Conspiracy of Silence

by Martha Powers

  “Is he yours?”

  “Heavens no. He belongs to an artist friend of mine who lives around the far side of the lake.

  “He scratched on the door as if he expected me to let him in.”

  “Usually he doesn’t bother anyone in the cottage. He’s somewhat shy of strangers. Especially women. However he seems to have taken to you.” She leaned over and spoke directly to the dog. “I’ve told you before, you can’t come in.”

  As if the dog understood, he flopped down on the porch, his head resting on his paws. Clare edged around him.

  “I should warn you,” Ruth said, opening the door wider and beckoning to Clare, “that my house is decorated in an unusual manner.”

  Clare halted in the doorway, dazzled by the display.

  The living room appeared filled with roses. A sofa and several overstuffed chairs, upholstered in large cabbage roses, faced the wall of windows that overlooked the lake. A broad swath of floral material dipped and flounced above the sheer pink curtains and flowed down on either side to pool on the mauve carpet. On the coffee table and several smaller tables were bowls and vases filled with silk roses of every shade of pink. On either side of the fireplace were wicker baskets filled with balls of yarn and a few knitting needles. The basket handles were adorned with pink and red roses. Even the shades of the lamps had been adorned with pink andwhite flowers.

  “Perhaps a bit too many flowers?” Ruth asked, eyeing Clare beneath one raised eyebrow. “A friend gave me a glue gun for Christmas the year my husband died and I moved back to Grand Rapids. It was a very long winter and I was very depressed. The snow was too deep to go out much so I was literally trapped with a sewing machine, several bolts of material, and a huge box of silk flowers.”

  Clare could feel her lips twitching with an effort to keep her voice neutral. “The flowers must have brightened the room in the bleakness of winter,” she said.

  Ruth let out a great whoop of laughter. “Well done, my dear. Very diplomatic. Just wait until you see the rest of the house.”

  The master bedroom was a riot of big cabbage roses. Roses adorned the comforter and the pillow shams. Even the bed skirt was a rose-patterned fabric to match the draperies at the window. The headboard was an intricately carved beige wood, which matched the bureau and the bedside tables. An old-fashioned dressing table was dressed in a filmy rose-colored skirt. Naturally the cushion on the chair was covered with the ever-present rose material. Looking up, Clare couldn’t hold back a giggle as she saw that roses had been glued to the blades of the fan.

  “It must have been a very long winter,” she said.

  Ruth laughed along with her. “Several years ago I thought about redoing the room to something less frenetic. Strangely enough, as bad as it is, I’ve gotten so that I’m rather fond of the appalling display.”

  “I will never look at a rose again without thinking of you,” Clare said, kissing the older woman’s cheek.

  “Come along, you rude child, and we’ll be off. If you wouldn’t mind carrying the chicken salad, I’ll lock up the house.”

  Ruth handed Clare a large covered bowl and then led the way out to the porch. Waldo was still firmly planted on the porch and Clare stepped over him as Ruth locked the front door.

  “We’re going out for a while, Waldo. Hope it won’t be too muchtrouble to watch the place.” His tail thumped for answer. “Would you mind driving, Clare? My eyes aren’t the best at night.”

  They drove back to town, and following Ruth’s directions, Clare found her way to the church. She pulled into the parking lot and gazed at the lovely building. It was an old-fashioned red brick building with white trim on the windows and a beautiful triplepaned window above the entrance. The bell tower was square with white shuttered openings. Double doors led off the parking lot. A plump little woman with jet black hair stood in the entryway to the church hall to welcome them. “Hello, Ruth. I hope you’ve brought your famous chicken salad.”

  “Yes I did, Bianca. How are you this evening?”

  “Just fine, dear.” She gave her an air kiss then turned to greet Clare.

  “This is my niece’s friend, Clare Prentice. She’s renting my cottage for a week or so. Clare, this is Bianca Egner, Pastor Egner’s sister.”

  Bianca blinked her eyes in confusion as she turned to stare at Clare. “D . . . did you say this was your niece? Gail?”

