Bit sighed. “Everybody in the whole world’s been to Paris but me.”
Paul and Laura exchanged glances and laughed. “Your time will come, Sweetheart,” Laura noted.
Paul crossed his long legs and said, "Speaking of the Mona Lisa, did you know that nobody really knows who she is? Some say it's a portrait of da Vinci's mistress. Others think it's his wife. There's even a legend that it's supposed to be a self-portrait of the artist himself, in drag."
Bit looked disgusted. "But that's silly. Mona Nisa—uh, Mona Lisa—is wearing a dress."
Laura got up. "Okay, you two, that's enough Art Appreciation 101 for now." She looked across at Paul. "Would you care for another cup of tea—or something stronger, like a glass of wine?"
Paul waved her off. "No, thanks, I should be going. It's a long walk back to the cabin through the woods."
He pushed himself to his feet, and Laura and Bit followed him to the door. For several seconds the three of them stared out across the lake, not speaking. Misty fingers floated and glided across the glassy-smooth waters, and somewhere high above, a pale yellow moon hid behind the low-hanging clouds.
Paul saw the look in Laura's eye. "So what do you think about it up here so far?"
"It's lovely," she replied softly.
"And quiet. Don't forget about the quiet."
Laura sighed. "Until you came along, I didn’t even think we had any neighbors.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Paul said.
“Actually, I’m kind of relieved to know we’re not alone up here.” Her eyes strayed across the lake. “I’m sure it must get kind of lonely up here for you.”
“You get used to it.”
“Are there any more surprise residents up here?”
Paul laughed. “Only the professor. That would be Professor Coleman. She retired up here a few years ago when her husband passed away. Keeps to herself mostly.” He tapped the side of his head. “I think she spent too much time in the classroom, if you get my drift.”
Bit giggled—until Laura gave her a disapproving look. Laura made a point of looking across at the mantel clock: 11:20. “Well, I’m afraid it’s past our bedtime, Mr. Wilson.”
“It’s Paul, remember?”
"Sorry. Paul.”
“That’s better.” Paul pushed open the door and stepped out onto the deck. A cool, damp breeze caressed his well-chiseled cheeks. Turning, he faced Laura and said, “Thanks for the soup and tea. It was delicious.”
“Thank you for those amazing portraits.”
To Bit, he said, “With your mother's permission, my offer to take you sailing still stands.”
Laura stood with her arms crossed. “We’ll have to think about that,” she said. She followed Paul out onto the deck, saw a light rain had started falling. “Can I offer you an umbrella?"
"I'm good," Paul replied, turning up his collar. He assumed a dramatic pose. "I love the sweet caress of a gentle rain in the silvery moonlight," he quipped.
Laura smiled. "How romantic. But you're going to get soaking wet."
"I'll be fine, really." He started down the steps. "As Beethoven used to say, ‘Ach, for me the sun is shining.’"
Bit called out from the door. "Goodnight, Paul.”
Paul turned back and waved. “Goodnight, Bitster.”
After Paul's tall, angular form vanished in the shadows on the other side of the lawn, Laura shut the door and drew the locks.
“He’s nice,” Bit said. “Isn’t he, Mom?”
“I guess so.”
“And funny. He makes me laugh. Can I go sailing with him, please?”
“We’ll talk about it in the morning. Right now we’ve got to put the dishes away and hit the sack. It’s way past our bedtime!”
Later, as Laura was tucking her into bed, Bit looked up and asked, “Mom, is there a full moon tonight?”
“I don’t know. Why do you ask that?”
“I was just remembering what Paul said. About turning into a werewolf on full moon nights.”
Laura didn't know whether to laugh or be angry at Paul. Instead, she made a scary face at Bit and, in her own best Bela Lugosi imitation, said, "I vant to drink your blu-u-d!"
Bit screamed in fake terror.
Chapter Fourteen
THE WOMAN CAME OUT of the woods unannounced, clutching a large wicker basket and accompanied by a small grayish-black terrier that trotted along at her heels.
From the deck, Bit watched the woman totter up the pathway toward the house. She came at a steady gait, even though she looked old, seventy at least, pausing now and then to admonish the funny little dog with the twitching stubbed tail.
