South of Superior (18 page)

Madeline's hands were pleased by the heft of the next branch she picked Up: dry and solid. It gave a sharp snap when she broke it over her knee. “I hope you're right.”

“I am. Them old biddies'll put a stop to it all, you watch. Emil don't really believe in taking a bath much more'n once a month, if that. Heh!” Mary seemed truly delighted by the whole debacle. “They'll go petition that board to leave him alone, that's what. They'll raise all kinds of holy Hell and get that eviction stopped cold. Tracy York's Great-aunt Mirtha lives in that complex. She'll twist Tracy's arm Until she says ‘Uncle,' that's nothing, Tracy's got the spine of a worm when you come right down to it.”

“You really think so?” Madeline was skeptical. How could a bunch of old women too poor to own their own homes stop anything?

“Them old ladies in there is powerful, you watch,” Mary said, as if she could read Madeline's mind. “I know Gladys whines and cries about the good old days, everything's changing, nothing's right anymore, but this town ain't changed that much. Wasn't perfect to begin with, either. No sirree.”

“You don't think Emil has any plans to move?”

“Not a one.”

He'd been so straight-faced, talking about turning a tap for water. Still, Mary knew him better than she did. “I hope you're right.”

“I am.”

Madeline helped with kindling for half an hour more, then said she was going home. Mary nodded, her eyes intent on the ground. She picked Up a branch and began to break it into pieces. “Listen, Madeline, before you go.”

“Yes?” Madeline said, turning back. For the first time, she saw Mary Feather look Uncertain. Maybe even sheepish.

“There's something I been meaning to tell you.”

“Yes?” Madeline said expectantly.

Mary hesitated, seeming torn. Finally she said, “You remember we were talking about the lumber camp days the last time I saw you?”

“Yes, sure.”

“It Used to be the lumber companies would sell off their land pretty cheap once they'd cut it over. They don't do that so much anymore, but they Used to.”

“Uh-huh,” Madeline said, shifting from foot to foot, thinking she really had to go or she'd be late for work.

“Your great-grandparents, Ada and Emmanuel, they worked for the lumber company. She was a camp cook, and he was a sawyer.”

“Oh, wow. That's interesting. Nobody's told me that before.”

“Yes. So.” Mary cleared her throat. “They worked for the company and then when the area was cut over, they decided to stay on where they were. Bought the land, turned the cook shack into a cabin to live in.”

“They must have been rugged.”

“Yes. Well. What I wanted to tell you is, you got a lake named after you. I don't guess Gladys or Arbutus said anything about it?”

“A what?”

“A lake. Of sorts. Stone Lake.”

Madeline had completely forgotten her earlier Urgency about the time. “No way.
Where?
”

“Outside Crosscut maybe ten, fifteen miles. It's back in off the road a ways, north of town on the edge of the swamp. It's been years since I been that way, but I could tell you how to go, if you wanted.”

“
Yes
, are you kidding? How amazing. I'm going to look on the map as soon as I get home, I can't believe I never noticed it. Why didn't they tell me?”

Mary grimaced and didn't answer the question. “It ain't called Stone Lake on no map that I know of. I think they Used to have it down as Cranberry. But down around Crosscut we all called it Stone Lake, because the Stones lived back in there.”

“Why didn't you tell me before?”

Mary shrugged, still looking Uncomfortable. “It wasn't my place. I don't like to butt in.”

“Wow,” Madeline said, too amazed to be angry. “A lake!”

Mary shifted from foot to foot.

“I'm glad you told me. I can't wait to track it down.”

Mary chewed her bottom lip and then she said, “I don't suppose you met your Uncle Walter yet either, then?”

 

 

Mary watched Madeline
tear down the narrow track with a worried expression. Probably she shouldn't have opened her mouth. Probably it
wasn't
her place. But for the love of Pete. Madeline was
here
now, after thirty years. And Walter was old. How much worse was it going to be if he Up and died while Gladys was biding her time, getting Up the nerve to say something? No, Madeline had a right to know.

