Part 3: 4 - Dust Bunnies
1998, Caleb finds a letter
Things That Can’t Be Broken is a novel presented as a live draft, one chapter every week.
Last week: Part 3: 3 - George • Greetings from the other side
Part 3 | A Storm Blowing from Paradise
4 - Dust Bunnies
Maeve Allen
August 22, 1998
Edinburgh, Scotland
“Caleb! It’s time to go,” Maeve called up from the bottom of the stairs, keys in one hand, oiled bridle in the other. She heard scuffling and skittering of dog nails on the wood floor, followed closely by the squeak of sneakers.
“Skip has my new guitar strap. He’s under your dresser!” Caleb yelled.
“That dog,” Maeve muttered, while hauling herself back up the stairs. She heard furniture moving and the dog sneezing repeatedly. “What are you doing?”
“I got it!” said Caleb, shoving the dresser back in place. He was big for nine, and so strong. The little Jack Russell scrambled down the stairs past Maeve, straight to the door, where he commenced jumping up and down impatiently.
Caleb was stuffing something into his jacket pocket.
“What’s that?” Maeve asked.
“Just some paper Skip had,” Caleb replied. “Can I bring my guitar?”
He rarely left home without the guitar if he could help it. He would have taken it to school if he could have smuggled it in.
“If you can grab it quickly,” said Maeve. “We’re running late.”
He dove to grab the nylon case by the sofa and slung it over his shoulder, then ran down the stairs to the dog, snapping a leash on him before opening the front door and ushering her past. A ripple of pride ran through Maeve. He was such a good kid.
“Where’s Da?” Caleb asked, as he climbed into the back seat. Skip was already standing on his hind legs looking out the back window.
“He’s fixing a leak at the Campbell’s, and then running some errands. Just you, me, and Skip today.”
Caleb sighed dramatically, “It’s so boring without Da.”
“We’ll see if Scooter’s available,” said Maeve, “If Trevor comes, maybe you boys can go trekking?”
Caleb didn’t respond. Maeve glanced in the rearview mirror. He seemed content enough. Guitar case on his lap, studying the scrap of paper he must have pulled from his pocket. Life could be worse, kid. When she was nine, she would have been hopping up and down like Skip if her parents had forced her to spend a day at a horse stable with the possibility of a trail ride. Her son’s dreams were not of horses. He liked them well enough, but he only wanted to play his guitar.
Auntie Grace had given him the occasional lesson from the time he could put his fingers around the guitar’s neck. After he turned eight, they started him in weekly lessons; he never needed a reminder to practice. And since Christmas, James Taylor, Johnny Cash, and Jimi Hendrix, all stared out into his room from the posters Grace gave him. Caleb played very well for his age. He was even learning to write both music and lyrics, mostly on his own.
Maeve wondered if the boys at school ever teased him about his guitar obsession like she was teased about horses. Maybe not. His passion seemed much cooler than her horse obsession. She was proud of Caleb for being himself. She would back him in his musical pursuit, as long as he kept up his grades.
So far, school seemed easy for the boy, especially math. Todd praised Caleb’s math prowess at every opportunity, hoping to push him in that direction. She and Todd could not easily brush aside their concern that Caleb might follow too closely in his birth-mother’s footsteps. Grace’s musical circus life could be a hard road, full of pitfalls like the drug addiction with which she always struggled.
It was more than a little scary. They prayed music would turn out to be no more than a satisfying hobby for Caleb. Maeve chuckled, tipping her head at her own hypocrisy. Like horses are for me.
When she looked back at him in the rearview mirror, he was still studying that scrap of paper. “What do you have there?” she asked.
“It’s a letter from Auntie Genny,” Caleb said. “Skip found it behind your dresser when I pulled it out. I was trying to read it, but some of it is chewed-up and soggy.”
“Oh?” Maeve was curious now. “Who is it addressed to?”
“It must be to you,” Caleb said, flipping the lined paper over. “It says, ‘Dear Sister’.”
