Cancel the Wedding (9 page)

There was something familiar about that house.

I showed Elliott the picture. “Do you know where this house is?”

He stared at it for a long time. “I'm not sure. I don't think so, but something about it . . . Huh. I can't put my finger on it. Something's familiar. Let me go ask Bitsy.”

I closed my eyes and tried to rack my brain about where I had seen that house. Maybe we had driven by it on the way through town. Or maybe I had seen a photo of it earlier in the day. But I just felt like that wasn't it.

I looked at the picture again: at the two-story porch with the white railings and the vines creeping up all sides of it. There were blurry images of people standing on the second-floor balcony leaning on their arms and looking out over the lawn. The dormer windows lining the roof were open to catch the breeze. I looked down at the porch again. The way the people were leaning on the rail . . .

“That's it!” I shouted and Logan jumped. “This was Mom's house!”

Logan rushed over and looked over my shoulder. “How can you tell? We don't have any pictures of her house.”

Elliott had heard me shout and was back standing behind me looking at the photo with us. I said, “There is one. Sort of. That one picture she had of her and her parents when she was little. And they were all leaning on the rail of the porch. I would swear this is the same one.”

Elliott said, “God I hate to keep bringing you bad news—”

“It burned down. We know.”

He looked relieved. “Oh good. No, not good that it burned down. You know what I mean. Good that I didn't have to be the one to tell you. But I knew I recognized it.” He pointed to the top of the house. “Those chimney stacks are still there. When we were kids we used to have parties up there. We called it the Ruins.” He was talking to himself now. “I had no idea that was the Rutledge house.”

“Nice,” I teased. “Partying on the remains of my ancestral home.”

Logan stood up. “Can we go see it, Livie?”

“Of course.” I thought about all of the work e-mails on my phone that I had to deal with. “It might have to be tomorrow, though.”

Logan pouted a little. I forgot how much kids needed instant gratification. She turned to Elliott and asked, “So can you take us there tomorrow?”

“Logan, don't be so pushy.” I turned to Elliott and said, “Sorry. Maybe you could just give us some directions though.”

Logan was on some kind of mission; there was no stopping her. She was looking at Elliott now and ignoring me. “Graham's not working tomorrow. Maybe he could go too.”

Elliott and I shared a look. I shrugged. Elliott yielded. “She's good.”

I agreed. “She really is. I'm kind of shocked.”

“Maybe being with her pushy aunt is rubbing off.”

“You're hilarious.”

He smiled at Logan. “We'll go out there tomorrow.” I felt bad about dragging him into this but he was trying to research a story and maybe seeing the old homestead would help him as much as it would help me. He rubbed his hands together, making a plan. “Let's go by boat. It'll be fun and you can get a better feel for the lake.”

I guess we were all in this together now although to be honest I wasn't thrilled about going back out to the creepy lake. I asked, “Are we going to run aground on the top of a bell tower or anything?”

Elliott narrowed his eyes at me. “Very funny, but no. I will be very careful. No shipwrecks, no capsizing, and no swamp things.”

Logan said, “Oh good. So can we go eat lunch now? I'm starved.”

I woke up the next day after dreaming, of course, about my mother. In the dream it was my birthday and I was finding my birthday notes. My mom used to write tiny notes to us on our birthdays and hide them everywhere: lunchbox, pockets, backpack, inside cereal boxes, and under pillows. You never knew where one would be tucked away and half of the joy on your birthday was discovering them all. In my dream the notes were there, as always, but the pieces of paper were all blank.

My mother's silent past, which had always just seemed private, was now beginning to feel like a mystery. I hadn't expected to find a drowned town, and I couldn't help but wonder what other things were out there hiding in the depths of the water and the passage of time.

Elliott and Graham met us at the inn after breakfast and we all walked down to the lake together. The sidewalk was narrow enough that we could only walk two astride. I was only next to Logan for a moment before she slowed down to walk with Graham. Elliott and I took the lead, a matched set of third and fourth wheels. As we walked, he filled me in about his memories of the Ruins. They used to sneak up there on the weekends with kegs of beer and have bonfires. It sounded like what any good American teenager would do with a place so aptly named.