Finally Mary turned and stumped back inside, still troubled.

M
adeline careened down the two-track away from Mary's. Only when she hit a pothole that lurched her almost into a tree did she slow down, and even then it was difficult because her heart was pumping so hard. She could only think in choppy bursts, thoughts staccato with anger and hurt. She was going to move out. She didn't deserve to be treated this way. Gladys and Arbutus would have to look after themselves because she wasn't going to spend another night Under their roof. (Even as she thought this, a calmer part of her brain was sorting through options for Arbutus. A county health nurse, maybe? A physical therapist?)

She jammed the accelerator to the floor and bulleted south down the highway, the only road that allowed her to get any momentum Up. She drove blindly. She was stupid, a chump. What was she doing here? These women didn't care about her, the way she'd let herself think. They were just Using her for their own ends and didn't trust her enough to tell her she had relatives living.

That bizarre fact kept banging in her head.

When the dashboard clock read eleven thirty she turned the car around. She couldn't let Paul down, none of this was his fault.

Paul asked if she was all right when she slammed the cooler door on her hand and yelled, and then five minutes later dropped a coffeepot, splashing coffee and glass splinters everywhere. When she claimed she was, he didn't press. He did let her go almost right away, though. He said it was because it was slow. She figured it was because she was about to explode and not hiding it very well.

By the time she got to the house she had the speech laid out in her head—short, to the point, not sweet. Gladys's car was in the drive. Great. Excellent. Showtime. She marched Up the walk and flUng the kitchen door open.

Gladys was kneeling on the floor beside Arbutus. She raised her head and stared at Madeline, her face gray. Arbutus was moaning softly.

 

 

Arbutus had been putting
the clean dishes away. Gladys and Madeline were both busy doing she didn't know what, but
some
thing. She wanted to do something too—help out, be useful. She'd been feeling better lately, stronger. She decided to finish Up in the kitchen. She reached Up in the cupboard above the sink to the highest shelf to put a platter Up, got Up on her tiptoes to do it because she just needed that extra little inch, lost her balance, and toppled over. It was humiliating. And she hurt, worse and worse as she lay there. It was not a terribly chilly day but before long she was cold, and then colder, and then she was shivering.

It was a long time before Gladys got home. Arbutus watched the minutes creep by on the cuckoo clock, thinking that things had to change, they really did, life could not go on like this. After a while she mainly concentrated on breathing. She was so cold, and she hurt so much, especially her hip and her arm. But she was stuck for now, no Use thinking about it. She talked to God a little, mentioning how nice the lilacs had been this spring. How tasty the omelet Madeline made for breakfast was, ham and cheese and asparagus. She'd never thought of putting asparagus in an omelet, but it was good. It was wonderful having Madeline with them and she said thank you for that, too. Then she went through a long spell of shivering and hurting, then watched the minutes tick slowly by again, and then things got a little hazy and muddled.

 

 

Madeline called
the ambulance. She and Gladys followed it down to the hospital in Crosscut in Gladys's car. Gladys stared out the window, chewing her bottom lip. Madeline concentrated on driving. Her earlier fury seemed far away, and tiny, like something that had happened at the opposite end of a very long tunnel.

 

 

Arbutus was carried
into the emergency room. Gladys and Madeline sat. The chairs were uncomfortable—thin cushions over hard frames. This was not a prosperous, showplace facility. Madeline hoped they knew what they were doing.

The doctor came out to speak with them after half an hour. “Your sister is a tough lady,” she said, smiling at Gladys. Gladys's face was pinched, pale—she looked ten years older than she had at breakfast. She didn't answer the doctor, just waited for the real information to be forthcoming.

“She's bruised Up and she's going to be in considerable pain for a while. Her hip isn't broken, but the X ray shows what looks like a hairline fracture in her right femur. It should heal, but it will take some time. Her right arm is sprained—”

“When can she come home?”

The doctor held Arbutus's chart against her chest. “She'll need to stay here, Mrs. Hansen. We've got an extended-care wing—”

“No!”

