Winter at the White Oaks Lodge Read online

  “You’re cleaning that up,” I told her.

  “I will. Wear the sweater.”

  “We’ll see,” was all I would settle for.

  ***

  Saturday night there was a blizzard watch in effect until Sunday morning for greater Beltrami County, but that didn’t deter anyone from showing up to the Christmas party. In the past, the big deal party at Shore Leave was in August, for Mom and Aunt Jilly’s birthdays, which were a day apart. This August Mom was pregnant and Aunt Jilly nursing Rae, and neither of them claimed to be in the mood for a blowout summer occasion. Though Mom was still pregnant, she had agreed to let Grandma host a Christmas party instead. Shore Leave dazzled with holiday decorations, from the trees in both the dining room and the bar (the dining room tree was adorned with silverware wrapped in red and green ribbons, candy canes and tin cookie cutters) to the glittery red and silver tinsel that Grandma had draped along the edge of just about every horizontal surface in the place.

  The crowd was boisterous, Eddie Sorenson and Jim Olson, who were called upon to provide music at nearly every local occasion, were situated in the bar, at the moment strumming out “Jingle Bell Rock” on their guitars, while everyone in the vicinity sang along. Drinks were flowing and serving dishes of every conceivable shape and size lined the counter, along with serving spoons and oven mitts. The party was a potluck and I had already helped myself to a large paper plate, loading it with green bean casserole, tater-tot hotdish, au gratin potatoes, baked chicken with wild rice, and three kinds of Christmas cookies, including the ones where you make a green wreath with corn flakes and marshmallows. I had shed a lot of the pregnancy weight since last February, but I was planning to pig out tonight; eating good food was one of the few pleasures in my life. And I didn’t mean to sound like a whiny baby; it was just the plain truth.

  I situated myself in the corner booth, the windows near it blotted out with swirling snow, content for a moment to just watch everyone. Mom and Blythe were at table three with Rich, Liz, Wordo and Aunt Jilly, who was holding Millie Jo. Mom was sitting on Blythe’s lap, his arms wrapped protectively around her growing belly; she was due with their first baby in March, and I had never seen Bly so excited. He and Mom were planning next spring to begin building a new house a few hundred yards into the woods from the café, still on our property, though not lakefront. Bly went on and on about having six or seven bedrooms and filling them all with kids, until Mom was forced to sit on him to contain his emotion. Literally, she would plop onto his lap and cover his mouth with both hands, teasing him.

  “I’m glad you’re so willing, sweetheart. Do you want to carry each of them for nine months, too?” she joked.

  “Baby, if I could, I would,” he said right back.

  Aunt Jilly was eating an enormous piece of chocolate ribbon pie, which was just a less snooty way of saying French silk, which I had made. Millie Jo was helping her, reaching her chubby hands for the fork with each bite, and Aunt Jilly obliged her about every other. Uncle Justin was toting Rae around; both girls were dressed in matching red velvet footie pajamas that declared Baby’s First Christmas across the front. I’d already taken a hundred zillion pictures but there was Dodge snapping a few more of Millie Jo with chocolate all over her chin.

  Tish, Clint, his best friend Liam, Ruthie and the triplets were crowding the bar stools to listen to Eddie and Jim play. The Carters were here, Bull and Diana, Tina and Glenna along with their husbands and kids; Elaine and her family were on a cruise. Jake was around too, chatting with Grandma and Aunt Ellen behind the counter, where Grandma couldn’t relax long enough to stop making coffee and checking to see if food was still warm enough, and that everyone had plenty to eat and drink.

  Jake looked good, I had to admit. He was wearing a maroon sweater with a turtleneck collar, his dark hair had been cropped short, and he seemed slightly more mature than when he’d left for the university in August. He had given me a big hug when he’d arrived; I saw Tish and Ruthie observe this from afar, elbowing each other. I hadn’t worn the red designer sweater from Dad but instead a baggy old North Stars sweatshirt, my faded jeans and mukluk boots. At least I’d combed my hair and borrowed a little mascara from Mom, fishing out the one in her purse. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even considered using make-up; I was so exhausted these days, and puffy-eyed, that make-up would not be flattering anyway, I was certain.

