As we took our seats, I leaned over to him and warned, “Behave.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Coleman, on behalf of the St. Gabriel Community Development Board and the St. Gabriel Historical Society, I would like to thank you for coming today.” Then Mr. Spokesman walked behind a podium, folded his hands, set them on the platform and continued, “Let’s begin by having you make your presentation.”
I looked at Race with the surprise of a school child who found out there would be a test she hadn’t prepared for.
“Our presentation?” asked Race.
“Your proposal, what you would like to do with The Lake Lodge property.”
“Do you mean what we are going to do with our property?” asked Race.
Race caught my look of warning, I said behave. I proceeded to tell the audience that we were planning to restore the lodge and open it up for business. I enthusiastically shared my plans for the gardens and a restaurant.
“It has come to our attention that you plan to add bathrooms in the lodge, which would change the floor plan.”
I had mentioned the bathrooms to a few people, but it had come to their attention? It was a small island.
“The basic layout would stay the same, but yes, it would change the floor plan I guess.” I was getting a little irritated.
“Any proposed changes to the property would need to be submitted to both the Community Development Board and the Historical Society for approval. Then you can apply to the Island Building Department for a renovation permit.”
“You have the authority for this?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s all part of The Island Charter.”
Again, I looked at Race and wondered if he was thinking, Cammy, you should have known this. I felt my face heating up.
Race reached over, squeezed my hand and asked calmly, “How would we go about submitting these changes for approval?”
“Once you have your plans, bring them to the Historical Society and we will review them and get back to you.”
“How long will that take?” I asked through short breaths.
“Six to eight weeks. If there are any changes, you can resubmit.”
“Any changes?” I asked. If Race hadn’t been holding my hand so tight, I would have been on my feet.
Go get ‘em, Race.
Race asked, “And how long does it take to get a permit?”
“Six to eight weeks.”
As we walked out of the library, I felt as though I was walking into a hole. Race stopped me before I got on my bike. “Cheer up. It’s all going to work out.”
“Race, I’m sorry. I should have known all this. The season will be over before we have any of the rooms ready for guests. There won’t be any income from the lodge this year.”
“We’ll be fine. We have money set aside that isn’t designated for the renovation and when the property on Lake Kitchee sells, we’ll have that too.”
“That money was supposed to be for traveling in the winter.”
“Listen, it’s all going to work out, okay?” Race took my hands and pulled me to him, kissed my fingers, and he said, “I’m hungry. Let’s get some lunch.”
If Race was concerned, he didn’t show it. I was concerned, and it only got worse when the bids came in from Joel for the plumbing and Ralph Cummings for the electrical work. We also received bids from three different carpenters that must have included the use of nails made of some kind of precious metal. Building or remodeling on an island is expensive.
We did get our plans submitted for approval. Six new bathrooms would be added on the second floor. In the process we would lose two bedrooms, leaving eight rooms for guests. And there would be a men’s and a women’s bathroom on the main floor in part of the old washroom.
New furnaces, air conditioners, and water heaters would be installed, and there was the general list of repairs—the roofs, the porch railings, all new plumbing and electrical. And then the big finish—drywall, trim, and paint.
What followed was an undetermined season of waiting. In the meantime, I finished cleaning the lodge, painted our cottage, laid out the gardens, and prepared the beds for planting. George and I lined the dray with plastic and he made ten trips to the Island Disposal Center to bring back loads of compost, which I dug into the garden beds. Then I ordered fruit trees, plants, and seeds. I cleaned all of the garden tools in the shed and pruned the deadwood off of the old fruit trees and raspberry brambles.
Race was spending the mornings in his study or in the library. Of all that we sold before we left Texas, Race’s reading chair was the one thing I had regretted not moving to the island. I was pleased when I noticed that he was usually sitting in the same chair when I walked past the library, an oversized wingback with clawfeet and his feet were often up on the matching ottoman. A pile of books would be stacked next to him on a table, and on his lap he would have his computer or an open book.
“When do I get to read what you’ve written so far?” I asked.
He pulled his mouth to one side and looked skyward, as if he was thinking about it, and then he said, “Not now.”
I asked him that same question a few times a week and the answer was always the same. Finally, I quit asking.
Since the renovation was on hold, I allowed myself the indulgence of treasure hunting. I began in the dining room with the buffets and hutches. One at a time I unloaded each cabinet and sorted the contents onto the tables.
I found five silver tea and coffee service sets and eighty-seven pieces of white Ironstone—plates, platters, cups, saucers, and four pitchers.
I had to stand on a chair to reach the top shelves of the china cabinets. On one of those shelves, I found twenty-one china plates and a large platter that were all imprinted with a brown transfer illustration of The Lake Lodge. Except for the platter and seven of the plates, all were chipped, cracked, or both.
I found seventeen mismatched stemware glasses, seventy-four pieces of silver table service—all well tarnished, eight serving trays, stacks of mismatched china of every color and style, two soup tureens, and five glass decanters shaped like genies’ bottles. Pushed to the back of one of the buffets were thirty-seven Lake Lodge menus.