  “No. This is Gail’s friend. Clare.”

  “Oh I’m sorry. I was just flustered that you were Gail and I didn’t recognize you.” Her hands flew up to smooth the hair off her forehead. “I’ve been so busy today, I barely know my own name. Come with me, Clare, and I’ll show you where to put that bowl.”

  Bianca turned and led the way into the main hall. A long buffet table was set up in front of the kitchen doors. A long, white lace cloth and dishes of every size and shape covered the table. Bianca moved a few things and took the serving bowl from Clare and set it on the table.

  It was a large square room with wood-paneled walls complemented by a golden marbled linoleum floor. There were tables set around the room, covered by tablecloths ranging in color from brown to orange to gold. Glass vases in the center of the table were filled with orange and yellow flowers.

  “What lovely centerpieces,” Clare said.

  “Bianca is the president of my garden club. She’s a wizard with flower arranging,” Ruth said.

  “I have to admit it’s one of my few talents.”

  Watching the older woman’s face flush with pleasure, Clare could see how delighted she was with the compliment. Although her hair was black without a strand of gray — thanks to modern chemicals — Clare guessed that Bianca was in her mid-fifties. Her skin was pale, almost pink in color, and her hands fluttered as if to emphasize her words. Looking around, she waved to a man across the room.

  “I’d like you to meet my brother,” Bianca said, taking Clare by the elbow and leading her and Ruth over to meet him.

  Pastor Olli would have stood out in any room. He was tall with broad shoulders and a broad chest. He moved gracefully for a large man as he crossed toward them. He was older than Bianca, probably in his sixties. His cheeks were ruddy and he had bushy eyebrows above piercing hazel eyes. His most striking feature was his full head of white hair that had been styled in thick waves at his temples.

  “Look at you, Miss Ruth. You look in the pink of health.” His voice had a deep stirring timbre. In lieu of a hug, he placed his hands on her shoulders and shook her slightly then nodded to Clare. “Have you brought me a lovely new addition to my flock?”

  “I’m Clare Prentice. I’m renting Ruth’s cottage. She was kind enough to invite me to the supper.”

  “It’s good of you to come. We always try to have a little celebration at the start of Tall Timber Days, Grand Rapids’s annual event. I hope you’ll join in all the festivities while you’re here.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Clare said.

  “How long will you be staying in Grand Rapids?”

  “A week or two. It’s a combination of work and vacation. Lost Lake is beautiful and there seems to be lots to do in Grand Rapids. I gather from Ruth this weekend will be loaded with activities.”

  “Yes, the art show is on Saturday. My sister . . .” he turned to address Bianca, but she had moved away and was talking to some other women. “My sister will be showing some of her pastels. She’s quite talented. It’s always interesting that even in a small town, so many of the occupants have an artistic bent. I have none.”

  “I’m ashamed to admit my art talent is on a par with stickfigure drawing,” Clare said. “Aside from roses, Ruth, can you paint orsculpt?”

  “Knitting,” the older woman said. “My mother used to say I came out of the womb with a pair of knitting needles in my hand. Must have been mighty uncomfortable for her.”

  Olli’s hearty laughter rumbled from his chest. “You are a pistol, Ruth. I love that line. I’ve seen your work and your baby blankets are truly works
of art.”

  “Thank you, Olli,” she said. “And don’t worry I’ll be donating some to your Christmas bazaar.”

  Clare was conscious that Bianca had returned and was shifting from foot to foot beside Olli, waiting to break into the conversation. Although he seemed to be aware she was there, he didn’t acknowledge her until she pulled on the sleeve of his jacket.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Olli, but one of the ladies in the kitchen needs to have the pantry unlocked.”

  His mouth twitched in annoyance but he took a breath and smiled at Clare and Ruth. “Sorry, ladies. Duty calls. Make yourselves at home.”

