Back to Madeline Island (19 page)

“What do you mean?”

We grunt the chest up the several steps and then into the kitchen. I hip the arched door closed and we head on into the living room with it.

“I mean naming this thing a ‘hope chest.' The hope being that someday the gal who has been filling it, along with the entire family, I suppose, they're
all
hoping she'll marry. God, it always points right back to that—women aren't meant to be alone. They
hope
for a man to marry and then their life is hopeless!”

“Oh dear,” Ruby sighs. “Here we go again.”

She pours coffee for us in the kitchen; she places the mugs all on a tray and hands it to Howard. They join us in the living room. The chest sits on the coffee table—ominous, hopeful? We all slump down into cozy chairs and stare at it.

“As you guys know,” I begin, “my mom had an affair—to remember—and my dad, Larry-the-Mormon, has no idea who it was, nor does my Aunt Vivian, since she can't seem to recall what day it is even. So,
my
hope, pun intended, is that somewhere in here, there might be something that will tell me just who the hell the guy was or hopefully…is.”

“Haven't you already looked?” Howard asks the obvious. “I mean, you've had this all your life, haven't you?”

“I've rooted through it,” I reply, standing up and lifting the lid, which creaks open. “But only to kind of marvel at stuff, you know, like it's more of a shrine to her, not maybe this puzzle I'm faced with.”

Ruby sets her mug down and gives her hair a pat. “C'mon then, love, let's dig in, shall we?”

I've been in here lots of times before, so I'm trying not to get my hopes up too high or anything, but with more eyes and a whole different focus, well, like the name of this damn thing, I've gotta have hope. But the thing is, if this is just another dead end, I think the trails
done gone cold
.

I hand Howard a box that has all my baby stuff in it, including the blank baby book; Mom told me my entire life that as soon as time permitted and she hadn't any more meetings or clubs to go to or whatever, that she'd sit down and put it all together. To be honest, I'm glad she was too busy.

Ruby gets a stack of magazines and a thick manila envelope full of paper-clipped newspaper articles. Mom liked to keep the newspapers around for weeks and weeks until she had time to get to them, hated to miss anything, then when something might interest her, she'd cut it out and save it.

I hand Johnny a neat stack of books, poetry mostly, that my mom loved. I'm not much into poetry, but every so often, I give it a go. Maybe there's something in them that I missed. He also gets her Bible—it's one of those that zippers all the way around—and her college yearbooks.

Me—I haul out the rest of the stuff. There are several sets of hand-embroidered pillowcases; beautiful flowers with ivy leaves wind all around the top. They're going onto my pillows later. Some dishtowels, days of the week and so forth, and a little white box is wrapped up in the Wednesday towel. Inside is a bell hanging on an ivory ring: my teething thing. I rub my thumb over several little indentations—so tiny. I keep unfolding different bits of material, admiring all the handiwork. Smells of cedar surround us like a warm blanket.

“My heavens, darling, your mum kept everything. There's an article on how to best organize your desk—with pictures—several on the dilemma of breast-feeding, and of course, one of Dear Ann Landers on just how carefully mothers must study up on Dr. Spock's knowledgeable ways. Can you imagine?”

“You sure were a cute little thing.” Howard holds up my baby picture. “What mother wouldn't love a child with its head all mushed like that?”

“Hey—watch it there, mister!” I shake my head. “Maybe this was a stupid idea after all.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Johnny adds, lifting up a book. “Listen to this; it's by Thoreau.”

“That was
Ed's
favorite author,” Ruby offers. “Why—he had a copy of that very book—I have it upstairs.”

Johnny reads, “‘I do not know how to distinguish between our waking life and a dream. Are we not always living the life that we imagine we are?' Now
that's
deep—hey, look, an old picture.” He studies it a moment. “Good-looking couple, must be your folks. It just fell out.”

I go over and take it to have a closer look. “That's my mom…but I don't recognize the guy next to her,” I say, my heart thumping like crazy. “There's a date in the corner, nineteen-fifty-seven, right before I was born. They look unusually—
together.
My mom never looked at my
dad
like that—Larry—I mean.” I turn the photo over and have to sit. I think I'm going to faint.

