Wynn in the Willows

by Robin Shope

  The recently added ten-foot wide deck put her right into the tree top branches, which would have been problematic if holes in the decking hadn’t been cut. The branches served as the perfect sitting place for reading.

  Wynn grabbed her purse and left. She got into the Jeep, rolled down the windows and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Do you want to lock your cottage first?”

  “No need.”

  “Well then, are you ready, Aunt Roxie?”

  “Ready, Niece Wynn!”

  Wynn backed out of the garage. Within minutes they were wheeling down the lake road. A cold wind came off the water.

  Wynn needed to trust Roxie. If only she’d open up. She glanced over at her aunt.

  Roxie was watching the scenery float past.

  For a while the women fell into a companionable silence. They headed towards the forest preserve, a thirty-acre piece of land in the center of the island that dipped into a valley. The granite cliffs that were too sharp and steep to climb hemmed in one side, with a residential area on the other side.

  “Aunt Roxie?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Why did Mom sell the house and leave the island with me?”

  Roxie turned towards her.

  “I mean, why didn’t we just stay here?”

  “I wanted you both to remain here. I thought it was a golden opportunity to be close to my sister again.”

  “Again? So, you once were close?”

  “Yes, closer than one could imagine. Our dad called us ying and yang.”

  “What happened?”

  The start of storm clouds rolled across the sky. The sunny day had crumbled and was now becoming overcast.

  “Life. Jealousy. Disagreements.” She sighed. “Just normal sisterly stuff. Being the only child, you don’t know how things can get between siblings.”

  Wynn tested the windshield wipers as she pulled into the reserve.

  Campers were allowed to stake tents in the forest but trailers, ATVs, and three wheelers weren’t allowed on the island.

  “Why don’t I park and we take a trail?”

  Roxie glanced at the clouds and shook her head. “Rain is close; I smell it in the air. Besides, I don’t have on good walking shoes and my ankles tend to twist on uneven ground. Let’s plan on another day.”

  “OK, but you now owe me two days, one for birding and one for hiking.” Wynn turned and headed back towards the cottage. She wanted to press her aunt more, but decided against it. She needed her aunt’s full cooperation to learn the depths of the past.

  “Drop me at the Tree House and I’ll walk back down to the cottage.”

  Wynn pulled up to the front of her summer residence. “This car is so perfect. It fits me. Thank you, so much.”

  “Well, it thrills me to give you something you can use, Wynn.” Roxie got out.

  Wynn got out, too.

  “Why don’t you come down for dinner in a little while?”

  “Great. Then you can explain to me this curse Owl was talking about.”

  “Forget about the curse. It is nothing but nonsense. As a scientist you must know that.”

  “Well, something sure keeps Owl up at night, walking.” Wynn turned to go inside. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Wait.” Roxie froze.

  “What?”

  “Listen. Don’t you hear it, too?”

  “Hear what?” Wynn listened, thinking she’d catch the trill of a songbird. “No, I don’t…wait, I do think I hear something…someone’s…calling our names?”

  “Roxie! Wynn!”

  Wynn felt a ripple of fear.

  “Where are you?” Owl stumbled out of the woods and faltered down the path. Her skin ran with perspiration. “It happened again! The island curse struck, there’s another widow!”

  “Whose husband is it this time?” Roxie asked, concern etched on her features.

  “Jackie’s husband is dead!”

  5

  A week later, Wynn drove along the coast with Verdi’s Rigoletto music soaring. She planned to explore the sandy beach near the cliffs where fish were known to be in small pools of water during low tide. She’d take samples of the plankton and check the nitrogen levels at her lab.

  She pondered her aunt’s circle of friends, the flurry of activity as they circled around Jackie, who was waiting for her husband’s body to come home and be prepared for the funeral. They received visitors who dropped by with condolences and food.

  Wynn had never really been part of a community who loved and helped each other so much. She found it mesmerizing and something inside her heart longed for the same sense of belonging. She’d only been able to help out a little, because her research project was using up the better part of her days.

