Back to Madeline Island (18 page)

“They look much better attached to bodies,” Ruby comments. “Why in the
world
do men collect the heads—I do have that fish out on the porch, though. So I suppose I'm just as guilty of hanging dead things about.”

We zoom by Charlie's place and I honk in case he's peeking out a window.

“I left a message with him,” I mention. “His machine said he'd be gone until after New Year's.”

“I believe he joins his children in Colorado,” Ruby offers. “Just where
is
this place we're headed?”

“Friends of ours, the Hausers, have an orchard,” Howard explains, “that they let people ski on in the winter—it's a remarkable setting. Have you ever gone cross-country skiing?”

“Never,” both Ruby and I say at the same time. “Isn't it a lot of balancing?” I ask.

“Not
really
,” Johnny offers rather unconvincingly. “But since you can walk in those high heels I've seen you two in, you'll have
no
problem with skis.”

We're entering the town of LaPointe; it's become a ghost town, seeing as the holidays are almost over. Most people are long gone, off to their winter retreats, only to return come spring. It's nice to get a break from the crowds, but on the other hand, I miss the hustle and bustle. That's me in a nutshell, wanting everything both ways.

I honk again as we pass Al's Place. I spy a sign in the window that says,
CLOSED UNTIL NEXT YEAR
—
GET IT
?
SEE YOU NEXT WEEK
.

“Smart alec,” Ruby comments.

I head us over beyond The Pub restaurant toward the marina, turning down a short ramp and
voilà
—we're in the lake, heading for Bayfield. The sun is trying its best to peek out of all the gray, puffy clouds stuck together up there—doesn't look promising.

“Thank the heater god.” I pat the dashboard.

“Goodness, the lake's deserted,” Ruby says. “Isn't the mist floating on the water odd?”

“Actually,” Howard offers, “right about now this mist that you see is the beginning of the lake freezing up. I think in mid-January it's about two inches thick, which is too thin for cars to drive on and too thick for the ferries to run.”

“Then we take the Windsled,” I add. “I read something about it on the Web. Is it the same family who owns the ferry system?”

“I'm not sure about that,” Howard replies, “but it's only for maybe a few weeks at the most, then they plow an ice road and you can drive across. Sometime in March, when the lake starts to melt, it's another week or two of using the Windsled again.”

“Wow,” I comment. “The Windsled sounds interesting. The pictures of it are a bit daunting, but hey—if the thing works—what the hell! Driving on the ice will be really weird, though.”

“This mist is so beautiful,” Johnny says. “Hey, look who's standing on the pier holding a little girl's hand.”

“Mister Christmas Tree,” Ruby says.

We wave—they wave back—I sigh and switch the boat to power up the wheels. Up the Bayfield city ramp we go. Howard points me in the right direction. I drive up Washington Avenue and on out of town. Sure hope Helen's dad held
her
hand like that.

 

“I cannot get over this,” I say for the hundredth time. “This is so—sexy—this cross-country thing.”

“It truly is,” Ruby puffs out. “But I doubt we'll be so cheery tomorrow when our legs are so sore we can't budge!”

“The boys are way down that ravine somewhere. I say we stop to rest. This orchard really
is
remarkable. Howard didn't tell us there was a winery here, too; could be dangerous.”

“You know, darling,” Ruby says with alarm in her voice, “no one told us how to
stop these bloody things
!”

“Holy shit!” I cry out as we careen around a corner and end up flying down a ravine we hadn't noticed until now.

We decide to simply fall over in order to stop and end up joining in with the boys for a good old-fashioned snowball fight. Then we make snow angels until our hind ends are so cold I'm pretty sure mine is about to fall off. Could that actually work?

 

We climb back up into the duck and wave good-byes to the Hauser family.

“What a day,” I comment as I swing the duck onto the highway. “Saw some beautiful countryside, watched you two scramble like idiots in the snow and scored a case of vino!”

“I'd say it's been a perfect ten,” Ruby adds. “What have you two gentlemen got planned for New Year's Eve?”

“We haven't really thought that far,” Johnny says. “But—”

“Good, then you'll be joining us,” I say. “Besides—we need help building a bonfire and you two have it down pat.”

“Nobody makes a fire like Howard,” Johnny says with a certain tone.

