Pulse of Heroes (15 page)

Her cell phone rang and although the screen
was still broken she knew it was Samantha because she had assigned
that ringtone to her only. Samantha was on her way, as the girls
were going to study together for an upcoming algebra test. Michelle
welcomed the company; maybe she'd finally get something done. They
ended up having a great study session and they both felt ready and
satisfied with themselves. But no matter how many times Michelle
smiled and tried to act normal, Samantha knew her way too well.
Michelle had yet to tell her what had happened at the new school,
she had only hinted that things didn't go too well. Samantha was
worried. “Do you think you'll ever be able to tell me what
happened?” she asked.

Michelle closed her eyes, took a deep breath
and whispered, “Not yet.”

There was a knock on the slightly opened
bedroom door, and Michelle's mom popped her head in and asked if
Samantha would like to stay for dinner. Samantha accepted since her
mom was doing a night shift anyway.

After dinner, Michelle's father told her that
he had received a phone call at the office from Mrs. Bianchetti.
She had been surprised and quite sad that Michelle was no longer
working at the market. She asked if Michelle could stop by her
house on one of the coming afternoons, and said that she shouldn't
worry about calling ahead because she was always home.

“I wonder what she wants?” Michelle
asked.

Her father said that she did mention
something about the garden. “Did you tell her that you would help
her in the yard?” he asked.

Michelle shook her head. She had no idea what
this was all about. From what her father understood, Mrs.
Bianchetti was the great granddaughter of one of the original
families that had settled in Willow’s Creek. “What do you think,
Mom?” Michelle asked.

Her mother suggested that the woman could
just be lonely and in want of some company. She said that many
older people have families that live far away, or perhaps Mrs.
Bianchetti didn't have any family at all.” She did seem to like you
an awful lot. She told me so herself at the Christmas party. I'm
sure there’s nothing to worry about, and you'd probably be doing
her a great favor if you stopped by.” Samantha offered to drop
Michelle off on the way home from school.

Michelle waved goodbye to Samantha and
watched the little bug pull away from the curb and disappear up the
road. She turned around and headed towards Mrs. Bianchetti’s front
entry. It was such a cute place, she thought to herself as she
opened the old iron gate and entered the yard. As she shut the
gate, she heard the delicate sound of a small wind chime hanging
above her on the pergola. She headed down the walkway, amazed at
the beautiful garden that seemed to be in full bloom. Spring was
still weeks away but unlike her own house that was shaded by
numerous tall trees, this garden had no such hindrances. It got
full sunlight from every direction. Michelle walked down the gray
and white pebbled pathway that parted a sea of flowering bushes.
The cottage itself was quaint and homey. It had thick white stucco
walls and a small front porch where an old fashioned metal chair
sat next to a matching table.

Once on the front steps, Michelle recognized
the scents of lavender and rosemary, and indeed there were two long
planter boxes with the familiar shrubs flanking the front door. The
boards underneath Michelle’s feet creaked when she stepped up to
knock. She knocked once and waited, but when nobody showed up she
knocked again a bit louder and looked to see if there was a bell to
ring, but there wasn’t one. The woman could be hard of hearing, she
thought. “Hello. Anybody home?” Michelle called out. She tried the
door but it was locked. Oh no, she thought, what if something had
happened to Francesca? That thought sprang her into action, and she
quickly made her way around to the back of the house. “Hello?” she
called again, unsure if she should just walk into the backyard. She
didn’t want to startle the poor woman. But just as she rounded the
corner she saw a small ladder leaning up against what appeared to
be a large lemon tree, with two very white legs in old boots on the
step just below the top.

“Mrs. Bianchetti?” Michelle said as she
neared the ladder. She looked up to see Francesca smiling down at
her.

“It’s Miss Bianchetti, but you call me
Francesca.”

Michelle held the ladder while Francesca
climbed down. “I was just picking a few more,” Francesca said,
pulling the large plump lemons from her apron pocket. “
Sfusato
Amalfitano
. They’re very famous and the only ones used to make
Limoncello.” These were the most fragrant lemons that Michelle had
ever smelled. They smelled of flowers and honey mixed with lemon
rind. Francesca pointed to a basket filled with lemons on the
ground, and asked if Michelle could help her bring them into the
kitchen, which she promptly did. They entered the house through the
back door, off the rear deck, which was a replica of the one in the
front, only much bigger.

The door led straight into a vintage kitchen
that was amazingly preserved. It still had grooved metal
countertops around the large farm-style sink, while beautiful
colorful tiles covered the other counters. Francesca pointed to a
window where a collection of different shaped bottles filled with
lovely deep yellow fluid stood like little soldiers on the tiled
windowsill. She told Michelle that she had made the first batch of
Limoncello of the season, and thought that Michelle might like to
have some. Michelle was touched by the generosity that the old
woman showed her. She had no idea what Limoncello was, but she
would never be rude and not accept a homemade gift. Why her, she
still wondered? Francesca answered as if she had read her mind.

“You wonder why I asked you to come, right?”
Francesca asked still smiling.

“Yes,” Michelle answered. She followed
Francesca to a small sitting room and took a seat in a large
cushiony armchair across from the older woman. Francesca told
Michelle that when she saw her at the mayor’s house she looked sad
and frightened, like she had seen a ghost or something. Michelle
smiled and told her that at that time she was feeling exactly that,
and thanked her for being so kind. Francesca said that she too used
to feel like that for many years after her husband died. She
described how alone and scared she had been, especially at night,
and how during the holidays all she wanted to do was sleep and wait
for the angel of death to come visit her, because she didn’t think
she had the strength to go on without her Renzo. She had been alone
for almost 36 years now, and her only sister had died when they
were just children. Francesca had never had any children herself,
even though she always loved them very much. She explained that her
husband was traumatized after serving in the US military in both
World Wars, and they both decided that they would spend their time
helping the children that were already alive rather than having
their own and risking the chance of losing them. She asked Michelle
why she was no longer working at the market and Michelle had a
really hard time trying to come up with a reason that didn't sound
too far-fetched, and yet still had some element of truth in it. She
explained that it had to do with school and with a boy, and
although she would miss the extra income it was probably for the
best.

