The Audacity of Goats Page 4

  Fiona had awoken in a happy frame of mind, anticipating a visit from Elisabeth and Roger. They would be coming to take Rocco back with them, and although Fiona would be very sad to see him go, this was a relatively minor point compared to her delight at seeing them. She would take the day off from writing and make them a lovely dinner. It promised to be a good day.

  Barefoot and sipping her coffee in the warm October sunshine, she padded down the driveway to her mailbox in search of a packet of leaflets for the upcoming charity book sale that the sale’s chairman had promised to deliver. Participation in these community events was a necessity and a welcome opportunity for human contact. Rocco dawdled nearby, sniffing new and old smells under the bushes. It was another splendid autumn morning: brilliant blue sky, vibrant colors in the leaves that still clung to the trees, and a pleasant brisk quality to the air.

  It was a rather gaudy sign, professionally printed in red and purple, but Fiona did not notice it until after she had retrieved the leaflets and the rest of her mail from her mailbox and pushed it closed. The bright colors first caught her eye, but its message engaged her entire being. She felt as if she had been slammed in the chest. Her heart raced, she felt herself flush, and her breathing became ragged. It was only an act of will that prevented her from sitting down right there in the road, where Stella could see and take perverse pleasure in her reaction.

  “Stella DesRosiers for Town Board Chairman,” the sign read. “Time for a change.”

  Emily Martin bustled into the grocery store that morning with a long list and little time. Their move to the Island had been delayed beyond the date they had hoped for, and as a result they were scurrying to get the new farm prepared for the winter. Her sweet-natured animals were adjusting to their new surroundings well, comforted, apparently, by familiar routines and interactions with people they knew well and trusted, but her children were less sanguine about the change.

  Her youngest boy, a first grader, was happy wherever he went. But the older two—in the ninth and fifth grade—were most decidedly not. A new school and new friends were difficult to get used to, and the newcomers chafed against the Island’s small town ways, tiny class sizes, and limited opportunities. Not having been raised to understand that the world did not revolve around them, they were extremely reluctant to adapt themselves to their new surroundings, and this, of course, made everything worse.

  Only that morning Emily had received a phone call from the school asking her to come in for a conference, and this was the reason for her haste. She had just 20 minutes to gather up the items on her list before her meeting with the principal, and she didn’t want to have to delay her return home afterward. She fully intended to spend 15 minutes at the school explaining to the principal exactly where he had gone wrong, and then head straight back to the farm.

  It hadn’t taken Emily long to acquaint herself with the layout of the little store, and she was coasting along nicely, flinging items into her cart as she mentally rehearsed her conversation at the school. Thus engrossed, she was rapidly exiting the canned goods section and turning the corner when she careened into a dumpy middle-aged woman standing—rather stupidly, Emily thought—in the middle of the aisle.

  Emily sighed impatiently to herself and pasted on her pseudo-smile. “So sorry!” she said brightly but firmly. “I didn’t see you there. Probably shouldn’t be in the middle of the aisle, though. Blind spot, you know.”

  Her words swept on like rushing water, oblivious, at first, to the reaction of the other shopper. Her primary objective was simply to get the woman out of the way so she could finish her shopping.

  The woman’s eyes bored into her. “You should watch where you’re going. You nearly broke my knees.” She reached down and rubbed one leg more or less near where a knee might be, and appeared to search the fabric of her knit slacks for signs of damage.

  “Really,” thought Emily. “Did she expect to find blood?”

  Slowly the woman raised her eyes to Emily’s.

  “You are a menace with that cart. Don’t you have any sense?”

  For once, speechless, Emily merely stared for a moment before she recollected herself.

  “Well, I am sorry, but there’s no need for you to be rude. I don’t have time for this. Excuse me.”

  Emily attempted to maneuver her cart past the woman, but she stood, deliberately, Emily thought, in her way.

  “Are you going to let me pass?” asked Emily frostily. “I am in a hurry.”

  “Go around,” was the response.