“I'll show you a
fire
,” Howard replies.

“Good heavens,” Ruby says with mock disdain. “Even in this
cold
—those two.”

“Men—they're all pigs,” I say. The boys proceed to oink all the way home. Good grief already.

 

It's late at night; Rocky and I are snuggled in bed with a good book,
Hotel Paradise
by Martha Grimes. But I can't focus. I keep seeing that man and his daughter waving to us on the pier. It makes me sad; maybe it's the father next to the daughter part and not so much the fact that it was him. That has to be it, of course.

I wonder if I'll find my real dad. I can't believe this—first I'm worrying myself cross-eyed as to whether or not I'll ever find
my
daughter—and now this. In a way, I suppose, it's the yin-yang of Eve Moss. Or would that be the
karma
of Eve? Here I was thinking my life was so simple: aprons and coffee. Just goes to show you. Lift the hood of any human—and be ready for a surprise—or two.

I
slam
the book shut; Rocky leaps out of bed, dashing out the door. “Damn it anyway!” I say to the emptiness. If and when I
do
find him, I'm going to kill him for all the anguish he's caused my mom and me. “Men are pigs!” I sigh and then smile, remembering the boys oinking.
Some
men are perfect.

I
'm down at the boathouse and it's
so quiet
without the crew here. I miss the ladies, but after the first of the year, we'll be back to it. You should have seen Sam's eyes when I told them they would be getting a paycheck even though we're closed between Christmas and New Year's. I slip in a CD of Louis Armstrong; his classy jazz notes swing around the room.

I just got off the phone with Watts; she manages my salon down in Eau Claire as well as lives in what used to be
my
apartment upstairs. I have a little—big actually—surprise for her, I've decided to sell her the place—lock, stock and barrel—for a song. Up until Helen came into my life, she was the closest thing to having a daughter I'd ever come to. Besides, I can't imagine ever going back there, and since the apron business is doing so well, she needs the break—deserves it.
And
I can't forget, God forbid, should Ruby kick the bucket before me, this entire cottage is mine. I believe in the concept of giving back. Imagine if
everyone
did.

Funny, the older I get, the more I realize how all of us are just renters. We buy all this stuff, including the house to put it in, then when we're dead and gone—what? I wonder, who would I want
this
place to go to when it's
my
time?

As far as giving my salon to Watts, it's the ripple effect. My mom left me enough to start it and now I'm going to return the favor. I can't imagine being here without
Ruby
, but someday, I suppose, maybe I will. But not today—and certainly not anytime soon, thank you very much.

It's healthy to reflect over the past year, let go of this and that and maybe pat myself on the back for a few things, too, but I don't do the resolutions bit. Never understood that one. I mean, I can't count how many times I've heard someone say they're going to join the gym, lose those darn twenty pounds and find that one man who has all the answers, major—
whatever
!

Living here has given me all the exercise I need, yoga and belly dancing have really been a riot, and honestly, I'm losing weight! I smile recalling our first dance up in the loft—what fun—and the happy-tired feeling afterward is so satisfying.

The phone rings, pulling me back; I head over to the deer head.

“Ruby's Aprons, Eve speaking,” I say clearly into the mouthpiece.

“What all you doin' down there, girl?” Sam asks and I grin. “Reminiscing about what's come and gone is just a waste of your brain cells—and Eve—you don't have all that many to spare!” She chuckles.

“Hey—you be nice, it's the holidays, you know. How are you, Sam? You have a good Christmas?”

“Girl—let me tell you—family all gathered at my sister's, too many gifts for the youngins and enough food and fixin's for life—I swear. And
oh my
did the ladies enjoy the aprons…that was real kind of you and Ruby not to charge me for all them. Thank you, sister!”

“Don't be silly, I'm glad they were a hit. You home now—or?”

“No—calling long distance from my sister's fancy place down here in Milwaukee. Lord knows,
they
can afford it. This house is so big; I was looking to find my way to the kitchen late last night, needed something sweet, you know, and I ended up in the library. Which reminded me of you all, so here we are.”

“Let's chat then.” I light up. “It's so quiet here, without everyone. You're right about my year-in-review thing. It's silly, I guess.”

