“Mom?” Will corners me in the bathroom, where I’m packing my travel bag. “I need to know why you’re going.”
“I don’t know if you can handle it, bud.”
“These people have a strong hold on you. Something’s wrong. I think I need to know.”
I take his face in my hands. “Will, a long time ago I was a terrible person. I’d rather you not know the ins and outs of it.”
“Were you in school?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask Dad when you’re gone?”
“I think that would be better.”
“You know I’ll forgive you whatever it is.”
I kiss his cheeks. How does he know he has something to forgive?
THIRTY-NINE
Jolly and I climb out of the rental car, a soda can with bike wheels and barely upholstered seats. I’ve never seen car floors without carpeting before.
“Sorry I went so cheap, Jolly.”
“I feel like I been on roller skates.”
Me too.
“Sure was glad to get out of Duluth, though. I hate cities.” He opens the trunk and starts pulling out our bags. “This’ll be a nice little escapade, surely.”
The drive took about six hours, Jolly talking about Helen, pointing out vegetation and naming it by botanical name and common name, never failing to express his delight at a well-planted field, a beautifully kept farm.
“Now that’s a barn!” he said over and over again. “I always did favor the white barns for some reason.”
“I like purple.”
“I don’t strictly find that hard to believe.”
At the end of a flagstone path illumined by footlights with rusty iron moose ears sprouting from either side, a log cabin lodge sits against a star-filled sky. On a deep, wide porch, yellow light falls on settings of bent willow furniture.
“Who gets to run places like this? Who gets to live like this?”
I ask.
“The lucky ones. That’s for sure.”
A young man with russet hair, a puffy beard, and an orange sweatshirt proclaiming that the Mssrs. Abercrombie and Fitch have indeed taken over the world opens the door. “Ms. Curridge?”
“That’s me.”
“Have a good trip?” He walks behind the counter.
Jolly sets down his bag. “Yes, we did. Good drive. Pretty country.”
“And you’re Mr. Lester?”
“Yes, I am.”
He turns toward a key cubby, just like in the movies. Pulling out two keys, he says, “Breakfast can be anytime you like. Eggs, bacon, that sort of thing.”
“We’ll want an early start. We’re looking for a man named Xavier Andrews. I’m going to need a guide.”
The young man shakes his head. “I’ve never heard of a man named Xavier Andrews. You know where he might be?”
“Runs a camp or something.” I pull out the map the librarian printed off for me. “Somewhere around here. You all have the best guide in the area, right?”
“Let me call Ralph. He’s the guide you’re talking about. If anybody’s heard of this man, Ralph will have.”
The gist of his call is that Ralph hasn’t seen Xavier Andrews in a couple of years, but yes, he runs a remote camp about twenty miles from here and as far as he knows, Xavier’s still there.
Twenty miles? Mercy! I thought I was at least in the ballpark.
“It’s a place for the hardiest of sportsmen. Ralph can’t guide you tomorrow, but his nephew Grandy can. He grew up on these waters.”
“Sounds good.”
“He said he’ll come by at 7:00 a.m. It’ll take two days to get there.”
Jolly and I stare at each other. He’s thinking, Is that right? And I’m thinking, Two days!
The young man continues. “He said you’ll paddle mostly. You’ll have to camp for a couple of nights. We’ve got clean sleeping bags and all the gear you’ll need. Grandy’ll bring a couple of tents. I’ll be honest, other than Ralph, there’s no better guide than Grandy.”
“Well, I guess that tells us what time breakfast is, then,” Jolly says.
“You’ll want to eat hearty. We’ll pack up a cooler, too, if you’d like. Water. Two days there, two days back. You’ll need the supplies. Grandy’ll bring some things too.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
Jolly and I stand in the hall near our doorways.
“I had no idea, Jolly. I’m sorry. I just thought I’d come up here and find him easy. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Where was that last vacation you all took?”
“An all-inclusive resort in Belize.”
“So there you go. It’ll be fun. I needed an adventure, Heather.”
