Moon over Madeline Island (14 page)

“Not another word. Glad it happened. Fact is, I should've come by myself. To pay respects and all….” Charlie bows slightly to Ruby. “Now…this must be Eve.”

“Hello there Charlie. Nice to meet you.” I offer my hand. “You probably know Howard and Johnny.” I point.

The boys nod their hellos. Charlie nods back, then walks over to the duck.

“Well I'll be. So she still runs. Not many of these around anymore. What a sight.” Charlie chuckles. “I remember when Ed drove this tub up from some farm down south near Oshkosh. Took a whole summer just to get all the horseshit—horse crap—off her. The motor was a mess, too. But Ed and I fixed her all up.” He pats the duck's underside with pride.

“We're hoping to take you on a lunch ride. To apologize and…” I start. Charlie raises his hand to protest. But his face gives him away.

“Like I said…really…no apology necessary. To be honest, I only got three or four calls—jotted them down somewhere. I sure will take you up on your offer of lunch and a ride, though. Let me go grab some sunglasses and let's go.” He saunters back inside his trailer.

We look at one another. Ruby is checking her lips in a tiny mirror in her straw bag.

“Good heavens…he hasn't aged a minute,” Ruby says with some disgust. “Hardly seems fair and did you see those arms?”

They are nice and lean, his arms, the kind that could hold you an awfully long time. Ruby and he would make quite the pair. In my head I sing a few bars of “Matchmaker.”

Charlie is back seconds later. He's covered up with a white shirt and a ratty gray fedora sits rakishly on his head. We all clamber back up the ladder and into the duck. I turn us around and slowly drive by the floating birdhouse city.

“Take a right on North Shore Drive,” Charlie directs. “Then another quick right down this driveway. Ease onto the little beach over there. She still floats, right?”

“She sure as hell does!” I say with a laugh and hit the gas. I drive straight into the lake, switch to the prop drive and off we go.

Howard and Johnny are deep in a discussion. Ruby and Charlie are carrying on like old friends. I put the duck into a higher gear and head over to where the outer Apostle Islands are. The lake is calm; our wake ripples across the mirror like surface. The wide-open feeling is breathtaking.

I click on the microphone. “Our tour today features the Apostle Islands, where an impromptu lunch shall be served, compliments of none other than Miss Ruby. Please note that the captain has turned
off
the no-smoking sign.” At which point Ruby and I both light up.

“You two—and smoking,” Charlie slurps out of his coffee mug. “That is one habit I am happy to say I have kicked for good. No wonder you're both so short.” I look into the rearview mirror, winking at Ruby.

“We're thinking about
trying
to quit.” I take a couple of drags, then put my cigarette out, feeling suddenly conscious of the fact that our smoke was flying right into everyone's face. Ruby puts hers out, too. I snap shut the ashtray and make a mental note to clean it out and fill it with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Much better habit.

“I
used
to smoke cigarettes,” Charlie says sadly. “Gave them up for good when the Missus passed. Feel as though I killed her, I do. She never smoked a day in her life, but inhaled my smoke. Sure do miss…Sorry.” He stops talking, looking over at Ruby in apology. The rest of us look out to the lake in order to give him a moment.

“Now Charlie…isn't that taking on a bit much?” Ruby asks. “Didn't you go outside to have your smokes?”

“Nope. I told her it was
my
house and I'd be damned if I'd smoke anywhere but
in
my house. Stubborn fool.” Charlie spits out “fool.” “I still smoke, but not…never mind.”

“Legal cigarettes.” I try to let Charlie know I could care less. “
Should
be legal as far as I'm concerned.”

“Why Eve Moss. You—radical,” Ruby chides. “I had a lady friend in cancer treatment. Only thing that kept her eating—kept her alive—was her marijuana cigarettes.”

“Well I haven't got cancer. Just enjoy it is all. Grow it myself too,” Charlie boasts. “Silly it's not legal. Never understood it.”

“I think it's all tied to the government,” Johnny comments. “Control…taxing and, well…money. Everything's tied to money.”

