September Song

by Jeanie Freeman-Harper

  He pulled her back to him, close enough that she could feel his heart beat and feel the smoothness of a freshly shaved cheek. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She felt her pulse quickening in her temples, and it bothered her no end. “We can sit this out if you like,” she said, more forcibly than she had intended. “We started the dancing for the others now...so you don't have to continue this charade.”

  “Shhhh. You talk way too much.”

  He pulled her even closer, until she felt as if they one unit, moving naturally to the hypnotic rhythm and slow beat , as the song worked its magic:

  I need me somebody...

  somebody to treat me right.

  I need your woman's loving arms to hold me tight.

  Feeling slightly faint, Emma whispered in Brad's ear: “Must you continue with this?”

  “Just hang in there a little longer. People are watching.”

  “Was it really me who taught you to dance?”

  “Yep...just before junior high homecoming. I was at the awkward stage...as you may recall. We were maybe thirteen.”

  “I never realized....how...expressive...this song is.”

  He pulled back to look at her with raised eyebrows: “Romantic you mean?”

  “I suppose so.”

  He placed his cheek against hers again, and she thought he mumbled something under his breath, but she couldn't be sure what he was saying. Somehow she couldn't find the words to ask him. That sweet old comfortable and totally platonic relationship was gone with the wind; what was left was a nerve jangling tension that Emma could not fathom. It didn't help when he looked at her as he did now. His eyes were clear pools to soothe her wounds or pull her into a deadly undercurrent. She was not about to find out which.

  “Emmie...” Brad whispered again. But the next words formed and died on his lips, as his eyes settled on someone behind her. Emma looked over her shoulder.

  “Ben!” she exclaimed more from being taken off guard than from delight.

  Her would–be suitor, sans business suit, still looked post preppy in slacks and polo shirt, and he flashed that familiar toothy, self-assured smile as the accessory.

  “Seems I landed not a minute too soon,” Ben said.

  Brad stuck out a strong, work calloused hand. “Brad Caldwell.”

  “Benjamin Winfield. Call me Ben. May I steal your dance partner?”

  “Oh, by all means...be my guest.” Brad gave them both a wicked grin. “Just keeping her warm for you.”

  Emma gave Brad a cautionary glance before Ben led her outside for the talk she dreaded the talk he had come from Boston to continue.

  “Let's go down by the water, shall we?” he said.

  Moon Lake was calm and crystal clear in the early afternoon sun. They two sat under the giant oak on the very same bench where she and Ethan had once sat, in what seemed like another lifetime. Ben held her hand, and broke the ice with light conversation, telling her of his good impression of Lucas ,who had met him at the air port, and then he commented on the beauty of the countryside. Finally, he was telling her how things were going for the company and how much she was needed in the organization.

  Emma tried to be attentive, but in her mind flashed the painting she had just lovingly refurbished the one that represented the very place they were—a place made special by another love of long ago. They two were sitting in that exact spot, causing Emma to feel transported into the painting itself. In her imagination, Ben's face morphed into Ethan's. She felt a cold hand on the back of her neck and chill bumps up and down her body, as if a winter wind had come and gone. She was staring straight at Ben and realizing she had heard little of what he had said. Her eyes shifted. Over Ben's shoulder she could make out the misty form of a lithe young man sprinting along the shoreline with his dog, but the images were transparent, shimmery. The boy seemed to be laughing, but she heard no sound. And then the images were gone.

  Ethan?

  “Are you still with me?” asked Ben with brows knitting with frustration. “You’re deathly pale...as if you've just seen a ghost.”

  When she failed to answer, he gave her a small smile to lighten the comment, knowing she was sensitive about references to her mental state.

  “Sorry. What were you saying earlier?” Emma asked. “ I'm sorry. I guess I missed most of it.”