  Glenna and Tina came from the bar with martinis in their hands and zeroed in on me sitting alone.

  “Camille, whatcha doing over here all by yourself?” Tina asked, sliding across from me. Her martini sloshed just a little over the edge of the glass and she grumbled good-naturedly, “Shit.”

  “Hi guys,” I said, giving them a smile and sitting a little straighter. “I’m not trying to be a party pooper, truly. I just like to watch what’s going on.”

  “Dad is so excited that someone is finally giving a shit about our family history,” Glenna told me, nodding in the direction of the bar, where Bull and Diana were listening to the music. She used her cocktail napkin to help Tina wipe up the spilled gin.

  “He’s been so nice,” I said, still stuffing my face. I swallowed before elaborating, “I love history. I used to think it might be a career for me, maybe teaching or researching.”

  “Hon, you’re talking as though you’re retirement age,” Tina said, stabbing an olive with her toothpick. She continued, “You’re so young. There’s plenty of time to get a degree. Shit, BSU is close enough that you could commute.”

  “That’s true,” I said, though I couldn’t imagine having the energy for college-level classes anytime in the next few years.

  “Your little one is adorable,” Glenna said. “But that’s not her dad, right? The tall kid talking to Joan?”

  I glanced over at Grandma and Jake; he looked over at me at the same instant and flashed a wide grin. I smiled wanly in return and told the girls, “No, he’s not her dad. Her dad is Noah Utley.”

  “Ben’s little brother?” Tina asked in surprise. “So where the hell is he?” After a split second she answered her own question, concluding, “He didn’t stick around for you, did he? Coward.”

  “He’s in Madison at school,” I said, looking out the window; it was so thickly covered in snow that Shore Leave might as well have been pressed up against an igloo. I sensed more than saw Tina and Glenna exchange the kind of sisterly look that says a thousand things without a sound.

  “You know, my oldest, my Beth, has a different father than my other two girls,” Tina said, setting her drink to the side and leaning intently towards me. I looked over at her, sensing her concern and the desire to make me feel better. Her eyes were a rich navy blue. She said, “And her dad lives in Vancouver now. Sees Bethy maybe twice a year. It took me a long time, but I don’t hate him anymore. Best thing he ever did was walk out on me, because otherwise I might still be with the son of a bitch. A few years later I met Sam, and he’s the best thing that ever happened to me, besides my kids.” She reached and squeezed my forearm, then patted it; her nails were at least an inch long and painted a cheerful holly-berry red.

  “Thanks,” I said, nodding a little in acknowledgment. I drew a breath and admitted, “I get so lonely. I mean, I have Grandma and Mom, my sisters, Aunt Ellen…I should never complain, not really.”

  “Shit, hon, complain all the time. Get it all out, it’s the only way to survive,” Glenna said, and she and Tina laughed a little, sipping their drinks.

  “I mean, I’m grateful for my family every second. But I feel so…so…” I trailed off, not exactly sure what I was trying to say. That my body sometimes longed so badly to be touched that I could hardly stand it; that my own hands on my skin would not suffice, and that I wanted something I couldn’t even begin to explain. Sex? No…not just that. Much more than that.

  I want Malcolm Carter, I thought, and then almost laughed at my own absurdity, at what they would think if I were to voice that ridiculous thought.

  “We
understand completely,” Tina said, and I believed her. She added, “Come and have Elaine read the cards for you. She does that on the side and it’s fun to see what she turns up.”

  “The tarot?” I asked, intrigued.

  Glenna nodded. She said, “It’s all in good fun. Elaine takes it a little seriously, but we can laugh her out of it, usually.”

  “Here comes someone who wants your attention,” Tina said then, tilting her head unobtrusively at Jake, as he made his way through the crowd to the corner booth. “We’ll give you a little privacy, c’mon, Glens. It was good to talk to you, Camille.”

  Jake smiled politely at the Carter girls as they took their leave, then said, “Hi. Can I join you?”

  “Sure,” I said, studying his face, remembering Tish’s words. I told him, “You look good, Jake, you really do. It’s great to see you.”

  He flushed, ducking his chin as he smiled. He said, “Thanks. It’s good to see you too.”

