by Susanne Beck
Making a quick left, I followed the tree-line until the first of the cottages, more like huge houses than simple shacks, came into view. I passed the first two cottages, then stopped. Even my breathing halted, as I saw with my own eyes what my heart refused to believe.
The cottage, that place where I’d spent so many wonderful summers, the place whose memories led me through the hardest years of my life, was gone.
Only a blanket of pristine snow marked its grave.
I felt tears well up; tears which even Ice’s warm and steady presence at my side failed to banish. All these years, some part of my heart still held out hope that the news of its burning had been some sort of cruel joke, played upon me by a merciless god.
It appeared that the joke was on me.
"You ok?" Ice asked after a moment, no-doubt wondering just what it was that was making me cry this time.
"It’s gone," I whispered. Then I laughed in self-deprecation. "Really stupid, I know. I shouldn’t be surprised, right? I mean, I knew it was gone. I just didn’t expect it to be so ... ."
"Empty?"
I sighed. "Yeah. Empty."
"Do you remember what it looked like?"
I turned to her. "Do I? Of course I do! I think I’ve memorized every single timber and shingle on it. The way the roof used to sag a little, right in the middle. The back entrance with the screen door that always looked like it needed a new coat of paint. The windows that always had cobwebs in them. The wooden furniture on the front porch. The tire swing. Everything."
"And can you picture it in your mind now?"
I smiled through my tears, remembering. "Yeah."
Ice returned my smile. "Good. Because it’ll look like that again. All we need is a little time and a little sweat."
I looked at the utter conviction in her eyes and, for the second time that day, believed. A grin blossomed on my face, erasing the tears. "What are we waiting for then? I’ve got the time, if you’ve got the sweat."
And, bounding away like a snowshoe hare, I scampered through the snow toward the flat rectangle of snow covered ground that would one day be the cabin I remembered.
Only better, because I would have Ice to share it with me.
* * *
It was close to sunset when we returned, cold and hungry, from our impromptu exploration of the area. We had spent most of the day, Ice following complacently as I cheerfully led her around to take in the sights of my former haunts: the little green dock which sat tottering on the small stretch of sand beach that the entire community in trucked in load by laborious load (and illegally, I might add just for veracity’s sake); the rushes where the summer frogs waited, loudly chirping for their mates; the tiny inlet where the water was always warm and where you could always find thousands of tiny tadpoles squirming around in the algae and water smoothed, if slightly slimy, rocks perfect for skimming.
I even prodded her up into my favorite tree, a friendly old pine with limbs just right for the shortened tread of tiny legs and a smooth crotch which nestled a child’s bottom cozily while said child watched the sailboats race around the lake in a rainbow of color.
Just as we arrived at the empty lot, the snowflakes began to spit from the sky, fat and wet with the promise of a sizable accumulation. I sighed, dejected. I was cold, soaked to the skin, hungry, and had the beginnings of a headache that promised to reach horse-felling proportions before it was through digging itself into my brain from behind my eyelids.
"Guess we might as well set up for the night, huh?" I asked in a tone which even a soon-to-be-hanged man would find disheartening.
Grunting in reply, she set her heavy pack down and started to unload our gear, which included a two-man mountain tent and three lightweight, but cold rated, sleeping bags which we had accepted from Bull over Ice’s vociferous objections.
I stood off to the side, momentarily entranced by the white snow dusting the dark fall of her hair before finally realizing that our camp wouldn’t set itself up.
I took a step in Ice’s direction before a breaking twig caused me to whirl to my right, my hands up in a defensive posture that would do exactly nothing if our evening visitor was a grizzly or something as equally deadly.
However, instead of a grizzly, or a wolf, or even a rabbit investigating the funny looking strangers intruding on its habitat, I saw a small, slight figure wrapped in a heavy parka and standing atop the short rise that separated our property from the neighboring plot of land. I raised my hand higher in a hesitant wave, hoping that whoever our silent watcher was, he wasn’t hiding something more than his hands in the pockets of his jacket.
