The House of Frozen Dreams Read online

  She believed in the mountains and the water and the trees and the animals. She believed in Niko.

  When all this was happening, Niko pulled her aside from picking blueberries with her sister. They ducked into the woods. He said, “We will find a way to be together.” He kissed her urgently, his green eyes held tears. “We will. I promise you, Nadi.”

  The day came when the group departed, peacefully, lovingly saying goodbye despite their differences. Except for Nadia, the once-complacent child, who had to be physically dragged away by her father and brothers. She did not scream or cry or even speak as she scratched and kicked against them, her father breaking the silence, saying, “Nadi, Nadi. Nado privyknut,” their lifelong dictum: One must get used to it.

  Now she stepped out of the tub to dry herself and pulled on clean clothes with a renewed awareness that they were not her clothes. Outside the bathroom door, Leo greeted her as if she’d just returned from a long journey.

  NINETEEN

  When Kache walked into the Old Folks’, the nurse Gilly introduced him to a few staff and pointed him toward Lettie’s room. “She’s doing great today.”

  Where the hallway turned left, a Native man slumped in a wheelchair in the corner. He kept moving his right arm in big up and down sweeps, grabbing and pulling at the air with his left.

  Gilly said, “That’s Leroy’s fishing hole and you better not go putting a laundry bin or food cart anywhere near it. He makes me wheel him over to that exact spot every morning.”

  Leroy. Marion’s grandfather. Kache bent down and said, “Hello, Mr. Tilloko. Nice to see you. It’s Kache Winkel. Used to date your granddaughter years ago.” Leroy nodded and cast his line and his eyes somewhere over Kache’s head. Leroy used to be strong, stoic, and intimidating as hell. But that was in 1985, when Leroy was the mayor and Kache was devising plans on how he might get into Leroy’s granddaughter’s pants.

  In her room Lettie sat propped up in bed reading, open curtains revealing a killer view of the mountains of rock and snow beyond the choppy bay, which sparkled as the sun burned pale yellow through a lone cluster of pewter clouds. A skyline of family photographs topped the dresser. “Hi Grandma Lettie,” he said. “It’s Kache.”

  She closed the book. “You’re my grandson, Kache, there’s no need for introduction. No matter how long it took you to get yourself home. Come here, honey. Give me a hug.”

  “Am I glad to see you.” He held her close to him, her head almost covered by the expanse of his hand. Lettie must have come back and kicked out the imposter who had been hanging out in her wheelchair.

  “There, there now,” Lettie said into his chest, then leaned back to look at him. “You look good. A little tired around the eyes, but not bad for an old guy.”

  “Thanks. I think. Where’s Aunt Snag?”

  “Hovering somewhere close, no doubt.”

  At that moment Snag appeared in the doorway, pushing a cart with a loaded tray. “Mom. I am not hovering. Some might call it helping. Why, hello, Kache,” she said rather formally. Her eyes darted between Lettie and Kache.

  “I just got here,” Kache said to put her mind at ease.

  Snag got busy preparing Lettie’s tea and toast, and Kache accepted the piece she offered. “So, Mom,” Snag said, “I have something I need to talk to you about.”

  Lettie folded her hands and rested them on her stomach. “Shoot.”

  Snag kept her back toward them, occupying herself with the items on the tray. “It’s about the homestead.”

  “Aunt Snag, we don’t have to go into the details right now.” Kache went over to where she stood and gently elbowed her in the side, shook his head, took the tea to Lettie.

  “Subtle, Kache. You two think you’re so smart,” Lettie said. “Eleanor, finish what you started. Sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Snag glanced at Kache and obediently sat in the chair next to Lettie’s bed, reaching for her hand.

  “Good Lord,” Lettie said. “Who died now?”

  “No one died, Mom. It’s just about the homestead.”

  “Wait, Aunt Snag. Things aren’t as bad as you think. Not nearly.”

  “Kachemak. Let Eleanor finish. Something tells me she’s had this on her chest for a while now.”

  “Mom?” Snag took a deep breath. “I’ve been lying to you for a long time.”

