Wynn in the Willows

by Robin Shope

  Wynn moved to a chair closer to Owl. “So what became of the Reed mansion? Does anyone live there now?”

  “Oh yes, it’s become an icon of Willow Island! About thirty years ago Joel Reed’s grandson sold it and the new owners made it into a bed and breakfast. The old Reed Mansion is once again a showplace. Wynn, you must visit it. They have a wonderful chef, who is none other than Faith’s brother. Also, the vistas of Lake Michigan from the verandas are gorgeous. That alone is worth the price of a meal, although I must admit Roxie’s view is almost as breathtaking.”

  “My vistas are even more breathtaking,” Jackie interrupted.

  “Instead of a girl’s day out, let’s hold our next Bible club meeting at the Willow Inn and afterwards have brunch,” Sheri suggested.

  “Good idea. I’ll text my brother right now with the reservations.” Faith went for her phone. “I’ll also ask Frank to personally prepare our meal.”

  “I just remembered. Wynn has a birthday coming up. Let’s celebrate it at our next Bible club,” Roxie said. “I’d never forget your special day. We must celebrate it in high style to make up for all the birthdays we weren’t together.”

  “No, no!” The last thing she wanted was birthday recognition. Celebrating would be pure torture. Wynn always spent it in her own way, and it usually involved exploring waterways.

  “What a wonderful idea. I’ll have Frank bake you a cake, too. Is chocolate OK?” Faith began texting.

  “Roxie, please don’t…” Wynn had terrible visions of someone walking in with a chocolate cake while the servers sang to her, holding balloons.

  Maybe there’d even be a red-nosed, freakish clown in the vicinity. Everyone would turn and look at her. Nightmares were made of this. It was hard focusing on the conversation while trying to figure out a way to get out of attending her birthday bash. Suddenly she knew what she’d do. She’d call in sick.

  “Pay attention, Wynn,” Aunt Roxie nudged her. “Owl is asking you a question.”

  “Oh, sorry…what did you say?”

  “I said, do you know that people still dig through the sand trying to uncover poor Joseph Reed?” Owl’s eyes widened for emphasis.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “When you go to the beach Wynn, you’ll see cute police signs that say, ‘No digging for Joseph Reed’,” Sheri said.

  “That’s actually a problem?” Wynn asked.

  “Oh, yes indeed, we’ve lost shoreline because of it. Digging used to be one of the island’s tourist draws, but now it garnishes a hefty fine.”

  “That’s right. Thanks to my nephew’s complaints to the town board,” Owl pointed out. “He is concerned about the damage to the island.”

  “I see him out in his sailboat quite often,” Jackie commented. “Last summer he took Boone, his mother, sister, and me out on it for the day.”

  “Isn’t it a sloop?” Faith asked.

  “No, a schooner.” Owl corrected and continued with her story. “Anna grew to be an old woman on this island and never remarried. Poor thing.”

  “Her two sons went to boarding school on the mainland.” Roxie said impatiently. “End of story.”

  “One of them remained there and lost his inheritance as a result. The other child, Joel, came back and never left,” Owl said.

  “True and he built a lovely home just down the road from here. But have you noticed the newest residents painted it an awful shade of ochre? It’s the only house on Zoha Lane. It’s much smaller than the grand mansion, of course, but still quite nice.” Faith stated.

  “Zoha Lane? Isn’t that the house where my parents and I once lived, Aunt Roxie?” Wynn asked as a long ago memory floated to the surface.

  “Oh,” said Roxie. “Yes, I believe it was.”

  “Your family once lived in the Reed house?” Faith nearly came up off her chair with curiosity.

  Wynn opened her mouth to answer, but Roxie took over. “Yes, but they decided to move away. We’re fresh out of éclairs, but there’s more lemonade. Anyone?”

  “We moved after my dad died.” Instead of my sixth birthday party, there was a funeral. But Wynn didn’t say that out loud.

  “Your dad?” Owl asked.

