The House on Black Lake (6 page)

I guide Sam upstairs to the master bedroom, help him recline on the bed and prop him up with pillows. “Keep the damp rag squeezed tight and lie still. It won’t take me long to pack up and straighten the room.”

A picture hangs above the iron headboard of the bed. It is a pen-and-ink drawing of a man curled into a fetal position inside a jail cell. The wretched soul appears unaware the door to his barred cage is wide open.

“I’ll ask Ruth to find us a nice hotel in the village,” I tell Sam, as I pack up yesterday’s clothing and move the railroad trunk back to its place in the corner. “I’m taking the suitcase downstairs,” I say, and exit the room.

The interior of the house no longer holds the sense of foreboding of the previous night. It now appears sadly faded with age and neglect. I open the front door, step outside, and am met by a gush of delicious fresh air that makes me nearly giddy with delight. The black shroud of night has dissolved to an electric blue sky, and a dazzling morning sun now dominates the overhead landscape. I stifle the urge to wave as I watch flocks of birds swoop down to form a configuration resembling a ceremonial welcome.

A hand presses against my lower back.

“Sammy dear, you scared me. What are you doing out here? I told you to lie down on the bed.”

“It’s spooky up there,” Sam says in a nasal voice from under the wet rag.

“Good morning,” Ruth calls from the pathway leading up to the house. She wears a floral sundress with a full skirt that flutters in the morning breeze. Her porcelain skin is scrubbed clean of make-up, and she looks fresh and radiant. “What happened to Sammy? And what are you doing standing outside with your suitcase?”

“He had a nose bleed. He has them occasionally. I’ve decided the house is too remote and isolated for a child and for me too, as far as that’s concerned. I’d be happy to find a local hotel, if you could recommend one,” I say, and pick up my bag for emphasis.

“You don’t have to do that.” Her face clouds in the uneasy moment and she appears stymied for a response, but quickly breaks into a warm smile. “You can stay at our house, if you don’t mind the pull-out couch in the basement. All the bedrooms are being used.”

“Thanks. Sammy would like that.” I look down to Sam for his confirmation and am relieved to see he has taken the cloth from his nose and seems fully recovered.

“Ruth, I saw an emaciated kitten on the porch last night. I’m concerned about the poor creature.”

“It’s probably feral. They sometimes sleep in crannies of the rowboats and get stranded when they leave the boat to look for food.” Ruth turns and walks down the stairs to the path.

“The children are waiting,” she calls back to us. “You can throw the rag in the trash bin next to the boat garage.”

We follow Ruth along the same path we walked last night, but daylight reveals an entirely different picture. The island is an overgrown Eden, lush and boldly vibrant, with patches of jungle-like growth around its perimeter. At the dock the playful noises of birds and insects join the lull of splashing water, and butterflies flutter among the wildflowers. The stunning lake spreads out before us, breathtakingly picturesque. Difficult to believe this pristine scene transforms to a sinister image, when day turns to night.

“Ramey said you needed life jackets. He stored them under the seat.” Ruth steps into the rowboat, takes my suitcase, and helps Sammy and me down into the boat.

“If I seem a bit sluggish this morning, it’s because I was up half the night. The late rowboat ride really got Ramey going. Did you and Sammy sleep well?”

I lower myself onto the plank next to Sammy and gaze down at the trail of my blood in the belly of the hull, from the cut on my ankle. It has seeped into the wood and turned a muddy brown.

“We slept like babies.”

A
SCREAM PIERCES THE AIR AS WE ROW TO THE PIER AT THE
Sandeley’s house and a girl collapses to the ground. A pack of children race across the grounds, and two young women run down from the patio to encircle her writhing body.

“Jonquil, what happened to Lizzie?” Ruth calls out.

“She got stung,” calls back a pretty child dressed in white lace, who sits on a blanket on the grass weaving colorful flowers and ribbon into a wreath.

As we disembark, a chubby toddler runs towards us and holds up a canning jar filled with water.

“What do you have there, Baby?” Ruth asks.

“We’re killing bees,” she replies with glee.

“Juliette darling, say hello to Mrs. Brighton and her son, Samuel. They will be staying with us for the week.”

“My name is Baby. You can sleep with me in my crib,” she says to Sammy with a toss of her tawny curls.

A boy with an uncanny resemblance to Ramey tickles the stung girl’s bare feet as she vainly tries to kick him away.

“Leave me alone, Rand,” she screams.