  The sugar-white sand had patches of crushed gray shells of zebra mussels and mats of rotting algae. She navigated across it to reach the base of the rock face and stood in the shallows of a small basin. It was nice shelter and the current was nonexistent; the perfect place for catching minnows in her hand or skipping stones; skills she learned from her dad.

  Climbing back out of the shallows, she dug through her backpack for a sample jar. As Wynn dipped the glass into the water she nearly lost her balance. A flash of orange from another pool caught her attention. She crossed the rocks to investigate and discovered male pumpkinseed fish busy building nests. She took dozens of camera shots of the colony using their caudal fins to sweep out the bottom into saucer shaped depressions.

  She lowered to a sitting position and sat cross-legged; observing, scribbling notes, and sketching rudimentary illustrations. By the time she finished, the sky had turned a bitter blue. Sand was in her shoes and pants and under her nails.

  Wynn gathered her logbook, camera and instruments and returned them to the backpack, musing how happy she was here. Most women fell in love with a man, Wynn felt blessed because she had lost her heart to the sea. She hopped in the Jeep and took off for home. Her stomach growled, reminding her it had been hours since breakfast. She worked the wrapper off a protein bar just as a truck glided past.

  Reed’s Landscaping.

  With a fast approaching curve up ahead, the truck cut back in front of her, making her brake hard. A tin container shot out from under the seat and hit the heel of her shoe.

  Wynn blasted the horn.

  Doug Reed took a sideways glance at her before disappearing over the hill.

  A few minutes later, Wynn was home.

  Roxie waited for her, dressed in black.

  Wynn reached for her backpack, and slipped a hand down to pick up the container that had hit her foot. The old world painted gold swirl design was remarkable. The small lock at the top wouldn’t open. Wynn shook it and heard a clunk from something inside. As her aunt approached, Wynn slid the tin into her bag. She had no idea why she needed to hide her find, but she’d examine that feeling later.

  “There you are! I thought we’d attend Boone’s funeral together.”

  “Oh, sorry, I’d forgotten it was today. It’ll only take me ten minutes to shower and get ready.” The sense of community wrapped around Wynn’s heart again.

  Wynn and Roxie tiptoed into the chapel of the funeral home. They took seats at the back.

  Jackie’s head was bowed in prayer,

  The organist played melancholy music. Wynn hoped she’d switch gears to something inspirational and lighten the mood. Mourners needed hope.

  “What exactly happened to Boone?” Wynn whispered, realizing she didn’t know, despite being in and out of Jackie’s home throughout the week. She imagined him losing his footing, making him cartwheel off the side of a mountain as the Sherpas watched in gape-mouthed terror.

  “Boone arrived back in the States earlier than planned, just as he told Jackie he would. On his way to catching the island ferry, a truck hit him and killed him instantly,” Roxie said.

  Wynn sat in silence, the somber music wafting sadness.

  Jackie now stood up front near the casket, touching a f
lower here and there. She moved to look at Boone, forever stilled.

  Memories of her dad’s funeral flooded Wynn’s emotions, tightening inside her heart.

  ****

  Wynn’s thoughts turned back to that time.

  Her dad had never been so still. Even in his sleep he was full movement, but there he had been, laid out in a coffin with make-up smeared all over his face.

  Who would eat asparagus the long way without chopping it up first? Who would explain the difference between a mean solar day and the sidereal day? Who would wipe honey from her chin with his fingertips? Who would teach her how to navigate a boat? Who would teach her how to fall in love? How could she survive?

  Six-year-old Wynn looked down at her shiny patent leather shoes, crisscrossing her legs over one another, back and forth; back and forth.

  Then a woman began singing a sad song.

  Everyone was crying. Even the men were wiping their eyes.

  Relatives hung over the coffin and leaned ghoulishly close to the corpse.

  Wynn looked up into her mother’s face for reassurance, but she was crying hardest of all, shoulders shaking. Wynn looked again at the singer of sad songs. It was that lady’s fault; the player of sad tunes Wynn patted her mom. “It’ll be OK. I still have you and you still have me.”

