Miserable Business

by PJ Eiden

  Hank shook the briefcase at his side. “No, this is all I brought along.”

  “Well, if you need anything. The general store here is always well stocked.”

  Hank stepped onto the platform and stopped to study the two-story general store perched along the shore of the larger lake. The proprietors were out in front of the store along the small dirt road that disappeared into a dark forest. The sun shined through the trees with a welcoming warmth to it. He was greeted with the fresh smell of pine.

  Hank crossed the road and approached a man and woman sitting on the bench out in front of their store. The man stood up and greeted the visitor. “Good afternoon. I’m Tom Swenson and this is my wife Mildred. Welcome to Hubert Landing! Can we help you with anything today?”

  Hank wasn’t used to this type of hospitality. He looked at a display of fishing poles and nets in the storefront window. “Well, this may be an odd question for a store owner, but would there be lodging and a hot meal nearby?”

  The man looked over at his wife and smiled before he turned back to Hank. “Sure, we hear these sorts of questions from time to time when visitors arrive from the city. Yes, there is a fine resort camp a short distance across the lake to the north of here named Clark Lake Lodge.”

  “How might a fella get there from here?”

  “Well, this road works its way around the lake to the camp with cabins, but that’s a fair distance from here. I wouldn’t bother with walking on a warm day like this. If you plan to stay awhile, they will come and pick you up right here.”

  Hank smiled. “Thanks, I’d like to arrange that.”

  Tom nodded. “Why don’t you step inside the store and take a look around. I’ve got a phone in the back. I’ll ring the lodge and let them know you are here.”

  “Thanks, you’re very kind.”

  Hank stepped inside and took his time looking over the variety of sundries and sporting goods. The back shelves held neat stacks of clothing. A large wall displayed rifles and more fishing rods. The glass counter held large jars of candy treats, a soda-dispensing fountain, and an official-looking weigh scale.

  Tom noticed Hank eyeing the scale. “Yes, besides the groceries, clothing, and sporting items, we have U.S. Postal Service, too. Tourists often send their parcels and posts from here. Our parcels go out every other day on the train. Please don’t try to send anything perishable. You best eat any fish you catch while you’re staying here.”

  Hank had never spent time at a lake. He smiled at the peculiar notion of him catching fish.

  Tom crouched while he peered out the front door to look beneath the train cars. “It looks like your ride is almost here. Albert will park on the other side of the tracks. I can see him over there.”

  Hank looked out the window but had no idea what Mr. Swenson was talking about. All he saw was the train parked on the railroad track. “Thank you for the lodging help. You have a fine-looking store.”

  “Let us know if you need anything. We’re always here for visitors to the area.”

  Hank crossed the road and made his way around the end of the parked train. There was a short sandy trail leading down to Clark Lake. The landing had a length of wooden dock where two boats were tied up. A young boy stood on top of the dock waving his arms. Hank was puzzled. He turned back toward the store to look for further instructions from Tom, the proprietor. Other than the boy, there seemed to be no one else here.

  “Hey, mister. Are you going to Clark Lake Lodge?”

  Hank stopped and turned toward the barefoot boy with a freckled face, wearing coveralls over a faded t-shirt. He appeared to be in his early teens. “What did you say?”

  “Hi, I’m Albert. I’m here to collect travelers going to Clark Lake Lodge.”

  Hank was surprised. “Yes, I’m headed to the lodge.”

  Albert looked over Hank’s three-piece suit. “Are you a preacher?”

  “No, nothing like that. My name is Hank.” He remained on the shore. “I’ve never been in a boat.”

  Albert smiled. “It’s OK, mister. I’ve got a life-preserver vest along for safety if you can’t swim. If you’d rather, you can walk to the lodge from here. It’s about halfway around the lake through the woods. Though with this trusty boat, we can float right across in no time. You can relax while I do the rowing.”

  Hank nodded at the lake.

  Albert pointed at Hank. “So, where is your luggage?”

