The Gate House   ::   Demille Nelson

“Mr. Sutter?”

“Well, I came to see you, of course.” This sounded a bit insincere, so I added, “Also, I have some business in New York, and I thought this might be a good time to recover some of my personal effects from the gatehouse.”

“You’d better hurry. That Iranian man won’t let you stay. Have you seen him?”

“No.”

“You should speak to him. My life tenancy allows for a reasonable amount of time to have my property removed.” She asked, rhetorically, “But who knows what he considers reasonable.”

“Let me worry about that, if the time comes.”

“Augustus should have been more specific.”

Well, not too specific, Ethel. I’d actually seen the document in question, and it names both George and Ethel, of course, and mentions their loyal and faithful service over the years. George was certainly loyal and faithful, and Ethel was… well, apparently a good lay. I often wondered if George understood the reason for Augustus’ generosity. Anyway, I said to Ethel, “It’s premature to-”

She interrupted, “Have you seen your wife?”

“My ex-wife. No, I have not. Have you?”

“She stopped by yesterday.”

“Then you know I haven’t seen her.”

“She’s a wonderful woman.”

I rolled my eyes.

“She looks so beautiful.”

I was getting a little annoyed, so I replied, “Many men seem to think so.”

She ignored that and said, “I think she would like to see you.”

I didn’t inquire as to why Ethel thought that. I changed the subject and said to her, “I opened a jar of your crabapple jelly, and it was wonderful. Would you like me to bring you a jar?”

“No, thank you. But see that Elizabeth gets them.”

“You’ll want some when you go home.”

“And give her all the vegetables I canned last fall.”

I nodded, but she was staring straight ahead, the way dying people do who suddenly catch a brief glimpse into eternity. She then said, as if to herself, “What will become of my harvest?”

I let a few seconds pass, then asked her, “How is Elizabeth?”

Ethel came back to earth and replied, “She’s fine.”

“Good.” I’d also heard she was divorced, but ladies of Mrs. Allard’s generation would not mention that. I said, “I need to call her.