Jumping Rise

by S. W. Hubbard

  While Penny exclaimed over the beauty of the river rock chimney and the drama of the views, Frank was more interested in the engineering of the house. He gazed up at the huge beams supporting the second floor. “Surely those beams weren’t milled here. How did they bring a beam that big in on a boat and carry it up that hill?”

  Desmond chuckled. “No, that would’ve been impossible. Back in 1910 when the house was built, the Trimont Logging company built an access road that ran from Verona into the first-growth forest ten miles from here. My great-grandfather built his own tributary off that road, and all the materials and supplies to build this house were brought in from there.”

  As Desmond spoke, Chet emerged from a small out-building carrying a two-by-four over his shoulder and a toolbox in his hand. He ignored them and disappeared down a trail that led to the guest house. Behind the outbuilding was a solid wall of hemlock, pine and birch.

  “How far back does your property go?” Frank asked.

  “I own 80 acres.” Desmond pointed toward the trees. “My property backs up to state forest and some privately owned land. There’s not a road for twenty miles north and west of here. Just some lovely hiking trails.”

  Desmond continued to lead them around the back of the house. “After the logging company was through clear-cutting in that area, they abandoned the road and it reverted to nature,” Desmond explained. “You can still hike along the remnants of the road, but it’s not passable by vehicle. Today, the house is only accessible by water.”

  “What an enchanting story,” Penny said. “The Balsams was created through some access to the modern world, but then sealed off just like Camelot.”

  Desmond continued the tour by re-entering the house through the back door.

  “Then in the late 1950s, my grandfather, James Hale, remodeled The Balsams. He upgraded the plumbing and electrical systems, but everything had to be brought in by boat.” Desmond led them into a large kitchen, where a dour-looking woman stood peeling a pile of vegetables. “Chet’s wife is using the same stove that her mother-in-law once used here.” Desmond gestured toward a large but battered electric range.

  Penny smiled at the woman and commented on her preparations, but Chet’s wife wasn’t any friendlier than her spouse. Frank figured that stemmed from being treated as part of the furnishings as Desmond breezed through his tour.

  They passed from the kitchen into a dining room big enough to host a banquet. “Our family spent the 60s, 70s and early 80s enjoying this place. Until....” Desmond heaved a big sigh. “Grandpa lost his money in the stock market.”

  “Oh, that must have been devastating,” Penny said. Frank jammed his hands in his pants pockets and gazed up at the ceiling. The financial set-backs of the super-rich did not move him. While Penny gushed over the charms of the house, Frank couldn’t help silently tallying up the expenses and the chores. No way could Chet and his wife maintain all this single-handedly. There must be other workers who came in to dust those rafters, caulk the windows, patch the roof, clean the chimneys.

  “Grandpa’s money was keeping the whole extended family afloat,” Desmond explained, “so there was quite a struggle for survival. My father was an academic whose job as an associate professor at a small college was more of a hobby than a breadwinner position. We had to move...change schools...my mom had to get a job.” Desmond paused and laughed sheepishly. “None of that is tragic, I know. But up to that point in my young life, I had sailed along never thinking about what we had or where it came from. Of all the things we lost, losing The Balsams hit me hardest. Summers here were magical—swimming, canoeing, hiking, fishing. My brothers and sisters and cousins all ran as a big, unsupervised pack.”

  Desmond pointed through the window to the path down which the handyman had disappeared earlier. “Chet worked for us then, keeping the house and the property in good repair. And his mom cooked and cleaned. I barely recall the presence of any other adults although I know my parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles came and went. There are seven bedrooms on the second floor, and another three in the guest house. But we kids stayed together in the big bunkroom on the third floor. We arrived the moment school let out in June and stayed until the day before school started again.”

  “How idyllic!” Penny said.

  Frank had to admit his own grandsons would have a blast here although he couldn’t help imagining Chet’s poor mother slaving away in the bowels of the house trying to keep dozens of people fed and clean.

  “And what a stroke of luck that you were able to buy the property back again,” Penny continued. “These places don’t come on the market very often.”

