by Amy M. Reade
“You must be Macy,” she said, smiling. “I hope you’re settling in comfortably and that you are enjoying your first hours on Hallstead Island. You’ve no idea how much I’ve looked forward to meeting you.”
I returned the greeting, and then Miss Hallstead suggested that we have coffee and talk a bit in her sitting room. I followed as she led the way, walking stiffly.
In the den, Miss Hallstead gestured for me to be seated on the sofa in front of the fireplace, and she slowly eased herself down next tome.
“Can I help you?” I asked, but Miss Hallstead shook her head resolutely.
“I am so glad you’re here,” she said, settling herself. “Now, you must tell me all about yourself.”
“Well,” I began, “I’ll be twenty-one years old in three months and I’ve worked for the past year at Empire Hospital in New York City. I—”
“Oh, I know all about your work. I’ve seen your credentials. I want to know about you. We have to get acquainted if you’re going to be living here!”
“My work is pretty much who I am; at least, it’s been that way for the past year. But I also like to run and hike and ride my bike. And I like to paint, although it’s been quite a while since I’ve had the time to do that.”
Miss Hallstead’s eyes lit up. “Paint! I love to paint! Some of my paintings are hung up around Summerplace. I used to be quite good, actually.” Miss Hallstead’s voice trailed off and she stared into the fire. Then she blinked and turned toward me again. “Maybe you can do some painting while you’re here. I still have my painting supplies and you’re welcome to use them.”
I thanked her and she continued. “Tell me what you think of your rooms.”
“They’re beautiful . . . so light and cheerful.”
“Those rooms used to be mine. I decorated them myself. This old house hasn’t always been as gloomy as it is now.” She sighed and pointed to her hip. “It’s been a while since I was up in those rooms.”
“We’ll get you up there again,” I assured her. “It just may take some time.” Miss Hallstead smiled weakly, as though she doubted what I said. She then changed the subject to her doctor’s orders and her recent medical history. I reviewed several notes that the doctors had left for me, and Miss Hallstead and I discussed a possible schedule for rehabilitative therapy that would allow her to continue working as she had been.
As our lengthy conversation drew to a close, I offered to help her prepare for bed.
“Oh, good heavens, no,” she replied. “I’m a tough old bird, you’ll see.” She laughed and I bid her good night.
CHAPTER 4
I wasn’t yet ready to go to sleep, so I lingered in the library after I left Miss Hallstead. There were hundreds of titles and countless genres to choose from. I came across several shelves of books devoted to the Saint Lawrence River, and I chose one written by Paul Malo. If the Saint Lawrence River region was to be my temporary home, I should learn more about it.
I took the book to my room and got undressed quickly since by now it was very cold. Before getting into bed, I peered between the drapes and saw that the sky had cleared, leaving a perfect half-moon shining brightly. It had been a long time since I had seen anything in the sky so clearly! The lights of Manhattan had a way of obscuring the moon and stars at night. With my book in hand, I climbed between the covers. Before I started reading, however, I made the mistake of reaching for a small photo album I had placed inside the nightstand. It contained photos of me and my parents, as well as a few shots of Alan. I paged slowly through the album, remembering, and tears began to well up in my eyes. I blinked them away and placed the album back in the nightstand. Determined not to upset myself on my first night in this unfamiliar place, I began to read the book, with its fascinating stories of life on the Saint Lawrence River in days gone by.
Despite my interest in the book, my eyelids soon began to get heavy. It had been a long day. I turned out the light, thinking again of how nice it would be to use the fireplace in my room.
I slept well that night, despite the cold. When I awoke, a little after five o’clock, I showered quickly and got dressed, then slipped downstairs and out the heavy front door for a walk.
It was cold outside. My breath hung in the air, frosty white. I walked quickly to stay warm, staying for a short distance on the flagstone path around the front of Summerplace, but then setting off through the trees toward the dock, in the direction I had come from the day before.
