“Wow, look at all this wine in here!” I pull open a door and stare at several racks of dust-covered bottles lying on their sides. “No wine-in-a-box in here!”
“We made our own, too. Some is from the patch of Seyval grapevines that grow alongside the barn out back. There’s even a few batches of hard cider made from our very own apple trees. It has quite a kick.”
“Very impressive. I had no idea grapes would even consider growing this far north.” I select several bottles. With a foot I close the metal door and we squeak our way back upstairs.
“Be a dear and take down a couple of goblets.” Ruby heads toward the French doors facing the lake. “Can’t stand another second without letting some sun and fresh air in here. Try the cupboard to the left of the sink, darling.”
Walking around the stump table, I reach up and open the cupboard. I was expecting a couple of nice stems and cottage-y dishes, but not this. Plates, platters, bowls and cups in every pattern and color; not a thing matches. The top shelf is filled with goblets. Rows of them. A mishmash collection that beats mine dead. I choose a deep red goblet with a slender stem and a plain crystal one covered with etchings of birds.
After the water runs from deep rust to clear, I give them a careful rinse. Pipes clang and rattle in the walls; a sound like a pump clunks in rhythm underneath my feet. Seems like a lot of work to get water to the faucet.
“Lovely, darling.” Ruby wipes the stump table off with one of the sheets from the living room. “I have stacks of different place settings and mismatched stemware, as you probably noticed. I do use matching silverware, though. I have my eccentric limits.”
“Corkscrew?”
“One of the drawers next to the stove. But maybe, you know…you need to be careful of…”
I’m opening, then closing, the top drawer, the next, the third and then, “HOLY-LORD-GOD-MOTHER-MARY-SISTER-ESMERELDA!” I yell really, really loud, yet—with control. Mice. Hate the little fuckers.
They’ve taken up residence in the damn third drawer down. And with all the drawer opening, I scare the hairy rabid creatures from hell. Several leap straight up, miraculously landing on all fours, then scurry across the countertop. The entire time I’m imploring my list of saints, Ruby is laughing so hard she can barely breathe. I eventually join in.
“Oh Rocky, darling,” Ruby singsongs into the living room, “Auntie Ruby has a job for you.”
CHAPTER THREE
Ruby and I head up the log stairs to the second floor carrying our well-earned wine. I’m damn grateful to be out of the kitchen. The hall is completely open on one side. I can look down into the living room and on out to the lake; it’s beautiful. Only a single log banister prevents one from falling overboard. The opposite wall is paneled with gleaming knotty pine and more “tastefully” framed pictures.
“Here’s to the second floor.” I raise my glass to hers. “I sure as hell am glad Rocky chased those bastards away.”
“Cheers, darling,” Ruby returns. We clink our goblets and the sound is as delicious as the wine and the day and this moment.
Ruby informs me that we should start at the far end, then work our way back to the top of the stairs. We pass several arched doors before coming to the end of the hall. I figure we’re directly above the frog-window. To our left, French doors open onto a small porch over the library. Opposite this is a beautifully carved door. Ruby turns the glass knob and we step inside.
“This is…amazing,” I say in a hushed tone. “A bed made out of willow switches and logs—you must miss waking up here.” I run my hand over the heavy quilt covering the bed. I walk over to one of the corner window seats and lift a book lying there on top of a pillow. “Thoreau’s On Man and Nature. One of Ed’s favorites, I bet.”
Ruby takes it from me in a gentle, careful way. “Yes…” She holds it to her heart. “He was reading this the last time we were here.” She puts it back in the exact spot. In a brighter voice, “I am so thankful nothing has been broken into and not a window blown out from a storm, which we get now and again up here. Really, the old place simply needs a good fluffing.” She sets her empty wineglass down and goes about opening windows and shutters.
Oh boy, what have I got myself into here? This is all her…memories. Their furniture and dishes…her’s and Ed’s life was here. A shrine! All that’s missing is the velvet rope.
