Moon over Madeline Island (12 page)

“That's Judith—the owner,” Ruby says. I nod and smile. “She pretty much lives here—used to anyway. Works her tail off. I don't think there's a husband.”

“You can tell she runs a tight ship,” I reply. “This is one business I wouldn't last a day in. The hours are a killer.” I read a sign: “John Kennedy Jr. Ate Here.” Such a shame, his plane crashing. Seemed like the only Kennedy that had some happiness.”

“He was something to look at; beautiful wife too. How come everyone forgets she died as well?” Ruby asks. “Like Princess Diana. For us, they'll never get old…. Imagine.”

“Imagine.”

“Drink up! They called our name.” Ruby hops off her stool. We follow Judith as she darts around tables, greeting people while leading us up and around into a cozy little nook.

“I know you from somewhere,” Judith remarks over her shoulder. “You must have been here a while back—I never forget a face. But…let me think. Oh sure—you used to come in here with a really tall, handsome guy.” She's tidying up the table next to us, resetting it and straightening a picture on the wall.

“Yes, that was my husband Ed. He passed away about five years back. We used to stop here on our way over to our cottage.” Ruby scoots into the corner seat—church pew rather.

“Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm Judith, by the way.” She doesn't offer a hand, as she hasn't a free one. “Nice to see you again. Ruby, right?”

“My goodness, what a memory. This is Eve.” Ruby points in my direction.

“Hello, Eve. Try the whitefish liver. The fresh catch tonight is walleye, right off the boat and the soup is seafood bisque. Enjoy!” Off she sails across the room.

“She has more energy than a person ought to,” Ruby says. “Wonder what kind of coffee
she
has in the morning.”

“My God…look at this menu. Clever. It's a menu disguised as a newspaper—or a newspaper disguised as a menu,” I say.

Ruby is discreetly running her finger across the top of a nearby picture frame. “Can't get over how clean it is. Must take
forever
to dust all this stuff.” She's looking at an old black-and-white picture of Judy Garland.

“I wish I'd brought a bigger bag,” I whisper. “I see several things I would love to…borrow.”

“Eve, you are rotten to the core…Which ones?” Ruby whispers back, lifting her eyebrows.

Just then the waitress comes by for our order. We both exchange looks of, “Behave.”

 

“That was wonderful.” I slam the truck door. “I'm shocked by how reasonable the check was.”

“There are so many memories in those rooms. I'm flattered she remembered Ed and me. You must have given the waitress one hell of a tip—you see her face?”

“She was
excellent
and I love to tip good service; it's so worth it. Hey,
I know tippers,
and in the Midwest—well there's not a lot of them.” I shift the truck into gear and head down to the ferry.

“Rocky has been such a darling.” Ruby lifts him into her lap. “He needs to stretch his little legs and I bet he could use some food too.”

“Oh, I don't think he's ever going to run out of things to eat.”

“He can't be expected to hunt mice
every
day and he doesn't actually
eat
them…does he?” Ruby asks while holding Rocky up so they're looking into each other's eyes. I nod.

We make it to the ferry at the last second. While it pulls away from the Bayfield dock, we hop onto the deck of the boat. Standing in the back of the ferry, we watch as Bayfield fades away. Then we rush to the front to watch as Madeline Island comes into view. It's bustling, with another ferry leaving, speedboats gassing up and groups of people strolling here and there.

The ferry pulls in and we drive off to the left, following the road and bypassing downtown La Pointe. Then I put the brakes on.

“Hey,” I say in my “I Spy” voice, “how about stopping in that bar and checking out the jerk Dorothy was yammering about?”

“Oh I don't know if we—”

“I know you're just as curious as I am. Hang on and let me see if I can turn this sucker around.”

I get halfway turned around and realize that there's not enough room. So I back up a teensy bit.

“Shit!” I share with all. “This road is too narrow, and now I'm, like, jammed in the middle. I really should have stuck to my
only-pull-in-and-drive-through
rule. Now what the hell am I going…” I'm really frustrated here. How come a semi driver can turn a corner and manage to miss your car by a hair and I can't manage a stupid rental truck—plus my van, of course.

“Well, darling, perhaps you'll be able to question the nice policeman who has just pulled up.”

The policeman is nice enough, though he could lose about fifty pounds of tummy. He straightens things out and we head to the Liquor Lounge. Which, according to our handy, chocolate-smudged map, is on Main Street. This time I pull alongside and park on the street.