A feminine, and slightly wavery, voice came from within the furred confines of the parka’s hood, and if I hadn’t the heavy pack still strapped to my back, I might have sagged with relief and toppled gleefully right into the snow. "Who are you?" the woman asked, making no move to come closer. "That’s private property, you know. I’ll call the police if I have to."
A disbelieving grin broke over my face as I recognized the broad Massachusetts accent that I’d so loved to try and decipher—and imitate—as a child. "Mrs. Anderson? Is that you?"
"Who are you?" the voice repeated, no more friendly for my having guessed her name.
I winced, hesitated a split-second longer than society deemed polite, then bit the proverbial bullet and opened my mouth, hoping that perhaps an avalanche from a non-existent mountain, or perhaps that woman-eating grizzly I’d envisioned, would have the foresight to swallow me up.
No such luck.
You see, back in that little slice of hell called the Bog, an inordinate amount of time—or so it seemed to me—was spent, particularly by the Amazons, in playing a little game called "Guess Angel’s real name". Oh, they knew my last name, of course. Everyone did. It was shouted by the guards at least four times a day, at headcount. More, if I’d committed an infraction or was needed somewhere.
But my first name ... . Well, I kept the door to that little secret closed tighter than Fort Knox, thank you very much. And for good reason, too, having endured more than a little teasing over it in the tender years of my youth and beyond.
What surprised me the most, though, was that Corinne, for all her long and many tentacles dipping in and out of all aspects of prison life, hadn’t found out. Thinking back on it now, though, I figure she probably knew what it was within the first several seconds of my confinement in the Bog, but had never had the need, nor perhaps the opportunity, to pull out that particular weapon to use on me. For which I was and will forever be profoundly grateful.
And as for Ice, I asked her about her seeming lack of curiosity one evening when the game was going on especially fast and furious, leaving me blushing to the roots of my hair and the tips of my toes over some of the more ...inventive ...guesses.
She’s shrugged and, in her typical blunt style, said, "If Angel’s what you want to be called, then that’s what I’ll call ya."
Simple as that.
I blinked my eyes at the softly cleared throat behind me, and realized that not only was our watcher waiting for my answer, Ice was too.
Damn.
Double damn.
"It’s Tyler, Mrs. Anderson," I said finally, probably more softly than I should have, but much more loudly, by several decibels, than I would have wished.
"Tyler?" the woman repeated. The hood of the parka cocked sideways in that birdlike little head tilt of curiosity I remembered so well. "Tyler Moore? It that really you?"
I smiled, though it probably wasn’t one of my more encouraging ones.
It must have been good enough for her, however, because she began to make her way down the hill toward us, moving with the sure-footed grace of one well accustomed to wading through deep drifts of snow.
"Don’t say it," I warned softly to the steady presence at my back. "Don’t even think it."
A beat of silence.
"Wouldn’t dream of it."
Thank you, God.
"Mary."
If I wasn’t absolutely positive, with every single fiber of my being, that Ice could turn me into fish flakes before I even thought to blink, I would have been on her faster than a wolf on a rabbit. As it was, however, I contented myself with simply turning my head and shooting her a look which, I was sure, was searing enough to melt glass, had there been any about waiting to be liquefied by my powers of intimidation.
Unfortunately, even the snow beneath us refused to so much as melt under the heat of my stare. And as for the object of my pitiful attempt at wrath, she looked just as calm and collected as ever—darn her. Couldn’t she at least try to look scared?—her face expressionless, but her eyes twinkling smugly.
You just wait, Miss High and Mighty. Paybacks are a real bitch.
That was all I had time to think before I felt myself engulfed in a hug, its strength belying the slight body of the woman embracing me. I returned the hug, though without as much vigor as I would have used to hug, say, Ice, knowing well the brittleness of elderly bones.