  Desmond smiled. “Yes, when the opportunity arose, I jumped. And being back here again has brought me such pleasure. Turns out, you can go home again.”

  “And do you have kids or grandkids, Desmond?” Frank asked innocently although he knew from reading Hale’s Wikipedia biography that the man had two grown sons.

  “No grandchildren yet, but you’ll meet my sons at dinner. They’re both here for a few weeks.”

  Oh, great. Frank could look forward to dinnertime conversation with two unemployed freeloaders. Because out here with no cell or internet service, they couldn’t even claim to be telecommuting. “They don’t mind being cut off from technology here?” Frank asked. “My daughter treats her phone like an extension of her hand.”

  Desmond’s smile struck Frank as pitying. “No, they recognize how rejuvenating a break from online culture can be.”

  The tour ended in the grand living room, a space dominated by a fireplace wide enough to roast an ox. Penny immediately went to a display of nature photography between the two front windows. “Look at this beautiful close-up of a fox—I can see every shade of red and cream and black in his fur.”

  Frank joined her in front of the framed photos. “Huh. A beaver cutting down a sapling. I always see signs of beaver activity, but it’s hard to spot the creatures themselves. They’re shy.”

  “My son Keith took those,” Desmond explained. “He’s willing to wait for his shot. His brother, Justin, on the other hand, is a man of action.”

  Next to the wildlife photos was a handsome gun cabinet displaying several rifles and revolvers. “You and your son hunt?” Frank asked.

  “No,” Desmond answered. “Those are left from the previous owner. I thought it was a good idea to keep a few guns in such a remote location since we can’t call 9-1-1 for assistance.” He smiled at Frank. “But don’t worry—I took a firearms handling class and got them registered properly.”

  Frank strolled over to a long expanse of built-in bookcases to study the titles, while Penny and Desmond sat at a small table by the window and resumed work on a half-completed jig-saw puzzle. The spy novel Frank held open on his lap gave him an excuse to sit in silence. But in the past week, whenever he found himself alone, his thoughts turned to Blaine. Or, more precisely, to Doris.

  He couldn’t rid himself of the fear that his colleague was heading for a terrible disappointment.

  Chapter 8

  An hour later, a deep, metallic gong rang out.

  Desmond rose. “Dinner is ready.”

  Frank and Penny followed their host back into the dining room, where the massive table, big enough to seat twelve, had been set for five at one end. Desmond sat at the head of the table, and indicated Frank and Penny should sit at his right. A minute later, two men in their twenties entered the dining room. “My sons, Justin and Keith.” Desmond waved his hand from one group to the other. “Penny and Frank Bennett.”

  The sons resembled each other, with straight, dark blond hair and high cheekbones. But Justin, the older, was taller and more broad-shouldered. They both shook hands with Frank and Penny although Frank thought they didn’t look particularly interested in their father’s guests.

  Penny never retreated from sociability. She immediately engaged the sons in conversation, asking about their summer plans.

  “I just graduated from Harvard,”
Keith explained. “I start at Harvard Law in September, so I’m spending the summer prepping.”

  Justin looked pained that his brother had managed to bring this up in the first five minutes of dinner. “Wonderful,” Penny said as clattering from behind the dining room door promised the arrival of food. Frank knew better than to ask the older brother what he did since he hadn’t offered any information. He suspected it might be a sore topic.

  Mrs. Chet—the poor soul had never been introduced by name—silently appeared and set plates of salad before them. Ravenous, Frank polished his off faster than anyone else. Without his help, the conversation moved to a discussion of wind and solar power. Mrs. Chet carried in platters of grilled steak and roasted vegetables.

  While Frank ate his perfectly cooked steak, Justin and Keith grew more and more agitated on the subject of the environmental impact of wind turbines. Soon the brothers were calling each other idiots and accusing each other of cherry-picking the facts. Frank knew nothing about the topic and kept his head down. Penny, who was much better informed on environmental matters, tried to venture a balanced opinion and got shot down by both young men for her efforts.

