Coming Home to Greenleigh

Chapter 1

The morning held the first tang of fall, Elisabeth thought. The sky had that certain far-off look, that deep blue clarity that promised warm sunshine with just a touch of a nip in the air. She squinted up through the window as she lay in bed in a ritual she had perfected throughout her girlhood, peering through the leaves of the old oak tree that nearly brushed up against the house. Just the sort of day she loved best, although the thought did not particularly please her this morning. She turned over in bed, burying her head in the feather pillow, feeling the curtains fluttering above her neck. Won't be able to leave the windows open at night much longer, she thought vaguely. Got to bring those geraniums in, too.

Mid-September in New England always heralded the same rituals, and it usually gave her a feeling of comfort to think that everyone else was operating along the same well-trodden path. Take down the winter clothes. Put away the summer clothes. Get the storm windows out of the garage. Shut off the water outside so the pipes don't freeze. Pick the last of the tomatoes before the first frost hits and mulch over the perennial herb bed. Elisabeth reached for the pencil on her nightstand; with head still buried in her pillow, she felt around on the nightstand briefly before managing to scribble "Smart" on the notepad next to the telephone, only the "r" and the "t" weren't quite formed and ran off the page. It didn't matter. She'd recognize it later as a reminder to pay a visit to old Mrs. Smart who gave her tomato plants each spring. Mrs. Smart's insurance company didn't want to pay for the water damage underneath the old hot water tank, and Elisabeth had promised to call and sort things out for her.

She sighed wearily into the pillow before rolling over again, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and sitting up in one fluid motion. She found herself staring blankly into the mirror over the antique oak dresser in the opposite corner of the room. Got to move that thing, she thought, not for the first time. The astigmatism in her eyes caused the image in the mirror to blur and dance, but she could see well enough to know that her curly brown hair was a tangled mess about her shoulders, and that her face was blotched with fatigue. She reached for her glasses and perched them on her nose, bravely evaluating herself once more. She smoothed her hair with her hands, gazing at the serious young woman in the pink flowered nightgown. She hated having to see her face in the mirror first thing in the morning, but today it was imperative that she look her best. And I look horrible, she thought.

Elisabeth pulled on a robe and made her way downstairs, putting on a pot of coffee as she padded barefoot through the kitchen, wincing at the feel of the cold floor beneath her feet. She swayed a bit as she measured out the coffee, listening to the rhythmic creaking of the wide pine floors, the sound familiar and comforting to her ears. The creaking noises always came from the same spot, and she wondered from time to time whether she needed to get it looked at. Flicking on the coffeemaker switch, she went out into the hall, where she hesitated outside the door of the big front room she used as her office. Taking a deep breath, Elisabeth pushed the door open. It was a cheery south-facing room with big bay windows and a fireplace, and on a normal day she would have read the paper and had her coffee and toast in here, admiring the view out the window across the sloping lawn and down the street, where she could see part of the town common and the red brick town hall, as well as the steeple of the Congregational church. The bookcases were jammed with an odd mix of fiction and law books, an old set of encyclopedias and a worn collection of children's science books, and the maple secretary in the corner was heaped high with papers. Elisabeth steeled herself to keep away from the secretary, but she could see the distinctive envelope of the telephone company, with the words "FINAL NOTICE" in capital letters across the bottom. Her stomach pitched and rolled, and her feet took her automatically over to the desk, where she absently contemplated the pile of bills. The warm scent of brewing coffee hovered about her nostrils now, combined with the musty old-book smell of the office, and she peered down at the desktop, hands shoved into the pockets of her robe as if afraid to touch the papers.