“Well, we’ll get one. I feel kinda stupid, very unprepared.”
“Is that so? Well, he didn’t seem to bat an eyelid, now, did he?”
“No, that’s true.”
“So stop thinkin’ you’re so dang special, girly.”
I laugh. “You want to drive down the road and get a little supper?”
“To be honest, I’m exhausted. I’d just soon tuck in.”
“Me too.”
I love Jolly.
* * *
Tonight as I settled between plaid flannel sheets, I was thinking about the truly happy people I’ve known in my lifetime and how few there really have been, which seems so very sad. Miss Virginia was the crossing guard in our neighborhood when I was in first grade. I didn’t start in at Christian school until second.
A joy shone from inside of her that made us kids want to be around her. And never once was I scared coming out of school, because Miss Virginia would be there, and she’d call me ‘baby’ and smile, her gold tooth gleaming. Nothing ruffled her, and even the mean kids smiled at her when they walked by.
Miss Virginia was happy, so therefore, Miss Virginia was safe to be around. I wish I thought of her more after I grew up. I want to be a Miss Virginia. I want to be safe—that place where people can fail and still be loved. Heaven knows, there are enough exhorters, enough admonishers, enough people with a lockdown on life, enough people who can tell all of us what to do and why and sometimes even how. They don’t need me.
I rub some moisturizer into my hands. Raspberry.
But I want to be the person around whom people don’t have to do a thing to be loved. Perhaps all of humanity can’t fill that role, and maybe there’s only room for a few of us on earth or all would be chaos. I don’t know. But as I see it, there’s definitely room for more Miss Virginias. And I aim to fill her shoes.
Tomorrow we’ll be canoeing into the wilderness. I’ve never been in such a remote area in my entire life. Isn’t that strange?
* * *
We set out in slim light, bellies full of a farmer’s breakfast, as Jolly, rested and ready to go, called it. He sipped that coffee and gave out a long “Ahhh. Now that’s good, strong coffee.”
“You like it strong? I never had a strong cup at your house.”
“It was hard on Helen’s stomach.”
The home fries were loaded with caramelized onions and cheese, and I ate almost a full plate, with Canadian bacon and a bunch of grapes.
I’m excited about the journey, but I really don’t want to have to go to the bathroom out in the middle of nature. That’s pretty much my single reservation here. Pathetic, I know.
Jolly sits at the front, I’m in the middle, and Grandy sits in the back, paddling, steering, saying nothing. We all paddle, and I think, Two days of this? Actually four days with the trip back, but I’m not ready to go there.
It surely makes whatever forgiveness I receive from the Andrews family, if I am even awarded it, hard-won. Even with this, I realize it’s not enough penance. Not even close. For I remember the times we cornered Mary in the girls’ restroom and smeared lipstick all over her face; I remember the time Julia B. and I told her the next day was red day and she showed up in red and the rest of us wore blue; and I remember Bryan stealing her lunch bag, o
pening it up, and displaying the contents to everybody in the cafeteria with a running commentary. “Ah, yes, the stinky egg salad.” Or “Oooh, bread and margarine. The lunch of champions.” After a while, Mary stopped bringing lunch, stopped eating lunch. Gary just sort of kept to himself—a silent pariah.
I can’t tell Will this. I make Ronnie Legermin look like a saint.
* * *
I’m sure tomorrow my muscles will be screaming. I paddled several hours, although Jolly and Grandy were benevolent and took on most of the load. I even fell asleep for a little while as the waters slid by and we passed colonies of trees, their roots twisted through the banks, clinging to the earth, their upper surfaces carpeted in moss. But I didn’t sleep for long. I didn’t want to miss the great carved walls of rock, so ancient, looking as if the finger of God himself reached down and dug through the stone.
Pine trees lined the shores of the lakes we paddled through, open in the bliss of spaciousness, and they seemed to be guarding secrets inside their lineup. We haven’t seen anybody since we left.
