Winter at the White Oaks Lodge Page 7

  SEARCHING STOP UNABLE TO RETURN HOME STOP SENDING MY LOVE STOP MISS YOU ALL SO MUCH I HURT STOP REGARDS MALCOLM A. CARTER

  My heart seemed to stop each time the word appeared on the telegram; I knew that it simply indicated a pause in the transmission over the old telegraph wires but it struck me as creating an even greater sense of urgency in the message. One would have been charged money for each word, so that explained the succinct nature of it, the awkward syntax. All I really noticed was the name Malcolm A. Carter. What was the ‘A’ for? What was he searching for and why was he unable to return home, especially when he said that he was hurting? He missed his family so much he hurt. Oh Malcolm.

  Jesus Crimeny, you’re nuts, Camille, I thought as I pressed the telegram to my lips. Somewhere in 1876 he had dictated this message to be sent to…

  “Boyd Carter,” I noted, reading the name handwritten on the back of the envelope. His older brother, Bull had thought. And then I wondered aloud, “Why? What was happening? What were you looking for?”

  A breeze stirred the birch leaves near the cabin, sending a restless whispering into the air. I shivered then, my imagination getting the best of me.

  “I want to find you so much,” I said to the trees, though addressing Malcolm, surely just a step from being totally insane, sitting here fantasizing about a man from another century and wondering if his spirit was maybe near. I had not yet gone to have Elaine read the cards for me, as Tina had invited last winter, and was typically skeptical about such things. But at this moment the air seemed alive with mystery and magic, and I accepted this as a sign of my impending insanity.

  I couldn’t help but smile a little, allowing myself that, as I walked back through the forest a little later, clutching the telegram, to the parking lot of White Oaks Lodge. There I paused, standing near the old pickup I drove, which Dodge outfitted with tire chains every October, staring in outright admiration. It was a lovely A-frame building with balconies high and low, spacious and grand, situated just a few hundred feet from Flickertail Lake. And for the first time, I considered taking up Bull on his offer.

  ***

  Three weeks later Jake was home from college and called me to ask if I was free Saturday night.

  “I have to work,” I said, which wasn’t even a lie. We had continued communicating through email; I was the coward who didn’t usually answer the phone when I saw that he was calling. Now that I knew he was home, however, it would only be a matter of time until he stopped out to Shore Leave anyway.

  “I’ll come and hang out there,” he said, anticipation in his voice, and I groaned inwardly. We had never declared ourselves as a couple, not even close, but he was surely on the verge of asking me to go out with him, to consider him my boyfriend. I cringed away from that thought.

  “Maybe if it’s not too busy,” I said.

  “I’ve really missed you,” he replied. “I can’t wait to hang out.”

  Oh God. I heard then in his voice the tone that had once been in mine, back almost two years ago now, when I had first dated Noah. That puppy-dog quality and I hated myself for recognizing it, but I knew I wasn’t wrong. I had to stop this from progressing, if for no other reason than out of respect for him. I said quietly, “Jake, I’m not ready to date yet. I’m just not. Please understand.”

  “I’ll wait until you’re ready,” he insisted, though gently. “I don’t mind waiting.”

  Don’t do this to yourself, I raged silently at him. Don’t you have any self respect?

  I may have been directing a little of that at myself, though long after the fact.

  “I might be working up near International Falls this summer,” he said then, changing the subject when I remained stubbornly quiet, vacillating between resentment and guilt. Then, softly, “I really will wait until you’re ready, Camille. I don’t want to rush you.”

  Goddammit. I closed my eyes and sank to the glider, out at the end of the dock. I had just finished a dinner shift on this Tuesday evening, and Millie Jo was busy playing with Rae out on the front lawn in the long, slanted golden light of a spring sunset, Ruthie keeping an eye on them. The glider rocked beneath me, gently, and I opened my eyes, studying the lake as it lay flat and smooth as the sheared-away top of a polished agate. The blues and the golds combined to make a dazzling display on the water and a part of me reflected how much I had come to love this place, how just the sight of the sun sinking behind the trees on the far western ridge across the lake brought me a sense of total peace, if fleetingly. This evening the branches of the pines over there were backlit with a burning, peach-tinted light.

