Daughters of the Lake

by Wendy Webb

  “If only you knew who she was,” Simon mused, staring out the window.

  With that, Alaska padded into the room, carrying her leash in her mouth.

  “I guess you’re being taken for a walk,” Simon chuckled.

  Kate stood up and stretched. “It’ll feel good to get a little exercise, actually,” she said. “Care to come along?”

  A few minutes later, they were meandering through the darkened streets of Wharton. A whisper of autumn was in the air, and the chill refreshed Kate’s spirits.

  Simon and Kate talked about other things for a bit, their parents, how things were going at the inn, but their conversation drifted to the dead woman on the beach again, almost as though she was calling them back.

  “I want to find out more about who she was and who killed her, but I don’t quite know what to do first,” Kate said. “I can’t do any research without knowing more about her.”

  “For starters, if you have any more dreams, try to pick up any sort of clue,” Simon offered. “Obviously she was a real person. Her body washed up on your beach. That’s as real as it gets.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  1901 Great Bay

  Addie and Jess were inseparable. They ran through the fields and fished in secret spots known only to them. Addie swam in the big lake while Jess sat on the shore reading, wondering how this fool girl could possibly stand to languish in the frigid water. They talked about school and their parents and other children, babbling like siblings sharing secrets.

  These years were so idyllic, in fact, that they made Jess forget about those dark images he had seen when he’d first touched Addie’s hand years earlier. They flew completely from his mind on one particularly lovely summer day—the blinding blue sky, the sun beating down on his crisp, white shirt, the slight breeze that smelled of lilac, even though the flowers were long since gone. Things might have been different, if he had heeded the warning instead of lost it, there on the lilac breeze.

  That lovely summer afternoon, Addie was twelve years old, and she and Jess made their way through the forest on the edge of town to their secret place, Widow’s Cove. It was a small bay ringed by a high, rocky cliff, accessible only by a footpath through dense underbrush. Addie had found it the year before, when she was following a black wolf through the forest. She could never quite convince Jess that it had really happened, given the scarcity of wolves in those parts. No one had ever seen a black wolf in or near Great Bay, he kept telling her. But she insisted that it was the truth. How else could she have found that cove?

  Addie imagined that wives might go there to mourn their husbands lost on the Great Lake, so secluded and hidden was the place. Jess wasn’t sure about all of that, but he had to admit that he loved coming here. It was a chance to be alone with Addie, without the watchful eyes of the community on them.

  On this particular day, Addie and Jess lay side by side on one of the enormous flat rocks that dotted the shallow water just off shore. The sun was baking down on their backs. Addie could just reach the cool surface of the water with the tips of her fingers, if she stretched. The water was the color of jade.

  At seventeen, Jess was much more grown up than Addie. Tongues wagged in town about the amount of time the two spent together. It got so people didn’t see one without the other. Doesn’t he have sweethearts his own age? Isn’t it about time he started looking for a bride? And while Jess’s friends knew better than to tease him about the little girl who was always underfoot, they secretly wondered why he wasn’t, at least, interested in girls his age from school. Jess was a baseball player and a good student, and with his wavy brown hair and deep-brown eyes, he had grown into quite a handsome young man. His friends knew he could date any girl in town. So why didn’t he?

  But to Jess, dating someone other than Addie was simply a waste of time. He had been content to wait for the girl to grow up since the minute he had seen her in the lake on the day she was born. He knew then, just as she did, that they were a destined pair, made for each other.

  As she and Jess lay on the rock, Addie rolled onto her side, ran one hand across the surface of the cool water, and looked at her reflection—vague, moving, shimmering, distorted. Life was changing, just as her reflection changed and moved in the water.

  “I’ll be leaving for college at the end of the week,” Jess said, gazing out over the lake toward the horizon.

  “I know,” Addie replied, still tracing patterns across the water’s surface with her finger. The sun warmed her.

  “Won’t be so bad,” Jess said. “I’m only a few hours away. I’ll come home on weekends. I can take the train.”

