South of Superior (37 page)

Yesterday he got a notice saying the water bill was going to be four times higher starting in January. The Village hadn't put any money into the system in years and now they were going to make Up for it. He wondered if Madeline realized. Everybody who was commercial was going to pay a steep price, motels and hotels in particular. Well, she must've gotten the same notice he did, so good luck to her.

There'd been a note from the bank, too. His mortgage rate was going Up and there was nothing he could do about it. It'd be expensive to refinance and with the shape things were in, he might not even get approved. Also there was a notice from the Feds claiming he hadn't paid his taxes on time and they were going to penalize him for it. He
had
paid the taxes, but someone had gotten something screwed Up. Paul had no idea how to fix it, but he'd have to figure it out because he was the person in charge here.

How great to be your own boss. He was working a hundred hours a week and only halfway making it because of the paycheck from the prison. Without that he'd be in a bad way.
With
it he was in a bad way. He was running like a rat on a wheel, and for what? He couldn't even tell anyone any of this.

He'd felt for Madeline, that night she was tipsy and spilled out all those miserable little truths you really had to keep to yourself in a place like this. Paul knew how he would've felt after—like a fool. She'd pretended ever since that it never happened and he did too. It was exactly the way he would have played it in her shoes.

Now there was a job offer back downstate, and he couldn't talk to anyone about that, either. He was on his own to decide, take it or don't. His high school buddy Jim had a construction business and had won a bid on building a school. He wanted Paul to come work with him. The money would be decent, it'd beat working in the prison (wouldn't it?), and Paul thought he could do it. It wouldn't be easy, the way his leg was, but running this place was hard too. Between Garceau's and the prison, he was on his feet fifteen hours a day, and it wasn't like he was going back to school to learn how to do some desk job. It was a little late for that, and he wouldn't want to anyway. No, if he worked for Jimmy he'd just soldier through the pain, figure out a different way to do things when the bad leg said he had to, the same way he did here. Construction would be something different, anyway, and the hours would be shorter, and it'd be back home.

The last time he was there and had run into Leanne, it was fine. They'd said hello, how are you doing, all the banal things people who were mostly strangers did say to one another. It was hard to believe they'd been married for six years. It was ancient history. The best part of the offer was that he'd be close to his folks again. He was worried about his dad, who was tired every time Paul talked to him anymore. What was that about? As things were, he couldn't even take the time to run downstate and check on him.

Paul rubbed a hand over his face. He was sick of thinking about it. It made sense to take the job. The problem was that despite his chronic internal grumbling, he didn't want to leave. Less than ever now. He loved helping with Greyson. He didn't want to leave him, and really, how could he? Especially now. He hadn't bargained for all this—
involvement
. But he didn't regret it, either. It just left him unsure how to proceed.

 

 

As the October
days passed, Madeline watched Arbutus and Pete with something like envy. Mild and wistful, but envy nonetheless.

Pete's eyes lit Up every time he saw Arbutus; his smile for her was jaunty, a little amazed, very proud. Hers for him was merry, adoring, kind. They held hands every time they could. Arbutus sat right next to Pete whenever they rode in his car, her hand on his knee, and his face above the wheel always had a look of barely suppressed joy. There was so much tenderness and pleasure and devotion between them. Was this, after all, what life was about? Love? Could it be that simple?

For some people, apparently. Pete and Arbutus made an announcement at the supper table one night. They were getting married.

Gladys blinked and something raced across her face. Desolation? Of course. She had lived for her sister, done everything in her power to bring her home and take care of her. She had sold her possessions, made herself sleepless with worry, pushed herself too hard physically, braved the wilds of Chicago, laid aside pride and fear to ask Madeline to come stay with them, taken all kinds of chances. And now she was being deserted. How lonesome this house would be, with Arbutus gone—and who knew where. To Chicago? Wouldn't that be ironic. But the shock and sorrow were instantly buried. Gladys clapped her hands together and said, “Married! Well, I'll be. Congratulations.”

Arbutus was sparkly with happiness. “We want to do it right away. It's too late in life to waste any time. We're going to elope.”

“Elope!” Madeline was stunned.

“What does that mean?” Greyson held a drumstick in one hand and looked around at all of them with a baffled expression.

“It means they're going to try and sneak off to a justice of the peace instead of having a proper church wedding, and I won't have it,” Gladys declared.

Arbutus and Pete smiled at each other. “No, we've decided. We're getting married in Crosscut at the courthouse. It's what we want. Something quiet. We want all of you to come. Pete's daughter Marion is coming, too, she's the only one who could get away on such short notice. She said she wouldn't miss it. We called her this afternoon.”

“You're serious?” Gladys asked, dismayed. “What will Pastor Alton think?”

“Oh, never mind Pastor Alton. I want something simple, and quick.”

“But what about a reception, then?” Gladys asked, somewhat desperately. “Why, the whole town will want to come. You can't deny them.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Arbutus began, but Pete broke in.

“That might be a fine idea. It'd give me a chance to meet people I haven't yet.” He turned to Arbutus as he said this and Madeline watched a look of Understanding pass between them. “I wouldn't know how to organize something like that—” Pete trailed off, sounding regretful and helpless.

“And I'm afraid I'm not Up to it,” Arbutus added. “All that running around—”

“I'll organize it, of course.” Gladys was brisk and frowning and the smile that lit Pete's eyes was quickly hidden. Gladys went for a pad and pen and began rounding Up punch bowls and planning how many pounds of ham and scalloped potatoes would be needed. “That Naomi who makes the baskets makes a nice wedding cake, I'll talk to her. I'll have to stop at the Village office, make sure the hall's free. What date have you set? We'll have the party that same night if it's a Saturday.”

Madeline was impressed. That look of desolation had come and gone fast, but it had been there, and here Gladys was planning the party.