  Ben continued doggedly: “ I was telling you how much the company needs you right now, and how much I need you. You fit in so perfectly with my life and my position. For God's sake. I was asking you to marry me, Emma! I can't believe you missed that. Being here in this piney no-man's land has dulled your senses into a rusty blade.”

  Emma did not look directly at him but gazed steadily out to the water's edge in an attempt to recapture the vision she had just seen; but reality had already closed in, and Ben had just proposed to her.

  When at last she spoke, her words were soft and measured: “Did I miss hearing one important word? There is one word we never seem to say...one word that makes the difference...the only one that counts.”

  “Ah, I see. You mean love...well... yes, there's that.” He waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing a troublesome fly. “I supposed you knew I love you Emma...maybe not in that insane all or nothing way of youth...but in a quiet, sensible way...as befitting people of our station in life.”

  “You know something...you're right to shy away from romantic love, Benjamin. It's not for you. Falling in love is an exquisite madness, and it is all or nothing...both pain and joy...and all those things you and I forgot how to feel. If it isn’t all those things, it just isn't love.”

  Luckily, just when the conversation was taking a dive off the high end, the other guests came strolling down the stone pathway. The discussion came to an abrupt stop, as they were joined by Grace and Lucas and Amy. Tommy Walker lagged behind the others with the four kids. On first impressions, Emma wondered if he was worried or preoccupied. She wondered if his real estate meeting with Lucas and Grace had not gone well or if something else might be troubling him.

  Despite her husband's strange aloofness, Amy seemed in high spirits: “Come go with us Emma, Benjamin. We're going sailing off into the sunset. The breeze is perfect right now. My boy Jacob here has agreed to watch the other three for a couple of hours.”

  Emma directed her gaze to the Jacob Walker. Something was very different about him, but she couldn't decide just what. He appeared smaller and more compact than Tommy and, surprisingly, had blond wavy hair, with none of his parents' dark features. Emma wasn't the only one who had noticed the discrepancies. She noticed Grace was peering at the boy intently, with a curious expression: “Jacob's a fine looking boy, Amy,” Grace said. “He has a perfect swimmer's build. How old is he?”

  “Sixteen. Seventeen in March...and yes...he is a swimmer on the school swim team,” Amy replied.

  “I wasn't aware that you had a child of that age!” Grace smiled impishly. “My heavens. You were still in your teens when you had him. So he must have been born in 1997...right after you and Tommy married? I suppose Emma and I were already in Boston. Where in the world did he get all that glorious blonde hair?”

  The boy smiled at overhearing the remark, and his parents ignored the question to which no one expected an answer. And the boy's smile was much like one Emma remembered. Tommy Walker looked away for a moment and then changed the subject:

  “Mr. and Mrs. St. Claire...are you satisfied with the sellers' contract on the house? Thought I'd ask before we get out on the water.”

  “Yes, I believe so,” Lucas replied. “We just need a buyer, Thomas. We need more qualified prospects to see the inside... but let's do that when I am there in the house. You won't need that key now. You do still have a key to the house, do you not?” Lucas eyed Tommy as if trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle.

  Tommy Walker hesitated for a split second, before assuring Lucas that he did indeed have the key to the house and that he would return it that very day. Tommy gave Lucas a look that Emma c
ould not fathom. “You don't trust me with your house key, Mr. St.Claire?”

  “Don't take it personally Tommy. I've asked Brad Caldwell for the key I gave him. Nothing against anyone...just resolving concern in my own mind...if there really is anything to be concerned about. It's how I do things from now on. Keys tend to float around and get into less honorable hands than yours and Brad's. That's all there is to it. Something has happened inside the house lately...something I can't explain.”

  “I see,” Tommy replied. “I'll call before I bring anyone in. I hope to deliver you a contract before Christmas.”