“Your fourth grade teacher,” Howard comments, “Mrs. Walker, wrote on your report card that ‘Seeing as Eve is already reading at college level, perhaps…'”

“What
is
it, darling? You look like you've seen a ghost.” Ruby sets aside her pile and rushes to my side. With trembling hands, I pass it to her. “What in
heavens
—why that's—Ed—
my
Ed—and your
mum
?” She reads the back of the photo, then turns it over. Something in her face changes, like a cloud passing over, leaving behind
knowingness
. Her eyes sparkle back at me as tears cascade down her cheeks.

I'm not sure if I'm breathing. I have no idea what to think. Is it
possible
? Of course. They would have run in the same groups, the university in Eau Claire still isn't that big of a campus—and back then, well, I guess it was a right cozy group! I didn't realize it was a younger Ed. He sure was a looker back then, and she, I suppose she was lonely and—I look toward Ruby and feel like a
traitor
or something.

“I suppose there'll be a trial.” Ruby sighs dramatically, wiping away tears, addressing the room of open mouths. “I wonder if
this
could land us on the telly?”

“I think,” I say, warming to the idea, “Jerry Springer would be more like it.”

Then Ruby looks at me with the most amazing glint in her eye. “My darling Eve…you call me mum and I'll have to kill you.” Then she hugs me and it's different; more somehow.

Now I know—I finally know—and I'm home, this
is
truly home.

Ruby looks over toward the boys. “Well don't just sit there; go find something to celebrate with and don't take all bloody day. There's a bottle of bubbly just waiting in the fridge.” She turns back to me. “No wonder,” she pauses. “Funny, just when you think you have all the answers…”

“Life throws us…”

“Together.”

W
ell, as you can imagine, Ruby is looking at me with different eyes now, almost studying me. I suppose to see any resemblance to Ed. When I last saw him, he was very ill and had salt-and-pepper hair, which needed attention at the time, but no curls, no similar nose or teeth or…The reason I mention the color is because she's trying her darndest to find something in me that's his. I'm not about to remind her, however, that I
do
have salt-and-pepper hair underneath this color.

She's hauled out all sorts of photos of the younger Ed, say forty years younger, and we both agree that at least my
brain
is similar to his—I
am
brilliant. I honestly look most like my mother—same eyes, hair, lips, height (lack thereof), so it's mostly her wanting to connect us that's spurring her on. I'm just relieved as hell that she doesn't simply resent me, me being the “love child.” It certainly has put me in a weird position anyway.

Here I am, in my
dad's
cottage, and he never once even so much as walked by my salon, that I know of—so maybe he did. Then again, maybe my mom made him promise to stay away. Those questions I
do
have to let go of since everyone's dead. I wonder if Sam could help? Hmmm.

I have to stand back and look at who honestly
was
my dad. It wasn't
really
Ed. Oh, he planted the proverbial seed and all, but the man that has/was/is my dad is good old Larry. He did the very best he could and it's selfish of me to expect anything more from him than I got. I mean, the man stuck it out in that tension-filled house until my mother passed away, for heaven's sake, and what do I do to thank him? Nothing—not a damn thing—I was such a jerk. Sometimes it takes a jolt to the heart to open your mind.

 

We rang in the New Year in a big way. The boys built a huge bonfire over at their place and we had s'mores until our stomachs ached. They've taken to referring to me as “the sin child.” It could be worse, and as I said to Ruby, at least now I'm not the
bastard
child. Her acceptance of this entire ordeal is pretty amazing. When I explained the latest findings of “Who's Eve's daddy?” to Helen, her screeching could be heard across the kitchen. Ruby laughed so hard, she broke two fingernails smacking her hand on the countertop.

It's now mid-January and the lake is almost, but not quite, frozen. Since the ice is too thin to drive a car on and too thick for the ferry (as well as our duck), we have to rely on the Windsled.

“Good heavens.” Ruby ducks her head. “Are you sure this thing is
safe
?”

“There's all these kids,” I mention, scooting beside her on the built-in bench. “Now move over—I can't imagine that they'd let children on here if it didn't work, would they?”

“I've only heard
mention
of this Windsled thingie,” Ruby mentions. “Such a shame we can't simply hammer some metal onto the duck's hull and be ice-worthy—my—they're packing us in here like sardines!”

“If we don't make it across alive,” I add, “I've heard that drowning in ice-cold water can be rather pleasant.”

