Indian Foot Lake Love Story

by Johns, Samantha

  Greg tried the light switch on the wall, and surprisingly, it worked. Only one overhead light appeared to have a working bulb in the socket, but it was enough to see. So, Greg turned off the camp light, put it by the door, and turned on the flashlight as he ventured into the one tiny bedroom.

  “My dolls!” Sylvia cried out. “Look at them. What on earth happened here? It looked like the biblical massacre of the innocents.”

  Greg came back quickly to see why she was making distress sounds, and he saw the weird and gruesome display of dolls on the sofa. They had been gutted—utterly destroyed, with stuffing billowing from their little cloth guts.

  “This is too strange, Sylvie,” Greg said strangely. “I think we need to tell the police about this.”

  “You think the place was robbed?” she asked.

  “That's what it looks like, don't you think?” he asked.

  “I can't imagine what could be of value here. There are no fancy electronics. We came here to get away from all that. Some of the neighbors had installed tall antennas so they could get television reception, but my dad would not succumb to the temptation, even when baseball games were on. Although he often went next door to watch on Mr. Maixner's set. Maybe someone thought my dad kept money or valuables here. He was known as a successful businessman.”

  “That's a possibility,” said Greg. “But we don't really know when this happened. It could have been when the new people were here, someone trying to rob them. Or, it could have been the guy I saw in the van.”

  “It definitely happened a long time ago,” Sylvia surmised. “Everything is covered with dust.”

  “Look around, Sylvie,” Greg suggested. “See if there is anything you can remember as missing. The police would want to know about that. Did your mother have any jewelry here?”

  “She never wore jewelry here, not even to church on Sundays,” Sylvia said thoughtfully. “My dad had a gun, a pistol he kept in the bedroom closet and used to target shoot with in the woods. But, he always brought it back to the city on our last weekend here before school started. I can't imagine it was anything that anyone would want.”

  There was nothing left for them to see, so the two headed back to the truck. Once Sylvia was tucked safely inside the truck, Greg told her he wanted to sprint the one hundred feet or so to the next cabin, the one that had been Mr. Maixner's, and just peek inside to see if it had been invaded.

  She sat quietly, frightened as an owl hooted in the distance. She thought she saw movement in the bushes, but it could have been her imagination, or more likely, a small animal—not an intruder coming back to take revenge on their snooping. When Greg jerked the driver's side door open suddenly, Sylvia screamed with alarm. Then they both laughed at her reaction.

  “Everything over there is neat and untouched from what I could see through the windows. I'm betting that this is the one and only cabin hit. I don't know why I think that except for the strangeness of it all. We will find out tomorrow because I will talk to the police, and I'm sure that's one thing they'll want to establish.”

  So, when they arrived back at the Devine home, Greg brought blankets and a pillow to the couch for Sylvia.

  “I feel terrible about making you sleep on this lumpy bed,” he said apologetically, “and, I thought about sleeping here myself and letting you have my bed, but if Debbie wakes up, that would be disturbing, too.”

  “I wouldn't mind getting up for her,” she said. “But, I don't mind the couch, either. Don't worry about me. I have a toothbrush in my purse, and my clothes are comfortable enough to sleep in. I never wear anything but comfortable clothing. That's who I am. I will look a little out of place at Mass amid all those country ladies dressed up and with their fancy hairstyles they got at the salon just the day before. God, how I avoid those places. But, I don't care. You could always tell the locals from the tourists at Mass, even when I was a kid. I'm used to being an outsider here.”

  “Well, that's that,” said Greg standing awkwardly as if there was something else he should do for a guest, as he'd never had a one before. His inexperience made him feel unsure of himself. “Just use the bathroom, for whatever you want,” he added realizing there weren't many things to do in there. She nodded with a silly smile, letting him know she knew she could use the bathroom as needed.

  “Yep,” said Sylvia, play mocking his country ways, and not knowing why he stood there silently staring at her. “That's that, as my dad always said.” And a moment later she added, “Good night, Greg.”

  She waved a childish bye-bye to him, and he finally broke away, feeling stupid, and he did manage to return her good night gesture. Greg heard her snickering as he padded in bare feet to his room. And, that was comforting to him. He didn't mind doing stupid things if it amused her.

  In the morning, they did not eat breakfast, as was their habit on Sundays, so they could observe the fast before receiving communion. It was only for an hour prior to actually taking the Body of Christ, so many people rose early enough to eat a meal before leaving for the church. Both the Devines and the Marshalls had preferred an extra bit of sleep to having food in their stomachs.

  When Sylvia arose that morning from an uncomfortable sleep, she immediately remembered that horses liked to be let out into the field early to graze on grass fresh with morning dew. Without asking, she went down to the stable and let Nippy out as if it were something she did every day. She again noticed that there were no other ponies. What had happened to the ponies she wondered? She had forgotten to ask with all the conversations they had had, but that question was on her agenda. She now remembered Goldie, Snickers, Hugo, and Ginger. They were sweet ponies, too, just not as special to her as Nippy. It was curious to her that they were gone, although it would have been understandable that with no lake business, there were no little customers begging their parents for pony rides.

