Back to Madeline Island

by Jay Gilbertson

“I suppose you’re right, darling.” Ruby pulls her afghan tighter. “I can’t seem to warm up this morning; have you ranked up the heater yet?”

  “You know, I haven’t.” I head over to the thermostat and turn it up to a toasty seventy degrees. The furnace in the basement rumbles to life and soon the radiators that are in every room and hall start to clang and hiss with pricey heat.

  “Thank you, dear—should be warmer in, say, an hour or so.”

  “I closed the flue in the fireplace.” I plop back down into the cushy sofa and pull a blanket around my shoulders. “The boys explained how really inefficient they are as far as heating a room goes. The living room is warm when there’s a fire in there; it pulls the warmth from every corner in the house. But there’s just nothing like a crackling fire.” So I reopen the flue and light the readied logs. It snaps to life.

  “Much better—now how about being Santa and delivering all those tastefully wrapped gifts to their rightful owner—and the other ones, too—you really should get some gift wrapping lessons.”

  “You’re jealous because of all the compliments my gift wrapping got from Howard.” I bring over several gifts I wrapped for her and marvel at my handiwork. Several I wrapped ribbon around and around, then wove a single pine bough into it—perfect. For a couple others I handmade huge bows out of bright red ribbon with black pieces here and there. One tiny box has a single loop of silver ribbon—classy. Ruby’s gifts are “okay” in the wrapping department, but one is done up in cowboy paper, I mean, c’mon already.

  I grin at our little collection of wrapped goodies. “How fun—you first.”

  “Oh, it’s too lovely…what the hell.” She rips and tears all my hard work, then fusses with the taped box, finally opening it and undoing the tissue. She holds up the colorful scarf and then wraps it around her neck with flair. “It’s marvelous, thank you, darling.”

  The phone rings just as I’m about to attack a gift wrapped in paper covered with little wedding cakes. I head over to the phone in the kitchen.

  “Merry Christmas,” I chirp into the mouthpiece.

  “Merry Merry Christmas, Eve—it’s Helen.” I can hear Ryan say “Merry Christmas” in the background.

  “What a great surprise—what’re you two up to today?”

  “We’re about to head down to the Twin Cities to visit my mom and then over to Ryan’s folks and I—we—wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas before we left. So what are you and that Ruby up to on this beautiful day?”

  I consider lighting up a cigarette, but decide against it. “We were just exchanging a few gifts and then I think we’re going to do some outdoorsy thing—Johnny was telling us about the ice caves around here that might need some peeking into, or maybe a bit of old fashioned ice-skating.”

  “Sounds fun. I’ve never heard of an ice cave.” Helen chuckles a bit. “Somehow I can’t imagine you on skates, though.”

  “Hey! I used to be pretty damn good—of course that was in the days of roller skates, but I hear tell it’s similar. But I probably will take a fall or two—good thing I’ve got some extra padding.”

  We laugh. “Have you heard back from your father?”

  My stomach knots. “Well, actually—”

  “Is he…okay?” Helen asks with caution in her voice.

  “Oh sure, it’s just that—well—he wrote me this note and—you’re not going to believe this.” I take in a deep breath. “He’s not really my dad after all.”

  “I knew it!” Helen states with oomph. I instantly feel better. “I felt something and the way you told me how growing up he was so distant and that you two just never seemed to get along. Well, there you have it—but geez, who is your dad? For that matter, I’ve been meaning to ask you—who’s mine?”

  I reach for a cigarette and light up. “Pull up a chair, Helen. This may take a while.”

  “My goodness.” Ruby comes into the kitchen just as I hang up the phone. “You two carry on like old friends—quite divine. Not meaning to eavesdrop, of course, but I think you handled the entire—what did you refer to it as—oh yes, ‘So who is yo daddy?’ very well. Nice touch.”

  “She’s extremely logical about all this.” I hold out my mug for a refill. “Thank you. Helen figures that since she’s only just met the guy, it’s no big deal to her, she’s more concerned for me and maybe something will turn up. Maybe in some of the old papers and letters in my mom’s hope chest, I might come across something, especially now that I know there’s something to be looking for—talk about taking secrets to the grave.”