  “You’re loving school, it sounds like.”

  “It’s great. I love the city. There’s always something going on every night of the week.”

  “Jake…” I began.

  At the same moment he asked in a rush, “Maybe, if you’d want to, maybe we could go have dinner this week sometime? I have off from school until the second Monday in January.”

  He spoke in a rush, his cheeks a deep pink.

  “That would be nice,” I said, which was such a puke answer. But I didn’t know what else to say.

  He smiled then, wide and sweetly.

  “Maybe tomorrow, since I don’t work,” I said. Besides, I thought, why delay it?

  “If we’re not snowed in,” he replied, still smiling. And then, serving to effectively punch me with guilt, “I can’t wait.”

  “If we’re snowed in, maybe we can just watch a movie here or something,” I said. Crap, what are you doing? I felt a little uncomfortable twinge in my stomach. It’s all the food you’ve been eating, that’s all, I assured myself.

  “That sounds good too,” he said. “Do you need a drink? Maybe a hot chocolate or something?”

  “That would be great,” I said. “But I’ll go get it. I was going to go and listen to the music anyway.”

  I snagged myself a mug from the kitchen and used the hot chocolate machine, near the coffee makers. It made a noise like a chainsaw and thirty seconds later I had a steaming cup. I sipped gingerly, scanning the crowd from behind the counter. Jake was in the bar already, where he’d promised to save me a seat. I caught Mom’s eye for a moment; she gave me a wink, looking flushed and happy, her belly round as a pumpkin beneath a white sweater covered in tiny blue leaping reindeer. I realized something and went to stand by their table for a second, tilting my head and scolding, “Mom, no, you don’t. Come on.”

  She knew exactly what I meant and started laughing, tipping her head back on Bly’s shoulder as she said, “We’re cute this way.”

  “You match!” I groaned. Bly was wearing the same sweater, just in a reverse color scheme.

  “I told them it was completely barf-worthy,” Aunt Jilly said, still cuddling Millie Jo. My daughter saw me and grinned, showcasing her four little baby teeth.

  “I picked them out,” Blythe informed me, pretending to be offended. “You don’t think we’re cute this way?”

  “Oh please,” I groaned at them. “At least don’t make a habit of it.”

  Uncle Justin came up with tiny, adorable Rae, whose big brown eyes were just like his. He said, “Jilly-honey, let’s get the same set.”

  Aunt Jilly slapped his ass and he laughed, snuggling Rae and kissing her cheek. He said, “Your mama is a little temperamental, isn’t she, baby girl?”

  Tish ran up and snagged my hand. She said excitedly in my ear, just loud enough for me to hear, “I just heard that you and Jake have a date tomorrow night!”

  Mom sent me a questioning look, lifting her eyebrows, but I was not about to announce this in front of everyone. Instead I asked Aunt Jilly, “Do you mind holding Millie Jo a little longer?”

  “Not one bit,” Aunt Jilly responded, smoothing my daughter’s dark hair. “You go relax for a little bit.”

  Tish dragged me away; Jake had saved a bar stool for me, and I claimed it trying to pretend that I didn’t have a heavy feeling in the vicinity of my heart.

  ***

  “It was terrible,” I murmured. Beside me on the mattress, curled beneath her own downy-soft quilt, Millie Jo slept on, oblivious to my woe. She had nursed for a few minutes before dozing off, leaving me alone here in the darkness, only the moonlight coming through the windows to offer me an ear. What I really needed was a shoulder upon which to cry. But I hadn’t wanted to disappoint Grandma and Aunt Ellen, who had been so hopeful as I prepared to go out for dinner with Jake earlier in the evening. When he dropped me off they were waiting up at the kitchen table with cups of decaf, clad in their bathrobes and obviously expectant, and so I had lied, “We had a great time.”

  “He kissed me,” I whispered into the silence of my bedroom, moving to lie flat on my back, draping a forearm over my eyes. “It was like kissing my brother. If I had one, that is. Dammit to hell, why did it have to be that way?”