“Could use some paint.” Ruby suggests.

“A wrecking ball,” I offer. “Maybe a fire.”

We push through a screen door, its various holes covered over with duct tape. It smacks closed behind us and everyone at the bar turns to take us in. The place is dark, damp and closed in. On closer inspection, it's got possibilities. Would need to be cleaned—no, scraped—first.

“Wanna order?” I half-whisper to Ruby.

“I don't think so…darling.”

“What'll it be?” The bartender, his comb-over trying desperately to cover a shiny scalp, saunters over.

His bloodshot eyes take us in in that
ripping-off clothes
way, lingering way too long on my chest. I look down at my chest and straight back at him. The jerk
winks!

“Hey Al,” a man down the bar yells, “we playin' poker or what?”

Al turns to the guy and we turn and
run!

“I don't think we'll be frequenting that place much,” Ruby says as we drive away.

“He's too small to be of any danger,” I respond. “I could handle that one—I think. But you never can tell.” There was such a dullness in that man's eyes, like he was there, but wasn't. I need to clear my head.

I pop in a tape of Miles Davis and up and down hills we float. With the windows down, late-afternoon sunshine leads the way. Where the road takes a major right, I slow down and stop, pulling up to the vine-covered gate that leads to the cottage, the lake and beyond.

“What the hell?” I say. “Someone repainted the sign that said ‘Prévost Place.'” Hopping down, I have a closer look. The background of the sun is now a brighter yellow. It reads
EVE AND RUBY
in raised letters painted a deep ruby red.

“Hope you like it, darling.”

“Ruby…I love it…and you.” I put my arm around her shoulders.

“We're home.”

A
fter several tries,
finally
I get the lock on the old gate to fall open. I drive through; we pull the gate shut, then hop back in. We look at each other and sit for a moment facing the rutted dark path with its tree-canopied tunnel.

Then Ruby says, “Now remember—there's potholes. It's narrow in places and I have no idea if this heap can…”

I shift the truck into “D.” “Hang on, girl! Let's open this baby up. After all, we paid extra for the insurance.” I punch the gas and off we lurch.

Low-hanging branches make scratching noises as they sweep and slap along the sides of the truck. Ruby curses up a storm, in between gasps of giggling. We bump and jostle downhill; the tires clack over the rickety bridge. Up the incline we chug; then the trees part, opening up to the sunshine and it's gorgeous. I pull over by the barn, behind the cottage and shut the motor off.

“My God, Eve,” Ruby says, laughing, out of breath. “For a moment there I thought for sure we'd end up in the creek!”

I pick up Rocky, who is fully awake now, and we head over to the back door. It's around sunset and there's an amazing golden light dancing all over the barn door, reflecting onto the windows of the cottage. We walk across the porch to stand at the bottom of the stoop. I set Rocky down. Ruby reaches up to unlock the arched door, then stops.

“You do it, darling.” She hands me the keys. I reach up and the door creaks open before I so much as turn the lock.

“I can't imagine burglars way out here, can you? Do you have a gun or anything?” I whisper.

“That's odd it's open,” Ruby says. “Perhaps you should investigate while we”—she means herself and Rocky—“wait here.” I give her a look that really could kill.

Carefully we push the door farther open, then slowly creep in—shoulder to shoulder. Just in case.

“Well I'll be…The boys must have come over. Look at all the flowers! Vases stuffed with wildflowers,” Ruby says while Rocky leaps onto the stump table and paws at a note lying there. Ruby reads aloud.

“Good grief.” I go over to the fridge to have a look. “Hummus, olives stuffed with garlic, four flavors of yogurt, milk, eggs, a loaf of bread and look”—I pull down the freezer door—“Rocky Road ice cream!”

I mean—this is paydirt here. We don't have the guilt of knowingly buying the stuff and besides, everyone knows it goes bad
very
quickly.

 

The next day I awake to the aroma of coffee. Whipping on my robe, I glance outside—gray. Big angry-looking clouds are overwhelming the sky. They look as though a good cleaning is in order. Rocky and I head downstairs.

“Well there you are, darling.” Ruby pours a mug. “So glad you slept in.”

“Me too.” I take the steamy mug. “Could've slept forever…such a cozy bed,”

“Why don't you turn right around and get dressed. I'll put together a lovely breakfast and we'll have it on the porch. I rang up the boys this morning and they'll be over later.”

“That's just what I'll do.” Over my shoulder I say, “Thank you.”