  “Yes, he ran a greeting card shop on the beach. My mother sold it. We left the island.” Wynn wanted to know more about the mystery. “Earlier, you said something about a curse.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to that kind of talk, Wynn. The Bible speaks against it. There’s no such thing as curses, and it’ll just upset you, and drive down the real-estate prices.” Faith’s phone rang again. “OK, that’s it ladies, I really have to be getting back to the office now.” She picked up her briefcase, tucking the cell against her chin. “Hello? I’m on my way to the office this moment.” Faith closed her call. “Wynn, I enjoyed meeting you. If you ever decide to make Willow Island your residence, I have a listing you might be interested in seeing...just don’t wait too long.”

  “Thanks, but I’m quite content staying in Aunt Roxie’s tree house.”

  “You’re staying in a tree house?” Faith’s hand fluttered.

  “It’s actually Aunt Roxie’s efficiency apartment over the garage, but its tree top level. It’s my tree house.”

  “You and I are going to be great friends, I can tell.” Faith hurried out the porch door.

  Faith’s departure created a domino effect. They hugged Wynn one by one, calling her a blessing.

  Wynn felt their sincerity. She now belonged to the Bridge Over Troubled Waters Ladies Club.

  3

  By the time everyone left, the best part of the day had passed. Wynn pitched in with the clean-up.

  Above the sink were jalousie windows that overlooked the back garden, now filled with late afternoon shadows. A warm breeze shifted through the screens, ruffling the hems of lace curtains.

  Water thundered down into the sink as Wynn squeezed the belly of the plastic dish soap bottle.

  “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask since you moved in, but have hesitated. I don’t want to hurt your feelings by dredging up what might be best left alone.”

  Hurt. Such an ambiguous word. By what degree did one gauge pain? Physically she was strong, but inside she was shredded. Wynn looked into her aunt’s indigo eyes trying to recall her own mother’s eyes.

  “Go ahead, ask me anything,” Wynn said.

  Sentences never opened well when prefaced by ‘I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but…’

  “Have you heard from your mother recently?”

  Not too far down the lake, a lawn was being mowed. A dog barked just beyond the fence. Life moved on, even when she was sure time had stopped for a few seconds.

  “Not for months, but that’s not unusual. Eventually another one of her greeting cards will arrive with only her signature.”

  “Perhaps another card will arrive in time for your birthday.”

  “I doubt it. I never mentioned I was coming here.” Wynn touched her aunt’s arm, leaving an unintended cloud of suds. “You’ve heard from her?”

  “Me? No! I haven’t heard from her in years.” Roxie dried the glasses and set them neatly by rows on the open shelves.

  “But you’re her sister. She should have written to you.”

  What secret was Roxie keeping about her parents? She was quite positive the women of Willow Island knew.

  “And you’re her daughter; I thought she’d at least keep in touch with long letters.”

  Tears stung Wynn’s eyes as she pulled the plug in the sink and watched the water twirl down into the hole, leaving behind a skirt of bubbles. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

  “Nothing is wrong. It’s just that I miss your mom so much. You remind me of her.”

  Unsure she liked the comparison, a worm of sadness wiggled through Wynn. “If that’s true, it’s purely through genetics.”

  “Spoken as a true scientist!” Roxie kissed Wynn’s forehead, and then took a deep breath. “But I must admit, genetics is all your mom
and I ever had in common, too. There was always something between us.”

  “Like what?”

  “Our parents’ affection. Ruth thought I was the preferred twin.”

  “Were you?”

  “Not as far as I was concerned. There was also competition between us.”

  “Sports competition?”

  “No, it was all about the opposite sex. We seemed to always compete for the same man. Whenever I liked someone she enjoyed trying to get him. It’s silly. Never mind that.” Roxie waved the towel in the air as though she was wiping away such pettiness. “What matters is you. For a short time I had the privilege of being an indulgent auntie to you, but that was cut short when your father…passed. Ruth and I were never close. And once she left the island, a curtain of silence seemed to drop between us. I would have given anything to have had you here with me.”

  “I never knew that. After Grammy and Gramps died, my uncles came for me. Why didn’t you?”

