by Dave Balcom
He didn’t answer. I started walking towards the cottage and he fell into step with me. “Want to hunt tomorrow?”
“I think I’m going to be tied up with Jan, and I know tomorrow night’s going to be a long one.”
“Yeah, it will be; I want to hunt in the morning and then have time for a siesta to prepare for the night.”
“Let me check to see what Jan has on the schedule, and I’ll let you know.”
“Nah, if you want to go, I’ll see you about eight; if you don’t; it’s no worry.”
With that he gave me a goodnight wave and diverted onto a path that would take him directly to his home as I walked on towards the cottage.
Jan was sitting at the table with a book open before her as I walked through the cottage toward the shower.
“You want anything to eat?” She asked.
“No, thanks; maybe not for several days after that ‘lunch.’”
“That was something, wasn’t it? Of course you didn’t have to eat one of everything.”
“That’s unfair; I had to find out if there was anything on that spread that wasn’t out of this world.”
She didn’t respond, and I went on to the shower. When I came out with a towel wrapped around my waist, she had taken her book to bed. When I went into the bedroom, I found her propped up in the bed with the same book open on her lap, but she was obviously lost in thought.
I went through the cottage, checking windows and doors, making sure the lights were out, and then crawled into the bed beside her.
“What do you think about today?” She asked.
I could tell she was still locked on some vision I couldn’t access, “A good time.”
“That your only take away?”
“Pretty much; why?”
She locked her eyes onto mine and said slowly, “Don’t you wonder how a couple who owned and operated a general store in Stoney, Michigan, ended up with the resources to buy and build a mansion on what is perhaps the most exclusive real estate in Northern Michigan?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought, but I guess I just figured that Tony, being the big-time financial success and all, had bought all that for his folks in their waning years...”
She was shaking her head just slightly, “Mrs. Ralph told me that they sold the store two years after we graduated; they’d bought the property while Tony was in high school, and then, after he went off to college, they designed and built the place...”
“Inheritance? Michigan Lottery?”
“I didn’t ask, but I wanted to.”
“Probably just a good head for the markets; there were times in the ’80s that sharpies could make fortunes, like that ‘Black Monday’ deal in ’87.”
“Hmmmm. But you’d still have to have a bunch of liquidity to take advantage. If I remember correctly, it was the computerized buyers who caught those ‘Fortune 500’ stocks at pennies on the dollar. I don’t know if there were very many computers in Stoney in ’87. And, by then, they’d already built that beautiful house... It just makes a person wonder, you know?”
I lay there for a while after that. I listened to her breathing change, and gently took the book and removed her glasses before turning out the light. Then I just waited and thought about wondering before I too gave it a rest.
CHAPTER 22
Friday dawned still and clear, and Jan assured me she would be in the village most of the day, helping Angela set up and staffing a “Class of ’80 Reception booth” at the high school football field.
“I figured we’d eat at the tailgate party before the game. I thought after you hunted and had lunch you’d take a nap; maybe the Blakes would bring you to town for the game.”
“So I can go bird hunting?”
She smiled sweetly, “Sure, lover; just be ready to be on display by about six, okay?”
I shook my head and poured myself a second cup of coffee.
Greg was loading Schatzi into his truck when I walked up carrying Judy’s crate. He smiled at me, “Perfect.”
“I figure you’d already discussed this with Jan before you found me, right?”
He just kept smiling as he went for the rest of his gear. I did the same.
The hunt was different from our previous experience in that we were working our way around one of the thousands of marl lakes that dot northern Michigan. Most of them are in state forest or game lands, few have boat ramps or other facilities.
Greg had done research on the phenomenon, “The lakes occur from surface water that works its way into the limestone bedrock and then back to the surface from springs. The rain and snow have a slightly acidic nature, and it reacts to the limestone and absorbs the calcium carbonate – we call it ‘marl’ – and then when the spring water sits in the pond, the calcium carbonate settles to the bottom, like a white, fluffy ash.
