Chapter 2

After Trent’s announcement on the bus ride back to school, I was accepted into his pack of friends. His best friend, Paul Florence treated me like on of the boys, always showing me his collections of bugs, stones and other gross things, like frogs. He loved to share the story behind every scar on his body. The rest of Trent’s friends—Dirk, Patrick and Jerome pretended to be friendly towards me. For a long time, they merely tolerated me, until our teenage years, when I introduced them to Eva and Mavis, two girls from my home economics class. Trent’s younger brother, Freddy and Paul’s little sister Kayla were like orbiting satellites around us. One or both were always tagging along, nagging us with either questions or demands.

My mother was extremely pleased that I had become “a part of the inner circle,” as she was fond of telling her friends. The inner circle consisted of four family names that represented “Old Money”--Sawyer, Florence, Vendall and Bow-Ridge. The Bow-Ridge family was the founder of the area. Our town, Blueberry Ridge was named for two things: a dip in the land surrounding Bow-Ridge Lake and blueberries.

We weren’t poor, but we weren’t rich either. Father had a lucrative welding business, which lead to his purchase of a small farm right on the fringe of town. He turned the barn into a shop and was so successful that county paved the dirt road leading to the farm, because some of the more prevalent families complained that the bumpy road was tough on their cars. Woods that lead to Bow-Ridge Lake surrounded the farm. Mother forbade me to go alone down any of the many trails leading through the woods, except during blueberry season. The woods were ripe with blueberry bushes. We spent the blueberry season picking juicy berries. My fingers had a purple tint all summer long. Mother made preserves and cakes, selling them from the house. She also, created home-made toiletries, such as blueberry skin cream, blueberry fragrant waters and oils. One year she made a special lip balm, but it wasn’t popular with the ladies. Most of the feminine population preferred lipstick. I wasn’t surprised to receive the whole batch of lip balm for Christmas that year. It was a large enough supply to last a lifetime. But on the whole, we were a happy family with the usual ups and downs.

Blueberry Ridge wasn’t a metropolis but it had plenty of stores and entertainment spots to keep the population of roughly 5000 happy. We never left the area to go shopping. Mother was a firm believer of giving back to the community. At times, I felt as if we were stuck in a time warp, never really catching up with the outside world. Sometimes I would ask Trent if he didn’t feel the need to spread his wings and see what’s beyond the woods, where the roads from town led and what was past our county line. He would laugh and say, “Vivvie, it doesn’t get better than Blueberry Ridge. No one ever talks about leaving, except you.

He was right. Everyone seemed content with the daily life of Blueberry Ridge, except for the Bow-Ridge family. There was only one Bow-Ridge living in town, Mr. James Bow-Ridge, 70-years-old and proud of it. His beloved Elsie had died years ago, as had all his children, except his son, James Jr., who had moved away from the area years ago. The junior James was the only person known who had sought to soar by joining the navy as a helicopter pilot. James Bow-Ridge Jr. was a restless soul during his youth and many people predicted he would soar away one day. Not much was ever said about him. Mr. Bow-Ridge wasn’t happy that his namesake had forsaken the town that his ancestors had founded with blood and sweat. I often wondered about the man who escaped and how it felt to be able to see the world and witness its wonders.

Life was status quo until the day that James Bow-Ridge, Jr. Soared back to town. I was seventeen and a junior at the high school. It was a year of constant battle for me. I battled with my mother and father about college opportunities. They wanted me to attend the local U, which was about 45 miles away, but I wanted to soar away to a college up North and major in art. I battled with Trent over sex. He wanted to go all the way, while I wanted to wait until we were married. As an average woman-child, I battled mostly with myself, over self-esteem and the need to find my inner beauty.

There were rumors floating in the air like dust mites. Some said that the Junior Bow-Ridge was penniless and had to beg his father for a place to live. Others said he was returning in disgrace, because of some discretion with the navy. Naturally, the rumors ran to the extreme with suggestions that he had returned due to the curse surrounding the town. Like any small town, we weren’t blemish free. Back in the youthful era of the Senior Bow-Ridge, a tragedy had occurred, which involved all four of the founding families: The Sawyers, The Florences, TheVendalls and the Bow-Ridges. There weren’t many who lived during the era still alive and those that were rarely talked about the tragedy, except Tikki Smith’s grandmother, Sadie Ruth. She had owned the local tavern during that time. But her one fault was that she loved to embellish stories, so we never knew how much was truth and how much was Sadie Ruth.

I’ll never forget the day I met a Bow-Ridge who had soared high enough to almost touch the sun. It was the start of blueberry season. I was dispatched to the woods by Mother to see if the blueberries were finished with their bloom and how full the brushes were looking. She wanted to get an idea of what sort of crop we needed to plan for, so she could determine what her final products would be and which to nix.