  “What if you never do know, darling?” Ruby’s look of concern is so touching.

  “You know, it’s knowing that Larry isn’t my dad—that’s come as such, well, it’s a relief in a way. I mean the guy was so not there for me.”

  “Perhaps it was simply the only thing he could be—for you, for your mum as well.”

  “I’m beginning to see that…and let go of it, too.” I sip and think. “Hey—we need to finish our Christmas—c’mon.”

  We slump back down into the cozy sofa and (you guessed it) the phone rings.

  “The boys,” we say together.

  “Shall we let the machine pick it up?” Ruby asks and I nod.

  My voice clicks on: “Hello there, this is your lucky day—you’ve reached Eve and Ruby’s fancy answering service. Leave us something constructive and [dramatic pause] maybe we’ll call you back.” Then you can hear Rocky meow and Ruby’s giggle, followed by a desperate sounding beep.

  “I know you’re listening,” Johnny’s voice crackles through the speaker along with loud Christmas music in the background. “I bet you both are sitting on the couch in the living room, still in your robes and most likely smoking!” Howard hacks and hacks and then they both laugh. “We’re looking into renting some cross-country skis for this afternoon over in Bayfield. So get back to us when you’re not busy sitting there smoking and let’s get off this berg! Merry Christmas, you two, and thank you for the pajamas and robes you gave us!” Howard yells his thanks and then they click off.

  “My goodness,” Ruby sighs. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

  “It’ll be fun—now open up another one.”

  Rocky pounces onto the coffee table, grabs one of the tastefully wrapped gifts in his mouth and zooms upstairs. We hear him dash up to the tower room.

  “Well—then.” Ruby gives her hair a pat. “My heavens—he certainly has it bad for that catnip stuff. Pity it doesn’t affect us in the same way.”

  I tear open the one I get every year. (Lucky for you; otherwise you’d never know how things turn out.) “A fresh journal—thank you.”

  “That Rocky.” Ruby slips on her bifocals and reads the card attached to a small gift. “‘Hope this fits. Love Rocky.’ How jolly lovely of him, now let’s see what—” She tears off the paper in record time and then snaps the miniature jewelry box open. “Oh, Eve—it’s simply divine. A miniature apron with RUBY’S APRONS on it—what a marvelous brooch. I love it. It must have cost a fortune; are those real rubies?”

  “Of course not! And yes—it did cost a fortune, though. If I ever see that baby on eBay, you’re in big trouble.”

  Howard and Johnny clamber up the ladder and sit behind us in the duck. I back it out of the barn and head on down the driveway. I use a nearby wooden ramp that’s not so steep as our yard, and what with all this snow, I’ve gotten stuck down by the boathouse twice, so I figure why go for three? What will we do when the lake freezes over—drive on top of it, I suppose. Hmmm.

  “We all look like the Michelin men!” I say as we creep down the driveway and across the bridge. Everyone’s wrapped up in coats, scarves and gloves; the icy winter air is something. “Look over there.” I point to the left. “One of them has a rack, just like one of the heads we took down.” I wonder if that’s my friend?

  “They look much better attached to bodies,” Ruby comments. “Why in the world do men collect the heads—I do have that fish out on the porch,
though. So I suppose I’m just as guilty of hanging dead things about.”

  We zoom by Charlie’s place and I honk in case he’s peeking out a window.

  “I left a message with him,” I mention. “His machine said he’d be gone until after New Year’s.”

  “I believe he joins his children in Colorado,” Ruby offers. “Just where is this place we’re headed?”

  “Friends of ours, the Hausers, have an orchard,” Howard explains, “that they let people ski on in the winter—it’s a remarkable setting. Have you ever gone cross-country skiing?”

  “Never,” both Ruby and I say at the same time. “Isn’t it a lot of balancing?” I ask.

  “Not really,” Johnny offers rather unconvincingly. “But since you can walk in those high heels I’ve seen you two in, you’ll have no problem with skis.”

  We’re entering the town of LaPointe; it’s become a ghost town, seeing as the holidays are almost over. Most people are long gone, off to their winter retreats, only to return come spring. It’s nice to get a break from the crowds, but on the other hand, I miss the hustle and bustle. That’s me in a nutshell, wanting everything both ways.