“If our friends with AIDS hadn't smoked it,” Howard adds, “they would have died even sooner.”

I catch Howard's eye in the rearview mirror and share a weak smile. The furrow in his brow eases; I like how you can care with a look.

“It's been years since I've…” Ruby says, and we all inhale and then laugh. “Honestly, when is the last time you read about a
high
driver killing anyone?”

“Once the government figures out how to tax it,” I say, slowing down a bit, “you'll be able to buy it along with a bottle of now
legal
wine.”

We're coming into a grouping of small islands. Some have rock ledges with pine trees hanging over the water.

“Let's see…if you pull around over to that cove area there…” Howard maneuvers up the aisle toward me. “On the right…slow down and let me get on the bow so I can watch for rocks.”

“Rocks? What the hell?” I slow
way
down. I am not in the mood to sink!

“This entire area is full of rocks,” Charlie says to my wide eyes reflecting in the rearview mirror. “Go slow and keep a sharp eye out.”

“Wow—did you see that fish?” I ask as another huge fish shoots up into the air, then splashes down again.

“I don't know if I'd have a pot big enough for him,” Ruby says. “He was bigger than me!”

“Okay, this looks good…. Let's pull around and into the lagoon there,” Howard says, hopping down from the hood of the duck, walking back down the aisle. On the way he gives my shoulder a good squeeze.

I drive up onto the little beach area and park over on the edge of the sand, leaving us room to spread out. Charlie lowers the ladder, then helps us ladies off first. I look over to Johnny and Howard as I climb down. Howard is standing behind Johnny, watching us with his big arms wrapped around Johnny's waist. Those two.

The island is just big enough for the five of us—barely. The duck and a few scattered pine trees and that's it. The little beach we're on faces open lake. I read in a book, back at the cottage, how there are actually twenty-two islands out here. Yet some overzealous “island namer” decided to call them the Apostle Islands. Could this be one of the unnamed?

Everyone helps unpack the cooler. Ruby brought a red-and-white checkered cloth and I'm trying hard not to laugh as Johnny and she are wrestling it to the ground. A stubborn breeze keeps it dancing. Using all of our shoes, we finally tame it into a sloppy rectangle. The sun is high in the sky overhead and warm air swirls around us. I reach to undo my hair; I love the feeling of hair blowing all to hell. Who the hell cares if I have roots?

“You must be crazy about your grandkids,” I say, as I help myself to one of Ruby's man-sized slices of wheat bread and slather it with peanut butter, jam and several long slices of banana. No more talking for me.

“I am,” Charlie replies, with a light in his eyes. “They're still a big part of my life. Oh we don't get together as often. But in the summer they all come up for a visit.”

“You must miss Margie,” Ruby says softly. “I sure enjoyed her and oh my heavens, could she laugh.”

“Yup. But…I do all right,” Charlie says just to Ruby. “You learn to…
We
learn to.”

“I'm sure the four of us could use some of your woodworking expertise from time to time,” I slur through peanut butter goo. “That is, if we can
afford
you.”

“It'd be my pleasure,” Charlie says with a crooked grin. “We could work out a dinner barter arrangement.” He winks at me and things are looking good.

We munch and crunch through our yummy spread. In addition to the ingredients for my peanut butter/banana concoction, Ruby packed crackers, a veggie relish, sliced cheeses and a thermos full of cool well water, which rounds things out just right.

Eventually we repack, clamber up the ladder and back the duck into the water. I give it some gas and head us off to Madeline Island—to Charlie's trailer.

When I turn the duck into his driveway, he says, “Oh geez…I almost forgot to give you the list.” He hands me a crumpled napkin with what looks like scratching on it. “Sorry, I'm not much in the writing department.”

“Thanks. I had the number corrected for the next issue and if there's any more calls…” I pull up to his front door.

“I'll make sure and jot them down.” Charlie climbs down the ladder. “Or better yet—I'll give them
your
number.” He turns and waves us off.

“Sounds great, Charlie.” I hand Ruby the list and we all wave back.

