Nora and Liz (12 page)

No one seemed up. No boats marred the surface of the lake; no motors disturbed its stillness; no shouts came from the one or two cabins, hidden by trees, that faced hers from one side of a large plot of heavily wooded vacant land on the opposite shore. Liz shucked off her t-shirt and plunged in, diving down to the muddy bottom where soft weeds waved their tendrils in the clear but brown water and rocks made elephant shapes among them. She slid along the bottom for a few frog-like breast strokes, then arced up, breaking the surface with her lungs exploding and her hair in her eyes. Exhilarated, she treaded water till she got her breath back, then swam with sure, clean strokes halfway to the other side, where a barking dog and a shouting child let her know she was no longer alone in the morning. She swam back, this time only mildly annoyed, but thinking she’d better unpack her bathing suit so she could swim without interruption.

She put her hands on the edge of the dock and jumped out of the water, shedding drops and shaking them off like a dog. Then, in deference to the remote possibility that someone on the opposite shore had binoculars, she kept her back turned, pulled her t-shirt on over her head, and ran back up to the cabin for breakfast.

***

Fixing the study window, a three-over-three casement, was obviously not going to be easy. Much of the frame’s wood was warped and rotten and what little putty remained had shrunk with age, then cracked and flaked. Liz scraped and dug at the putty with a screwdriver and a knife, planning to replace it, but soon realized the frame wasn’t worth repairing. She put her tools down and studied it. It was probably too old to be a standard size, but they’d know that at the hardware store and could order a new one if it was. If it wasn’t, she’d have to get a carpenter. She wasn’t sure she was skillful enough to build a rain-and-snow-tight window frame.

Sighing, Liz went back down to the kitchen’s tool drawer for a tape measure and measured the window, writing down the dimensions on a scrap of paper which she stuffed into her pocket. At least, she thought, it doesn’t look like rain today, and so far the rain didn’t seem to have gotten onto the desk. Nevertheless, she pulled the desk out a little further, just to make sure.

She spent the remainder of the morning unpacking the rest of her clothes and giving the cabin another, very minor, cleaning. Then, just as she was making herself a tomato sandwich and contemplating going for a walk in the woods after lunch, there was a rustling outside and a loud, insistent knocking.

Annoyed, Liz put down her mayonnaise-laden knife and answered the door.

Roy Stark stood there holding the screen open, grinning; his Mazda was parked at the end of the stone path. “Hi,” he said. “I was passing your driveway, or maybe I should call it a road, it’s so long. And I thought I’d stop in and see how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing fine.” Liz blocked the doorway with her body. “Thank you,” she added reluctantly.

“I’m thinking of heading into town for the Sunday papers,” Roy said, unabashed, “and I wondered if you needed anything, or if you’d like to come with me. There’s a good movie in
Poscaquill
, too; I thought maybe we could go see it later. Or have a walk in your beautiful woods.”

“Thank you,” Liz said evenly. “But no. I have other plans.”

Roy peered beyond her into the kitchen. “Nice looking kitchen,” he said. “Ah. You’re making lunch.”

“Right. And then I’m going for a walk, a working walk. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Later, I may go to the hardware store, which I think is open Sunday afternoons.”

She regretted that as soon as she said it, for Roy seized on it quickly. “Hey, maybe I could help with that! I could pick up whatever it is for you. And you know what? I’m pretty handy. No offense, but this place must need a fair amount of work, especially if it’s been shut up for so long. For a part-time English teacher and ex-surveyor, I make a pretty good carpenter.”

“And gardener,” Liz said dryly, remembering Clara Davis’s recommendation. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Ouch!” He made great show of wincing. “I guess I deserved that. Look, I’ll level with you. Mrs. Davis, bless her sweet soul, told me you’ve recently broken up with someone and she said you might be lonely. I broke up with someone, too, not long ago. So I thought maybe…”

Liz sighed. “Roy, I’m sorry. But I—I’m just not ready.” No, Liz, she told herself; he won’t accept that; she could already see it in his eyes and she imagined him framing the answer: “
Well, when you are…”

Then he said it, with an acquiescent nod. “Okay, I understand that. But when you are…”

She sighed again; why was it so impossible to tell the truth? So hard, anyway.

“I don’t expect to be ready for a long time, Roy,” she told him. “I’m sorry.”

He stretched his hand out and patted her shoulder. “No, no,” he said. “My sympathies.
I’m
sorry. But maybe"—he withdrew his hand—"we could just have a friendly walk sometime. As I said, I’m good at carrying equipment.” He winked.

“Maybe,” she said. “But I can manage the equipment.”

He shrugged. “Okay. Whatever. As the kids say,” he added. “Funny how one picks up their language.”

She smiled, trying to be polite without being encouraging, but didn’t answer. An insect, possibly a bee, flew past Roy’s head, buzzing loudly. He batted at it, letting go of the screen door, which swung closed, not quite slamming.

“Well,” he said, “good luck. I’ll give you a call sometime, shall I? You know, about that walk.”

“Roy, I…” Liz began, but he turned away as if to prevent the answer she was about to give him.

“See you later!” he called, walking briskly back to his car. “Bound to, in such a small town.”

Liz turned away before he got to the car, and returned to making her sandwich. But she felt oddly violated, her pleasant solitude unpleasantly shattered.

By the time she’d finished her lunch, Liz realized with annoyance that she’d better cut her walk short if she was going to go to the hardware store, so she just strolled for about a mile along the lake shore to the left of the cabin, following a muddy, overgrown path she and Jeff had often explored as children. It took her longer than she expected, for the path was tangled with weeds, and the cedar boards she and Jeff and their father had placed there long ago to bridge the muddy places were rotting and slick with bog slime where they weren’t carpeted with moss. Another project, Liz decided, somewhat cheered by the thought. She turned back, planning to bring clippers and a saw with her the next day to start restoring the path.

