“My name is Joe. Welcome to the Fish and Cut Bait Store. How can I help you?”
“There’s been a landslide about five miles from here on the way over the pass.”
“Yes, I know,” he said nodding nonchalantly. “Happened about two hours ago. It happens a lot this time of year. It won’t be cleared tonight. Your best bet is to make your way back to Medford till the morning.”
“That’s just the problem. I’m going to need gas to get back there. Do you know if there’s a gas station nearby?”
Joe rocked back on his heels and let out a low, long whistle and shook his head slowly, as if he were thinking.
Just then, a younger version of the man in front of me came through the same office door. In his hand, he had a blackened pan that contained what looked as if in a former life used to be baked beans.
“This is my son, Tom,” said Joe. Then with a hint of impishness, he added, “As you can see, he’s our cook around here.” He turned to Tom. “They’re looking for a gas station.”
Tom also let out a low whistle. “Did you tell them we’re all diesel up here?”
“No, I was just about to. Nearest gas station is on the other side of that rockslide.”
They both stared at the floor and started shaking their heads in unison. I would have laughed if I hadn’t felt so desperate.
Doris arrived by my side, shaking her head and whispering, “I’ve called both numbers. No reply.”
“Let’s hope for the best, Doris.”
She sighed deeply, nodding, and then knitted her brow as she caught a glimpse of the pan in Tom’s hand. “Is that what you gentlemen call dinner?” she asked, eyeing the pan with disgust.
“Yes, ma’am,” responded Joe. “We’re just two old bachelors living up here. Nothing to work with except a microwave and one gas ring.”
“That’s no way to eat!” she sniffed. “You’re doing a manly job; you should be eating a decent meal.”
They both smirked, appearing to appreciate her forthrightness, but neither of them commented. They were men of few words. It must be quiet living in the back of beyond with no one to talk to but trees and fish, I thought.
I tried again. “Is there anywhere nearby that we could stay for the night?”
“Not up here,” said Joe, shaking his head again, “unless you’ve brought your tent. There’s an old lodge close by for skiing in the season, but that place isn’t open till after Thanksgiving. It doesn’t make sense to open it till we have some snow.”
“Do you think the owners would be willing to let us stay so we could get a decent night’s sleep?” I asked desperately. “We could be on our way early in the morning as soon as the pass clears.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Joe. “It hasn’t actually been aired out or anything yet. The last party was up there last April.”
“And there will be nothing to eat there except a bunch of canned vegetables,” added Tom.
“Is there a reasonable kitchen?” inquired Doris.
“Oh, yes, ma’am, it’s very equipped. It even has two sinks,” added Tom in a tone that hinted that he thought even one sink was an indulgence.
“Perfect,” said Doris. “I have all my own food supplies with me.”
I noticed she’d started to cheer up. Cooking always seemed to do that for her.
“How do we get a hold of the owner?” I was starting to see a glimmer of hope.
“It’s just owned by a father and son,” Joe said with a hint of a grin. “I think we could get a hold of them this evening.”
“We’re very clean and willing to pay for the accommodation. And I’ll cook a meal they won’t forget in a hurry,” added Doris.
“You’ve got yourselves a deal. I’ll go and fetch the keys. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a meal we’ll never forget.”
As I followed Joe and Tom, my headlights illuminated a pile of tools under a scruffy brown tarp in the back of their immense white pickup truck.
After about half a mile, they turned off the highway, and we started to climb. My engine labored again as we headed up a goat trail of a road. It was now pitch-dark, and we inched along the steep path that had thick brush on one side and a sheer drop on the other. I tried to concentrate on the taillights in front of me. The road suddenly flattened out, and an old log cabin came into view. Joe and Tom stopped, and we pulled up and parked beside them. I exhaled and released the steering wheel I’d been gripping for dear life.
Tom got out of his truck and walked over to us. “Why don’t you all stay in there awhile so we can get a fire started and the lights on?”