The partying had stopped, however, when the local historical society began enforcing the park hours of sunrise to sunset and running the kids off after dark. The TVA owned the shoreline up to one hundred feet back and the local historical society now owned the rest. Apparently the land housed a private graveyard that held the remains of one of the founders of the county.

So now it was a protected site. No more parties. No alcoholic beverages, no open campfires, no digging, no dogs off leash, no hunting. There were a lot of things one could
not
do on the site of my mother's home. And even though I had absolutely no connection to it whatsoever, I was relieved to see that someone was protecting it.

We walked down to the lake via a different pathway than the one we had taken the first time. This one led to one of those massive two-story floating docks and a beautifully restored wooden Chris Craft Sportsman from the 1950s.

Elliott untied the lines to the boat. “This is Jimmy's house and boat. He won't mind if we use it.”

I stopped before stepping off the dock. “You're stealing his boat? Did you ask him?”

Elliott said, “I haven't seen him yet this morning but when we get back I'll tell him that we used it. He won't care.” Graham held the lines and waited for me to climb aboard.

“Should we call him first?” I looked around, for help or witnesses I wasn't sure. “Should we leave him a note or something?”

Elliott started the engine. I noticed that the key was just sitting in the ignition attached to a plastic floating key chain. Graham took my hand, insisting that I climb in already and telling me that I didn't understand how things worked around here.

Elliott shook his head at me. “You worry way too much, Liv.”

I sat down next to Logan in the back of the boat as we pulled out of the dock.
Liv? Did he just call me Liv?

I answered him back. “Okay,
Eli.
I'll just sit back here and not worry about the fact that we're committing a felony in the company of minors.” He pretended like he couldn't hear me but I could see his shoulders move as he laughed.

I was having a hard time reconciling the murky green images of the dead town under the lake with the gorgeous body of water we were cruising across. The shoreline was filled with amazing new lake homes, which were systematically replacing the smaller, older brick ranch houses. The water was dotted with pontoon boats and a few small fishing boats that were tucked into coves here and there.

Elliott took us on a long tour of the lake before heading out toward the Ruins. I made a mental note to think of some other name to call that place. The lake was so confusing. Elliott was making a series of turns across it and all of the branches and coves looked exactly the same to me. I had no idea how he was navigating. Maybe it was just an innate knowledge that the people who lived here were born with.

We stopped at the marina to load up a picnic for later and to fill the boat with gas. The marina was clearly fashioned after the grand lake lodges of the Adirondack region. It looked just like those opulent lake resorts of the Gilded Age with its strong stone base and soaring timber-peaked roofline. I was standing on the flagstone patio with my back to the water staring up at the main building when I heard someone approach me. I turned to see the same pompous man who had been holding court at the inn the other night.

The man came up to Elliott and shook his hand. “Eli. I'm glad you stopped by. Are you planning to go to the meeting on Tuesday?”

Elliott ignored his question and held a hand out to me. “Emory Bryant, this is Olivia Hughes. She's in town visiting and we're showing her the lake.” Apparently Elliott wanted proper introductions to take place before discussing business.

Emory barely glanced at me and said, “Nice to meet you. Enjoy the lake.” He spit that all out by rote and then turned his attention back to Elliott to get a better answer to his question about the meeting. Emory was not originally from around here. I could tell by the stark contrast in manners and civility between the two of them.

Elliott was still looking at me as he explained. “Emory owns the marina.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “And the golf course.”

I said, “It's a beautiful marina.”

Emory nodded his approval, not in a way that seemed to be bragging but more as an acknowledgment that it was in fact a beautiful building. “Have you been to Tillman before?”

I said, “No, this is my first time.”

“Cruising the lake a bit?” He asked the question while he glanced around the patio.

“We're actually headed to the Ruins.”

