"I wonder why."
"Dunno. Bed here's more comfortable than that sofa. Don't make much sense to me." She puttered over to the closet. "There's a bin with fresh linens on the shelf. Just drop off all the other laundry to me and I'll get it done at Ed's."
Back in the main part of the cabin, Sadie noticed something in the corner of the living room that she wasn't expecting. An old grandfather clock. A sinewy cobweb swayed above it, and although the glass in front was missing and there were a few chips in the wood, the clock seemed to be working.
"My mother-in-law's," Irma said with a scowl. "Can't stand the noise myself—even though the damned thing doesn't go off every hour like it's supposed to. It won't bother you, will it?"
"I don't think so."
"Good, cause I ain't moving it."
Irma showed her the bathroom, just off the kitchen. It boasted an antique clawed tub and a sparkling new toilet that betrayed the rustic simplicity of the rest of the cabin.
"You have to heat the bath water," Irma said ruefully. "No hot water tank."
"That's fine. I'm just thankful there's a toilet."
Irma lifted her chin. "I still say, there ain't nothing better than communing with Mother Nature in a good ol' outhouse."
You can keep your outhouse, Sadie thought. And the nature.
"I can't believe your last tenant left you with this mess."
Irma chuckled deep in her throat. "Your mess, dear." She handed Sadie the key to the cabin. "There should be a lantern in every room and oil under the sink. You gonna be all right bringing in your things? I know it's a long haul."
"I can handle it."
"Yes, you've had more to cope with." A frail hand rested on her shoulder. "Like I said, it's in your eyes, dear."
Sadie frowned. She'd have to be very careful around Irma.
"There's a fireplace for cooking and heat," the old woman continued. "You know how to get a fire going?"
Sadie nodded.
When it came to campfires, she was the queen of sparks. Three years at Girl Guides and a montage of rugged camping trips with her father and brother had taught her well. The few times she and Philip had taken Sam camping, she was the one who always got the campfire going—much to Philip's chagrin.
Irma paused in the doorway and lit up another cigar. The sweet smoke mixed with the potpourri of offensive odors, masking the stink…slightly.
"Before I leave, Sadie, you got any questions?"
"Just one. How do I store perishable food?"
"There's an old freezer outside my cabin. You're welcome to use it. It's not plugged in, but I pack it with ice every other day. Actually Ed does. And it's still cold enough at night to keep things mostly frozen. Label your food though, or them men'll eat it on you. Oh, and there's a root cellar under that." She pointed to a worn square rug near a wing chair. "Good for storing vegetables."
Sadie apprehensively eyed the rug. There was no way on earth that she was going to crawl around in a musty cellar. God only knew what was growing down there.
"Course, you can always use the cooler outside for the small stuff," Irma added. "I'll bring you a few things. And if you need anything else, you come see me."
"I'll be fine, Irma."
"I'm sure you will. But these woods can get pretty lonely and quiet. 'Specially for city folk. None of them all night fast food restaurants here. But we don't got that god-awful traffic either."
"Speaking of traffic, is my car okay by your cabin?"
"Yeah, just lock it up at night. We don't get fancy-schmancy vehicles like that here. And you don't wanna tempt me." Irma stepped outside and flashed her yellow teeth. "Always wanted to drive a sports car."
When the woman was gone, Sadie felt strangely bereft. One look at the interior of the cabin made her realize she'd soon be far too busy to feel lonely. With hands on hips, she surveyed the room in dread, her mouth turned down in a scowl.
"Bet you miss your central vac and Swiffer now."
She found a box of garbage bags under the kitchen sink. The sheets, towels and men's clothes went into one. The garbage and three occupied mousetraps went into another. When she opened the door half an hour later to toss the bags outside, she discovered a box with cleaning products, a bulky blue flashlight with a sticker that read Infinity Cabin, fuel for the stove, a map and a note from Irma.
Sady,
Here's some stuff to cleen with. If you need more just holler. The flashlight has new battries. The maps new, shows the root to Hinton and Edson. Hinton's closer. Best place for grocries is the Sobeys store. Ed's Pub has got the best liver and onions, fried chicken and fish and chips in town.
