Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

be more comfortable than that old house behind the jail.” Olen didn’t want to mention the doctor’s quarters at the clinic.

Everybody knew.

Phil grinned and sipped coffee. “Your offer prompted me to speak with Nancy about tying the knot.”

“Everybody knows ‘bout you two anyway.”

“Yeah, I know.” He studied Olen for a minute, thinking what to say, how to say it. “We don’t feel right about living rent-free. We’d like to either buy the place or pay rent.”

“Ah.” Olen sipped coffee, not as good as hers. “I don’t want to sell her house, not yet anyway. You fix that vestibule and the front door, take care of the place, you’ll be doing me a big favor.”

“Speaking of which . . .” Nason leaned closer, wanting an answer

“You get your new tires put on?”

“Yeah. Danny put those on yesterday afternoon.”

The bell over the front door jingled, Bea Ralston finally coming in.

Olen set his coffee on the table. “Here she is now. Let’s get going.”

Olen and Nason stood, leaving their cups on the table, and Olen nodded at Bea. "We'll be going now, Bea."

Bea set her bag of knitting on the table and picked up their half empty cups. She smiled and nodded.

Olen grabbed the small wooden box on the corner of the counter. It had been delivered yesterday. Phil grabbed their coats. They put them on and went out the back door.

Driving down River Road, Phil asked, “How’re those ladies working out?”

“Bell Whatling’s got the bookkeeping all straightened up. She’s good at that, working over at the bank and all. None of them makes good coffee.”

“Kids like Bea’s cookies okay.”

“Yeah . . .” Not as good. Helfred could never be replaced by these other women. Everybody up here had their niche. Helfred’s could never be replaced.

“Thank’s for the help.” Olen appreciated Phil more now. He had no problem cleaning up and moving Olen back into his loft. Didn't seem to have a problem taking Olen up to the Perch. Olen felt uncomfortable trying to drive up there in deep snow. He'd never even been up to Potter's upper meadow.

Phil turned off River Road and headed uphill, no problem. Snow had melted to slush in the bright morning sun.

Phil shifted into four-wheel-drive and passed that flat rock Olen had only heard of. Those meadowlarks fluttered up and resettled.

They reached the end of Phil’s previously plowed path through deep snow, a wider place where he'd turned around, and he parked. “Sure you don’t want me to come along?”

“No, Phil. I said some things a few days ago, right after the funeral. I need to talk to him ‘bout that. This box coming in gives me an opportunity.” He grabbed the small wooden box from between his legs, came all the way from Germany. “Thanks for waiting.”

Phil shut off his truck and opened a novel he'd been reading: Treasure by Thomas Holladay.

Olen climbed out and followed Phil’s plowed footpath through deep snow toward the waterfall.

The tree sheltered trail up the slope had been recently traveled, easy to follow, not so much snow. Since the other day in the store, when he'd first realized Willis's ignorance about the events surrounding the full moon, he’d slowly peeled away bits and pieces of his anger and reached a place where he could forgive, maybe even pity.

How can a man live with such a thing, not knowing?

How could he keep his sanity?

Tightly chiseled and fitted stone steps traversed up the steep hillside through the evergreen forest, truly beautiful. Olen often thought how Willis might rather have this whole valley to himself, probably why he'd first come to this valley, a place to be alone with that thing.

That brother he keeps locked in the closet.

Higher up, the trail cut close to the waterfall and icy mist stung Olen’s face. Icicles hung thick from trees and rocks, filtered sunlight sparkled rainbows of color through glasslike crystals.

My God.

So beautiful.

The trail turned back through the forest for a short distance then Olen climbed onto a huge, snowcapped, nearly flat boulder. He followed a worn path through waste deep snow to the base of two giant, vertical boulders.

The Perch.

He stopped for a breather and turned to view the snow covered valley below. River Road stretched like a dark ribbon from the Potter house to the village.

There’s the store, by golly, and the Rock.

The spear like boulder of the Rock had been naturally framed by two giant redwood trees, very nice from here. The rest of the buildings were not easily distinguishable at this distance, trees blocking parts of them. He knew the what and the where of all of them.

Funny how Willis never attended church. Olen knew he believed in God.

Maybe he sends the meadowlarks.

Closer, just across the misty ravine and a little lower, John Crow’s house stood like a half teepee stacked against the cliff. It so fit John Crow.

He shifted the box to his other arm, turned back and looked up at the top of the Perch. A sculpted structure of heavy timber, stone and glass had been tightly fitted into the rocks; a unique balance of solids and voids with intersecting roof planes. He couldn’t see all of it from here, standing under the high roof planes. He felt small under the scale of this place.

Down here under the high roof planes, protected from snow and rain, might be Willis's outdoor shop.

Carved chunks of wood had been partially covered by canvas. Tree stumps with gnarled roots had been stacked together with several uniquely shaped rocks. A few pieces of incomplete, unfinished furniture must be his ongoing projects. A variety of hand tools made before electricity had been arranged on a workbench inside a large niche cut into the base of one of the boulders.

He stood at the base of a stone stair between the two boulders and looked up. The stair disappeared into a tight place under the roof, maybe 30 steps up.

“Come on up, Olen.” Willis's voice stood Olen’s hair on end. He spun but Willis wasn't there. His voice