  “Are you still there?” Jake asked.

  “Yes,” I told him. “And I really mean it when I say I can’t date yet. Please understand.”

  “I do,” he said after a minute. “Can we still maybe just hang out anyway?”

  “Of course,” I said and felt a slight shifting of guilt; we could be friends. And I had made it clear that this was all I could handle. If only he hadn’t kissed me last winter.

  “See you soon then,” he said.

  “Okay,” I whispered, and then disconnected the call.

  “Milla! You down there?” It was Mom, bracing her hips on the porch rail to call to me.

  “You can see me down here, can’t you?” I responded bitchily. I was extra touchy today, having heard from Tish, who’d seen them around Landon, that Noah was dating Mandy Pearson. Tish claimed she was only guessing, but I was sure it was true, and honestly, those two deserved each other. I didn’t care one bit. I covered my face for a second, reminding myself, Not one bit.

  “Come on up and help me roll silverware! You snuck out of it, you little weasel you.”

  Dammit, I was hoping she’d let me get away with this for tonight. But then I reminded myself that Mom was surely even more tired than me, as her and Blythe’s son had been born in March. They named him Matthew Blythe and he was a doll, a chubby and amazingly complacent baby; I couldn’t help but feel as though I had done something wrong because my own baby had cried so vociferously for the first four months of her life.

  “I’m coming!” I called, reflecting that this was my life and so I better get used to it, let alone appreciate it. Rolling silverware, chasing my toddler hither and yon, yet nursing her to sleep at night. But it was so much easier than preparing a bottle, and I loved snuggling her close, letting her drift to sleep cuddled against me.

  “Hi you guys,” I said as I approached. Ruthie and the girls were sitting at the picnic table near the porch, playing with a plastic tea set. Rae and Millie Jo had crackers on their plates and Millie was busy pouring water into Ruthie’s cup.

  “You look pretty,” Ruthann told me, and I rolled my eyes at my youngest sister, prompting her to insist, “You really do.”

  “Pwetty Mama,” agreed Millie, giving me her special grin, the one that crinkled up her eyes and wrinkled her nose.

  Rae silently held out a crumbling, half-chewed cracker for me.

  “Thanks, Rae,” I told her, accepting it and pretending to eat a bite, making a lot of noise. She smiled happily at my efforts, clapping her sticky little hands. To my daughter I said, “And thanks for the compliment, Millie Jo-Jo.”

  “No, Mama!” Millie said, just about her favorite two words on the face of the planet, still grinning. She followed up this statement with, “More tea, Aunt Rufie?”

  “Yes please,” Ruthie said gamely. “I can watch them longer if you need to help Mom.”

  “I do, and thank you,” I said, leaning to kiss the top of her head. Ruthie smelled exactly the same as she had as a little girl, of her favorite strawberry-scented conditioner. I told her, “I’ll be done in a minute or so.”

  Inside Blythe was changing Matthew on the counter, Grandma watching critically and offering advice.

  “Not so much powder,” Grandma said. “For heaven’s sake, Bly.”

  “This has to be against health code,” I said, joking. There were no customers at the moment anyway, save Clint�
��s best friend Liam, and he was practically family.

  Mom was sitting at table three with a tub of silverware. She said, “Mom, Matthew has such a bad diaper rash. I remember with the girls cornstarch always helped…”

  “I think it looks a little better,” Blythe said, and for just a second I allowed myself to covertly admire him, still in awe that someone who looked like that was technically my stepdad. Little Matthew was just lying there, utterly content despite the fact that his bottom was the main topic of discussion, holding his toes in his chubby hands.

  I sat on a stool near the action and stroked a finger along the baby’s satin cheek, murmuring, “Hi sweet little guy. Aren’t you the cutest little thing?”

  “My little man,” Bly said adoringly, bending to kiss Matthew’s tiny feet, one after the other. To Grandma he added, “But Joan, I swear he pees too much. I mean, every hour or so his diaper is full. And he’s peed all over me about fifty times already.”

  Grandma and Mom just laughed and laughed.