P.S. On account of the mess and you cleening it, just pay half of May.
Irma
Almost two hours later, Sadie fell into the armchair, exhausted but satisfied. The interior of the cabin glistened, the reek of decay replaced by a fresh orange scent.
"You can't stop now, though," she said with a sigh.
It took two trips to the Mercedes to get the suitcases and duffle bag. She debated on leaving the gun behind in the car, but had visions of Irma hotwiring the Mercedes and taking it for a joyride, police in tow.
The gun box found a home under the double bed.
For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to think of its purpose. She examined the floor, envisioning it splattered with—
Her head snapped up. "Don't go there."
She was famished. The only thing she'd eaten all day was a stale donut and coffee from a gas station. She opened a cupboard, inspecting the three cans—two tuna and one kidney bean. Her stomach rumbled and she glanced at the wall above the sink. The floral clock read 6:10. Lots of time to get to town and back.
Securing the cabin door, she trekked through the woods, climbed into the Mercedes and headed for Hinton. Following Irma's map, she gripped the steering wheel, eyes dead ahead on the narrow gravel road. Thankfully, nobody tried to run her off this time.
She geared down to take a blind corner. The road unexpectedly dipped low, running parallel to the river. As she crossed a rickety wood bridge, she slowed the car to a crawl to admire the view. The river trickled a few feet below, cutting a path through the still-frozen ground, around a bend and out of sight. To her right, a gray roof protruded between the trees.
She squinted. It was her cabin. She was sure of it.
A sudden movement on the opposite bank caught her eye.
A man in a black cowboy hat and knee-length black jacket stepped from the woods. He made his way toward the river, crouched down—to wash his hands, maybe—then stood and stretched leisurely.
She was sure he was the owner of the black truck.
Sarge, Irma had called him.
The man's head jerked toward the bridge. Toward her. He was too far away to make out his face, but she got the impression he wasn't smiling. Then he darted off into the bushes.
"Great!" she muttered as she sped away. "He'll think I'm a nosy neighbor. Oh, wait, Sadie, you are."
She left the bridge behind, thankful that the man lived on the other side of the river. The last thing she needed was visitors.
Ed's Pub was quiet, except for the flamboyant '50's style jukebox that belted out Johnny Cash's Walk the Line and the handful of customers—some just out of high school—who played pool on the three billiard tables at the far end. At a table near the door, two primitive-looking men dressed in soil stained coveralls were drinking beer, their shaggy gray beards brushing the wet surface of the table. They looked like gold diggers from the Klondike era.
When they noticed Sadie in the doorway, their mouths dropped and the whispering began. She ignored them and headed for the bar, where a man stood with his back to her, rearranging bottles against a mirrored wall. When he turned, she knew without a doubt that he was Irma's brother.
"What can I get you, young lady?" he asked.
"Ice tea, please."
The man's mouth curled into a wrinkled smile. "What's a pretty gal like you doing i
n a place like this?"
She laughed. "I see originality isn't one of your strong suits."
"Hard to be original when you're a twin."
The man was a carbon copy of his sister, right down to the thin build, short gray hair and dark eyes. But where Irma's eyes were serious and knowing, his did a dangerous two-step with flirtation as he leaned down, grabbed a glass from under the counter and filled it with ice tea.
He slid it down the bar toward her. "So what are you doing here, 'sides making my heart race?"
"I'm finishing a project. I needed a peaceful place to do it, so I'm staying in one of your sister's cabins." As an afterthought she added, "And if I'm making your heart race, perhaps you forgot to take your medication this morning."
"Tsk, tsk," he said, chuckling. "You're a sharp one."
"That's what my husband says."
Ed's face fell and she nearly burst out laughing.
"Dang. You're married?"
She wasn't about to tell him about the pending divorce, so she held out a hand. "Sadie O'Connell."
"Ed Panych." He smiled. "Well, Sadie O'Connell, you just dashed away all my hopes."