I busy myself snooping in the armoire, look into her enormous bathroom and then take a peek in a wooden chest sitting at the end of the bed. It holds colorful quilts and a cedar smell that’s wonderfully old. Rich with the past. The rag rug covering the floor beside the bed is in the shape of a big green grinning toad.
“You made this, didn’t you?” I tap the tip of my Keds shoe on the toad’s rear.
“I did indeed. We did actually. Ed helped me cut the rags and when it was finished I wrapped it around my naked self and…It was for his birthday. I was very young,” Ruby explains a bit hurriedly. She looks radiant telling me, though.
“You bad girl,” I admonish her with a shake of my head. I glance over at the window seat, the book. Ruby will move it when she’s good and ready and that’s just fine.
Thank God we stocked the cooler full of my special cold sandwiches, pasta salad, some fruit and a pan of Ruby’s bars. We’re gathered in the south corner of the porch; before us is our lunch feast wobbling precariously on a wicker table. The windows have been opened wide. A marvelous breeze washes around us while the lake’s waves slap in rhythm against the shore.
“I say…after lunch and fresh mugs of coffee,” Ruby informs me with a mouth full of pickle and sprouts, “let’s do a bit of cleaning, more airing and make up the beds. Whip the lot into shape.”
“Okay. I don’t think I’ll be so freaked out when my next mouse encounter happens. I had no idea they could jump so damn high. I hate crawling, creeping things.” I shiver at the memory.
“Oh, you’ll get used to them, mark my words, darling…. It’s so lovely to be back. What in the world was I thinking, staying away so long.” Ruby sits back, looking pleased as punch. “But it feels as though I never left. For some reason I thought—in the back of my mind, mind you—that it would seem too sad or lonesome or something ridiculous like that without Ed here. But…it doesn’t. Not one bit.”
“I’m glad to hear that. But do let me know if you see Ed’s ghost or if you dream him again.”
“I think he could be here…. Oh, not a ghost—wipe that look off your face. More of a feeling, an impression. Like when you know someone’s in a room but you’ve just not spotted them yet. It’s a nice feeling, actually.”
“Hmm, you know, I’ve felt that about my mom. It’s so strong sometimes. I swear I see her out of the corner of my eye, just for an instant. Several times, when I’ve been really down in the dumps and I want her there so bad, I smell her.”
“Yes,” Ruby agrees, nodding her head slowly, thinking her own thoughts.
“I love the room at the top of the stairs, by the way. That narrow passage to the watchtower is a riot. What in the world was it used for?”
“We watched storms roll in and sunsets are nice up there too.” Ruby gives Rocky a pat. “I think it suits you dear, I know how you like to be on roofs.”
“I love it.”
“There are a few more surprises left, but first let’s open and air out the place, shall we?” she asks while stacking plates and gathering up lunch. “Then we need to sit out on the dock and soak up some of the quiet.”
“Sign me up.”
In a corner of the living room I find the most amazing collection of old jazz records. First of all, I haven’t seen an actual record in ages. Then there’s the stereo itself—the thing has tubes! After it warms up, literally, I pile on Jackie Gleason, Artie Shaw, Frank Sinatra and, thank God, she has Pearl Bailey.
We spend the better part of the afternoon sweeping, shaking, wiping, washing, and vacuuming. The vacuum cleaner, a canister affair that slides on narrow metal sleighs, belongs in a m
useum. I, of course, so inform Ruby, who responds by adding that she belongs in one as well. I agree and she smacks me on my arm. Surprised?
“I think we can call it spick-and-span, folks!” I announce into the living room from the kitchen. A cottage should never be too clean anyway; it’s just not right.
The old Maytag rumbling in the basement has been at it all day. Sheets, blankets and drapes flap wildly in the wind on the clothesline outside the back porch. You can glimpse Rocky’s shadow leaping and pawing at the possessed laundry dancing in the sun.
I’m covered in spider webs and grime and who knows what all. Ruby reaches up to swipe a web from my hair. We both have wrapped our hair up into big, brightly flowered scarves. My makeup is long gone; clothes are a shade or two darker, too. Ruby, on the other hand, looks ready for a photo shoot. I could hate this woman if I thought she really took herself seriously.