“Oh how lovely,” Ruby says with a great deal of oomph. “At least this way, when we get to Maggie's restaurant, we can have a drink and jolly well not be concerned about driving home a bit dodgy!”

A little boy comments to his friend how the pretty lady sure speaks funny and Ruby gives him one of her “looks.” He melts into submission and mutters an apology.

“Children,” Ruby stage-whispers. “Even the handsome ones can be
such
a frustration.” She elbows me and we giggle.

The canvas is then pulled over us all, the motor revs to life, and even yelling at each other is of no use. This thing is loud. It's hard to describe. Basically it's a boat; its bottom is all steel to handle the ice and it's powered by an enormous propeller in the back that literally blows us along. I'm excited and really relieved that at least there's this sled-thing available for emergency lunches. One must lunch, you know. Besides, Helen wanted to get out of Duluth and we needed to get off the island.

The ride is rough, as we have to break through some of the ice, then other times we zoom along on the surface on top of the ice. Ice is a major obsession on the island during the time the ferry can't get over.

Way quicker than I ever could have imagined, we're pulling up to Bayfield. A woman with a really long black ponytail that swings to and fro pulls back the canvas and helps us disembark.

“My legs are feeling plucky,” Ruby comments. “Give me your arm, darling, would you?” We loop arms and hobble up the shoveled sidewalk.

“That was fun!” I comment and Ruby snorts.

“It
was
lovely,” Ruby says, a bit out of breath, “of the crew to give us the day off, don't you think?”

“Is it me, or is everyone—including the boys—looking at us like we've got loogies hanging from our noses? I walked in on Sam and Lilly whispering about something and they never do that, I mean, without us joining in.”

“I've
never
had loogies hanging from my nose and perhaps they all are simply as stunned as we are. It's still got my head spinning, to think your mum and Ed—it's simply astounding, don't you think?”

“I think that this bookstore”—I reach up and clear away snow and ice to peek in a window—“should not be closed so damn much. Maybe when the ice road goes in, we could take a spin down to Washburn and check out the one down there. What was it called…something Indian, I think.”

“Oh, yes.” Ruby roots around in her purse, then reads a business card, “Chequamegon Book Company. What a difficult name, for heaven's sake.” She lights a cigarette and we wander by the store next door, which is also closed.

“Thank goodness Stone's Throw sells CDs,” I mention, taking a puff from her cigarette. “I'd like to get Connie Evingson's new one and it seems to me that the woman in there had a bunch.”

“I honestly don't recall. I
do
recall that dog of hers. I've never been licked to death like that. I hate to imagine where that tongue's been—disgusting.”

We continue on up Manypenny Avenue toward Maggie's restaurant.

“Thank God
this
place stays open through the winter.” I pull open the door and we walk into
pink flamingo land.
The food smells are divine and my mouth immediately waters. “Hey—there's Helen over in our favorite booth. C'mon, girl.”

Helen's beauty still takes me by surprise. Her blond hair is in a French twist, with light makeup, and she's wearing the blue sweater Rocky gave her for Christmas. We hug all around and then settle in.

“You two look so mother-daughter,” Helen comments and then thinks again. “Oh, wait a minute, Eve's the—”

“Result of
my
husband's oversexual, lecherous advances upon Eve's weak, lonely mum,” Ruby dryly comments, enjoying Helen's reaction. “It's a
true
study in the secret
swingers
world of academia.”

“Oh, for God's sake,” I sigh. “I need a glass of wine.”

“Me, too,” Ruby and Helen say together and we all laugh.

A plump woman with major mall bangs swings by and offers us the wine list and rattles off the lunch specials. Her smile is a dazzler, and when she asks us if we're all related, Ruby explains.

“Actually, in one way or another, we
are
related, but trust me, darling, it would take the better part of the week to explain all the ins and outs and—”

“We'd like three glasses of this pinot grigio,” I add and the waitress disappears. “You are in a mood today, missy! Must have been the ride over.” I explain the Windsled to Helen and she wants to ride in it sometime.

“I hope you don't mind,” Helen offers. “I told Ryan about the picture and—everything. Did you bring it, by any chance?”

“I think I'm going to wear it out.” I pull it from my purse and hand it over.

“Your mother is so young. I certainly see who's to blame for our curly hair, and look at the way she's got one hand on her hip, just like you do.”