  After that, she opened her mouth only to insert vegetables.

  Desmond kept refilling everyone’s wine glasses with an excellent cabernet, seemingly unconcerned by the contentious nature of the dinnertime conversation. Frank realized he’d been silent too long and tried to do his part by steering the conversation in a new direction. “This is great wine. I’m sure you didn’t get it at the liquor store in Verona.”

  “They’ve got nothing but Bud Lite and rot gut vodka there,” Justin scoffed.

  “When I drive up from the city in the spring, my SUV is packed with survival gear,” Desmond said. “Fine wine, organic meats, imported cheese. Rustic doesn’t have to mean deprived.”

  “Do you leave your vehicle parked at the Verona dock lot?” Frank asked. He imagined Hale must have a pricey luxury SUV and wondered about leaving it unprotected from thieves and weather for the entire summer.

  “No, there’s a fellow who lives near the dock who rents me space in his garage,” Desmond explained.

  “Every local yokel in Essex County has a hand in Dad’s pocket to provide some kind of service,” Justin griped. “He’s a one-man economic stimulus package.”

  “Don’t worry, there’s plenty left for you, so you won’t need to get a real job,” Keith sneered as he rolled his wine goblet between his long fingers.

  “You’ve never earned a cent in your life,” Justin fired back. “Unlike me.”

  “You didn’t earn anything.” Keith’s eyes flashed with contempt. “Luck isn’t work.”

  This exchange quickly turned into a squabble about who was better suited to prosper unaided by an inheritance.

  Given Desmond’s money, Frank thought this was an entirely hypothetical debate.

  “We’ll settle this! Let’s have a kayak race.” Desmond rubbed his hands with enthusiasm.

  Keith pushed back from the table. “I have reading to do tonight.”

  “Oh, that figures,” Justin complained. “As soon as anyone suggests a competition that he’ll lose, Keith claims he has to study.”

  Keith jumped up. “Fine. I’ll kick your ass in a race, then I’ll study.”

  Desmond turned to his guest with a grin. “Frank, are you in?”

  Frank had been up since dawn. The heavy meal and never-ending glasses of wine made him want nothing more than to crawl into bed. He raised his hands to demure. “I’m a recreational kayaker—I just go out to look at the scenery. And I already know I can survive without an inheritance.”

  Despite Frank’s refusal, Desmond continued to pressure him. “C’mon—it’s all in good fun. Nothing better than being out on the water in the moonlight.”

  Frank stood up, and the room tilted a bit. He wasn’t about to be shamed into taking part in a race on an unfamiliar lake in the pitch dark after he’d been drinking. There had been a time when he wouldn’t back down from that kind of challenge to his manhood, but that time had passed about forty years ago. He had nothing to prove to these yahoos. “I think Penny and I will call it a night.”

  “No, c’mon!” Desmond clapped him on the back. “At the very least, you can serve as our starter.” He turned to Penny. “And you can lead our cheering section.” Desmond herded them toward the front door.

  Behind Hale’s back, Penny shot a disgusted look at Frank. He was quite sure she didn’t appreciate being cast as a cheerleader. But there was a quality of invincibility about Desmond. Resisting him seemed like more trouble than it was worth. Better to just go along and watch this race.

  Down at the dock, the three Hales got out their kayaks. None of them donned a life vest. Frank bit his tongue. They were all adults and didn’t need his guidance.

  The father and two sons lined their boats up in the water, and Frank called out: “Ready, set, go!” The race began with an extravagant splash.

  Frank and Penny stood on the dock listening to the sound of furious paddling and the shouts from the competitors. Penny squeezed Frank’s hand. “Thank you for not joining them. They were all being obnoxious.”

  “You’re the only person here whose opinion matters to me,” Frank answered.

  “Let’s go back to our room.” Penny tugged on Frank’s hand.

  No sooner were the words out of her mouth than they heard a loud crack, followed by a single scream and a heavy splash.

