“I loved it,” said Anne, recalling the day vividly. “I’ve been a hiker all my life and it was right up my alley. It was a perfect day from beginning to end. The weather was great that entire weekend and things couldn’t have been better. That invigorating morning walk after breakfast was just what we needed before that fantastic barbeque we all devoured. And I agree with Meg, Ed certainly worked magic with his fireworks show that night.”
Summers at the Lodge always buzzed with activity as many of the guests were families with children of all ages. To keep them entertained, Ed hung swings and a hammock behind the side flower garden. Beyond that was a shady spot where he’d dug two pits and set up stakes for horseshoes, a game that was always popular with boys and men at barbeques and picnics. The purist in Ed placed the pits forty feet across from each other, according to the official rules of the game, and set fifteen points as the winning score.
A level area on the lawn in front of the Lodge was turned into a badminton court with both adults and children enjoying the game. Opposing teams varied. Sometimes couples played against each other, other times entire families, and even sides with unrelated adults and children. Sibling rivalry often came into play when family members were on opposing teams and little sister’s side won over big brother’s. But, regardless of who won or lost any of the games, the air was always filled with joyful banter, laughter and friendly competition on those sunny summer afternoons.
During rainy days there was always plenty to occupy everyone inside. In addition to books and magazines, music and videos, games of every description for both children and adults were brought out of their hiding place. In addition, Ed often took his guests to the Jack O’ Lantern. While the men played golf, the women and children enjoyed swimming, tennis, horseback riding or taking in a movie at the theater. In the village there were seasonal festivals, fairs, craft shows, and concerts which added to the enjoyment of their visiting guests.
The July 4th weekend Meg mentioned was indeed a fun-filled stars and stripes day for the four women and their families. When Claire called to invite them, they all insisted on bringing something for the barbeque. Since Claire and Ed were making lobster rolls and clam chowder, Meg and Tom brought all the fixings for barbeque. Rosemary and Harold brought corn on the cob and watermelon, and Anne and Valerie brought blueberry pies and potato salad. Other dishes included fresh garden vegetables, cole slaw, baked beans and fresh fruit. The thirst-quenchers were Sangria, iced coffee and soft drinks.
An active fun-filled afternoon followed the barbeque, as the women shooed their loved ones off to the playgrounds while they cleared the tables and visited in the kitchen. The men checked out the horseshoe rings, the older children raced to the badminton court, and the younger ones claimed the swings and hammock. Like other summer afternoons with a houseful of family and friends, it was a time of pleasure and thankfulness for Ed and Claire. When their eyes met during the give and take of the day’s activities, their knowing smiles revealed their love for each other and their many friends.
As evening approached, everyone headed back to the picnic tables for a light supper before the fireworks began. And what an exciting show it was! While many states prohibit private use of fireworks of any kind, New Hampshire is more user-friendly about this traditional patriotic celebration. By law some fireworks require local approval, while others don’t. For instance, firecrackers, sky rockets, missiles, and shells require approval from town or county officials. But a significant number of other explosives are permitted without their consent. Ed’s show included Roman candles, fountains, parachutes, wheels and spinners, sky flyers, strobes, novelties, and sparklers for the children.
In preparation for the event, months earlier he bought a book for amateurs, giving a comprehensive overview of the types and effects of different fireworks. He studied it very carefully, focusing on those he was permitted to use legally. He learned how professionals plan and use them to achieve the greatest effect and what they do when things don’t go as planned. This included the hazards and risks involved in planning the display and instructions when accidents occurred. He studied diagrams from both an aesthetic and safety point of view. Then he discussed all of this with his brother, Paul, before ordering those he felt would provide exciting entertainment for their guests on July 4th.
