Moon over Madeline Island

by Jay Gilbertson

“You chill now, honey…”

  I lift Sam’s arm off my shoulder and stroll next door all cool and collected.

  “Excuse me,” I say to the lady who earlier had taken our picture, “but what are you doing selling Confederate flags?” I ask in my above-the-blow-dryer-noise voice, knowing full well she and all the folks milling around can hear.

  “We always run out of the American ones,” she replies feebly as a man in faded jeans with a scraggly ponytail comes forward, standing beside her.

  “Do you know what this symbolizes?” I hold up one of the offending flags while Sam tsk-tsks. “You have any idea how this flag pisses me off?” A small crowd gathers.

  “In America, anyone has the right to sell…” the man sputters, then swipes sweat from his brow. “We have the right to—”

  “To sell every one of them to me right this minute,” Ruby quickly adds, coming over next to me. “How much for the whole lot of these vile things?” She waves around her Gold American Express card. The crowd murmurs in approval.

  “We don’t take American Express, lady!” he yells, his face turning a marvelous red.

  “Well, then…” Sam says, her voice silencing everyone. “You must take Masta’ card,” she drawls, stepping in between Ruby and me. She plops an arm around each of us.

  The crowd whoops with laughter. The man just melts, hands the pile over to a laughing Sam and retreats to the back.

  “I think I’ve peed in my dress,” Sam says. Ruby about splits a gut. I look over to Lilly and she’s wearing such a smile. Damn—that felt good!

  The parade route begins at the top of the hill, then meanders down Rittenhouse Avenue, the main street of Bayfield. Seeing as there are hundreds of people in the parade, we have to get a number and get in line before it actually begins.

  Ruby and I are decked out in our flowing gowns with specially made (by Lilly) frilly aprons tied around our waist. We’re sprawled out on either side of the duck’s hood, tossing Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups (with our business card stapled on) to the cheering crowds lined up on the sidewalks. Howard is driving with Johnny sitting next to him, both in bright white T-shirts that say STAFF in bold letters stretching across their muscular chests. We took the awning and all the rest of the seats out of the duck in order to create a stage area for the three gals and Charlie to accompany Sam.

  Lilly, Marsha and Bonnie are wearing ruby red house-dresses and matching aprons. The trio is singing harmony underneath illegally high, swirled-to-death up-dos that would make Dorothy proud! Charlie, fedora hat askew, is in a snazzy suit, blowing jazz out of a clarinet. The background music is from an old tape I used to play at the salon a lot.

  Sam stands tall and gorgeous, draped in a flashy yellow African-styled gown, her turban piled high on her head, huge hoop earrings glinting in the afternoon sun. She holds a microphone that’s rigged to the boat’s speakers—though she doesn’t really even need one as her rich and soulful voice has a power that can make your heart swell. She’s belting out “Easy Street,” and I’m singing along.

  The throngs on either side of the street are singing and clapping—even Watts and Dorothy have come and they scream and yell like hell! They follow us and eventually we end up parking in front of Greunke’s Restaurant. We join in with Judith and staff for her famous fish boil. There are introductions to Dorothy and Watts, more singing and of course, a great deal of eating. We have a magical—wonderful—time. I even spy Charlie giving Ruby the sweetest peck on her cheek. I catch her eye and we share a grin.

  It’s late at night and a full moon shines over Madeline Island. Ruby and I are snuggled in huge itchy sweaters, sitting on pillows out at the end of the dock.

  “I still can’t get over how much money we hauled in,” I comment to the sky.

  “It was super!” Ruby agrees. “The check to that shelter was a lovely gift.”

  “And Sam—that woman took the parade and moved it right on down the hill!” I pour (compliments of Judith) some bubbly into fancy goblets and hand one to Ruby. “She would have made Pearl Bailey so proud.” We clink and sip and—sigh.

  “I think she’s full of surprises, darling.” The glow of Ruby’s cigarette is bright as she takes a puff.

  “What a surprise to see Watts and Dorothy. I had no idea…Hey, wait a minute! Did you?”

  “My lips are sealed…Oh blast! Of course I rang them up. I figured we needed some crowd motivators. My word, that Watts can project.”

  “She’s probably the closest I’ve ever come to a mother-daughter relationship. I mean…it was a lot of working together too, but offering her the job of managing the salon made me feel something…maternal. You know?”

  “I think I do, darling.”

  “Too bad they had to get back to Eau Claire,” I say, plumping a pillow. “I made them promise to come visit.”

  “Lovely. Oh my heavens—I nearly forgot, what with all the excitement and all. Watts found this letter along with a stack of ancient beauty magazines when she and Dorothy were cleaning.”

  Ruby hands me a wrinkled envelope postmarked over seventeen years ago marked CONFIDENTIAL TO BE OPENED BY ADDRESSEE ONLY in bold black letters.

  “This couldn’t…” I mutter, then open it. “Thank God for this moonlight—Dear Evelyn Moss…Jesus…” I whip through the note, looking for the meat of it. Knowing.

  “It can’t be bad news,” Ruby advises. “It’s far too old for that.”

  “It’s from the detective I hired years ago. He said that if there was any information he’d mail…I just assumed…maybe was relieved in a way…you know? But they did find her, or at least there was a trail. He says that the convent was closed down—the one in Chippewa Falls where I was—and all the records were sent to Sacred Heart Hospital and to contact them…. Oh my God. Do you know what this could mean?”