  “Only this.” He shook his briefcase.

  “How long will you be here?” Albert was puzzled.

  “I’ll stay a while, I guess. Why do you have two boats?”

  “It’s easy. One is for people, and I tie the other on the back for luggage and supplies. I have a few things to pick up from the store today before we head out. Are there any more passengers?”

  “No, I don’t think so. If it’s all the same, I’ll keep my briefcase with me.”

  The store owner, Tom, came across the road with a hand wagon. He bridged the rails at the crossing ramp and brought the load directly out on the dock. “Hi, Albert, have you been catching anything this week?”

  “Yes sir, fishing is great!”

  “How is your dad doing? I haven’t seen him in the store for a while.”

  “Oh, he’s doing fine. He’s always looking for more people to fill the cabins.”

  “Of course, summer is here at last. They’ll be more showing up real soon.”

  Albert loaded the food items into a pair of old wooden peach crates in the second boat. He covered them with a blanket.

  “Well, this should be everything your mother ordered. Here’s the charge slip. You take good care of Hank here and say hi to your dad for me.” Tom turned the hand-wagon and began to leave the dock. He waived as he headed back to the store.

  “I haven’t lost a passenger yet! I’ll tell Dad you said hello.” Albert steadied the boat as Hank stepped into the rocking craft. “Sorry, mister, but can you move back one bench? The middle one is my rowing spot.”

  Hank took a firm grasp on the sides of the boat as he made a large step over the bench seat.

  Once Hank settled in, Albert took his place in the boat. He pushed off the dock, leaned over the pair of oars dangling in the water, and began rowing with smooth even strokes.

  “Albert, how old are you?”

  “I’m thirteen and a half.”

  “Are you the youngest rowboat captain in Minnesota?”

  Albert grinned. “I’m not sure. But maybe!”

  Albert pointed. “Mr. Hank, look over there near the shoreline. Do you see the pair of loons swimming in the lake with their young baby? The little chic is sitting on top of its mama’s back while she kicks around in the water looking for minnows to eat.”

  It took a second before Hank saw the dark fuzzball chic riding on his mother’s back like a circus performer on top of an elephant in a parade. “Why isn’t such a young bird without feathers still in the nest?”

  “Not a half-bad question from a city guy. You see, unlike the other birds, loons build a nest right on the ground next to the shoreline. A baby loon doesn’t need to fly before leaving the nest. It will grow up out on the lake where its parents can protect it and feed it. Say, Mr. Hank, if you’re not a preacher, are you a banker or a businessman?”

  Hank knew better than to tell the harsh truth, so he decided to do the dance Father Whelan had taught him. “Yes, I guess I am in a way. Why?”

  “I’ve never had anyone in this boat wearing a suit before.”

  “Men around here don’t wear suits?”

  Albert paused at the oars for a moment while the floating train drifted on. “No, not unless they’re getting hitched, paying their respects at a funeral, or lying inside the coffin.”

  Hank smiled. “Well, I wear suits every day. Most men do in the big city.”

  Albert scratc
hed his abdomen through his t-shirt. “Oh, I don’t think I could ever live there.” He maneuvered the boat around a small shaded island. “See the spot beneath the pines?”

  Hank raised his hand and shaded his eyes from the June sun. “Yes, I see it.”

  “It’s a nice place for a picnic on a hot day. Sometimes we pack a lunch and bring families out here. There’s a swimming beach off the far side with a tire swing. I always stay out here with them though. My dad says people can get pretty nervous being on an island without a boat.”

  Hank looked out across the lake. He thought about being in this unfamiliar place without a real plan for when he’d go back to Chicago. “I might know how it feels.”

  Albert dug in with the oars as the open lake breeze challenged them as they moved beyond the shelter of the island. The rustic log cabins carefully arranged along the shoreline came into view. “That is our place. Up the hill, inside the lodge, is where mom makes the meals. You can cook in your own cabin if you like, too. Each has a wood-burning stove. I stock the firewood.”

