"Can I send the jet to pick you up tomorrow?" Lawrence asked.
"That bad?" T.J. questioned.
"Not bad, exactly, just tricky. This project will be up your sleeve. And, of course, I will make it worth your while ... "
"Never doubted that you would, Lawrence. When do you need me?"
"Would tomorrow be too soon?"
T.J. immediately remembered his promise to Marie. He hated to break promises. "Listen, I could leave tomorrow night. I have some pressing business tomorrow morning."
"Okay. Where do you want to meet my jet?"
"Reno Airport, 8 p.m."
"Done. I'll pick you up tomorrow. Thanks."
T.J. replaced the receiver. It wasn't often that he would break his hiatus. But Lawrence Bancroft was different. Though they would not consider themselves friends, they had history … and strong business ties. He couldn't let him down on this one.
Chapter Six
Out of the numbness of sleep, Erika slowly turned to her side vainly trying to block the insistent noises effectively disrupting her sleep. The persistent banging at the door jarred her dreams. Dreams that were dripping in fresh air, sunshine, and silver linings, not to mention a handsome but perplexing man. Slowly, the banging became a force to be reckoned with and reality forced its way to consciousness in Erika’s sleep-drugged state. Annoyed that she had to finish her dream so abruptly, Erika stumbled toward the front door with little more than a glance at her reflection in the hallway mirror. Subconsciously she took note of her rumpled flannel nightgown and sleep-tangled hair.
As Erika neared the front door, her heart quickened and the sleepiness faded. Her eyes flew to the antique black lacquered wall clock in the kitchen to find it registering 6:00 a.m. Pausing in mid-step she, her heart squeezed painfully as she watched the doorknob quickly turn in an attempt to open the door. After meeting with resistance, the knob was released. Then another turn of the knob was followed by a sharp bang against the flimsy cottage door. As if frozen in time, Erika watched her carefully constructed barricade crumble sending chairs and heavy books flying into the next room.
“What in the world,” exclaimed an exasperated T.J. Morgan.
Excruciating relief flooded through Erika at the sound of his voice. But as often happens relief was quickly followed by anger.
”Look what you’ve done,” Erika exclaimed angrily as her momentary relief turned quickly to enraged fury.
“What I’ve ... What kind of contraption is this,” he demanded? Okay,” he breathed noticing her alarm at his harsh tone, “I was just trying to repair your lock and I thought your door had swelled with the recent moisture. But this … was really a surprise.”
“Well, what would you have done if your door didn’t lock properly?” she asked sarcastically with arms tightly wrapped around her slender form, trying unsuccessfully to cover her rumpled appearance.
“I wouldn’t have stacked half my belongings against the door,” T.J. quipped. “I would have ... would have ... well, I’m not exactly sure what I would have done,” he grinned after glancing at her flushed face. What he was sure of, however, was that he was immensely attracted to her.
The scene was becoming more and more humorous as Erika’s anger deepened. It was a trait that T.J. found himself looking forward to. He had to admit a certain enjoyment in Marie’s fury that perpetually seemed within easy reach. Oh, he knew women well enough. Anger was always a quick substitute for a fearful or embarrassing situation. Marie was obviously no different. That they believed it convincing always humored him. T.J. found that as the hours turned into days, he rather enjoyed experiencing her emotions. Somehow it was refreshingly wholesome and intriguing.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” T.J. responded with more sincerity. “I’m sure it must have fright...”
“I wasn’t in the least frightened,” Erika said more quickly than necessary. “I was only upset by your suggestion that I had done something wrong. And furthermore, I am not accustomed to strange men breaking into my home. Is this a habitual thing with you?” she asked while self-consciously running a hand through her silky black tendrils.
Then without waiting for an answer, Erika dismissed T.J. from the cottage and quickly returned to her room and slammed the door. “Of all the nerve,” Erika exclaimed to no one in particular. She was annoyed with Tim not only because he forcibly broke into the cottage, shattering her carefully constructed contraption, but more so because he was once again witness to her vulnerability. Again, something very new for her.