Grandy’s a nice enough guy, but he carries some sort of heavy burden. Twenty-three and has lived back here all his life. I don’t know what happened to outline him with a thorny crown, but I do know something did. With some people, I guess that’s all you can know.
The men set up camp, and heaven knows where we are. They share one tent, and I’m lying here in the other. We had Spam and beans for dinner. Grandy brought out a travel guitar—I’d never seen one—and plucked some pretty strains. Jolly took over—never knew he could play—and we sang crazy songs like “You’re in the Army, Mister Jones” and “I’ve Been Workin’ on the Railroad.” For a moment, Grandy’s face cleared, and it was good.
Maybe that’s part of redemption. Simply giving people the opportunity, even briefly, to allow their faces to clear and to be living for just one nice thing. I believe that’s why I bake cakes.
And then Grandy had to ask why I was so bent on finding Xavier Andrews. Here’s an example of when the truth can be a mistake. He told me he was a Gary Andrews, and nice try and all that, but the deed is done. Gary won’t want to be reminded of all that anyway.
He’s probably right.
He said if I was smart, I’d turn around.
But smart is Jace’s department, not mine.
Hopefully tomorrow I’ll see Xavier Andrews. I feel like the journey’s really just beginning.
We actually had to carry the canoe about a hundred yards over land from one entry point to another. This is the most fascinating area I’ve ever been to. I can understand why people come out to places like this to find God. I never could before today. Out here you’re so incredibly small inside the glove of His immensity and His beauty.
I saw some beaver dams and a few of the critters themselves. They’re the cutest little things.
FORTY
My muscles don’t scream, oddly enough, but surely tomorrow they’ll voice their displeasure loud and clear. It is a chilly day, although Grandy assures me this is incredibly mild weather. Ice is beginning to form around the edges of the lake we camped by. By mid-October it can feel like a Maryland winter in these parts. I’ll take the Maryland winter, I’m assuming, based on his description of what happens around here during the cold months.
I hate cold. I think that’s what makes me happy about the Hotel. It’s a place where people can go to get warm. Those nights will soon be coming. The city regulations say shelters can only open when the nights are below freezing. I can’t imagine spending a night on a thirty-three degree street.
Now this morning, I almost could. A loon’s call awakened me, that mournful warble that cut right down into the filling of my soul. When I climbed out of my sleeping bag . . . well, I dove right back in and dressed completely inside. I must have looked like a cartoon of two cats fighting in a sack.
The lodge loaned me a warmer parka and gloves and a hat. Thank goodness I remembered to bring some long underwear and thick socks.
So I dressed and met the men for some of Grandy’s oatmeal, and glory be, a bull moose walked by not forty feet away. What next? Wolves?
I ask Grandy that very question.
“Sure, we got ’em. Timberwolves, coyote. And bobcat and lynx.”
“Is it safe?” I ask.
Jolly coughs.
Grandy hands me a bowl of oatmeal. “Just sit still. They’ll catch a whiff of your scent and most likely realize you’re not a threat and pass on.”
Those two words, “most likely,” weigh about a thousand pounds. Just eat, Heather, why don’t you?
* * *
The trees and their gnarled roots slide by, our boat lubricated by the water and the silence of Jolly, who’s thinking about Helen, and Grandy, who’s thinking about his childhood, I suppose. I’m thinking how the years go by so quickly and we sail right by so much, failing to recognize the intricate glory of it all.
Sometimes we fail to notice a shadow darting through trees and jumping over the river just out of our gaze, until one day, we realize how precious these years are, how more precious the next ones will be, and how we’d better confront the shadow if we want to live in peace.
That’s what Anna does. Liza too. They live confronting the shadows. They know it does no good to ignore them.
Lunch consists of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and some chips. Bottled water.
“Just another hour,” Grandy says. He pushes his hand through his dark curly hair, and it stands up like a flame. “We’ll probably want to make camp at Xavier’s tonight and head out first thing in the morning.” And then he shakes his head.