  Emma looked up at the house with its high roof, tall chimneys and intricate stonework. Suddenly she was struck with regret that someone would take it from her, even though at one point in her life she had hated the thought of coming back to it. But it had not been the house nor Cobblers Cove she had not forsaken. It had been Moon Lake. The house stood five hundred feet from its banks. Still, regret washed over her, for she realized there would no longer be the “St. Claire Place”. She felt like a ship stranded at sea with no land in sight.

  The children left for the back yard under the watch of Jacob, and their parents walked down to the sail boats where many of the group had gathered. Emma wanted desperately to follow, but she felt stuck with her mother and Ben. She could feel what seemed to be Lucas' obvious discomfort at being around them. She was was not surprised when he excused himself: “Guess I need to start with some of the clean up. Count me out on your little regatta. I never have taken a shine to boats that count on wind power.”

  Emma knew Brad was already down at the dock, preparing the Walker catamaran for a sail. Thinking of him brought to mind the dance they had reluctantly shared. What was that feeling that had come over her? After all the years she had known him, why did his arm around her transmit an almost electric current? She was troubled, confused, and breathless, all at the same time. That dance had ended, just as she knew Brad was about to tell her “the whole story” about Ethan and that summer vacation when she was away.

  Now it would have to wait. She was alone with Benjamin and Grace and distracted by her mother's voice pulling her back to reality. Those unexpected and surprisingly pleasant thoughts disappeared.

  “Emma, I think it wise to stay away from the water. You don't need to be reminded of that tragedy.” Grace patted her hand reassuringly, and Ben smiled and nodded. “We'll have a nice visit with you...Benjamin and me. Perhaps we can plan a June wedding while we're all together. Would you like that?”

  Emma gave her mother a long intense look, after removing those old rose colored glasses. Grace was well preserved by the best spa treatments on the East Coast and dressed in the latest fashions from New York. Yet there was something unsettling about her mother. She expected things to turn out the way she wanted, yet what she wanted changed on a whim. The outcome was a guessing game no one could win. And her father? Lucas had given up and given in, going on to living half a life of stolen moments with someone else. No wonder.

  For the first time in her life, Emma saw that the marriage between her parents had been doomed from the beginning. They had not married their own kind. It went beyond differences in personalities. It went to opposing outlooks on life itself.

  What was it Dad had said...that the break-up had not been because of me. It had , rather, been what happens “when two planets collide and spin out of their orbits.”

  Her parents had never been meant for marriage to each other, yet they were still bound to each other by her mother's wish to continue with the appearances of a marriage, legally and socially.

  How easily a mistake can be made in marrying. How cruel to be held in lifelong bondage because of it.

  “I'm sorry,” Emma murmured. “I hope you will forgive me, but I fear the lake much less than I fear marriage.”

  Emma bolted from her chair and looked down to the boats on the banks of Moon Lake. “Wait for me,” she called out and began running and stumbling down toward the pier.

  Grace was speechless.

  But Benjamin Winfield was the type of man who took setbacks in stride and turned them to his advantage. He was used to winning, and however many twists there were, he played the game.

  “Give her time,” he said to Grace. “She's simply confused. She will see the light very soon, though she doesn't yet know what it is that she needs. I am intent on showing her the way. You see, I always have a plan.”

  7: Some Sailed Away

  By the time Emma reached the pier, a group of four boats were already mid-lake and catching a good breeze in their mainsails. The September sky was crystal clear and sunny, and a front had delivered a brisk breeze. She spotted the Walkers' catamaran cabin cruiser, being readied for departure in its mooring and figured she could make it on board before they got too far out. She had been raised on the lake and was no stranger to row boats.

  One small inflatable dinghy was all that was left, and she took it. Since there was a short distance from pier to mooring, Emma figured she could easily row the distance. To play it safe, she called out to her friends on board, but a motor boat buzzed by and drowned out her voice. As she began to row, the catamaran launched and began feeling its way into the wind, heading into deeper waters. She rowed toward the swimmers' ladder that hung off its side, but the rowing was made strenuous by the wake created by negligent boaters buzzing in too close. To make matters worse, the wind had unexpectedly risen. The lake had become choppy, and the catamaran did what it was designed to do: it ran with the wind. She rowed hard, hard enough for her muscles begin to stretch and tremble .