  “Aunt Snag.” Kache shook his head. “Don’t. It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay, Kache. I did something horribly wrong and I need to tell my mother if you’d hold your tongue and give me a chance.”

  “The house is fine,” he told her. “Everything looks great.”

  “Of course it’s fine,” Lettie said. “Your grandfather and I built that place with our own hands. We built it to last, to hand down through the generations. You two do remember that, don’t you?” They both nodded emphatically.

  “But, Mom, I—What do you mean it’s fine, Kache?”

  “I mean, it’s in perfect condition.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Eleanor. Kachemak. You don’t think I’d let nature have its way with that place after everything A.R. and I did to build it, and Bets and Glenn did to expand and maintain it, do you? Just because the two of you let your own demons keep you away for twenty godforsaken years, you don’t really think I’d just sit here and let my legacy rot into the ground, do you?”

  Snag stared at Lettie for what seemed like an eternity. “You knew?”

  “Of course I knew. Well, at first I only suspected. Then I went out there myself and saw that my hunch was right. Renters, schmenters. We have a lot to catch up on, Eleanor. But what I need to know, Kache, is how is my sweet Nadia?”

  Snag’s mouth dropped open as she pressed her hand to her forehead. “Your sweet Nadia? Who the hell is Nadia?”

  Kache said, “The Old Believer who’s been squatting there.”

  Lettie pointed her chin at him. “You mean, dear boy, the conscientious caretaker who saved our asses.”

  “Well, yeah. I guess that is what I meant.”

  “Someone’s living there?”

  “Ah … that would be yes,” Kache said. “Definitely yes.”

  TWENTY

  And so it went, with Kache filling in Snag and Lettie, Lettie filling in Kache and Snag, and Snag wiping her eyes with her tissues and blowing her nose in relief and regret. Apparently Lettie had been sneaking out to the place since that first winter, running water in the pipes when the temperature took a dive, even climbing the ladder to knock snow off the roof. When Snag pictured her elderly mother finagling the broom up each rung, she started tearing up again. But the truth was that until a few years ago, Lettie was stronger than any of them, at least in spirit, which evidently compensated for a lot. As Lettie explained, she’d only had to tend to the maintenance the first ten years or so, because then this Nadia person moved in and stayed, taking care of things, hiding out from her Old Believer clan, a vague explanation that Lettie didn’t delve into except to say that Nadia had never stepped foot off the property in the time that Lettie had known her.

  “Are you sure, Mom? That sounds awfully strange.”

  “She’s not strange, she’s smart and responsible and I trust her to no end.” Lettie crossed her thin arms.

  A wave of jealousy crashed into Snag’s solar plexus. Had the Old Believer become a surrogate daughter to Lettie? Someone who obviously did what Snag did not—take care of the property Lettie had so loved? Even Kache seemed more concerned for this woman than he did about the fact she’d been living there scot-free for ten years. Not that Snag was complaining. She wasn’t stupid. This stranger, this Old Believer woman, had saved the house from extreme disrepair. And there was the fact that Snag herself had once met an Old Believer on their beach. She was pretty sure it was an Old Believer. But that had been fifty-some years ago.

  “Well, I guess I should head out there and meet this woman,” Snag offered.

  But Kache said, “She’s going to nee
d some time. Gram, she never left the property?”

  “Nope. Not as far as I know. I took her supplies before I got sick. Last trip out there I must have brought enough toilet paper and toothpaste and whatnot to last a decade. Now don’t go plowing over her now, Snag. She’s not used to people.”

  “And neither of you find this odd?”

  Neither of them said whether they did or didn’t.

  “Mom? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because, Eleanor, she asked me not to and I respected her request. It seemed important to her that I did. Besides, she’s quite self-sufficient.”

  Snag pressed Lettie for more details, but she started getting loopy, rattling on about who knows what. One minute she could have run the country. The next minute she thought Eisenhower was still running it.

  “Kache, can you make sure she takes those pills in the little paper cup? I’ll be right back.”

  Snag went to get more hot water for tea and ran into Gilly. “Honey, what’s wrong? Is your mom okay?”

