The House on Black Lake (27 page)

“My bargain at the shrine pales in comparison to yours,” I say, and look up to see a hawk glide overhead and swoop down to snatch something floating in the water a few yards ahead.

“I agreed to the deal and it was signed as an iron-clad prenuptial agreement not long afterward. We were married in a civil ceremony the same day the document was signed. My lifestyle changed overnight. I was no longer the knock-kneed scarecrow from the barrio; I was a woman of power and influence. And in a mere twelve years I would be worth hundreds of millions of dollars. We met you and Matt a few weeks after we were married. That first year, before we moved to Montreal, was our best.” Her eyes brighten for a brief moment, replaced as quickly by a slack jaw as a tremulous sadness wells up, bringing a fresh assault of tears.

“This is the end of the twelfth year. My sixth child would have been born this week. I had a miscarriage four months ago. The doctors couldn’t stop the bleeding after I lost the baby, so they had to operate.” Ruth covers her face and begins to weep. “They gave me a complete hysterectomy; they cut out my womb.”

“Oh my God, I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I stop rowing and reach out to take Ruth’s hand.

“A few weeks after I delivered my still-born, Ramey’s dad died in his sleep of a heart attack. Or maybe it was a broken heart, at having lost his last hope of saving the world.”

“Ruth, dear, I’m so sorry to hear about your losses. These last few months must have been devastating for you and Ramey. No wonder you’ve been so fragile.”

“Every day is a nightmare, I awaken terrified Ramey is going to throw me out of the house. I will soon be an outsider looking in, a nothing, a nobody. Back to where I was thirteen years ago—a makeup-plastered face standing behind the cosmetics counter.” She swipes her nose with the sleeve of her sweater and watches me intently, in a peculiar way, like she sees me as someone she abhors.

“What is it?”

“She was the babysitter.”

“I’m not following you...”

“Luna. She was Ramey’s babysitter, after his mother died. Ramey found his mother. She hung herself from the master bedroom chandelier. He still has nightmares, wakes up terrified in the night. Who knows, Luna might have had a hand in the tragedy. It didn’t take her long to break up Roger’s first marriage. She’s rotten inside; that’s why she can’t eat.”

“Forget Luna. She’s no threat.”

I release her hand to pick up the oars and put all my strength into rowing the last stretch to the shore.

“Why did you betray your friend, Oscar, Ruth?”

“My dear friend was not betrayed.”

“I walked in on you and Robert.”

“It was Oscar’s idea. His was worried about me, about my emotional state after the operation. I know it sounds strange but—”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“Then I won’t.”

“Are you in love with Ramey, Ruth?”

“Are you?”

I stop rowing for a moment, zip up my sweatshirt and pull the long sleeves over my hands to protect against the capricious wind.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I’m not blind.”

There is a long silence as I struggle with the boat. The wind has gathered strength and whips my hair into my face. In the confusion, I drop one of the oars, reach down to pick it up, and accidentally graze a finger across Ruth’s bare foot. I am startled at her eyes, flustered, embarrassed, in the moment, when I draw up the oar. It is so clear, the radar exquisite, so in tune, the subtlety of the glance, practiced to perfection, years of refinement. Latent, repressed, yet not so much. How could I have been so naive to have missed the boldness of her intentions?

“I caught your eye first, you know.” She offers a melancholy smile and a nod of her head as though to acknowledge my suspicion. “That night was magic.” Her face takes on a dreamy look as she recalls our first meeting.

“Ramey and I were seated on an over-stuffed velvet couch in the corner of the rotunda. Christmas music echoed from big speakers set in the stained-glass dome. Ramey whispered something naughty in my ear and I saw you enter the room from the corner of my eye. Your husband walked you on his arm, as though he was escorting a fairy-tale princess. I think he was moving in time with the music.” She breaks into a giggle and we share a laugh at the image of the former me.

“You wore white silk and looked so perfect. I caught your eye, but Ramey, being the expert hunter, followed mine and went in for the kill. It was a little game of ours, same with Chantal. You turned the color of your dress. You didn’t have a clue what was going on and that made you even more appealing. The house on the island was something we both fancied. Ramey has never lost a prey and I admit I had and have ulterior motives. He asked me to invite you here, but there is more.”

Ruth’s steady gaze is disarming and her hysteria has given way to a frightful dead calm. I’m confused by this sudden shift, and dread what she is about to say. I stop rowing and search her face for a clue to help decipher her ambiguous words.

“I’m mystified.”

“You can have Ramey.”

“He’s your husband.”

“I told you, the contract is due to expire.”

“What makes you think I want him or he wants me?”

“A woman’s instincts are always right.”