We both pulled away after a long moment and I felt my numb cheeks being cupped by a pair of warm, gloved hands. "By God in his mercy, child, it really is you! You’ve grown so much I hardly recognize you!"
I smiled and, of course, blushed. "Yes, well, the years have a way of doing that to you." I could barely see her face, but her smile shone through the darkness of her hood like a beacon, bathing me in the warmth of her welcome.
She laughed, a very musical and well-loved sound, before stepping away. "I wish the years would have a way of doing that to me. I wake up every morning and swear I’ve shrunk a little in the night."
Then she pulled back her hood, giving me my first glimpse of a face I remembered so well that it could have been just a day ago that I’d seen her. Her hair was a little more gray, her face a little more lined, but looking at her was like stepping back in time once again, just another step through the Twilight Zone on a day that had been filled with déjà vu.
"It’s so wonderful to see you," I said, probably looking like an absolute idiot as I stood there, snow melting on my shoulders, grinning at her.
Gently grasping my arm, she returned my smile. "It’s wonderful to see you too, sweetheart. I thought maybe I never would. Your mother’s been a bit reticent in telling me your goings on whenever we speak, which lately, hasn’t been very often at all."
While I made sure to keep the smile firmly affixed to my face, inside I was cringing.
All thoughts of paybacks flew right out of the proverbial window when Ice, obviously sensing my acute discomfort with the situation I suddenly found myself in, picked up her pack and pretended to search for something in it, making a bit more noise than she was generally wont to do.
My grin became more natural with the apparent success of the diversionary tactic. "Mrs. Anderson, I’d like you to meet my friend Morgan. Morgan, this is Mrs. Anderson, my neighbor."
"Pleased to meet you, Ma’am," Ice replied, gently shaking the older woman’s hand in greeting.
"Enough of that," she said, pumping my lover’s hand firmly. "I’ve been Ruby for going on seventy-five years, and that’s the name I’ll thank you to call me, Morgan." Turning her head, she tipped a wink at me. "The same goes for you as well, Tyler."
I firmly believe that there are times in every adult’s life when the weight of the years melt away and we find ourselves seven again, being chastised by the second grade teacher we’ve spent the entire school year developing a serious crush on.
This was one of those times.
I stood there, sure that the heat of my cheeks would set the forest ablaze, and tried desperately not to let on how small I felt beneath the weight of her gentle rebuke.
There was a moment of awkward silence before Mrs. Anderson—Ruby—released Ice’s hand and smiled at me. "Well, you’ve certainly picked the perfect season to do some visiting, Tyler. No crowds."
I laughed, put immediately at ease by the warmth of her smile. "Yeah, well the water’s probably a little cold."
"And quite hard, to boot, I’d imagine," she teased.
"That too. On the plus side, though, I probably don’t have to worry about getting a sunburn." My attempt at lighthearted conversation ground to a halt and I looked down at my hands, the smile slipping from my face like a Halloween mask after the last treat has been passed out.
While telling a lie might have been a poor way to say hello, telling the truth just might mean a permanent goodbye. Insecure about all the changes in my life as I was, the one thing I couldn’t afford was to lose someone like Ruby, who could be a desperately needed link to the townspeople as well as being a much needed friend.
"I’m ...not here just to visit," I began, hoping that my well-rehearsed speech would come out better than it sounded in my head. I avoided looking at Ice, though it was hard. I really needed her support with this. I took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I needed a break, from where I was. I was tired of the violence around me," which was, in fact, true. "The beatings. The stabbings. The shootings." And here, I looked up at Ice, who closed her eyes briefly in silent acknowledgement before opening them again to meet my gaze steadily. I wanted to reach out to her, but didn’t dare.
The memory of seeing her bleeding into the ground was a wound still much too fresh to withstand a deep inspection of it. To this day, it haunts my dreams with distressing regularity, leaving me sweating and breathless each time it crawls up from the hole I’ve dug for it in my mind.