  “Fine,” said Emily. “I will.”

  And spinning her cart around she retraced her path up the canned goods aisle and took a different route to the counter. She shook her head to herself over the bad manners and general stupidity of these people. No wonder her children were having trouble at school. Well, she would resolve that little problem in short order. She reached the meat counter and quickly scanned its contents.

  “So you’ve met Stella,” was the laconic comment of a man standing next to her, a package of ground beef in his hand. “Sooner or later, it’s got to happen. May as well be sooner.”

  He strolled off as Emily, fuming, threw a slice of ham and some chicken breasts into her cart and pivoted toward the cashier.

  She was late to the principal’s office, which made her, really, quite cross, and not, she thought to herself, in her usual cheerful mood. She would deal with this Stella. But not today. Mentally shelving this for future consideration, with effort she focused her mind on the principal’s bland colloquy.

  “Really,” thought Emily. “How these people do go on.” After a few minutes of impatient listening, Emily stepped in and took a firm hold of the conversation. Without brooking any interruption, she explained to the principal, in minute detail, precisely what he should do.

  As she left the school, satisfied, it was clear to Emily that the Island was in need of her guidance and instruction. Well, she would take care of that. All in due time.

  As the day progressed, Fiona had to admit that the impending departure of Rocco made her feelings about seeing Elisabeth and Roger increasingly mixed. The big shepherd’s steady affection had been a great comfort, and the house would feel empty without him. Resolutely, she turned her thoughts to her preparations for her friends’ arrival, and consoled both herself and Rocco with more than the usual number of snacks. This enhanced Rocco’s interest in her kitchen activities, and he lingered hopefully nearby. She had spent the day preparing a welcome-home dinner with hors d’oeuvres, a homemade dessert, and two particularly lovely bottles of South African wine, specially ordered from Shoes and Booze in anticipation of the occasion. With the reduction of the ferry schedules for the fall, they would have to stay the night, and for this Fiona had prepared her guest room with fresh linens and flowers.

  She reached an acceptable level of dinner preparation and went upstairs to put on lipstick and do what she could with her hair. Rocco patiently followed, temperamentally unable to permit his people to leave his protective care. He was lying nearby when suddenly his head shot up in alert, his big shepherd ears fully upright like antennae. In a flash he was down the stairs and barking at the door, not a threatening bark, but one of joy. Not until then did Fiona hear a car pull up, and voices. Elisabeth and Roger had arrived.

  “Sorry we’re so early,” said Elisabeth after Rocco had danced and trilled with ecstasy, jumping to reach their faces with his, lovingly nibbling at Elisabeth’s fingers and lips, and pushing his body against Roger like an enormous cat. Fiona’s effusive greeting seemed weak by comparison, but her reaction was heartfelt. Even Roger was giving hugs, apparently, albeit rather stiff-armed ones. In her mind Fiona struggled a bit with this new phenomenon. It was vaguely disquieting, like hearing a favorite song played on an elevator, or watching that Star Wars sequel in which Darth Vader started smiling and being avuncular. She didn’t like social hugging in the first place, but hugging Roger was an experience she thought she’d prefer to avoid in the future.
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  “I couldn’t wait any longer,” said Elisabeth. “I had to see Rocco.”

  The big dog stared adoringly into her eyes. She was here. He didn’t know where She had been, or for how long, but She was the core of his heart and all that mattered. He was filled with joy. He curled himself against Her, drinking in Her scent and the scent of all the places She had been, and of what She had been feeling. He didn’t recognize them all, but he recognized some as the Away Smells, the ones he always found on Her when She had been gone.

  “That’s all right,” said Fiona. “I’m delighted to have you here. Help yourselves to some wine, and I’ll be back in a moment. Rocco will host.” She ran upstairs, put on her favorite earrings—a recent gift from Pete—her newest pair of Italian sandals, and a dab of perfume at her throat and wrists. She smiled at herself in the mirror, shrugged at her slapdash toilette, smiled again to herself, and ran back downstairs to her friends. As she went, she had a flash of emotion about Stella’s plans, but quickly dismissed it. Let Stella ruin someone else’s night.

