On this trip to the Hollow, I cast a sidelong glance at Ellen to check her reaction. How many times had I stopped here before understanding why? She blew out a silent puff of air from between her lips. I recognized that mannerism. It was her emotional response when she was confused or conflicted, so clearly she wasn’t oblivious to the currents here, either.
I didn’t try to comfort her and thereby prevent her from dealing with her emotions herself.
Ellen opened the door and slid out. She closed the car door firmly, cast a look at the work Roger’s crew had already done to clear trees and widen the dirt road, and then set off down the driveway. She stopped at the porch, the charred black goo of long-flattened debris not far from her shoes. She pinched her nose.
“It still smells, I know,” I said.
She removed her hand. “Not really. Not much. It’s just that the smell reminds me of that night. You know?”
“I do.” My fingers twitched. They wanted to grab my daughter’s hand. I jammed my fists into my pockets.
She puffed out a soft breath again, then nodded and moved on. She walked around the remains of the house and headed to the backyard. I followed more slowly, curious about what would draw her attention most directly.
Ellen went to the old cabin. She opened the door and looked in. She squinched up her nose and backed out, sneezing. “Spiders?”
“Most likely.” I laughed softly and touched the thick, rough logs. “Roger will fix it up. He’ll get rid of them and the dust, too.”
“I remember you working in there.”
“And I will again.”
Ellen crossed the yard to the small footbridge over the creek. She paused there for only a quick moment and then headed up the slope to the cemetery. As I hastened to catch up, she called out to me, “Looks good, Mom.”
She stopped at the stone walls and stared at each of the graves. It made me nervous. Did her eyes linger on her father’s grave? Maybe, but she didn’t remark on any of them. Instead, she turned away, took my arm, and we quietly descended the hill.
After recrossing the bridge, she wandered farther down to the creek. I sat on a log, enjoying the sound of the creek and the spring feeding it. Ellen continued standing and staring straight ahead.
“Where does that go?” She was pointing at a path that disappeared up the slope into the woods.
Across the creek, and beyond the homeplace clearing where the trees took over again, the path was wide and clear, though it narrowed and almost disappeared in places as it climbed to the top of Elk Ridge. Or it had. I hadn’t attempted that stroll in years. Was it still walkable?
“That’s Elk Ridge up there. Our property follows the ridgeline.”
Ellen opened her eyes wide. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. Of course, you can’t see it from here because of the trees. The forest is thick up on the slope. Not much good for farming here. The land flattens out on the Bridger side of the ridge. The Bridgers used to farm over on their side. Mostly, Grand just hunted. Gran and I grew a few veggies. I vaguely recall an orchard. Grand tended that for years, but it took a blight or something—I hardly remember, it was so long ago—but otherwise, that was about it, as far as working the land. Grand was good with small engines and furnace repair and such. That’s how he earned a living.”
My voice was stilled as I recalled, from years ago, the attorney telling me my father’s ashes had been poured into Cub Creek, destined to vanish. He was lost to the past, too. Erased? Not quite erased, but the aspect of him was changed. Gran had changed the truth of who he was into the memory of someone he’d never been.
My daughter, but not the daughter who’d carried the genes of my parents, paused on the bank where the creek narrowed, downstream from the bridge. I was about to call out to her to be careful, to remind her the banks could be slippery, when she jumped. Gracefully, as smoothly as a young deer, she flew over the water and landed on the far side. She started walking toward the path.
I stood. “Ellen. What are you doing? Come back here.”
She called back to me, tossing the words over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be right back. We have time, right? I want to walk to the ridge.”
“Why? I mean, it’s a long walk.” I hardly recognized my voice. I reached forward, wanting only to pull her back.
Ellen nodded and left me.
Left me? Get it together, Hannah. Ellen was walking up to the ridge that I’d pointed out as being the property line. Calm down, I told myself. This didn’t need to be a big deal. One step at a time, and before I knew it, we’d be back here on Cooper land where we belonged.
“Watch out for ticks and snakes! Spiders, too!” The warning was a feeble attempt to bring her back. Feeble and contemptible.
I hurried back across the bridge and angled toward the path to catch up to her.
“I remember Gran being sick,” she said as we hiked up the slope.
“Yes,” I said. “She had health problems, but until Grand died, she did well enough. She took his death hard.”
“That’s why you didn’t go off to college.”
“Yes,” I said again.
“Instead, you met my dad while you two were in high school.”
“Wait,” I said. I stopped, and she did, too. “Is coming out here bringing all this up again?” I touched her hand. “I’m sorry you have questions I can’t answer properly.” I shook my head. “I remember once Gran saying a child deserved to have a daddy. I wish I could’ve given that to you.”
Ellen spoke softly. “It’s not your fault he died.”