  But Addie knew that he wouldn’t be back often, or if he did make the trip home initially, it wouldn’t last long. He’d get caught up in college life in the city; anyone would. New things to learn, new people to know. It was a whole new life. She wanted Jess to live it, to experience all there was to do and see. She was not afraid he would be lured away from her permanently. She knew he would come back for her someday. She had seen it.

  “When we were kids, you waited patiently until I was old enough to be your friend.” Addie smiled at him. “That took five years. I figure I’ve got less time than that to wait for you now. Don’t worry about coming home on weekends. I’ll be here when you come home to stay.”

  Jess rested his chin on the warm rock where they lay. He liked the idea of Addie waiting here for him, the same as she ever was.

  “We can write letters to each other,” Jess offered.

  “That will be wonderful.” Addie smiled, already anticipating a new sort of relationship, one of sharing letters and private thoughts instead of woodland adventures and lakeside chats.

  “You have a way of always finding the positive in any situation.” Jess smiled back at her. “How do you do that?”

  Addie shrugged, and the pair looked down at the water from their rock, gazing at each other’s reflections.

  “Addie,” Jess murmured to her watery image. “I love you.”

  It was the first time he had spoken the words out loud. “I love you, too, Jess,” Addie said, running her fingers across both of their reflections in the water, making them distort and dance and shimmer. Addie imagined them lying there together again when Jess finally returned from college, and wondered how their images would change.

  “I suppose we’d better get going,” Jess said, looking up at the sun’s position in the sky. “Meet me outside on Willow Street after dinner?”

  Addie saw the devilish look in his eye and suspected he was up to something. “What for?”

  “You’ll see,” Jess said, smiling. “I’m going to leave you with something to remember me by.”

  Addie laughed. “I have the whole earth to remember you by. The lakeshore, the woods, this cove, our town, the sky.”

  “Something other than that,” Jess said.

  After dinner, Addie walked around the corner from her house onto Willow Street, so named for a large, ancient weeping willow that stood in the center of a nearby field. There was Jess, holding the handlebars of his bicycle. Addie didn’t have one; she had never been able to master the art of riding. Her father thought it unladylike and refused to teach her, and though Jess tried a number of times, Addie just couldn’t get the hang of it.

  “You will ride this bicycle before the sun goes down tonight,” Jess called out, when he saw her. “And then you can ride it home. I’m giving it to you.”

  “Truly?”

  He smiled. “I can’t take it with me on the train. It’s yours.”

  “My parents won’t let me take this, Jess.” She scowled, anticipating their objections.

  “Tell them you’re just using it until I get back, then,” he said. “I’m asking you to look after it for me.”

  “I don’t know.” Addie eyed the contraption skeptically. “I don’t think . . .”

  “That’s right, girl,” he laughed. “Don’t think. Just ride. Now hop on. We’re not stopping until you can do this.”


  Gingerly, Addie grasped the handlebars, hiked up her skirt, and sat on the seat, one foot securely on the ground.

  “I’m going to hold on until you’ve got it,” Jess said, taking hold of the seat. He began to push. “Put both feet on the pedals,” he instructed.

  “Not so fast!” Addie snapped.

  “We have to go fast.” Jess was jogging now. “It’s easier that way.”

  Addie was pedaling and steering, wobbly and unsure, and as soon as Jess let go, she tumbled in a heap on the side of the road. She turned to look at her teacher, frustration in her eyes.

  “Try, try again!” Jess chirped and lifted the bike off the ground. Addie got up, brushing the dirt off her skirt.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” she said.

  “You absolutely can do this,” he said. “Just think how much fun you’ll have with it when I’m gone.”

  And so they tried again, and Addie fell again. And again. And again. Curious faces appeared in windows of nearby houses. Then, people became bolder, walking out of their doors onto the street, calling suggestions to teacher and student.

  “Run faster, boy!”

  “That seat’s too high for her!”

  Jess grasped the bicycle one last time. “Hop on. We’re going to show these people what you’re made of.”

