The House on Black Lake (3 page)

“Get them away from me.” Sammy bends down to cover his face with his hands.

“Don’t be frightened, darling. They can’t harm you,” I say and strike the door with the brass knocker. The faint sound of heels clicking briskly on a hard surface can be heard from within, a squeaky latch lifts and the door opens.

Ruth Sandeley appears in the arched doorway with a glass of wine poised above her shoulder. Backlit by amber light that guilds her wild mane of red hair, and dressed in a crop-top revealing a tiny alabaster stomach and billowing pants, she looks stunning—but in a frightful way. Nothing like the woman I first met in the desert that drew stares of admiration in a roomful of beauties. Up close, framed by the harsh light of the carriage lamps, with blank eyes rimmed in mascara and pale rouged cheeks, Ruth reminds me of a discarded doll.

“Welcome to Quebec, darlings. We were worried about you. Why are you so late, dear?”

“Our flight from San Francisco was delayed, there was a mechanical problem in Chicago, then my bag was lost in Montreal and later found being carted out with the garbage.”

“Come inside, but be careful. The floor is newly refinished—for the third time. They can’t seem to get the color right, how difficult can that be?” She makes a dramatic gesture with her hand, like the wave of an imaginary wand.

“You’re about to trample in mud. Take off your shoes and carry them inside. There’s a bin by the kitchen door. Where in God’s name have you been?”

“A lunatic cab driver took a shortcut and left us off on a muddy back road. I was afraid we might not make it here alive.”

We enter an expansive foyer with grooved pillars and shiny dark hardwood floors accented with Oriental carpets. Candles, set amongst elaborate floral arrangements, fill the room with a sultry spice. The burning wicks throw flickering shadows up the aged brick walls, bringing to life a lineup of mounted big game animal heads with heavy jaws spread wide and razor-sharp teeth bared. A demure zebra with soft brown eyes is the only carcass in the group with its mouth stitched shut.

“Watch the step; it’s steeper than it appears,” Ruth says and ushers us into an elegant room lined with floor to ceiling windows, accented with the pelts and body parts of rare species. A massive stone fireplace is stuffed with burning logs and chandeliers with outsized stag’s horns and dangling crystals hang from the steeply pitched and girded rafters.

“The house is extraordinary. Where did you get all the wild animal trophies and hunting artifacts?”

“They’re from Ramey’s father’s summer house. He passed away a few months ago. His dad used to hunt in Africa and Asia and other foreign places, when that kind of thing was fashionable. He sometimes took him along when he was a boy.”

She sets her wine glass on a rhino hoof and fluffs her hair.

“My husband believes when you look a powerful animal in the eyes and take its life, you have a lifelong bond. But I say that’s a load of crap. The next time he leaves on a business trip, I’m going to throw the rotting carcasses in the garbage.” Ruth’s tone is shrill and discordant, unlike the sensuous purr she once cultivated.

“I’m sorry you missed the children. They stayed awake as long as they could.” She glides to a table covered in shimmering bronze organza laid out with delectable pastries.

“The desserts taste even better than they look—help yourself. You too Sammy, dear.

“Ramey will be back soon. He’s been out all day helping a neighbor brand cows and horses with his custom tools. He says it doesn’t hurt the animals because of the thick hide and fur. I asked which provided the information, the cow or the horse, and he looked at me like I was crazy. Men are strange creatures.”

Ruth takes a bottle of wine from of a silver bucket.

“I hope you don’t mind red; I’m out of white. We’ll pick up a case tomorrow.” She hands me a flute and pours with a shaking hand.

“You’re going to love it here on Black Lake.”

There is a crash—the sound of glass breaking on a hard surface. I turn and look to where Sammy stands next to the table. A rainbow goblet has slipped from his hand and shards of colored glass lie strewn around his feet.

“Don’t move; you’ll scratch the veneer,” Ruth exclaims.

“It’s all right, darling. It was an accident. You didn’t do it on purpose. He’s tired, Ruth; we’ve had a very long day.”

“I’ll get a broom and sweep it up and we’ll forget it ever happened,” Ruth says, and retreats into the kitchen.

The front door flies open and in a gust of humid night air Ramey Sandeley strides inside, followed by a Golden Retriever. He wears filthy low-slung jeans, a torn black T-shirt, and heavy work boots. A watch with a thick leather wristband is his sole ornamentation. His cheekbone is slashed with soot, and piercing gray eyes gleam with a raw male energy that replaces the stale air with a baser vibration.

“Hold on a minute: let me tie the beast outside,” he says, and grabs onto the dog’s collar to drag the struggling animal out the door.

Sammy looks mesmerized by Ramey as by a magic spell, fated to forever stand beside a table of infinite delicacies on a perfectly glazed floor covered in tiny shards of glass.

“Are you okay, darling?” Sammy nods and we stand in transfixed silence, as I did so many years ago.

That fateful night I overheard someone remark that God had given Ramey too much and so he had a price to pay. I prayed this prophecy to be true, or at least time would have tarnished his deadly allure. But that is not the case. I notice no evidence of decline in his physical perfection or opulent lifestyle. The only difference is a mysterious darkness flickering beneath luminous gray eyes, a vague hint of a secret, dangerous and personal.

If beauty is nothing without a dark river running through it, then Ramey Sandeley now has more than God gave him.

He now claims the greatest of gifts.

“Welcome to Black Lake,” Ramey says as he strides back inside the house. “You look beautiful; the single life seems to suit you well.” He steps through the broken glass and takes me in a fierce embrace, leaving behind the faint smell of human sweat and burnt fur.

