“No, he wasn’t.”
“You are. That’s where all your money has been coming from.”
“That’s me. When I first came up with the idea for the videos, I thought Frank would be the star of the show. It turned out he got completely tongue-tied. We even tried disguising his appearance and using a voice changer. I thought anonymity might put him at ease. Eventually, we decided since Frank had already taught me everything he knew about the woods and survival skills, maybe I could host it instead. We didn’t think most of the viewers would be as willing to listen to advice from a young person, and a young woman at that.”
“And you already had been trying to disguise Frank so why not try it on yourself.”
“That’s right. I realized I loved being in front of the camera and the videos went viral. Before long, Backwoods Bruce was a huge hit and we had sponsors and advertisers streaming in.”
“Is that what you and Frank were arguing about Friday when I drove up to accuse him of vandalizing the Midget?”
“It was. He wanted me to stop disguising myself and to let everyone know who Backwoods Bruce really was. I told him we couldn’t risk it. I loved my job and didn’t want to lose it because viewers wouldn’t take me seriously. Besides, I didn’t want Mitch to know.”
“But I bet Mitch would think it was a turn-on to find out he was dating a celebrity.”
“I don’t think he’d understand me pretending to be a man.”
“I think you might be underestimating him.”
“He’s always going on about how pretty he thinks I am and how much I make him feel like a gentleman,” Phoebe said.
“You know things didn’t work out between Mitch and me.”
“Everyone in town knows about that.” Phoebe was right. Everyone in several surrounding towns probably knew about it, too.
“So you know I don’t always have a lot of good things to say about him.”
“I’ve never heard you say anything good about him. Even when you were dating him.”
“I guess you’re right. But one thing I can say is that he isn’t a sexist. If he respects something, he respects it and it wouldn’t matter to him whether an expert at something he was interested in was a man or a woman. Knowing Mitch, I think he’d find the whole thing pretty hot.”
“I don’t know. He likes my long hair and my lip gloss. He loves it when I wear heels.”
“And he loves hunting, fishing, and running all over God’s creation on a snowmobile. If he thought you were not only someone who would share his love of those pastimes but could teach him a thing or two, I think he’d be overjoyed.”
“Really?”
“I wouldn’t steer you wrong. And I think it would be a lot better to risk it than to leave him wondering if you killed Frank. As much as he likes you and wants to invest in your relationship that is going to be a hard thing to get past.”
“I’m afraid my sponsors and advertisers will stop ordering ads on the program and the blog if they know I’m a woman.”
“Think about it. Your viewership is bound to increase if you go on camera and let everyone know who you are. Everyone loves a big reveal. The guys who watched for the tips will keep coming. Guys who like to watch pretty women will start coming. Women who are proud of you for making it in a man’s world will start watching. You’ll attract an even larger viewership once word gets out Bruce is really a woman and advertisers love that. It’ll be the best thing that could happen.”
“It doesn’t matter though, does it? We aren’t going to get out of here.” Phoebe pulled up in her arms and kicked with her legs. I tried the same. Over the course of the next couple of hours I managed to shout myself hoarse and Phoebe just got really quiet and withdrawn. I had a lot of time to think about roads not taken and words unspoken. I wished I had been nicer to Knowlton. I wished I had time to be closer to my sister. I wanted to get married and maybe have a cute baby of my own like Cyan. I wished I could tell my mother I believed her psychic shenanigans.
Which got me to thinking about how my mother’s shenanigans were not always as silly as they seemed. I tried to remember our phone conversation. Something about the dark and never giving up as long as there was light. That even a flicker of light was like a knife through the darkness and would lead back to love. So what did it mean? Just thinking about it made me angry. If things beyond our regular senses wish to be taken seriously, they ought to actually make sense instead of mucking around with all the flowery language and fluffy imagery.
“This is ridiculous. Phoebe, you’re an experienced survivalist. What should we do?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t.” I thought she was going to start to cry again. With the way she was making a habit of weeping she was going to die of dehydration before the night was out.