  He swiveled around, brushing past Bianca as he strode toward the kitchen with his flustered sister trotting in his wake. Ruth smiled after them and led Clare to a table where she greeted several women. After introductions were made, she asked if Clare would like to go to the beverage area to get something to drink. Leaving Ruth chatting happily with her friends, Clare went to the far side of the room.

  She was amused that the choices of drinks were cherry KoolAid and lemonade. She had just purchased two glasses of lemonadewhen her gaze was drawn to the doorway. Having seen his picture on his book jacket, she recognized Nathan Hanssen immediately.

  In person Hanssen looked much less formidable than his publicity pictures. On the cover of his latest book, he had appeared handsomely literary in a conservative suit, hair brushed and styled, staring into the distance as if bored with the passing scene.

  He was tall and lanky and his hair, collar length, was a tousled, streaky blond. His face was striking, sharp angles and planes. A carved, slightly beaky nose, strong chin, and high cheekbones gave him a faintly Native American look. What the publicity picture hadn’t shown was the dark intensity of his blue eyes. Even across the room, she had the impression that little escaped his attention.

  As if her scrutiny had drawn his attention, he looked up. For amoment they stared at each other. Embarrassed to be caught, Clare took a sip from her lemonade and tried to look nonchalant. Nathan raised his hand as if to signal her.

  S

  Chapter Three

  Nathan Hanssen took a step forward, but a young girl appeared at his side and he turned his attention to her. He leaned down to speak to her. She pointed to a table near the back of the room, he took her hand and followed as she skipped across the floor. Clare assumed the young girl was his daughter Erika. She had the same lanky look as her father and her hair was similar to his except it was white blonde. They joined another couple and their daughter, a girl the same age as Erika.

  Shrugging off the strangeness of the encounter, she carried the lemonade back to her table and joined in the conversation as the other ladies who were members of Ruth’s garden club asked about her trip north and how she liked Grand Rapids. Eventually they got up and went through the buffet line.

  Clare was surprised how hungry she was. She couldn’t decide if it was the excitement of the day or the fact that so much of the food was different than what she was used to. Jell-O molds and casseroles. The conversation around them was lively and there was a lot of laughter in the hall. The chatter reminded Clare of several times she and her mother had been included at picnics with Gail’s family in Chicago.

  “Many years ago,” Clare said to Ruth, “I went with your brother and the children to Belmont Harbor for a wonderful dinner on the rocks beside Lake Michigan. While we ate, we watched the boats going in and out of the harbor.”

  “Oh my, that takes me back,” Ruth said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “One time when my husband and I visited Chicago, Owen took us there too. The summer night was beautiful and we had a little grill and Owen cooked brats and sauerkraut and beans. Must have been twenty-five years ago, but I can almost taste those brats.”

  Ruth was quiet after that, concentrating on the food at hand. Clare was content to eat her dinner. Occasionally her attention was drawn back to Hanssen.

  “I see you recognized him,” Ruth said.

  “Yes. That’s his daughter, Erika? How old is she?” “Eleven. In some ways older than that and in others much

  younger. Would you like me to introduce you?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll call him tomorrow to make an appoint

  ment. I’m not up to being professional tonight.” Clare looked

  toward his table and was startled to see him watching her. She

  quickly turned away.

  “Yes, I noticed that too. He’s been eyeing you for some time.” “He’s probably wary of strangers. If I went over to introduce

  myself, he’d be annoyed that some media type was bothering him

  during dinner.” Wanting to distract Ruth, she said, “Pastor Olli

  and his sister are quite charming. I’ve been watching them

  mingling with the crowd. They both have great rapport with the

  people here. Especially Olli.”

  “Olli has done wonders since he’s been at the church. Unlike

  some of the ministers in the area, he’s got a very active youth

  group. In the summer he runs a boys’ camp for several weeks,

  which is very well attended.”

  “Does he run it by himself?” Clare asked.

  “No, he brings in a faculty of young men and women, most

  of them from Duluth, who act as counselors and direct the activities. Olli lived in Minneapolis and Duluth for many years and made

  a great many contacts at the colleges there.”

