Stuck in Manistique

by Dennis Cuesta

  Two grown men in this tiny boat must look ridiculous, Mark thought.

  “I haven’t done this in a long time,” Bear Foot said, beaming. “Since I was a kid.”

  The boat’s edge barely topped the waterline. The lake was not entirely calm, but they paddled with the current and made quick progress.

  “Do you ever fish here?”

  Bear Foot shook his head. “No, there are better lakes. But there are fish here. Walleye and pike. But I like trout fishing, myself. This lake’s too shallow.”

  Mark looked over the side, but he couldn’t see the bottom. “If I were staying longer, I wouldn’t mind fishing.”

  “Aren’t you coming back?”

  Mark shrugged, shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “What about the house?”

  “I’m going to sell it.”

  “That’s a shame. Been in the family for so long.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The house—it belonged to Vivian’s father.”

  This was news to Mark. His mother had never mentioned anything about living in the UP. Perhaps it had been a summer home.

  Bear Foot steered. He had first kept them parallel to the shore for about a hundred yards, and now they were heading toward the dead middle of the lake, or at least what looked like the middle.

  “How far are we going?”

  Bear Foot pointed ahead. “Just up there.”

  Just up there was more water, and the other side of the shore was a long way off.

  “How big is this lake?”

  “Pretty big. Seven or eight miles by three miles or so.”

  They continued cruising slowly toward the center and, beyond it, the blue ridgeline of the opposite shore.

  “Did you know Vivian well?” Mark asked.

  “Yes.” Bear Foot wiped his face with his hand. “I would keep an eye on the house when she was away. She’d be gone for long stretches.”

  “Do you know why she opened her house to guests?”

  He shrugged. “She never told me exactly, but I always like to think of it as a return to her Chippewa roots.”

  “The Chippewa ran a chain of hotels?” Mark joked.

  “No, only casinos.” Bear Foot howled with laughter. Mark joined in, seeing Bear Foot get a kick out of his own joke. “I mean settling in one place,” Bear Foot explained. “The Indians in this area moved south in the winter to the Lower Peninsula and never really called one place home.”

  Mark thought for a second, then replied. “I don’t get it. What does that have to do with running an inn?”

  “It’s abstract, but think of the house like two places. In season it’s a hotel and out of season it’s her personal home. In season she moves her things downstairs, and then she moves back upstairs in the winter. Like living in two places. Besides, I think she got lonely.”

  Mark nodded. “I see,” he said, but he didn’t really understand it completely. His legs had started to tire, but more than that, his back hurt against the hard plastic. He mentioned none of this to Bear Foot.

  “Okay, I think this is far enough,” Bear Foot said and stopped pedaling.

  They both just sat there for a long moment, swaying back and forth in the small current.

  Mark reached back and for the urn. He pulled the lid off. He saw now that the ashes were contained inside of a plastic bag.

  “One second,” Bear Foot said and reached into his back pocket and fished out a folded piece of paper. “I’d like to read this first, a poem written by Jane Johnston Schoolcraft.”

  The lake was quiet. No one else was out on the water. Bear Foot read:

  Awake my friend! the morning’s fine,

  Waste not in the sleep of the day divine;

  Nature is clad in best array,

  The woods, the fields, the flowers are gay;

  The sun is up, and speeds his march,

  O’er heaven’s high aerial arch,

  His gold beams with lustre fall

  On lake and river, cot and hall;

  The dews are sparkling on each spray,

  The birds are chirping sweet and gay,

  The violet shows its beauteous head,

  Within its narrow, figured bed;

  The air is pure, the earth bedight,

  With trees and flowers, life and light,

  All—all inspires a joyful gleam,

  More pleasing than a fairy dream.

  Awake! the sweet refreshing scene,

  Invites us forth to tread the green,

  With joyful hearts, and pious lays,

  To join the glorious Maker’s praise,

  The wond’rous works—the paschal lamb,

  The holy, high, and just I Am.

  “Very nice,” Mark said after a long moment of silence.

  “Do you have any words for Vivian?”

  Mark shrugged. “I don’t know . . . no, not really.”

  Bear Foot thumped Mark twice in the chest with a fist. “From the heart. Just say anything.”

  “Um, okay.” Mark felt awkward, and he wished he had added something extra to his coffee this morning, but it was only the two of them, so he looked at the urn.

  “Dear Vivian, you were so inspiring. You did so much good for so many people. The world will miss you, very, very much.” A solemn nod. “Very much.”

  “Yes, so true.”

  “Now?” Mark gestured toward the urn.

  Bear Foot nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Mark undid the tie on the plastic bag. If he had been alone, he would have simply turned the bag upside down and dumped the ashes into the lake. But for Bear Foot’s sake, he wrapped the top of the bag over the urn’s opening. He gently shook the urn, gradually coaxing the ashes into the water. Bear Foot pedaled forward slowly and turned the boat, keeping the wind to their backs.

  When all the ashes were out of the urn, Mark looked back at the long line floating on the water. The ashes slowly dissipated underwater, creating a mesmerizing cloud beneath the surface. “It’s done,” he said. “We have returned her to nature. This is where Vivian wanted to be. She will stay here for a while, then flow through the river and into the Great Lakes.”