“Not silly—just don't be
festering on
about things. What's come and gone is just that—
gone.
Besides, I see next year you're going to—”

“Stop!” I hold my hand out, then giggle and wave off the feeling. “I want to find out myself and not know—too much. Maybe a peek…what do you see out there?”

“Come spring…” Sam inhales in
that way
and I know she's having a smoke, too. “There's going to be a celebration…that's all I'm gunna say, but we're all going to be there together and it's real happy and no…it ain't your wedding to Tree Stud either. You can be sure of that.” Sam and I share a laugh.

“He's a hottie, that one,” I say and can still see his eyes glimmer when he was showing us all those trees. “But he's—”

“Married, that little girl I see you thinking on, the one he was with, that's not his daughter, she's his
grand
-baby. But girl—he's got you on his mind—I can tell you that.”

“Great, that's all I need. A married grandpa.” I slump back into my chair and survey the cutting room. “Why is it that all the good ones are—”

“Dead? Just the way things is, I guess,” Sam replies. “It's funny, this men thing, for me—I got all I need—that's why I called—to thank you for coming into that Wal-Mart and inviting me to join the crew and…well…it's gunna be one hell of a year—just you wait.”

“I'm glad you called.” I miss this woman.

“You quit all that deep thinking and Happy New Year—Eve honey.”

“You, too—see you next year.” I say the last part sing-songy and Sam chuckles.

We say good-bye; I swipe away a tear while letting the phone go. Changing my mind, I grab it midair and dial.

“Hello there,” Ruby chirps.

“Hey you!”

“Good of you to ring—the boys just stopped by to drop off our mail and there's something here you may find interesting.”

“Oh? C'mon, give me a hint or something,” I whine.

Sure hope it's not another note from my “dad,” good ol' Larry.

“Let's just say, darling—grocery shopping's about to take on a whole new meaning around here.”

“What in the world? I'm on my way and this better be good.”

“If nothing else…I'll fix us a
lovely
breakfast and isn't my company
alone
simply priceless—hmmm?”

“Price-ee, that's what,” I retort. “See you soon.”

“Cheerio then—ta-ta,” Ruby says and then clicks off.

I let the phone go. It swings back and forth on its journey to the mouth, clanging into the calendar on its way. I take a peek at Mr. January. “What the hell?” Looking closer, I see the Scotch tape. The boys have put their faces over two scantily clad studs with huge, bulging—never mind. Those bad boys.

“C'mon, buster.” I scoop Rocky up into my arms, pull my huge sweater over both of us, tick the lights off and out the front door we go! It's so bright out I have to squint in order to see. Since we
do
walk up and down along the path, there's a worn rut slicing through the hard-packed snow. Rocky meows, and then peeks his head out the top of my pullover as we bump along toward the warmth of the cottage.

“Look at you two.” Ruby pours a mug of hot coffee, handing it to me. “There's my little love.” She pats his head.

“Now what's all the fuss about?” I ask. Ruby hands me a section of our local paper,
Island Gazette
. “Oh, for pity's sake, singles night at the IGA supermarket in
Bayfield
?”

“Perhaps it's worth looking into,” Ruby suggests, reaching up for a pan.

“Hey, Rock, wouldn't you be jealous as hell if I went and hung out at the IGA every first Tuesday of the month—hmmm?” He leaps onto the stump table. “That's right, you're not the jealous type.”

Ruby tsk-tsks. “Darling, perhaps you should reconsider that laptop of yours.”

“My laptop? Oh right, the Internet dating thing. No thanks,” I sigh and plop down onto a stool.

Toast pops up from the chrome toaster; I reach over and take the slices out in order to slather some butter over them.

“You ever miss Ed?” I ask, kind of knowing the answer.

“Yes, but not in the ways you'd think.” Ruby rummages around in the fridge, then sets the glass milk bottle down after adding a dollop to the eggs. “I miss the way he'd bend his head a certain way when he was deep in thought and the lovely scent of his hair
and
he could be
terribly
funny. But it's odd.” She thinks a moment, then starts folding the eggs together. “I wouldn't be doing any of the things I've been up to with you—if he were still about and…that's just as it should be.” She smiles and it's radiant.

“Tree Stud has really made me realize some things—namely, that I'm not dead—but more important, that I'm also not
desperate
.”

“Good heavens no—of course you're not
desperate
and it's not like you've not
dated.
I recall the slew of men you had traipsing about. Not
too
long ago.”