Thanking him, we watched the building gradually fill with the flicker of candlelight. Eventually a slow circle of gray smoke curled out of the chimney silhouetted against the dark sky.
All at once, there was a rustle in the bushes to the right of us, just a few feet from the car, as if something large were scrambling to hide. We all looked in the direction of the disturbance, but it was too dark to make anything out. The bushes rustled again, and it sounded as if whatever it was had lunged away to hide in thicker brush.
“What was that?” asked Flora in a whisper.
“Oh, probably just a possum or a raccoon,” I answered, not even convinced of that myself but not wanting to take my imaginings any further.
“Too big for a possum,” said Doris as we heard small branches snapping underfoot.
“Sasquatch!” growled Ethel with a conviction that implied she’d met him personally.
Tom came trundling out. He explained there was still a bit of work to do before the season began, but it would keep us warm and dry for the night.
“A bit of work” was an understatement. As we entered, I felt a strong camaraderie with Snow White when she’d first entered the dwarves’ cottage. Though from what I could see, that chick had it easy. This place was a cauldron of gloomy walls, hanging cobwebs, sticks of ugly furniture, and threadbare carpets. As we stepped inside the front door, Flora froze and anchored herself to the spot ahead of me as if she planned to put down roots right there. I nudged her gently in the back to keep her moving. We shuffled in together in a huddle, none of us wanting to leave the safety of the pack or, in fact, touch anything.
The men were working on the fire in the main room. Dominating the one main wall was a monstrous, heavily carved fireplace that was just missing a country squire and a couple of dogs flanking it. Above the mantle, a somber picture of a hunting scene was complete with mutilated animals, and on top of the ramshackle mantel sat an old brass candelabrum with nubs of gnarly candles they’d lit.
We shuffled our way in as if we were joined at the hip and gravitated toward the fire, the only warmth in the room. In front of it sagged a humungous sofa that sported ugly, wood-carved gargoyle armrests and a dirty brown ticking. It was the least inviting thing I’d ever seen. Speechless, we sat down on it all together, like five nuts in a sack. The sofa screamed out, and we jumped back to our feet.
Tom turned around, saying matter-of-factly, “Oh, that old sofa’s springs are on the way out. Don’t worry about it. It only bites people on Sundays.”
Doris opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. I think we were all thinking the same thing. We’d traded a beautiful lakeside home for the Hammer House of Horror.
Tom put wood onto the fire, and Joe offered to show us around the “old place.”
“It belonged to my grandfather,” he explained with pride. Raising the candelabrum above his head, he led us toward a long, dingy passageway.
“Is there no electricity?” I asked, hoping for the best.
“Oh, yes, we have electricity up here now,” he said with assurance. “But a fuse must have blown. We’ll take a look at it.”
We followed him down the gloomy hallway, where every few feet of wall space was punctuated with the head of some poor animal. We couldn’t help being wide-eyed and terrified. I noted that Ethel had disappeared somewhere beneath Doris’s coat, and Flora seemed to be wrapped around
me like a scarf. For five women, we were so interlaced that we took up the space of just one.
“My grandfather really used it for hunting. In fact, he shot most of what you see on these walls.”
Joe opened up one of the corridor’s paneled doors, and it creaked desperately.
We all peered inside as if we were expecting a ghost to jump out. But actually the room looked quite comfortable and clean. Joe walked in and drew the dark, heavy curtains.
“I have a woman come out and clean up before the season starts. She was here yesterday and has already made headway on the bedrooms. But she won’t be back till next week to finish off the rest of the house.”
The woman needed a medal as far as I was concerned. It was still gaudy and dark, but it had a breath of spring life about it. A large four-poster oak bed dominated the room, with crisp white sheets. A cozy handmade patchwork quilt was folded at the foot.
“Ethel and I can take this room,” said Doris, marking her territory by throwing her huge flowery purse onto the bed. “We don’t mind sleeping together.”
Ethel scuffled in and perched on the edge of the bed like a little bird.