  “Yes,” Mark said. A moment of solemn camaraderie passed between them.

  “It’s a shame Vivian’s child couldn’t be here with us,” Bear Foot said.

  Mark’s head snapped in Bear Foot’s direction. “What child?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. She once told me she had a kid. Put up for adoption.”

  “No one ever told me about that.” He looked out over the water, shaking his head. That would be like Vivian. Got pregnant on some mission, dropped off the baby at the nearest adoption agency and ran off to another mission. . . . Frank Walters needed to know.

  “Ready to head back?” Bear Foot asked.

  Mark nodded, and they both started pedaling.

  The current ran against them, and Mark noticed that they made very little progress. “Going back is much harder,” Mark said. The houses on shore passed by very slowly.

  “My legs are getting worn out,” Bear Foot admitted.

  A motor boat zipped by them in the opposite direction a hundred yards away. Mark felt silly. Bear Foot waved.

  But they went on, taking a short breaks in turn, then making a burst of progress pedaling together. Nearly a half hour of cycling later, they were close, though the last hundred feet were the most difficult. The breeze felt good, a relief against the sweat of the workout.

  Bear Foot was closest to shore, and he got out and pulled the boat closer to the rocky beach. Mark hopped out but slipped and landed in the lake again.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine. This is just not my day,” he said, looking down at his pant leg, which was wet about halfway up his calf. They both pulled the boat across the rocks, and then Mark grabbed the urn. Bear Foot flipped the boat over.

  “There’s a towel in the truck if you want to dry off.”

  Mark no
dded. “Thanks.”

  They headed for the truck. “Not exactly what we had in mind, but. . . ." Mark said.

  “Yeah, that trip back was tough,” Bear Foot said. “But we made it.” He put up a high five. Mark slapped his hand.

  “Yeah, we made it back,” Mark agreed.

  “My legs are rubber.”

  Bear Foot retrieved the towel out of the truck and tossed it to Mark, then got back on the boat and fidgeted with the motor.

  “Where should I set this?” Mark asked after drying off as much as possible.

  “Just throw it anywhere on the boat.”

  “Thanks again for your help,” Mark said. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Bear Foot made a single nod. “Anything for Vivian.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  On his way back to town to meet with the real estate agent, Mark called Frank Walters to let him know that Vivian had a child. There was no answer, so he left a message.

  Ron was already at Jake’s Bar when Mark arrived. Paunchy and middle-aged with dark brown hair in a bowl cut, Ron wore a long-sleeved blue shirt, khakis, and sneakers. His transition lenses kept a little tint inside the bar. Mark would have guessed Mikey’s uncle rather than cousin, but perhaps they were second cousins or cousins once removed. Everyone around town seemed to be related in one way or another.

  In his jolly manner, Ron described the slogging Manistique market, slinging out statistics—average days to sell, average selling price, average size house, acreage. Two hundred days to sell a $100,000 house didn’t sound appealing, but Mark didn’t blame Ron for that.

  “He’s got a guest staying there,” Mikey said with a smirk as he dropped off beers.

  Mark held up two fingers.

  Mikey’s eyes lit up. “Another girl?”

  Mark shook his head. “One of the oldsters from the casino tour. Had a fight with the missus and ended up at the house.”

  “What?” Ron’s eyebrows lifted.

  “Don’t worry. They’re both gone now,” Mark said. He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter past twelve. Emily must have left by now. A melancholy void opened up in him, like the contorted remorse he’d felt when a school year ended.

  “Is this a house or a hotel?” Ron asked.

  “It’s a bed and breakfast. The Manistique Victorian.”

  “Really? You mean Vivian is your aunt?”

  “Yeah. Did you know her?”

  Ron nodded slowly and explained how he had met her a few times at commerce events in town. “I’m very sorry. I wish I had gotten to know her better.”

  Mark grimaced, nodding. He felt the same way.

  “I remember the open house she had a couple years ago—seems like yesterday. She told me it was her dream to turn the house into a B&B.”

  “Grilled burgers and fries, guys?” Mikey called out.

  Both said yes.

  “Well I didn’t realize you wanted to sell a business,” Ron continued. “That’s a little different.”

  “I don’t, really, unless it helps.”

  “Depends on how it’s doing.”

  Mark shrugged. “Beats me.”

  “You might get more for it if it’s bringing in income, but it might take longer too.”

  Mark shrugged. “Not sure.”

  After lunch, they agreed to meet at the house.

  “I need to make a quick stop at the office,” Ron said.

  “So you know where it is then, right?”

  “Yep. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

  Mark thanked Mikey for lunch.

  “Hey, if I get any customers who need a place to stay, I’ll send them your way.”

  Mark laughed. “Don’t you dare!”

  The poem Bear Foot read reverberated in Mark’s head as he drove back to the house. . . . Awake my friend. . . . As he approached, he spotted a parked car in front of the house. “Damn it!” Peter Hinton had arrived. But then he recognized the red car as an all-electric Galvani and figured no traveler through this area would be in an electric car. Then again, who in this area could afford a $100,000 car?