Before she left for the store, she checked in the tumbledown toolshed for what she’d need and found her father’s old bow saw, a small pruning saw, and two pairs of loppers. They were a little stiff and rusty so she added WD 40 to her list and headed off to town.

As she passed the road into the
Tillot
place, she saw something light-colored in the clearing at the edge of the woods. Slowing down, she realized it was a person, bent over and searching for something, it looked like, in the grass and weeds. She was about to speed up again when the figure straightened and turned, and Liz recognized Nora
Tillot
.

She slowed more, and pulled over. “Hi,” she called. “Liz Hardy. I borrowed your jack last month.”

Nora shaded her eyes, then walked to the car, smiling. “Yes, of course,” she answered. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Nora’s smile was warmer than Liz remembered and again she was struck by the green flecks in her eyes. The sun was catching them, bringing out their slight gold
tinge
. “Did you lose something?”

“What? Oh.” Nora laughed and picked up a basket that had been hidden in the weeds. “No, I was picking wild strawberries. I’m going to make shortcake, but”—she laughed again, a
_.
gentle, musical laugh—“but I’ve picked enough for an army. Hey,” she said, cocking her head, “come by later and do me a favor by taking some. Or I could make extra biscuits and give you some shortcake; there’ll be plenty of cream, too.”

“My mouth is watering already.” Liz wondered if the smile she knew was forming on her face looked as silly as she felt it must, for it had grown without her knowing it or planning it. “But your parents…”

“I know.” Nora laughed again. “I’m probably crazy to suggest that you come over. I don’t know what got into me. Something, though. Come anyway? After supper, maybe around seven? We have a telephone now,” she added shyly. “I haven’t used it much yet. But you could call if you change your mind.
Here.
” She fumbled in the pocket of her ever-present apron, withdrawing a pencil stub and a scrap of paper, and scribbled something. “Here’s the number.”

“Let me give you mine, too, then.” Liz tore a strip off Nora’s scrap and reached for the pencil. “In case something comes up with you or
you
change
your
mind or your cat eats all the cream or something.”

Nora laughed, taking the paper. “He won’t,” she said, “eat all the cream.”

When she drove away, Liz’s smile had broadened and she was humming, though unconsciously.

Liz took a shower in Mom’s Hippo after a hasty meal of broiled chicken and salad, and laughed at herself for dressing with such care. “It’s not as if it’s a date, stupid,” she said into the mirror as she brushed her newly washed hair and straightened the collar of the red and white striped shirt that she knew set off her dark skin.

She reached the
Tillots
’ dirt road at a few minutes before seven, so she stopped as soon as she’d pulled into it, not wanting to be early—or to appear eager, she thought, again amused.

Am I eager, she wondered, turning off the engine and switching on the radio.

For the next several minutes she chased that thought around in her mind, and then, still without an answer, switched the engine back on and rolled slowly down the road.

The house looked even bleaker than she’d remembered it, its siding cracked and weathered, its roof sagging, its trim peeling. Needs more work than my place, she thought, getting out of the car and then kicking herself for not having brought something. But what? Wine? Not for strawberry shortcake, probably. Flowers? But Nora had plenty of those; Liz could even see them, though she didn’t know all their names. Irises and lilies she recognized, interspersed with something blue and white and something else that looked like fading yellow daisies, nodding in the light breeze.

Nora answered the door so quickly that Liz was sure she’d been waiting at a window. She’d washed her hair, too, since that afternoon, Liz could see, and she’d put on an old fashioned-looking pale yellow dress trimmed with blue piping. The warm smell of something baking made Liz’s mouth water.

“You look nice,” Liz said before she could wonder if she should. “I hope I’m not too early. And I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything, but…”

“Bring anything?” Nora’s smile was wide and welcoming. “But what would you bring except yourself?”

“I don’t know. Wine. Flowers.”

“No, don’t be silly. Come on, come in. The old folks are asleep.” She led Liz into the kitchen, which was warm, almost hot, from the stove. “At least I hope they are.” She closed two doors at opposite ends of the room. “They go to sleep pretty early.”

“That must mean you’ve got hours at night with nothing to do.”

Nora motioned Liz to a chair. “Not quite nothing. Night’s when I catch up on things like mending and ironing, things I usually can’t do during the day.”

“Ironing? But you don’t have electricity.”

Nora looked amused. “Neither did your great grandmother, I bet.” She gestured to a shelf above the stove, along which marched several old-fashioned sadirons. “You heat them on the stove,” she explained. “When one gets cool, there’s another ready and waiting.”

“They look heavy.” Liz reached for one, momentarily startled by the envelope of warm air that surrounded the stove. “May I?”

“Sure. Be careful, though. They
are
heavy!”

“Whoa!” Liz laughed, hefting one. “They sure are.” She put the iron back and for a moment they faced each other, not speaking.

“Let me get the cream,” Nora said finally, turning away. “Biscuits are in the oven. I think they’re about ready.”

“Surely you didn’t make fresh ones!” Liz exclaimed, calling after her.

“Why not? They’re better fresh.” Nora went outside briefly and returned with a bowl of whipped cream, which she set on the table next to a breadboard. Then, holding a dish towel bunched up in her hand, she pulled a sheet of golden-brown biscuits out of the oven and placed it on the breadboard. “There.” She handed Liz a knife. “Maybe you could slice the biscuits while I get the berries?”