“You have to get yourself together,” she murmured to herself.
Hugging her forgotten flannel wrap, Erika looked longingly at the feather bed and cozy rumbled blankets. It would feel so nice to crawl back in to that soft bed and slip into that perfect world again, she thought. But the discipline from years of corporate living had trained her differently. Rarely did she ever give in to self-indulgence. With little more than a backward glance at the bark-trimmed mirror over the antique dresser, Erika swiftly straightened her bed and gathered her things for the shower.
It was amazing what a little warm water could do for one’s senses, Erika thought as she hummed her way back across the hall toward her cozy bedroom. It was still dark but dawn was approaching quickly. The inky black lake was beginning to reflect a new day. And in every new day, Erika believed, were new opportunities. Mornings always held such promise.
After drawing a brush through her long, wet hair, Erika donned her new stiff jeans and a soft pink cashmere sweater. With just a touch of lipstick and mascara and a shake to her drying, wispy hair, she was ready to face the day, again. And this time, she wouldn’t let anyone or anything upset her very much anticipated day. Erika was looking forward to her day with Tim and of exploring the lake for the first time.
The smell of bacon and fresh coffee assailed Erika’s senses the minute she opened her heavy bedroom door. “I don’t believe it,” she exclaimed quietly. “He never gives up,” she added while secretly admitting she greatly admired that trait. Her stomach growled to announce her presence in the kitchen.
T.J. opened his mouth to hastily explain his presence with a well-thought-out argument but after one glimpse at her sunny smile he simply said, “Good morning. Thought you would enjoy an old-fashioned home-cooked breakfast.”
“Well, you thought right. I can honestly say the occasion rarely presents itself.”
“Good, because you are going to love my Mother’s vintage recipe for Idaho Flapjacks. And coffee … well coffee never tastes as good as on an autumn crisp morning at Priest Lake.”
Erika and T.J. vigorously enjoyed their breakfast together, putting their morning confrontation on the back burner. Neither one believed it would stay there very long. Back burners have a way of boiling over at the most inopportune and unexpected occasions. But, at breakfast, they chatted happily about what they would explore and about the crisp autumn day that awaited them. T.J. promised a picnic lunch and Erika promised that she would attempt to cook a meal for him before she left at the end of the month. Their friendship sprouted deep roots over that scarred, rustic breakfast table as easy conversation and companionship created lasting warmth that melted yet another layer around their tender hearts.
“Is it always this cold in the fall?” Erika asked as they made their way down to the marina.
“Cold! This isn’t cold, city girl. Wait until you’ve experienced an Idaho winter when a warm day is when it gets above zero degrees!”
“I’m sure it is a frozen winter wonderland up here,” Erika mused as she once again inhaled the breath-taking beauty around her. “Someday I would like to be here at Christmas time. I suppose it’s magical.”
“You would probably call it magical,” T.J. responded candidly.
“I’ve always wanted to spend a Christmas snowed into a cozy cottage with a roaring fire, an old-fashioned Christmas tree, and the warmth of family,” Erika confided merrily.
“Aren’t your Christmases cozy?” he asked somewhat surprised. T.J
. had grown up with a close-knit family and it always surprised him when others did not have the same privilege.
“Well, they haven’t been since my parents passed away. I am very close to my uncle, in fact he raised me after my parents died and has done a pretty good job, if I do say so myself,” she teased. “But Christmases have never been cozy, they’ve been ...” she paused while a vision of last Christmas crept into her mind’s eye, “socially hectic.”
T.J. buried his hands deeper into his pockets to ward off a sudden chill that had little to do with the cutting breeze blowing off the lake. Marie’s comments had begun to bother him. Her so-called “socially hectic” lifestyle was exactly what he was afraid of. It put somewhat of a damper on his perfectly planned day. I must remember to keep my guard intact, he reminded himself. But the proverbial carrot had been tossed and Marie was beginning to unknowingly open up about her life. It was a chance that T.J. couldn’t pass up.
