Voices Carry Page 5

  And by dinnertime tonight, she’ll be here.

  Patsy walked along the old wooden dock and stood at the very end, and gazed out across the lake.

  By dinnertime tonight, my precious girl will be home.

  Coming back to Wick’s Grove always filled Genna with conflicting emotions. For years after she learned to drive, she would take an out-of-the way road that would wind through back roads for almost ten minutes in the opposite direction just to avoid driving by the old campgrounds. At the beginning of every summer she promised herself that this year she would take the most direct route and drive past the deserted camp, but every year, she found herself making the detour that would permit her to circumvent the area. And at the end of every summer, she’d promise herself that next year, she’d do it. She never had.

  Some ghosts were more difficult to exorcise than others, Genna rationalized, as she paused at the stop sign marking the point where Freedom Road intersected with Tolliver, the very point where she would decide whether to go straight, or to once again make that turn that would take her out of her way.

  Straight or turn? Straight or turn?

  An impatient driver behind her issued four short blasts of his horn. Her concentration broken, Genna made the turn, just as she always ended up doing for one reason or another.

  Next time, I will go straight, she told herself. I will.

  A half mile down Tolliver Road it occurred to Genna that this route would take her past the Frick farm, and she relaxed. No need to berate herself for her lack of courage this time. She did, after all, have a job to do.

  Up ahead just a little farther was the stand from which the Fricks sold their fresh farm produce. Genna slowed, noticing the cars parked on either side of the road just before the small grove of ancient oaks under which the wooden tables stood laden with that morning’s harvest. Genna pulled to the shoulder and parked her aging Taurus behind a station wagon that had two car seats in the back.

  Tucking her pocketbook under her arm, she strolled leisurely over the clumps of grass at the edge of the field that had been turned over by the spring plowing and from which dandelions and thorny thistle grew. There were six or seven customers picking over tomatoes that had been arranged in neat rows, mounds of dark green squash piled high, and deep purple beets, their stems tied together to form bunches, all with patches of pale dried dirt still clinging to them. Genna took her time, looking over the vegetables, as if she had all the time in the world, selecting a cantaloupe here, a few tomatoes there, not approaching the young woman who served as the cashier until the other customers had started back to their cars.

  Placing her selections on the overturned wooden box that served as a counter of sorts, Genna smiled and said, “I think this will do it for today.”

  “The cantaloupe are really sweet this week.” The young girl, whose dark brown hair was pinned tightly to her head and held in place by a pale netting, never looked up from the small slip of paper upon which she tallied up Genna’s purchases. “The squash is good, too. And the string beans.”

  “I didn’t see string beans,” Genna turned back to the table.

  The young woman walked past Genna to check, then frowned.

  “My brother was supposed to bring some down.” She shielded her eyes from the sun and looked up the long dirt lane to the sprawling farmhouse and the barns beyond. “He’s coming, but he’s taking his time about it.”

  “It’s all right.” Genna assured her. “I’m not in any hurry. And besides, you have other customers.”

  Genna gestured to the woman and her teenage daughter who were assembling a bouquet from the stems of cut summer flowers that stood in tall tin buckets at the end of the table.

  And it will give me an opportunity to linger for a few minutes and to observe.

  Not that she expected a host of bikers to come roaring up on their Harleys in a cloud of dust. But it had been a long time since she’d been to the Frick farm, and a few minutes to orient herself could be helpful.

  Genna strolled with apparent aimlessness toward the grove of trees. Three young girls between the ages of ten and twelve were trying to keep a half-dozen toddlers occupied and away from the road. Tall stalks of corn lined the long drive on either side, and somewhere up beyond the barn to the far left, Genna recalled, was a pond.

  Her arms folded across her chest, Genna leaned against the side of one of the wooden tables and tried to pretend that she was not watching the two boys who were walking toward her, each carrying a basket. Both boys looked to be in their late teens, both were dressed in the traditional black pants and blue short-sleeved shirt, both were beardless, as would denote their single status. But the boy on the left walked with a purposeful stride, while the boy on the right appeared to trip over nearly every stone and clump of grass he passed, causing his companion to pause and wait for him, and causing Genna to wonder at the nature of his infirmity.

  It wasn’t until he reached the table that she saw his eyes, saucered and bloodshot, the lids at half-mast. He was sniffing with every third breath he took through a nose that one, familiar with the symptoms of cocaine abuse, could detect the faintest trace of white powder.

  Without speaking, he dumped the contents of his basket onto the wooden table. Watching him out of the corner of one eye, Genna sorted through the string beans and put her selections into a brown paper bag from a stack left there for that purpose. She handed the bag to the young woman and waited for her to weigh the contents.

  “That’ll be no charge,” the girl told her, “since you had to wait for them.”

  “Oh, but I didn’t mind—”

  “Your mother is waiting for you,” the boy with the bloodshot eyes interrupted sullenly as if Genna wasn’t there.

  “And it’s your fault if she is,” the girl hissed.

  “Well, we’re here now, Lydia.” The other boy stepped in front of her to take the two zucchini, almost as long as baseball bats and nearly as thick, from the hands of the woman who stood next to Genna. “Your sister said to bring the little ones back now and get them cleaned up for supper.”