“What would Backwoods Bruce do? Come on, think.”
“Bruce is imaginary. This situation is real.”
“But the principle is the same, right? I mean, Frank would have taught you some strategies for Bruce to share.” Phoebe stopped crying and sniffed.
“Evaluate all the things in your environment. Take an inventory of anything and everything available. The odds of survival in any situation increase with your ability to adapt and think creatively.”
“So what have we got?” I looked around.
“We’ve got chairs and sheets and we’re both wearing clothes,” Phoebe said. “There’s the flashlight and a bunch of supplies we can’t get to while we’re tied up.”
“The flashlight. It looks old.”
“Everything in here except the food and water is old. Frank didn’t believe in buying new if you could reuse something you already had or someone else was getting rid of. Why do you think we have so much junk lying around the place?”
“Could it be old enough that the lens is made of glass?”
“Absolutely.”
“Can you use your feet to drag yourself over to the table and grab it? If you can, I think I have an idea.” I explained the plan and Phoebe nodded and began the slow process of hauling her chair, inch by inch, to the table. The sound of the chair legs scrapping the concrete floor was as least as unpleasant as my singing but within a few minutes she had gotten there.
“Now what?”
“Can you reach it?” I kept hoping I had figured out what my mother had been talking about. Broken lights and knives in the dark. I still wasn’t sure about the heart-shaped card. I held my breath while Phoebe stretched her slim fingers out. I heard a little grunt that probably got squeezed out of her by some of the skin on her arms rubbing off on the sheet ties.
“Ten years of piano lessons,” Phoebe said managing the impossible. “I never thought I’d be glad I took them. Now what?”
“Can you keep ahold of the flashlight and drag yourself next to me? I’d take a turn with the moving but my feet don’t reach the floor.” Phoebe nodded and started back toward me. Within just a few minutes, by working together, we had managed to unscrew the top and to get the glass lens out of the flashlight. Phoebe rapped the lens against the arm of her chair and broke off a jagged bit, exposing a sharp edge.
“I’ll saw you out first,” I said holding the bit of glass gingerly between my thumb and index finger. “Tell me once I’ve broken through to the fleshy bits. I can’t see very well.”
It took some doing but before what seemed like too long I had freed her nearest arm. She took over with the untying and sooner than I thought possible Phoebe and I were both on our feet and stumbling. I’d like to say we ran triumphantly for the stairs but the truth is our legs were stiff from all the sitting. We tripped and limped to the stairwell and staggered up, hesitating near the double doors at the top.
I couldn’t speak for Phoebe but I was scared. Scared Kenneth was still up there waiting for some reason. Scared Beau had gotten loose once more. Scared the ghost of Frank would saunter u
p and clap us both on the back for a situation well survived. But a desire for freedom and, even more important, a bathroom won out and we shoved the doors open together.
Dusk was gathering, the temperature was falling, and I heard a throat being cleared. Knowlton stepped out from around the corner of the bunker like he had been waiting around for paint to dry.
“See, there you go again, spoiling everything,” Knowlton said, crossing his arms across his puffy down-filled jacket.
“Knowlton, what are you doing here?” I asked.
“I followed you here from Jill’s place.” That didn’t explain why he had left us in the bunker.
“Why didn’t you come see what was keeping us?”
“Well, I stood outside listening and watching after you went in. Then Mr. Shaw went in and I listened even more carefully. Mother always says I should mind my manners around Mr. Shaw and his wife.” Knowlton paused for dramatic effect before continuing. “I heard him threatening you and arguing. I hightailed it and dove for cover before he got back to the top of the stairs.”
“Why didn’t you come down and rescue us? We thought we were going to die down there.” Phoebe was yelling now. Mild-mannered Phoebe had completely lost it. She thought she had the strength and she tried to haul off and deck him. Fortunately for Knowlton, the adrenaline had robbed her of normal muscular capacity and instead of connecting with his jawline she knocked herself off balance and sagged to the ground.
