Moon over Madeline Island (11 page)

“I want to donate as much as they'll take of my lot, too.” Ruby pulls the coffee table closer and puts her feet up. “Good heavens, who
knows
what we'll find in my attic, not to mention the basement. I only want a few treasures; the rest goes. Speaking of…I've got more clothes than a woman ought to, but parting with them, that's going to be nearly impossible.”

“I really want to feel as though we're starting fresh. Just think, no Target or Details to shop at, no Kerm's Foods or—”

“What will we do? Oh my God, have we lost our minds?” Ruby sits up, then stands, tossing her head back, laughing her deep, huge laugh. I stare at her, waiting for her head to spin around. “Free! Oh my God, we'll be free of all that crazy spending. Think of all the money we'll save, all the time we'll have to do
other
things. Like, take a walk along the lake or do some canning or plant a garden and really for once, smell the goddamned coffee.” She sits back down and I shake my head.

“So…you've finally come to your senses and lost your mind on the way, great. There's the pizza…Clear a place—some place—and let's chow.” I go to pay the kid standing outside my door.

“Hey Eve, heard you were moving north,” the handsome teenager says through braces. “Put your money away; this one's on the house. Man—all the times you
way
overtipped me.” He hands me the biggest pizza box I've ever seen, leans over it and gives me a kiss on the cheek, turns and takes the stairs two at a time.

He can't be more than seventeen. Tall and as skinny as a bean with the most beautiful brown eyes. Why do men get the lashes that hang clear down to their cheeks? I stand there in the door for a beat or two before turning back to my box-filled living room.

“We haven't any glasses…you gave away your dishes and where in
heaven's
name are the forks?” Ruby asks.

“Ruby…pour some water into that vase and bring it over here, the hell with etiquette. Anyway, I refuse to eat pizza with a fork.” I plunk the box down on the coffee table. Opening it, I take a big, glorious whiff. Sammy's Pizza, this I'll miss.

There are a lot of things I'll miss. I glance over at Ruby and sigh. She plops some ice cubes into the vase, inserts two straws and plunks it down. This is just a place and I'm the one that's filled it with all the memories. To be honest, it's so full of them there's little room for
me
anymore. I reach under the cushion, pull out the book that's been poking me in the rear and toss it into a box.
That
comes with.

We lunge at the pizza, slurp big gulps out of the vase and end up stuffed, happy and pooped. Slumping back into my big old sofa, feet up, tummies full, both of us fall deliciously asleep.

 

We're down in Ruby's cramped basement. I have a mink stole wrapped around my neck and a huge broad-brimmed purple hat on my head. Looks great with my bib overalls and red Keds. We've been trying on ancient clothes, coats, gloves, hats, you name it and she's got one in every color. All morning we've been lugging boxes upstairs and stacking them in the garage to be hauled somewhere.

Ruby's wearing a pillbox hat with a long ostrich feather curving from the side, the netting pulled down over her face. We “yea” or “nay” to this frock or that scarf; a lot of these gems of yester-fashion we've decided to take with. You never know when you may need a snakeskin bag, rhinestone heels, or full-length vinyl coat—in bright orange, no less.

“We have to keep
some
of these dresses and the hats, not to mention all these great old jazz records you have. My God woman, have you never had a garage sale?” I ask, pulling on long, silky gloves.

“Oh, I'd lug a few things over to the neighbors when they had a sale, but no…never had one myself,” Ruby says. “I think some of this should go to the Chippewa Valley Museum. I'd say we're about done here…then to the attic. When do we pick up the moving truck?”

“Three. The college kids said they'd help us load it. We need to make sure that Howard and Johnny can help us on the other end, though. We're pretty much done down here. Let's hit the attic!”

We take off our hats and gloves, tossing them into a boxy old suitcase. The top falls with a heavy clunk. We go up to the attic.

“There's really not too much up here. That's a relief.” I part a sheet of spider webs. We head over to a dark corner where a huge steamer trunk stands. I try to open the damn thing, but it's stuck.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Ruby comes over to my side. “I think it's latched in the middle. Of course—there.” She unsnaps a rusty hasp. We each take a side and pull. It opens like a book sitting on its spine.