  Mom smiled for the first time that day.

  Encouraged, Wynn got on her knees to hum her mother’s favorite tune into her ear. Something was wrong with the words and the sentiment. Who would be true to death? It was a song her mother always sang, but today it wasn’t working its magical powers. As time passed, Wynn would sing this same song when she needed comforting.

  The next day, Wynn was certain the funeral had been a terrible mistake. Her dad would be awake and in the house someplace. She looked at his chair on the porch. She opened the bathroom door slowly to see a squeezed toothpaste tube lying on the sink edge, a comb next to it, the hamper, and his shoes on the floor.

  In her parents’ bedroom, her mother took her dad’s underwear from the top drawer, still folded, and placed them into a box. Socks from the next drawer followed. Silently, Mother moved to the closet, removing his belts and shoes. Then she pulled his shirts and trousers from hangers, making them clink together in a concerto of goodbye.

  Wynn smelled wisps of dark earth on some clothing and parts of the sea on others. There on the bureau was the model sailboat they had assembled with hopes of sailing it. If her dad was really gone, how could she ever get to sail the boat?

  Her dad’s cardigan was hanging at the back of the desk chair. It had been his favorite…made his eyes more pronounced. He had such wonderful eyes, affectionate and laughing. Wynn hoped her mom would leave the blue sweater as a beacon for his return. It was his treasure. Ruth pulled it off the chair, held it to her nose, hugging it. Then she placed the sweater with the rest of his clothing. It would never be worn by her Dad again.

  He wasn’t coming back.

  ****

  Wynn willed herself to ignore the depression that was trying to attach itself to her like a leech, sucking her dry. She had so many good things going for her right now; she had a grant which put her back on the island. She was reunited with Aunt Roxie. The ladies of the Bible club would refer to these as ‘blessings’.

  Wynn shut her eyes, envisioning water. The rise and fall of the sea comforted. She could almost hear the whoosh of waves rushing on shore and the call of gulls overhead. She longed to get up and walk. “We’re way early or we’re the only ones showing up for the service.”

  “I promised Jackie we’d be here early and stay late, for support.” Roxie remained stoic, but her jaw quivered.

  Jackie turned, revealing exquisite studded diamonds in her ears. Her one-of-a-kind satin dress with an overlay of Italian lace had probably cost enough to keep an endangered species alive for an entire year. Tears and grief were etched on her face.

  “His mother and sister should be arriving from Egg Harbor any time, now. They’re renting a boat over to the island. Be sure to stay close to me when Marilyn and Agatha arrive will you?”

  “How are you doing? Are you all right?” Roxie opened her arms wide as she moved towards Jackie.

  “It’s too soon, I can’t tell yet. Thank the Lord I have Him to lean on.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “I’m sorry about your husband,” Wynn said. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “Thanks. Sweet, sweet Wynn, you never even met Boone. You hardly know me and yet here you are, lending your support right along with Roxie’s, my long time, dear friend. It means a lot to have you both here. She leaned towards the casket. “You can meet him right now.”

  Wynn’s heart somersaulted

  Mr. Lansing, the funeral director, hurried into the room. “Ms. Bennett, allow me to once again offer my condolences.”

  Jackie nodded and fumbled for a hankie as her eyes leaked tears again.

  Roxie and Wynn waited.

  Jackie returned the hankie to her purse, rummaged, and then held up a vintage box covered in old velvet. She handed it to Roxie. “I need to place this ring on Boone’s finger.”

  “Of course.” Roxie looked down at the box.

  “It’s a family heirloom.”

  “Why would he want to be buried with an heirloom? Wouldn’t you rather keep it?”

  “When we were first married, he showed the ring to me and said it carried the island curse. He left instructions that if he died before me, I was to bury it with him to make the curse leave the island,” Jackie explained.

  “Nonsense. The curse is nothing but nonsense.”

  “I am following through with Boone’s wish by placing the ring on his finger.”