“According to research published by the Huron Pines organization, the normal pH is slightly acidic, which contributes to the clarity and color of these lakes.”
“It’s beautiful, for sure, but are there any fish in these?” I asked as we took a midmorning break.
“State used to stock ’em with trout, so some of them have some huge rainbows in ’em; then some of them were stocked with bluegills and bass; and those few lakes are treated like morel mushroom hot spots.”
“How... oh, you mean taken to the grave before they’re shared with neighbors?”
“Exactly.”
“Does this lake have good fish in it?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m not likely to commute from the Blue Mountains to fish your lake...”
“Loose lips, and all that,” he said with a laugh.
The cover was for the most part a mixture of evergreens, poplars and birches that were mixed with tag alders and grew right down to the water’s edge in some spots, stopped yards earlier in others. The walking on the exposed beach was arduous, the wet marl sucking at your feet with every step.
“A hundred yards of that is a real workout,” I said as I walked into a spit of growth.
“Oh, yeah; try to avoid that. Stay in the cover. These lakes are all floating on that marl, and it’s awful stuff. You drop an anchor into this water, and you’ll run out of rope before it quits sinking. We feel it hit, and then tie it off quick, otherwise you can’t pull the damned thing back. Shit falls in these lakes; it’s gone forever.”
We didn’t find many woodcock in those covers, but the ruffed grouse were plentiful and with the calm winds and little left of the leaves, the shooting was lively and effective.
“That’s a limit for me,” I heard Greg say as Schatzi brought one of the brown bombers back to hand.
“We’d better head back to the truck,” I said.
“You’ve still a bird to shoot, don’t you?”
“I’ve had enough; maybe we’ll pick another up on our way back.”
He grinned at me, and pointed to my left, “Truck’s just about a hundred yards over there.”
“Really?” I looked around for the sun and realized the sky had hazed over, and I was as turned around as could be since we’d left the lake shore.
He headed in that direction, and I followed suit with Judy ranging back and forth ahead of me. A few seconds later, I pushed through a particularly thick stand of tag alders and stepped out on a two-track trail like the one we’d driven in on. Judy was locked on point on the other side of the trail, facing me.
As I started to walk towards her, a grouse ran out of the cover onto the dusty trail and exploded into flight, flying right down the trail, completely open. I felt my Benelli hit my cheek and pulled the trigger, the bird kept flying, I moved the barrel and fired again, and the bird set its wings and sailed into the woods unscathed.
“Lotta Michigan around those birds,” Greg said behind me.
I was dumbfounded; a straight-away bird with no cover and I missed it cold?
“I’ve made tougher shots,” I said. Even I could hear the bewilderment in my tone.
“I don’t think you’ve ever missed an easier one.”
I looked at him and I could see the effort it was taking him to keep from exploding in laughter, and that was too much for me. I let out a belly laugh and he followed suit. We laughed all the way to the truck without any further discussion.
Back at the resort, I volunteered to clean all the birds. “Okay,” Greg said, “and I’ll start lunch going. Fran was going to be in town with Jan all day. They’ll come home about five to clean up and change, and then we’ll all go back in one vehicle.”
I looked at my watch. “Perfect. We should be able to nap and be ready to go when they are.”
“That’s the plan!”
It worked out, too. After cleaning up from lunch, I went to the cottage and was sound asleep when my phone woke me up at 4:30. “Hmmmm?” I answered.
“Time to rise, James,” Jan chortled. “I expect you to be clear of the shower when I hit that place in 30 minutes.”
I had been out and dressed for ten minutes when she hit the door on the run. I caught a fly-by kiss as she headed for the shower, undressing as she went.
I sat on the porch watching Judy polish off her dinner when Jan came out dressed for a night football game – jeans, blouse, sweater and a Stoney Lions baseball cap. I could smell the soap and shampoo when she sat down next to me. I turned and kissed her, let my hand fall off the back of the couch and trail down her back.