  “As if I’d leave them here with you and him,” Lydia grumbled, her eyes narrowing as she leaned closer as if to inspect the face of the boy with the bloodshot eyes. “What’s wrong with you, Eli?” she asked.

  “Nothin’,” he mumbled.

  “Go on, now,” the second young man told her. “I’ll take care of things here. You’re needed up at the house.”

  “But Eli—”

  “Your brother will be fine,” he assured her. “All of the dust from the hay in the barn is just making his nose run.”

  That, and what he’s been stuffing it with, Genna was tempted to add.

  Having spent as much time as she could seeming to arrange her bags, Genna lifted all and walked to her car where she opened the rear driver’s-side door to put her purchases inside. Not having expected to get lucky so early in the game, Genna watched in her rearview mirror as she pulled away. The boy with the “dust allergy” was stretching out beneath one of the trees, while his companion waited on the customers. As she drove the rest of the way to the lake, Genna tried to recall the photographs that she’d seen in Decker’s office. There had been three Amish boys around the same age as the boys she had just seen, though in the photos, their faces had not been clear. The young woman had not been in the pictures, and the toddlers had not been under the trees. But the shadows had been shorter, indicating an earlier hour in the day. Perhaps late morning, she speculated, when the smallest members of the family might be napping, and the women would be preparing the noon meal.

  Genna turned onto the road leading down to the lake, wondering how long young Eli’s supply would last, when his friends would be bringing him more, and just what he was doing in return for the favor.

  4

  The long way to the lake took Genna down Coldstream Road, past the general store and the area’s one fine restaurant, Sally’s Lakeside, where all you can eat meant exactly that. Genn
a drove slowly, as one was forced to do here on the thin asphalt ribbon that circled Bricker’s Lake in a narrow arc that barely permitted two SUV’s to pass each other. There were other sections of roadway that had never been paved, but over here, in the more highly populated section of the community, macadam had been put down a few years back. On Patsy’s side, the road was still hard-packed dirt that could be a real problem during times of heavy rain, but many of Patsy’s neighbors were elderly and could not afford to pitch in for the paving.

  Slowing to watch three teenage girls slip their catamaran into the water, Genna smiled, recalling many a summer day when she’d done that. Though not with friends. Genna hadn’t had many of them. When she wanted to sail, it had been Patsy who had accompanied her.

  As soon as she rounded the last gentle curve in the road, Genna could see Patsy, there at the end of the pebbled drive, clipping long stems of Queen Anne’s lace from a clump that grew wild near the mailbox. At the sight of Genna’s Taurus, Patsy straightened up, tucked her clippers into a pocket of her apron and pulled off her headset, letting it rest around her neck, and placed her flowers on the ground. With her hands on her hips and a smile on her face, she watched Genna park.

  “Pull up a little farther, honey,” Patsy called to her. “Your tail end is hanging out onto the road.”

  Genna did as she was told, Patsy chattering the entire time.

  “. . . and even though I’ve told him a hundred times, ‘Wayne, don’t drive so close to the side of the road. . .’”

  “You still picking on that poor mailman?” Genna grinned as she got out of the car.

  “Well, that poor mailman knocked over old Mr. Parker’s mailbox two weeks ago.” Patsy paused long enough to wrap Genna in a close hug. “I’ve told him, Nancy’s told him. . .”

  “Who’s Nancy?” Genna returned Patsy’s squeeze before letting go and leaning into the car to pop the trunk latch.

  “Mrs. Palmer’s summer renter, next door. I told you about her.” Patsy reached through the open passenger side window and lifted out Genna’s purse. “You weren’t going to leave this in there, were you?” Patsy frowned. “Things aren’t the way they used to be around here, you know.”

  “Or anyplace else, I venture,” Genna said, adding, “I’d have come back for it.”

  Genna sat her suitcase on the grass, Patsy eyeing it as if she thought she could judge how long Genna would be staying by the size of her suitcase. However long it might be, it was never long enough.

  “I stopped at Frick’s on the way by,” Genna told Patsy as she retrieved a cantaloupe from the backseat and held it aloft for Patsy’s inspection.

  Patsy nodded her approval and grabbed for Genna’s suitcase.

  “I’ll take that,” Genna told her.

  “I have it.”

  “You take these.” Genna passed her the basket from Frick’s. “And don’t forget your flowers.”

  “You think I can’t handle that?” Patsy gestured to the suitcase with a bob of her head, then turned to pick up the Queen Anne’s lace. “Ha! I’m as healthy as a horse. I’m going to be around to take your babies on their first spin across the lake in the kayak.”

  “I don’t know that I’d want to be holding my breath, waiting for babies,” Genna smiled, “but I’m hoping to get a few spins around the lake myself while I’m here.”

  “Tomorrow, maybe,” Patsy told her as they walked up the front step of the cottage. “Tonight you relax. I can tell by your eyes that you haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. You work too hard, Genna.”