When he rigged the display site on that memorable Independence Day, safety-minded, law-abiding Ed Benson did everything possible to assure himself and Claire that there was no possibility of risks. And there wasn’t. The show went off without a hitch and his fireworks exploded high above the Lodge, sending thunderous bursts of fiery sparks and streamers into the summer sky. The women and children sat on lawn chairs and blankets on the front lawn squealing with delight as the men launched missiles soaring into the haunting darkness. Everyone watched enthralled as beautiful bursting colors lit up the night sky, swirling round and round, sparkling, crackling and booming high above their heads, then fading away to be replaced by others equally loud and dazzling. Considering it was an amateur display, it was very impressive. “Awesome,” the youngsters shouted gleefully. Weeks later nearby farmers were still talking about the “great fireworks show up at the old Endicott place.”
“We never had fireworks like those when I was growing up,” said Anne, recalling Ed’s winning performance. “But all the kids had hand sparklers, which I guess were legal because they bought them at the Five and Dime. The big thing in our town was a bonfire on July 4th and New Year’s Day. For the Fourth, town officials built a wooden tower, much like a ranger’s look-out tower and set it ablaze after dark. It was usually on a vacant lot somewhere on the outskirts of town. But the one on New Year’s Day was always at the city dump to burn all the Christmas trees. Back then everyone had live trees and it was a big bonfire. Fire trucks were always present in case they got out of control, but they never did. Especially on New Year’s when snow covered the ground.”
As the women reminisced about old times, Rosemary listened attentively, recalling another time the women were all together for a special family event. It was at Lisa’s wedding, and she recalled it now with a smile. Looking directly at Meg, she said, “As the mother of the bride, you were absolutely radiant that day, Meg. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought you were sisters instead of mother and daughter.”
Meg laughed. “I thank you for the compliment, Rosemary, but I think that’s stretching it a bit. After all, I was thirty when she was born. I am glad she didn’t wait that long,” she went on, laughing again, “I am enjoying my grandchildren.”
The wedding of Lisa and Mark Richards was indeed a memorable event. Held in early June at the Trinity Presbyterian Church in Salem, it was one of the social events of the year. Mark, a pharmacist, and Lisa, an anesthetist, had many friends in the Boston medical community and most were invited to the nuptials. Mark’s mother and father flew in from California for their only son’s big day, staying at his condo in Back Bay. His sister, Barbara, joined Lisa’s friends as bridesmaids and several of his male friends were in the wedding party.
The happy bride was “drop-dead gorgeous,” as Tom described her the day he gave his daughter away. She wore a white strapless lace flared gown and a matching chapel train. She was stunning, her mother agreed, describing her dress as “elegant simplicity,” a term which many of her friends applied to Lisa herself. Always “a class act,” she was demure in both personality and style. Except in the operating room. True to her calling as a certified nurse anesthetist, she was a self-confident professional, closely monitoring patients’ vital signs while keeping them pain-free during surgical procedures. Competent, reliable, and dedicated, she was a highly respected member of the OR staff. But on this day she was radiant in the role of bride as she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm to become the bride of a husband who adored her.
Following the traditional photo shoot at the church, a reception was held in the ballroom of nearby Hamilton Hall, the scene of social gatherings since 1805. Lisa an
d Mark, along with the entire wedding party, posed again for outdoor photographs in the park facing the historic Salem landmark.
“It was indeed a lovely day for Lisa,” recalled Meg. “Both the wedding ceremony and the reception were lovely. When we toured Hamilton Hall for the reception, Lisa fell in love with it. She considered having the wedding there, also, but she wanted a traditional wedding in a church. But it’s a lovely place for a wedding. They have all the accommodations necessary: the bridal room, dining rooms for bridal showers and rehearsal dinners and so forth. But she did use the musician’s balcony to toss the bridal bouquet.”
“I remember the mad rush to catch it,” laughed Anne. “It’s great fun, because there are always some trying to avoid it, including me.”
“Ah yes, I remember,” sighed Meg with a touch of feigned drama. “I can’t believe it was twenty-four years ago. They’ll be celebrating their silver anniversary soon, makes this grandma feel old when I think of it. But who’s complaining? It beats the alternative,” she laughed, as the others nodded in amused agreement.
