PHYLLIS COLEMAN WAS NOT a violent woman, but she was determined to protect her little piece of paradise in the North Georgia mountains one way or the other.
That’s why she kept a loaded twelve-gauge shotgun by her bed and a pair of forty-five caliber pearl-handled revolvers in a drawer by the front door—weapons she had brandished freely in the past to discourage uninvited visitors to Bear Gap Lake.
She felt she had every right to.
The seventy year-old retired college professor had moved to the mountains after the death of her husband to get away from it all—the crowds, the clocks, the noise, the students, the endless flow of committee and faculty meetings and papers to grade. Most of all, it was to flee campus politics, the mobs of shrill, frizzy-haired faculty members and gutless administrators whose radical politics and anarchic idealism differed vastly from her on.
When Phyllis invested in a ten-acre lot along the rugged shores of a new private development called Bear Gap Lake back in the early eighties, she thought she had found the perfect retreat.
And so it was—until the invasion began.
The invaders came from Atlanta and Florida mostly, but many were Yankees fleeing the Rust Belt and desperate for cheap mountain property in the South. They cruised the mountain backroads in long Cadillacs and monstrous motor homes that belched black fumes and shook the trees, a ceaseless convoy of marauding scalpers searching for the perfect parcel, preferably within easy driving distance of a golfing range. Phyllis regarded most of them as foolish, vain and reckless, more interested in playing "Mountain Man" and the destruction of the pristine environment than enjoying it.
Phyllis and her husband were the first property owners to break ground at Bear Gap Lake. It was a brand new development at the time, restricted to no more than a dozen home sites. Phyllis served as her own contractor and hired local tradesmen to do the heavy lifting. The result was a modest, 1600-square-foot cedar log chalet tucked away in the woods with a picture-postcard view of the water. She had a woodstove, a canning pantry and room for a modest garden to grow tomatoes, beans, squash, cucumbers and okra.
The perfect place to finish her research.
Along the way, she and her husband stopped by the pound and picked out a little black Terrier to share the rest of their lives with.
They named the little yapper Lord Nelson.
Life was good.
One month before their planned move to the mountains, however, her husband died. But Phyllis stayed on course. After the funeral, she supervised the movers and arranged with a local realtor to take care of their house in the city until it sold.
It didn’t take her and Lord Nelson long to settle in at her new home on the lake and get to work.
⸙
THEN CAME THE FLOOD of outsiders—day-trippers, hikers, campers and leaf-lookers. They came with their dirt bikes, mud-bogging Jeeps and SUVs, oblivious of the fact it was private property and mindless of the damage and havoc they were wreaking on the local eco-system.
The junk they left behind—beer cans, soda bottles, cigarette wrappers, old batteries and condoms—almost pushed her over the edge.
It was when one group of young campers from Florida almost burned down her woodshed that she bought the shotgun and pistols. She learned how to shoot and practiced regularly. In time she discovered how effective a twelve-gauge shotgun could be in discouraging uninvited visitors and had kept them handy ever since.
After years of haggling and the threat of legal action, the developers finally relented to Phyllis’s demands that they close the property off to outsiders. They also lowered the prices on the eight remaining lots and quickly sold them to a list of preferred customers—well-heeled professionals and academicians like Phyllis, mostly, investors who had been meticulously screened and vetted by a board of trustees.
Phyllis was the only property owner who lived at the lake full-time. Most of the others spent a few weeks there during summer, mostly to fish and party on expensive yachts they hauled up from Lake Lanier. Every now and then one of the owners would rent their house out for a weekend, but rarely past Labor Day.
⸙
THAT MORNING, AS she and Lord Nelson strolled through the woods picking wild berries, Phyllis heard the grind of an automobile churning up Yonah Trail.
Clutching the basket of berries, she headed back down the path to the main road. She emerged in time to see the rear of a shiny late model Jeep Grand Cherokee turning into the driveway of the Drake cottage.