  Considering her grooming that morning was minimal, having showered the night before, Sylvia was ready in time to help with the baby while the men fought over space in the tiny bathroom. Just a little make-up, teeth brushed, hair in a pony tail, and she was set for anything. She had removed her jeans and sweatshirt then wrapped an extra sheet around her toga fashion so that she didn't actually sleep in her clothes. Her hair was washed, she was clean, and her apparel, though acceptable for public scrutiny, probably smelled like horse. That should not bother the people around here, she thought. If it did, she couldn't care less.

  Sylvia dressed Debbie and put on her tiny socks and shoes, enjoying the chance to be with her. It seemed as though Greg and his dad were doing a great job raising her, but they didn't seem to think she was capable of taking care of a baby, or maybe that she would want to. She finally convinced them that she had done considerable babysitting in her teenage years, and that she wanted to help with Debbie.

  “We are going to stop after church at the Crystal Cafe for a huge breakfast,” said Greg as they gathered baby gear to head out the door. “We want to celebrate your coming home.”

  “It's still there?” Sylvia asked. “I'm so glad. Her coffee was always so great. I don't know why, but I think it might have been the thick sturdy mugs. That's what my dad always said.”

  “It'll be fun to see if she recognizes you,” Mr. Devine said.

  “Maybe I should put my hair in pig tails,” she teased.

  Greg said, “Braids” as the three of them left to get into her car. They quickly realized that they could not all fit into a pick-up truck with a car seat. It wasn't exactly comfortable in a VW bug, especially in the back seat with two men with very long legs. But, that was the only option since both Greg and his dad owned only one vehicle, both of them pick-up trucks. Out in this part of the world, it was an essential.

  Everyone at church greeted them with warm smiles and hugs. She did not know if it was just a very friendly congregation, if they remembered her and were happy to see her back, or if they were happy that Greg appeared to have a woman in his life again. It may have been a combination of all
three, but it wasn't something she could ask about, so she just accepted the outpouring of affection simply and happily.

  When they arrived at Crystal's Cafe, the attention was different. People unabashedly stared. She didn't recognize anyone there except the owner, although it was possible that they knew her even though she could not remember them. These were not church people, she thought to herself. Heathens are not nearly as nice, I've come to realize. I'll be nice to them anyway, she decided, and smiled at everyone her biggest, friendliest smile. The edges of her mouth actually hurt by the time the left.

  “Long time, no see,” Crystal said, greeting them personally before taking their orders herself. She had one very efficient waitress who had been with her for years, but she always gave her special attention to certain favorite customers, especially if she hadn't seen them in a while.

  “I mean all of you,” Crystal reiterated, “because it's been ages since any of you have been here. One of you for a lot longer than the others.”

  “You remember me?” Sylvia asked, amazed.

  “You haven't changed a bit since you used to come in on Sundays with your mom and dad. I remember they let you drink coffee, which I secretly thought was terrible.”

  “I can't wait to have it again,” Sylvia stated with excitement. “And, I'll have those buttermilk pancakes, too.”

  Greg and Mr. Devine began to stare at the menu when Sylvia announced her choice.

  “You take your time deciding,” Crystal told them. “I want to get a good look at the baby. This is the first I've seen of her. She's a gorgeous child, Greg. You must be so proud.”

  They all smiled happily, even Sylvia who was especially glad to be a part of this group again. She wanted to pay for the meal, knowing their financial difficulties, but when she whispered this to Greg, he refused, saying that this was a special celebration and they could afford it. In her mind, she was celebrating, too, and saw no problem in paying for the meal, but she didn't want to hurt his pride, especially in front of townspeople, so she let it go.

  “So what brings you to this neck of the woods?” Crystal addressed Sylvia, finally managing to ask her as they were all finishing their final cups of coffee.

  If there was one thing Sylvia had learned about small town gossipers was that you might as well tell them the whole truth right from the start because they'll either find out anyway or they'll make up something to fill the void. So she told Crystal she was considering buying Indian Foot Lake, as she prepared herself for another myriad of questions, and she hoped Crystal might have some information or advice that would be of assistance.

  Just about the time Crystal sat down to get all of the details, Greg noticed that Sheriff Caywood had strolled into the cafe with his side-kick, Detective Steve Harrison. He motioned to Sylvia with a quick finger point that he was going over to speak with them. She nodded an acknowledgment. While she caught up with Crystal, Sylvia kept peeking in their direction to see how the officers were reacting to the news of the break-in. She saw them nodding, and she saw the sheriff take out a notebook and write in it. Steve Harrison squeezed his ample body behind the counter and got coffee for the two of them. They were obviously regulars.

  Greg came back to their table and snatched the ticket from under the napkin. He took it over to the register, and then came back with a five dollar bill which he placed half-way under a plate.

  “Well, we need to get back to the house,” he stated. “The sheriff will be coming out later after he checks out a few things.”