“We must get back,” said Claire, reminding them of the time. “The round trip takes three hours, and we’ve been up here an hour. When we get back down, we’ll want to see more attractions and maybe do a little more shopping in the village before dinner.
Again the cameras came out on the way down the mountain as Meg and Anne captured shots of nature’s fall splendor.
Chapter 20
Looking at her watch again, Claire suggested a drive to Franconia Notch.
“It’ll take a little over an hour, but there’s much to see — the Old Man of the Mountains, Profile Lake, the Flume Gorge, Loon Mountain, and lovely covered bridges. Then we can continue on to the Jack O’ Lantern for dinner.”
“Sounds great,” agreed Anne. “During the trip my ex and I took to Canada years ago, we stayed overnight at Franconia Notch and loved the area. But then, there’s not a place in these mountains that I don’t love.”
When they returned to the SUV, Claire directed Meg to Interstate 93 and the Franconia Notch State Park. On the way she brought her friends up to date on New Hampshire’s famous rocky icon, the Old Man of the Mountains. All the women were familiar with the historic stone-face landmark, having visited the area with their young children and later during vacations with their husbands. Its formation contained separate ledges of Conway red granite, forming the chin, the upper lip, nose and forehead of an old gentleman. The forty-foot granite profile withstood the elements high atop Franconia Notch for more than 12,000 years, but the same natural forces that created the old guy brought him tumbling down Cannon Mountain on May 3, 2003.
When the Old Man of the Mountains fell, Claire and Ed were among the mourners who came to say goodbye the following Memorial Day. At a town hall meeting, residents decided to restore the famous granite profile.
“The community began immediately to raise money to build a memorial,” Claire told her friends, adding nostalgically, “That old stone face is part of the history of these mountains, and it’s just not the same without him.”
Claire directed Meg to a cut-out viewing area where they could see the distant spot on Cannon Mountain where the great stone face had awed on-lookers for centuries. The five ledges that had formed the illusion of an old man’s craggy profile were now a hodgepodge of granite rubble. The women stood silently as they studied the damaged landmark, each with her own memory of when she had last been here with loved ones.
For Meg, the date was burned into her memory. It was during a Labor Day vacation in 200l. She and Tom had stayed at the Mt. Washington Hotel in Bretton Woods for ten days, enjoying a relaxing time together following a busy summer of real estate sales. Their first day home in Salem was September 11, the day of the terrorist attack on New York’s twin towers.
Rosemary’s thoughts naturally turned to Harold and their last trip together to “God’s Country,” as he affectionately referred to New England’s northern reaches. His favorite vacation spots were those they discovered deep in the mountains of New Hampshire and Vermont. During their last vacation to Franconia Notch, they had joined other tourists at the overlook at the base of Cannon Mountain to admire the rugged rocky profile of “Gramps,” as Harold called him.
Anne’s last visit to the area was ten years earlier during a trip to Canada along well-traveled Route 93. She was working on an historical biography of Esther Wheelwright of Wells, Maine, who at age seven was abducted by an Abenaki Indian tribe during the French and Indian War. The granddaughter of Rev. John Wheelwright, a fiery Puritan minister, the young girl was held captive in Indian camps for almost seven years before being rescued by Jesuit priests who placed her in a convent in Quebec. She ultimately became the Mother Superior at the Ursuline Monastery, the first English nun ever to hold that position in the history of the Roman Catholic Church.
While researching the book, Anne was invited to visit the convent, where she spent a week gathering information from its archives. The trip from her home on Cape Ann to Quebec took her through Franconia Notch, where she and her former husband had stayed for a weekend during their vacation trip to Canada.
Leaving the viewing area and their poignant memories of the Old Man of the Mountains, the women climbed into the SUV and Claire directed Meg to the spot where a memorial monument was being built on a walkway along Profile Lake below Cannon Cliff.
