“There are eleven of us, not including the baby, so the three of you will make fourteen.” Marcie plugs in the portable mixer and pours the cream into a mixing bowl. “I help my mom and Mamaw in the kitchen sometimes, but I don’t do a lot of cooking on my own. Whipped cream is easy. It’s just whipping cream and sugar.”
“My mom doesn’t really cook much. We mostly just fend for ourselves. Prepackaged stuff. I’m great with the microwave!” says Kaitlyn as she counts plates and silverware. Marcie measures the sugar and pours it into the bowl with the cream. The whir of the electric mixer momentarily discourages more conversation.
When everyone is served, the girls go sit on the deck outside the sunroom to enjoy their dessert. Eric, Drew, and little Michael are already there. “This is really good!” exclaims Kaitlyn.
“Yeah, homemade is the best,” says Marcie through a mouthful of strawberries, cream, and shortcake. Inside, the adults are having a similar conversation. Mrs. Swyndall says, “This is really delicious, but I can really only have a bite. Always watching my weight!” she pats her waist. “I don’t do much cooking, what with all of my volunteering and fundraising activities. Luckily, the new gourmet market in town has a good bakery.” Kaitlyn rolls her eyes at Marcie and says, “What’d I tell you?” under her breath.
“Your house is so darling, Lilly. Did you use a decorator?” Mrs. Swyndall continues.
“No, we did it ourselves little by little over the years,” says Mamaw.
“Well, you did a terrific job. I had our cottage professionally decorated since we needed it finished quickly. We do so much entertaining with Don’s position at the university.”
Don Swyndall joins the conversation, asking Poppy, “How much land do you have here?”
“About five acres, including the woods and gardens,” says Poppy.
“Have you ever considered selling some of the woods to a developer?” Mr. Swyndall leans forward towards Poppy and gestures at him with his fork. “You’re sitting on a gold mine. It could really increase your property value.” Marcie’s ears perk up—sell the woods!?
“Oh, we would never sell.” Poppy waves his hand in an arc indicating the house and yard. “We value our property just the way it is,” he says with a chuckle. Marcie relaxes. She likes the lake cottage just the way it is, too.
Al clears his throat and sits up straighter. Pansy lifts her head beside his chair. “Didn’t I hear that you are planning to do some more development on the property you just bought—in James Woods?” he asks Don Swyndall in a deceptively light and friendly tone. “You’ve got what—ten to fifteen acres?”
“Oh, we’ve looked into different options, but nothing definite. I think a walking and biking path would be a nice idea, and perhaps some public areas,” says Mr. Swyndall vaguely.
“Oh, I’m glad to hear that,” says Mamaw. “So much of the woods around the lake have already been developed. There are only a few areas of wetlands and woods left as natural habitat for the birds and wildlife.” Al doesn’t say any more, but his brow is furrowed and he looks thoughtful.
“Well, more and more people are looking at their lake property as an investment.” Mr. Swyndall leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. “We got a steal on our place,” he says smugly. “Tearing down that old house and building our ‘cottage’ increased our property value considerably.”
Kaitlyn leans over to Marcie and says, “All my dad ever talks about is money. It’s totally annoying. Let’s go see your room.”
Marcie is a little stunned by the conversation she overheard. She had no idea there was talk of changing James Woods. It’s their special place! “Oh, okay,” she says distractedly. “This way, through the kitchen. We’ll leave our plates in the sink.” She leads Kaitlyn up the stairway to the loft.
When they get to the top of the stairs, Kaitlyn says, “This is so cute—a loft! But where’s your room?”
“This is my room,” replies Marcie. “It’s the kids’ sleeping loft. The cottage isn’t big enough for us to have separate bedrooms,” she says.
“But you don’t have any privacy! I would hate to share a room with Kyle. I don’t want him to mess with my stuff.” She sits down on the window seat and leans back on the cushions. “Where do you keep all your things?”
“I have drawers under my bed and shelves next to it,” says Marcie. “I don’t really need a lot of things at the lake.” She feels annoyed at Kaitlyn for criticizing the loft and embarrassed about it at the same time. “I love sleeping up here. It feels like being at camp,” she says a little defensively. She pulls a wicker rocking chair next to the window seat and puts her feet on the edge of the cushion so she can rock herself.
