The car rolled to a stop in front of a pretty little house in an elegant-looking neighborhood in the old part of town. "This is where I live," said Evangeline as she turned off the engine. "And this is where you are going to live, too. At least until we find your family." She opened the passenger-side door and helped Hank out. Taking his hand, she led him up the curving sidewalk to the front door, and after unlocking it, she insisted that he go in first. As he stepped in, he was instantly struck by the warmth and beauty of the room. The walls were covered by what looked like happy family pictures, interesting pieces of artwork, and a number of religious icons. The furniture looked cushy and comfortable, and the air within the room smelled like flowers.
"Your home is beautiful, Evangeline," marveled Hank.
"Our home," she corrected him. She took the paper sack of his belongings from his hands and set them on a table. "Come on, let me show you around!" He followed her down a hallway, and she showed him into a bedroom where she said he was going to be sleeping. Hank gaped at the huge queen-sized bed covered with a thick, hand-made quilt and an enormous pile of purple pillows. Two solidly-built nightstands topped with reading lamps flanked the intricately-carved wooden headboard. A huge matching dresser and mirror took up most of a side wall. "This has always been my guest room, and now it will be your room, Hank," she said. "Do you like it?"
"Oh, no Evangeline. This is too nice. I'd be happy just sleeping on the sofa."
"Don't be silly," she giggled. She then led him further down the hall and showed him the bathroom. Hank thought it really smelled nice in there, and she said it was probably because of the "po-pur-ee". He had no idea what she was talking about, but he didn't ask for clarification. At the far end of the hall was her bedroom, which was just as nice and pretty as his room.
They walked from there back to the living room, through a dining area, and into a neat-as-a-pin kitchen. "Have you eaten anything today, Hank?" she asked with a look of concern on her face. "Um, not really," he responded. The scary look on her face reappeared for a moment, but it then dissolved into a tender smile. "Sit down here. I'm going to cook you something." Hank watched in awe as Evangeline got to work. Her hands seemed to fly as pots and pans and spices came out of the cupboards, and within minutes the kitchen was filled with warm and delicious aromas. Before he knew it, a couple of steaming hot, buttered tortillas and a tall glass of cold milk were set before him so that he had something to tide him over until the rest of the food was done.
As she cooked, she told him about how her mother and father and brothers and sisters all lived in California, and how she always wanted to come back to live in this city, and how as soon as she was able to do it, she did. She told him how she had searched for him and had actually found his old family home, but she discovered that an Indian family lived there, and they claimed not to know where the previous owners had moved to.
"What? You found my old house? Really?" Hank almost choked on his tortilla. Like a blurry TV picture that suddenly came into focus, Hank could see the old house in his mind: faded light-green siding with even-more-faded and peeling dark-green trim around all the windows and doors. A leaky roof. A decrepit door on one side that led to an eerily dark and dank dirt-walled cellar where his mother liked to store the hundred-pound gunny sack of potatoes. (Oh, did Hank ever hate it when his mother ordered him to go down there and get a few potatoes for their supper! Each time he had to do it, he was sure he would be murdered by a ghost or a monster or a giant snake or something, but she didn't care about that and sent him anyway! Of course, the creaky, wooden-plank stairs were covered with spider webs, and there was only a single, naked light bulb to provide a little light once he got to the bottom, and it could only be turned on by pulling a chain that he had to grope around for in the pitch darkness...)
"Hank! Are you okay?"
Hank shook himself out of the vivid (and slightly horrifying) memory and looked up at Evangeline. "I just remembered that house! And what it was like. It seems like a long time since I've lived there. It's an old memory." The puzzled look on his face changed to a smile, and he added, "But at least it's a real memory. Maybe the rest will come back to me soon."
"I know it will. You'll just have to be patient is all." She set a heaping plateful of hot food in front of him. The plate contained a big helping of fried potatoes, four strips of bacon, three fried eggs (over medium), a scoop of refried beans, and two more freshly-made tortillas. "I hope you don't mind breakfast for dinner!"
"I don't mind at all. This is wonderful," said Hank. He ate and ate until he could eat no more. Evangeline ate as well, and they both talked and laughed until it was nearly midnight.
"My goodness! I didn't know it was getting so late! We have to get you to bed!" She helped him up and escorted him to his room. "Tomorrow I'm going to take you shopping for some new clothes. But for now, you'll find some pajamas and a robe in that drawer. Toothbrush, toothpaste, and some other things are in the bathroom. Promise me you'll let me know if there is anything else you need." He told her he would, and after a quick embrace, she kissed him on the cheek and went to her own room. Hank closed the door and sat down on the bed. He leaned back on the pile of pillows and closed his eyes.
When morning came, Hank discovered he hadn't moved all night. "I guess I was tired," he muttered as he got up and stretched. He was still wearing his train engineer bib overalls and red union suit, an outfit that mystified him to no end. He hadn't a clue as to why such old-fashioned clothes seemed to be all he had, for he certainly would not have chosen them for himself. But Evangeline had told him she would take him to buy some clothes today, so he would only have to wear them for a few more hours. He pulled on his huaraches and quietly opened his bedroom door. It was early, and Evangeline was still asleep, so Hank tiptoed to the bathroom to wash. He then walked quietly to the living room to sit down and wait for her to wake up.
There he saw an overstuffed recliner that looked inviting, so he carefully sat down in it and kicked up his feet. To his left was a lamp sitting on top of an elegant wooden end table, and directly beneath the lamp sat a boxed set of books. Feeling slightly bored, Hank snapped-on the lamp and took one of the books into his hands. It seemed to be the first book in a series, and it was entitled Little Evie of Barrio Caballo Blanco. And the author's name was Evangeline Martinez! Hank's jaw dropped. He turned his head to read the spines of the other books in the box: Little Evie Goes to School, Little Evie in the Big City, and the last one, Little Evie's Lost Love. Hank's jaw was still in the open position as he quickly reached for the last title. The cover showed a beautiful middle-school-aged girl with long brown hair roller-skating hand-in-hand with a blond and curly-haired boy of the same age. "That's us!" Hank thought with a surge of excitement.