  “It means we need to plan a trip to Sacred Heart Hospital and ask some questions.”

  “I wonder if Amy has red hair…” I say, and for the first time in such a long time, feel hope. I hold the letter close to my heart.

  “I know a wrench-carrying jazz singer who just might be able to tell you.”

  The moon shines a little brighter—then we watch as a star shoots across the sky.

  A Special Chat with Jay Gilbertson

  I HAD to write this book. If I didn’t, well, I would have burst!

  You see, for years now I’ve been listening to stories and tales and—life. I run a hairdressing salon and my clients are an eclectic mixture of the finest and most attractive folks around and I’m not just talking about their hair either. The majority of them are women, I love the way they see things and share and seem to have a far different sense of life. Women simply experience things differently than men do.

  Within my marvelous client roster is something even more interesting and for me curious—the number of single women. Now these aren’t the “Sex-and-the-City” types; desperately searching for Mr. Right while agonizing over just what top goes with what shoes. Oh no, these gals are business-savvy, highly successful, not-to-mention sassy-haired women who are HAPPY being single. Imagine that.

  Not so shocking is that these very same gals all have a strength that’s refreshing to me. Family seems to play a large role in their lives, as well as a solid collection of friends; friends that really—are family. Even though the literal definition of family is parents and children, that definition needs some updating because so many people out there are creating family that’s anything but parents and children.

  Usually the problem isn’t with the women, it’s with the rest of us. Instead of honoring the fact that they’re happy, some of us are busy trying to find them mates. We all just need to get over it. What I’ve found is that yes, I believe most people would like to find someone to share sunsets with, but why in the world should one “settle” for someone that’s just an okay fit? I think that’s the crux of this new phenomenon—women aren’t as willing to put up with the crap that, say, their mothers did! And why should they
? Okay, so that’s basically why I chose to create Eve Moss. I wanted to honor women like her, to give them a voice.

  Setting is actually a character to me, that’s why it’s so important to my story. I love visiting people’s homes—seeing what magazines or books are lying about, how the couch is positioned and what’s in their refrigerator crisper drawer? I’m someone who slows down the car in order to peek into windows at night. I mean if the drapes aren’t closed—I’m looking! Oh right, and you don’t?

  Living in the country has introduced me to so many marvels that I had to weave them into my story. Like the smells, the fresh sunshiny stuff I inhale while hanging laundry out on the line. Taking the time to give it a good sniff, well you see so many other things too. Tall majestic white pines with their carpet of squishy needles and the way their branches whisper in the wind. Or the incredible night sky strewn with stars that really do burn bright, sounds of crows or owls—the gurgle of our spring on the way to the pond—and frogs. There’s a certain time of year when the frogs are so loud even the crickets can’t compete. Oh, and dragonflies, they come in amazing colors, watching them swoop and float out over the pond is pure magic.

  Time—a lot of what I’ve come to love about living here in Northwestern Wisconsin is the way time is no longer this huge monster standing right next to me tapping his foot—arms crossed. There’s something about being away from all the diversions out there that’s forced me to rethink what’s important. I’d much rather dangle my feet in the pond, ski off into the woods, or make homemade pizzas with friends than go shopping.

  I grew up in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Like so many places, it’s seen a phenomenal amount of growth. There are two rivers that meander through parts of it and a great university, which brings some diversity to this otherwise conservative town. Unfortunately, I did encounter some prejudice because I didn’t fit the mold, so that’s why I didn’t want Eve to be perfect. But you do, I hope, eventually fall in love with her. That’s another human trait that I’m drawn to, how so many not-so-perfect people become beautiful when you open yourself and get to know what’s inside them. That’s the good stuff—what’s inside.

  As for Ruby, she’s what I would call a combo “character.” I had a brilliant friend I met in college, her name was Karin (pronounced “ka rin”) and I found her fascinating. She had a great British accent, wicked, sarcastic sense of humor and a head of fiery-red curls. Stupid cancer took her away too soon, so I found a way to bring parts of her to life again. The other elements of Ruby are from my mom. She’s on the short side, a snappy dresser and has an independent spirit I forever find surprising.

  While chatting with my clients, the idea of Eve having a daughter was often met with a similar true-life story. Once or twice it actually was their life (I’ve been sworn to secrecy, so don’t ask). There are a surprising number of women out there who either personally know someone or knew of someone who experienced the very same situation. I wanted to present this in a light that wasn’t full of judgment, but hope. The hope being that one day Eve actually meets her daughter and a friendship is born. It’s no accident that the initials of Moon Over Madeline Island spell MOMI. Well, okay, maybe it was an accident, but isn’t that really a clever tie-in?

  Now that you’ve read Eve and Ruby’s tale, aren’t you curious as to what happens next? I mean, leaving the girls out there on the dock with all that hope of finding Amy, doesn’t it make you wonder? Hope so, because then you’ll go out and pick up the second installment of the story when it’s ready—besides, we need to fix our roof, and tractors don’t come cheap!

  By the way, if you’d like to drop me a line or see some photos of our life here on the farm, check out my website: www.jaygilbertson.com.

  See you soon,

  Jay

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  New York, NY 10022

  Copyright © 2005 by Jay Gilbertson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  ISBN: 978-0-7582-6665-1