“Oh, it’s really quaint, you know, old-fashioned. I guess I was just expecting that you’d have your own room, like I do. You can see it tomorrow when your family comes over for the cookout.” She looks out the window. The boys are in the yard below playing whiffle ball. Kaitlyn cocks her head to one side and looks at Marcie. “I talked to Kyle about the July 4th Regatta. Do you still want to be on a team with us? He has a friend who wants to, and with you we’ll have a crew of four.”
In her mind, Marcie is still unsure about sailing on a Laker team, but she surprises herself by saying, “Yes, I do want to be on the team. It’ll be fun.” There. She’d done it.
“Great,” says Kaitlyn, clapping her hands together. “You can come over during the week to practice. I don’t think we’re ready to race in tomorrow’s Sunday Regatta, but we’ll be ready for the big race on the Fourth. We could even win!” Her face breaks into a big smile. “That would be sooo cool!”
“Yeah,” says Marcie smiling back. “That would be cool.” The competitive side of her, the part that drives her to win when she runs, warms to the idea. It would be totally cool to win, she thinks.
“What about Monday or Tuesday?” asks Kaitlyn. “Can you come over then?”
“I’ll have to let you know tomorrow. I’m not sure what’s going on yet.”
Her mom calls up the stairs just then, “Girls, the Swyndalls are getting ready to leave now. Come on down.”
“Okay, mom.” Standing up she says to Kaitlyn, “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
They walk downstairs, and everyone says their goodbyes. As she watches the Swyndalls drive away, Marcie’s thoughts are only on the sailboat race. She has completely forgotten about what Mr. Swyndall might do to James Woods. At least, for the moment.
Six
THAT NIGHT, MARCIE dreams of flying. Earlier in the evening, after the Swyndalls left, she helped get Michael ready for bed while Lucy was busy with Janey. She got him a drink of milk in the kitchen and then herded him through the living room to the bedrooms on the other side of the house. Her grandparents use the largest of the three bedrooms, and her parents and Aunt and Uncle each take the other two. Janey is still in a crib, so she sleeps in the room with Mark and Lucy, but Michael is one of the “big kids” and sleeps in the loft. As she was putting on his pajamas, Michael said, “Can you fly, Marcie?”
She had been taken aback by his question and answered without thinking. “No, I can’t fly, silly.” But she remembered when she had the sensation of flying while riding her bike to the Children’s Fair and the vivid flying dreams she sometimes has had. “Why do you ask?”
“I can fly,” said Michael matter-of-factly. “I fly around my back yard. I lift up my arms and go up into the air. I can fly over the trees. Sometimes I forget how, though, right Mommy?” Lucy walked into the bedroom carrying Janey, fresh from her bath, wrapped in a hooded duck towel.
“Are you telling Marcie about flying, sweetheart?” She reached into the cabinet to get a diaper. “Michael says the most amazing things. It’s unusual enough that he talks so well, but the things he says!” she whispered to Marcie. “Last week I found him out in the yard running fast and trying to fly. He was pretty upset. When I asked him what he was playing, he said ‘Mommy, why can’t I fly anymore? I know I could fly aroun
d the yard before.’ I didn’t really know what to say. I told him that maybe it was a dream or maybe he imagined it, but he was certain that he had flown before.” A prickly sensation went up Marcie’s spine. How weird. It was just like her flying dreams. They seem so real that when she wakes up she wonders if maybe she really can fly. As she got older she didn’t think they were real anymore, but the feeling was hard to shake all the same. She thinks about it for a long time before falling asleep. Maybe that’s what triggers the dream.
In her dream, Marcie is standing outside the cottage under the maple tree. It’s nighttime; the stars are flickering through the leaves overhead. She still has on the pajama top and shorts she wore to bed. She doesn’t know how she got here, maybe she was sleeping and came outside, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Something is calling her. Something in the water. She needs to find it. Raising her arms up from her sides she rises slowly into the air. She doesn’t have to flap her arms, she simply thinks that she wants to fly and her body rises into the air. Dream flying is just how you imagine it will be—head up, arms out to the side, legs and torso straight out behind. Effortless.
