The Qualities of Wood Read Online Free PDF Page B

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    Vivian leaned back against the seat. She was glad to get away. Being at the house was relaxing, but Nowell immersed himself in his writing and much of the time left her alone. Sometimes at night they watched television together, but there wasn’t much to talk about. During the routine of her job in the city, Vivian had often daydreamed about coming to the house, about long walks in the country and the time to do whatever she wanted. Yet here she was, feeling lonely and a little stir-crazy after only a week. She decided to ask Katherine to show her some places in town, like the library and the movie theater. She needed to find things to keep busy, besides the work on the house.
    She liked Katherine’s easy manner. She reminded Vivian of her mother, the way she took charge of things, planning and deciding and leaving little for anyone else to worry about. But Katherine was much younger than her mother, at an age where Vivian imagined herself carpooling children to soccer games and band practice, staying home to nurse sore throats. Yet here was Katherine, childless and seemingly unharmed by it.
    â€˜Your husband says you’re staying for a year?’
    Vivian looked over. ‘Give or take. Nowell’s writing his book and I’ve got the house to organize.’
    Katherine shook her head. ‘Big job.’
    â€˜I’m starting to think so.’
    â€˜I’m happy to help out,’ Katherine said.
    â€˜Oh, I couldn’t ask you…’
    â€˜I’d be glad for the work and glad for the company,’ she interrupted.
    They passed a road maintenance crew. A large truck pressed the newly laid asphalt like a rolling pin on dough while two workers in orange vests sat at the edge of the road, shouting to each other over the truck’s clamor and eating their lunches from brown paper sacks. One of the men leaned back and laughed, slapping his thigh. A third man turned a hand-held stop sign around and waved Katherine through.
    â€˜I can’t believe they’re finally paving this,’ she said. ‘All of the roads out here are still dirt. There’s a main interstate nearby, but it leaves off miles outside of town. Just swings right by us, never comes close. It’s bizarre, I swear, like this town’s been bypassed by the entire modern world.’
    The scattered farmhouses along the road started to appear more frequently and form neighborhoods. Suddenly, they were in town. They passed other buildings, a square gray post office, a blue-shuttered Sheriff Department. In a plaza surrounded by cobblestone and benches, a tall statue cast a narrow shadow over the road.
    â€˜Who’s the guy on the horse?’ Vivian asked.
    â€˜William Clement, the founder of the town.’
    â€˜Was he a soldier?’
    â€˜I don’t think so. Why?’
    â€˜I thought with statues, they only put soldiers on horses. One foot of the horse is raised if the man died in battle, or something like that.’
    â€˜Really?’ Katherine’s eyebrows made two reddish-brown points above her sunglasses. ‘I never heard of that. As far as I know, he wasn’t a soldier. He thought he was pretty important, though. Huge ego. Named everything after himself and kept a pack of Indians as slaves, just about. Of course they were here in the Midwest before we came along. Lost everything.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Yet everyone wants to look up to Clement, make him a hero. Some people around here claim to be descendants, either on the white side or the Indian side, and they make a big deal out of it. Back in ’82 when the new library was dedicated, there was a peaceful demonstration that ended not so peacefully. Made the national news.’
    Vivian gazed out the window. ‘People like to have heroes, I guess.’
    â€˜So do I, but I like mine realistic like people are, with good and bad parts but trying to do right. From what I’ve heard, Willie wouldn’t