by Lyn Gardner
Under her bed, in an old cigar box, were the scraps of paper she had squirreled away, a trove of treasures blank and printed on, she would remove one or two every night and allowing herself the freedom she craved, she would sketch. Many a pencil had been worn down to the nub and bits of charcoal, snatched before it found its way to the stove heating their home, had also been used until all that remained of it was the soot left on her skin. And when her eyes began to blur, and her limbs grew heavy, she’d place her sketches in the fire and watch as her truths turned into ash, but the correctness required of the breathing was no longer necessary to the dead.
Decades before, in the cramped confines of a stairway hidden from view, Isobel had found what would become her sketchpad, and she had put it to good use. Drawings in pencil and pen covered almost every square inch of the curved ivory colored plaster, and while most believed sketches to be born from speed and loosely drawn, Isobel’s contained details Robin and Judy had yet to discover.
“This is amazing,” Judy said quietly, fascinated by the drawings surrounding her. “I wonder how long it took her to do this.”
“I have no idea,” Robin said in a breath.
Both had felt the need to whisper for much like a cavern, the winding passageway amplified their voices, so when Judy’s stomach growled, a lion’s roar echoed off the walls.
Robin’s face turned rosy, the reverberation of Judy’s hunger almost as funny as the woman’s wide-eyed expression at the rumble. “What the hell was that?” Robin said, laughing out every word.
“I’m sorry,” Judy said, placing her hand on her belly. “I haven’t had much to eat today.”
“I have the perfect cure for that.” Robin motioned for Judy to follow her as she headed down the stairs. “Besides,” Robin said, looking over her shoulder. “There’s a lot more I have to tell you.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” Robin said with a snort. “Lots more.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I can’t thank you enough for doing this. It’s delicious.”
Robin looked up from her plate and grinned. “You’re welcome. I just thought if you’re anything like me, the last thing you want to do after a day of traveling is to come home and cook.”
“Especially when you forget to stop at the market before getting on the ferry.”
“Oh, no worries there,” Robin said, reaching for her wine. “There’s plenty of stuff in the freezers now. Feel free to grab anything you’d like.”
“What freezers?”
“The ones downstairs.”
“The chest freezers?”
“Yep,” Robin said as she loaded her fork with some carrots. “The store was having a sale on...um...on some meat thingies, so I bought a few.”
“Are you talking about meat bundles?”
“That’s what they called them. Yes.”
“How many is a few?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Three I think.”
“Three?” Judy said, her voice rising just a bit. “Robin, those things have like twenty pounds of meat each.”
“I know, but winter is coming, and I heard once that happens, the ferries stop running.”
“The ferries don’t stop running unless the Straits freeze, and that’s usually not until at least January, if not later. And even then, a plane ride is cheap enough, and there’s always the ice bridge.”
“Okay, you got me there,” Robin said. “The ice bridge?”
“It’s what they call it when the Straits freeze. Once the ice gets thick enough, we can just take a snowmobile over to St. Ignace.”
Robin stared open-mouthed at Judy for a second. “Okay, first, unless Adele has a snowmobile hidden around here someplace, I don’t own one of those, and second, are you insane? Who’s to say the ice is thick enough, and you’re not going to fall through and plummet to an icy, dark, and watery death?”
Judy was tickled by the author’s embellishment, and it showed on her face. “Volunteers from both Mackinac and St. Ignace check it daily, and people on the island and the mainland hold onto their old Christmas trees, so once they find a route safe enough to travel, they drill holes in the ice, put in the trees, and away we go. It’s only about three miles, which means it’s a quick trip, and it also proves my point.”
“What point?”
“There was no need for you to stockpile a ton of meat. There are ways off this island in the winter.”
“I didn’t stockpile a ton of meat. I just saved us some money by buying in bulk.”
Judy’s entire face crinkled into a smile. Stabbing her fork into a piece of meat on her plate, she popped it into her mouth and chewed merrily away without saying a word.
There was no way Robin could miss the twinkle in Judy’s eyes. “What? I like meat. Not all lesbians are vegetarians, just to let you know.”
“I wouldn’t know if they were, or they weren’t, but you bought enough meat to feed an army—lezzzbian or otherwise.”
It was all Robin could do not to profess her undying love for the woman sitting opposite her right then and there. There wasn’t a millimeter of Judy that Robin didn’t adore, and the way she had just emphasized lesbian was as comical as it was captivating. She knew she was staring, and Robin knew it was rude, but for the life of her, there wasn’t anything else in the world worth looking at.
“Oh, I think I’m done,” Judy said, pushing away her plate. “If I eat anymore, I’m going to explode.”
Robin slowly came out of her trance and drew a long, easy breath. “Sounds messy.”
“I guarantee it would be,” Judy said, placing her napkin on the table before relaxing back in her chair. “Hey, I forgot to ask you. How’d you make out on the Turtle Run?”
“I didn’t do too badly. I finished twenty-second in my age group and managed not to kill myself in the process,” Robin said, smiling. “Always a plus.”
“I’d have to agree.”