As I emerged from the stand of trees, I could hear the plaintive sounds of a flock of geese flying low overhead. It was still too dark to see them, but I knew there were a lot of them. Their honking had a lonely sound. As I approached the dock, I saw Pete on his knees, looking at the boat I had ridden in yesterday. I went down to say hello.
“Morning,” he grunted as he straightened up next to the boat.
“Good morning,” I replied. “Checking out the boat?”
“Yeah. I’ll be taking her out of the water in another month or so. Trying to get away from Summerplace already?”
I smiled ruefully. “I think it’s going to take me some time to get adjusted here.”
“Well, I guess you’ll get used to it soon enough.”
We exchanged strained small talk for a couple of minutes, but after Pete checked his watch for the third time during our brief conversation, I said good-bye and continued walking. I headed back toward the house and walked briskly around it several times. I saw a set of steps leading to a door that I hadn’t noticed on my self-guided tour the previous day; I presumed it opened into Miss Hallstead’s office. As I rounded the back of the house for the third time, I saw Vali leaving the cottage she shared with Leland. She hadn’t seen me, so I slowed my steps to avoid speaking to her. Once she’d plodded along the flagstones and let herself in the kitchen door, I quickened my pace again and entered quietly through the front.
It was close to six a.m., so I went to the kitchen to find out about breakfast. Miss Hallstead had told me that Vali always brought her a breakfast tray before six thirty, so I thought I should probably eat breakfast around the same time.
Vali was in the kitchen, banging a skillet and a butter dish down on the stove. I greeted her from the doorway. “Good morning, Mrs. Byrd.”
She turned to me with a sour expression and replied, “If you’re looking for breakfast, you’ll have to make it yourself. I’m fixing Miss Hallstead’s tray.”
Somewhat taken aback but determined to stay cheerful, I eventually found a few ingredients to make myself breakfast. While the water for my tea heated, I offered to take Miss Hallstead’s tray to her. Valentina grunted that that was her job and she would do it. As she walked off carrying a tray laden with coffee, eggs, fresh fruit, and a muffin, I sat down in the dining room to tea, toast, and a banana.
She returned to the kitchen shortly but didn’t stay long. She ignored me and went out the back door. I ate quickly and washed my own dishes, not wishing to give her any more reason to resent my presence, and then set off for Miss Hallstead’s rooms, anxious to get started with my new patient.
I knocked on Miss Hallstead’s sitting room door and she answered immediately, calling out, “Come in, Macy.” When I entered, she was standing by the sofa in a long light-blue nightgown, her hair flowing down her back—I wouldn’t have guessed it was so long! She greeted me cheerfully and suggested that I wait while she dressed. I offered to help her, but as she had done the night before, she refused.
I had her physicians’ orders and her medical file, so I took those and waited for her in the library. Having already read them the night before, I began browsing again through all the books. After several minutes, I came to the section on the Saint Lawrence River, from which I had taken the Paul Malo work. This morning I was quickly drawn to a beautiful book of photographs of the Saint Lawrence River and the Thousand Islands. Leafing through the book, I started to become more acutely aware of the astounding beauty of this region of North America. There were pictures of every
season, of people and landscapes, wildlife and waterscapes. I drank in the beauty of every photo slowly and, after quite some time, was interrupted by Miss Hallstead, leaning slightly on her cane in the library doorway.
“Aren’t Ian Coristine’s photographs amazing?” she asked, nodding at the book I was holding.
“They’re breathtaking,” I agreed. “I’d love to actually visit some of these places sometime.”
“You will. You passed several of the islands featured in that book on your trip here from Cape Cartier.
“As a matter of fact,” she continued, “Summerplace is in there, too.” She came toward me and reached for the book, then flipped several pages and pointed to a picture of Summerplace taken from a low-flying airplane. It was a gorgeous photograph. It had been taken on a brilliantly sunny day and I could see the entire island rising starkly from the still, slate-blue water. Only the rooftop of the home, crowned by its magnificent weathervane, was visible through the thick forest of trees encompassing every shade of green. Seeing this photo gave me a better perspective of the size and shape of Hallstead Island.