  Roxie set her lips into a firm line while her hands clasped the dishrag. “Your mother wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “But she was in Central Africa. Still is. She couldn’t have stopped you.”

  “Well, she did. Even from there.”

  “But why would she do that? I mean, the island was my home and I knew you. My uncles were strangers to me at the time.”

  “I hope they were good to you.”

  “Yes, they were very good to me. I grew to love them very much. They loved me, too, from the very first moment.” One of her sharpest memories was the day her uncles decided to share their home with her. The memory of the following years was a beautiful, happy note.

  The sound of a lawn mower stopped. A silence fell between them.

  Should she talk about her life with Uncle Dill and Matt? Two bachelors, who had plenty of time on their hands, which they gave unselfishly to her. They made sure her homework was always done and they kept track of her whereabouts—especially during those tumultuous teenage years. But Wynn couldn’t think of a way of telling Roxie this without making it sound as though she was better off with them.

  “Now that you’re older, there’s a new chance for me to know you. I hope we become good friends.”

  “Me, too.”

  “The last time you and I were together was at your dad’s funeral. We took a long walk together afterwards.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember that.”

  “It’s OK. You were so little and it was a very long time ago.”

  Wynn felt suspended, waiting for something to happen; the air to be stirred by a voice. The wall of secrecy between them seemed to be crumbling. Wynn decided to take advantage of the closeness. “My turn. Now I have a question for you.”

  “Oh?” Roxie’s eyebrows arched. “Ask away.”

  “How did my dad die?” Wynn clenched her teeth so tight it made her jaw ache. Over the years, knowing what became of her dad had become an obsession, a fierce, fiery need gnawing away at her gut.

  Roxie’s eyes widened with surprise as her hand slowly trailed up to her mouth. “Oh, my. You don’t know? Your mother never told you?”

  “And my grandparents refused to talk about it. So now, I am coming to you. What happened?”

  Roxie gave a big sigh. “I’ll have to dig through old information to be sure. My memory doesn’t serve me so well these days.”

  “I don’t understand. How can you possibly forget something like that? It seems amnesia runs rampant in our family,” Wynn said.

  Roxie was a clever woman who easily memorized Bible verses and knew everyone’s name on the island. A failed memory was only an excuse. And a poor one, at that. It was obvious her aunt was holding out on her.

  “It’s been a lot of years and I never dwell in the past. If you would be so kind as to allow me to get my facts straight first, I’d appreciate it,” Roxie said, dodging Wynn’s gaze.

  “Uncle Dill recently said it was in the island newspapers for weeks at the time of his death. I want to see the clippings. Do you happen to have them?” Wynn couldn’t wait another moment.

  “I don’t think I saved them. As I told you, I never dwell in the past.”

  Wynn was suspicious and even more determined to find the truth. “Never mind, I’ll take the ferry across to Egg Harbor. The library should have it on microfiche.”

  “Oh, Wynn, some things are better left alone. The past should be left there.” Roxie struggled with her words. “Let the past remain buried. Don’t dig it up.”

  “You mean like Joseph Reed?”

  “What?”

  “The island residents don’t want tourists to dig up the sandy beaches looking for Joseph Reed, and you don’t want me digging up information about my dad. Why is everyone afraid of the past?” Tears burned at the back of her eyes.

  “Oh, all right. If you’re really bent on knowing, I’ll go to Egg Harbor with you. Meanwhile, your priority is that research project. Don’t bother with family trivia for now. Live in the present. Do not look backwards, that is not where your future is.” Roxie spotted a truck pulling into her drive. “Would you check my house plants to see if they need watering, dear? I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Her aunt went outside to greet the young man getting out of the truck with the words, Reed’s Landscaping, printed on the side. So that was Doug Reed, the man Roxie claimed not to like. What was he doing here?

  His face was shaded by the brim of his cap.

  Roxie spoke for a few minutes, and then walked to the front of the house.

  Wynn snatched the watering can, filled it with water, and then moved to another window for a better view.

