Buttons and Bones (5 page)

After lunch they all took the path of steep switchbacks down to the lakeshore. About halfway down, Emma Beth said to Betsy, “That’s the biggest tree I ever saw,” and pointed to an enormous white pine.

“Wow, that is big,” said Betsy, looking up and searching futilely for the top branches, hidden beyond the tops of the other trees.

Emma Beth and Airey preceded their parents on a detour to the base of the tree. Emma Beth tried to hug it, but her little arms could not reach even a quarter of the way around. Betsy came to help, but it was only when Jill and Airey joined in that they managed, barely, to encircle the tree with their arms.

Betsy became aware that a “kree, kree, kree” bird sound she’d been hearing for a while seemed to be coming from the top of this giant.

“Do you know what kind of bird is calling?” she asked.

“It’s a bald eagle,” said Jill. “Didn’t I tell you? We have our very own bald eagle family nesting in the top of this tree. This is their fifth year, according to the locals. Last year they raised two youngsters, this year only one. That’s him calling. He’s fully fledged, and it’s time for him to make his first flight, so his parents have stopped feeding him.”

“You have your very own bald eagle family? This place of yours just gets cooler and cooler! Where are his parents? Did they abandon him?”

“No, they’re around here somewhere, keeping watch.”

As if to illustrate, a descending “skreeee” sounded from down near the bottom of the hill, a sound made familiar from television.

The youngster, encouraged by the reply, called again and again, but all he got was an occasional reply from the adults.

Airey stooped and picked up a small, dark brown feather from amid a low heap of dead leaves. He looked it over thoughtfully while a sentence formed in his head. “Baby bird,” he said at last, holding it out to his mother.

“You know, I think you’re right, I think this did belong to the baby up in the nest,” said Jill. “But we can’t keep it, it’s an eagle feather and we are not allowed to have an eagle feather. Put it back—and find something else.”

Airey made a disappointed face, but put the feather back exactly where he had found it, and instead picked up a tiny, long-needled twig of pine. He held it out for inspection, and his mother approved, so he pushed it into a pocket of his overalls.

They returned to the switchback trail and continued to the lakeshore. There was no sandy beach, but a grassy clearing that stood about a foot above the level of the water. Grass hung over in a fringe whose edges just touched the tops of the little waves that lapped the shore. There was a smoke-blackened fire pit near where an adolescent aspen leaned steeply out over the water.

“We’re going to lose that tree,” predicted Lars. “Next heavy rainstorm it’ll fall in.”

“Poor thing,” said Betsy. She stood on the bank and looked out over the lake. There was a round island about eighty yards out with a fallen-down cabin sitting among big trees near the shore. Betsy had looked at a map of Cass County before coming on this trip and been amused to notice that the lake was shaped like a duckling mostly. That is, the back end was a confusion of marsh and ponds without a clearly defined tail and feet, but the long body and one stubby wing were clear and the head had a perfectly shaped bill. Even the island was properly placed to be an eye.

“Why isn’t this lake called Duck Lake?” she asked now.

Jill said, “Because every now and then it gives out a sound like thunder. No one knows why. The sound seems to come from the deepest part of the lake, which is just a little down from where we are. It’s spring fed, and the movement of water may cause earth on the bottom to shift and rocks to fall or grind. It doesn’t do it very often or predictably, so no one’s been able to witness it happening down there. But it happens often enough to earn the name
Thunder Lake
.”

“Is that little house ours, too?” asked Emma Beth, pointing at a miniature log building on the Larson property just up from where they were standing.

“Yes, it’s a boat house,” said Lars. “When we come next year, we will put a boat in there.”

“Can we go for a boat ride?” asked Emma Beth.

The Larsons had brought an inflatable rowboat with them.

“Maybe tomorrow,” said Lars. “I want to get up on the roof today and see how my patch is holding up.”

“And I want to explore the shed,” said Jill, “to see if we can convert it into a garage. And start taking up the carpet. But we can come back down here tonight and build a campfire if you like. Make s’mores.”