I placed the book of photographs back on its shelf and turned to Miss Hallstead. “Shall we walk outside a bit? It’s a good, easy way for you to start warming up your muscles, plus it feels great out there—I’ve already had a walk this morning.”
Miss Hallstead agreed to accompany me. “If you’re going to walk outside, you should probably change your shoes,” I noted, pointing to the stylish, low-heeled pumps she wore with her pantsuit.
“No,” she answered flatly. “I’m wearing these.”
“Okay,” I acquiesced reluctantly. “We’ll just take it nice and slow. Will you at least put on a coat?”
“That I’ll do, my dear.” Miss Hallstead smiled back, and after she donned a warm fall jacket, we set out. She held my arm as we slowly descended the stone front steps, but after that she used only her cane for support. We walked slowly, staying on the flagstone path close to the house, and as we progressed, Miss Hallstead told me a little more about the Thousand Islands.
“The Europeans—actually, the French—‘discovered’ the river in 1535,” Miss Hallstead began. “Jacques Cartier was a French explorer looking for a northern passage to Asia when he happened upon the river. Until the French appeared, this entire area was largely under the control of the Confederacy of the Iroquois.
“When my husband, Forrest, was alive, he took a great interest in the history of this area. He had a wonderful collection of Native American artifacts that were found all throughout this region,” Miss Hallstead stated proudly. She was quiet for a moment before adding, “After Forrest died, I gave the entire collection to a museum in Canada that he used to love visiting.”
Miss Hallstead slowed her pace and looked off into the trees. I slowed with her and then asked, “What was Forrest like?”
She smiled and kept walking but didn’t answer right away. As I began to think she had simply ignored the question, she spoke again. Her voice was quiet and wistful.
“Forrest was wonderful. He was tall and handsome, and he was the love of my life. I met him when he came to work for HSH Oil. He was in charge of research and development, so he was in my father’s office quite often. All the secretaries used to fawn over him, but I mostly ignored him at first. I was too busy with my work. At that time, not many women held positions in business, plus I was the daughter of the company’s owner and the granddaughter of the company’s founder, so I felt constant pressure to prove to myself and everyone else that I deserved the position I held. Anyway, I think he viewed me as a challenge at first, but it wasn’t long before we were both in love. Madly. We were married within eighteen months, but our only child, Diana, was not born until many years later. She was the best surprise I ever had! Forrest’s work, at which he always excelled, took him away from me and Diana more often than any of us liked, but he loved his job. It was important to him and he wanted to do it well.”
She laughed softly, almost to herself, and then continued. “Forrest loved to read and dance and go out on his boat. He was never happier than when he was on this island.”
She looked at me suddenly with tears in her eyes. “You know, sometimes I’m absolutely lost without him. He died here at Summerplace four years ago. I miss him so very much.”
I felt so sorry for her that I put my arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to bring back painful memories.”
She smiled again and sniffled. “Nonsense—they’re very happy memories! Though they make me miss him even more.”
At that moment Pete came striding along the path. He smiled at Miss Hallstead and started to say something, but he stopped immediately when he saw her tears.
“What’s the matter, Alex?” he asked as he took her arm. He glared at me. “What happened?” he asked me angrily.
“Pete, dear, I’m fine. I was just telling Macy about Forrest and, just like a silly old lady, I got all choked up. I’m really fine.”
“Okay, if you say so. I have some things to do, but I’ll come see you later,” he promised. She gave him an affectionate smile and continued walking. Pete held me back for a moment.
“That didn’t take you long. Why’d you upset her like that?” I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued. “She doesn’t deserve it. Don’t do it again.” Then he turned on his heel and stalked off. I was left feeling angry and embarrassed. My cheeks felt hot.