  “Probably,” Genna agreed, stepping inside and unconsciously breathing in just a little more deeply, inhaling the welcoming scent of the place. She never entered through that door without experiencing a sense of welcome, of relief. That feeling that she’d reached her sanctuary.

  “You bought new carpets and didn’t tell me?” Genna asked, standing in the center of the living room and taking it all in.

  “They were installed last week. I thought the new decor would be a nice surprise for you. I thought it was time.” Patsy nodded. “The last time I bought carpets, you were fifteen, remember?”

  “I do. You let me help pick out the color.”

  “Which explained the red, white, and blue tweed carpet in the bathroom all these years.”

  “I thought it was patriotic.” Genna grinned.

  “It was. Though I always had to fight the urge to salute before using the facilities.”

  Genna laughed, then admired the new carpet, telling Patsy, “This beigy color is very nice.”

  “Taupe,” Patsy said as she disappeared into the kitchen. “The salesman called it taupe.”

  “Whatever. It’s great with the sofa.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I do.”

  “Honey, why don’t you take your things into your room and get settled?” Patsy reappeared with a green vase into which she had loosely arranged the Queen Anne’s lace and placed it in the center of the table.

  “I was just going to do that.”

  Genna hoisted her suitcase and followed the short hallway past the living room to the first door on the left. Patsy had earlier opened the curtains to let in light and whatever breeze might blow in off the lake, and Genna stood, just for a moment, in the doorway to take it all in.

  The old maple double bed was draped with the same old blue and white quilt that it had worn the first time Genna had slept in this room. Something about that quilt had given her great comfort that night, and she had never been able to give it up, no matter how worn from use and from washings it had become. The antique oak dresser still stood at an angle in one corner, its tall, attached mirror tilted to get the best light. The walls were still palest yellow—painted several times since Genna had come, but always in the same shade—and the same framed print—daisies in a mason jar, set upon a small square table—hung over the bed. Many a night Genna had fallen asleep on a pillow propped at the bottom of the bed so that she could count the number of petals on the flowers.

  They love me. They love me not. . .

  And last was the small chair covered in flowered chintz that had once graced the bedroom of Patsy’s younger sister back in Tanner. Nothing had changed much over the years, save for the new carpet, the same as that which now covered the floor in the living room and most likely, Genna surmised, Patsy’s room as well.

  Here, in this room, more than anyplace in the world, Genna felt at home.

  “I thought we’d have dinner around six,” Patsy announced from the living room, as if they ever had dinner at any other time. You could set your watch by Patsy’s sitting down for her evening meal every night at six P.M.

  Genna glanced at the small clock on the dresser.

  “Think we have time for a sail?”

  “Time, perhaps, though there’s not enough of a breeze. But if you’re up to paddling, we can take the canoe out. Or the kayaks.”

  “The canoe would be fine. Give me two minutes to change.”

  “I’ll meet you down at the lake.”

  Two minutes had been two minutes too few, but soon enough, Genna had traded her trim denim skirt and neat cotton shirt for an old pair of khaki shorts and an oversized tee, her leather sandals for bare feet. The fragrance from the lilies she and Patsy had planted years ago along the side of the house greeted her as she stepped onto the deck, and along the way to the lake she passed the ancient hydrangeas that Patsy claimed her parents had planted the year they built the place. It was all so achingly familiar, so wonderfully precious to Genna that she all but hugged herself with the pleasure of seeing it all again.

  Patsy turned and waved from the edge of the water where the canoe was tied from one of the pilings on the dock, and Genna joined her.

  “You ready?” Patsy asked.

  “Definitely.”

  “Go on and get in, then, while I untie ’er.”

  Genna walked through the warm, shallow water to the canoe and stepped in, pushed off a bit
with her paddle into deeper waters. Patsy joined her and together, they paddled along, falling into their old, practiced rhythm, traveling the lake’s perimeter. Occasionally Patsy would stop the action momentarily to point out “the MacDonalds’ new deck” or “the Clausens’ new catamaran. They bought it from the Taylors over on the other side of the lake, so it’s not exactly new. . .”

  And so on, until they’d come full circle and returned to their own dock.

  “It’s time to start dinner,” Patsy announced as they lifted the canoe from the water.

  “I’ll help.”

  “Sit down on the dock and just relax, honey. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

  “Tomorrow I’ll sit on the dock and watch the dragonflies and listen for the fish to jump.” Genna draped an arm around Patsy’s shoulders and fell in step. “Tonight I want to help get dinner ready.”

  And sit at the counter, there in that tiny kitchen, and get in your way from time to time. I want to listen to the sound of your voice and even the occasional silence. I want to set the table with the dishes I bought for your birthday that year I had my first job, and I want for just a little while to bask in your warmth. That same warmth that saved me so many years ago still soothes me. And Lord knows I could use a little of that warmth now. . .

  Genna was relieved when she awoke the next morning and realized that she had not had the nightmare. She always feared that her proximity to the camp would bring it all back in shrieking detail, and there were times, over the years, when she’d lain awake for hours, here in her small room that faced the back of the cottage, afraid to fall asleep. Afraid that the night demons could find her so much more easily here than anywhere else. But last night she’d slept like the proverbial log, and awakened refreshed.