I sadden him even more.
That’s the thing about sin. It’s the gift that keeps on giving, as they say.
Perhaps Gary or Mary will be there. Of course, I’ve considered that thought, but Gary is forty-two by now and Mary forty-one. Surely they’re not still with Xavier, are they?
No. That just can’t be right.
True to Grandy’s word, we pull up to the camp an hour after we resume our journey. A small dock juts into the rock-rimmed lake, thick legs reaching into the mud, and the men tie up the canoe.
Grandy jumps up onto the pier like the nimble youth he is, darn him. Nobody ever prepared me for how silly and ungraceful you feel when you reach middle age. Jolly climbs out next. Well done! But it takes both Jolly and Grandy to help me onto the boards.
A pebbled trail leads into the forest.
Grandy says, “I’ll wait here with the boat.”
I turn around. “Thanks. Jolly? How about you?”
“I’ll go with you, but leave you to have your conversation alone.”
I’ve never known a more thoughtful person. As I continue down the path, a little shrew runs across. Jolly stays beside me, and when I take his hand, he tucks it in the crook of his arm and places his other hand over mine.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He nods, a little teary. “It’s just good to hold a warm arm in my own again.”
After just a minute the trees thin out into a clearing, and in the middle sits a cabin that makes the lodge look like a five-star hotel: logs blackened by time and weather, porch sagging, whorls smoking out of a river rock chimney, scattering the aroma of a wood fire.
“Okay.”
“You’ll do fine.”
We step up onto the porch, the floorboards, soft and forgiving, moaning faintly.
I slide off a glove and knock on the door, the chill wind nipping my skin with chiseled teeth.
Footfalls echo and my stomach drops.
I squeeze Jolly’s arm as the door opens.
A man bent with scoliosis, waiting for rain under a thunderhead of gray and white hair, raises his brows. “Oh? Can I help you?”
“Xavier Andrews?”
“That’s me. You all come to stay? We close at the beginning of October, but you can camp in the clearing if you’d like.”
“Thanks. I actually just need to ask you a couple of questions.�
�� Hard to believe this hermit was once the ladies’ man Peggy described.
“Come on in. It’s sure getting cold.”
He swings the screen door wide, and we find ourselves in a living room filled with old furniture, lots of Naugahyde and plaid. Dust swims in the rays of sunlight streaming through a side window. Sadness in these walls too.
“Nice fire,” Jolly says. He followed me inside, and I am grateful.
“A guy needs one on a day like today.”
Jolly holds his hands toward the blaze. “So you going to winter out here all by yourself? My, that’s something!”
“I been doing it for the last five years. Plenty of wood and water. Supplies laid up. It’s not so bad. I do a lot of reading. I’m real busy in the other months with the canoers and fishermen and the like. It’s a fine little break.”
Xavier seems like a nice man. His voice still resounds with the warm suppleness of middle age. According to my calculations, he’s in his midfifties now.
“How about something warm to drink? A cup of tea? Or some coffee? I put a pot on not long ago.”
No electric lights, just gas lamps with some ferocious-looking fabric wicks illumining the room. “How do you cook here?”
“Got a propane stove.”
“I’d love something warm,” I say. “If the coffee’s made, that will be fine.”
“Fine by me too.” Jolly.
He heads back through a doorway to the kitchen, and I sit down in a chair near the fire. Feels good. “So what do you think, Jolly?”
“Seems fine to me.”
“I’m nervous.”
“You’ll do all right, Heather.”
I hope I’m not adding yet another nail to this coffin of a situation. I’m under no delusion that this trip, this need to find these people, is by my own goodness. I lived for years without thinking about Gary and Mary. Now it’s time to clean up my act, and God’s helping me with the details. He needs to continue to help me, that’s all I can say, because I have no idea where all this will lead. And Anna’s question of whether or not this is for myself and my own feel-good needs screams like a cat between my ears.
Plain Perfect & Quaker Summer 2 in 1 Page 52