“You coming, Macy?” Miss Hallstead asked. “Shall we head back in? I have work to do.” She must have noticed that I was flushed, and she added, “Pete looks out for me and he’s suspicious of anyone new. Just give him a little time and he’ll come to trust you, I’m sure.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I smiled at her and we turned around and walked back toward Summerplace.
Miss Hallstead changed the subject. “Tell me about your family, Macy.”
“Well,” I answered, taking a deep breath, “I recently lost my parents. They were killed by a drunk driver in Connecticut, not far from where they lived.” It was my turn to become pensive. After a few moments, during which Miss Hallstead said nothing, I went on. “I miss them very much. In fact, they’re part of the reason I decided to come here to work. I needed a change of scenery. I felt like I had to get out of the city for a while.”
Miss Hallstead nodded knowingly. “So we’ve each lost two people close to us. Diana passed away eleven years ago, and not an hour goes by that I don’t think of both her and Forrest.”
I was shocked. I didn’t know Diana had passed away. I couldn’t imagine the pain of losing one’s only child, and I wondered how Miss Hallstead was able to stay focused and strong. But she didn’t linger on her own sorrow. She took my hand in hers and patted it. “I hope Hallstead Island can be the peaceful place you need and deserve, my dear.” Just like that, she was concentrating on my feelings. I smiled my thanks. I hoped Hallstead Island could be that place for me too.
We walked slowly back to the house, each lost in our own thoughts. Once in the foyer, Miss Hallstead took off her coat and took my hand again. “Come in here, Macy. There’s something I’d like to show you.” She led me to the living room and over to the fireplace. Today there was no fire in the grate and the room was chilly. She looked up over the mantel and pointed at the portrait I had seen and admired yesterday. “This is Forrest,” she said. “Wasn’t he distinguished?” I smiled and nodded. I stared at the painting for a long moment, admiring the man in the wicker chair. I found myself wishing that I had been able to meet him.
“It’s a wonderful painting,” I remarked.
“Do you like it?” Miss Hallstead seemed pleased. “I painted that myself.”
I was struck by her talent. “That’s amazing,” I marveled. “I wish I were as good as you are.”
Miss Hallstead laughed. “Well, I may have been good at one time, but I don’t think I could ever paint another portrait quite as well as that one.” Her eyes lingered on the painting for a mo
ment, and then she turned away briskly. “I need to head back to my office and get some work done or the day will be gone,” she said.
I walked to her rooms with her, and as I turned to go, Miss Hallstead said, “Wait, Macy. You mentioned last night that you enjoy running and biking. There is a YMCA in Cape Cartier and I have a lifetime membership there because Forrest used to be on its board of directors. Of course, I never go over there, but you’re more than welcome to use my membership anytime. I’m not sure exactly what facilities they have, but I know there’s a pool and treadmills and stationary bikes. Just ask Pete to take you over in the boat.”
I smiled inwardly, imagining Pete’s dismay if I asked him to taxi me over to Cape Cartier so I could use a treadmill. But I thanked Miss Hallstead, saying, “I may take you up on that if Pete is ever going to Cape Cartier on an errand. It would feel good to run or bike. I never learned how to swim, though.”
Miss Hallstead suddenly turned ashen and gripped her door handle for support.
“Miss Hallstead!” I cried, running to her. I put my arm around her waist in case she should fall, and helped her into her sitting room. She lay down on the sofa and looked up at me wildly, her hands fluttering nervously. I held her hands in mine—they were like ice. I grabbed the stethoscope from the medical bag and used it to listen to her heart.
Normal.
I took her blood pressure.
Normal.
I was getting up to yell for Vali or Leland, thinking we should call for a doctor, when she finally spoke.
“I’m sorry to have scared you, Macy. I just didn’t know that you can’t swim.” I sat down again.
“All that because I can’t swim?” I asked, incredulous. “I told the nursing agency that I can’t swim before I accepted this position. They said I didn’t need to know how.”
Miss Hallstead closed her eyes and moved her lips silently. I sat, waiting. She remained quiet for a few moments, then opened her eyes again and looked at me sadly.