  “Sounds like someone capsized,” Frank muttered. “I hope I don’t have to perform a water rescue.” He grabbed a life preserver attached to a coiled rope and stepped to the edge of the dock. The flotation device was useless if he couldn’t see where to throw it. “Are you okay?” he shouted into the darkness. “Let me hear where you are, and I’ll throw you a line.”

  Distant splashing was the only response. “Go upstairs in the boathouse and look for a flashlight,” Frank told Penny. “Turn on all the lights you can.”

  She moved quickly, and soon a circle of light illuminated twenty feet of the lake around the dock. No kayaks were within that circle, and the light only made it harder to see into the darkness beyond. Frank looked into the little motorboat Chet had used to pick them up. The key was in the ignition, but Frank worried about running over a body with the propeller. A rowboat would be more stable if he had to pull one of the men in, but that wasn’t a choice among the many boats there. So he grabbed an oar from the rack and launched a canoe. Penny reappeared with a flashlight as he was about to push off.

  She handed it to him and darted back to the wall of the boathouse. She grabbed a life jacket and tossed it into the canoe. “Put that on!”

  It was hard for a strong swimmer to drown in a calm lake in the summertime. But Frank did as he was told.

  Something was off about this episode.

  He paddled out into the dark.

  Chapter 9

  Frank shone the flashlight over the water. About fifty feet away, far to the right of the dock, the beam caught a bright yellow kayak bobbing.

  Upside down.

  He paddled toward it with smooth, deep strokes, trying to remember which of the men had occupied the yellow kayak. Not Desmond—Frank pictured him slipping into a red kayak.

  So it was either Justin or Keith in the water.

  Where were the other two boats?

  “Desmond!” Frank’s voice echoed across the empty lake. “Help!”

  No reply but the call of a loon.

  A few more strokes brought the canoe alongside the flipped kayak. Frank shone his flashlight into the water. The lake wasn’t murky, and he could see the sandy bottom about ten feet beneath him. Jumping in the water and swimming along the bottom would be pointless as he wouldn’t be able to see a thing. He decided to paddle around the capsized kayak shining the light into the lake until he saw a body.

  Between the cool breeze on the lake and his surging adrenaline, Frank no longer felt drunk. Still, he knew he was impaired and di
dn’t relish getting in the water with a drowning man. Water rescues were dangerous for both victim and rescuer as panic could kill them both. He cinched his life vest tighter, grateful for Penny’s quick action.

  After paddling a little further, Frank paused and shone the flashlight into the water again. Nothing.

  “Frank?” Penny called plaintively. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he shouted back. “I found the yellow kayak flipped, but no sign of the paddler.”

  He dug his paddle into the water again, and this time it bumped something beneath the surface. Frank grabbed the flashlight, hoping he hadn’t just hit a log.

  Keith Hale’s unconscious face stared up at him through the water. The body was, in fact, snared on a log which had kept it from sinking to the bottom. Frank leaned over the side of the canoe and managed to get the life preserver rope under Keith’s body. Then, with great difficulty, he started pulling him into the rocking canoe.

  The canoe tipped, and a gush of water came over the gunnel. Frank spread his legs and leaned back, trying to distribute his weight. One more pull and Keith’s torso flopped into the canoe like a big bass. Frank grabbed the young man’s legs and pulled him all the way into the boat, then laid him on his back.

  Frank began chest compressions. The curved bottom of the canoe made it hard to achieve a good, firm thrust. There wasn’t enough width to kneel beside the victim as he would on dry land. He considered paddling back to shore, but feared Keith had already been underwater too long. Frank began rescue breathing. He needed to force some air into the young man’s lungs to get him breathing again.

  He repeated the cycle of compressions and breaths, his training kicking in to make the process instinctual. He’d saved people before; let this be another win.

  Breathe. Breathe. Frank willed it to happen.

  Keith choked and a gush of lake water shot out of him.

  Frank forced more air in through Keith’s mouth. The young man shuddered and his dinner came up across the bottom of the canoe and Frank’s shoes.