“You must have an active life in LA?”
“Yes, we do. I’ve always enjoyed activity; in fact, I’ve thrived on it. I’ve worked hard to achieve certain things and that has been very important to me up until now. But in just the time I’ve spent here, I am beginning to realize how much of life I’m really missing.” And then, feeling uncomfortable with the intimate and revealing conversation she quickly changed the subject.
“Have you apologized to Maime over our missing dinner last night?”
“What do you think? I woke you up at 6 o’clock. Served breakfast around 7 o’clock and have entertained you ever since.”
“Oh, so that’s how you see it! Well listen here, I’m never one to take charity, mister, so you can just leave me here and I’ll walk to this ‘Coolin’ place,” she sweetly dared. “Or, I can just ask Maime to take me.”
“Hah! You need my help more than you know!” he exploded. “It’s an hour’s drive from here to Coolin -- about thirty minutes across the lake. I know you can’t swim that far ... and I doubt very much you would even know how to start a boat, let alone drive it,” T.J. teased as he ran ahead of her.
“Last one to the boat buys lunch,” he yelled over his shoulder.
“You’re on,” she called to his retreating figure. “Here we go again. I’m going to demand a refund from my trainer,” she muttered to herself as her lungs began to burn from the exertion once again.
“Priest Lake,” Erika responded after settling into the passenger side of T.J.’s beautifully restored vintage Criss Craft wooden boat. “How did it earn such a lofty name?” she asked.
“Well, it’s a rather interesting story,” T.J. responded while freeing his prized boat from the padded dock at Tobler’s Marina. Papa had tied the knots especially tight after the wind had kicked up the night before. It required more than the normal concentration.
“Do you need help?” Erika asked noticing his lack of attention to their conversation.
“Oh, no. It’s just that Papa ties these knots like none you’ve ever encountered. You see,” he continued while grunting to untangled an especially difficult knot, “he served as a Seaman in the Navy during World War II and he has a special way of tying off knots. It’s a little complicated,” he finished simply.
“Meaning you don’t think I would comprehend its complexity?” she questioned haughtily.
“I think you don’t have the muscle mass,” he responded honestly. “After all, you’re winded after a short jog to the Marina.”
“Well … I’ll thank you to remember the difference in our height. Every one of your steps equals three or four of mine,” Erika jibed smothering embarrassment that her athletic ability had shown lacking.
“True. You are a tiny little thing.”
“And you are quite a lug,” Erika responded.
T.J. finished his task and leapt into the open-air boat and roared the engine. With a beaming smile, he glanced at Erika and noticed her attention directed at him. “Papa always keeps the boats in perfect condition. Are you ready for the ride of your life?” he questioned teasingly.
“Today,” she breathed while stretching her arms over her head in an attempt to capture the world, “I’m ready for anything!”
With that last comment, T.J. pointed his newly restored toy toward the middle of the crystal-clear lake. The engine was loud as they sailed across the glass-like water, creating a silky wake behind. Conversation was impossible and unnecessary. Each enjoying the exhilarating and freeing experience. The air was icy as it whipped itself across their faces. Erika pulled her jacket more tightly while reaching behind to draw her unruly tendrils into a ponytail. T.J. watched, entranced with her every movement.
Several minutes later, Erika noticed T.J. had cut back on the motor, slowing as they neared an inlet or bay. After surveying the sandy beach, the presence of a market was not noticed.
“I thought you were taking me to … what was it … Coolin? I don’t see a store here,” she concluded somewhat suspiciously.
“How smart you are,” he yelled above the motor. “Before we left home you asked me how the lake was given its name. Do you remember?”
“Of course, I remember,” she said with a shy smile, loving the way he referred to Kootenai Bay as home.
“Well, see that little log cabin nestled back in those trees at the end of that dock?” T.J. questioned as he pointed in a direction slightly to the left of the bow. After receiving an affirmative nod, he continued. “That is Priest Lake Museum.”
“What did you say,” she yelled above the roar.
