The Sound Of Boots (cont.) Part 6
“You look lovely,” John Townsend said watching Savannah put on a little black dress she had worn way too many times. They were going to a cocktail party at the Department Head’s house two streets away. John came up behind her as she combed her hair in front of the mirror, turned her toward him and touched the freckles on her nose, something he had never done before. “Don’t cover those,” he said. Savannah turned away and blinking furiously, applied make up. When her face was an even mask, she said, “Let’s go,” and walked out of the room. They drove in silence and separated as soon as they arrived, which was proper cocktail party protocol. Once or twice her husband smiled at her across the room. Eventually, people left her alone and Savannah looked down at her perfect black pumps, then at her knobby knees, the hem of her dress and finally at her hand holding her glass of dry white wine. She stared at the gold band with the tiny diamonds that John had given her on their tenth wedding anniversary. She looked up and around the room, counted the number of simple black dresses and tennis bracelets, surveyed the perfect hair-cuts, the proper tans, the modest earrings. She put her glass down on a fine antique mahogany table and walked out the door.
In two weeks she was living in Montana. It took her two years to obtain joint custody of Allison. Eventually, she became executive chef at one of the upscale restaurants in Bozeman and made enough money to buy her own restaurant, not big but considered by many to be the best around. She lived on a small farm on the outside of town where she kept two horses for her daughter, the irony of which did not escape her.
It wasn’t a bad life. The restaurant business was hard, sweaty, fast and Savannah slept well at night. At first Allison spent every summer with her and all of Christmas and every spring break. Then John Townsend found himself a new wife, a better wife, one who didn’t look down at her shoes at a cocktail party and walk out the door and keep right on going across the continent. But the new wife wasn’t crazy about another woman’s child and so Allison moved to Montana to live with her mother until she turned 18 and enrolled in Cornell University to study Hotel Management.
On the day she was to leave, mother and daughter stood in the small barn. Allison stroked the bay mare, which was her favorite. Savannah watched her, heavy with the knowledge her girl would be leaving the next day to go all the way back east.
“Are you sure you will be able to stand it. Those mountains seem so close together, like a cage.”
“Cornell has the best Hotel School in the country.”
“Why the hotel business? Inside all the time.”
“It’s your fault. All those hours helping in the restaurant.”
“What about all this?” Savannah patted the horse’s neck.
“Mom.”
“I know. It’s just that ….”
“It’s so far away?”
Savannah said nothing. She would not hold her daughter back. She picked up a lock of the girl’s hair, played with it, patted it back into place on Allison’s shoulder. A cold wind blew through the barn. It smelled of snow.
“Mom I worry about you being alone out here.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, you know. The winters. The snow and...it’s just …”
“I’m not getting any younger?”
Allison leaned against the stall. “Mom, how come you never date? Don’t you want to ever get married again?”
“No.”
“Why not? You’re still pretty. You’re successful. Lots of men find you attractive.”
“I’m not interested in all that.”
“What happened? Did some man break your heart?”
Savannah laughed. She thought about how much she liked this young woman. ‘No, he didn’t break my heart, Sweetie,” she said.
“So, there was someone beside Dad.”
Savannah looked out the barn door at the vast Montana sky. “Let’s just leave it that my heart has not been broken.”
“You could sell the restaurant for heaps. Travel. Come back east for a while. Have fun.”
“I thought you might take over for me one day.”
“I might, but I might not too. You know.”
Savannah nodded. She knew.
Read the conclusion of Savannah George's adventures on Friday, January 6th.