“Fun day?”
She snuggled into my arm, putting her other hand on my chest. “It was, is, and will be.”
“Seen a lot of your classmates so far?”
“They’ve been arriving all afternoon. It’s amazing how, once I put a name with a new face, I can see a resemblance to someone I once knew...”
“Did you see ‘the look’ you were hoping for today?”
“Several times!” I could hear the joy in her voice. “There were even a couple of double takes when a person would smile and greet me while reading my name tag, start to turn away and then snap their head around. That was just the best!”
I couldn’t adjust to this uncustomary show of pride in her looks. It was a side of her I hadn’t noticed before.
“And I thought I knew you,” came out of my mouth unbidden.
“Surprised that I’m taking so much glee? You’ve seen my senior photo.”
“Yes, you bloomed later than some, but I’ve never sensed you being so proud of what you look like. I’ve loved your self-respect and confidence as much as I have your humility and generosity. I thought I knew you, but this is different.”
“I guess that’s true for me, too. I guess I harbored some resentment that had gone untreated. I’ll try to tone it down a bit from here on.”
“Just be yourself, sweetie; you’ll knock ’em dead with your brilliance; that doesn’t fade and you can’t hide it.”
“You have the sweetest line of B.S., you know that?”
I heard the Blakes approaching across the yard. “You ready?”
“We’re driving,” she said, “let’s take jackets; it’s supposed to be brisk later.”
There was a real feeling of celebration in the air when we parked in a lot behind the high school.
The place was lit up with the field lights and giant halogen lights all across the lot. Along the side of the lot near the gate to the field a lineup of vendors selling all kinds of food were doing a brisk business. With more than an hour and a half before kickoff the lot was more than half full.
Looking around I estimated maybe 100 cars were parked there. Two school buses from Boyne City were parked at the far end of the lot, next to the school.
“Is that tonight’s competition?” I asked pointing at the buses.
“It is,” Greg said. “Based on past performance, Stoney’s going to take a whipping tonight.”
“Boyne High?”
“The Highlanders,” Fran said with a giggle. “They’re supposed to be pretty good.”
“Ranked in the top ten in the state for their class.”
“Stoney picked a power house to play for homecoming?”
“Jim, everybody’s a power house compared to Stoney. We have 27 players representing ninth through twelfth grades.”
“Ouch.”
“Boyne Falls brought two buses; one for players and another for students and parents. We take players and fans in one bus when we play on the road. Welcome to small-school football.”
“More like ‘farewell,’ really,” Fran said. “The school district has sold this land to a developer who is designing a retirement neighborhood built around an ‘executive’ length golf course. They’ll start demolishing the buildings the day after graduation.”
I listened to her and felt the sobering reality of this experience for her and the rest of the graduates who had been drawn to this event. I looked at Jan and saw her gazing at the old school building, and I felt for an instant that I could actually see memories washing over her face.
“I gotta have me a burger and a dog,” Greg said with enthusiasm.
“I’ll do the fries and onion rings,” Fran said. “Jan, you can help me carry them back here. Jim, you can pull the table, chairs and cooler out of the back of your land yacht, okay?”
The three of them headed off, and I walked to the back of the SUV and opened the tailgate. I found a folding table, pulled it out and set it up. There were four chairs in sacks there, so I grabbed them and a hamper with glasses, plastic plates, paper towels and cloth napkins. I saw two candles in brass holders along with a red and white tablecloth folded up in the bottom.
I covered the table with the cloth which was actually a red and white flag with the Stoney Lions icon in the middle. I lighted the candles, set the table, and then dragged the ice chest out onto the tailgate.
Inside I found adult beverages including the makings for cocktails. Looking further, I found a sealed bag of ice and a shaker. I checked it out completely and then, cracking open a bottle of Tanqueray gin I proceeded to mix a batch of extra dry martinis. I was testing to make sure I hadn’t lost the knack as Greg returned with two bags of food.