  Gilly, with her limitless generosity and compassion, might have been the kindest person in Caboose. Snag shook her head, then realized the question and switched to big, fast nods. “Mom’s fine. A little loopy, like she gets when she’s tired.” But her voice cracked and gave her away even more. She felt like her head might spin clear off and veer down the hallway. “I’m a mess, but Mom’s fine.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Gilly’s voice alone had a calming effect. Snag suspected that when Gilly talked to her patients, their blood pressure immediately improved.

  “Oh, you’re so sweet, Gilly. But I know how busy they keep you. It’s a story twice as long as the Caboose spit, and I’m afraid if you knew it you wouldn’t want to be my friend any longer. And I wouldn’t be able to stand that.”

  “Nonsense. Nothing is that bad.” She held on to both sides of the stethoscope that hung around her neck. “Tell you what. Thursday’s my day off. How about we go get a coffee or a drink or whatever and you can tell me about it then. Or we’ll walk the Spit—twice—while you tell your long story, then go for the drink. Either way.”

  The last thing Snag wanted to do was tell Gilly Sawyer what a neglectful aunt and daughter she was, but she nodded anyway.

  TWENTY-ONE

  As soon as Snag left, Lettie opened her eyes, grabbed Kache’s hand. “Look,” she whispered. “I’m not taking that pink pill. Makes me forget my own name. But I can’t get any of them to listen to me. If my heart gives out, it gives out. I’m ninety-eight years old. I’d rather be able to feed myself a few more times than live ten more years drooling and thinking I’m Katherine Hepburn. As beautiful as she was.”

  “But Gram, have you talked to the doctors?”

  “I’ve tried. Everyone’s convinced I need that damn pill. Sometimes I can be sneaky, but other times I have to swallow it because they won’t leave and the stupid thing starts to dissolve on my tongue. But those pills do me in. Please, Kache. Help me out with this.”

  Kache didn’t want to do something dangerous, but the difference in her since last night was startling. Of course she wouldn’t want to take that pill. She’d obviously skipped some before and hadn’t dropped dead. “Okay. But let me talk to Gilly and your doctors too, okay?”

  Lettie gripped him tighter. “They think their job is to keep me alive until I break some Guinness World Record. I don’t want to live beyond what I’m supposed to. All these drugs! Look. Eight pills. Eight! It’s ridiculous. If it’s a choice between my head and my heart, or my kidneys, or my lungs—they seem to take turns these days—I’ll pick my head, every time.” She handed him the pink one and swallowed the rest. “See? I’m almost behaving. Now. About Nadia. Is she okay?”

  “Yes, she seems to be. But she won’t talk to me.”

  “She might, in her own time. I never did get her whole story, but she’s a dear, and hardworking too. I tried to talk her into coming into town and living with me but she wouldn’t have it. Never set a foot off that property. Kache, she’s no fraidy cat. Someone must have hurt her, and hurt her bad. Promise me you’ll let her stay.”

  “Gram, don’t you think we’ve done our part? And don’t you think she’d be better off in town than alone?”

  “No. Believe me, I wish I still lived out there myself.”

  “But you have family and friends. She needs people.”

  “Apparently she doesn’t. How the hell do you know what she needs, Kachemak Winkel?”

  “I just—I thought we’d rent it to someone who could use the land. Could help with the taxes.”

  “Pish. You and Snag hardly need help in the money department. No. Promise me, Kache. Do not kick her out. I’ve got an automatic payment set up with the Caboose electric. Used to bring her supplies—” Suddenly she let go of his hand, closed her eyes, started snoring.

  Just then Snag came in and pulled a quilt up to Lettie’s chin. “Poor thing. She needed her morning nap.” Kache slipped the pink pill into his pocket.

  While Kache drove Snag home, he asked if he could borrow her truck for a few more days and she said that would be fine. Then she asked, “Do you think that woman out there is okay? Can we trust her?”

  He shrugged. “She’s been living there forever, presumably on her own. The place looks exactly like we left it. Exactly. It looks like Mom and Dad and Denny just walked out.”

  Snag’s eyes got wide. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “I can’t imagine it.”