“Priest Lake Museum,” he responded after rendering the motor to a dull vibration.
“Oh, how fun,” she cried. “I can’t believe there’s a museum here, of all places. How do you sustain it?” she questioned excitedly.
“Donations,” he responded simply never giving a clue that the museum was in fact run mostly by one donation in the form of a grant from his family, not to mention an ample staff of volunteers. “It’s not usually open this time of the year, of course, but in the summer when the tourist season is at its peak, it’s open everyday.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” she responded while gazing at the cottage that was beginning to take shape as they slowly neared the shoreline. “I love museums. That is one place I would have liked to visit.”
“Well, Miss Bancroft, your wish is my command. I have the key right here,” T.J. announced proudly while retrieving an old skeleton device from the glove compartment. “I had a hunch that you would like museums.”
Elated, Erika grabbed the key while T.J. jumped onto the dock to securely tie off the boat.
Within seconds, they were making their way toward the quaint cottage nestled back under the Cedar and Western White Pine trees.
“And … are you ever going to tell me how Priest Lake got its name?” she questioned, “or do you even know,” Erika continued sarcastically.
Looking affronted by her callous remark about his ignorance, T.J. swiftly launched into his private tour.
“Priest Lake was originally called ‘Kaniksu’ by the Native American tribes … let’s see … the Kootenai, the Coeur d’Alene and the Kalispell Indians … if memory serves me correctly, who lived around the lake. It means ‘Black Robe’ and was named such for the Catholic Priests who came and lived among the natives. The story is that the tribes held such high regard for the Priests that they named their most loved and cherished resource after them. Later, of course, after the English began to move into the area, the named was changed to ‘Priest Lake.”
“So, our bay is named after one of the Native American tribes,” she queried.
“Yes. Legend says that tribe would come down to the lake during the fall to fish, hunt and gather berries. I have yet to find huckleberries in the fall,” T.J. explained, “so the tribal women must have found a very special place. Anyway, our bay is usually where they set up their camps.”
“And in here,” T.J. continued as he opened the small cottage door, “is the common living area. The Museum has collected objects
that would have been used during the early 1900’s. The kitchen is in here and I know you will be interested in this,” he quipped. “This is an old-fashioned wood stove …”
“Oh, my goodness,” Erika exclaimed. “I’ve never seen one of these!”
“Well, up here you will see quite a few. Maime has one and actually cooks with it occasionally,” T.J. responded warmly. “She claims the stove gives her food a smoky flavor. I’m positive that before you leave the lake, you will be able to judge the culinary technique for yourself.”
“That would be wonderful … What is this thing?” she asked while noticing a large box like feature across the small but inviting kitchen.
“This is an old-fashioned refrigerator. See here,” he said while opening a compartment on the left-hand side. This is an icebox. Residents would chill their ice in the lake and then break off a chunk and put it in here. See that pipe,” he explained, “the ice would eventually melt and that pipe would carry the unwanted water down under the house. Very inventive. It was used until the 1930’s and 40’s. And I would wager there are cabins around here that still use them.”
“That just seems unbelievable,” she responded.
“Did you know that there wasn’t even phone service into the lake until the late 40s and even then, the service was so bad, they say, that one would have to yell to be heard over the static. I guess everyone joked that the caller could better hear the response if one simply yelled outside on his front lawn than to use the telephone wire. This ‘wilderness’ was really … and still is in many respects … a very backward and secluded place.”
From there T.J. took Erika around the tiny cottage explaining various displays and enlightening her to the history of Priest Lake … of how there were only two residents at the lake in 1898 but when the United States Geographical Survey reported grand and majestic stands of White Pine timber ready for harvest, large eastern companies began to move into the area.
As Erika finished reading the last poster that T.J. was enthusiastically commenting on, she began to scrutinize T.J.’s animated expressions, “And how is it, Mr. Morgan, that you know so much about the history of this place? I mean, even though I love history, I couldn’t even begin to recite such an in-depth dissertation on Los Angeles’ historical significance.”
Whispers of the Heart Page 9