“Oh, man!” He said with a wide grin, “You found the stuff, and put it to work!”
I poured him a mart and handed it over.
He sipped, tasted, and then took a healthy gulp. “Just right,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Then the girls came up with their bags of food, and started spreading the goodies out on the table.
“You guys bought enough for ten people,” I said.
Fran and Greg exchanged a look. “I hope we have more than that,” Fran said. “Just make another shaker full of these beautiful things and watch what we’ll attract.”
As I busied myself with the shaker, people started wandering by our table, sampling the wares. I had noticed that all of the hot dogs, brats and burgers had been unpacked and chopped into bite-sized pieces.
As folks walked up, they helped themselves. Almost all had a glass, bottle or can in their hands, and if it was empty, they just helped themselves for a refill.
Our shaker was large, but it was emptying quickly. The food and the cans of beer in the cooler were dwindling as well.
Fran, Jan and Greg wandered off, leaving me to tend the shaker. I shrugged, “What’s a guy gonna do?” I thought. So I mixed another shaker of marts and sat down to watch the world wander by.
“You must be Jim Stanton,” a voice from under a huge floppy Stoney Lions hat broke into my reverie.
I stood up, “Can I help you?”
A hand came out of the folds of a jacket and pulled the floppy hat off revealing a head of curly blonde hair and a pair of dazzling blue eyes. “You can if that clear liquid you’re guarding is what I think it is.”
“The best martini Tanqueray can offer. May I be of service?”
“Please; I don’t have a glass.”
“Allow me.” I poured a drink into one of the plastic martini glasses I’d found in the hamper.
She took a long pull on t
he drink, smacked her lips in appreciation and then reached out for me to refill the glass, which I did.
“I’m afraid you have me at a distinct disadvantage...” I started.
“I’m Mary Franklin, class of ’80 with Jan Coldwell Stanton.” I listened to her voice and wondered if she’d had too much to drink or if she always sounded like that.
I made a quick decision not to let on that I’d heard of her, and extended my hand, “Glad to meet you, Mary.”
She laughed softly. “Hi. I’m just clowning with you, Mr. Stanton. Everyone here who knows of me expects me to be some kind of California nut case, so I do an act to make them comfortable.”
“You’re not a California nut case?”
She pulled a scowl, “Absolutely not; I’m a Stoney, Michigan nut case and damn proud of it.” Then she giggled some more. She started to extend her glass again, and then thought better of it and put the glass on the table. “Better not; that tastes way too good; you have anything in that cooler a little less potent?”
I opened it up and checked. “Beer, Pepsi, and Sierra Mist.”
She grinned and said, “I’ll bet that Sierra Mist has lasted a long time tonight.”
“Untouched so far as I know.”
“Maybe that would be a good idea for me.”
I handed her the ice cold can and she pulled a cozy out of her jacket pocket. “I’ve never been to one of these reunions before, but I have gone to my share of beach parties, football games and the like,” she said as she put her can into the cozy. “I always try to be prepared.”
“What brought you back this year?”
She looked around at the throng that was building in the dark. “Just love high school football...”
“Why do people who know of you think you’re going to be whacky?”
“You don’t know about me?”
I shook my head.
“I’m the little engine that not only could, but did.”
“Made good, did you?”
“Major league.”
“What field?”
“Fashion design.”
“Not my bailiwick, really.”
She stepped around the table to take a good look at my clothes. “Solid, no nonsense footwear, I’m guessing Gortex lined against the elements, maybe even insulated against the cold; jeans that weren’t new in this year or maybe even this decade, same with the flannel shirt, but that cashmere sweater? No, that’s pretty new and very chic, selected by someone who would certainly know my name and label. I’ll bet Jan shudders every time you announce you’ve bought new clothes.”