  “I’m not much of a cook. How many cabins do you rent?”

  “We have twelve cabins plus the rooms upstairs in the lodge.”

  “Do you have any brothers and sisters to help with the work?”

  “It’s me and my sister Kate. She helps mom make the meals and do the cleaning.”

  Albert pulled the boat train in alongside the dock. He whisked out of the boat and began to tether the ropes to the post supports.

  Hank stepped onto the shore. He paused and took in the view of massive pine trees looming over the hillside full of cabins. He offered Albert a dollar.

  “How generous! But sir, it’s not necessary. Our rides here are free.”

  Albert’s mother, Harriet, stood on the lodge stoop with her hands on her hips while she watched the arrival at the dock.

  Albert noticed her posture. “It looks like my mother is upset about something.”

  Hank made his way up the hill across the layer of fallen pine needles beneath the trees. With each step, his Oxford shoes made a dry crunch. The breeze blowing through the boughs of the trees sounded like an orchestra of soft brooms. He had never heard such a melody.

  Harriet Johnson turned and walked back into the lodge to assume her post, ready to register new guests. Hank found the lodge entry and was greeted by walls of knotty wood paneling and heavy plank dining tables.

  Mrs. Johnson waited behind the registration desk. Hank removed his hat. “Hello, Tom Swenson, the proprietor at the Hubert Landing store, phoned to inquire about lodging for me?”

  Harriet peered at the strange-looking man through her wire-framed glasses. Her apron was still damp from washing dishes, and her hair was drawn back behind her head. “How long are you planning to stay?”

  Hank sized her up. Harriet appeared to be an intense woman mired in the labors of running this camp. “I can’t say for sure. Maybe a few days, maybe longer?”

  She studied the pinstripes in Hank’s suit coat. “We rent cabins by the week and the rooms upstairs by the day. Are you looking for meals, too?”

  “I don’t cook much myself. Yes, I would be interested in meals.”

  Harriet’s response was crisp. “There’s no electricity here or clever indoor plumbing like the big city has, so cabins rent for three dollars a day. Plus, a dollar and half more for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” She stared at the rich leather briefcase Hank had tucked under his right arm. “It’s not as fancy as you might be used to. I make a cold lunch because most people take it along the lake.”

  “It sounds fine, ma’am.”

  Harriet couldn’t discourage him. “We fry fish on Friday nights, but you have to help catch them.”

  “I might have to go without because I’ve never fished.” Hank paused for a moment. “Would you happen to have two cabins available?”

  Harriet’s brow furrowed. Her voice grew sharp and piercing. “Why would you need more than one? Are you expecting guests?”

  Hank remained calm. “I’d rather not say. Do you have two cabins available but located apart from each other?”

  Harriet scrutinized Hank’s face. “Yes, it’s early in the season and lately some folks around here are out of a job. But don’t expect any discount. Payment is required in cash, up front. We don’t take bank drafts since we don’t trust them much.”

  “No problem, I’ll rent two cabins.”

  “What sort of business are you in any way?”

  Hank took his time. “I provide insurance and investments.”

  “Do you have anything to do with the stock market growing so high the last few years? I read about people getting rich.”

  It was an unexpected question coming from a resort wife running a camp in the wilderness. “No, I don’t invest in the stock market.”

  Hank headed outside to find his cabins. He was ready for a night’s sleep.

  From the second-story bedroom, Harriet peered out the window into the night. The cabins were all dark except number two. It was one of the cabins Hank had rented. The lanterns inside were burning in the middle of the night. Harriet noticed Hank’s other cabin, number ten, was dark.

  She turned down the lamp and crawled into bed. Warren was still awake. “We have a strange visitor with us this week. I don’t like him.”

  Warren was exhausted, but he turned toward his wife. “Dear, what has he done?”