  They looked at the large ruby ring encrusted with diamonds around the entire band.

  “Wynn this is my husband.” Jackie stepped up to the coffin and lifted the lid, locking it in place, and then stepped away.

  Taking even steps and breaths, Wynn walked to the casket and looked down at the stranger.

  Jackie gazed into the coffin, and then released a long, agonizing scream, right before she fainted.

  6

  Wynn dropped to her knees and checked Jackie’s vitals.

  “That’s not Boone.” Roxie said. “Could we be at the wrong funeral?”

  Minutes later, Wynn sat on a coffee table next to Jackie, who had been laid on a couch in a private parlor. Wynn waved smelling salts under Jackie’s nose. “Can you hear me? Wake up, Jackie.”

  A tall, elegant woman walked into the room, followed by a younger woman with hunched shoulders, who nervously fingered a cameo brooch worn tightly at her neck

  “Hello Marilyn, Agatha,” Roxie greeted.

  “Forgive me for fainting,” Jackie groaned, and then struggled to her feet. “I think I’m all right now.”

  “Oh, stop with your theatrics,” Marilyn told her daughter-in-law. “You’re not the one who died, so stop trying to make this all about you. You had your wedding day, now let my Boone have his day.”

  “Don’t look in the casket.”

  “Casket? Why would I look in a casket? Boone’s been cremated,” Marilyn stated.

  “Why would you think that?” Jackie stared. “Mr. Lansing, where is my husband’s body?”

  “Ms. Bennett, you must remember that people always look different in death. Your husband is here, this is the body my assistant was instructed to pick up days ago. Let me get the paperwork to prove it to you.”

  “Forget the paperwork. Come with me. We’re looking in that coffin together.” Jackie hooked Mr. Lansing’s arm and took Wynn by the elbow, guiding them both into the chapel. “You all stay here.” Her look at Roxie signaled she wanted Wynn’s aunt to stay and keep an eye on the other two women.

  Roxie nodded.

  The three of them returned to the casket.

  “Good heavens!” Mr. Lansing exclaimed. “That’s not Boone! I didn’t work on him personally, my new assistant did, as I was out
of town.”

  “I told you.” Jackie sniffed.

  “There certainly must be some kind of mix-up.”

  “Did you say, ‘mix-up’? A mix-up is when you order chicken and get turkey. What we have here is a catastrophe! There are people coming to the funeral soon and they expect Boone to be here.”

  “Perhaps we should look at those papers?” Wynn suggested.

  “We’ll sort all this out, privately.” Mr. Lansing led them to his office and closed the door.

  Jackie sat down in the armchair directly in front of his desk, while Wynn remained by the door.

  Mr. Lansing began shuffling files. He read the information before passing it across the desk to Jackie.

  Wynn read over Jackie’s shoulder. “There’s Boone’s name, but who identified his body?”

  Mr. Lansing pulled the papers from Jackie’s fingertips and turned to the second page. His blue eyes focused under heavy graying brows, and he read aloud. “It says here you did, ‘Jacqueline Bennett’.”

  “Impossible!” Jackie fumed. “The last time I saw Boone, he was boarding a corporate jet for Chicago, next stop Katmandu. Then I got a call from the coroner with the news that Boone was dead. No one invited me to view the body, they just informed me he’d…he’d died. Whoever called me told me I didn’t need to identify the body there as it was an accident and Boone had his ID on him. I assumed when I asked for it to be sent to Willow Island and to this funeral home, all was as it should be. I want his body. Find it.”

  Mr. Lansing’s face tightened as he picked up the phone. Carefully reading the phone number of the coroner’s office at the top of the invoice, he dialed. “Hello? This is Curtis Lansing of Willow Island Funeral Home. We have papers here concerning a Boone Bennett, but the man in the coffin is not…” His chin dropped and his eyes rolled as he listened, making tsking sounds.

  Wynn tuned out, as Jackie fluttered, seeming on the verge of hysteria. She rubbed the woman’s shoulder, trying to soothe.

  “What’s he saying?” Jackie asked.