“Yayyyyy!” cheered Emma Beth, doing a little dance. She had enjoyed them at a backyard barbecue earlier in the summer.

“Aaaaaaay!” echoed Airey, waving his arms. He was not sure of the reason, but pleased to join the fun.

“Do you have any neighbors around here?” asked Betsy as they started the trip back up the slope.

Lars said, “About half a mile down the shore there’s another cabin exactly like this one, or near enough, owned by a bachelor fisherman. The man who built ours made a career out of building log cabins for summer visitors; there are six or eight of them on lakes in the area. In the other direction, about a quarter mile from here, we have a young couple. He’s a dentist and she’s a pharmacist. But instead of a cabin, they have a modern house, though they use it just in the summer. The next cabin is more than a mile away, but we hear more are to be built next year, if the market recovery holds up. There are only a dozen cabins currently on Thunder Lake.”

Jill said, “Maybe the pharmacist is the woman in brown that Emma Beth thought was a bear. But if so, it’s funny she didn’t come over to say hello.”

“Does anyone live on the island?” Betsy turned to look back at the water. She had seen only the tumbledown ruin on the island, but maybe there was a house on the other side. She had seen a clapboard cabin and a fine, big house near the shore on the other side of the lake. The many trees hid other dwellings over there. And now the big trees on this side again hid everything but glimpses of the glittering water.

“Not right now,” said Lars. “There’s a lodge across the lake, down toward the foot, and rumors they’re going to build another one up at our end. The existing lodge rents fishing boats. I’m surprised we didn’t see any on the lake—you can tell them by their daylight yellow color.”

“Where are the loons?” asked Betsy.

“They’re out there, fishing. But they’re hard to see unless two males get into a territorial battle. They only call at night. We don’t go looking for them because if they’re disturbed, they’ll relocate.”

Later, while the children napped on the back porch, Jill, Betsy, and Lars took on the awful task of lifting the ancient, moldy carpet. Lars used a box cutter to free it around the edges of the living room and bedroom, and Jill and Betsy pulled it up. Lars cut it into manageable pieces, Betsy rolled it up, and Jill dragged it outside. She came back in from one journey to report that it was starting to look like rain.

Under the carpet were two layers of linoleum, the top one matching the pale pink of the dining area. Lars, cutting deep with the box cutter, went through both layers and, curious, pried up a corner.

“Say, Jill, take a look at this!” he called.

Under the two layers of linoleum were wide planks of varnished wood. Betsy came for a look as well, and watched while Lars pulled up a bigger piece of cracked, faded linoleum and the less-faded brown-and-green piece under it. Pieces of linoleum stuck to the planks, but enough was clear for Jill to make an exclamation of delight.

“Do you see that?” she demanded of Betsy.

“Yes, a wooden floor. Is it hardwood?”

“It’s old-growth pine, I’m sure of it. See how fine the grain is? What do you think, Lars? Am I right, old-growth?”

“I think so,” he said with a happy smile. “Imagine covering this up with linoleum!”

“Maybe it’s a mess in the middle,” said Jill.

“Then we’ll refinish it,” vowed Lars. “Man, look how broad those planks are. I wonder if they were sawn from a tree on the property. I’m pretty sure the walls were built of trees cut down right here.”

Betsy thought of the old tree on the downward slope to the lake. “I’m glad the loggers left one for the eagles to use,” she said.

“Say,” said Jill thoughtfully, “suppose we pay for the renovations to this place with that tree. How many board feet do you think that big old pine would make?” she asked Lars.

He sat back on his heels to consider the question.

Betsy said, “Oh, Jill, you
wouldn’t
!”

Jill began to laugh. “No, of course we wouldn’t. What’s more, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because we signed a scenic easement agreement with the Department of Natural Resources that we wouldn’t cut down any trees or alter the lakeshore or put up any new buildings. In return, they pay us a sum that’s about equal to one mortgage payment a year.”