  “Don’t even get me started on the other stuff in his diaper,” Bly went on, grinning in response, snapping up Matthew’s onesie and scooping his son into his arms. He held Matthew up on his shoulder and kissed the baby’s cheek. I happened to glance over at Mom then, and the expression on her face went straight to my heart; she was looking at Blythe holding their baby with love pouring from her golden-green eyes and lifting her lips in a sweet soft smile, her face a tableau of quiet joy. As a mother, I understood that overwhelming rush of love for your child; as my mother’s daughter, a selfish and childish part of me wondered achingly, Did she ever look at me in my own dad’s arms that way? And then I simply acknowledged that she was happy, and didn’t allow anyone to see the pricking tears that I could barely even explain to myself.

  ***

  Two nights later Elaine, Glenna and Tina were at Shore Leave with exciting news. At least, to them it was exciting. I leaned one hip against their high top in the bar, between orders as I waited for a second pitcher of Leinie’s for another table, watching with private amusement as the three sisters bickered good-naturedly.

  “He finally broke up with the poodle-girl,” Tina informed me, just slightly drunk; apparently tomorrow night was her birthday, and the girls had taken her out for some pre-party partying.

  “Your brother?” I asked, distracted as I noticed Jake come into the bar from the corner of my eye. It was the second night in a row he had stopped out, just because. Last night we sat on the porch with Clint, Liam, Tish and Ruthie and played Monopoly for almost three hours, until moths were beating down the outside lights and mosquitoes nearly carried away the game board, while Millie Jo snoozed in the playpen in the café. Jake had said not a word about anything even slightly related to dating, but I felt his eyes lingering on me time and again; he didn’t think I noticed, it was obvious.

  “Yes and it’s about time,” Elaine elaborated. “But he still thinks he should stay in Minneapolis.”

  “But he has a good job there,” Glenna countered.

  “But he’s not a city boy,” Tina said. “He used to spend all summer in the cabin, without any electricity or hot water, like a crazy person.”

  “Yeah, it’s not like he didn’t wander over to the lodge when he was hungry or needed a shower,” Elaine remembered, smiling.

  Aunt Ellen set my pitcher on the bar and so I said, “I gotta grab that. You guys all right for now? Tina, that round of shots is on me.”

  “I just fucking love you,” Tina said, winking at me. “Thanks, Camille.”

  At the bar, I said, “Hey, Jake.”

  “Hey,” he said in response. “How’s everything?”

  “Good,” I told him. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing much,” he said, and his dark brown eyes caressed my face. I felt my heart give an awkward thump. I studied him with a frown just edging my forehead, almost willing myself to fall for him. He was good-looking and kind, and I knew he liked me way more than he would admit. But to what end? It wasn’t like he planned to stick around Landon; he had told me numerous times about how much he loved Minneapolis. Besides that, he was no older than me at nineteen, nowhere near ready or inclined to be someone’s stepfather.

  “I’m pretty busy,” I said, trying not to compare the expression on his face to the one I had surely worn when I looked at Noah two summers ago, adoring and wishing so badly for attention in return. At least I wouldn’t take advantage of that with Jake. Although he would probably be open to far more than kissing.

  Camille, I scolded myself.

  “You want to watch the sunset later?” he asked guilelessly, leaning on his elbows over the bar. He was wearing jean shorts and a junky white t-shirt, sandals with straps; he’d undoubtedly been out on Flickertail today. He liked to fish.

  “Sure, if it hasn’t set before I’m done,” I told him, catching up the pitcher and nodding towards my table. “I gotta go.”

  He nodded and gave me a smile.

  Later I collected Millie from Grandma before joining Jake on the dock; the three of us caught the tail end of the sunset. I held Millie on my lap, keeping her close as she wasn’t wearing her life jacket, repeatedly smoothing her hair from tickling my face as the light breeze caught her curls. The sunset had an electric-pink glow this evening, my favorite, and I felt a small measure of contentment.

  “Millie Jo, what’s your favorite color?” Jake asked, keeping a running commentary with my daughter.

  “Purple!” she yelped, then giggled, covering her mouth with both hands.

  “She looks so much like you,” Jake noted, looking back at me.