They gazed at each other for a long moment until the silence was broken by Judy. “Congratulations,” she said, holding up her glass for a second before taking a sip. “Well done.”
“Thanks.”
“Now, let me help you clean this all up,” Judy said, pushing out her chair.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Robin said, getting to her feet. “Take your wine and go relax.”
“I can help.”
“I know you can help, but I don’t want you to,” Robin said, taking the plate Judy was holding. “You’re my guest, and this isn’t going to take any time at all. Now, go chill. I’ll join you in a minute.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re pushy?” Judy said, looking up at Robin.
“Yes, but it didn’t make a difference,” Robin said with a grin. “And it’s not going to now.”
***
It was rare Judy would walk into anyone’s home and not find something she’d have done differently. It wasn’t that she was critiquing the homeowner’s decorating abilities, but if conversations slowed or held no interest for her, her mind would drift to her surroundings. Sometimes it was just a crooked picture, and Judy would wonder why they hadn’t noticed it, while in other houses, it would be a shade of paint she found less than appealing or a room crammed with furniture with no space left to breathe. Yet, since descending the stairs from Firefly, Judy had been hard-pressed to find anything she didn’t like in Robin’s newly redecorated apartment...and Judy was really looking.
For the spare bedroom, Robin had chosen earth tones, and using a shade similar to that of sand for the walls and repeating the color in the area rug, she had turned the once dreary room into something warm and welcoming. Given the space, or rather the lack thereof, the full-size platform bed had a bookcase as a headboard, and with drawers accessible from all sides underneath, there was no need for a bureau or a dresser. Two modest nightstands flanked the bed, and while all the wood was dark in tone, Robin had used brass accents in the lamps and hardware, giving the room an Old World charm even though ever
ything was new.
When it came to the kitchen, Judy had almost let out a gasp when she saw what Robin had done. All the cabinets were now painted a dark colonial blue, but Robin hadn’t stopped with just that color. Using a black glaze over top, the inky finish accentuated all the nooks and crannies of the old oak, and with the addition of a black quartz countertop, pewter hardware, and new stainless steel appliances, the kitchen was as modern as it was country.
Judy couldn’t help but chuckle under her breath as she strolled into the living room. Once again, at first glance, there was nothing she didn’t adore.
The orange walls were gone, replaced with a color halfway between gray and blue, and the once dismal bay window was now anything but. Robin had removed the shutters and in their place were white Roman shades, and steel-blue grommet-top drapes hung at the corners, framing the bay perfectly. Across the seat was an assortment of cushions, their upholstery holding abstract designs in blue, burgundy, and black, and centered in the bay was a small chandelier, perfect for casting just enough light to read a book after the sun had gone down.
The faux suede sofa was gray as well, albeit a few shades darker than the walls, and in front of the fireplace, Robin had placed a circular love seat complete with ottoman, perfect for lounging or falling asleep in front of a roaring fire. The tired and tattered metal screen in front of the hearth had been replaced by a new surround, its mesh fine and tight, and hugging the brick to ensure not a spark could reach the carpet or the cats. And the area rug now warming the floor was plush, the blend of thick piles a mixture of charcoal, black, and ivory.
Judy moved toward the fireplace, and scanning the items displayed on the mantle, she frowned. The candlesticks flanking the silver cremation urn centered above the hearth seemed out of place, but once she noticed a familiar face framed in pewter, her smile reappeared.
“I brought the wine in case you’d like some more.”
Judy turned around, glancing at the empty glass in her hand before holding it out to Robin. “Actually, that sounds good, and I’ve gotta tell you, I love what you’ve done to this place.”
Robin beamed. “Yeah?” she said, pouring some of the Cabernet into Judy’s glass.
“Yes, it’s amazing.”
“Thanks. I guess it’ll do.”
Judy grinned as she faced the mantle again. “I was just looking at your pictures. Where was that one taken?”
Robin’s expression grew even brighter when she saw the one Judy was pointing to. Handing Judy the bottle, Robin picked up the photo and motioned toward the sofa. “How about we sit?”
“Works for me.”
A minute later, comfortable on the sofa, Robin looked at the picture in her hand. “This was taken twelve years ago during Pride in St. Pete. Mom surprised me with a visit, and when she found out I already had plans to go to Pride with some friends that weekend, she tried to bow out, but we wouldn’t hear of it. We persuaded her to go with us, and I’d have to say it’s probably one of my fondest memories of her.”
“Why’s that?”
Entertained by the memory, Robin shook her head. “I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a Pride event, but they can be...well, they can be quite colorful and at times, over the top. It’s a day we celebrate who we are and how far we’ve come, so almost anything goes. You’ve got gays prancing around, bare-chested and or wearing tutus, and drag queens on floats, belting out show tunes blasting from the speakers...” Robin’s voice trailed off as she stared at the photograph.
“Something wrong?”
Robin shook her head and raised her eyes. “There are so many against us. So many who believe we’re sick or evil or deserve to die because of our lifestyles, but I have to tell, the LGBTQ community is the friendliest, most loving group of people I’ve ever known, and it only took maybe an hour or two before my mom realized that.”