Tearing my eyes from those of my partner, I resumed looking at Ruby, who looked back, a compassionate expression on her face. I summoned up a smile from somewhere. "The memory of this place has gotten me through a lot of hard times in my life. And so I figured that if I just came back here and tried to turn the dream into a reality once again, maybe things would start making sense again."
I sighed again. I could feel my shoulders slump beneath the weight of the need I had to make the words I’d just spoken come to fruition. "I don’t know if it’s just wishful thinking on my part, but I do know that I have to try."
Ruby smiled and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "You always were a dreamer, Tyler. From the first time I saw you, sitting on that porch swing staring into the sunset. It used to drive your mother to distraction. She never really understood you, I don’t think. But I always believed that if someone could dream so sweetly and so well, they deserved a chance to have those dreams come true. And if living here is all it takes to make that dream of yours come true, then I’ll help in any way I can."
Tears stung my eyes as a little part of my heart fell in love all over again with the woman who’d been a young, friendless girl’s only confidant all those years ago. "Thank you," I whispered with all the sincerity in my heart.
"You’re welcome," she replied in kind, smiling tenderly at me, maybe remembering, as I did, how it was between us all those years ago.
Removing her hand from my shoulder, Ruby turned and fixed Ice with an inquisitive stare. "And you? You don’t seem the dreaming type, Morgan."
Ice smiled, and I could see just the faintest touch of danger in the white gleam of her teeth. "I might be."
From the corner of my eye, I could see Ruby react, stiffening just slightly before nodding. "Yes. You just might be, at that."
Then she turned, and looked down, eyes widening in surprise. "Surely you aren’t planning on spending the night camping out here in the cold, are you?"
I sighed. "That wasn’t my first choice, no. I had planned to grab a room at The Silver Pine, but it’s closed for the season." I could feel my cheeks heating again and I looked up at her with what I’m sure was a child-like expression on my face. "Guess I should have figured that, huh?"
Ruby shook her head in negation. "Not really. Margaret Carmody kept that place open the year around. She did good business, even in the middle of the winter, what with all the hunters around here. But when she passed on, her niece took over. Pleasant woman, but a little ...," she paused, obviously searching for the
right word, "eccentric is, I suppose, the best way to put it."
I laughed. "Crazy, huh?"
"As a bedbug," Ruby replied primly.
"I’m sorry to hear that Mrs. Carmody died. She was a very sweet person."
"Indeed she was." She looked down at our gear, then back up at me, a no-nonsense expression on her face. "Now, I suggest you pack all of those supplies back up again and come with me. You’ll stay with me in my home until the cabin gets rebuilt."
Swallowing hard, I chanced a look in Ice’s direction. Sure enough, my lover was staring at Ruby, her eyes narrowed to the barest of slits. I could almost feel her simmering anger from where I stood.
This wasn’t good.
"Is there a problem?" Ruby asked, looking from Ice, to me, and back again, obviously noting that we weren’t jumping at her rather enforced invitation.
"Um, no. No problem at all. Right, I ...Morgan?"
My mother’s voice chose exactly that moment to shuffle through my consciousness. When in doubt, beg.
And so I did. Not with words, no. But given the choice between sleeping in a tiny, cold tent and sleeping in a nice, warm house, in a nice, warm bed, well, it wasn’t difficult to come to a decision.
The only thing that remained was to convince my proud partner, for whom the receipt of any type of charity was seen as a major character weakness. Even if said charity could help save us from an early death, or, at the very least, the loss of several appendages from frostbite.
If I sound a bit melodramatic, you have to remember that I was really really cold. And really really tired. And that headache had gone past what my father always called the ‘hosskick’ stage. It now resembled the stomp of a mule, and a feisty one at that.
I continued to look at Ice, putting every ounce of pleading into my expression, hoping against hope it would work.
After a time which seemed like an eternity but was in reality only a matter of a few short seconds, I saw her expression soften slightly and her shoulders slump. A wry smile curved her lips and I thought I saw her eyes roll, but by then it was too dark to be sure.