  Jake had tried so hard that I felt like a gigantic bitch for my current thoughts. He picked me up just on time, drove us to dinner at the Angler’s Inn, just across the street from Eddie’s Bar downtown. He told me he’d wanted to go somewhere in Bemidji, but the weather was uncooperative, stranding us in Landon. We ate snow crab legs and during this part of the evening Jake had told me all about his classes and the various foibles of his professors, some of the more memorable fellow students he’d met since August. It was interesting, and on the one hand we talked really easily. I enjoyed that part of him, the friend. It was later, sitting buckled into the passenger seat of his truck and thanking him for the date that I felt that crawling in my stomach again.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” he said.

  “That’s not necessary,” I said, already climbing out of the truck.

  But he’d followed and at the door I felt obliged to say again, “Thank you for dinner.”

  “No problem,” he said, really studying my face. I looked up into his eyes the color of melting chocolate and willed myself to want to kiss him, to put a little heart into the effort.

  He looked at me so seriously and then bent and kissed me softly, barely touching his lips to mine. I lifted my chin, my lips opening just a little, and then…

  “He put his tongue right in my mouth,” I whispered. I felt crazy, lying here talking to myself in the darkness of my bedroom, my child snoozing a foot away. Probably this is exactly what I should get used to; surely this was my future. Soon all I would need were six or seven house cats. I went on, as though dictating a diary entry, “He tasted like seafood. It was awful. Oh God, I hate myself.”

  Even worse was the fact that Jake had been into it, had breathed harder and caught me into his arms. He’d wanted to keep kissing me, but I’d ducked gently from his embrace and said, “I gotta get inside. See you!”

  Tears seeped over my temples, hot and fast.

  “Dammit,” I muttered again, digging my fists into my eyes then, rubbing until I saw a checkerboard pattern in oranges and blues; probably I shouldn’t press so hard. It had been a while since I’d cried at night, but I let myself tonight. It was two nights before Christmas, four nights before my nineteenth birthday, and I felt like I was at the bottom of a well, peering up at the distant moon that I had no hope of ever touching.

  Chapter Four

  May 2005

  “Well, the boy graduated. We all drove down there for it,” Bull told me. “Now he’s looking for a new job in the city. Got himself a prissy little girlfriend too. Poodle-like, really. I tell you, Camille, I don’t understand it.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind if I explore out here a little while?” I asked him, neatly changing the subject as Bull was rather prone to rants. It was a humid, overcast spr
ing afternoon and I’d driven over from Shore Leave to pick up something that Bull had found for me; he was tickled pink that I was so interested in Carter family history and its connection to our own. Grandma was watching Millie for me and Bull had said I could check out the homestead cabin if I wanted; he was busy at the lodge, but had taken the time to walk me through the woods to the right spot.

  The little cabin was sturdy-looking even yet, with few chinks in the plaster between the logs. It was perfectly square, with a tiny loft and a fireplace crafted of stones. Even with dead leaves covering the floor and over a century of disuse, I thought it beautiful. There were two windows, one missing the glass in the bottom right quarter-pane, patched with a piece of fitted cardboard and duct tape.

  “The boy fixed up that window back when he was a teenager and it’s still holding. Huh. And I don’t mind one bit, sweetie,” Bull told me. “Explore all you like. Just padlock that door when you leave, otherwise the local kids get a notion to hang out in here, do some drinking and necking, if you know what I mean.”

  I giggled at the old-fashioned expression and said, “I will. Thanks, Bull.”

  “Anytime you want a job at White Oaks, you just tell me,” he said for the countless time, tipping the brim of his baseball cap as he took his leave.

  In his absence I sat on the top porch step and breathed in the scents of the forest, hanging heavy in the air along with the humidity; my hair was wild with curling frizz. I fantasized about putting a hammock between two oaks adjacent to the porch, a perfect distance apart for one. It was peaceful here, away from the hustle of the lake and its springtime traffic, both tourist and local. The tree branches were thick with jewel-green leaves, grapevines curling all along the ancient porch railings, as though I was sitting in a tropical jungle rather than northern Minnesota. At last I opened the envelope that Bull had found, taking great care with the old paper. My heart tripped over itself as I drew forth what appeared to be a telegram.

  “1876,” I noted, my eyes flashing over the old typeface, all in capital letters, as if the sender was shouting the words.