Rooting through my suitcase in search of my favorite around-the-house-bra, I hear a scratching noise. I look around just in time to see a little tiny puff of fur scurry across the floor and dash under the bed. Seconds later, Rocky rushes through the door in hot pursuit. I'd rather not stick around for the final act, so I grab my clothes and make a beeline to the bathroom. Maybe mousetraps aren't such a bad idea after all. I click the doorlock, just because.

 

“Where are you ladies going to
put
all this?” Howard asks, surveying our packed-to-the-gills truck. Both hands on his hips.

“Go ahead—say it Howard,” I respond. “We
did
bring too much. But we have room in the barn and—damn, we have too much stuff.” I struggle with an armful of rugs, a floor lamp, cord dragging, and the top of my lava lamp. Some things you can't get rid of.

“Now Howard, darling,” Ruby says, smooth as silk, “I don't want you throwing out that back of yours and
do
keep in mind that one person's things are another person's—”

“Shit!” Johnny finishes.

We all have a good laugh. But the truth is, I suppose we
could
have left a lot of this behind. Actually, it's not really the things, it's the memories surrounding the things.

Like this old lamp I'm carrying. Used to sit next to my father's falling-apart green chair. He'd come home from work, pour himself a drink and read the evening paper by the lamp's glow. I'd spy on him turning pages, occasionally getting a glimpse of his face. Sometimes he'd catch me and give me a toothy grin that would fill me right up. So—one person's stuff is another person's story.

“Ladies, where would you like this trunk?” Howard asks, wiping away sweat from his brow. “Is it full of books? Bricks maybe? Weighs a ton.”

“Oh heavens…I would
love
it upstairs in my room. But it
is
heavy and I can't
imagine
how you'd get it up all those stairs.” Ruby winks in my direction, working the situation. “It's filled with clothes I'd simply
hate
to leave out here in this horribly damp barn.”

“We can do it, 'cause we are men,” Johnny replies in a manly voice while whipping a mink stole around his neck. “You point the way little lady and leave the rest to us.”

“Be careful, watch the corners, don't forget there's a step there and…Oh dear, I don't think I can watch.” Ruby follows closely behind Howard and Johnny, watching every move they make.

Since the boss is gone, I walk around the side of the barn, which sits on a sandbank overlooking the creek. I watch the water as it meanders alongside the barn, then slips under the wooden bridge. On the other side it picks up speed and disappears around the far side of the boathouse, cascading into the lake.

The banks on either side of the creek are lush and green. Clumps of cattail leaves wave in the breeze. The air is rich with the scent of flowers and grass and wetness. A raven cackles in the woods somewhere, while a woodpecker taps away in the distance. I take in a deep breath, then sneeze.

Wandering down to the edge of the creek, I reach down and touch the surface: ice cold. I can see all the way to the rocky bottom. Leaning farther over, I look at my reflection before sitting back on my haunches
very slowly
. I spy a deer that has slipped from the trees on the other side of the creek and is now sipping water.

There's a rack of horns sprouting from his mushroom-colored fur. Beautiful dark round eyes stare into mine. A second deer slowly emerges from the woods. I'm certain she's his partner by the way she looks at him for a sign or a signal. I feel something communicated between them.

They take turns lapping out of the creek directly in front of me. I'm afraid to move. Before I know what's going on, he's no more than a foot away—then inches. We're gazing into each other's eyes.

Ever so slowly I reach out to touch his nose. He lowers his head, as though bowing. I reach farther. He steps back, looking me over; time freezes. Then—they fly away into the woods, the rustle of branches closing behind them. I can't believe what I just saw—and felt. This must be what it feels like to have touched something truly wondrous. Now that's not a word I normally would try on, but it's true and I feel it that way—wondrous. Is this something that happens all the time up here?

“There you are.” Ruby comes down the path to the creek and thumps down beside me. “The boys managed to haul the whole lot upstairs and not
one
nick. Oodles of cursing though. You all right, darling? You look…odd.”

“I'm fine.” I put my arm around her shoulder and give it a squeeze.

“Hey, where's our lunch?” Howard asks, lumbering down to the edge of the creek. Bending, then squatting down, he scoops water to rinse off his sweaty face. “Sure can tell this is spring water, cold as a witch's—”

“Tit,” Johnny finishes.

“I'll go see what I can manage,” Ruby says, putting her hand on my shoulder, getting up. I turn, watching her and Johnny walk arm in arm back into the cottage. I smile, looking up at Howard.

