Keeper
Bonnie Garety
Copyright 2014 Bonnie Garety
Dedicated to my friend Jackie Walton
Aunt Velma hated dogs. In fact, Aunt Velma hated everything and everyone including me. I didn’t know why she was so mean, but I do remember how miserable she made my life when my parents died, and I was sent to live with her near the little town of Mendocino on the rugged California Coast. No one else in the family wanted to take a ten year-old orphan including my sister, Lucy, who was twenty and wanted a life of her own. Aunt Velma had agreed, with reluctance, to let me live with her but just for the summer. I had no idea what was in store for me but had high hopes of a friendly home and fun on the California beach.
When the plane landed in San Francisco, I was the last one off, dragging my feet, wondering what my aunt looked like and if she would be glad to see me. I let the crowd with luggage, bundles, and babies get off the plane first. I was a long way from my small home town in Nebraska and felt like I was arriving on a different planet. When everyone was off the plane, I was all alone in the waiting room. An empty space sat in my chest where my heart should be. I was about to sit in one of those stiff, little chairs, my backpack on the floor next to me, when a tall lady in blue jeans and a plaid shirt strode up. Her mouth was set in a firm line, and her eyes were not friendly. When she reached me, she stepped back like she'd seen a ghost. What was wrong? Was she upset over my red hair and freckles? I ran my hand over my hair to be sure it didn’t look unruly.
“Stephen Hodges?" she said, stepping closer. “What took you so long? Every one is off the plane. I went back to the desk to check your flight.”
I gulped, feeling guilty just from the way she looked at me. “I’m sorry, Aunt Velma. There were a lot of people getting off, and I was sitting at the back.”
“Well, come along.” She beckoned. What a greeting. I blinked back tears and followed her as she pushed through the crowded walkway to the baggage claim. ”Let’s get your things. We have a four hour drive ahead. I could have let you come by bus, you know.”
With my suitcase and backpack in the trunk of my aunt’s old station wagon, we pulled out of the airport garage.
“We run a tight ship at Valley Springs Farm, Stephen," she said as we whipped through traffic, and I held my breath. “We’ll get along just fine,” she added, “If you understand the meaning of discipline.”
I tried to smile. My sister had told me to be polite. She certainly didn’t want me back home on the next flight. “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I’ll do my best.”
“Very good, Stephen. I expect your best.”
We drove through San Francisco and onto the Golden Gate Bridge. I looked down at the sparkling blue-gray bay full of sailboats that looked like toys and a few big freighters. I wished I were sailing off to someplace far away like China instead of heading for Valley Springs Farm.
“Today is very clear.” Aunt Velma took one hand off the wheel to point west toward the Pacific Ocean. “You can see the Farallon Islands.”
I didn’t see any islands but thought it best to agree. “It’s a beautiful ocean. I’ve never seen an ocean.” As she turned back, I studied her. If she would let her hair grow loose to her shoulders, just like my mother, she would be pretty.
“Yes," she said, grimly. “Beautiful, but treacherous. Waves can sneak up on the beach and pull you out to sea. It’s called an undertow. You must never go down on the beach alone. I forbid it.”
“Yes ma’am.” I may have sounded convincing, but I had no intention of avoiding the beach. My sister said that California had wonderful beaches with surfboards, hot dog stands, and pretty girls. Lucy didn’t say anything about undertow.
After passing miles of little towns, farmlands filled with orange poppies and black and white cows, we started up a narrow highway rising from sea level to cliffs above the ocean. The sign said, “HIGHWAY 1” underneath the official printing, someone had added “CAUTION." I hoped this wasn’t a dangerous road and was afraid to look down from the steep cliffs. Aunt Velma drove the old station wagon as if we were on a city street, scooting past huge lumber trucks and wide motor home that swayed with the turns.