  “You said it’s a summer camp?”

  “Yes. Olli and Bianca live on the other side of the lake. Actually their place is just beyond Hanssen’s place. They have quite a

  bit of property. The land was originally owned by their parents who held on to it even after they moved to Minneapolis. Originally a summer cottage, eventually, as the Egner’s became more affluent, they rebuilt it into a substantial all-season house. There’s also a large guesthouse where the camp faculty live and a separate dining

  hall and boathouse.”

  “Was Olli’s father a minister too?”

  “Oh, no. Roy Egner, from what I can remember, would need

  a special invitation to set foot into the vestibule of heaven.” Ruth

  leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He was a loudmouthed,

  overbearing man who browbeat his wife and children. He was a

  wheeler-dealer in banking and stocks and bonds. I never heard a

  good word said about him.”

  Clare was surprised at Ruth’s vehemence. “That bad?” “Probably worse.” Ruth caught her breath. “I’m sorry, but

  the mere mention of the man’s name raises my blood pressure.

  When I was younger I heard a good bit about him from my parents and then later Owen confirmed a lot of the stories. He bilked

  a lot of people out of money and property, foreclosing on people

  and scooping up their land.”

  “He’s gone?”

  “Yes. A lot of years ago and good riddance is all I can say.”

  Ruth nodded her head with a quick jerk. “I guess that’s why I’m

  so fond of Olli. He apparently found solace in the Lord and made

  something of himself. And he’s always been so good to Bianca. In

  some ways she was the one who was most affected. She’s very shy,

  but she’s made a wonderful hostess and housekeeper for Olli.

  They’re quite a team.”

  Clare looked across the room to where Olli and Bianca were

  talking to the women behind the buffet table. Bianca’s hands fluttered as she talked to the women, touching them occasionally on

  the arm in a sweet, unobtrusive manner. It was as if when words

  failed her, she needed to give a touch of approval.

  “Neither of them married?” Clare asked.

  “Olli married in his twenties. I never knew his wife and I can’t

  even remember her name. Word was she was a fl
ashy city girl. That

  sounds pretty catty, but I’m just quoting my sources,” Ruth said, grinning across at Clare. “I gather she didn’t like Grand Rapids and was unhappy when they moved back here from Minneapolis.

  Bianca was in her teens and lived with them.”

  “That must have been hard for newlyweds. Did they divorce?” “Yes. Owen said the wife just picked up and left. Olli had a

  tough time at first since he was the pastor and, of course, the congregation was wondering what had gone wrong. According to

  Owen, he broke the news during his service. Just said that like

  other couples they’d had trouble in their relationship and felt they

  couldn’t continue their marriage. Never said anything bad about

  her, just said it was over.”

  “Must have been a blow to his ego.” Clare watched as he

  leaned down to tell Bianca something. When she nodded, he patted her shoulder in thanks. “He’s got a charming way about him

  that it’s a surprise someone hasn’t snagged him.”

  “Excuse me, Ruth. I haven’t had a chance to talk to you

  tonight and I’m on my way out.”

  “You can’t fool me, Ed Wiklander,” Ruth said, beaming up at

  the man beside the table. “You’ve come for an introduction to my

  renter. I doubt if you ever miss a chance to meet a pretty girl.” The man didn’t look the slightest bit uncomfortable with

  Ruth’s comment.

  “Guilty as charged,” he said, then turned to Clare. “As you

  may have gathered, I’m Ed Wiklander, local connoisseur of feminine beauty.”

  Clare grinned and held out her hand. “Clare Prentice.” Ed’s big hand engulfed hers and he eyed her thoroughly

  before he released his grip. He made no apology for his admiring

  glance and she found herself smiling back at him. A big, bearlike

  man, he had pale skin, freckles, and red hair. He stood out among

  the mainly fair-haired Scandinavian crowd. He appeared to be a

  little older than she was and was clearly interested in her. “You live here in Grand Rapids?” she asked. She gave a slight