“Okay,” said Joe. “Let me show the rest of you the other rooms.”
Our optimism was short-lived as Joe opened the next bedroom door. The room was freshly cleaned and possessed a simple charm, but it lost all of its appeal once we looked up at the wall over the bed. Hanging from it, bearing down on us, was an enormous moose head. It fixed us with its glassy stare, as if it were telling us that it had no intention of letting anyone sleep. I heard Flora catch her breath beside me as Annie tightened her grip on my arm. Why was I suddenly the strong one?
Joe walked into the room and adjusted a mat, oblivious to our discomfort.
“This was my grandmother’s room,” he mused, fondly. “She loved it in here. I remember as a small child hearing her sing as she sat sewing or reading in that chair over there.”
He pointed to a heavy, dark, carved chair with a tapestry seat that looked more like a throne.
“Yes, she loved it in here,” he repeated, reminiscently. “In fact,” he said with a sigh, “she died right here in the bed in the middle of the night. God bless her soul.”
I heard Flora gasp. No doubt Grandma probably died of shock as she’d turned over in the night and saw that moose head staring down at her.
Joe looked over at us expectantly. I looked at Annie and Flora. They both had their mouths wide open and were glued to either side of me, their eyes locked on the moose. Neither of them seemed to be breathing as far as I could tell.
“I’ll take this one,” I said in a tight voice.
I knew that Flora would have probably succumbed to Grandma’s fate if we left her in here.
“Great,” Joe said. Then he added, “That means you two other ladies will have to take the nursery.”
Just the word “nursery” made them both visibly relax. It was hard to imagine children had actually been in this space, but the mention of it seemed to enable them to breathe again. I put down my overnight things on Grandma’s bed and was eager to get out of the room to see the nursery.
Joe opened up the next paneled door, and it was utterly enchanting, totally out of place from the other rooms, created for children from an era gone by. Two charming little beds stood side by side. Surrounding the room on painted shelves were china dolls, wooden soldiers, and overstuffed teddy bears. In the corner of the room was an enormous white-and-pink dollhouse. In the center, a group of china dolls in Victorian whites was seated around a pretty miniature wicker table that was set for a tea party.
“I’m sorry there are only two single beds, and you two girls will have to share,” added Joe. “I hope that’s okay with you.”
“It’s perfect,” squealed Flora.
All at once, the room burst into glorious electric light, and we heard Tom’s voice shout from a distant room, “Got it!”
“Lovely,” said Annie, picking up one of the dolls.
“Oh, yes,” said Joe nostalgically. “My grandmother brought a lot of the toys from England when she came here as a little girl. Mrs. Jameson, the lady that cleans, loves this room. She takes all the doll clothes home, washes, and presses them before the beginning of the season. I think she looks after these toys better than she does herself.”
As we made our way back out into the corridor, Doris was waiting there.
“I would like to see the kitchen.”
“Of course,” said Joe, blowing out the candles. “This way.”
“Do you have any meat in this place at all?” asked Doris.
“There’s some venison in the back freezer that’s on a different circuit so it should still be okay. I’ll go and check for you.”
“Good,” said Doris as she breezed past him toward the kitchen.
We all walked to the kitchen but stopped in our tracks. It had obviously been designed with a fifties theme in mind, with a stunning monochrome floor and red-and-black wall tiles.
“Oh, good. It looks like Mrs. Jameson made it in here too!” said Joe as he dropped a lump of frozen meat on the counter.
As we all stood in awe of the room, Doris was practically salivating at my side.
“This is very different from the rest of the house,” I finally said, trying to be tactful.
“Yes,” sniffed Joe as Tom joined us in the kitchen. “My son, Tom, got himself married for a while back there. And this is the result.”
Joe didn’t seem too impressed.
Tom picked up the story. “My ex-bride decided this place needed some updating and started with the kitchen. She had planned to modernize the whole lodge.”
“Turn it into some yuppie chateau,” added Joe with obvious disdain. “It would have taken away all its character.”