  “It’s … I don’t know … weird … and kind of comforting … haunting … really sad.”

  She nodded, kept nodding. “Is that your way of saying you’re leaving soon?”

  He pulled into her driveway and put the gear in park. “No. Not for a couple of weeks. I was going to ask you to help me get it ready to rent, but Gram says no. She’s adamant. Wants Nadia to stay.”

  “After everything, I guess we shouldn’t fight her on this, at least not right now.” Kache saw her point, but still didn’t know if it was the best plan.

  “I just hope Lettie’s right about her, Kache. Hey, you look beat.”

  He admitted that he hadn’t slept. And when Snag suggested he come in and take a nap, he agreed to, and didn’t wake up until late the next morning.

  That afternoon Kache stopped at Safeway to pick up a battery for the flashlight and, hit with an unexpected burst of generosity, began pulling items from the shelves as if a natural disaster was predicted to hit in the next twenty-four hours. He tried to think of what might appeal to someone living alone and mostly cut off from society for the last ten years. Twenty-eight years, if he counted the time before she came to the house, when she must have lived with the Old Believers. But he saw Old Believer women in the store, shopping in pairs, their long bright scarves and dresses tied with belts, children sitting in the carts. In some ways, the Old Believers seemed practically worldly compared to Nadia, though she’d made no attempt to cover her head and certainly seemed comfortable wearing his old jeans. He wanted to ask if they knew her, but of course he didn’t.

  Instead, he bought peanut butter and strawberry sorbet and ice cream. He bought bags of chips and a couple pounds of deli meat and Swiss cheese and Brie and bacon. He bought oranges, apples, bananas, grapes, almonds, raisins, and batteries and a pile of magazines and a newspaper. He bought boxes of cereal and salty snacks and girly stuff like lavender bubble bath and lotions and toilet paper and toothpaste—just in case Lettie’s supply was getting low. He even thought about buying Tampax—God knew he’d had to run to the store for Janie—but he figured that crossed a line. He bought toothbrushes and four different high-end chocolate bars. Wait, he needed something for dinner. He bought decent wine and beer. She probably didn’t drink but he did and he definitely wanted a drink. He bought salad fixings and crusty bread, and a couple of steaks, wrapped with cellophane in their Styrofoam trays. Although she might not want any meat that came with a price sticker.

  She might have the sam
e philosophy as his dad.

  “We call it game, but this is not a game, son,” his dad had hollered above the churning tractor, as they dragged the shot moose toward home. Autumn. Tin-colored sky and bay. Already more than a foot of snow on the ground. Kache was thirteen, maybe fourteen. “It’s not a little ditty you can fiddle around with on that guitar of yours. You can’t take it or leave it. It’s life or death.”

  “That’s because you choose to live this way. News flash: there’s a Safeway an hour away. That sells steak.”

  His dad braked the tractor, pulled Kache off the side of it, pushed him back to the moose, long-lashed eyes staring blank. They’d come across the bull, who’d somehow snapped his leg, and Kache’s father decided it was the perfect time for Kache to shoot his first moose. “This isn’t murder, son, it’s mercy.” Kache held the gun up to his shoulder and closed one eye. He trained the bead on the head of the moose, who stopped struggling and set his eyes on Kache. Or more like in Kache, because that bull’s eyes seemed to penetrate Kache’s soul. He tried, he even closed his eyes, but he could not bring himself to pull the trigger. The woods around them quieted and stilled, waiting. Finally, his father swore, grabbed the gun from where Kache had lowered it, and went ahead and shot the bull right between the eyes. Kache willed back the tears, wished again he was more like Denny.

  “Look at him. Know where your food came from.” His father’s dark eyes flashed with such intensity, it was if they’d taken on the life force of the moose, along with his own. “You can’t appreciate the life of something that comes without a face, wrapped in plastic and Styrofoam. Swollen up with all kinds of chemicals. Use your brain, Kache.” Kache thought that was an ironic phrase to use just then, after his father had shot through the head of the moose, who could no longer use his brain.

  “There’s more than one way to live your life,” Kache said as they climbed back on the tractor.