“I'm afraid so. While she heals.”

“Absolutely not. I won't consider it. We'll take care of her. Madeline's there, we can do it. Isn't that right, Madeline?”

Madeline said that it was.

“I'm afraid it's just not possible. She's going to need a professional facility. Despite your best intentions, you would end Up injuring her further at home.”

Gladys sagged.

“How long would she be here?” Madeline asked.

“I can't say. We'll have to wait and see.”

 

 

Arbutus was sleeping,
sedated, but only when visiting hours ended did Gladys and Madeline leave, and then Gladys dawdled, making Up excuses to linger. Madeline didn't hurry her. They spoke very little, either at Butte's bedside or in the car. Madeline felt as if she'd been hit by a semi. After miles and miles had rolled by she said, “I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. I should have been there. This is my fault.”

After a long silence Gladys said, staring out the window, “No it isn't.”

“I should have been there, I told her I'd be back—”

“She didn't want to be watched every minute.”

“It was my job to look after her.”

“Which you have been doing.”

Madeline shook her head, began to argue, but Gladys cut her off.

“It's just life. Things happen, we don't always like them. It's as much my fault as yours.” She said this flatly, exhaustedly. Not trying to comfort. Not trying to comfort or blame, which was very hard to take. It was as if Madeline didn't really exist.

More miles rolled past. Then Gladys said, “I have something to tell you. I should've done it sooner. I didn't know you at first, is all. But the fact is, you have a great-uncle living. He's named Walter, and he's—special. He's a very sweet man, but he's simple. He always has been that way, ever since he was born. He lives in the Adult Foster Care home there in Crosscut.”

Madeline clenched the steering wheel and stared at the long road ahead.

“I should have told you right away. But I—I'm protective of Walter. I didn't want him to get hurt. Your mother, Jackie—she always teased him, plagued him. Joe told me she scared him to death one time. Shut him Up in a closet. It wasn't locked, he could've got out, but he didn't know that.”

Tears filled Madeline's eyes, to think of someone, especially someone helpless, being frightened that way.

“Looking back on it, I think maybe she was jealous. It was easy for Joe to dote on Walter. It wasn't so easy with her.”

Gladys fell silent and more miles rolled Under the wheels. Eventually she said, in that same tired voice, “So, that's why. I didn't know you. I told myself, what if she's like her mother? And you weren't. But after a while it seemed too late. Arbutus told me not to wait, and she was right.”

Madeline thought of Mary Feather in her grubby sweater standing in her yard that morning—a million years ago—looking Uncertain. Maybe no one ever got to a point where they really knew what they were doing. Maybe it was always a crapshoot. She sighed. “I know about Walter,” she said. “Mary told me.”

 

 

Madeline couldn't sleep
that night. She kept seeing Arbutus helpless on the floor while she was driving around, indulging her fury like a spoiled child. She tossed and turned. She had a great-uncle living. No, couldn't think about that. The Hotel Leppinen. There was something to dwell on. That beautiful old building. It was a crime, a sacrilege to tear it down. She hated that idea.

After a while she tiptoed down the stairs with a flashlight. She crept out the back door and then went to the Buick and lifted the hotel key from the ashtray.

She just needed somewhere to go. She had to get out of 26 Bessel, away from her guilt, away from the huge emptiness Arbutus's absence left in the house.

O
ne night late in June, Paul Garceau collapsed onto his bed in the back of the pizzeria. The hours were getting to him. Soon July would be here and he'd get a second wind, but not tonight. Tonight he just felt beat. He dreaded the thought of getting Up in the morning and driving to Crosscut, dreaded the smell of the food and the chemicals they cleaned with, dreaded facing the lineup of guys. They were a bunch of dead-enders, waiting out their time so they could get back into trouble again. He told people the prisoners needed him, needed someone who could really cook, but that wasn't true. The food was prepackaged and portion-controlled. It came out pretty much the same no matter who heated it Up, and the guys didn't give any thought to him at all.