Appetizers: Baked Mushrooms, Fish Cocktail
Soup: Tomato Bisque, Summer Squash Puree (In Season)
Fish: Trout Almandine, Smoked Salmon
Poultry: Roast Seasoned Turkey, Roast Duckling
Joints: Roast Sirloin of Beef
Grills: Filet Mignon
Vegetables: (In Season)
Sweets: Fruit Jell-O with Whipped Cream, Caramel Cup Custard, Petit Fours, Vanilla Ice Cream. Green Apple and Rhubarb Pie with Cheese Crust, Baked Apples with Cinnamon Cream, Rhubarb Bread Pudding with Rhubarb Sauce, Rhubarb Strawberry Shortcake (In Season)
Apparently the folks who ran the joint didn’t throw anything away and prioritized dessert—clearly my people.
In the small room underneath the lobby stairs, I counted the wooden snow shoes I had seen the day George first showed me the inside of the lodge, five and one half pairs. The crates I had seen that same day were filled with squares of purple glass tiles, which I wrapped back up and left in the room. I wondered what they had been for and what I could do with them.
The steamer trunk that sat in the corner and the hat boxes on the shelf above the clothes rod were empty. But the suitcase next to the hat boxes was packed. Inside were two suits of men’s clothes, circa 1940, a set of striped pajamas, three handkerchiefs, a shaving brush and razor, and a pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses in a case. I folded the clothing, put everything back inside the suitcase and closed the latches. Someone might be back for it.
I moved on to the attic and stood in the middle of the space. Where to start? I went back to the top of the stairs and decided I would work from one end to the other. Little by little, I spent the rest of the summer working through that room—it was like Christmas morning every day.
I found photographs of The Lake Lodge property before, during, and after the lodge had been
built. Before the lodge was built, a small building, maybe a shed was sitting where the lodge is now, and the roof of the barn could be seen behind the hill. There were old photos of other parts of the island and guest registers from April of 1920 through October of 1943. The first entry in Register Number One was T. L. Tadyshak II, St. Gabriel Island.
I found architectural blueprints of the lodge and other buildings, clothing, dishes, books, more snow shoes, skis, horse tack, paintings, toys, a canoe, wooden egg crates, quilts, linens, two steamer trunks, canning jars, two Victrolas and boxes of records, copper pots, door hardware, phones, five years of LIFE magazines, boxes of The St. Gabriel News, furniture, and empty luggage.
I moved some things to other parts of the lodge and to the cottages and boxed the rest for later use or just because, like the previous owners, I couldn’t get rid of any of it. We were living on an island. You never knew when you might need something.
One morning shortly after I had begun sorting through the attic, I took some canning jars I had found down to the cellar and was stacking them on the shelves when I heard faint voices. Then clearly but at a distance, I heard, “Those don’t belong to you. Put them back!”
I looked around the room and then heard a scream and laughing. My skin twitched from head to toe, and I ran up the stairs thinking the whole way, Oh my gosh, the place is haunted and the ghosts do live in the cellar!
I ran to the library to find Race, and he wasn’t there. I ran to the cottage, and he wasn’t there either. I finally found him, sitting on the back porch of the lodge, just feet from where I had started my search. His laptop was open and balanced on his knees. I skidded to a stop to keep from crashing into him, and he grabbed his computer to prepare for the impact.
“Slow down, Cammy. What’s wrong?”
I was out of breath. “In the cellar, I heard something.”
“Heard what?”
“Talking.”
“Who was talking?”
“I don’t know. I was the only one down there.”
“Cammy, slow down. Tell me what you heard.”
“It sounded like a girl or a woman and she said, ‘Those don’t belong to you. Put them back’ and then there was a scream and laughing.”
Race just sat there staring at me.
“Race, I heard it. I swear I did.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I’m just trying to think what might be an explanation for what it is you think you heard.”
“I know what I heard, Race.”
“Okay, okay.” He set his computer on the chair, came to me and put his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go back down there and check it out.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Cammy, come on. There’s a logical explanation for this.”
“Yes, there is. The lodge is haunted, just like everyone’s been telling us.”
Race chuckled. “Cammy.”
I pulled away from him. “It’s not funny, Race, I’m serious. I know what I heard.”
“I’m sorry. Come here.” He cocooned me up in his arms and said, “I’ll go down there, okay?”
“Okay.”
Race took me by the hand and moved toward the door of the lodge kitchen, but my feet didn’t budge.
“I’ll stay here.”
He smirked and went inside. I don’t know how long he was gone. It seemed long at the time. When he came back, he reported, “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Well, I did, Race.”
“I believe you.”
“Do you really?”
“I have no reason not to. Do I?”
When we were in bed that night, Race was trying to get something started. His hands were roaming but so was my mind.
He sat up and asked, “What is it?”
“I was just thinking. What if the ghosts are upset because I’m moving stuff from the attic?”
Race lowered his chin and looked at me with a kind of impatience.