I avert his eyes to look down at my son.

“We’ll get you out for a game of soccer with the boys,” he tells Sammy. “I built a field on the edge of our property.”

“I thought I heard you out here.” Ruth reenters the room, carrying a long-handled broom and a metal dust bin.

“How did the branding go?” Her face blanches as she spots his heavy work boots implanted in the broken glass.

“We had a few squealers get loose, but we wrangled them down, tied ‘em up, and dragged them back to the party.”

“My husband likes to think he’s a cowboy. He can stand on a horse while it’s galloping, like an Indian.” She flutters around Sammy, sweeping up the glass slivers.

“I love to ride. But I haven’t ridden in years,” I say.

“I remember watching you try to tame a wild Appaloosa.

It was in the desert, wasn’t it?” he asks.

“Yes. But the animal tamed me in the end.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Ramey says and casts me a glimmer of the look that started it all.

“He breaks and trains all of his horses,” Ruth says as she sweeps up the last of the residue.

The bundle of logs inside the fireplace explodes, filling the room with intense waves of heat. I am soaked beneath my sweater and lift my hair to wipe away the perspiration.

There is a tug on my sleeve and my son draws me down to whisper in my ear.

“Sammy says he’s tired and would like to go to bed,” I announce to our hosts.

“Well, Sam, we’ll take care of that,” Ramey says. “Let me get a lantern and we’ll head out to the boat.”

“Why are we going out to a boat?”

“Didn’t Ruth tell you?”

“Alexandra dear, I told you. You’re staying at the house on the island.”

“I don’t remember you telling me that. I thought we were to stay here with you.”

“You’ll love the house, and it’s beautiful on the island.”

“The rooms here are full with the children and nannies,” Ramey says, then clenches his jaw and a pensive look seems to cross his face.

“We’ll row you back in the morning.”

“Thought you’d like a little privacy,” Ramey remarks with a flirtatious smile as he retrieves my suitcase.

“I’ll follow you out in a minute. I need to get the food and blankets,” Ruth mutters, and leaves the room.

“The dock is located below the grounds of the house. We’ll go out through the kitchen,” Ramey tells me.

I am disappointed by this turn of events and perplexed why Ruth has forgotten I can’t swim and have a fear of deep water. I want desperately to put Sammy to bed and sink into oblivion. But we are their guests and it would be impolite to protest. And truth be told, it is probably best there is some space between us. Ruth seems out of sorts and temptation best kept at bay. Surely the house is lovely and the island a quaint village where we can spend our days sunbathing by the lake. It is likely a paradise, and God knows I could use a reprieve from my troubles.

“Come Sammy,” I say and lead him to retrieve our footwear.

We follow Ramey through the back door to a patio littered with children’s toys and sports equipment. He walks ahead of us with the lantern held aloft, highlighting a pathway leading through magnificent grounds. But the scenery that most enchants is not the exquisite landscaping. It is lush hair, broad shoulders, a muscular back, and the way the man moves his body, with such effortless comfort in his own skin.

The scents of a fertile landscape blend with the salty lure of the aquatic as we meander through a vast lawn spotted with trees heavy with ripe fruit. I slap away the pesky mosquitoes and pick them from Sam’s hair, take in deep breaths and try to distract myself from the growing dread. The sounds of the crickets grow louder, nearly throbbing, as we descend to the pier.

At the entrance to the dock Ramey lowers the lantern to the ground, illuminating the landing and surrounding water. A tiny rowboat floats near the pier; it is the only boat visible.

“Be careful as you enter,” Ramey says as he steps down. “There’s an open spot between the landing and the water.”

“Let me take off my high heels.”

“Alexandra...”

“Go ahead, Sammy, you first.”

Barefoot, with shoes in hand, I step cautiously to the edge of the pier to look out over Black Lake. A shroud of vaporous fog, blushed a strange hue from the reflection of the blood-red moon, floats idly on the surface of the lake, creating an eerie glow. A dark bird spreads its wings and glides across the silhouette of the glowing orb, emitting a lonely cry, a lament that echoes across the landscape and resonates with the sound of the lapping water, the calls of the creatures in the shadows, and my own wildly beating heart.

A fierce terror claws up and takes me by the throat. It is the familiar phobia, of deep water and what I cannot control or escape. The wild fear threatens to submerge and drown me unless I fight its grip. I grit my teeth and steel myself against the dreadful force that has begun to claim my resolve.

“Is something wrong, Alexandra?” I hear Ramey call out to me from somewhere far away.

“W
HERE ARE THE LIFE JACKETS
?” I
ASK, LOOKING DOWN INTO THE
warped craft bobbing from side to side in the dark water.

“You’re looking at it...” Ramey declares. He heaves my suitcase down and squeezes it into the hull.

“Sammy can’t swim. He needs a life preserver.”

“Jump down, big boy. I’ll catch you. Move to the edge of the pier. Let’s see if you can fly.”

Sam looks up at me with eager eyes, pleading for permission to make the leap. I realize it is hopeless; I will never win a tug-of-war with a master of beguilement. “Be careful,” I say, and lead Sam to the edge of the dock. He leaps to a rugged catch in the arms of Ramey, who helps him onto the knotty plank that serves as a seat.

“Come to me, Alexandra.”

Ramey’s T-shirt lifts as he raises his arms and moonlight shimmers off the golden skin of his abdomen. Shadows fall into the lines that cut deeply into his flanks, leaving little doubt that he wears nothing beneath his well-worn jeans.