“It’s all being paid for by donations from the community,” said Claire as she gazed across at the excavation site. “It’ll have a viewing platform with what they call steel profilers, which I understand will show a profile of the old man’s face when they’re aligned with the cliff overlooking Franconia Notch. It’s going to be interesting to see it when it’s finished, but it’ll never take the place of our beloved Old Man of the Mountains.
Her own face revealed the deep sense of loss she shared with the people in the surrounding areas who had long known and loved that old stone face. The other women sat silently for a few moments sharing her mood, then Meg turned the ignition key and asked Claire, “Where to now?”
“Let’s make a stop at the Flume Gorge; it’s just a short distance from here.”
The Flume Gorge is another of Franconia Notch’s natural wonders. The story goes that a 93-year-old woman discovered it while fishing in a stream in 1808. Today it’s one of the most popular attractions in the White Mountains. In the 1930s, boardwalks were built into the granite walls of the gorge to give visitors an awe-inspiring walk through its panoply of natural beauty—waterfalls, moss-covered stone walls, bridges over rushing brooks, a pool, and a huge 300-ton boulder. But it’s not a trek for the light-hearted; one should be physically fit. While there are some gentle slopes, most of the trails go up and down steep rugged ridges, some on well-maintained pathways, others on slippery, watery stone and wooden steps.
Having walked the gorge during vacations with their children years earlier, this day the four Bay State women were content to view the photographs and other displays in the welcome center. They browsed for a time through the gift shop, but didn’t buy anything. Meg was reminded of the Amish food being held for them, which they’d need to pick up before going to dinner at the Jack O’ Lantern.
Claire suggested refreshments and led them to the cafeteria. “I really want something cold and wet, but they have the best ice cream here. We always had double-dips with the kids, but I’m afraid I’m just a single-dipper these days. My favorite is coffee.”
“Mine, too,” agreed Anne.
As they checked the ice cream board, both women were delighted to see their favorite flavor among the listings.
“Somewhere I read more coffee ice cream is sold in Massachusetts than any other state,” remarked Anne. “I guess they got the word up here about how popular it is and decided to join the club.”
Rosemary ordered pistachio, and Meg chose a pecan crunch.
“My treat, gals” offered Anne, handing Claire her cone as she dug into her tote for her wallet.
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br /> With cones in hand, they walked out of the welcome center into the warm autumn afternoon. The weather had been pleasant all day, with bright sunshine and puffy white clouds in an azure sky. Indeed, it was the kind of day that made that early American writer wax eloquently about Indian summers. It was half past four, which would allow them time in the village for shopping before the stores closed.
An experienced driver, Meg was confident behind the wheel of the luxury Navigator as she eased into the southern lane of Route 93. Traffic was heavy. It always was during the colorful autumn season in New England, and this weekend was no exception. Many cars bore the license plates of out-of-state tourists who enjoyed the natural wonders at Franconia Notch State Park on this sunny September day. But traffic flowed smoothly and the women reached the village of Woodbridge Notch a short time later.
As Meg pulled the SUV into a parking space, Claire glanced at her watch and said happily, “Wonderful. We have time to shop awhile, and we’ll pick up your items at Mrs. Yoder’s before she closes, then go to the Jack O’ Lantern for dinner.”
Their first stop was to browse through Mr. Lonsbury’s antique shop, where Anne bought a beautiful English wassail bowl for her annual Christmas open house. Claire found a lovely Limoges dinner bell for her collection in Marblehead, and Meg was thrilled to claim a small print by Andrew Wyeth.
In response to Anne’s comment that she’d like to get a gift for her daughter, Valerie, they bypassed other stores and went into Randall’s Gift Shop
The old Simpson house downtown had been abandoned for years until Charlie Randall bought it when he returned from the Korean War. He fixed it up for his new bride, Julie Hanson, and they lived in it until their children were grown. When Charlie retired from the lumber mill, he and Julie bought a home in a new development on the western slope of Bear Mountain.
The Mystery Trip Page 12