“That’s what she said, ‘Those don’t belong to you. Put them back!’ ”
“I guess you could put it all back.”
“There is no logical, non-ghost explanation for what I heard, Race. Can you come up with a logical explanation?”
“If it is haunted, do you want to move?”
“No.”
“We’re going to have to get used to the idea, then. Mrs. Muir lived with the ghost of Captain Gregg quite amiably. There’s no reason we can’t do the same.”
“You’re making fun.”
“No, I’m not, Cammy, but we only have two choices here.”
“If you had heard with your own ears what I told you I heard, would you want to move?”
“No.”
“Really, even if I said I’d go?”
“No.”
A week went by and I didn’t hear anymore voices, but I hadn’t been in the cellar either, although I did stand at the top of the stairs with the door open and listened.
Okay, now I’m going to admit something that only Race knows about. And he only knows because he came up behind me when I was going through the attic, and he caught me.
“Who are you talking to?” Race asked me.
“Talking?”
“Cam, I heard you talking. Who were you talking to?”
I had a mini debate with myself, weighing my options—lie, pull a George and don’t answer, or just say it. I decided I would just say it but before I could, Race asked, “You are not talking to a ghost, are you?”
“As a matter of fact…”
“Cammy.”
“I see it as a kind of necessary negotiations. I don’t want any trouble, and I don’t want to be afraid in our own lodge.”
“So, how does this work exactly?”
If Race didn’t think I was losing my mind when I bought the lodge, he was certainly thinking it at that moment.
“I’ve decided if the place is haunted, we will all get along. Like the Ghost and Mrs. Muir, just like you said. The best thing is to let them—”
“Them?”
“It’s a big place. I’m assuming there might be more than one. So, as I was saying, maybe the best thing is to let them get to know us and to include them in on the renovation. I’m telling them what our plans are. Sometimes we discuss, or should I say I talk and they listen to me tell them what I’m doing with this or that. Occasionally, I ask questions about things I find. If anybody knows about this stuff, it would be them, right?” I grinned and winked, which usually worked with Race.
“Do they answer?”
“Race, it’s just a sort of game. I don’t want to be freaked out all the time. It just makes me feel better. Am I freaking you out?”
“A little bit, Mrs. Coleman.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist, looked up at him, and asked, “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”
“And have you carted away, leaving me here all alone with the ghosts? Not a chance.”
I’m not sure what Race was really thinking, and I got to the point that I was questioning what I thought about the whole situation. I’ve always had an active imagination, but it had never spoken audibly to me before.
What did I hear?
We continued to follow through with our plans for the lodge and if there were any beings inhabiting it, we had apparently come to an understanding. I reupholstered furniture and sorted through the attic. I moved stuff around the property and not another word was heard from anyone in the cellar, the rafters, or beyond.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Together
I know I’ve said it before, but even if it takes all day, riding or walking the Shoreline Drive loop around St. Gabriel Island, really is a must. Although many of the tourists never make it more than two blocks off Main Street, plenty of Landers, Summers, and Gabies of all ages venture out to the north side of the island. There they get to see a coastline that looks much like it would have a hundred year
s before.
In the month of May, we saw an increase in the buggies, bikers, walkers, and runners on Shoreline Drive below the lodge. By the number of them that stopped and took pictures, it seemed those who had been to the island before were surprised to see signs of life at The Lake Lodge.
That week a call came in about the cottage for rent from the ad we had posted on the St. Gabriel Community Website. It was a young couple who were planning a last-minute trip to the island, and everything reasonably priced downtown had already been booked.
I mentioned more than once that the cottage was rustic. I didn’t want them to be disappointed. I also thought about saying, “Oh, by the way, the place is haunted. That won’t be a problem, will it? And we won’t charge you extra if you have a sighting or if you hear from any of the ghosts.”
The couple was ecstatic about the weekly rate we were offering and booked the third week in June. By the time we flew to California for Janie’s graduation, we had Rhubarb Cottage booked for a total of five weeks through the end of September. Not bad.
College graduations are always an exciting time, but when Janie finished school, we let out one big sigh, which was followed by a big boost to our bank account. Janie had already gotten a job at a little magazine in New York, The Local Press. When she called to tell us about it, she was so proud and said, “Looks like I’m going to be off the Coleman payroll sooner than we thought.”
After graduation Janie would be moving to New York, and Paul would fly to Florida to join a research team for the summer. But first, they would fly home with us to spend two weeks on St. Gabriel.
Paul picked Race and me up at the airport, and we drove to our hotel near the campus. We were just checking in when Janie came into the lobby, her eyes bloodshot and puffy. She grabbed my hand and said, “Mom, I need to talk to you.”
Race and Paul went to the hotel restaurant, and Janie and I went up to the room. I held her while she cried. Through her sobs she managed to say, “Mom, David’s been dating another girl.” More tears. “I found out this morning. She came by the Student Union looking for him to give him a graduation present.”
“How do you know she’s not a friend?”
“Because I confronted her.”
My Way Home (St.Gabriel Series Book 1) (St. Gabriel Series) Page 18