  I honk again as we pass Al’s Place. I spy a sign in the window that says, CLOSED UNTIL NEXT YEAR—GET IT? SEE YOU NEXT WEEK.

  “Smart alec,” Ruby comments.

  I head us over beyond The Pub restaurant toward the marina, turning down a short ramp and voilà—we’re in the lake, heading for Bayfield. The sun is trying its best to peek out of all the gray, puffy clouds stuck together up there—doesn’t look promising.

  “Thank the heater god.” I pat the dashboard.

  “Goodness, the lake’s deserted,” Ruby says. “Isn’t the mist floating on the water odd?”

  “Actually,” Howard offers, “right about now this mist that you see is the beginning of the lake freezing up. I think in mid-January it’s about two inches thick, which is too thin for cars to drive on and too thick for the ferries to run.”

  “Then we take the Windsled,” I add. “I read something about it on the Web. Is it the same family who owns the ferry system?”

  “I’m not sure about that,” Howard replies, “but it’s only for maybe a few weeks at the most, then they plow an ice road and you can drive across. Sometime in March, when the lake starts to melt, it’s another week or two of using the Windsled again.”

  “Wow,” I comment. “The Windsled sounds interesting. The pictures of it are a bit daunting, but hey—if the thing works—what the hell! Driving on the ice will be really weird, though.”

  “This mist is so beautiful,” Johnny says. “Hey, look who’s standing on the pier holding a little girl’s hand.”

  “Mister Christmas Tree,” Ruby says.

  We wave—they wave back—I sigh and switch the boat to power up the wheels. Up the Bayfield city ramp we go. Howard points me in the right direction. I drive up Washington Avenue and on out of town. Sure hope Helen’s dad held her hand like that.

  “I cannot get over this,” I say for the hundredth time. “This is so—sexy—this cross-country thing.”

  “It truly is,” Ruby puffs out. “But I doubt we’ll be so cheery tomorrow when our legs are so sore we can’t budge!”

  “The boys are way down that ravine somewhere. I say we stop to rest. This orchard really is remarkable. Howard didn’t tell us there was a winery here, too; could be dangerous.”

  “You know, darling,” Ruby says with alarm in her voice, “no one told us how to stop these bloody things!”

  “Holy shit!” I cry out as we careen around a corner and end up flying down a ravine we hadn’t noticed until now.

  We decide to simply fall over in order to stop and end up joining in with the boys for a good old-fashioned snowball fight. Then we make snow angels until our hind ends are so cold I’m pretty sure mine is about to fall off. Could that actually work?

  We climb back up into the duck and wave good-byes to the Hauser family.

  “What a day,” I comment as I swing the duck onto the highway. “Saw some beautiful countryside, watched you two scramble like idiots in the snow and scored a case of vino!”

  “I’d say it’s been a perfect ten,” Ruby adds. “What have you two gentlemen got planned for New Year’s Eve?”

  “We haven’t really thought that far,” Johnny says. “But—”

  “Good, then you’ll be joining us,” I say. “Besides—we need help building a bonfire and you two have it down pat.”

  “Nobody makes a fire like Howard,” Johnny says with a certain tone.

  “I’ll show you a fire,” Howard replies.

  “Good heavens,” Ruby says with mock disdain. “Even in this cold—those two.”

  “Men—they’re all pigs,” I say. The boys proceed to oink all the way home. Good grief already.

  It’s late at night; Rocky and I are snuggled in bed with a good book, Hotel Paradise by Martha Grimes. But I can’t focus. I keep seeing that man and his daughter waving to us on the pier. It makes me sad; maybe it’s the father next to the daughter part and not so much the fact that it was him. That has to be it, of course.

  I wonder if I’ll find my real dad. I can’t believe this—first I’m worrying myself cross-eyed as to whether or not I’ll ever find my daughter—and now this. In a way, I suppose, it’s the yin-yang of Eve Moss. Or would that be the karma of Eve? Here I was thinking my life was so simple: aprons and coffee. Just goes to show you. Lift the hood of any human—and be ready for a surprise—or two.