They finished dinner and Madeline cleared the table. Greyson wanted to paint pictures (Like her? Maybe. She felt a flash of terrible, vulnerable tenderness at this.) and brought the sketch pad and set of watercolors she'd given him to the table and set to work. Pete headed back to the hotel to check the radiators. “Don't want you two to freeze in your beds tonight,” he said as he left. The night before, Madeline had woken Up at three shivering, and padded around the cavernous building with a flashlight to find all the radiators cold. Pete thought he had fixed the problem that afternoon. Gladys and Arbutus retired to the front room. Madeline could hear the low murmur of voices.

She carried the platter on which the chicken had been served over to the hutch near the parlor to put it away, and heard Gladys say, hesitantly, “Where will you live, then? After you're married?” Madeline stayed to hear the answer.

“Live? Why, in my house, my house that Pete just bought of all things.” She laughed at the strangeness of the way things worked out, and then she said, puzzled, “What did you think?”

“I—didn't know. I thought maybe Pete would want you to move down there to Chicago. Thought maybe you'd want to go. Be closer to Nathan and all. You can, you know. I'm fine here. It'd all be different this time, I don't blame you if you want to go.”

Arbutus laughed. “We'll live right here, McAllaster is my home. Why, how could I ever leave you? Pete knows that. And he loves it here. I'm sure we'll go down to visit, but I am too old and set in my ways to move to the city.”

“Oh,” Gladys said, brusque. Madeline felt as relieved as she had to be. “Have you told Nathan yet?”

Arbutus hesitated before she admitted, “No. I'm afraid he's not going to like it. You know how he is, so conventional. I guess I can't blame him, I'm sure it will come as a shock.”

“What if he tries to stop you? Tries to get you declared incompetent ? I wouldn't put it past him.”

“Oh, no, he won't do that.” Arbutus sounded very certain.

“How can you be so sure? If I know Nathan that'll be the first thing on his mind, now that there is some actual money involved.”

“No, you see, I already gave it to him. I knew it would prey on his mind as long as I had it. Now that our bills are caught Up and I've put a little aside, I didn't see where I needed it. I'm glad not to have the worry of it.”

If Madeline hadn't already set the platter down, she might have dropped it.

“Arbutus! You didn't! That's your
security
.”

“Of course it isn't. I have my house, and you, and Pete now too. And Madeline will be right Up the street in the hotel. If that's not a miracle I don't know what is. And I have Nathan. He'll take care of me, if need be.”

“He'll put you in a home, is what he'll do, we've already seen that.”

“Well, so be it. People do end Up in homes, that's the way of life. It's no tragedy. I've had a good life. I'm getting
married
, Glad, think of that.”

“But, Butte, to just give him all your money, I can't believe—”

“He's my boy, my only child. I didn't need the money.”

“But the future, you don't know what might happen.”

“The Lord will provide. He always has. You know it as well as I do.”

Gladys was silenced by this. Madeline wondered if she agreed or didn't. She picked the platter Up and fitted it into its place in the stack on the shelf, then bent over Greyson on her way back to the sink to see what he was painting.

“It's the hotel,” he said, chewing a little on the end of his brush. “Can you tell?”

“I sure can. Is that a garden down there?”

“Yep. Those are tomato plants. I put them in 'cause there's orange in them and I thought it needed some orange.”

“Good call.”

“I still have to put a car in it. That's what I'm doing next.”

“Sounds good. I've got to finish these dishes, and then we'll go, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, outlining a car in green paint.

Madeline finished the dishes feeling a strange mixture of things: joy, peace, a wistful lonesomeness for which there might not be a cure.

 

 

Halloween day was chill
and blustery, drizzling an icy rain. Madeline worked all day on the lobby, cleaning and dragging furniture around. Now she was stocking a small expanse of shelves behind the registration desk with a mini-inventory—some of Mary's syrup, coffee beans from a company in Chicago, a tiny fleet of woven baskets. Madeline had worked Up the courage to approach Naomi in the shop one day, and she'd agreed to let her carry some of her things. It'd be good to have some merchandise out in time for the wedding reception—which was only a week away. Not in order to sell, but just to show that she
would
be selling.

She hummed along with the radio as she set out bags of coffee. It was the public station out of Sault Ste. Marie, and the reception faded in and out with the wind. They were playing a recording of Vivaldi's
Four Seasons
that Madeline had always loved, done by the Academy of St. Martin's in the Fields, and even though the signal was weak it made her happy.

“You going to play this elevator music all the time in here?” Gladys asked.

“Leave her be, Glad,” Arbutus said without looking Up from her novel.

“The next fine day, I'll get Up on the roof and set Up a better antenna for you,” Pete promised from where he lay on the floor, peering at the Underside of a radiator. Gladys had charged him with getting the heat pouring out in time for the reception. “You might even pull in something out of Canada then, when the weather's good.”

Gladys sighed from where she sat at the registration desk over a spiral-bound notebook where she was keeping track of her party organizing: how many tables and chairs and coffee Urns and punch bowls borrowed from which churches, how many pounds of meat and rolls and salads ordered from the big grocery store in the Soo, announcements sent to which papers, flyers put Up when and where, individual invitations sent and answered. It appeared that not only all of McAllaster but most of Ojibwa County and the eastern U.P. was invited.
What if they all come?
Madeline asked her that morning, looking dubiously around the lobby, which was roomy but not
that
big.
They won't
, Gladys said.
But they'll like being asked, and those that do won't all stay long.
Still, the list of things Madeline was not to forget to bring back from the Soo the coming Friday was staggering. Gladys added to it all the time Until Madeline was sure there wouldn't be room in the car, especially given the wedding present she was bringing back with her, a secret no one but Pete knew.