“I thought if I waited long enough, you would get really worried and think of me as even more of a hero.” Knowlton shook his head at her then turned toward me. “I thought you’d be grateful.”
“You thought wrong. A gentleman would never have left us in such a predicament in order to inflate his importance.” I was working myself up, too. Usually, I made a point not to give etiquette lessons. I left that sort of thing to Celadon and occasionally Grandma. But I found myself beginning to need a lesson of my own as the pitch of my voice started raising up into the echolocation territory and my fists were aimed toward Knowlton’s face.
“Would a gentleman have captured the guy who trapped you down there?” Knowlton asked. My fists dropped and a shriek died off in my throat.
“You caught Kenneth?”
“I’ve got him tied up to a tree in front of Jill’s sugarhouse.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I followed him back to Jill’s. You know how quiet I can be walking through the woods when I set my mind to it.” Which was true. Knowlton had a terrifying ability to appear out of nowhere when I was enjoying a walk through the sugar bush. “When Kenneth stopped in Jill’s driveway I hit him over the head with my walking stick. He crumpled like a piñata in the rain.”
“You hit the chairman of the select board over the head?”
“I did. Then I tore the clothesline down, dragged Kenneth to a tree, and tied him to it. I guess that makes me a hero after all.” Knowlton draped an arm across my shoulders. “You’ll have to be nice to me now.” He pulled me just a little closer. And that’s when I realized Knowlton was the heart-shaped card.
“You were just doing your civic duty. It wasn’t like you did me a personal favor.” He was managing to press himself against the length of my side. I wasn’t sure if it was shock setting in or the idea that Knowlton was trying to get me to be grateful in a highly demonstrative way but I was starting to feel dizzy.
“It was more personal than that. I stopped him just as he was trying to push your car over the edge of that steep drop-off near Jill’s driveway. If I’d been any slower, the Clunker would have been a goner for sure.”
Twenty-three
Two weeks later the opera house was full once more. The crowd was even bigger than it had been for meat bingo. Tonight instead of the bingo ball cage sitting up on the stage, a projector screen stood at the ready. All around the hall people whispered and shuffled their boots against the worn hardwood floor. Jackets rustled and the wintery smell of damp wool scarves and mittens filled the air. Phoebe climbed the short set of stairs to the stage and gently tapped the microphone. The noises in the room died off and all faces turned toward her.
“I wanted to thank you all for coming this evening. I wasn’t sure if anyone was going to make it, what with the snow and all.” Phoebe dipped her head shyly and glanced off to the side, where Mitch stood giving her a thumbs-up. “I hope you enjoy the show and the refreshments that will be available afterward.” Phoebe hurried down from the stage and took a seat close to where Mitch was standing. I couldn’t imagine how awkward it would be to watch all your friends and neighbors watching you. The houselights went down and the screen lit up. And then there was Frank’s survival bunker, mostly like I remembered it, but without anyone tied to a chair.
The camera panned around and then settled on a figure wearing a cap and sitting on a stool, back to the camera. A hand reached up and pulled off the cap and then the head shook and a cascade of blond hair tumbled down. Phoebe spun around on the stool and faced the camera, a great big smile on her face.
“Welcome to today’s episode of Backwoods Bruce. I’d like to dedicate this show to my dad, Frank Lemieux. Frank taught me everything I know about the woods, survival techniques, and being yourself even when you think it might not be a popular choice. Frank thought I should go ahead and trust people to like my program whether I was Backwoods Bruce or Backwoods Brenda. I didn’t decide to trust my viewers until it was too late for Frank to know how it turned out.” Phoebe’s voice broke a little on the screen and I noticed everyone in the hall turning to see if the real-life Phoebe was starting to cry, too. She wasn’t. She was just sitting there peacefully, hanging on to Mitch’s hand. “Frank never got to see me do a show as myself and that is my biggest regret in my life so far. I hope all my viewers decide to risk living their own dreams before they run out of time.”