"Now, Stephen.” She looked over at me after maneuvering around a truck ahead of us, “I expect you to do your share of work at Valley Springs Farm to help pay your way this summer. I’m a widow, not a wealthy woman, and your father was in debt when your parents were killed in that accident. Your father borrowed a lot of money to start a new business. Maybe you didn’t know that. It was a risky move. I told my sister that she made a big mistake marrying him.” Aunt Velma shook her head. “Very stubborn girl, your mother. Never took my advice.”
I felt my cheeks burn. It would be hard to be polite. ”My father was wonderful, and my mom was never stubborn.”
“Well, Stephen, he didn’t leave any money to take care of you. That’s not wonderful.”
I held my breath as we rounded a horseshoe curve. White surf curled on the beach far below.
“You seem to be my burden,” she said, “but just for the summer.”
“I’m sorry to be such a burden,” I said, feeling lost and kind of choked up but no tears for me in front of Aunt Velma. “My sister has a new job. She’ll send some money.”
“Let’s hope so.” She slowed the car as we passed through a town high on a hill then went by an old church and a graveyard.
"Is this Valley Springs Farm? Are we in Mendocino?" I hoped so. I liked the looks of the area. It looked so peaceful after our trip over Highway 1.
“This is the town of Mendocino. Valley Springs Farm is a few miles north.” She looked at her watch. “Almost there, Stephen, and about time. There’s a lot of work to be done this afternoon.”
After a sharp turn on the narrow highway, we came to a road with a wooden sign hanging from a crooked frame. I read, “VALLEY SPRING FARMS GUEST HOUSE.” Under that was another sign that read “VACANCY.” A big white house sat at the end of the dirt road. Next to the house I saw an old barn with a caved-in roof. When Aunt Velma parked the wagon in front of the house, I was sure I saw someone looking out of a top floor window. I hoped to find a friendly face, but the figure disappeared.
“Our guest house is empty now”. Aunt Velma got out of the car. “We need guests to help us pay our bills.”
“It’s not really empty,” I said, pointing to the upstairs window.
She jerked her head real fast to stare at the window. “You are mistaken, Stephen, no one is allowed up there.” Just as she opened the back of the car, a big German Shepherd dog bounded up, tail wagging, tongue hanging out. My summer began to look brighter as I leaned down to welcome the dog, but Aunt Velma picked up a rock from the road and threw it.
“Beat it,” she shouted. “Bad dog. Get lost.” Tucking his tail between his legs, the dog trotted down the road, stopping once to turn around to look at me. “I hate dogs,”
Aunt Velma set down my suitcase on the steps. “If you see that blasted animal hanging around here, get rid of him.”
After dropping my suitcase on the front steps, Aunt Velma hurried across the road to a pasture fence. “Come along,” she called over her shoulder. “Thanks to you we’re late feeding the animals.”
My heart sank as I watched the dog retreat, but I was surprised to see a strange assortment of animals lined up at the fence. Three sway-backed old horses, two long-eared donkeys, a few brown goats, and some fat, wooly sheep were waiting for their food.
“Don’t just stand there,” Aunt Velma was throwing hay over the fence. “Get with it, Stephen; can’t you see the animals are hungry?”
I didn’t do very well with my first attempts throwing the hay, but luckily, I soon caught on.
My aunt almost smiled. “Good work, Stephen, you learn fast. This will be one
of your jobs every afternoon at three o’clock.”
That didn’t sound too bad, but I wondered what my other chores would be. I like animals, and the bunch seemed friendly. I followed Aunt Velma back to the steps to pick up my things. “Why isn’t anyone allowed in that upstairs room?" I asked.
She hurried up the stairs to a big front porch. “Never mind,” she said, “Children should be seen but not heard, which means that children should not ask questions. It’s best to mind one’s own business.”
“Yes, ma’am." Weary and hungry, I trudged up the steps lugging my suitcase.
A big lady in a white apron, feather duster in hand, opened the front door. "Good news, Miss Velma,” she said. The lady had twinkly blue eyes and curly gray hair. She smiled at me. “A group of hikers wants to stay here for a couple of days. German folk, I think. Their tour guided called.” She waved her duster. “I gave the living room a quick lick and put clean towels in the