He put the book down and looked around the room. Evangeline was an author, and a very successful one at that! "Wow," he thought. "That is really... wow!" He had never met a real author before. And here he was, in the home of a famous one, and he had been in love with her for years and years. And he felt very much loved by her as well. "That is really cool," he said aloud to himself, and he carefully put the books back into the box. He wanted very much to read the entire series, but he thought he had better wait and talk to Evangeline about it first. Maybe she knew where he could buy his own set, and maybe she would even autograph it for him if he asked.
Hank felt better than he had in a long time, but his legs felt like they needed to be stretched, so he decided a short walk around the neighborhood wouldn't do him any harm. Stepping out into the chill winter morning, he instantly felt invigorated. He breathed the crisp air into his lungs, and it seemed to him that it smelled and tasted like snow (though snow was extremely rare in that part of the country). He scanned the neighborhood left to right. It was pretty much deserted except for one car that was parked facing the wrong direction a little ways down the street. That was the way Hank decided to go, figuring that maybe he could take a quick walk around the block and then get back into the house before he got too cold.
As he approached the car, he noticed there was someone in it, sitting behind the steering wheel. The closer he got, the more he could make out that it was a man, an old man, stubbly-faced, with wild-looking, snow-white hair and eyebrows that were completely out of control, and he appeared to be either dead or sleeping. His head was back, his eyes were closed, and his mouth was open. The driver's side window was down slightly, and Hank could hear no sound coming from inside. He continued walking past the car, but something about the strangeness of what he had just seen made him slow down, then stop, and then turn around to look back at the car and its sole occupant. The car itself was rather small, it looked ancient, and it was dirty, and it appeared to have once been the color blue. It was a Ford Pinto, a type of car Hank used to see a lot when he was younger, but which had, over the years, become a rare sight. It had an Alaska license plate. A ragged bumper sticker read "Proud Member of the American Left-Footed Brakers Association".
Hank thought again of the face of the man who was sitting in the driver's seat. It occurred to him that he looked oddly familiar, that he had seen this man before. And it bothered him that he wasn't sure if this man was alive or not. Though Hank was, by nature, somewhat shy and unassertive, he nevertheless forced himself to walk back to the car to make sure the man was all right.
"Sir? Hello? Sir? Are you okay?" he said as he tapped on the window. The old man's eyelids began to flutter and then open, and a loud snort came out of his mouth. He then suddenly straightened up in his seat and turned toward Hank with an alarmed look on his face.
"Whaddya want?" the man barked. His eyes were wide open now, and he was obviously startled.
"I was just... I was wanting to know if... if you were okay," stumbled Hank. The old man's wild hair and semi-crazed look on his face had thrown him off a bit. "Could you roll down your window for a minute?" The old man's eyes scanned Hank from head to toe as he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes. He deftly pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a tiny, plastic Bic lighter, and after looking Hank over one more time, apparently judged that he didn't appear to be too much of a threat, and he went ahead and rolled the window down.
"Listen. I wasn't doin' nothin' wrong. Why you hasslin' me?"
"Oh, no... I didn't say you were doing nothing wrong. I was just checking to see if you were... uh... well... never mind." Hank stepped back. He wanted to be on his way, but there was something about the old man's face that kept him rooted where he stood. "If you don't mind my asking... cause you look kind of familiar to me... what's your name?"
The old man's face now looked somewhat peeved. "Who the hell's askin'?" he shot back.
Hank thought the question was fair, so he responded, "My name's Hank Wendt." By instinct, he held out his hand when he said this. The old man's expression went from peeved straight back to alarmed. His mouth opened a bit, but the cigarette didn't fall out. It was stuck somehow to his lower lip. "Did you say Hank Wendt?"
"Yeah, that's what I said."
"Well, I'll be go to hell! Hang on a minute," said the old man. He appeared to be trying to open the driver's side door, even banging his shoulder against it, and he wasn't having much luck. He then spouted off a couple of cuss words before looking back at Hank. "Could ya open the door for me, son?" Hank quickly pulled the door open, and the old man slowly got out and stood up, his joints and bones making more creaks, snaps, and pops than a bowl of Rice Krispies. After coming to his full height, which was about a head shorter than Hank, he furrowed his hairy brow and said, "I'm sorry, but I'm goin' to have to take a leak. Let me know if there's a car a comin', wouldja?"
Before Hank could react, the old man was urinating in the gutter. Feeling greatly uncomfortable, Hank nevertheless kept close watch on the street. The steady, steamy stream coming out of the guy seemed endless, going on and on for over five minutes. Finally it slowed to a trickle and then stopped, and the old man cut loose with a loud fart that seemed, to Hank, like a final punctuation mark coming at the end of a page-long run-on sentence.
"Hooooweeee! That's better!" The old man zipped himself back up and turned to face Hank. "Now I can talk!" This time he had a broad smile on his face. "You don't know how happy this makes me to see you, Hank! I've been looking for you for a long time!" He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an antique-looking snub-nosed revolver, and he pointed it directly at Hank. "Get in the car. You're coming with me."
Upon seeing the gun, Hank immediately put both hands in the air. "What's going on?" he demanded.
"You're being abducted!" the old man responded. "Now get in!"
(Next time: Oh, Montana! continues as Hank discovers who abducted him, and why...)
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