“How cool is this.” I riffle around inside. “All these funny narrow drawers. One half is crammed full of clothes, looks mostly like suits. What's that smell?”

“Mothballs, mildew, mustiness…take your pick,” Ruby replies. “This was Ed's grandfather's, I believe. He had a trucking business and traveled all over the states when he was a young man.”

“One of the drawers is locked, or stuck, or—oh, there, got it. That's odd, this looks kind of new. Here, you open it.” I hand Ruby a leather notebook that's zippered shut.

I keep on with my searching; I'm very nosy. Opening drawers and snooping is something I've always loved. Ruby goes and stands next to one of the attic windows, unzipping.

“Well, I'll be damned.” She turns pages and tsk-tsks as some loose papers flutter to the floor followed by the clatter of a key.

“What is it?” I ask, bending down to pick up the papers as well as the key. I peer over her shoulder.

“It's a journal of Ed's when he was stationed over in Germany during the war. My my…I wonder if he put it here for me to find. How peculiar. He could have tucked it into a drawer downstairs or something. Oh look—some pictures of
me
in here, oh for…” Ruby's voice fades away in thought.

“You look beautiful. Was that here in Eau Claire?” I ask, looking at the pictures as she hands them to me.

“Yes…my engagement party. I still have that dress somewhere. Here…this is our wedding picture that was in the
Leader-Telegram.”

“Ed was so dashing, my God. I forgot how tall he was and how
short
you are,” I say.

“He filled this whole book up.” Ruby pages through the notebook. “Look…it goes all the way to when he retired from the university. That little devil; I had no idea. You just never know someone all the way through.”

“I kind of like that. I think everyone has things and thoughts that are just theirs.”

“I don't think I would ever want to know
all
of Ed's thoughts. He was very deep, you know, yet so…tender, a darling.”

“These look like old receipts or something.” I try to read one of the loose papers. “The pencil writing is so faded, but the year is nineteen twenty-one…June thirteenth, and it's about an order being sent out…thirty-two somethings. Signed G.P.”

“G.P. Hmm…” Ruby takes the paper from me and ponders it. “Of course. Gustave Prévost, Ed's grandfather.”

“What a curious key and look at the design.” I hand it to Ruby.

“That's peculiar—a toad.” Ruby rubs away some gunk and shows me. I'll have to give this all a good going-over.” She zips the notebook slowly shut, then holds it close to her heart.

 

The house is full of college kids who are sorting, packing and hauling like crazy. The air crackles with good energy. Madonna is blasting “Holiday” on the stereo, keeping everyone moving. I'm rustling up some edibles for the crew to munch while Ruby chats up a storm on the phone.

Since she has one with the curly cord, it's trailed over the kitchen counter and right on out the back door. I have to lift the damn thing every time I walk across the floor in search of this or that. I'm putting together a platter of cream cheese, lox, sliced onions and lettuce to put on your own bagel, while singing with Madonna. All the windows are open and a marvelous breeze is zipping around.

“Well, that's that,” Ruby says, unwinding the cord from around my waist and hanging up the phone while adjusting her hair and closing the fridge door for me.

“Hmmm?” I ask.

“The house…it's sold.” She admires my platter of tasteful eats.

“You have got to be kidding, it's not even been
shown
yet, has it?”

“My amazing Realtor, Mister Gorgeous, at the Donnellan Agency. He knows a university professor who will take anything in this neighborhood. Didn't even flinch at the price.”

“Hot damn woman, give me five.” We high five, then stand back, looking dazed. All four of our artfully shaped eyebrows are standing in “shocked mode.” “My God. This has been so…easy.”

“No kidding,” Ruby says.

A desperately skinny college dude with spiked blue hair and wearing the tightest T-shirt I've ever
seen
walks into the kitchen. He's holding a stuffed deer head with an old necktie around its severed neck. “You want to donate this or—”

“Donate!” we say, then laugh.