She hovers under the protecting limbs of the tree for a moment and then glides over the lawn and the boat docks to the lake. The moon shines down on the water beneath her as if illuminating her path and the gentle ripples of the water encourage her onward. Something is telling her to go to James Bay, and her thoughts cause her to turn in that direction. The dream isn’t frightening. On the contrary, she feels happy and relaxed, but there’s an insistent need to go out over the lake. It is quiet and deserted at first, but then, as sometimes happens in dreams, it changes from night into the middle of the day, and Marcie is flying over sailboats and water sparking with sunlight. She is close enough to the boats that she can hear the wind luffing in the sails and people calling to each other. The boats are rounding a big orange buoy floating in the water. Colorful spinnaker sails that always remind her of parachutes unfurl to catch the wind as the boats change direction and go downwind. Whoosh! A bright orange sail balloons out on the front of the boat directly below her, and Marcie rises higher into the sky. This must be the Sunday Regatta, she is aware of thinking, but she can’t stop to watch. She must go to James Bay. She flies on.
She rounds Owen Point and enters the bay. The dense and darkly green trees of James Woods are before her across the bay leading down to the cattails and reeds of the marshy shore. She stops and hovers over the water in the center of the bay. There is something she needs to find, but what? The water glimmers beneath her, and the tops of the trees sway in the breeze. She feels like whatever is calling her is here with her, and the image is just at the edge of her mind, eluding her. If only she could concentrate more on the picture, reach out her thoughts to grasp it …
Suddenly, the dream ends and she wakes up in her bed in the loft. At first she is disoriented and doesn’t know where she is. The room is dark except for moonlight shining in through the window. It’s still nighttime. Across the room she sees Eric, Drew, and Michael sleeping in their bunks. Marcie leans over to peer at the illuminated face of her bedside clock. Two o’clock. What did the dream mean? What was she looking for? Even now, in her familiar bed, the dream feels eerily real, and she is a little breathless, as though she had been walking briskly, or—flying? Before she can sort it all out, fatigue washes over her in a wave. She rolls over onto her side, pulling the quilt up around her shoulders, and promptly goes to sleep.
Seven
MARCIE SLEEPS LATE the next morning. The room is glowing with morning sunlight when she opens her eyes and slowly regains consciousness. She doesn’t usually sleep in past 7:30 or 8:00, but she knows it must be later than usual, as she can hear the murmur of voices below and smell the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee. The rumpled covers on the other bunks are empty, so the boys must be up. At first she doesn’t remember her dream, but when she looks over at the clock it stirs her memory and it all comes flooding back. It’s been so long since she had a flying dream that she can’t recall the last time. This one was particularly realistic, she thinks, but it was just a dream. But what about when she felt like she was flying on the way to the Children’s Fair? She hadn’t been dreaming then. Did she imagine it? Marcie has never spent much time analyzing her dreams, and since the meaning of this one isn’t at all clear, she puts it out of her mind. She doesn’t want to get left behind from the day’s activities.
Dressing quickly in shorts and a t-shirt and sliding her feet into flip-flops, she goes downstairs to the kitchen in search of breakfast. Eric is at the counter making sandwiches.
“You missed all the bacon,” he says, pointing to a plate empty except for crumbs and bacon grease. “We were going to wake you up, but Mom made us wait. It’s almost ten, and we want to get out fishing.” Wrapping a sandwich in foil, he asks, “Do you want ham, turkey, or bologna?”
“Ugh. I haven’t even had breakfast yet. I guess I’ll have ham. Is there any cheese?”
“Cheddar or Swiss?”
“Cheddar, please.” Marcie pours herself a bowl of cereal and milk and takes it out to the porch. Her mom and Aunt Lucy are sitting at the table enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee and talking. Janey and Michael have toys and cars strewn all over the floor, and Michael has built a wall out of blocks around Speck and several other stuffed animals. Speck barks a greeting to Marcie, but stays good naturedly in his enclosure. Michael says, “This is my Zoo. Do you want to see it? Speck is a lion.”