“W
hat a lovely afternoon.” Ruby pushes open the back door with her hip. “I'm delighted the newspaper woman mucked up the phone number. Charlie is such a love…we simply
must
have him for dinner.”

“I think sooner rather than later,” I suggest with a raised brow and a well-placed grin. “Perhaps when we
do
invite him over, I'll be out fishing or something.”

“Don't be silly…a woman my age.” Ruby opens and closes cupboard doors a bit too loudly. “He and I have both enjoyed long marriages—with other partners, of course. For heaven's sake, he was Ed's lake chum. Really!” she blusters out.

“Ruby, you aren't dead…or even near. All your parts are in order, and he
is
a stud
and
I don't think there are any such things as accidents.” I fold my arms over my chest to establish my position.

“You mean this is a universal setup sort of thing?” Ruby considers this.

“Something like that.”

“It was
only
lunch, for heaven's sake,” Ruby says with a sigh. “I was thinking of our business venture. He
is
handsome though. Oh…listen to me.”

“Pathetic, really.” I shake my head. “I feel like your parent and I'm telling you to
go for it!”

“Eve Moss!”

“You're blushing,” I singsong. “My God, you're blushing.” I pour a mug of cold coffee and head into the living room. “I'm going to the boathouse to give Marsha a call and return the ones from Charlie's list. Come down and join me. After you cool off, that is.”

 

“Hi Marsha,” I say into her machine. “Eve Moss here—your personal redo woman. Now if you're still interested…” I hear a soft click on the line. “Hello?”

“Hello, Eve? Is that you?”

“Yes, hi. How's it going?” I've got to figure out something to do with this phone. I'm really
over
looking into the eyes of that deer head. Turning my back on it, I yank some cord from its mouth and walk over to the kitchen to retrieve my lit cigarette.

“I'm actually playing hooky,” Marsha says with a chuckle. “Have to screen my calls since you might have been Norske Nook and I'm just not in the mood to be around all that pie.”

“I honestly think I can understand that.” We giggle and I recall all those appliances lined up on her countertop just waiting to be turned on. “Are you still thinking of a career change? I don't know if the pay would be—”

“I am. Well, I mean…I wasn't. Then you and Ruby show up and all I've
done
is think about it. I really don't need much to live on. My daughter's almost done with college. What's keeping me here?”

“Do
I
know what you mean.” I stick my tongue out at the deer head.

“I checked with a friend of mine that has an empty cabin in LaPointe and they'd love to rent it to me real cheap.”

“How are you with a sewing machine?”

“Made my very own wedding dress. Which I cut into tiny pieces on what would have been our tenth anniversary—the bastard.”

“Oh my. Well you'd have no trouble with what we have in mind, then. We're just getting together a group. You thinking a month, or…?”

“Something like that, I guess. I do want to give the restaurant a two-week notice and all—I've been there forever.”

“That's great,” I say. “Talk to you soon.”

“Eve…thank
you.
Be sure and say hello to Ruby for me.”

“I will.” I hang up, letting out a satisfying cloud of smoke. I start down the list on the crumpled napkin. One phone number is disconnected. At the next one I leave a message. Then…“Hello? Is this Al? Al Smitters?” Oh man—is this that
Al
creature? I shudder and pull my chest in.

“Could be. Depends…” a man's raspy voice replies.

“This is Eve Moss. I ran an ad for seamstresses,” I say, nice as pie 'cause he sounds paranoid. “But if I have the wrong number, I sure am sorry.”

“Oh ya, sure, sure,” I can hear muffled talking and some glasses clattering in the background. “My wife needs work. She can sew real good. Kind of shy is all.”

“Can I speak with her? Is she there?” I detect a slur in his voice. This is really weird.

“You called me at my bar, the Liquor Lounge.” It's him—shit. “We don't got a phone at our place till later in the week when I can get enough money together to rehook it up. Bonnie—that's my wife—every time I turn around, she's calling her sister in Chicago.
Every God damn
—”

“Have your wife give me a call when she can,” I reply quickly. “She and I can set up an interview.” Such a pleasant-sounding man.