People all over the opera house leaned toward each other. I saw more than one person elbow another in the ribs. If I were close enough to Loden, I would have been one of the elbowers. He was sitting a regrettable two rows behind Piper. But Dean was sitting three rows back on the other side of the hall with Cyan in his lap. Chelsea sat at his side, watching like she was worried he’d drop the baby and run.
Celadon was discreetly waving a finger in my direction like she wished she could tap me on the forehead with it. I thought back to what Graham had said about the state of Celadon’s marriage and I wondered if Phoebe’s message grieved her at all. I smiled at her before shifting my attention to my mother and Lowell. They were gazing at each other in a way that looked to me like they were congratulating each other for being bold, for pursuing their heart’s desire. With their unseasonably tanned faces they looked like people who had snatched happiness from the jaws of too late and knew it.
You know that soreness that comes from a strenuous workout? That tight feeling in your muscles that twinges but makes you feel alive and virtuous? That’s how I felt looking at my mother and Lowell. It still stung a bit seeing them together but the ache felt good, too. Like I was stretching a muscle that had forgotten how to be used but appreciated being remembered.
Things were different, there was no denying that. Things with my mother, things with my business, things with my impressions of the town around me. It was disillusioning to realize the people who had been in charge as long as I could remember weren’t always what they seemed. Mothers had love lives, classmates had secret identities, and respected townspeople had killer instincts. Things certainly weren’t the same, but then I wasn’t the same either.
Only a few weeks earlier I had stood quaking in front of Kenneth Shaw hoping he wouldn’t send me home with my hat in my hand and my tail between my legs. And I would have thought seriously about calling on Grampa for backup if he did. Now I had a few more survival skills of my own under my belt and the confidence that went with them.
Up on the screen Phoebe was demonstrating
the pros and cons of a quality flashlight. She was just starting to mention how a flashlight could come in handy if you found yourself unexpectedly tied to a chair when the door to the opera house creaked open. In the dimly lit space a figure crept quietly around the back of the hall and then slipped into the empty chair next to me. Graham leaned in close and whispered in my ear.
“I had a call about a some out-of-control snowmobilers. I hope I’m not too late.” I felt someone staring at me and looked over to see my mother winking like she knew just what I was thinking. I reached out for his hand and felt his cool fingers wrap around my warm ones.
“I’d say you’re right on time.”
Recipes
Grandmadama Bread
Makes 2 loaves
This is Grandma Greene’s variation on the New England classic, anadama bread. Subtly sweet with a moist, nubbly crumb, this bread is sure to please your family as much as it does the Greenes. Try to use Grade B maple syrup if possible. The maple flavor will be more pronounced.
½ cup yellow cornmeal
2 cups water
1 package active dry yeast
½ cup lukewarm water
½ cup Grade B maple syrup (if Grade A must be substituted add ½-1 teaspoon of maple extract when maple is added to other ingredients)
2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons softened butter
3½ cups all-purpose-flour
½ cup whole-wheat flour
½ cup oat flour (you can make this at home by grinding old fashioned oats in a food processor or blender until pulverized to a powdery consistency)
Place the cornmeal in a heat-safe bowl. Boil the 2 cups of water and pour over the cornmeal, stirring with a whisk to eliminate lumps. Leave soaking for half an hour for cornmeal to soften.
Grease two loaf pans with nonstick baking spray. In a small bowl dissolve the yeast in ½ cup lukewarm water and let stand five minutes. Add yeast, maple syrup, salt, and softened butter to the cornmeal and blend until smooth. Add the flours and mix thoroughly. Divide batter equally between prepared pans and allow to rise in a warm place until loaves are doubled in size. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F and bake for 40-45 minutes or until bread’s internal temerature registers 190 degrees on a instant read thermometer. Tip out of the pans and cool on racks.
Maple Mayhem (A Sugar Grove Mystery) Page 22
