Very Close Relations (standard:fantasy, 2004 words)
Author: Alpha43	Added: Apr 16 2005	Views/Reads: 3500/2283	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
There comes a time in everyone’s life when they must stand at the crossroads, opting for the high road or the low road, picking the left fork or the right fork in the road to the future. I wondered if anybody from the left fork would ever find out what w

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“Sit and get warmed up, it will just take a second,” I said, and headed
to the kitchen. 

I had the drinks nearly ready when I saw Dot had moved into the kitchen
with me. I noticed a smile on her face as she said, “Are you adding 
cinnamon to your hot chocolate?” 

“Yes” I admitted, blushing. “I didn’t put any in yours, I know it’s a
strange thing to do” 

“Oh no” she said. “I used to drink it like that when I was a little
girl, go ahead, I’d love some.” I mixed a pinch of cinnamon in her mug, 
stirred it and we both laughed and took a sip. “You don’t know the 
memories that brings back”. We held our steaming mugs in both hands. 

The kitchen lamps were bigger wicked than the parlor lamps, and I could
see that Dot was very much my size and close to my age. She had dyed 
red hair that was not really like any natural color, but even after the 
effects of the blizzard, it was wonderfully sculpted. She had a great 
amount of make-up on and I thought she could possess a natural beauty 
if she used much less. She asked if she could smoke and I noticed that 
deep, raspy voice of a long time smoker. 

“There are two things I would like to ask you,” said Dot. “First, am I
anywhere near Crofton road? And second, why haven’t you teased me about 
being out on a night like this?” 

“Yes, you are on the old Crofton road, they have a bridge in now that
lets you cross Creighton Creek. And I surely did wonder about anybody 
traveling in such horrible weather.” 

Dot laughed and said that she had been heading north to Petoskey on the
two lane trunk line, US-131, where the storm is not nearly as bad. She 
had decided that since her appointment for tomorrow at the Emmett 
County State Bank was not until 11 AM, she would take a chance on a 
side trip to see if she could find the old family farm. 

Dot told me that the farther east she went, the heavier the snow got and
the more the winds blew. Her Model B Ford only had a driverside wiper 
and once it froze up, she simply could not see the slush rutted road, 
the car was in the ditch about a quarter of a mile back to the west. 
“Thank God I saw your lamp burning!” 

I said that I had four bedrooms in this drafty old house, but if we
wanted any heat we would have to spread out blankets in the parlor near 
the stove, and Dot offered to help me. I laid out quilts for a base on 
either side of the stove, leaving room to throw in logs through the 
night. Sheets and more blankets completed the makeshift beds. 

We each filled our cups again and prepared to settle into our beds. Dot
carefully took off her slips, real silk, and rolled down her stockings. 
I mentioned that I did not have a car, but if the storm had passed by 
morning, I would walk down to the Sheffer’s. They had a tractor that 
could get Dots car out. Dot said she would just call a wrecker, but I 
told her I did not have a telephone. 

I told Dot about my fears when I first heard the knocking and Dot said
she had fear too, thinking nobody was home after several bangs on the 
door. “I’m glad I caught you in the shadows!” Dot said she was glad 
Too! I asked about her car and I was told it was brand new, and Dot was 
certain that as slow as she was going it was just stuck with no serious 
damage. 

Dot explained that she was involved in banking in Grand Rapids, the car
was a necessity in her job as Vice President of Commercial Services. 
Dot had been married twice and both marriages failed. She had no kids, 
was 42 years old, and it seemed like her life was busy, but it kept 
going in circles. Rush, hurry, work, go, motels, hotels, meetings, 
work, dates and never seeing the men again. She looked a little sad. 

I laughed and said it sounded like Dot did more things in a day than I
did in a year. “I was born in Kalkaska Township, I’ve spent 35 years 
right here, 2 months in an orphanage, with my first 7 years at my folks 
80 acre farm.” 

Dot said that she was looking for the land where her folk’s worked a 80
acre farm, until the house burned down, killing both her parents. 

The hair on my neck stood up and I had a strange sense of rotation or
dizziness, and said, “Did you say the farm was on Crofton road? My 
folks farm was on Crofton road, the south side next to a hardwood 
stand, and it too burned down. We had a back pasture and it had 
Creighton Creek running through the lower end.” 

“There was a small stream that ran through the rear of our place too,”
said Dot, adding she thought that maybe the henhouse or an out-building 
might still be standing near the hardwoods to help her identify the old 
homestead. Adding she loved that place, the most precious memories of 
her life happened there. She thought every day was a blessing, until 
lightning hit the house.” Dot had to wipe her eyes with her fine linen 
handkerchief. 

Dot didn’t know if she would call it an orphanage, but at age seven she
did spend several weeks in a home with 5 other kids, and after a short 
time, she was told that two couples were interested in “maybe” taking 
her home with them. 

The first couple she met seemed so nice and told her about their estate
outside of a big city. The second family were local farmers and some 
kind of distant relation. They had once had a child, who just recently 
died. Both the husband and wife were very low-key, subdued, and they 
did not appear too prosperous. 

I was sweating, a little dizzy, and I was very confused. “Where did this
farm couple live?” I finally asked, nearly whispering. 

“Right in the area here, some ‘Meadows’, but I chose the first couple, I
grew up in the city.” 

I was fighting a strange sensation, like I knew what was about to
happen. I remembered a couple that talked to me when I was seven years 
old and up for adoption; high society, snooty and certainly NOT country 
people. Then a second cousin, Archie, and his wife offered me a place 
to stay on their farm, here at Miller’s Meadows. They had recently lost 
little Archie to the fever, and they thought it would work out well for 
everybody. 

“Did you say you to were 42 years old?” I asked. 

“That right.” Said Dot. “Why do you ask?” 

“It seems very odd that so much of both our pasts seems to be...” I
stopped talking as I noticed the relief and satisfaction on Dot’s face, 
and then I quit breathing when I looked down at Dot messaging her 
severely deformed left ankle and foot. 


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