O
nce again on the road, we're headed north for the last time as residents of Eau Claire. We opted to pull my VW van behind the moving truck so we can sit together. Ruby's house closing will be done through her attorney and Watts has started repainting what just a few days ago was my apartment. I made her promise not to paint anything black.

I've got on comfy clothes, imitation Ray Bans and, yes—a smoke between my lips. Rocky's tucked into his basket all snuggled with a mink stole. Ruby's clad in leopard stretch pants. Her red shades match her lipstick. Of course.

“What are you staring at?” Ruby asks.

“I was just admiring your skin.” Ruby checks her lips in the visor mirror. Oh she's got wrinkles, but when she smiles her face beams, defying time. I pull the visor down and look at
my
face. Bloodshot eyes peer back and I snap it back up.

“Thank you, darling,” Ruby replies. “I used to fuss more, then I saw a close-up of Katherine Hepburn and she was lovely. So I said—”

“What the hell!” I feel the same way. “You want to say a little something to properly send us off?”

She thinks for a second. “May the sun always shine, may the creek not rise
too
high, may the Lord protect us, may the furnace run, may the roof not leak, may the plumbing hold, may—”

“Jesus, Ruby,” I cut in. “How about ‘MADELINE ISLAND, HERE WE COME!'”

We raise our mugs of chocolate-laced coffee and tap them together over Rocky, who lifts his head. He looks at me—at Ruby—and then lets out the strangest meow. We laugh.

Why in the world we've left Eau Claire in such a flurry, I really don't know. Maybe because we know in our hearts that life really, honestly does march by and by
God,
we have things to do!

 

We sail past the towns of Bloomer, New Auburn, Chetek, Cameron, and then, outside Rice Lake, it's decided a little lunch is in order. I hang a right off 53 and head east to Pioneer Street in search of Norske Nook. Famous for their lefse, which they roll around
anything,
from cheeses to meats.

Lefse, by the way, are flat griddlecakes Norwegians are known for making, mostly around the Christmas season. Then there's the pie. Blackberry cream cheese, cranberry apple, raspberry cheese and sour cream apple blueberry, just to name a few. Topped with half a pound of real whipped cream! Heaven.

We settle on two cups of the soup-of-the-day (vegetable noodle with chicken) and a slice of blueberry pie with two forks. Should do the trick.

“Would you look at the size of this slice of pie?” I ask, knowing full well every bite will be consumed. Weight Watchers would deduct big time for this.

“Poor darling,” Ruby whispers between chews. “Our waitress mustn't have a good stylist. You see those roots?”

“I did…I can't get over how some women, like Dorothy,
still
spray their hair into a big poof ball. So many women get stuck in a hair time warp,” I say, wondering about myself.

“Oh, we are such cats.”

“Meow.”

“Maybe time warps
do
exist,” Ruby suggests. “Could be…what you get used to and find the easiest to do. Then you only do
that
for the rest of your life.”

“Interesting concept. But I don't know one woman that wouldn't look better if she would
not
backcomb her
do
into a mass of cotton candy. She's attractive—and look at her skin.” We both turn and look at her, then back at each other and I know damn well Ruby's thinking we—

“Do you ladies need anything?” I look up into the waitress's blue eyes.

 

Her name is Marsha Kleven. She's lived in Rice Lake all her life, raised an only daughter by waiting tables and baking wedding cakes. She's just finished helping put that daughter through nursing school. Husband left them high and dry when Alice Anne was just a baby.

Marsha's never remarried, nor even dated. Apparently, there are not a lot of choices in Rice Lake. We're sitting in her spotless pink and white kitchen enjoying some French vanilla coffee. I'm putting the finishing touches on her new hairstyle.

“Well I'll be.” Marsha admires her new look. “I wonder if Charlotte of Nila's Cut and Curl Beauty and Tan will be able to copy this.”

She's peering into a silver hand mirror. I'm beaming, because, well, not to brag or anything, but Marsha looks one hundred percent better. Softer, more like a woman and not so much like a
character.
Ruby is petting her cat, Putty, shaking her head, grinning.

“I've been slinging hash over at Norske Nook for years, had some pretty interesting offers, mind you, but when you said you
needed
to do my hair. That you had this
vision,
I figured—why not.” We laugh.