“Maybe after I eat. Speck is a good lion.” Michael nods and goes back to playing.
“Good morning, sleepyhead. Sleep well?” asks her mom.
“Yeah.” She stifles a yawn. “I’m still waking up. Where’s everyone else?”
“Your dad, Uncle Mark, and Poppy are golfing, and Mamaw is—where else?—in the garden. Eric and Drew are getting ready to go fishing with Al. Are you going along too?”
“Definitely.”
“I want to go fishing, Mommy!” Michael pipes up.
“We’ll go fishing off the dock, honey. We don’t have time before we leave to go out on the boat,” replies Aunt Lucy. Janey hauls herself off the floor using Lucy’s shorts and says “uppy.” Lucy picks her up, sets the toddler on her lap, and continues. “I’m glad we got to see everyone yesterday. But it’s never long enough.” She sighs. “We’ll try to come back and see you kids sometime during the week. Jill, you and Paul are leaving tonight?”
“Yes, right after the cookout at the Swyndalls’. I leave for the dig first thing in the morning. Marcie, I suggest you hurry up and get ready if you’re going fishing. Drew and Eric are anxious to go. I had to stop them from waking you up. I figured you deserved to sleep in on the first day of summer.” She smiles at her fondly.
“Thanks. I was really tired for some reason.” From flying, she thinks, but sitting here at breakfast with her cousins and aunt, it seems a little ridiculous. People can’t really fly. It was only a dream. She finishes her cereal and then helps Eric pack the picnic lunch. She runs upstairs to put her bathing suit on under her clothes in case they decide to go for a swim off the boat, hurries back down again and outside to the boat docks, arms loaded with beach towels and, of course, sunscreen. Eric is putting the cooler into Al’s fishing boat as Marcie runs up. Drew is already in the boat. They are obviously ready to go. Al, on the other hand, is talking to one of the neighbors a few houses down and appears to be in the middle of a long story. With his free hand, the one not holding Pansy’s leash, he is gesturing and pointing, and they are both laughing. His foot rests on his tackle box, and Pansy is sitting patiently on the grass beside him. When she sees Marcie, her tail thumps the ground.
“Finally!” says Eric. “At least one of you is ready. Get your life jacket, and I’ll go over and get the tackle box from Al. Maybe he’ll take the hint.”
“What’s the big hurry?”
“No hurry, really, we just want to get going before lunch! Between you and Al, we might never get out.”
> Al, who has finished his conversation and is walking towards them, overhears Eric’s remark. “I can see you haven’t converted to ‘Lake Time’ yet. We try never to rush at the lake.” He hands Eric the tackle box and climbs into the boat. “Come on girl.” He gives Pansy’s leash a little tug, and she jumps in too. “Well, let’s go!” he says with a laugh at the surprised look on Eric’s face.
Chagrined, Eric hangs his head self-mockingly. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be rushing. The fish will wait.” He and Marcie climb in and get settled. Al’s fishing boat is a low-sided metal boat with an outboard motor on the back. It’s pretty much low tech and no frills, with three bench seats, and one raised fisherman’s seat towards the front. Not like the powerful speedboat her grandparents own, with its comfortable seats and drink holders. Al sits in the stern to control the engine and steer. Eric and Drew are on the middle bench with the cooler snug beneath the seat, and Marcie is in the bow with Pansy. Al starts the engine and they idle out of the cove to the main lake. As they pass by the seawall of the neighboring cottages, Drew cries out “Look, Al, the turtles!” About twenty water turtles varying in size from babies as small as saucers in a child’s tea set to huge granddaddies as big around as serving platters are basking in the sun on the warm concrete. The boat isn’t passing close enough to startle them into the water, so they can see them clearly. From the front of the boat Marcie sees several turtles floating submerged in the water with only their tube-like noses sticking out on the surface.
“Quick, Drew, there are some in the water over here.” She points to her right and even as she speaks they start diving down into the murky depths to avoid the approaching boat.
“This has been a good spring for turtles,” Al observes. “All the lake animals are flourishing. I’ll bet we see some muskrats in James Bay.”
“Will they have babies, too?” asks Drew.
Indian Summer Page 4