Elliott nodded and added, “Olivia's family is from the area so we're doing a bit of research and touring. She's one of the Huntley Rutledges.”

Something in Emory's manner changed and he turned his full attention to me. He looked me up and down slowly as if trying to make sense of my appearance. “Are you staying long in town or just passing through?” Now he was staring intensely at me, trying to get a better look at my face under my sunglasses, and it was making me uncomfortable.

This sudden interest in me was unnerving. I took an unconscious step closer to Elliott. “I'm just here to find out some things about my mother. I'm not really sure how long we'll be here.”

“We?” he asked. “You said your mother is from the area? Is she with you?”

“No, she passed away recently.” Now he looked a little bit queasy. I waved toward Logan, who was waiting with Graham in the boat, and said, “I'm here with my niece.” He glanced at Logan and then back to me, staring silently. I said, “Well, it was nice to meet you.” It was more a way to break the tension and walk away than a statement of fact.

As Elliott and I walked down the long dock to the boat I said, “Emory seems a little intense.”

Elliott helped me into the boat. “It would be hard for me to explain him.”

Plenty of words came to my mind that would explain him. Rude, crass, abrupt, pompous. I went with the most obvious impression. “Big fish in a small pond?”

Elliott pulled the bumpers in to the boat as he backed away from the dock. “There might be a bit of that. He's definitely the biggest fish around here. It took him a while to break into society. Maybe he still has a chip on his shoulder about that.” Elliott noticed the quizzical look on my face when he said “society.” He continued. “There are some things in this town that only your name, not your money, can get you into. Of course Emory's all in now. But with Emory you can just tell his mind is always working on the next big thing. Solving the next problem. Every time we have a conversation I feel like he's ten moves ahead of me in a chess game that I didn't even know we were playing.”

We moved back out onto the lake. The day was hot but as we sped across the water the breeze cooled us off. My hair was whipping around my face. I kept trying to hold it back with my hand but the wind would grab it from me and smack me in the eyes with it.

The boat started to slow down as Elliott turned in to the last cove. On the low rise above the bank of the river were two elaborate brick chimney stacks. We docked the boat on a nearby pier and climbed up the bank.

I knew from the pictures we had seen that the house had once sat high above the surface of the river. But as the lake filled in the valley the water level rose to meet the house. Now, even though it sat far back from the bank of the lake, it was only at an elevation of about ten feet above the water.

The site was nothing more than a gradual sloping green lawn that led to the ruins of the house. And then behind them and on a slight rise was an ancient oak tree and a small wrought-iron fence. I assumed that the fence was enclosing the graves that allowed this land to be owned and protected by the historical society.

Elliott finished tying up the boat and Graham was wandering in Logan's wake as she ran up ahead. I made my way across the lawn. It was beautiful. The thick green grass was newly mowed and framed on one side by the neighboring property's woods and on the other by the edge of the golf course. I felt a cold chill run down my spine as I approached the ruins of the house. The granite steps were still there, leading to the ghost of the wide back porch that would have faced the river, and then later the lake. Part of the granite foundation was intact so that you could still make out the perimeter of the house.

The interior of the house was now filled with wild flowers. There was a small plaque that read:
PLEASE DO NOT PICK THE WILDFLOWERS. ~TILLMAN GARDEN CLUB
.

Logan was in the far corner picking handfuls of the wildflowers, of course.

I stood in the center of where the house had been, surrounded by wild poppies, and looked around. It felt like I owed it a reverence normally reserved for places of worship. This was my mother's home, where she had grown up, where she had lived with her mother and then watched her die. Where she had cared for her father. Where she had done homework as a kid and carved pumpkins and decorated Christmas trees. A whole life gone and forgotten.

I walked over to what would have been the front door and climbed up the small foundation wall and tried to imagine where the rooms would have been. As I entered there would have been a foyer with a grand stair of some kind. Was it a double stair or single? Curved or rectangular? To my right (or perhaps my left but I was imagining it on the right) would have been the parlor or receiving room. Maybe a private office for her father, the judge?