“Who in the world hasn't wanted a makeover?” I ask, stubbing out my cigarette. “To be honest, I stole the idea from Oprah. I've been
itching
to try it and for some reason I had the feeling
you
were the one.”

“I'm so grateful…really. It's reassuring to know there are people in the world willing to put their neck out in the name of beauty.” Marsha smiles. “What I wouldn't do to take my new look right on out of this town.” Ruby and I catch eyes and I'm thinking of humming a few bars of “We're off to see the wizard…”

“This seems like a
lovely
town, darling.” Ruby looks out a window to the backyard. “You're lucky to have a quaint downtown
plus
a shopping center and all these lovely old homes.”

“I guess so, but thanks to the mall, the downtown is dying. Its
nothing
like Eau Claire.” Marsha rinses out our coffee cups. “There's so much more to do there and
their
mall is huge, and—”

“Um, we've just left there and…” I catch Ruby's raised eyebrow. “It
is
growing and growing and—”

“We're moving north,” Ruby adds. “Eau Claire—Rice Lake—all lovely places, but sometimes you need to move in order to know you're changing. A place is just a place, after all.”

“I suppose you're right,” Marsha says, arms folded, leaning against her gleaming sink. “I'm getting antsy to be somewhere else, though. A different set of people, you know?”

“We
do,
darling.” Ruby gets up and pushes in her chair.

“Um, which way to the ladies room?” I'm ready to burst on her shiny floor. “My Keds can hold only so many cups of coffee.” Marsha points down the hallway.

“That's Eve, always the lady,” Ruby says as I slam the bathroom door.

 

“It's been hours since inhaling all those fat grams at Norske Nook and I'm still ready to explode!” Ruby adjusts her belt two notches for good measure. “If you plan on rescuing every time-warped hair disaster from here to the cottage…”

“Hey…so I lost my mind,” I say. “I just
had
to do it.”

“It was typical of you, darling,” Ruby says as we slam the truck doors. “I felt as though I was looking at myself for a moment. Me, twenty years ago—I went out in public with my hair
that
high! Good God.” She pats her hair.

I shift into drive and we shimmy up the entrance ramp, easing back onto Highway 53.

“Hey…we've all had some amazing ‘hair moments.' I'll show you my high school graduation picture. Now there was a style to be afraid of.”

“You didn't perm your curly hair, did you?” Ruby asks, knowing the answer.

“I did.”

“Oh my.”

“Gross.”

“Oh my.” She roots around in her purse for a smoke. “I had a great time and…my
God,
was her house tidy or what. You notice the picture on the TV?”

“No, Miss Detective,” I reply. “I seemed to have missed it and if you haul it out of your purse, you're in big trouble, Missy.”

There was a time, a long time ago, mind you, when I was a klepto-waitress. I used to grab huge cans of things like bean salad or creamed corn and chuck them into my conveniently enormous handbag. That was the seventies, when all I lived for was to disco dance at Fanny Hill. A girl could starve on what they paid you.

“The picture was of her and her husband, I'm sure it was.” Ruby brings me back to the present. “They were so young and unsullied-looking. With that wide-open, innocent look. What a shame he left like that. In the picture she had the same hairstyle as now. Or should I say, until
we
came into the picture. I'm sure she was hanging on…to the past…to him. To what they were before.” She sighs.

“She seems content—but searching,” I say, thinking. “Let's give her a jingle when we get settled and have her up sometime.”

“Of course, darling, that would be lovely.” Ruby pauses for a moment. “Did you notice, on her dresser was a framed note from her husband. I only
happened
to read it.” I thought
I
was nosy. “Marsha and you were chatting on about something or other. It was written on The Moose Head Lodge Motel stationery. The last sentence was, ‘When thoughts flow to you, as they often do, I know love.' Says it all, doesn't it?” Ruby asks, petting Rocky and looking out the windshield.

“Yes.” I'd frame that too.