She wore jeans and a heavy cranberry-colored anorak with a bright yellow scarf twisted tight around her neck. The woman's face was round, surrounded by a thick mane of tightly-curled white hair, and her large-framed glasses glinted in the morning sunlight.
Halfway across the yard, the woman waved. In a cheery, man-like voice, she called out, "Hello, there, the house."
Bit thought it was a funny way of greeting someone, but she smiled and waved back anyway as the woman kept coming.
"You must be my new neighbors," the woman said at the bottom of the steps. She pulled out a blue-checkered bandana and dabbed at beads of perspiration trickling down her brow. "Lovely day on the lake, isn't it?"
Bit realized that the woman was tall, very tall, and the skin on her face had a soft, powdery glow that made her think of old television shows from the fifties. But the woman with the tangled white hair and round, creamy cheeks had a pleasant grandmotherly look that was both kind and smart.
"Yes, it is lovely," Bit replied. She got to her feet and politely stuck out her hand. "My name is Beatrice. My mom's inside making French Toast for breakfast. Would you like some?"
"French Toast," the woman chirped. "My goodness, I can’t remember the last time I had French toast. My dear, that sounds absolutely delightful!"
“And maple syrup.”
“And maple syrup, too. How delightful!”
The elderly woman glanced down at the dog that nipped and pawed at her feet and said, "Beatrice, I'd like you to meet my little friend, Lord Nelson. If you don't say something to him soon, I'm afraid he's going to gnaw my foot off."
Bit giggled. "Hello, Lord Nelson," she said. "You're a real cutie-pie." She leaned over and started petting him. "What kind of doggie is he?"
"A little bit of this, a little bit of that," the kindly visitor shot back. "But he thinks he's king of the world."
At that moment the glass door slid open and Laura, wearing jeans and a navy blue turtleneck, stepped outside. In her hands was a large bowl of batter she was mixing. She smiled when she saw the woman and said, "Bit, honey, you didn't tell me we had company."
The tall woman threw back her head and gave a hearty laugh. "We've been too busy chatting," she said. "You have such a lovely daughter." She vaulted up the steps and presented the basket to Laura. "This is for you. And I do apologize for sneaking up on you out of the woods like this."
"Why, thank you," Laura said. She set the bowl of batter down on a deck table and pulled back the red-checkered cloth to reveal an assortment of jars of jams and jellies, along with a collection of hand-made soaps wrapped in a rainbow of colorful ribbons. "This is so sweet," she said, genuinely touched.
"I'm Phyllis," the woman said in an elegant, if somewhat masculine and overbearing, tone. "Phyllis Coleman. I live just around the bend over there," she said, pointing.
"Nice to meet you, Phyllis. I'm Laura Drake. This is my daughter Beatrice."
"We've already met," Phyllis replied, tapping Bit's shoulder.
Although they’d only just met, Bit already liked Phyllis. "My friends call me Bit," she interjected.
"Bit. What a lovely little nick-name. Beatrice sounds much too formal, wouldn't you say? Like some grand lady with her fancy parasol on Downton Abbey."
Bit seemed to enjoy the regal comparison of her name. "And this is Lord Nelso
n, Mom." The springy little dog wiggled its stumpy tail and tried to lick Bit. "Isn't he cute?"
Laura had always been amazed at how well Bit got along with animals, especially puppies. "Bit loves animals," she explained to Phyllis. "She's never met a stranger in the animal kingdom."
"Do you have a pet, Bit?" the woman asked.
"I had a puppy once," Bit said, then grew suddenly sullen. "But he died."
"I am sorry to hear that," the woman said. "What happened?"
"He got run over by a car. That's why I don't like living in the city anymore."
"My goodness," Phyllis lamented. "Well, Lord Nelson has lived up here on the lake all of his life. He likes to chase squirrels and rabbits. Goodness knows what would happen should he ever catch one. Poor thing would probably turn tail and run. He makes a lot of noise, but he's quite the little coward." Noticing the bowl of batter, she continued: "I'm sorry. I'm interrupting your breakfast."