  Mark scanned the porch and yard. No one. And after turning the corner and seeing the side yard was empty, he felt relieved. Still, half expecting to be accosted by someone wanting to stay the night, he dashed to the back door.

  When Mark entered the kitchen, he heard a voice, a man’s voice. He slammed the door. What was it with people walking into someone’s house? And he was upset with Emily for leaving the door unlocked.

  Filled with determination to kick out whoever was there, he charged through the kitchen and into the dining room. Instead he became instantly tongue-tied. It took him a few seconds to process the entire scene and even longer to absorb it.

  Sitting at the table, with a book in front of him: George. Standing in the living room: Emily. And sitting on the edge of the couch were two strangers, a man and a woman.

  “What are you—” he started to say to George but then fired at Emily: “What’s going on here?”

  “These are your guests for tonight,” Emily answered in a placating way, extending her palm toward the two strangers.

  They stood up. “Sorry for being so early. I’m Peter Hinton,” the man said.

  A little shocked, Mark approached. “I’m Mark,” he replied, then stumbled to add that Vivian was his aunt.

  The man introduced the woman, Yvonne, before extending his hand. Mark didn’t want to know people’s names or shake hands. He wanted everyone to leave. But of course he was cordial and shook hands with the man.

  “That’s not your car out there, is it?” he asked.

  He nodded. “It is. In fact, that’s why we’re here early. Vivian said I could charge the car here, in a 240 outlet,” Peter said.

  “She did?”

  Yvonne added, “We don’t need to check in yet. We just need to plug in the car in so that we can get to Munising.”

  “So you’re not spending the night here,” Mark said, hoping.

  Peter nodded emphatically. “No, we are. We’re just making a day-trip to Munising and then we’ll be back later.” He looked at his watch. “That is, if we plug in now. We only need to plug in for about half an hour right now.” He checked his watch again. “So is the 240 outlet in the garage?”

  “I suppose. I’ve never seen it.” He tried to remain pleasant, but in his mind he was saying, Vivian’s dead. Everyone out! “Bring your car around. I’ll meet you out there.”

  Mark shot a glare at Emily.

  “What?” she mouthed.

  He gave her a brief, tight shake of his head.

  Yvonne followed Peter out the front while Mark headed toward the kitchen. He darted through the back door and dashed across the yard to the garage.

  Mark hadn’t been in the garage—didn’t even know if he could get inside. But of course the side door was unlocked. He flipped the nearby switch to light the windowless space. It was near pristine for a garage. Cabinets lined one wall. There were two bicycles and a lawnmower against another wall. And parked near the back of the garage, a motorcycle. He recognized it as a mid-sixties Triumph. He found the 240 near the motorcycle and pressed the button for the garage door. His car was a bit in the way, but there was enough room to pull in from the far side.

  Mark pointed to the plug as the Hintons pulled in.

  “Do you mind if I pull into the garage?” Peter yelled. Yvonne got out of the car.

  Mark shook his head and stepped out of the way. He approached Yvonne, prepared to tell her that they could use all the electricity they wanted, but they couldn’t stay.

  “This is great of you,” she said putting a hand out toward Mark before he could say anything. “If not for this place, we wouldn’t have been able to make this trip.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t you know? We’re doing the circle tour around Lake Michigan in this car.”

  “The entire lake?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “The first al
l-electric car to do it.”

  “Wow. How far can you go on a charge?”

  “Two hundred and some miles.”

  As he stepped out, Peter said, “A million thanks,” and hurried to the trunk of the car, where he pulled out the charging cable.

  Mark heard his name being called. It was Emily.

  “Excuse me one second.”

  He met her on the path around the house. “There’s someone at the door,” she said.

  “Shoot, that’s right.” Mark suddenly remembered. Ron, the real estate agent. “Is he in the house?”

  “No, he’s waiting on the porch.”

  “Well at least you’ve learned one thing,” he said before hurrying toward the front of the house.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?!” she yelled out.

  Mark ignored her. “Hey,” he said to Ron.

  Ron, standing on the porch, turned and started down the steps. “I sense a good story here,” he said.

  “And I don’t even know the half of it yet,” Mark said.

  “More guests?”

  “More and more of the same. The two that were supposed to be gone are back. Then these other people showed up.”

  “Maybe you should consider selling it as a business. Seems like a popular place.”

  Mark shook his head in disbelief. “These people that just arrived are driving around the entire lake in a Galvani.”

  “Electric car?”

  “Yeah, apparently that’s the point. To be the first ones to ever do it.”

  “Interesting,” Ron said. “So you want to meet some other time?”

  Mark nodded slowly. “Yeah, sorry, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Just give me a call when you’re ready. Good luck with your guests.”

  Mark inhaled deeply, fresh air filling his lungs, readying himself for George’s story. But before he could walk inside the house, he heard someone call out, “Excuse me.”

  It was Peter Hinton. “The car isn’t charging,” he said.

  Bear Foot immediately came to mind. Must be the electrical issue that Vivian had wanted him to look at. “I know exactly who to call.”

  Two suitcases sat in the entry. George was at the table reading his book, and Emily was nowhere in sight. “So what happened?” Mark asked, arms partially upright.