“I’m leaving for the States; my children—”

“I would rather it be you than Luna, or one of the other fireflies.”

“My flight departs tomorrow morning.”

“Alexandra, you are the only one who can help me. Promise me you’ll let me stay in the house with my children. Nothing else matters. Nothing. The other bitches will be glad to have me thrown out on the street,” she says, while reaching to open the cooler.

“You don’t need another drink.” I drop the oars to shut the lid. “Why are you falling apart when you have so many talents, so much to live for? It’s not too late, Ruth, to start fresh and go after what you desire from your life. It’s not too late to seek your personal destiny, the one that was yours from the beginning.”

“I have a premonition something terrible is about to happen. And I can’t stop it; there is nothing I can do to stop it,” she says and raises trembling hands to cover her face.

“I share your fears. But if we allow ourselves to be disarmed by others, we don’t have a chance to fight for our dreams.”

Ruth lowers her hands from her face, dips her fingers into the lake, and washes away her tears. “It’s ironic, don’t you think? You made a deal with God for your personal destiny and I made a deal with the Devil for power and money, and neither of us has found what we were searching for.”

“M
Y BEAUTIFUL GIRL
...” A
NDRÉ OPENS THE DOOR TO HIS COTTAGE
and leads me inside. “You are wet; here, let me take your sweater. When did it start raining?”

“It’s only a light sprinkle.”

“A bottle of champagne is chilling on my deck. Let’s sit outside and watch the sunset. We have something to celebrate—the burning of the house, the incineration of the cursed dwelling on the island where the remains of my ancestors are buried.”

André leads me through the house to a fenced patio. He offers me a glass of champagne and we toast to the destruction of the house on the island. “I smelled the smoke last night, even though my bedroom windows were closed. My father woke me early this morning to tell me the news.”

He draws me down to sit next to him on a wicker couch facing a backyard lined with trellised roses and wild hedges.

“It smells wonderful, the smell of fresh rain mixed with the flowers,” I say, and recline into the worn chintz cushion. Between sips, I tell André about the events of the previous night, the gruesome findings in the shed, and the dramatic search for Sammy as the fire devoured the house.

“It broke my heart to see the desecrated skulls. What kind of a world would create such a monster?”

“The world creates predators struggling for survival. It is the civilization of man that has created the monsters. The girls are now in the hands of God.”

“How did you know they were girls?”

“It was an assumption, based on what you told me.”

I am silent as I try to recall what sparked the correlation.

“The island has been purified by fire, and the spirits of my ancestors are now free to cross over to the other side.”

He draws me close and we watch the sun burning gold through the trees as it descends below the craggy hills on the horizon. We sit in the twilight chill, quiet, wistfully aware that this is our last sunset.

“André... do you belong to a cult called the Solar Temple?”

He abruptly releases me, stands, picks up the ice bucket and turns to walk back into the house.

“The first course is steamed mussels with fresh garlic in a beurre blanc sauce and fresh bread from the patisserie. For the main course we shall have filet mignon with a bordelaise sauce, pomme frites, broccoli picked today from our garden, and cherries jubilee for dessert. Does that suit you?”

“It suits me very well,” I say, realizing that having my question answered may take a bit of determination.

He sets the bucket on the kitchen counter, takes a knife from a drawer and a cutting board from under the sink, and begins to chop up a garlic cluster.

“Ruth told me she heard you were a member; she says the group has been well publicized in the newspapers. It was reported that some of the members burned themselves alive to be transported to a planet called Sirius.”

“The media is duplicitous; it thrives on unfounded gossip and rumors.”

“So you deny you belong to the group.”

“I did not say that.”

“Well?”

“I am proud to say I am member of the Solar Temple.”

“Proud?”

“Perhaps you don’t know me so well; you should have dug deeper when you invited me to confess my secrets.”

“You told me you practiced the native beliefs.”

“One does not preclude the other.”

“How is that possible?”

“Many of the natives have also converted to Christianity and still practice the ancient rituals.”

“Is it true your fellow members burned themselves alive to be transported to another planet?”

He drops the mussels into a pot of simmering broth and adds the chopped garlic.

“The first group, along with our leaders, made a successful transport. Others will follow when they feel the time is right.”

“Your leader’s own son testified that it’s all a scam. How can you believe in something so crazy?”

“Are you a woman of faith?”

“I like to think so.”

“There you have it.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Faith is a bet you can’t lose.”

“That’s an ambiguous answer, at best.”

“Such is the nature of your question, my love.”

“First of all, my faith does not require burning oneself alive as a means of transport.”

“Well, that is the only difference between the religions. Anyway, they took medications before the purification and were well prepared to take their journey to the blissful planet.”