Bit piped up: "Mom, is it okay if Phyllis joins us for breakfast? "I told her we were having French Toast and maple syrup."
"Of course, sweetheart," Laura replied. To the older woman, she said, "Please forgive my manners, Phyllis. Won't you please come inside? I was just about ready to pour the batter."
Chapter Fifteen
OVER BREAKFAST LAURA learned that Phyllis Coleman was actually a retired history professor from the University of Georgia who had moved to the mountains following the death of her husband, a research scientist, many years earlier. Although many changes had come to the mountains in that time, the elderly professor gleefully insisted that the spread of modern civilization had been slow to reach Bear Gap.
“It’s like a time capsule up here,” she explained. “You’ll find that not much has changed in this valley in the last hundred years.”
They were sitting on the deck, enjoying a cool breeze that sliced in off the waves. The sun felt warm and tingly on their faces, so much so that they had removed their coats and sweaters as they finished up stacks of French Toast drenched in syrup.
"Those were simply delicious," Phyllis said, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin. "I simply must have that recipe. You know, there's an art to making perfect French Toast, one I regret to say I've never mastered. Either too lumpy or too gooey, I just can't seem to ever get the mixture right."
"My mom's the best cook in the world," Bit exclaimed, rubbing her tummy. "You should try her Red Velvet Cake sometime."
Laura’s cheeks flushed. "Well, I'm not that good. I'm sure Phyllis is a great cook, too."
The older woman suddenly fell silent. A misty-eyed look crept over the woman and lingered until, finally, in a soft, almost whimsical tone, she said, "Once upon a time I was pretty handy around the kitchen. But when you live alone, as I have for these past many years, it's just no fun anymore. If you don't have somebody to cook for, you forget how, lose your touch."
Laura leaned forward on her elbows. "That might be debatable, based on the look of those jams and jellies you gave me," she said.
"Oh those," Phyllis cracked modestly. "Fortunately I can still preserve and can fruits and veggies. You should see my pantry. I've got enough food stacked up in there to last until Gabriel blows his trumpet."
"Then you must have a garden," Laura ventured.
Phyllis nodded. "I've got a couple of acres under cultivation. The soil up here is so rich, everything practically grows itself. You pop a few seeds into the ground, and before you can say Jack and the Beanstalk, you've got a delicious crop—corn, radishes, beans, squash, whatever you want to grow, not to mention all my fruit trees and berry bushes."
"That sounds like a lot of work."
"Oh, you get used to it. Working with your hands in the soil is the closest thing to religion I've ever found in my life." She smiled. "Besides, an old widow like me has a lot of time on her hands."
Laura and her older guest sat silently for several moments, savoring the sweet, lingering taste of the toast and syrup and the warm sun on their faces while Bit and Lord Nelson chased each other down on the beach.
Laura finally broke the silence by saying, "The basket of goodies was so thoughtful, Phyllis. But, I've been meaning to ask, how did you know about us? We only arrived a couple of days ago."
The old woman blew on her glasses, wiped them clean with the napkin. "My dear, word travels fast up here in the mountains.” A thin smile spread across her face. “But if you really want to know, I saw you the day you arrived in your car. I commend you for having conquered Yonah Trail."
Laura laughed. "It was tricky." She finished her tea. "But the odd thing is, we were told we'd be the only people up here this time of year. Now we seem to have nice neighbors crawling out of the woods."
Phyllis gave a puzzled stare. After a long pause, she asked, "Who else have you met?"
Laura's gaze drifted down to the beach for a moment, then turned to her older guest. "Paul Wilson, for one. He told us a little about you."
Phyllis frowned. "You mean that young artist? Well, I really must say I don't know him that well. In fact, I've only met him once."
"He seemed nice enough."
"As I recall, he's not too hard on the eyes either, is he?" Phyllis said, a twinkle in her eye and trace of naughty humor in her voice.
Laura smiled, then told her about the portraits, about his late-night visit the night before to present them with the pair of paintings.