“It looks so…tidy,” I say as I take a big ol’ drag of my cigarette, chased with cold coffee.
“My God, we cleaned the whole joint; I am impressed,” Ruby says as she pulls my hand with the cigarette up to her mouth and takes a long puff.
“I say, hot showers, fresh clothes and then to the dock.”
“You’re on,” Ruby replies.
Rocky meows in agreement.
I take a nice long shower in the bathroom off my bedroom. It’s actually a miniature claw-foot tub with a plastic curtain covered in huge bright red ladybugs that I’ve pulled around me. Not much room in here, but the water is warm and wonderful and it’s relaxing me into a state of nice clean peacefulness.
I’m softly humming. Rocky sits on the toilet watching. I towel off and head over to my suitcase to root around for some clean, cozy clothes. Looking up, I realize we had left the door leading up to the watchtower open a crack.
Wrapping up in my furry pink robe, Rocky and I climb up the narrow staircase. I push open the short little door at the top and we’re in a curious, square room of windows facing every direction. On the floor is painted an elaborate four-pointed star indicating north, south, east and west.
Peering out, I can just barely see the mainland to the southwest (which I gauge by looking at my handy floor guide) with Bayfield perched, storybook-like, on a hill. To the northeast and on and on is Lake Superior.
After a few moments of gazing at all that water, we scurry back down into my room. I button up a crisp white shirt (no bra; I’m at the cottage, for heaven’s sake) over faded jeans and head to the dock for my meeting with Ruby. It’s our official lake-welcoming ceremony and one should never be late for that. I have to admit the end of the dock is fast becoming a favorite hang.
“Why Eve, you’re simply beaming,” Ruby exclaims, looking up at me. “It’s the iron in the water, I’ve always felt it makes your hair shine too.”
“Thanks. From the looks of the tub upstairs I’ll never have to color my hair again. I’ve seen rust stains before, but geez.” I plop next to her at the end of the dock and join in her bare-feet-lake-soak. After the initial shock, it’s okay. If you’re into having numb feet, that is. “How was your shower? You look pretty darn beamy yourself there, missy.”
“Why thank you, darling. I feel rejuvenated. Being here is getting my blood moving again. I forgot how beautiful the water is.”
“The lake is so vast. No shore in sight. It just goes on and on.”
“Funny how I recalled the cottage in my head,” Ruby says thoughtfully. “I forgot to add all the colors; there’s so much color here.”
“I know what you mean.” I swish the water around with my toes. They’re frozen solid.
“It’s like when someone dies.” Ruby looks up to the sky. “If you shared memories with that someone, they kind of lose their color after time. The memories fade like a picture that goes from sharp to blurry.”
“Reminds me of when my mom passed away.” I sit back on my elbows. “About a month after the funeral, I freaked out because for the life of me I couldn’t remember her face. Can you imagine?”
“Yes, I can, darling. It’s scary at first, but after a time, you add those that have passed on from your memory to your heart.” In a stronger voice she continues, “Now…I need to welcome you officially to the lake.” From a string tied to one of the support posts of the dock, Ruby pulls out of the lake a bottle of champagne!
“I’ll be! Now that’s what I call a good catch. Say, can you pull up some crab dip and crackers while you’re at it there?”
“Smart aleck, really. Make yourself useful and open this. “Ruby hands me a rag for my hands along with the dripping bottle of bubbly. “I purposefully forgot glasses to commemorate—”
“That’s right. Oh my God. We were sitting on my roof in the rain after my first anniversary at the shop. We got so toasted.” We laugh.
“I was toasted, darling; you were shit-faced. You were sooooooo shit-faced.”
I was so shit-faced. “Damn, this thing is really in here!” I pull with all that’s left of my might. Then, POP! The cork is out, flying through the air and into the lake, landing with a soft plop.
“Well done,” Ruby declares, taking the bottle from me and tipping it back for a nice slug. She passes it back to me and I take a long swallow. It’s sweet and cold and bubbly as hell. My eyes tear.