We zoom on. It's later in the afternoon than we had planned, but I make up some of the time by going a pinch over the speed limit. We zip by a town called Haugen, then outside Trego we head northeast by picking up Highway 63. The day is crystal clear, made-to-order for a road trip. Several hours slide blissfully by.

“You tired, darling? I'd be more than happy to take the wheel.”

“No way,” I reply. “Thanks for asking, but I love to drive and this thing handles
way
easier than my van. Not as noisy, either.”

“I do miss the little balls you have around the windshield though. I wonder if I should have hung on to my Buick. I'm rusty with a clutch…you may have to give me a review. That's all we had once upon a time, you know.”

“It's simple.”

“Why in the
world
would anyone in their right mind—no offense, darling—buy a brand-
new
car and then have one of those stick things and
not
an automatic is truly beyond me.”

“My van is old. I don't think they even
made
VW vans with automatic back in those days. Some people
like
shifting. The big argument is you have more control and it saves on gas. It is one more thing to fuss with, though.”

Ruby puts Irene Kral in the tape deck. As she sings “This Is Always,” we relax into the afternoon. We pass through the former logging hamlets of Cable, Drummond and Grand View. North of Benoit I turn right. We whiz through onto Highway 13 and then north into our port town, Bayfield.

“I can't believe we're back. I think Bayfield is one of the prettiest towns I've ever seen, isn't it? Damn, there are so many more
people
around this time of year. Let's park. Besides,” I say with pursed lips, “I've got to pee.”

“Why just
look
at all the people.” Ruby pats Rocky's head as he stands on her lap looking out. “Isn't it wonderful how busy it is in the summer?”

“Today's been awesome. Sunshine, crispy-crunchy air and less roadkill.” A little girl with pigtails crosses in front of us, pulling her dolls in a wagon. “How about I park this caravan here, there's no way in hell I could parallel park. We can walk into town for a bite to eat before our final leg across the lake.” I pull alongside a Victorian cottage. A festival of color bursts from flowerpots on the porch.

“Now control yourself around any bad hair,” Ruby warns. “Let's go to one of Ed's and my favorite haunts—Greunke's. They're famous for their Whitefish Liver Dinner. Then again there's always Maggie's. They have wonderful burgers. Or The Old Rittenhouse Inn. They tend to be spendy though; heaps of lace and—”

“The first one, however you say it—Grumpy's. I'm
not
going to have liver though and if you are, we can sit at different tables and wave.” I scrunch my nose.

“I'd have to be very hungry, starving…desperate,” Ruby says, scrunching up
her
face.

We stroll several blocks downhill on Rittenhouse Avenue, since Bayfield slants right smack down to the lake. We pass by antique shops, art galleries, taverns and restaurants spewing delicious smells into the street. The lane eventually ends at a pier, which juts out into the lake. The view is incredible.

“Classy.” I read the pink neon sign above the two-story rambling house. “Greunke's Inn, Fine Food. God, if the food is anything like it smells out here…”

“You're going to get such a kick out of this.” Ruby opens the door.

In we step, into the past, that is. The restaurant is a maze of cozy rooms. The walls are covered with pictures, mirrors, newspaper clippings, china plates, and kitchen lamps of all shapes, sizes and colors.

Every room is packed with people, so we get added to a waiting list. Taking seats at an old-fashioned soda fountain/bar, we order a glass of wine. I slip away to the world's smallest restroom while Patsy Cline sings “I Fall to Pieces” on a real jukebox blinking in the corner.

“Feel better, darling?” Ruby asks when I return. “I don't think a thing has changed here. I like that.”

“This is a
gold
mine.” I squish in next to her. “A waiting list, all this charm. Hey…get a load of that lady, a nice bob haircut, color's not bad either; could use a touch-up on those roots though.” I can't help myself!

A tall, bone-slim blond woman zooms by. She's juggling water glasses in one hand and the other is clutching a stack of newspapers. I can overhear her ordering the gal in front of her to get her butt in gear. Has to be the owner, I can sense it from here. Looking closer at some of the photos on the wall in front of us, I recognize a younger her. She's climbing mountains, standing in the ocean, skiing down hills and quoted in an article for having a celebrity visit her joint.