“They make a cute couple, don't you think?” Howard asks.

“
Very
cute. Hey…thanks for the beautiful sign and flowers and food….”

“Our pleasure. Ruby spent the better part of the morning thanking us too.” He runs his hands through his mane. “Johnny sketched the letters and I cut them out on my latest obsession—my jigsaw.”

“Well, it sure knocked me over. I like the sound of it…Eve and Ruby. Has a nice ring.”

“I agree.” Howard splashes me.

“Hey! That's cold!” I splash back and before you know it we're dousing each other, getting wetter by the minute.

Yelling and laughing, soaked to the skin, we suddenly notice Ruby and Johnny standing by the barn. Howard and I nod, then make a mad dash to catch them. We share cold, wet hugs and manage to soak them both, but good.

 

We're all huddled around the stump table in the kitchen, reviving our wet bodies with hot mugs of tomato soup.

“My goodness, we're a sight,” Ruby says. “Good thing the neighbors are already here or I'm sure there would be rumors. Grabbing people and soaking them to the bone, the nerve.” She elbows Howard in the ribs.

“You both deserved it,” I say. “Looking all smug and dry. Besides, we didn't want you to feel left out or anything.”

“Ruby tells me you're thinking of starting up some kind of business,” Howard says.

“
Thinking
is the operative term at this point, don't you think, darling?” Ruby asks while ladling more soup into everyone's mug. I nod in agreement.

“I, for one, would love to be involved,” Johnny volunteers. “Both of us. The summers here are wonderful, but the winters…Oh man, they drive us both a little buggy. We usually take long vacations.”

“Let's brainstorm,” Howard suggests.

“Rag rugs were a thought,” I say. “But they'd take forever to make by hand.”

“They would,” Johnny agrees. “I
am
fast at sewing, though, with the help of a machine, that is. There must be something the world needs more of than rugs.”

“Ruby sews too and I could learn.” I pick up Rocky. “But what the hell
does
the world need more of? We need an idea that's not complicated but that's different…unusual. Why couldn't
I
have thought of lava lamps?” We also need to make money, I think. I look around; I wonder if this could be an inn. A brothel? Maybe a clinic for retired hairstylists—Nah.

“You know…now this may be too silly.” Johnny lifts a flowered cloth apron from the countertop. “These could be—”

“Oh my God—this honestly could be
just
the thing.” I take the apron from Johnny and put it on.

“Aprons?” We all say, kind of together, then laugh. Then it gets quiet.

“You know,” I say, “you can't find
anything
unusual any more. Make the tie strings longer and wider since most gals are.
And
have a Web site.” I shoot a look to Ruby.

“That's something
I
could do,” Howard offers. “I'm not really the sewing type, but computers—I'm sure I could create a fantastic Web site.”

“They could be artsy-fartsy,” Johnny says. “They're simple to put together, not too many parts and all.” He looks closely at Ruby's apron. “Use unique and beautiful fabrics. Hmmm…”

“What do you think, darling?” Ruby asks.

Everyone looks at me. “I think this could be
exactly
what the world needs more of. We'll call them Ruby's Aprons,” I say, handing it to Ruby, who ties it on. “This is
her
apron after all
and
the inspiration behind the concept. To Ruby's Aprons!”

“Cheers!” We all clink.

 

“Give it one more shove. There! Perfect,” I say to Ruby. We slump down into the sofa in the living room.

“Why this is such a lovely idea, darling.” Ruby turns a lamp next to her just so. “Ed was very particular about never moving a thing around. Now look at how much better this works.”

“I am so glad you didn't get all up in arms.” I sigh with relief.

“I realize I'm set in my ways, darling, but moving around the living room makes it much more ours now too. Don't you think?”

“Ruby, you keep surprising me.” I honestly was thinking that she'd pitch a fit if I even suggested moving a lamp! Just goes to show me. At my age, I'm still tiptoeing around and all I had to do was ask.

“Before we dig into shuffling around the library,” Ruby says, “tell me, what do you think of the apron idea—honestly.”

“Well…” I stand and right a picture. “It does seem like it fell into our laps. That must be a sign of
some
sort. I'm thinking it could…”

“It could piss some women off!”

“
Ruby!
Such language.” We laugh. “Who's to say men wouldn't like them as well? Besides, there's a whole bunch of us baby boomers who are slowing down—a little—and I bet a lot more of us will be spending more time cooking.”