“I’m glad you saved it from the Skip-monster. I’ll want to keep that. Can you read it to me while I’m driving?”
Caleb read the handwriting haltingly, “It says, March 2, 1990. Dear Sister, we’re doing fine here. We had a good rain yesterday. Blake was jumping in the puddles this morning. We took some good photos. I’ll send you some when we get them back. I was grateful for the “wellies” you sent. Thank you! It’s going to be green here again soon. I have a special delivery enclosed . . .”
The car hit a pothole and bounced.
“Dang it!” said Caleb.
“What’s wrong?”
“It ripped!” He held up the two pieces of lined paper for her to see in the mirror. Skip tried to snatch one. He pushed him back with an elbow.
“I’m curious to see it, but maybe put it away for now. We’re almost there,” Maeve said.
When she glanced back, he was trying to smooth the pieces over his guitar case on his lap. Arriving at Glenpark Farm, she parked on the cobblestone courtyard by the stable. Horses nickered and tossed their heads at Maeve, but her student had not yet arrived.
As soon as Caleb opened the car door, Skip was off and running to sniff the happenings of the horse world. Caleb held the pieces of letter in his hand as he backed out of the car with his guitar case. He gave his mother a quizzical look and then looked down at the letter.
“What is it, son?” Maeve asked.
“Did we go to California when I was a baby?” he asked.
“No, not until you were three,” said Maeve. “Can I see the letter?”
He handed her the pieces while watching possessively. She read from where Caleb had left off:
This postcard came for you at the ranch, so I’m sending it along. I hope you and Todd will bring Caleb for the dedication. Blake and Tonya would love to meet their cousin and I’m afraid we’re not going to make it across the pond ourselves anytime soon. It’s a bit more than . . .
(unreadable bleeding ink and bite marks)
. . . overrun by mustard and tumbleweed, but I’m sure it won’t take much to knock them all down. I still have the occasional student asking about the horsemanship program.
(tooth holes and a ripped off piece) . . . almost two years. I haven’t seen Veronica on TV for a while.
And on the other side:
Maybe the station is seeing through her (blurred ink) . . . Anyone who ever had the delusion that Todd could hurt anyone, let alone a little girl, has surely forgotten by now. I hope you’ll be here for the bridge dedication. I think it would be good for everyone to see you here if you can make it. I miss you, Sister! Love, Genny.
Caleb was still watching her when she finished reading. She said, “I’m going to put this in the glove compartment for safekeeping until we get home.”
He gave her a disappointed look. “I’m not going lose it.”
“I know, but Skip may have other plans. We’ll leave it here for now.”
As she snapped the glove compartment closed, a Peugeot pulled up and a teen girl jumped out. “Sorry I’m late, Mrs. Allen!” said the girl.
“No worries, Catherine,” said Maeve. “Go ahead and get Parker groomed and tacked. I’ll meet you over there.”
Maeve turned back to Caleb, who said, “Did they think Da hurt a little girl?”
“No, honey. Da didn’t hurt anyone, but it is a very sad story.”
“Did you know her? Did she die?” Caleb asked, his eyes full of concern.
Maeve looked up toward the barn and back to Caleb. She and Todd always knew the history might come up at some point. She said, “Let’s talk about this more when we get home tonight.”
Throughout the day, when Maeve looked for Caleb, he was walking around the stable grounds, playing fetch with Skip, or sitting on the ground somewhere playing his guitar as if struck by sudden inspiration. Trevor did not come, but Caleb brought Scooter out for a little while and took him over a few small jumps. That made her smile.
Both Caleb and Skip fell asleep on the car ride home. Her son’s head was tipped back, those long eyelashes brushing his cheeks, so innocent. If only I could keep him this way. Caleb had a quiet intensity. He was prone to daydream into the landscape and become lost in thought for several minutes at a time. Like herself and Todd, he seemed most at home in the open spaces. Maybe that was a result of their outdoor lifestyle. But the tendency to daydream a lot, did that come from Grace, or was it all his own?