  “I’m glad,” I heard myself say, before immediately regretting the comment; it was the kind of thing that I should never speak aloud in front of Millie, especially when she grew old enough to understand that indirectly I meant that I was glad she didn’t resemble her dad.

  “Does Noah see her much?” he asked, low.

  I shook my head. “Not since last summer. But what do you do? His parents still send me a check every month. I’ve been putting all of it into a bank account for Millie.”

  “I’m sorry, Camille,” he said quietly, and his left hand twitched a little, as though he intended to reach for my right; to my relief he didn’t, and my shoulders relaxed again.

  “It’s all right,” I said back, just as quietly. And then, to Millie, “What do you say we go read a bedtime book?”

  “No, Mama!” she cried, flailing against me.

  “And that means it’s time to call it a night,” I informed Jake.

  “Camille, I’m going to work up near International Falls for the rest of the summer,” Jake said then, a small catch in his voice, and I looked over at him, surprised. “I just found out.”

  “You are?” I found myself slightly disappointed in this news.

  He nodded. “I’m doing some stuff with the Forestry Department up there in Koochiching County. A couple of other guys on the volunteer fire squad hooked me up with a job.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  At that moment Mom clacked out the porch door and called down, “Millie Jo, come give me a hug good-bye!”

  Millie squirreled free of my lap and I turned to watch her like a hawk as she navigated the dock and then ran up to the café. I saw Mom hold open the porch door to let Millie inside, before I turned back to Jake. The air around us was no longer tinted pink but instead the gray of advancing night. In this gloaming light, Jake studied me with his dark eyes serious.

  “Can I kiss you good-bye, Camille?” he asked then. “I know we’re not together like that…but I…but we…”

  I felt a rush of pity and tenderness on the edge of my gaping loneliness. Without saying a word, I leaned to kiss him, putting my hands on his shoulders, suddenly determined to give it a second chance. He caught me instantly close, kissing me back with so much feeling that internally I writhed in shame. His lips were warm and he tasted sweet this evening, like spearmint gum. His tongue was in my mouth, his arms a
round me, and there yet wasn’t one firework exploding in my brain. Instead I found myself analyzing what brand of gum he’d been chewing earlier.

  When he drew away, he said at once, “I know you’re not ready to date, I do. But promise me the second you are, you call me. All right?”

  I nodded weakly.

  Jake collected me back against him. His neck, where my nose was pressed, was warm and smelled like the lake. He kissed my hair and then said, “I’ll miss you, Camille.” And though there was nothing accusatory in his voice, his words still cut into me with guilt. He whispered, “And I’ll never quit hoping that sometime you’ll miss me a little bit too.”

  November 2005

  “Bull asked if I could help out at the bar in the lodge this winter,” I told Grandma. “He said through New Year’s, if that’s all right with you. I think a change of pace would be good.”

  Grandma said, “I know you like it there, sweetie. How many nights a week were you thinking?”

  “Just Fridays and Saturdays,” I said. “So I can still pick up lunch shifts at Shore Leave. What do you think, Grandma?”

  “I think you look excited about it,” Grandma said. “And that’s enough for me. You don’t get out, sweetie. I worry that you don’t visit with any young folks.”

  “Tish and Ruthie,” I countered.

  “You know what I mean,” Grandma said. “What about Jake?”

  I said softly, “I like Jake so much, Gram, but not…I don’t…” I stumbled to an awkward halt.

  “I know,” she said. She studied me unblinkingly for a moment, before saying, “Why don’t you tell Bull that you’ve agreed to take the job?”

  ***

  I started the very next day, Bull giving me the grand tour through the place as I listened with rapt attention. He told me about each part of the structure, which Carter ancestor had added what. The original building, constructed by Boyd Carter back in the 1860s, now housed the check-in desk, which Diana managed.

  “Camille, it’s good to have another history buff around,” she told me. “Bull would talk the hind leg right off a donkey, if we let him.” Diana was an older version of Tina, Glenna and Elaine, with navy-blue eyes and thick red hair shot through with silver threads, cut into shoulder-length waves. She regarded her husband with fondness and said, “And we’ve heard all your stories, haven’t we, hon?”