She watched from the trees until the Jeep stopped. Two passengers got out--a pretty blonde woman and a young girl.
More intruders.
Phyllis's first instinct was resentment at having her solitude invaded. But, the longer she watched them from the woods, the less angry she felt. After all, she had to admit, the pair looked harmless enough--only a young mother and daughter.
She reached down and rubbed Lord Nelson behind his ear.
“Don’t worry, boy,” she said. “They look nice enough.”
Surprisingly, she warmed at the thought of having nice neighbors again.
Chapter Six
“I LOVE IT! I LOVE IT!” Bit squealed over and over.
After going to the bathroom, she scampered through the big, open house like a crazed little monkey, chattering and checking out each room.
She liked the clacking sound the Mexican tiled floors made under her feet, but she especially admired the buttery-soft touch of the leather chairs and sofas under her fingertips. She even appreciated the handsome mahogany bookcases stuffed with Oriental vases and expensive, leather-bound volumes.
Bit kept going until she came to a large open room at the far end of the long hallway. The room had a cavernous, airy feel, with crisscrossing log beams supporting a spacious cathedral ceiling. Framing one wall was a huge stone fireplace with a mountain of logs stacked at the side. On the opposite side of the room an enormous glass wall opened out onto the lake.
“Mom, come check this out!” Bit yelled. “You won't believe this!”
Laura dropped the last of the bags in the foyer. Following the sound of her daughter’s excited voice, she passed through the long, bookcase-lined hallway until she rounded a corner and found Bit standing before a huge row of glass doors in a spectacularly spacious living room.
“Look,” Bit shouted, pointing toward the lake.
In the rain, the vast lake shimmered like speckled glass. Mists curled and drifted along the smooth surface like a troop of phantom acrobats. Laura noticed a winding stone pathway leading from the ground level front deck down to a boathouse.
“Can we go explore?” Bit asked excitedly.
“First thing in the morning. Right now we’ve got some unpacking to do and supper to cook. Hungry?”
“Some hot chocolate would be nice.”
“Let’s go find your room first, then we’ll see if this house has a kitchen with hot water.”
Retracing their way through the enormous living room, both noticed the massive stone hearth against the opposite wall. On either side lay stacks of stout firewood and baskets of tinder. Laura couldn’t wait to get unpacked and get a roaring fire going.
Dragging suitcases, they trudged up an open flight of flat log steps, turned left at the landing and came to a solid wooden door at the end of the hall. Laura pushed open the door and peeked inside. “Check it out,” she said, stepping inside.
The room was average sized but stuffed with heavy furniture that leaned toward a woodsy, Adirondack style. The bed, dresser and chairs were clearly hand-carved, most likely from local woods. Opening an entertainment center, they found a large flat-screened TV, DVD and Blue-Ray player, a brand new all-in-one HP Touch-Screen personal computer and the latest PlayStation, already wired in.
Bit pressed the power button to the TV. Nothing happened. After fiddling with several other buttons, she griped, “Nothing works. Not even the TV.”
Laura didn’t know beans about electronics but gave it a try. She bent down and check
ed all the connections. Everything looked fine. “We’ll just have to ask Uncle Danny next time we talk to him. Maybe he knows what’s wrong.”
While her mom examined the TV, Bit had walked over to a sliding glass door overlooking the lake. Smiling, she turned around and walked toward the big bed. “Is this where I sleep?” she asked hopefully.
“This is where you sleep,” Laura replied.
“Way cool!” Bit exclaimed. She spun around the room in delirious circles, then, with outstretched arms, flung herself onto a thick blue quilt that covered the bed. “I love it! I love it! I think I’ll stay here forever!”
⸙
LAUGHING, LAURA LEFT her daughter flopping around on the bed and moved down the hall until she came to the next bedroom. She pushed open the door and went inside.
