Housekeeping

Grandpa was born in the plains.

It was absolutely flat, all around, for hundreds of miles.

He thought the whole world was like that.

Even the house was dug out of the ground.

Then, one momentous day, he found out about mountains.

He must have found a picture in a book.

He was amazed.

It became an obsession.

He drew and painted mountains endlessly.

Mount Fujiyama, the Alps, the Rockies.

He painted mountains all his life.

Before we were even born, he was lying at the bottom of Fingerbone Lake.

in the wreckage of a train.

There were lots of mountains there.

That's the way the family story went.

It was a good enough story,

but there were other things we wanted to know.

For instance, where was our father?

Nobody even mentioned him.

Where are the seagulls, Lucille?

I don't know.

Let me put the bread right down here.

Hey!

Hi, Charlie!

You girls get inside.

Get inside, now.

Hey.

If you get inside I'll bring you some custard.

Okay, Bernice.

Hey.

Guess what.

We're going to see Grandma.

In Bernice's car.

Didn't know I could drive, did you?

No.

You shouldn't be smoking, ma'am.

Nice kids.

Sometimes they are.

Eleven!

What are you counting?

- Horses. - And cemeteries.

Come on, girls.

Come on. This way.

Years later, Lucille and I still talked about the trip to Grandma's

Lucille would remember one thing, and I another,

until we'd pieced together the whole journey.

We tried so hard that we ended up not knowing what we really remembered

from what we had just imagined.

And we often fought over the details.

Grandma's at church,

but you're gonna wait here and give her a nice surprise.

She'll be home in a little while, okay?

Hm-hmm. Where are you going?

I have to go somewhere in the car.

But you're going to be good girls, now, aren't you?

Here are some cookies. And don't fight over them.

You'll stay inside, now, won't you?

Ruthie?

When Grandma comes home you can tell her you've been good girls.

Now, tell me "Cheerio".

Cheerio. Can't we come, too?

But, then, nobody would be home for Grandma.

Stay here.

Where's she going?

Oh, she was about 5'8" and three quarters.

A little taller than I am. Very nice looking.

Dark hair.

The little girl looks quite a little bit like her.

Her features are much the same.

- I'll just ask them. - I see.

What kind of car is Mummy's?

It's Bernice's car.

Okay. What kind of car is Bernice's?

Erm...

Green.

Ruthie?

Blue.

I could use some help.

Could you boys give me a push onto some solid ground?

Sure.

Stick this under the wheel.

This, too.

- No, you don't want to waste that. - Take it, it's okay.

No, we have some old clothes.

Sandy put your jacket under the wheel on your side.

- No. - C'mon Sandy.

I'm not moving till you take this.

Use it!

Ah, yuck!

Thanks boys. You've been a help.

Here. Take it.

I put the last of the white cake on the table out there.

It won't last long. Shall I fetch you a piece?

No, thanks, Etta.

The soup was enough.

How is she doing?

She's quiet enough.

Lucille and Ruthie.

No, George. It's Ruthie and Lucille.

Have you shown the girls the orchard yet?

Yes, we had a walk in the orchard this morning

Have you shown them your Indian knife?

Yes, I have.

Have you shown them your Spanish coin?

No, it's in my other pants' pocket.

Grandmother looked after us for seven years.

The paperboy was the only person under 60 that we saw regularly.

It seemed as if, all her life,

she was destined to be braiding hair and whitening shoes.

And she worried for us.

Once, she told us she'd dreamed that she'd seen a baby fall from an airplane.

And had tried to catch it in her apron.

And once, in a dream,

she had tried to fish a baby out of a well with a tea strainer.

She never talked about Mother, or any of the family,

except Grandpa and his mountains.

It was only after she had died that we were able to delve

amongst the treasures in her room.

There, I found Mother

and her sister, Sylvie,

both banished to the bottom drawer.

I had high hopes of Grandma's treasures,

but most of the people in the photographs remained strangers with no names.

I returned to the album often,

until the faces became familiar and comfortable, like family.

It was comforting to find Lucille and Mother and me there, too.

It seemed to suggest that we belonged.

Although Grandma's death made the front page of the Dispatch,

it was only because of her connection with the spectacular derailment

that had widowed her twenty years earlier.

It didn't even mention the time or place of her funeral,

but every detail of the Fingerbone wreck was retold.

My grandfather's death had made him famous.

The disaster wasn't strictly speaking spectacular

because nobody saw it happen.

It took place midway through a moonless night.

The train was about a mile out on the bridge

when the engine nosed over toward the lake

and then the rest of the train followed it,

like a weasel sliding off a rock.

The bridge was built on submerged hills.

On either side, the lake slid away to unknown depths.

Who could tell where the train might've come to rest?

It might be sliding yet, down and down.

All that was ever found was a suitcase, a seat cushion and a lettuce.

All that day the people of Fingerbone

were reluctant to leave the hole in the ice.

It could only have been out of politeness,

for there was really nothing they could do

for the two hundred souls on the train.

So, they built fires and stood around

discussing how the train might've settled in the lake.

Some imagined it sinking like a stone,

while others saw it sliding through the water like an eel.

By the evening, the ice was already beginning to heal.

All in all, it was a memorable day in the history of Fingerbone.

It was reported in newspapers as far away as Denver and Saint Paul.

Relax your arms, Ruthie.

The stiffness goes all the way down to your feet.

I hate those dogs!

When Grandmother died,

the house and her savings became Lucille's and mine.

Our great-aunts, Lily and Nona, came from Spokane to look after us.

They were almost destitute and appreciated the savings in rent,

but they didn't take to Fingerbone at all.

This is much too late for little girls to come in.

The time went by so fast. We're really sorry.

You see, we can't go out looking for you.

We might get lost. Or fall in the ice.

There are no street lights, and they never sand the roads.

Dogs aren't on chains.

And the cold is so bitter. We feel it even in the house.

We won't come back after dark anymore.

You weren't on the ice, were you?

No.

It's just a broken branch.

Oh, my!

It's just a cable down. It happens.

Don't worry. I'll fetch some candles.

Oh, dear!

If you dream about somebody dead,

does it mean they're haunting you?

I don't know.

It feels like it.

I don't want to sleep.

If you plan not to sleep, we could play cards.

I don't think they'll ever be happy here.

What's going to happen to us?

I don't know.

Well, it can't get much worse.

We could build a moondial tomorrow in the snow.

Yeah.

Maybe Mom's sister could come back home.

Maybe.

"Dear Mother,

"I can now be reached care of the Lost Hills Hotel,

"Billings, Montana,

"or the Myrtle Rooms, Portland, Oregon.

"Hope you are well.

"Write this time. S."