  “Nothing exactly, but I don’t trust him. It’s odd. He didn’t bring any luggage along and rented two cabins even though I think he’s traveling alone. He didn’t give me his full name when he registered and isn’t here to fish.”

  Warren was puzzled. “He sounds unusual all right.”

  “But Warren, why is he here with us?”

  Warren yawned. “It would be anyone’s guess, but tomorrow Albert can show him how to catch his supper.”

  Harriet became quiet. After a couple of minutes of silence, Warren rolled back on his side, facing away from his wife. She leaned over him and whispered in his ear, “No, I don’t want him alone with either of our children.”

  Warren was wide awake now. He sat up on the bedside and lit the candle on the table next to him. He waived out the match and set it down next to the candle holder base. “OK, calm down. I can take him out with Albert in the morning. It would be good to meet him.”

  Harriet watched the candle’s flame grow to a full burn. “I would feel better if you did.”

  It was a fine June morning, and the birds were alive in the trees when Warren crossed the damp lawn. The lake was as calm as a mirror. He stopped at cabin number two. The low flickering light from the burning lamps was still visible through the window. He rapped on the door. “Hank, are you up? It’s Warren Johnson, the owner.”

  He rapped on the door again. There was no answer. Strange.

  Warren returned to the lodge and sat down at the table across from Albert. “Son, you must have a big day planned to need that mountain of pancakes.”

  “Mom made her blueberry syrup from the ones she canned last season.”

  “She’s good at making syrup. Hey Albert, if we can find our new guest Hank, I’d like you to take him out on the lake. I’ll tag along. When you’re finished here, get a boat ready with fishing gear for the three of us and round up some bait. Your sister is packing a lunch for us.”

  Albert took an over-sized bite of pancake smothered with deep-blue syrup. He swallowed as he struggled out the words, “Sure, I’ll get things ready.”

  “Let me know when you find Hank. He must have gone for a morning stroll.”

  Warren went outside and split some extra firewood for the evening bonfire. Albert came down the drive. “Dad, I found him. Hank will meet us at the dock.”

  Warren filled a water jug and grabbed three seat cushions for the boat. Halfway to the dock, he slowed and studied the silhou
ette of the new guest, sitting alone in the boat staring out at the smooth lake. His suit coat and hat were most peculiar for a warm day on the water. Harriet was right. He doesn’t look like he belongs here.

  Albert came across the lawn with a bucket of black dirt. “I’ve got some fat worms for bait. Dad, are you ready?”

  “Yes, Albert, let’s go.”

  From the dockside, Warren extended his hand and announced, “I’m Warren Johnson.”

  The guest reluctantly shook his hand. “Hank.”

  “Albert tells me you’re not much of a swimmer. Do you wear a life vest? We have those, too, if a float seat cushion isn’t enough.”

  Hank looked over each of his fishing guides. “No, this seat cushion will do.”

  Warren untied the ropes and took his place in the boat. He pushed the craft away from the dock. As he took hold of the pair of wooden oars, he asked, “How about pan fish?”

  “Sure thing, Dad.”

  Hank’s face was blank.

  “Hank, we’ll row down the shore a stretch to a place we call Sunfish Bay. This light breeze is perfect to cast along the weed lines for bluegills. Albert, would you put a float on each of those fishing poles please?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  Warren leaned into the oar strokes. “So Hank, have you visited the Minnesota lake country before?”

  Hank smiled. “No, this is a first for me.”

  “Curious, how did you find us?”

  A pair of geese flew past the boat, honking as they glided in to rest on the water.

  “This was as far as I could get with my train ticket.”

  Warren nodded. “Yes, we are the last passenger stop on the Gull River Line. The railroad was first brought here to serve the timber industry. Many of the massive Minnesota white pines from this area were harvested to build homes across the country as towns sprang up. Are you from the city?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Warren smiled. “We don’t see many suits around here. You might find it warm this week. It can get humid this time of year. If you like, the general store has bush shirts and cotton pants on hand. It’s just a thought.”