The room was vast, filled with a giant four-poster bed, over-stuffed chairs, a hand-carved desk, built-in bookcases, entertainment cabinet, bath with Jacuzzi, and sliding glass doors opening up onto a sprawling wooden deck. It even had its own fireplace, a massive stone structure that dominated one entire wall.
Laura slid open the glass door and stepped out onto the deck. The steeped roofline protected her from the dripping rain but not the frigid blast of air whipping up from the lake. She gazed across the broad expanse of water, shivering. Her eyes traveled down to the boathouse, then to a series of rocks that protected the property from the beach. Rubbing her arms, she closed her eyes, listening in dreamy fascination to the murmur of rain falling on the water, the gentle lapping of the waves along the shoreline.
“Thank you Danny,” she said to herself, “thank you, thank you.”
Far off over the mountains came a low rumble of thunder. Laura looked up in time to see a jagged streak of lightning snap across the heavy, rain-blackened skies.
She went back inside and locked the door behind her.
Chapter Seven
THEY SPENT THE REST of that rainy afternoon unpacking and exploring the house. Then, weary from the long drive up from Atlanta, they slipped into flannel pajamas and bathrobes and sat on the floor in front of a noisy fire sipping soup and hot chocolate.
“Can you believe this house, Mom?” Bit asked. “It’s totally awesome.”
Laura smiled. “Looks like I owe Uncle Danny a big apology,” she said. “Just between you and me, I expected to get up here and find dirty underwear and girlie magazines all over the place.”
They both broke out in a case of the giggles.
Bit finished her chocolate, making sure to slurp down the last marshmallow. “Uncle Danny sure must be rich.”
“He is,” Laura replied. “But, remember, he and Brad didn't always have it so good."
“Will we get to spend Christmas here?”
“I think that’s the general idea. That is, if the weather stays nice.”
Bit's eyes lit up. “I hope it snows. Do you think it will snow, Mom?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. You never can tell up here in the mountains. It can be toasty warm one day, freezing cold the next.”
Laura got up, went into the kitchen and turned off the stove. “Would you like any more soup before I put it away?”
“No, thanks. Can I have pizza instead?"
"No more pizza for a while, I'm afraid."
"Why not?”
“Sweetheart, we’re in the mountains, remember? There are no pizza places up here.”
Laura almost dropped the dishes when she heard a phone ringing.
⸙
WHERE WAS THE blasted phone in this house, anyway? She finally spotted it on the wall by the Fridge. It was one of those old-fashioned wall units with a coiled cord. Canary yellow. Laura hadn’t seen one of those in ages.
“Wonder who that can be?” she said to Bit.
It was Danny.
“Laura, you're there,” her brother-in-law said on the other end of the line. His voice was upbeat and chipper. “Glad to see you made it.”
The phone had a strange echo that reminded Laura of talking into a tin can.
“Hello, Danny. We were just talking about you.”
“So that’s why my ears were burning.” He laughed. The strange echo made his voice sound muffled and distant. Danny had a pleasant, warm voice that sometimes could sound loaded with mischief. “I was just calling to see if you guys were finding everything okay.”
“Well, finding the phone was kind of tricky,” Laura said. “I haven’t seen one of these old wall-mounted land lines since I was a little girl.”
Danny laughed again. “I had it installed when I built the house because the cell signal up there is so unpredictable. Darn thing works likes a Swiss watch most of the time and comes in handy during storms.” He paused. “Everything else okay?”
“So far, so good,” Laura replied. “Bit has fallen in love with the place.”
“That’s great, really great. Too bad Brad couldn’t make it up.”
“Well, you know your little brother. All work and no play.”
“Is that what that rascal told you?” He laughed. “Why, the old boy’s in Paris, for heaven's sake. Paris.”
Laura knew Danny meant it as a tease, but she didn’t find his words very funny.
“Well,” Danny continued, “I don’t want to keep you, just wanted to make sure you girls are okay and that everything’s comfy cozy.”
“We’re fine, Danny, we really are. We can’t wait to go exploring tomorrow.”