The removal of the linoleum continued. Though it was early afternoon, the sky darkened outside, and there came a faint rumble of thunder. Jill went into the kitchen and brought back three kerosene lanterns with tall, clear-glass chimneys. She lit them with the long-necked lighter Lars had used to start the charcoal burning in the grill. Their mellow, golden glow filled the room, making it cozy against the storm brewing outdoors.

Suddenly a loud crack of lightning lit up the windows and a strong gust of wind blew in through the screens.

“Mama?” came a sleepy query from the porch. Thunder rolled loudly across the clearing.
“Mama!”

“Mama!” said another, younger voice, this one full of tears.

Lars and Jill went out on the porch to comfort and reassure their frightened children.

“Who’s afraid of a little old thunder?” asked Lars in an amused, scoffing voice.

“Not me,” declared Emma Beth, wiping her cheeks with both palms. “Silly old thunder!”

“T’under nice!” said Airey in unconvinced tones. His voice was still choked with tears. “Want Bin-kee-kee-kee,” he said, surrendering to his sobs, then trying to muffle them on his mother’s shoulder.

“Why, of course you do,” said Jill. “Here, come with me and we’ll find Binky.”

Binky, Betsy knew, was a blue teddy bear who had been Airey’s companion since he was born. Jill went into the bedroom and in a few seconds the two returned, Binky safe in his small master’s arms. Poor Binky had been kicked, sat on, slept on, dragged through mud puddles, shoved across play-ground equipment, and run through the washer and dryer almost as often as he had been hugged and kissed in his short life. And he looked it. His head lolled dangerously to one side, his eyes didn’t match, and his nose had been rubbed completely off. But Airey loved him passionately, and wiped the last of his tears away on the bear’s face.

Airey was put into the log easy chair with Binky—the chair had been moved into the dining area of the big room. After closing all the windows, Jill and Lars moved the cushions from the porch furniture into the bedroom, and operations on the carpet resumed. Emma Beth “helped” by holding one end of the hunks of carpet while Betsy rolled them up.

“Well, look at this!” said Jill after a little while. She was in the center of the carpeted area.

“What, you found the damaged part of the floor?” asked Lars, not looking around.

“No, look, there’s a trapdoor.”

“There is? Where?”

“Here, in the middle of the floor.” Lars and Betsy came for a look. Jill had pulled up random pieces of linoleum, looking for the damaged boards. Instead, she had found this.

The trapdoor was about half uncovered and the three of them quickly pulled back more linoleum to reveal the rest of it.

The door was made from the same boards as the rest of the floor, set in so it was flush. Even the handle was inset, with a small piece of wood filling the space where fingers could be inserted to grasp and lift.

“I didn’t know there was a basement to this place,” said Lars.

“It wasn’t mentioned in the legal description,” said Betsy.

“It can’t be a regular basement,” said Jill. “There are no windows on the outside to bring light into it.”

“That’s right,” said Lars, half closing his eyes and nodding as he walked in memory around the cabin.

“Well, are you going for a look or not?” demanded Betsy, eaten up with curiosity.

“Lars, bring me a flashlight, please,” said Jill.

“Sure.” He headed for the kitchen and began opening cabinets and drawers in a search. “Here it is.” He came back. “You found it, you get to go down first.”

Jill, meanwhile, had picked out the fragment of wood, which had been cut and smoothed to fit the opening, and lifted the door. It opened with a very traditional squeal-creak, and its edges were draped with the traditional cobwebs.

Betsy could see a set of rough wood steps leading down into darkness.

“I bet it’s full of old clothes and shoes,” Lars said. “Since this place doesn’t have an attic.”

Jill turned on the flashlight and went down the steps. In a few seconds her voice was heard. “Betsy, take the children into the bedroom, will you please? Lars, come take a look.” Her voice was brisk and a trifle stiff.

“What is it, what have you found?” asked Betsy.

“I’ll tell you in a little while. Just take the children into the bedroom. And close the door.”

Five