She grinned and patted his liver-spotted hand, the one with the plain gold band on his ring finger. "I'm sure your wife will be relieved."
A hoot erupted from behind her. The men at the table were brazenly listening to every word.
"Yeah, Martha's gonna be very happy, Ed," one of them shouted. "Don't think she'll wanna share ya. 'Specially since you just celebrated your fiftieth."
Ed waved his hand in the air. "Ah, shut it, Bugsy. I was just teasing the lady."
Bugsy muttered something to his companion. The other man let out a thunderous laugh that echoed in the small pub.
"Sorry," Ed told her quietly.
"Nothing to be sorry about." She grinned, raised her voice. "If you weren't married, Ed…"
"Ah, I'm way too old for a pretty gal like you," he mumbled, embarrassed. He hobbled into the back room.
Sadie sat at the bar, lost in her thoughts as a nostalgic sadness swept over her. She'd always thought she and Philip would grow old together, celebrate their fiftieth and sixtieth anniversaries, and sit in matching rockers on the back porch.
She took a long swig of her tea, draining the glass.
None of that was going to happen now.
Ed reappeared. "Another?"
"No thanks." She rifled through her purse and dropped some coins on the bar. "Irma said you wouldn't mind if I plugged in my laptop once in a while. To charge the batteries. Is that okay?"
"You can charge my battery anytime!" Bugsy shouted.
"Hey!" Ed bellowed. "None of that, you mangy mutt. Or I'll cut you off."
Bugsy clamped his mustached mouth shut.
"You need electricity, you come see me," Ed told her. "Tell Irma I'll drop off more ice in the morning."
She nodded, then stepped outside. Above her, the sun shone brightly, glaring off the pavement and anything metal, but the air still held a chill.
There wasn't much activity in Hinton. Traffic was light, only a few cars. The Sobeys grocery store was right across the street, down a block, so she decided to leave the Mercedes in the pub parking lot. The walk would do her good.
She strolled across the street in no hurry, enjoying the quiet, when a childish laugh made her look over her shoulder. A group of teens walked toward her, the girls giggling, while the boys tried to look cool. One young man—a punked-out kid with black and violet streaked hair—walked with a swagger that would've put John Travolta to shame. His arm was thrown over the shoulders of an anorexic blond waif who looked destined for a stint at a rehab center.
"You gotta problem, lady?" the boy asked as they passed by.
"No," she mumbled, wondering if Sam would've talked like that.
She hurried into Sobeys.
Half an hour later, she headed back to the car with four bags of groceries and a bag from the nearby liquor store. Setting them on the ground, she unlocked the passenger door and maneuvered the bags onto the seat and floor.
As she left the parking lot, a black pickup sped around the corner in front of her. It barreled past, kicking up rocks into her windshield, and screeched to a dusty halt near the pub doors. She watched in the rearview mirror as a man in a cowboy hat and long jacket jumped out of the truck. Even with his back to her, she knew it was Sarge, the idiot who had almost run her off the road earlier.
And my neighbor from across the river.
She was tempted to charge in after him, give him a piece of her mind, but she chickened out. Confrontations weren't her thing. She had proven that more than once.
19
"There. That should do me for a while."
Sadie placed the last package of meat into the decrepit freezer outside Irma's cabin. The rusty hinges of the lid screeched when she lowered it. She winced and looked at Irma. The old woman was leaning against the cabin, puffing on a cigar as usual.
"Ed said he'll drop off more ice tomorrow," Sadie said.
Irma grunted. "So…did he make a pass at ya?"
"Just a little one."
"No such thing as a little pass, dear. Ed's a lecherous old fool. Don't know how Martha puts up with him." Irma lifted a bony shoulder. "He's harmless enough, though. All mouth."
"I can take care of myself, Irma."
"Don't doubt that for a minute. Just watch out for the townies. 'Specially Sarge."
"You mean the idiot in the black Ford?"
Irma broke into a fit of coughing. "Yeah, him."
"Does he live nearby?"
The old woman's eyes shifted to Sadie's left hand. "No ring?"