  Finally, she reached the vessel on the high side and reached for the swimmers' ladder, just as a passing boat broke way through the water. The catamaran, never a craft good at heeling, pitched with the wake at the moment her fingers reached for the ladder. The dinghy rolled. She fell forward and tumbled from the dinghy into the water.

  She choked and gasped for breath, and was stunned by the surprisingly chilly temperature of the water. She struggled to get her breathing under control but was hyperventilating. It was then she remembered it was the very end of September, and the water temperature was always much cooler than the air. It was, in fact, shockingly cold. When she regained her bearings, she realized the wake had created a kind of current that had taken her several feet away from the catamaran, which had caught wind and was up and running.

  You can at least make it back to the dinghy before it floats farther. Just stay calm and start swimming.

  She started back for what seemed like a short distance but was making little headway. Now weighed down by clothing, she could do little more than tread water. She was shaking from the numbing chill of the water, and her exertion. To make matters worse, a strong gust had taken the dinghy farther away from her, leaving her with few choices as she struggled to stay above water.

  She had to swim and swim well, and so she struggled to remove her outer clothing. She could not function with the extra bulk and burden of fabric that held water like a sponge. As she removed jeans, denim jacket and shirt, she stayed afloat by use of power filled kicks. There was a downside to being in the water in her underwear: hypothermia would set in more quickly. Yet she had made her choice, and there was no going back.

  The wind and the wake subsided, the catamaran was slowing in speed, and the light weight dinghy had drifted out of range. She turned her hopes toward the catamaran, knowing it was her best shot. It was all that was left to her, for she was too far from the bank. She rested by floating just long enough to regain her strength for the swim, and then she began again.

  And so I was a fool...running away again...taking off with no flotation or vest and now no dinghy. Emma can you ever get it right? You know what they'll say. “She finally did it. I always knew Emma St. Claire would end her life in Moon Lake.”

  She glanced about her and prayed that someone, anyone, in a passing boat would hear or see her, before she began to swim. She flipped over into a back stroke, rotating use of h
er muscles. She continued to call out, but the activity from the fishing boats had subsided; the fishermen had settled on the other side of the lake. She was all alone in the water.Time passed and the cold water brought numbness to her extremities. She could no longer feel them but made the attempt to tread water, though she was no longer aware of doing so.

  Rest, I just need to rest a minute..

  She went under for the second time. Suddenly, she felt a lightness, as if strong arms were holding her and propelling her up to the surface. Ethan? At first she railed against leaving that watery tomb, as she was spent and tired of fighting. Yet her spirit rose again. She broke the surface, took in great gulps of air and coughed violently.

  She began to swim yet again with leaden arms and legs burning with cold and melting to liquid. Her coordination was off; yet she felt renewed strength flowing through every muscle, as if she had been miraculously given a second chance. She could see the catamaran had slowed almost to a stop as the wind had, for no apparent reason, died. The wind was not behaving normally, and never had she seen it so capricious.

  If only I can make it to the boat, I can rest.

  She was no longer able to utter a sound outside of a primitive grunt. In one last spectacular effort, against all conceivable odds, she made it to the side of the boat. Hope sprung up to replace the fear.

  The ladder...reach up for the ladder. And she reached up with trembling arms; she thought she had lost her mind, for the ladder was not there.

  But this was the right side. I know I got it right.

  She gave in to the water's superiority. She was drifting away, no longer treading water but attempting to stay afloat on the outside chance that she would be spotted from the bank. That renewed strength of mind and body she had felt just a short while ago had been depleted. And when she reached for a ladder and it had mysteriously vanished, she knew that narrow window of opportunity had slammed shut. She knew she was feeling the effects of hypothermia and had only a short time before she succumbed.