"You and Beatrice must have made quite an impression, my dear.” Phyllis pressed forward, suddenly serious. "Laura, dear, it's certainly none of my business, but if you want some unsolicited motherly advice, I'd be extremely careful about taking in strangers up here. That young artist seems like a nice enough young man—and certainly very talented—but I hardly know him anymore than you. You should remember where you are—high up on a mountain top miles and miles away from town and your nearest neighbors. Except for me, of course."
While Laura was mulling over the cryptic comment, Phyllis’s attention was suddenly diverted toward the beach. "Where are they?" she asked, a touch of alarm in her voice. She scanned the beach a moment longer, then rose quickly to her feet. "I don't seem to see them anywhere."
Suddenly alarmed herself, Laura looked down and saw the empty beach. "Why, they were there just a moment ago," she said, panic creeping into her voice.
⸙
BEFORE LAURA COULD react, Phyllis had already bounded down the steps and was halfway across the lawn toward the lake. Laura grabbed her sweater and followed, finally catching up with her on the other side of the rocks.
"That's odd," Phyllis said. She stood, hands on hips, broadly surveying the beach. "It's not like Lord Nelson to go roaming away very far from my presence."
Nor was it like Bit to go galloping off on her own. Laura cupped her hands and yelled, "Bit! Bit, sweetheart, where are you?"
Silence.
Phyllis sighed. "They can't have gone very far," she said reassuringly. She continued to stare up and down the beach. "It’s just not safe for little ones to go wandering off like that. Quick, you go that way, I'll go this way."
“Good idea,” Laura replied. She turned and started up the beach.
Wild panic thundered through Laura’s chest as she scampered along the shoreline, calling out Bit’s name. She didn’t like for Bit to go off by herself either, especially in a strange wooded area like this. But Phyllis Coleman had lived up here for years. Did she know something about dangers up here Laura should know about?
She had only gone a hundred yards or so when she heard Phyllis's majestic voice booming from the opposite direction. She turned around and saw Lord Nelson and Bit corralled next to Phyllis at the edge of the trees.
From this distance, it looked like her daughter was crying.
"Dear God," Laura moaned, sprinting toward them. "Please don't let my little baby be hurt."
⸙
"I'VE FOUND OUR NAUGHTY little runaways," Phyllis crowed. She cradled the dog in her arms and was giving him a good scold
ing. "They're both fine," she said to Laura.
But when Laura saw the big tears in Bit's eyes, she dropped to her knees and took her in her arms. "What happened, sweetheart? Are you all right?"
Bit threw her arms around her mother's neck and sobbed.
Laura looked up and saw Phyllis wiping what looked like blood from Lord Nelson's furry snout.
"Lord Nelson must have finally caught himself a rabbit," the elderly woman theorized.
⸙
LATER, LONG AFTER PHYLLIS and her little dog had gone home, Bit finally told her mother what had happened in the woods.
They were in the bathroom, and Laura was kneeling over the tub soaping down her daughter. The girl had finally stopped crying but couldn't stop shaking.
"I was so scared, Mom," Bit said, eyes wide and still brimming with tears. "I should never have followed Lord Nelson into the woods."
Phyllis's hunch had been right. The Scottish Terrier had gone after a rabbit. According to Bit, the bunny had hopped out of the woods near where Bit and Lord Nelson were playing on the beach. The second the dog had spotted it, he gave chase, plunging into the woods as fast as his stubby little legs could carry him.
"I tried to get him to stop, Mom, but he..he kept running," Bit explained.
She had finally caught up with Lord Nelson, but not before the feisty terrier had seized the rabbit in its mouth and ripped open its neck with his razor-sharp teeth. The bunny kicked and thrashed, but the battle mercifully ended with a final crunch of bone.
"It was awful, Mom," Bit cried.
But the savage mauling of the rabbit wasn't the worst of it. What happened next, as Laura soon learned, was the stuff of nightmares, far too horrid for any eight-year-old to ever have to witness.
Still sobbing, Bit explained that while she had stood helplessly watching Lord Nelson slaughter the bunny, a strange man carrying a crooked, long-handle axe had stepped out of the woods. The man was big and burly—“but so pale, Mom, I could see right through him.”
The People in the Lake Page 7