  Roxie pointed to a tree as he chewed on something that appeared to be a red drinking straw.

  By the time Roxie returned to the cottage, Wynn had watered the plants and the last of the plates had been put away.

  “Thanks for finishing up. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the Tree House. You can help me refill the feeders along the way.” Roxie snatched a straw hat and plopped it on her head. She picked up a small bucket of mixed birdseed. “And your name for the apartment on top of the garage is quite clever. I like it. ‘My Tree House.’ Makes it more homey, more woodsy.”

  Wynn held the tops of bird feeders as Roxie emptied a scoop of seed into each one. At the last one, Wynn spotted a small yellow bird with a black underbelly. “Look!” she pointed. “OK, time for a quiz. What kind is that?”

  “Let me think,” Roxie said. “My mind is crammed so full of interesting things I can’t remember them all. I will look it up in the bird book later.”

  “That’s cheating,” Wynn sweetly chided. “By the way, I like your friends a lot.”

  “Which ones; my feathered garden visitors, or the ladies?”

  “Both.” Wynn looked up. “But I was referring to your friends.”

  “The ladies like you, too, I can tell.” Roxie smiled slightly. “There’s a reason we call her Owl.”

  “Because she’s a plain talker, doesn’t let food go to waste and shoots from the lips?”

  “No. Most nights Owl walks the island, like Anna Reed walked the beach looking for her husband. It’s been happening for as long as anyone can remember.”

  “Insomnia runs in the family?”

  “I love Owl—but how can I put this nicely?” Roxie lowered her voice. “She’s got a screw loose. She married an old hippie who runs in the post office and reads all the postcards before they are delivered. That family tends to stray from the norm, and none more than Owl’s nephew, Doug Reed.”

  “The man who was just here? The landscaper?”

  “He runs the island’s only landscape business, and he’s quite good. I have a half dead tree that needs taking out before it falls on the house. His prices are reasonable, especially with no competition. But that’s business. That is non-negotiable. He likes pretty women, too. He has island charm and silver tongue sweet talk, so watch out.” Aunt Roxie set the bucket down on the ground, spilling some of the seeds on the
grass. “I’ll leave those for the squirrels. Now follow me; we’re going to take a detour. I have something for you.”

  4

  They stopped in front of an old wooden carriage house almost hidden by Virginia creeper vines.

  “I like driving my golf cart on the roads and pathways around the island during the summer months.” She reached up over her head and felt around for a key. She pulled on the handle and the large door swung wide flooding the place with sunlight.

  A canvas covered a vehicle.

  “For a long while now I’ve had my eye on a car over in Egg Harbor. When I heard you were coming for the summer it gave me a good reason to buy it. As soon as it comes in, the dealer will bring it to the island. In the meantime, this is for you.” Roxie tugged at the cover

  The blue and white 1970’s Jeep had plenty of room for all her equipment. “You’re letting me use this?” Wynn ran her fingers over the pristine original finish.

  “You may have it! It’s just been serviced and I’ll transfer the title to you sometime this week.” Roxie pointed to the key waiting in the ignition. “Go on and try it.”

  Wynn got into the front seat, and turned the key. “I’ll never be able to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “Oh, Wynn,” Roxie sighed, “it does my heart good to see you so happy.”

  “Come on, let’s go for a drive!” Wynn beeped the horn.

  “I think I left my sunglasses in here somewhere.” Roxie popped opened the glove box and stared at the mass of papers jammed inside. “Oh dear, I forgot to clean this out.”

  “No problem, I’ll clean it out for you.” Wynn hopped out.

  “I thought we were going for a drive?”

  “We are! I need my driver’s license. Wait here; I’ll be a sec.” Wynn dashed to the Tree House.

  It was a comfortable two-story dwelling with the garage on the first floor, now converted into her work space. The second floor was one large, open room, with a kitchenette on one side. The other three sides were encapsulated by floor to ceiling windows that looked out into woods, with breaks in the trees to see the lake. Not only was the space roomy, with a large closet, and adequate bathroom, but it was an attractive arena for being part of nature.