Francesca looked at Michelle, studying her
face. She waved her finger at her and said, “You are not telling
the whole truth young lady.” Michelle couldn't lie to her, so she
just told her that it was so complicated that she wouldn't even
know where to begin. Michelle desperately wanted to change the
subject, so she looked around the room. Her eyes landed on a photo
on the mantle. It was a black-and-white image of a man in
uniform.

“Is that your husband?” Michelle asked,
standing up to get a closer look. Francesca followed her, lifted
the photo from the mantle and began dusting it with the edge of her
apron. Once satisfied that the picture was clean enough, she handed
it back to Michelle.

“Yes, that was him after he got back from
France, I think. It was so many years ago, it's hard to
remember.”

Michelle studied the image of the young man,
thinking to herself that he did not look much older than she was.
He was very handsome, yet had a serious expression. “Is that the
same house that we're in right now?” Michelle asked, pointing to a
small house in the background of the shot.

“Yes, it is the same one, but back then we
didn't live in it. We lived in this one,” Francesca answered,
pointing to a large two-story house to the left of the cottage.
Michelle was confused because there was no such house out there
anymore. Francesca explained that after her husband passed away,
she sold it and it was demolished to make way for the four new
smaller houses standing there today.

“Wow!” Michelle was stunned at how different
things looked back then; she was fascinated by the changes.
Francesca laughed and said that she had many more such photos, some
in albums and some in various boxes. She told Michelle that she had
photos of Willow’s Creek and Napa County from back when the
horse-and-carriages were the popular means of transportation.

“Here, follow me,” Francesca said. Michelle
followed her into the bedroom and watched Francesca take an old
photo album out of an ancient travel suitcase that sat at the foot
of her bed. “This album has many pictures, mostly of St. Alodia
because that was the church I got married in. At the end of the
album there are also some photos from around here.” Francesca sat
down on her bed and motioned to Michelle to come sit next to
her.

Michelle looked at many photos that
afternoon. Some of them she recognized because she had seen copies
of them hanging at City Hall. It was fascinating to look back at
the past, to look at the people and their clothing, to read the
signs advertising chewing gum and soap at a small market that stood
where Mr. Meyers’ store now stands. The photos of Francesca's
wedding were straight out of a silent black-and-white movie.
Francesca was a beautiful girl once, with the fairest blond hair
curled up underneath her wedding veil, and her husband so happy and
proud standing next to his new wife, although he did look a bit
older than her. Michelle looked at the Francesca that was sitting
next to her and the one looking out from the photo and a chill ran
down her spine. Would this happen to her, she thought? Will she
lose her looks and one day be a lonely old lady? It didn't seem
fair, seeing what time had done to this very kind woman.

Michelle flipped the page and was now looking
at photos of the reception party. The whole affair looked to be
very fancy and she thought to herself that the way women dress
today was nowhere near as beautiful as they did back then. Michelle
examined the faces of the wedding guests, looking closely at their
expressions, at the jewelry they wore, the way their hair was
pinned back, even the food they were eating. She noticed that the
men back then all wore pretty much the same suits in slightly
different shades, just like they do nowadays. It was hard for her
to tell their ages, as most of them wore mustaches or beards and
large hats. But then her eye landed on an image of a young man that
did not have a mustache or a beard. She looked closer at his face,
and although the image was a bit faded he seemed very familiar. Her
eyes must be tired she thought, because they were obviously playing
tricks on her. But no matter how many times she blinked to try and
clear them, there was no mistake.

Elliot was in the photo staring back at her
from across all those years.

Michelle spent hours scrutinizing the old
photograph that Francesca let her borrow. She had told Francesca
that she wanted to show the photo to her mom because she thought
the gentleman in it might be a family member. She felt bad about
lying, but she knew the truth was much too bizarre for anyone to
accept. When she went back to Francesca’s later that week, she
thanked her and returned the photo. She had made a copy of it at
home, hiding the copy safely between the pages of a book.

Michelle asked Francesca if she still
couldn’t remember anything about the young man in the picture. She
sadly told Michelle that he could have been one of her girlfriends’
suitors or one of her husband’s military buddies, but they were all
dead and buried a long time ago. Which would mean that the young
man was most likely also gone. How wrong she was, Michelle thought.
He was nowhere near a grave, but only a few miles from where they
sat. How could it be possible? They were looking at a photo that
was over 70 years old, and yet there was Elliot, looking exactly as
he did only weeks ago, she was sure of it.

The longer Michelle stared, the more she felt
like she was losing her grip on reality. It was as if she had gone
down the rabbit hole and was now in Alice in Wonderland world.
Nothing made sense anymore. She was in a place where time had no
meaning, and where the rules of nature were reversed and perverse.
Michelle didn’t believe in supernatural things like demons, magic,
or ghosts. She wasn’t even sure about God, although she hoped that
there was someone watching over her and her family. With that in
mind, she had not the slightest notion as to what she was dealing
with. The events that had taken place since Halloween night were
all mounting evidence that something very strange was going on in
Willow’s Creek, and she was somehow right in the middle of it. Who
could she turn to now, she wondered? She felt so alone, more so
than ever. This was beyond anything her parents could fix or
explain. Her friends would just think that she was crazy. Her
teachers? She didn’t think so. There was no one.