“Actually,” Ruby comments dryly, “she normally has
both
hands on
both
hips, especially when she's ordering me about.”

I grin, shake my head and sigh—again. This little ribbing thing Ruby's into is her way of letting me know she's also having a time with this. But the initial shock is over—I hope.

“And Larry,” Helen continues with her observations. “God, he was one of
my
professors—I digress, sorry, it's just that we're all so connected. Now Ed here, notice how he towers over your mother, the way he's got his arm around her.” Helen looks toward Ruby; she waves her hesitation away. “Sorry, it just looks so, proprietary. I love the way they're both dressed, very fifties. God, this is so weird.”

The waitress plunks down our glasses and we don't even clink, just slurp.

“Much better.” Ruby sets her empty wineglass down and signals for another round. “I think we may drink our appetizers, ladies, and why shouldn't we? Now turn the photo over and let's get to the real dirt here.” She looks at me and winks.

Helen reads the note out loud; I know it by heart so I mouth the words along with her. “‘My dear Maxine…I love your mother's name—sorry.” Helen starts again.”

“What a louse,” Ruby offers. “Though I couldn't be more thrilled, I mean, I wouldn't have my best friend and, oh dear, this is such a strange world—isn't it?” She sheds a tear; I put my arm around her and give her a quick squeeze.

“Would you have divorced him?” Helen asks. “I mean, if you'd known he had—did you know he was having an affair?”

“Of
course
I did.” Ruby finishes her second glass and I'm not far behind. “Every woman knows if their husband's having an affair, but I had an entire
life
with him already and, well, I honestly knew he'd outgrow it. I'd hoped so—the double louse.”

“They're not all louses,” Helen says with such a dear look on her face. “Are they? I mean…I don't think that Ryan is, and—he better not cheat on me because—ta-da!” She extends her hand out to us to show off her sparkly diamond ring.

We do the only natural thing one does in this kind of a situation—we clap and scream like HELL!!!

 

“I have been bursting,” Sam admits with a big grin, “to tell you all that this good news was coming. I have been talkin' Lilly's ear right off on account of not wanting to spoil the surprise and all. Nothing like a spring wedding for that Helen, no sir.” Lilly hands her a fistful of half-finished aprons and they both smile.

“I've needed a diversion,” I stage-whisper as Ruby's in the potty. “Finding out about Ed and my mom has made us both feel a little strange.”

“Good thing you're such good friends,” Lilly lisps. “Nothing can ruin a friendship more than a—”

“Double louse for a husband,” Ruby tosses out on her way into the workroom. “I should think we—namely I—need to clear the air, so to speak.” She comes over behind my cutting table, adjusts her lace collar, gives her hair a dramatic pat and then “a-hems” her throat. “I've thought a great deal about this and seeing as
all
of you are family and…I honestly can now say that I'm very very grateful my Ed and Eve's mum found one another and gave me—Eve.” Ruby snivels a bit and so do I. She looks into my eyes. “I know this is terribly dodgy of me, but I have not an
ounce
of hard feelings, only gratitude for my dear Eve.”

We hug. Sam does her loud whistle, Lilly cheers, and Johnny and Howard give each other a major hug. Can you believe this woman?

After this little love fest, we simmer down a bit and dig back into our routine. I mean, we do have apron orders to fill and there's nothing better for the soul than zipping an electric shears through this polka-dot fabric. Ruby turns up the music, Dionne Warwick is singing “Theme from
Valley of the Dolls
,” and it reminds me of something.

“Since there's all this love,” I comment over Sam's humming, “I've been thinking that I'd like you all to consider something.”

“Girl,” Sam drawls out, taking a stack of apron parts from me, “I'll tell you right out—we ain't related.”

I shake my head. “Be grateful for that…no, I want to create a place for teenage mothers to be while
they
decide what they want to do with their babies…a home is what I'm seeing—
not
a convent!”

“Shame that little cabin out back isn't modernized a bit more,” Ruby comments.

“Actually, it'd have to be on the mainland,” Johnny offers. “I mean, in case you needed a hospital or something and aren't there a million regulations?”

I shrug my shoulders and zoom through some fabric, thinking. “I want to give back something and I also would really like to—to make it such that if an underage pregnant girl really wanted to keep her baby, she'd get the help. I'd like it to be more of an equal playing field, for lack of better words.”