  He started running, faster now, and Addie began pedaling, surer this time, and steering more confidently. She didn’t realize he had let go until she was nearly all the way to the willow.

  “I’m doing it!” she called out to him. “I’m riding!” And as the crowd erupted in applause, she kept going, down Willow Street and over to Main and around to Poplar Avenue.

  Jess simply stood there, watching her go, his stomach twisting into knots. He was the one who was supposed to be leaving.

  CHAPTER NINE

  After Kate and Simon had finished dinner and cleaned up the dishes, Kate’s heavy eyelids told her it was time to turn in.

  She ran a hand through her hair. “I’d love to stay up and chat, but I can’t keep my eyes open.”

  “I’m not surprised you’re exhausted,” Simon said.

  “You’re not?”

  He shook his head. “Listen, you’ve been trying to hold it together for weeks now,” he said. “First the breakup with Kevin and then the ghastly business of this woman’s body washing up on the beach. The secret you’ve been keeping about that . . .” He tsked and let out a sigh. “It would wear on anyone. And now that you’ve told someone and know you’re not alone, you can let down your guard. When that happens, when you finally let go and unclench, you can feel how much work it was to hold everything together. Translation: exhaustion.”

  Kate snaked her arms around her cousin’s waist and laid her head on his chest, exhaling. “I knew coming here was the right thing to do.”

  “Of course it was,” he said. “Now, where did you leave your bag? I’ll carry it upstairs for you.”

  “Oh no—” Kate began, but Simon cut her off.

  “Don’t be silly. You head up to your room, and I’ll follow in just a minute with your bag and some hot tea.”

  Kate gave him a weak smile. “You’re so good to me.”

  “Of course I am.” He grinned, winking at her. “I’m an innkeeper. It’s what I do.”

  Later, after Simon had left her bag on the luggage rack and her tea on the nightstand and they had said their good nights, Kate curled up under the covers of her bed, the pillows propped up against the headboard creating a perfect backrest. She settled in and opened a novel, but soon closed it as the words blurred together in a haze of exhaustion. She took a long sip of tea, watching the flames dance in the fireplace.

  Simon had put her in her favorite bedroom in the house, a suite with a giant four-poster bed and a fireplace on the opposite wall. In a nod to guests who liked modern conveniences, a flat-screen television hung above the fireplace, so one could watch a movie, the fire, or both at the same time. A corner of the room jutted out into an alcove with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides, designed, Kate always believed, to catch the lake breezes on summer days. In the alcove were a small writing desk and a chaise—the perfect spot for reading or just watching the boats come and go in the harbor.

  On the other side of the room was a vast walk-in closet—a highly unusual and exotic feature in its day—leading to a bathroom with his and hers vanities, a tile shower, and an enormous claw-foot tub.

  The suite was called Hadley’s Suite for its original occupant, Simon and Kate’s grandmother.

  When baby Hadley was old enough to move from the nursery into a room of her own, this was where Harrison put her, and this was where she had grown up. This was the room she and her husband Malcolm had used when they had returned to care for Harrison when their own children were grown and starting families of their own. This was where Hadley had retreated to grieve after the two deaths that had shaken her to her very core—first her beloved father, Harrison, and just months later, her devoted husband, Malcolm.

  Hadley had taken her last breath in this room, Kate knew. She had been there. Simon had called the families, and they had rushed to Hadley’s side, sitting vigil until the moment came. She slipped into the other world peacefully, even joyfully, surrounded by the living, who were grieving her passing, and the dead, who were rejoicing her homecoming. After embracing her husband and father, Hadley saw her mother hovering near the end of the bed and flew into her arms, both of them crying sweet tears of reunion.

  “My darling girl,” her mother repeated, over and over. “My darling girl.”

  As Kate snuggled deeper under the covers and closed her eyes, she didn’t know that Hadley was sitting on the bed next to her, stroking her hair. Had Kate not been so exhausted, she might have sensed her grandmother’s presence there and even seen her ghostly shape, somehow translucent and solid at the same time. She might have noticed Hadley’s 1920s-era dress; her unlined, porcelain skin; and her shiny, dark hair.