They didn’t keep it a secret from Caleb that Grace was his birthmother. As soon as he was old enough to understand, they told him that she “carried him in her tummy” for them, so that they could become his parents. It didn’t seem to cause him confusion, especially since Grace was rarely home, and when she visited she treated Caleb like any good aunt would treat a nephew.
Caleb’s other aunt, Genny, was on Maeve’s mind. They didn’t write letters anymore. Their communication was mostly through email. It was a lot faster and easier than mailing letters. And while almost everyone she knew had a phone in their pocket these days, making calls and sending text messages internationally was pretty expensive. Seeing the old letter, however, Maeve realized how she missed the simple feel of the paper in her hand and the warmth of her little sister’s schoolteacher handwriting. Email could never duplicate that.
Life had changed so much. Had it been six years since they had visited California? Time flew by. Blake, Tonya, and little Joanie were what? Twelve, eight, and five already? After their visit to California in 1992, they decided to let Genny’s family move into the house at Allen Haven. Genny had been keeping an eye on the place, stopping by at least once or twice a week for what turned out to be years. She and Seth needed more space for their three kids, and there was that empty house just sitting there waiting for them to return.
Unfortunately, neither Genny nor Seth was interested in keeping it up as any kind of farm. They sadly let most of the acreage go back to brush. Still, she was glad to know Ginger and Merrylegs lived out their final years at the ranch with her sister’s family. They were well-loved by Genny and the kids. Life kept moving, as it does.
For the first few years after returning to Scotland, she imagined they would all three go back to California to live at Allen Haven and restart the horsemanship program. There were plenty of reasons it never happened. When Caleb’s biological father finally agreed to sign the papers to complete the adoption, Caleb was already in preschool. Todd’s mother, Josephine, had taken ill and came to live with them for a while. And now that Genny’s family was living at the ranch, it didn’t make much sense to uproot everyone.
Still, sometimes it niggled at the back of her mind, especially in the Spring, when they would have been choosing the next new students. She wondered what became of the young people they turned out into the world. Who were they now?
While Caleb showered, Maeve prepared dinner. She told Todd, “We’re going to have to talk to Caleb about Dani Cartwright at dinner.”
He groaned, “Och. I suppose it is about time. Did someone bring her up?”
“Skip,” she said, peeling a carrot.
“The wee pup?” Todd laughed. He went to her and put his arms around her waist while she worked.
“Yes,” she said, smiling back at him, grateful for his light mood. “He discovered an old letter from Genny, along with some hefty dust bunnies behind our dresser.”
“Dust bunnies, in my house? Sack the maid!” He winked.
Maeve laughed. “We don’t have a maid. You’ll have to fire us all.”
“Aye! Now that we’re out of work, we will have nothing left to do but dance!” He pushed the button on the stereo. Will Smith was on the radio, Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It. Todd took hold of her hands and pulled her into a spin and then a dip. They danced together in the kitchen while the potatoes boiled. As he pulled her in for a kiss, Caleb came around the corner, freshly washed hair standing on end.
“Ech! Stop it! Why do you do that?!” Caleb exclaimed, holding up a hand to shield himself from the sight.
Todd’s eyebrow raised and Caleb caught his smile. The game was on! Caleb turned away to run, knowing what was coming. Todd pulled him from the hallway, spun him and dipped him, too, until all of them were laughing and dancing together in the simple joy of the moment, little Skip jumping and barking at their heels.
Soon the potatoes were mashed, and the pork chops were frying. As Caleb set plates on the table, Maeve heard the conversation begin.
“Da, who was Dani Cartwright? Was she one of your students?” Caleb asked, in a sweet attempt at sounding casual.
“No, laddie,” said Todd, in a more serious tone. “We never met her. She was a girl about your age.”
“What happened to her?”
Next
Part 3 | A Storm Blowing from Paradise
5 - The Cafe
As always, thank you so much for reading!
Don’t forget the ‘likes’, ‘shares’, and ‘comments’ —they make me smile!
This story is full of nostalgia and I love how subtle but powerful it is!