The Treasure story -- chapter four

Creativity a little delayed tonight by an excellent writer (Jane Hamilton), a nap, and a program on who really discovered America, which contained some fascinating archaeology demonstrating how the Solutrian people from the Iberian peninsula and what is now France possibly blended with the culture that crossed the ice-age land bridge from Siberia to form the Clovis culture across current North America.
Siberians plus Solutrians equal Clovis?
All of which probably has nothing to do with today's continuation of the Treasure story, except to explain my delay in getting to the computer so that the tale can leak out of my fingers...


Cousin Louie's copper curls resembled elbow macaroni in tomato sauce, served in a green bandanna dish.  Or maybe I was just hungry.  He scrunched his freckled nose in puzzlement. "You took the time to bake a ckae before you called me to come fix your window?"

"It's comfort food," I explained.

"We get to eat it now?"

"No. It's for a customer. I get comfort from making it."

Louie sighed deeply. "I'll get started on your window."

While he took out the tools of his trade, I took out mine. Wood. Flour. Saw. Sugar. Hammer. Butter. Drill. Eggs. Nails and screws. Chocolate chips. He took out screening material. I took out a cookie sheet.  About the time that he was done fashioning a window for my kitchen, I was taking a batch of cookies out of the oven for him. "I love working for you," he said. Probably. It was hard to tell because of the cookie melting in his mouth.

I had also thawed a batch of my spaghetti sauce in honor of his curls, and our second course was pasta with sauce, and bread warm from the baking oven.

The delightfully all-purpose thing about Louie is how much he knows, for a guy still in his twenties.  His appetite for warm cookies and flavorful pasta is equaled by his appetite for knowledge.  In this particular case, I was blessed to have both a capable carpenter and also a fledgling arborist... someone who cared deeply about the health and happiness of the maple tree whose limb had bludgeoned my window.

"There was certainly plenty of strong wind today," Louie said, "but I wouldn't have thought that particular limb would have come down.  There's no sign of  rot. Not much other damage to the tree.  The old girl's fortunate it wasn't worse.  I'll trim back to the trunk and tidy up around the tear so decay and insects are less likely to take hold."

Olivia's voice suddenly chimed in. "Fleas,"  she said with distaste.

Startled, I look over at her, parked in the doorway to the dining room with her tail curled neatly around her.
She shuddered a bit to emphasize her opinion of fleas.

"So there you are, " I said.  "What about fleas? We've never had fleas here." (I knocked on the wooden table top as an extra measure.)

""I've heard stories," she replied, coming to rub against the hand Louie was dangling for petting purposes. "You mentioned insects."

"We were talking about the maple, " he said to her as he ran his fingers down her arched spine.

"She doesn't like fleas either," Olivia assured him.

"Few of us do," Louie said soothingly. "But I was just explaining to Jane that I would do what I could to make sure the maple suffers no further damage from the storm."

Olivia jumped delicately onto my cousin's denim-clad lap. "She appreciates your tender loving care of her, Louie. But it wasn't the storm that damaged her."

"I took a good look, Olivia. The limb was healthy. It wouldn't have come down for no reason."

Olivia looked over at me, then stared into the middle distance as Louie rubbed her scull between her flattened ears.

Her lack of response was notable.

"It wouldn't have come down for no reason, " Louie repeated.

Olivia gave her haunch a few quick, intense licks as though returning to the earlier concern about fleas, but declined to comment further.

"Olivia, " I said, "Would this have anything to do with the, um,  Conversation we were having earlier?"

She glowered at me and shifted her position on Louie's lap.

I said to my cousin, "Olivia's been obsessed lately about monsters, and keeping secrets. But she's not at liberty to talk about it."  I said it just to bait her into a response, but all it provoked was a low growl -- something she did not do as effectively as canines we had both known.  It was enough to make Louie pluck her off his lap and cuddle her to his chest... not a move I would necessarily have made in response to a growl, but it seemed to work for Louie.

"What's this, Olivia?" he asked."Monsters?  Did a monster tear off the maple's limb and bash it through the kitchen window?"  His tone said he was doubtful.

Olivia scowled at me to indicate that she and I would be conversing further about my lapse.  "If that were the case, " she answered, "and I'm not saying it is, perhaps it was a TEST to see whether some people could be trusted with SECRETS."

Olivia applied her rough pink tongue to Louie's rough coppery jaw in a farewell, and jumped to the floor. "I appreciate all you do, Louie," she said as she departed. "You're welcome any time. A trustworthy person is a treasure."

Louie glanced at me, looked at the tree outside the new window, at the space Olivia's departure had created, and at me again.

"Monsters?" he said.