“Fortunately, the remodel was as short-lived as the marriage.”
And then, as if on cue, they both looked at their feet.
Joe broke the silence. “It takes a certain kind of female to live up in these parts.”
He said the word “female” as if he was sexing goats. I wanted to laugh, but instead I said, “I’m sorry to hear that, Tom.”
“Oh no, I dodged a bullet, alright. Otherwise who knows what else she would have changed.”
Looking around the gleaming kitchen, I tried to imagine how “terrible” that would have been. It wasn’t my favorite style, but it was stunning, like something out of Good Housekeeping magazine. A shiny, state-of-the-art cast-iron range with double burners and two ovens stood against one wall. To its side, multiple slick, open stainless steel shelves housed every conceivable piece of kitchen equipment. A large square island topped with a thick slab of smooth black granite dominated the center of the room.
Under the window, which was cheerfully decorated with black-and-white polka-dot curtains, sat a shiny black-buttoned booth. Above it, an oversized neon-pink backlit wall clock. It depicted a cute, smiling fifties-era waitress wearing a short pink uniform and a pretty white apron. Skating on roller skates, she carried a tray of Coca-Cola as her long, pinlike legs hung low below the clock and swung back and forward as a pendulum.
“This will do nicely,” said Doris with an approving sniff.
She washed her hands and started barking orders to us to retrieve certain boxes out of the car. Ethel got to work peeling potatoes.
It wasn’t long before we were all gathered in the kitchen, ready to eat. We polished off the venison stew that Doris had created for us in record time. Then she produced a huge pan of moist, hot brownies.
“I just had to try out that fancy kitchen mixer,” she drawled as she handed out plates of the warm, chewy dessert. “It had one of those baker hook attachments and everything.” Only Doris seemed impressed.
Between them, Tom and Joe managed to polish off four bowls of stew and six brownies. But as soon as they were done, they stood up to go.
“Unfortunately, you don’t have a phone up here, but we’re only twenty minutes down the mountain
if you need us,” said Tom.
“There’s only one road,” joked Joe. “You can’t miss it.”
“We’ll be gone in the morning,” I assured them, confidently. “We’ll stop in to say good-bye and pay you for the night.”
“Oh no,” said Tom, “the house isn’t really set up yet. We wouldn’t dream of taking a penny off you, especially after a dinner like that. However, we would be happy to take some of your leftovers, if you have some to spare.”
“Of course,” said Doris, a twinkle in her eye.
She had dishes wrapped for them in aluminum foil before they’d finished putting on their coats and boots. Eagerly they took their packages and made their way to the door. As we followed them outside, I noted there was a severe nip in the air.
Joe got in his truck, wound down the window, and shouted out to us, “It’s supposed to rain hard tonight, so take your time getting back down the mountain tomorrow. Oh, and the back door doesn’t close properly, so make sure to set something heavy against it to stop any critters from wandering in during the night. You’re in bear country now!”
That was all we needed to hear. Before their taillights had even disappeared, we were back inside with the front door firmly bolted behind us. We wandered into the peculiar living room, and Doris made us all hot cocoa. Sitting down on the lumpy furniture, we peered into the fire in silence.
Doris stood up slowly, her large stature illuminated by the glow from the fireplace.
“I guess I owe you all an explanation.”
No one dared speak for a minute, though I think we all knew what she was referring to.
“You don’t owe us anything,” I eventually answered.
“Yes, I do. I need to talk to somebody, and where else would I be safer than here with . . . my friends?” She cleared her throat. “I did a very foolish thing, and Momma may end up paying for it.”
Sighing heavily, she turned her back to us and stared absently at the hunting scene above the mantel as she began. “A couple of months ago, my mother’s only living relative, her sister, Regina, died. They had a very tumultuous relationship. Regina never married or had children and always appeared to be just a little jealous of her sister.”
The Rejected Writers' Book Club (Southlea Bay) Page 14