  I slam the book shut; Rocky leaps out of bed, dashing out the door. “Damn it anyway!” I say to the emptiness. If and when I do find him, I’m going to kill him for all the anguish he’s caused my mom and me. “Men are pigs!” I sigh and then smile, remembering the boys oinking. Some men are perfect.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I’m down at the boathouse and it’s so quiet without the crew here. I miss the ladies, but after the first of the year, we’ll be back to it. You should have seen Sam’s eyes when I told them they would be getting a paycheck even though we’re closed between Christmas and New Year’s. I slip in a CD of Louis Armstrong; his classy jazz notes swing around the room.

  I just got off the phone with Watts; she manages my salon down in Eau Claire as well as lives in what used to be my apartment upstairs. I have a little—big actually—surprise for her, I’ve decided to sell her the place—lock, stock and barrel—for a song. Up until Helen came into my life, she was the closest thing to having a daughter I’d ever come to. Besides, I can’t imagine ever going back there, and since the apron business is doing so well, she needs the break—deserves it. And I can’t forget, God forbid, should Ruby kick the bucket before me, this entire cottage is mine. I believe in the concept of giving back. Imagine if everyone did.

  Funny, the older I get, the more I realize how all of us are just renters. We buy all this stuff, including the house to put it in, then when we’re dead and gone—what? I wonder, who would I want this place to go to when it’s my time?

  As far as giving my salon to Watts, it’s the ripple effect. My mom left me enough to start it and now I’m going to return the favor. I can’t imagine being here without Ruby, but someday, I suppose, maybe I will. But not today—and certainly not anytime soon, thank you very much.

  It’s healthy to reflect over the past year, let go of this and that and maybe pat myself on the back for a few things, too, but I don’t do the resolutions bit. Never understood that one. I mean, I can’t count how many times I’ve heard someone say they’re going to join the gym, lose those darn twenty pounds and find that one man who has all the answers, major—whatever!

  Living here has given me all the exercise I need, yoga and belly dancing have really been a riot, and honestly, I’m losing weight! I smile recalling our first dance up in the loft—what fun—and the happy-tired feeling afterward is so satisfying.

  The phone rings, pulling me back; I head over to the deer head.

  “Ruby’s Aprons, Eve
speaking,” I say clearly into the mouthpiece.

  “What all you doin’ down there, girl?” Sam asks and I grin. “Reminiscing about what’s come and gone is just a waste of your brain cells—and Eve—you don’t have all that many to spare!” She chuckles.

  “Hey—you be nice, it’s the holidays, you know. How are you, Sam? You have a good Christmas?”

  “Girl—let me tell you—family all gathered at my sister’s, too many gifts for the youngins and enough food and fixin’s for life—I swear. And oh my did the ladies enjoy the aprons…that was real kind of you and Ruby not to charge me for all them. Thank you, sister!”

  “Don’t be silly, I’m glad they were a hit. You home now—or?”

  “No—calling long distance from my sister’s fancy place down here in Milwaukee. Lord knows, they can afford it. This house is so big; I was looking to find my way to the kitchen late last night, needed something sweet, you know, and I ended up in the library. Which reminded me of you all, so here we are.”

  “Let’s chat then.” I light up. “It’s so quiet here, without everyone. You’re right about my year-in-review thing. It’s silly, I guess.”

  “Not silly—just don’t be festering on about things. What’s come and gone is just that—gone. Besides, I see next year you’re going to—”

  “Stop!” I hold my hand out, then giggle and wave off the feeling. “I want to find out myself and not know—too much. Maybe a peek…what do you see out there?”

  “Come spring…” Sam inhales in that way and I know she’s having a smoke, too. “There’s going to be a celebration…that’s all I’m gunna say, but we’re all going to be there together and it’s real happy and no…it ain’t your wedding to Tree Stud either. You can be sure of that.” Sam and I share a laugh.

  “He’s a hottie, that one,” I say and can still see his eyes glimmer when he was showing us all those trees. “But he’s—”

  “Married, that little girl I see you thinking on, the one he was with, that’s not his daughter, she’s his grand-baby. But girl—he’s got you on his mind—I can tell you that.”