  “Is there a problem?” Crystal asked, zooming in on the sense of mystery in the air. Greg explained the conditions found in Sylvia's old clubhouse.

  “It was that creep with the van,” Crystal declared. “I knew he was no good.”

  “You knew him?” Greg asked. All three of them now hung on her every word, as they had only been half listening to her chatter before.

  “He was a city fellow,” she began, “not that I mean you or your family were like him, Sylvia. Don't take offense, now, but he was everything bad about the city rolled into one ugly weirdo. He was always in a hurry. He bossed me around like I was his servant, and he even snapped his fingers at me. That's when I noticed his big gold ring. I mentioned that it was nice, and he jumped down my throat like I had stabbed him or something. Oh, and he wanted to pay with a credit card. Like I could accept credit cards back then. Most of us business people hadn't invested in that kind of equipment yet. It was too expensive. Now we mostly do, but the card readers are simpler and cheaper than back then. He had the money to pay his bill anyway. Pulled out a big was of cash, so I don't know why he was so upset that I couldn't take his stupid credit card.”

  “Do you remember his name?” Greg asked. “Do you remember when he took the cabin at the lake?”

  “He wouldn't tell me his name. Sorry. If he'd used a credit card, I'd know his name, wouldn't I? But, when I tried to ask about who he was, just being friendly, you know, he got mad as hell. Excuse my language, people. It was no more than a week after your father's death that he arrived on the scene,” she concluded. “But, I don't know why he rented a cabin when he disappeared again shortly after. He was only here about a week or two.

  “And, Mr. Kraft was confused about him, too, since he showed no interest in the lake. Why would anyone rent a cabin on the lake and not even come near the water? He signed a lease and paid for an entire year. That's why Mr. Kraft never went out there to check on things. He kept assuming the guy was coming back, and he had already given orders about his privacy. Then Mr. Kraft died before the year was up. His kids didn't know anything about the weirdo and just wanted a quick sale. That's when you came along and bought the place, Greg. You didn't check the cabins?”

  “No, not that one anyway. It seemed like sacred ground to me. I went to the two that had renters scheduled for the following season, to make sure things were in decent shape. Just anything you can remember about him might be a help, Crystal. We don't really know what we're dealing with.”

  “I'd recognize him if I saw him again, that's for sure. He had a face so ugly it would scare whiskers off a toad.”

  “I didn't think toads have whiskers,” said Sylvia laughing.

  “I know,” Crystal answered. “I don't get it either. It was something my dad used to say.”

  It's funny how we tend to say things our fathers used to say, Sylvia thought.

  On the ride back to the house, Sylvia mentioned that she had to drive back to St, Louis for her job in the morning. They understood, but were both unhappy to let go of her.

  “I'll come back for the weekends,” she promised. And if the sheriff thinks it necessary, I can take some vacation time. But, I cannot impose on you guys, much as I enjoy your company. Do you think one of the cabins might be livable enough for me to stay there? If it just needs a good cleaning, I can take care of that myself. If not, I will stay at a motel in town.”

  “No way are you going to do that. I can get something ready for you by Friday night, I'm sure,” promised Greg. “I wish it could be your old place, but that is going to be a slightly bigger job than I can handle that quickly. But, rest assured, I will eventually fix that place back to the way it was, whether or not you would ever feel comfortable staying there again after what happened.”

  Little Debbie was sleeping by the time they arrived at the house. Greg put her in her crib, and he noticed the tender and loving way Sylvia looked at the infant. He still couldn't believe she had not married yet. Perhaps there were times she had come close. There was so much more he wanted to know about her. They hadn't begun to catch up on all those missing years.

  Gathered in the living room, Sylvia wanted to pay for the expense of fixing a cabin for her. But Greg was determined not to take her money. He absolutely refused, saying that he had materials on hand and that it would mostly be a question of working out some time to go over there.

  “You're just being stubborn,” she said with a raised voice her remembered so well.

 
“I'm not stubborn, you are,” he tossed back at her.

  “Okay, kiddos,” Mr. Devine said, intervening. “Greg, stop being so danged proud. You are working two jobs. Everybody knows you're having a tough time. I've got a proposal. Since you don't have time or money right now, I'll go spruce up one of the cabins while he's at work, and you can pay me back for the materials. I can take Debbie with me and put her in her swing while I'm working. It shouldn't take that long. How would that work for you, Miss Marshall?”

  “It's a deal, Mr. Devine,” she beamed. “And if I buy this place, what will you do, Greg? Will you refuse to take my money then?”

  “I haven't been able to get my mind around that happening, but like I said, I would prefer you to have it rather than a stranger. Right now, nothing's been decided, right?”

  “We haven't had near enough time to talk, Greg. So much has happened this weekend. I need to do a lot of research, and I need my laptop, which I forgot to bring with me. But, my favorite idea is some kind of partnership where you could keep the lake property. I'd like to come up with a plan and agree on something soon before someone else comes and snatches it away from both of us. Can you get out of your contract with that horrible real estate woman?”