  But as it was, Kate only felt the serenity of having her beloved grandmother watching over her as she drifted off to sleep, as if standing guard against any more unsettling dreams.

  “Any dreams last night?” Simon had already set two places at the bar, made coffee, and was flipping an enormous omelet by the time Kate appeared in the morning, Alaska at her heels.

  “Nothing,” Kate said as she climbed onto a bar stool. “If you don’t count a rambling and bizarre nightmare about being naked at work.”

  Simon snorted.

  “I guess they can’t all be glimpses into the lives of dead people,” Kate said, sipping her coffee and looking out the window onto the harbor, where two sailboats, colorful spinnakers unfurled, were languidly floating on the big lake. “You really do have a spectacular view here. I’ve always loved it.”

  “I think you should avail yourself of the view for longer than just this weekend,” Simon said. “I’ve been thinking. What if you stayed on for a while?”

  “I’d love to,” Kate said. “But I really need to get back home.” Even as she said the words, she knew they were hollow and meaningless. Home to what?

  “I suppose you need to get back to work,” Simon said, taking a sip of coffee and eyeing her above the rim.

  “I quit my job,” Kate admitted. “Kevin’s liaison with an intern at our office sort of killed my love of the place, you know? A marriage and a career, both obliterated in one evening. That has to be some sort of record.”

  “Bastard,” Simon said under his breath.

  “I just can’t believe it’s all over,” Kate lamented.

  The mention of her husband’s name brought everything back to her, all of it, from the day she met Kevin through that last night at the Tavern when she had confronted her husband and the woman she knew to be his girlfriend.

  She met Kevin at the Gazette, their town’s local newspaper. He edited the sports and national news sections, and she wrote features, travel pieces, and editorials.

  Kevin had been wo
rking at the newspaper for more than a year when Kate was hired. She noticed him immediately, drawn to his warm smile and lingering handshake when they were introduced. Something about the moment when his hand touched hers made her shudder.

  “It’s customary for the new kid on the block to buy everyone drinks at the Tavern after their first day on the job,” he informed her when it was nearly quitting time on her first day.

  “Really? I didn’t hear about that.” Kate smiled at him. He wasn’t one of the best-looking men she had ever seen, but with his freckled nose and crooked smile, he was attractive in a flawed sort of way. She wondered about him. Did he have a girlfriend, or worse, a wife?

  “We’ll convene there at five thirty. Don’t be late. And bring your credit card.”

  Kate was nervous, wondering how much of her scant salary she’d have to shell out at the bar that evening. But when she arrived, she was surprised to find Kevin sitting alone at a table.

  “I thought . . . ,” she started, looking around and wondering where everyone else was.

  “Okay, I made that stuff up about the new kid buying drinks,” Kevin confessed with a grin. “I really wanted to get to know you better, and I wasn’t sure you’d come if it was just the two of us. Will you stay?”

  Kate slid into the chair next to him. “Only if you’re buying the drinks,” she said.

  “Fair enough,” he said, motioning for the waiter.

  Kate smiled. Her new job had just gotten that much more interesting. The conversation between them that evening wound its way from the safe and shallow waters of what Kate might expect on the job, to favorite movies and restaurants, to deeper subjects like their childhoods and transformative college experiences. Kate was fond of saying she had fallen in love with Kevin during that first evening together, somewhere between his hilarious story about a prom night in which his car had ended up at the bottom of the Sandy River and her tale of a college escapade in which she and her friends had stolen lawn ornaments from all over town—plastic deer and ducks and flamingos—and planted them in her then-boyfriend’s front lawn. But in her heart, Kate knew she had fallen in love with Kevin the moment she saw him sitting alone at the table. There was just something about the sight of him there, waiting for her. As though he had been waiting his whole life for her to walk through the door. She confessed it to Simon the next day.