"Divorced. Well…" She gave a quick shrug. "Almost."
"No such thing—"
"As almost divorced," Sadie finished for her.
"Coulda used you for a daughter," Irma mumbled. "You're quicker than most." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Sarge lives across the river and down aways. He's not married, if you were gonna ask."
Sadie blushed. "I wasn't."
"Sure you weren't. Stay clear of him, dear. He's a loner and not much of a people person. 'Specially since his wife and kids died."
"That's too bad."
"A terrible tragedy, it was."
"There's a lot of that going around. Did you know them very well?"
Irma took a drag on her cigar. "His wife Carrie was friends with my Brenda. 'Cept Sarge didn't want her talking to anyone, even when he was in Iraq. Kind of possessive, that man. And them kids…poor little lambs."
"What happened?"
"House caught on fire four years ago, night of the big storm. Only Sarge made it out alive. He lost everything. Carrie. The kids. Had no insurance either. The man was so sick with grief after that, he wouldn't even level the house."
"What'd he do?"
"Left it standing—what's left of it. Ed said he won't let no one near it, or on his property. That Sarge…he's just not the same. Can't imagine what it must feel like, not being able to save the ones you love."
Sadie shuddered. "I can."
"Oh, dear. I'm so terribly sorry. Your husband?"
"My son." Sadie turned away, heading back to the car. "I can't talk about it. Sorry."
"People tell me I'm a good listener, dear."
"Thanks, Irma. But I'm here to forget."
Praying she hadn't offended the woman, she grabbed the remaining bags from the car and lugged them down the path until she reached the steps. She navigated them carefully, then enjoyed the short walk along the riverside. At the cabin, she juggled the bags and unlocked the door. After she put away the canned goods and stored the fruit and veggies in the cooler, she made a quick tuna salad sandwich, bundled herself in a wool blanket and settled into one of the wooden chairs on the veranda. She nibbled on the sandwich and stared out over the river, watching the sleepy sun begin its leisurely descent.
She thought of Sam, of how much he loved the outdoors.
"You would've loved it
here, Sam."
She didn't know how long she sat there watching the peaceful ripples on the water and thinking of Sam. He was never far from her thoughts. Sometimes she felt almost smothered by malignant, cancerous guilt.
She shook off the shadows. "I miss you, Sam."
A few water birds scrabbled on the shore, occasionally calling out to each other. The chill air caressed her face, making her feel alive and free as she inhaled the fresh aroma of pine and spruce, and listened to the resonance of Mother Nature. All around her was pure peace. Heaven.
She shut her eyes…just for a moment.
"Cawwww!"
Sadie's eyes flew open. She gasped.
A crow perched on the wood rail of the veranda, its beady eyes no more than three feet from hers. It stared at her, unmoving.
"Go away!"
It cocked its head to one side, giving her an inquisitive look.
"Stupid bird, shoo!"
She waved her hand, but the bird just hopped up and down. Bizarre behavior for a crow, she thought.
The crow emitted another raspy shriek.
"Just so you know, I hate birds," she said. "Except when they're Shake 'n Baked." She grinned stupidly.
"Squacckkk!"
She stood up, expecting her movements to dislodge the annoying pest. It didn't. She was tempted to approach the bird, but then common sense took over. Why would she want to?
Maybe it's diseased. Maybe it has the bird flu.
Ignoring the crow, she stretched. Then she frowned. The fading light made her take a second look out over the water.
It was late. She must have been asleep for a while.
"Must be the country air."
She strolled toward the sliding door, mindful of the crow. It watched her every move, and that was unnerving, so she released a pent-up breath and stepped inside. She lit an oil lamp and checked the clock on the wall. 8:55.
With a sigh, she glanced around the room, then set to work building a fire. There was no TV to watch and nothing much to do except sleep. But she was wide awake now and somber thoughts were creeping into her mind.
What she needed was a drink.
She reached into a cupboard, her hand hovering over the three bottles of red wine. "No. I'm saving you."
Children of the Fog Page 14