  Roger and Elisabeth were sitting in her living room side by side on the couch. Rocco lay at Elisabeth’s feet, his head pressed against her, sound asleep in a picture of canine bliss. Fiona poured herself a drink and sat down happily. “So how was it? Where did you go?”

  Fiona studied them as they spoke looking for indicators of change. Surely married life—life with Roger—would have made some alteration. But Elisabeth sat on the couch, radiating her usual serenity. If there were any change, it was, perhaps, in Roger. The hugs had been one indication, surely. Perhaps the scowl had lessened? Fiona mentally shook herself and turned her attention back to the conversation. She had no idea what anyone had said.

  They spent the evening in the rambling conversation of old friends, laughing and drinking wine. Or at least Elisabeth and Fiona did. Roger mostly sat and scratched Rocco behind the ears, but seemed not to mind being there, which was, Fiona thought, something of a change in itself. Occasionally he would add a word or two, but mostly not, and he seemed to enjoy the wine. Fiona saw Elisabeth turn a besotted gaze to him from time to time, and was relieved and surprised to see him return it. He did not sparkle or emote. Neither was Roger’s style. But Fiona thought she could detect some silent communication between the two, and this reassured her as to her friend’s happiness.

  They stayed all the next day. Fiona and Elisabeth had much to talk about, and Roger seemed sanguine about walks with Rocco and reading in the living room while they laughed and chatted.

  At the end of the day, as the sun was setting, they said their good byes and left to catch the ferry, Rocco joyously bounding into the car with them without a backward glance.

  Fiona walked slowly up the steps to the porch. It was suddenly very quiet. Rocco was not a dog who barked much or made a lot of noise, but he had made his comfortable presence felt. She had heard German Shepherds described by someone as “Velcro dogs”, and this was perfectly true. He had followed her wherever she went, and even when she stayed in the same room, he followed her with his eyes. On the rare occasions when she went anywhere without him, as soon as she pulled into the driveway she could see the two ears, pointing up like antennae, silhouetted against the glass in the top of the door, waiting for her return. Fiona would miss him, and her eyes filled with tears at thought of being without him. She shook it off. She was not normally weepy.

  Glad that it was nearly dark and no one was there to see her, she poured herself a glass of wine, grabbed a crocheted blanket from the couch, and went out to the porch to breathe in the cool air. She sat on the steps, the blanket around her shoulders, listening to the sounds of the descending night and feeling just the tiniest bit sorry for herself. It was dark when a familiar truck passed by, slowed, and then turned around to park in front of the porch.

  Jim Freeberg got out of the truck and came up the walk. Jim was an island native, one of those young people who leave the Island to find their paths and find themselves drawn inexorably homeward. He was a park ranger who worked for the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources.

  In a commentary on the agency’s bureaucratic dictatorship, locals liked to say that DNR stood for Damn Near Russia. But Jim was an easygoing man with a kind heart and a deep affection for animals of all kinds. For a time after she had arrived on the Island, Fiona had been aware that he was interested in more than friendship, but she had turned down his tentative questions, and since he had done nothing more, she had been under the impression that his feelings had faded.

  “I thought I saw you sitting here in the dark. Don’t you know enough to go inside? There will be frost tonight.”

  His tone was light, and but he didn’t smile as he said it.

  “I’ve been sitting here long enough not to have really noticed. How are you, Jim? Want to join me?”

  “Only if you give me a drink.”

  “I can do that,” said Fiona. “But this is the last of the wine. Scotch okay?”

  “Sure,” said Jim.

  Fiona went into the house to get him one. When she returned, Jim was sitting on the same step where she had been, leaning against the porch column, his legs stretched out in front of him. She handed him a glass and a blanket.

  Jim laughed. “I’m not going to sit here with a blanket on my lap like some old geezer. Keep that for yourself, if you’re cold.”