“The pay good? She don't come free, you know. We need the cash. Going into winter and all.” He starts clearing stubborn-sounding phlegm from his throat.

“Bonnie and I will discuss it. Have her give me a call, okay?”

“Sure, sure, hang on a minute.” I can hear him cover the phone and yell something. “Okay, what's your number and you better give me your address, too, okay honey?”

My skin crawls when a man calls me “honey.” I tell him and before I can say another word, the line goes dead.

 

The boathouse is beginning to take shape and look more like an apron-making shop. I can almost hear the hum of machines. I spend the rest of the afternoon getting a feel for the space and figuring out where things should go in my head. Ruby has gone into La Pointe for some much needed supplies, so it's just me and I'm done for the day. I'm sitting on the end of the dock, wrapped in a huge workout shirt. The sun is starting its dip down behind the horizon of trees. The water is slapping against the shore and I'm watching an enormous bird float on the wind…and wondering.

I wonder what the girls at the salon are up to and if they miss me. I miss them. Hair is such a funny business. It's one of the few jobs in which you actually touch someone—other than a doctor, of course. I miss Dorothy's laugh and how Watts was always making fun of her big hair. “Dot's do,” she would chant while ratting it up to the ceiling for her. God—am I lonely? Do I need to have that? That and all the craziness too? I had no idea I would miss it this much. But I'm not the salon; I'm not a place. People are what counts and what really makes you you. I guess I'm feeling scared, too. I did this whole thing so damn fast and furious—have I made a major fuckup? My mother would gasp at the mention of that word. Then she'd say it herself and giggle.

But it's funny how quickly I've created a new world up here. I'm seeing how important it is to keep changing if you really want to grow—to become more. I was
way
overdue. But, then again, maybe this was exactly when I needed to do this.

I lift myself up from the dock and decide to head up to the barn and have a peek into the loft. Walking up the path to the front porch, then through the smacking screen door, I stroll through the living room. Stopping off in the kitchen, I scoop up Rocky, who's watching me from one of the wicker bar stools. I have a sip of water (I can't get over how delicious the well water is here) before we head out the back door, toward the barn.

Stepping through the side door, I hit the lights and marvel at all our junk piled at the far end. Ruby and Johnny had thrown sheets over everything. I walk around the duck, still holding Rocky, over to the far corner next to Ed's workbench and a wide staircase. I clomp up the dusty stairs leading up a flight, then around and up another, ending at the corner of a cavernous room.

“Holy cow, Rocky, look at this.”

I set Rocky down on the wide-plank floor and walk toward a huge window. It looks down on the cottage and on to the lake. I turn back to the loft to do a little snooping.

Off to one side, tucked under the eaves, is a huge, sagging brown sofa flanked by a worn leather chair. On a coffee table made of crates is a jelly jar holding old cattails that long ago exploded their seeds. A wooden rolltop desk holds a jumble of dust-covered papers and folders. A pipe sits in an ashtray; I lift it and smell a faint odor of woodsy-cherry. A half-drunk bottle of Wild Turkey catches the sun's light, seeming as though lit from within. I lift a heart-shaped frame, swipe the dust away and study the handsome couple.

It's of Ed and Ruby, their faces close, blowing out candles on a heavily decorated cake. The sparkle in their eyes says it all. A lot of moments in life are like that. Like that sparkle—there are simply no words for them. It's knowingness, being right with the world. So many things I've seen or felt could never be mashed down into a single word. I like that. I slip the picture into my pocket.

Walking over to a canvas-covered table, I lift the edge to peek under. “What the hell?” Pulling the fabric off reveals, in exact proportion, a model of the entire island! Its three-dimensional detail is incredible. Trees, bushes, streams and curving drives lead to cabins nestled all along the lakeshore. Several farms have horses and cows; there's even a pond with ducks floating around. On one is a dock with a woman fishing!

I walk around and locate the cottage and barn. There's the creek, the boathouse and a little cabin hidden in the woods. I wonder just where that is. On one corner are some switches—of course I flip them.

“Holy cow!”