“Rand, stop it! Did you hear me? Where did the nannies go, Eggie?” Ruth says to a boy with vacant eyes and a shaved head, who is dressed in mismatched clothing. He stands away from the others and watches with intense curiosity, while massaging a red rubber ball in his left hand. “Eggie, answer me.”

“To get medicine.”

“I like to pour water in the container and watch them die,” Rand tells Sammy. “Do you want to help? I’ll get you a jar.”

“I’ve made a plaster that will take the pain away,” says a young woman as she approaches the prostrate girl. She has sun-kissed auburn hair and a curvaceous shape poured into a fire-engine red bikini. A gawky dishwater blonde with thick glasses trails closely behind.

“I’ll take care of Lizzie, Amanda. Say hello to my friend. She and her son will be staying with us for the week.”

Amanda introduces herself and informs me she is visiting from Dublin and Gabrielle is a student at Oxford and they have been hired as au pairs for the summer. “We’re on duty most days and nights, and are happy to watch your boy. Although we do like to get off to Montreal for a night on the town every now and again,” she says with a dimpled smile that transforms a rather plain face into a beauty.

“Sammy’s is quite shy, especially with new people, but I may take you up on that offer.” I turn around to pat him on the back for reassurance, but he’s already taken off.

“It worked, Amanda,” Lizzie says, and props herself up on her elbows. “Where did the boy go?”

“He’s over there with Rand, torturing the wild kingdom,” Amanda answers.

“I know everything about bees,” Lizzie informs me. “The full moon in June is called the honeymoon. It’s the best time to get the honey. The queen lays the eggs, the workers bring her money, I mean honey,” she giggles. “If the queen dies—”

“Shut up, Lizzie!” Rand hollers. “Okay, we got three big ones. Now, let’s time how long it takes them to die,” Rand says to Sammy. He tightens the lid of a canning jar and pours water from another pot into the holes jabbed in the lid. “One second, two—”

“I killed a big one,” Baby announces.

“Let me take you inside and show you where you will be staying for the rest of the week,” Ruth says. She carries lemons picked from a nearby bush in her full skirt.

“What about Sammy?”

“He’ll be fine. The girls will watch him.”

Ruth deposits the lemons into a basket in the kitchen, then leads me downstairs. The air cools as we descend to a rustic family room paneled in pine that infuses the room with a mild hint of its soothing fragrance. “Ramey’s great-grandfather traded with the Iroquois. These are some of the pieces he inherited with the other old junk from his dad’s estate.”

The walls are decorated with stretched cowhides adorned with depictions of buffalo herds and native tribesmen. Glass cases hung along the walls display an impressive assortment of native artifacts, including elaborately painted masks, bows and arrows, and sharp flints. A narrow bank of windows set high in the ceiling above the relics provides the only source of natural light in the dim room.

“The stonemason who designed this monstrosity of a fireplace says the rocks contain rare properties; he found them deep in the bush near the clubhouse. He says the Indians heated them for their healing baths and built structures using the stones to ward off evil spirits. But in my opinion a rock is a rock. Eggie calls them ‘hard dead things’. The couch pulls out to a bed.”

“It’s perfect. Sammy will love it here.”

“There are no computers in the house, and the children aren’t allowed to use electronics. We prefer the old-fashioned forms of entertainment.”

“Where’s Ramey?”

“He drove into Montreal for business. He’ll be back in time for dinner.” She sets my suitcase down near the hearth.

“You didn’t need to pack so much. I’m taking you into Montreal tomorrow for a complete makeover. There is a special lingerie shop in Old Montreal. They have the most beautiful and naughty undergarments and other unmentionables.” Ruth beams a conspiratorial smile.

“Sounds adventurous, I’m looking forward to becoming a new woman,” I say, and dart my eyes around the room to avert the intimacy of her gaze.

“I’d like to check on Sammy. He worries when I’m out of sight for too long and I don’t like him playing too near the water. He fell in a lake and almost drowned when he was little.”

“How did that happen?”

“He was staring at his reflection and lost his balance. Sammy told me he kicked his way to a foundation pole and pulled himself to the surface. He was with his father when it happened.”

“A miracle, eh?”

“Yes. And God rarely grants more than one.”

“You should sign him up for swimming classes. You don’t want him to end up with your phobia.”

“I thought you forgot.”

“Well, of course. We will keep a very close eye on him.”

Ruth mounts the stairs, and then stops for a moment to turn back. “Unpack your bathing suits and whatever you’ll need for swimming on the lake. I’ll gather up the children and drive the car around front. Oh, and you may want to change; it’s going be a hot one today.”