“You're making me blush,” I say, blushing. “You make it sound like I was a
sleaze
or something—besides, it wasn't
that
many guys.”

“I am simply jealous, is all—I married young and hadn't the—shall we say—opportunities accorded you baby boomers. Of course, after reading that journal of Ed's, well, he certainly didn't settle down—even when he was married—to
me
!”

“Oh boy—here it comes.” I prepare for her to throw something. “I thought you didn't care, seeing as Ed had that affair such a long time ago.”

She gives the eggs a stir then puts the cover on them and turns to me. “It's purely my age and the fact that he's not standing right here—I'd clobber him
good
if he was. Men seem to need so much
reassurance
.”

“About what? That they're dy-no-mite in the hay? Sex sure seems to be a big deal with a lot of men.”

“It's not just the sex.” Ruby takes plates down, handing them to me. “I think it's the power behind it.”

“Power? I've never let a man have
power
over me.” I think back and then reconsider. “There was one guy, but Jesus, I was only twenty. But Helen's dad—my high school sweetie—he had a power over me and you know what?”

Ruby lifts her well-arched brows—waiting. “Well?”

“All that time waiting to give birth at the convent…all that time to think…I vowed to
never
let it happen again…the giving in…the handing over. Even at my young age of seventeen…I think I figured out something about myself…why I've never had a long-term relationship since then.”

“You can't blame it on that young child you were, surely darling. It jolly well could be that you're simply not meant to
be
in a relationship—perhaps you're more advanced emotionally and haven't the—”

“Courage to let anyone in,” I finish and then add, “God—my mom has an affair…gets pregnant with me, then
I
get pregnant and the mold is set! No wonder my mom and I got along so well. Then again, I have to keep in mind that I didn't know all I do now.”

Ruby and I carry our plates of eggs and toast into the living room to breakfast in front of the fire. We plop down onto the sofa. I hand her a paper napkin—it's covered with blue fish—and she grins.

“You know, darling,” Ruby says through bites of toast and egg, “perhaps if you could find your
real
father, maybe you'd not feel so—oh, what do I want to say—rootless? In turn, perhaps you could forgive your mother and that Larry and move full steam ahead!”

“What do you mean—then? I have not stopped moving
full steam ahead
since, well, since I can recall.”

“Perhaps you've been
running
full steam ahead—darling.”

 

“I know it's here somewhere,” I say for the fifth time. “I'm just sure that we brought it—God—I
hope
I did.”

Ruby and I are bundled up in our heavy winter coats, once again rooting through our “can't get rid of it, can't find a place for it” stuff we've piled up in a corner of the barn. I'm trying to find my mother's hope chest and I'm just
sure
it's here somewhere.

“Is it about the size of a child's coffin?” Ruby asks and we exchange an odd look, remembering that night. “Because if it is, well, we're in luck—sort of.”

I head over to where she's pointing. “That's it!” I say and then count the number of boxes piled on top of it. “These are all—”

“China…stoneware…several holiday sets…and oh, how lovely—those near the bottom, the box immediately on top of your dear mum's chest, they'll be perfect for our New Year's Eve supper.”

“Oh great—that's only seven boxes down and—”

As if on cue, the boys walk in the barn's side door.

“There you two are,” Johnny says. “Thought you might be in here since the door was open. What are you—oh no…”

Ruby is grinning and at the same time she points to the chest way down on the bottom of the pile. I shrug and try and look as
helpless
as possible.

“Well, don't just stand there, Eve,” Howard commands. “Start handing me those boxes on top and we'll restack them over here. How many times have we moved this—
stuff
anyways?”

“Johnny”—I try to reach the top box, too high—“get your rear over here and hand these to macho man over there.”

“Okay, but if I break a nail, you are in big trouble.”

In no time flat, the chest is free and Howard is lugging the holiday dishes into the kitchen for Ruby, who is telling him to be extra careful since they're discontinued. The chest of my mom's is really heavy, but since there are handles on either side, Johnny and I are managing it fine.

“Is this what they used to call a hope chest?” Johnny asks and it makes me wonder.

“Yup, you used to make things, like embroidered pillowcases and dish towels and all kinds of clothing, seeds even. Just the word ‘hope' kind of gets me.”