All over the model island, lights come on. Bending way over, peeking here and there, I can see some of the cottages are cut away, revealing equally meticulous interiors. They're furnished with chairs and tables set with dishes. Kitchen windows have tiny lace drapes over tiny sinks. Unbelievable. In the little town of La Pointe, where the ferry drops you off, are miniature cars unloading. This must have taken Ed years.

Under other tarps are hand tools, drill presses, several saws and a collection of paints. There's a hulking, windup record player and bins of heavy records. Finding one that says, “Fox Trots,” I crank up the turntable. Tinny music fills the room.

Along one entire wall are floor-to-ceiling mirrors; waist-high runs one of those wooden ballet bars. A long time ago this must have been a dance studio. Standing in the center of the room, I can imagine it better. If all this stuff were moved to the end, over by the stairway, it would be a great place for a workout room.

The record ends, and the repetitious scratching noise of the stuck needle is maddening. I lift up the arm of the record player and close the top. Peering out the window, I take one last look at the view. Rocky rubs my leg; a clump of dust is floating off the tip of his tail. Looking down at the back door of the cottage, I watch as a patched-together station wagon lurches to a halt. A woman with pink curlers hops out and heads for the back porch. I grab Rocky and move toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. Just as I'm coming out of the barn, she's getting back into her car, about to pull the door shut.

“Hello?” I say, breathless. “Can I help you or…”

“I'm Bonnie.” The frail woman gets back out of her car. “Bonnie Smitters. Come to ask about the sewing job. If it's still open, that is.”

I put Rocky down and move toward her. She's dressed in a dark sweatshirt with the sleeves shoved up to her elbows and baggy jeans, both of which seem to be hanging on her. Her tired eyes are the color of gray storm clouds.

I reach out to shake her hand. She stares at it for a second, then offers hers. It's worn and callused, but warm. I spy a bluish-green mark on her forearm. She sees me seeing and quickly pulls down her sleeve.

“Nice to meet you, Bonnie. I'm Eve…Eve Moss.” I quickly let her hand go, as I can feel she needs it back. She takes it into the other one, cradling it.

“My husband came home, told me you called and said I best hightail it over here. Jobs are hard to come by here and—”

“Would you like some coffee…Bonnie?” I suddenly want to do something for her. It's those eyes
and
the pink curlers.

“Oh…I shouldn't, but if it's no trouble or…” Her voice is careful, timid.

“No trouble at all. Follow me.” I lead her into the kitchen, where I busy myself with coffee-pouring.

“Nice place. I've cleaned a lot of cabins; this here is way more…” She blows on her coffee, considering. “Homey. Plenty big, though.”

“It is…thanks.” I think I'd like to get to know her. Find out what's behind those eyes.

“What are you're wanting sewed?” Bonnie asks. “I sew, but not all that fast.”

“A simple design. Speed's
not
the issue.” I don't think I want to tell anyone what is to be sewn until our first day on the job. “If you could work four, maybe five days a week, and if you have a working sewing machine…?”

I feel funny asking this, but I've got to keep a grip on expenses. My gut tells me this is going to work, and
finally,
I've learned to listen. Besides, maybe we're supposed to be here, meeting these people, helping each other.

“I can do that and I've got an okay machine. If you need references…last lady I cleaned for…she's dead, so…”

“Well I guess I can't call her now, can I?” She cracks a wry smile. “Haven't set a starting date yet, but…”

“With fall coming, most folks are closing up to head south, so I'm pretty open.”

“If it sounds like something you'd like to do—you're hired!”

“Sure…but…that's it? Just like
that?
” She squints her eyes in disbelief.

“Yup. Just like that. You're hired.” I smile and see a light behind the gray. “You wouldn't have any friends that sew, would you?”

“Nope, sorry,” Bonnie says. “I keep pretty much to myself. I should be heading back; I need to start dinner and…” She reaches up to touch her hair, hitting a curler instead. “Damn—I forgot my damn curlers are still in.” She smiles a tiny bit, looking over at me. We chuckle. It's a start.