“She wasn’t comfortable with you...um...I mean—”
“No, she was fine with it, but she’d never been to Pride. She was suddenly surrounded by thousands of the gay community, and she was totally out of her element at first. She didn’t know what to do or where to look, and I wish you could have seen her face when the women started hitting on her.”
“Oh, my God. Are you serious?”
“Yes, I am,” Robin said with a laugh. “And Mom had no clue as to what to say. She’d babble and stammer and then yank me over, quickly explaining to all who would listen that I was the lesbian in the family, not her, but that didn’t stop some of them from continuing to flirt. It was all in good fun, and eventually, she got that.” Robin paused to place the picture on the coffee table. “And as you can see, by the end of the day, she was wearing rainbow beads and had our flag painted on her cheek...just like me.”
“Sounds like a wonderful day.”
“It was,” Robin said in a breath, looking at the photo.
Judy took a sip of her drink, watching as Robin continued to stare at the picture until Judy heard her sniffle. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Robin whispered. “I just miss her sometimes. Hell, who am I kidding? I miss her all the time.” Feeling her emotions starting to get the better of her, Robin turned to face Judy. “We need a subject change.”
Once Judy saw the tears in Robin’s eyes, she understood the urgency, and scanning the room, she pointed to the left of the fireplace. “So, I already know you write, you run, and by the looks of it, you’re a fantastic interior decorator, but when do you find the time to draw?”
Robin looked over at the sketch pad sitting on the rickety plastic easel. “That’s not mine. I think Adele got it for Isobel, so she’d stop drawing on the walls.”
“It could have belonged to Adele.”
A knowing smile softened Robin’s lips. “I don’t think so, and I’ll show you why.” Robin got to her feet, and going over to the bay window, she lifted the lid of the seat. “The keys to the window seats were on one of the steps leading up to Firefly,” she said over her shoulder. “The one in my bedroom had Stanley’s shrine in it and—”
“Who? Oh, wait.” Judy glanced at the fireplace for a second. “When I stayed here, there was a whole bunch of things on the mantle. It all revolved around Adele’s husband. Is that what you mean by the shrine?”
“Actually, that’s what Rita called it, and once I saw all the stuff, I have to agree. It really was a shrine of sorts,” Robin said as she traveled back and forth from the window seat. “And I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I mean, I didn’t know the guy. Then again, I really didn’t know Adele either, but getting rid of it didn’t seem right. He was my uncle, after all, so, for now, it’s packed up in one of the totes in the basement.”
“Oh. Okay,” Judy said, watching as Robin piled papers, notebooks, and a stack of sketch pads on the coffee table.
“Anyway, the reason I think the easel was for Isobel is because I found it in the window seat along with these,” Robin said, handing Judy one of the sketch pads as she sat back down. “I didn’t look through all of them yet, but the sketches in there look just like the ones on the walls in the servants’ stairway.”
Judy opened the drawing tablet and flipped through a few pages. “I see what you mean. They do look the same. Wait,” Judy said, turning to Robin. “The servants’ stairway? How in the world did you come up with that?”
“Because of this,” Robin said as she pulled out a folded piece of paper from the stack. Opening it up, she spread it out so Judy could see. “This is a copy of the original blueprints for the house. I have no idea how Adele got it, but on here the third floor is labeled the playroom, and this apartment was called the servants’ quarters, which would explain the need for the second kitchen. See?”
Judy read the notations. “Okay, but not the hidden stairs,” she said, looking back at Robin.
“I don’t think they were hidden originally. My guess is that the servants used them to get upstairs,” Robin grabbed a packet of papers, and removing the clip holding them together
, she said, “This is a photocopy of the 1894 census. It shows that Lyman and Flora Majors lived here with their children, Helen, Lyman Jr., Alice, Sarah, Emma, and Oliver.”
“That’s a lot of kids.”
“It is,” Robin said, resting back on the couch. “And I have a friend who’s also a writer. One of his books was set in the late eighteen hundreds. Back then, especially in affluent families, children were supposed to be seen and not heard. It was all about appearances and because of that, you wouldn’t have your servants carrying trays of snacks through the house, possibly disturbing guests or a meeting or whatever. You’d have them go up the back way so they wouldn’t be seen.”
Judy smiled. “I can see why you’re a writer.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because you have one hell of an imagination.”
Robin reached for her glass. Downing what little remained in one swallow, she took the time to split the last splash of wine in the bottle between their glasses all the while hoping the blush forming on her cheeks would go the hell away.
Robin was well aware of her own imagination, and she had been having a hard time keeping it in check since Judy had walked into the house. Unlike any pair of jeans she had seen the woman wear before, the pair tonight was tight, hugging every curve Judy owned from her waist down. And from her waist up, the emerald green sweater, designed for an off-the-shoulder look, was being worn as intended, and the nakedness of Judy’s right shoulder had been wreaking havoc with Robin’s lower self all night.
“You have no idea,” Robin said into her glass as she took another sip.
Judy pointed to the paper Robin was holding. “Can I see that?”
“Sure, here.”
Judy squinted at the cursive penmanship on the page. “This is neat,” she said, studying the document. “But it leads me to the next question.”