“Oh—don’t forget, the sailboat’s in the boathouse. She’s an old clunker but a lot of fun. But, hey, you might want to wait for Brad to get there before taking her out on the water.”
There was that strange echo on the line again. Laura readjusted the phone next to her ear.
“Don’t worry,” Laura she said. “I don’t know the first thing about boats or sailing. Besides, water and I don’t mix.”
“I hear you. But if you do decide to take her out, be careful around the boathouse. It’s real old, came with the original property when I bought it. There are some loose boards out there that I’ve been meaning to get fixed. Wouldn’t want anyone falling in.”
“We’ll be careful. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Well, just make yourself at home, now. And don’t forget to call if you need anything. You have my cell number.”
“I do." Laura hesitated. “Danny, I really want to thank you again. Bit’s going to love you forever for this.”
“Hey, that’s what families are for. You take care, honey. Tell Brad to call me when he gets there.”
“I will. Goodbye.”
She hung up the phone and looked at Bit. “Uncle Danny says hi.”
They made goo-goo eyes at each other then burst out laughing like two naughty schoolgirls.
Chapter Eight
CLUTCHING A CUP OF COFFEE and bundled deep in a thick flannel robe, Laura puttered about the big house, wandering from room to room and admiring her brother-in-law’s taste in furnishings and design. In fact, there wasn't a thing about Danny's house she didn't like.
Most of all, the peace and quiet.
Atlanta might as well have been a million miles away.
Up here there were no shopping malls, honking horns or crazy freeway interchanges. Not even a McDonald’s or Seven-Eleven that she knew of this side of Dahlonega.
No pizza, either.
She shook her head, wondering why she and Brad had not taken Danny up on his offer to come up here sooner.
The house was new, but not that new. Danny had snatched up the property when it went on sale about two years ago. He’d been up to the place only a few times—mostly to supervise the movers and then to oversee construction of what he affectionately called “The Bunker”—a large, outside storage area where he kept extra “survival” provisions. Danny would never admit it, but he was one of those frothing-mouthed survivalists who believed the world was going to end any day now. His place up at Bear Gap Lake was his “go-to” getaway should the proverbial poop ever hit the fan.
&nbs
p; Laura took a deep sniff.
Even inside, the air felt fresh and clean. She sighed, still unable to believe she was here. This trip to the mountains was just what she needed to recharge her batteries.
⸙
AFTER TUCKING BIT in to bed, Laura continued to explore the house. In the basement she found the laundry room and a fully stocked pantry, along with a game room complete with two pool tables, a ping-pong set-up and a giant flat-screen TV with flanking leather sofas. In one corner stood an elegantly carved wooden and glass cabinet—but no guns. Danny was no fool. He never kept weapons in the house, realizing how tempting they’d be for burglars.
Laura had to give her brother-in-law credit for knowing how to build the perfect rustic retreat.
Back upstairs, she pushed open a door and entered what she took to be Danny’s office. Along one wall she scanned a long line of photographs—mostly old buddies from his college and army days, but she also found one of him and Brad when they were in their teens. They were both wearing football uniforms and had their arms linked around each other. Brad was smiling and blonde, whereas Danny—older by two years—was darker, brooding.
In one silver-framed photograph a petite, white-haired woman wearing thick, round spectacles sat in a rocking chair holding a little boy about four years old. Laura recognized the boy's eyes instantly. They belonged to Brad. So this was the formidable grandmother Brad used to talk about, the one he had feared all his life, the same creepy, switch-wielding old witch who had left him four-hundred-thousand dollars upon her death several years back.
Laura picked up the photo and looked at it closer. She didn’t think she looked all that mean.
Making her way back through the enormous living room, Laura noticed the large, square-shaped mahogany clock perched on top of the massive, flat-long mantel shelf. Curious, she walked over and saw that it was a Bulova radio-controlled model. If her memory served her correctly, these kind of clocks kept precise time and ran off batteries.
The People in the Lake Page 4