“Here’s to you my darling. Welcome to Madeline Island, where anything—everything—is possible.” She raises the bottle high.
We both have a slug for good measure, then lean back. Looking up, we marvel at the colors the sun is throwing into the clouds as it slowly kisses the horizon. Crossing my arms behind my head, I sigh all the way to my roots, which are in need of a touch-up, by the way.
“I’d love it if the two of us lived here…moved here…now, while we can both still enjoy it,” I say, thinking out loud and full of the moment, when all things do seem possible. And yet, what in the hell am I saying? Could I fit in here—with Ed?
“It’s the end of the world up here and the winters must be lonely,” Ruby says. “I’ve heard that less than two hundred people live out here full time. Ed and I just spent the summers, then headed back to Eau Claire to suffer winters there.”
“You said yourself you’d love to live here year-around. The cottage seems like it would keep us very cozy. Besides, there’s that mega heater in the basement, and I have a plan, sort of a plan.” This is how I do things. I jump into something new and you know, it usually pans out. Usually.
“You always have a plan, darling,” Ruby replies. “Trouble is, it’s typically a lot of work, costs tons of money and I’m never quite the same. But…I’m listening.”
“Well, I know my way around the Internet pretty well and what I don’t know, I’ll figure out. Now, if we were to create some kind of web site…You have to show me the barn, by the way, and what’s in that building over there?” I point to the left of us. I have a terrible habit of skipping all over the place when I’m brainstorming. Thank God Ruby’s used to this.
“The boathouse. The second floor is a cozy little guest house. Ed used to do some of his writing there, and whenever we had too many visitors for the cottage, they slept there. It’s lovely…really.”
“So much to this place.”
“What do we need the Internet for?” Ruby asks, sitting up and swatting a bug off her shoulder.
“I was thinking…if the barn or maybe that boathouse had some workable space, and electricity, and we hired a few of the ladies with nothing to do out here in the winter…we could make toad rag rugs and sell them on the Internet.” Where did that come from?
“Well, I’ll be…Set up a sweatshop right here on Madeline Island.” Ruby thinks it over. “I don’t know if they’re that unusual—rag rugs, I mean—and wouldn’t we have to make heaps of them?”
“You wouldn’t believe the stuff women are buying on the Internet. It’s amazing. You can even order a man.” Ruby raises both of her perfectly arched brows.
“Did you bring your laptop, darling?” she asks, absently patti
ng her perfect hair.
I sigh. “I’m serious, I think we could do this. I saw the shops and galleries and all the fancy cars when we got off the ferry.”
“There is a rather wealthy bunch up here in the summer, but the natives are much more earthy; they hide from them.” She gets up and smacks her rear back to life. “How about you and I get into cozies, throw some pasta in a pot, put a log on the fire and figure out our next move, or moves, for that matter,”
“Deal.” I stand up and do the same thing to my hind end. Feels like ginger ale has taken over my rear.
All hands are busy stirring things in the kitchen over the big, hulking stove. It gleams in the golden light reflecting off the pine walls. Steamy smells of fresh basil, garlic and pasta fill the air. Everything is bubbling away in blue-speckled enamel-ware pots.
Rocky is on the stump table crunching out of a beautiful crystal bowl Ruby found for him. There have been five mouse heart attacks so far, but hey—tomorrow’s another day.
“This smells wonderful.” I take a whiff from a spoon Ruby has put under my nose. “Why is it that food you make with someone always tastes better?”
“Oh I think it’s just the making of it that matters. You can cook good feelings right into a thing. Especially the way you stir.” Ruby grabs the spoon I was stirring with from me. “Good heavens, Eve, you’re going to end up with mush if you don’t let those noodles be.”
“Sorry, I do my best thinking when I’m stirring.”
“Here then…think this sauce.” She points to the pot of yummy sauce loaded with secret ingredients. She has a cache of canned tomatoes in her pantry back in Eau Claire that could feed armies.
“I love the idea of living on an island and being somewhat unplugged from the masses, yet way plugged in, thanks to the Internet.” I stir this way and that, thinking.
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