  “Are you calling me a geezer?”

  “Geezers are men, I think.”

  Fiona looked at him doubtfully. “I suppose so, but I still don’t like the implication.”

  Smiling, Jim took a drink of scotch and sighed.

  “Hits the spot.”

  Fiona watched him with an intensity she wasn’t conscious of.

  “What are you so serious about?” asked Jim.

  She shook off her mood and smiled.

  “Rocco’s gone, and I’m feeling a little blue.” She smiled again. “I’m glad you stopped by.”

  Jim eyed her speculatively.

  “When’s your boyfriend coming back?”

  Fiona felt suddenly wary. “I’m not sure, really. His job takes him all over and it’s difficult for him to get away.”

  Jim nodded slightly, took another drink of his scotch, and changed the subject.

  “So Stella’s running for Chairman, I see,” he said.

  “Ugh,” said Fiona. “Don’t remind me. I’ve been trying not to think about it.” She looked seriously at him. “What are people saying? Do you know who’s going to run against her?”

  “Well, since, technically, Lars hasn’t officially resigned yet, it’s too early to tell. But so far, nobody.” He shook his head and looked down at his drink.

  “Heads will roll if she gets into office. What a disaster.” For the second time he looked thoughtfully over at Fiona. “Have you thought about what this could mean for you?”

  Fiona laughed. “Do you mean have I considered that she’ll make my life a living Hell? Oh, yes. I’ve thought about it. I have until the election in April, I suppose. I’ll have to sell the house and get out of here.” The thought made her stomach clench. She paused, struck by a sudden idea.

  “You could run, Jim. You’d be good at it. You’re an Islander. People like you and trust you. You’d be great.” She looked at him hopefully.

  Jim chuckled. “Not one chance of that, I can guarantee it. Political life is not for me. Not even on the Island.”

  “Not even to save the Island from the likes of Stella DesRosiers?”

  “Not even for that,” he answered comfortably. “I prefer problems that I can trap or shoot.”

  “Now there’s an idea.”

  They laughed.

  After another half an hour of casual talk Jim emptied his glass and stood up to go. He put his hand out and hauled Fiona to her feet.

  “It’s too cold to sit out here any longer. You should go in.”

  Fiona nodded, feeling slightly uneasy about what would come next, but Jim was all casual and light.

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��Thanks for the drink and the conversation. See you around.”

  And with that he bounded off the porch steps, got into his truck and was gone.

  Fiona stood for a moment on the steps and watched him go. It was cold. She gathered up the blankets and the glasses, and went inside to the warmth and silence of the little house.

  The ugly truth that Stella would be unopposed began to dawn on the Island residents, and as the realization spread, its implications became increasingly clear. With her temper, her obsession with detail, and her ruthlessness, life on the Island was likely to become very different.

  “Too bad we don’t have any trains,” commented Eddie one night. “We’d never have to worry about whether they were on schedule.” He was leaning gloomily over the bar at Nelsen’s, chatting with Lars Olafsen and a few of the regulars.

  “Might be handy for pushing her in front of,” said Jake, staring into the bottom of his nearly empty beer glass. No one smiled, but Jake drifted off into a happy reverie as he envisioned Stella’s look of shock and outrage just before the train hit. His imagination stopped short of graphic detail. He didn’t need revenge. Only salvation.

  When Roger returned home from Ground Zero late the next afternoon, Elisabeth was already sitting on the porch waiting for him, eager to begin married life in the real world. Two glasses of wine and a dish of olives sat on the table beside her.

  The gallery lights were still on, and an unfamiliar car was in the drive—evidence that Christine, Elisabeth’s assistant, was still with a customer. She would close up when she was through. It was unusual for Elisabeth to relinquish this role, but she was jet-lagged after six weeks in Italy. There was no reason, she mused, not to allow Christine to take on these kinds of small routines on a daily basis. She did them anyway when Elisabeth was away. It might even make things more efficient to have a single hand on the rudder.