Wynn in the Willows (2 page)

“Undoubtedly, I will.”

“Since you're new to the island, let me tell you about its history and some of its mysteries. I'm known around these parts for shooting from the lips because I say things straight out. It's the only way to be.”

Wynn rubbed her temples against a migraine. The unexpected calling of a nearby loon eased the pain. Now if she could just see the bird. Dare she go for the binoculars inside her backpack?

As if sensing her discontent, Roxie scooted her chair closer to Wynn, and patted her hand to get her attention.

“I bet this is a fascinating story. Tell me every detail,” Wynn prodded, hoping to please Roxie.

“I will.” Owl began, “In the late 1800's my ancestors, Joseph and Anna Reed, bought the string of Willow Islands and built a mansion on the south end of this one. It was real fancy, no doubt about it. Italian plasterers did the first floor walls. Not only were there European imported marble fireplaces, but also marble windowsills a foot wide. Anna wouldn't have any but the very best wallpaper for the second floor, and every piece of furniture was handmade to her specifications. It took four years to build the manor, and six months more just to ferry over all their furnishings from Egg Harbor.

“But then tragedy struck and what happened next has affected the island to this very day. Because of it, there are those who refuse to take a step onto the island for fear of...”

Nonchalantly, Roxie reached out and pinched a flap of skin on Owl's arm.

“Ouch!” Owl cried rubbing the red mark. “Roxie! Why did you do that?”

“There was a crumb on your arm I was trying to brush away. Sorry Owl.” Roxie excused herself and left the room.

Wynn wondered what had just happened. Had Roxie warned Owl in some way to keep her from continuing the story?

Owl grew silent, as if in a trance, and then the words poured from her lips like a stream down a mountain. “On the Reed family's last trip to the island before winter set in, the boat capsized in a horrific storm. Anna was able to save her two little boys, James and Joel, but her husband drowned and his body was never found. Anna searched the shoreline for years hoping her husband's body would someday wash up so she could give him a good Christian burial. It never did.” Owl leaned forward. “For many years this island was referred to as…Widow Island. There's been a curse on the island ever since. Like a summer cold, only some residents get it.”

“A curse?” Wynn asked, intrigued.

Maybe this quiet island had some mystery, after all.

 

 

 

 

2

 

The air was fragrant with lilac. Bits of sky could be seen through the throng of summer leaves where a mosaic in blue and green shifted gently in the wind. A squirrel bounded across a limb, its thick tail raised.

Wynn hadn't told Aunt Roxie she'd come home to find out what really happened to her dad. She was brought back to the present by Owl's voice.

“I'll explain the circumstances.” Owl took the last sip of her lemonade.

Roxie brought a new plate of éclairs out and held it in front of Owl. “All these are for you, Owl. Eat them while they're still fresh.”

“Ohh-h, Rox-ie! Thank you!”

Wynn pulled on a tendril of hair.

Aunt Roxie was keeping Owl from talking about the tragedy.

After her grandparents moved Wynn off the island, she'd never had a chance to really get to know Aunt Roxie. On the day of Wynn's high school graduation, a letter arrived with a fat check inside. It was enough to pay for her entire college education and then some. And now, Roxie opened her home to Wynn for the summer.

Wynn jumped at the chance to know her family better.

Only now it seemed her aunt was hiding something. Could Roxie be trusted, or not?

“What were you saying, Owl?” Wynn prodded, leaning forward.

Much to her chagrin, Owl's mouth was filled with creamy éclair. She pointed at her sealed lips. But those éclairs wouldn't last forever.

Wynn could wait her out.

Faith returned, rewinding the conversation. “How long ago was the name changed from Widow Island to Willow Island, Owl?” she asked.

Owl swallowed hard. “It's been about fifty years now. I was in fifth grade at the time.” She picked up her empty glass. “I'll need more lemonade, Roxie, if I'm going to finish telling the story properly.”

Roxie poured lemonade to the rim, squeezed extra lemon into the glass, and then handed it back.

Owl slugged down a few inches of lemonade, puckered, and coughed. “That tastes a bit more sour than my last glass…I can hardly speak.”

“Then I'll finish the story,” Roxie happily cut in. “Where were you? Oh yes, the island officials felt the name change was better for tourism.”

“And it certainly worked!” Faith agreed. “The prices of cottages on this island have skyrocketed in the last twenty years. See Jackie? You aren't the only wealthy woman here.”

“Girls, girls, be nice,” Roxie scolded. Her face flushed nearly the same color red as her hair. “This is Wynn's first club meeting with us, and you don't want her to hear us bickering already, do you?”

“Of course not.” Jackie and Faith agreed in unison.

Wynn moved to a chair closer to Owl. “So what became of the Reed mansion? Does anyone live there now?”

“Oh yes, it's become an icon of Willow Island! About thirty years ago Joel Reed's grandson sold it and the new owners made it into a bed and breakfast. The old Reed Mansion is once again a showplace. Wynn, you must visit it. They have a wonderful chef, who is none other than Faith's brother. Also, the vistas of Lake Michigan from the verandas are gorgeous. That alone is worth the price of a meal, although I must admit Roxie's view is almost as breathtaking.”

“My vistas are even more breathtaking,” Jackie interrupted.

“Instead of a girl's day out, let's hold our next Bible club meeting at the Willow Inn and afterwards have brunch,” Sheri suggested.

“Good idea. I'll text my brother right now with the reservations.” Faith went for her phone. “I'll also ask Frank to personally prepare our meal.”

“I just remembered. Wynn has a birthday coming up. Let's celebrate it at our next Bible club,” Roxie said. “I'd never forget your special day. We must celebrate it in high style to make up for all the birthdays we weren't together.”

“No, no!” The last thing she wanted was birthday recognition. Celebrating would be pure torture. Wynn always spent it in her own way, and it usually involved exploring waterways.

“What a wonderful idea. I'll have Frank bake you a cake, too. Is chocolate OK?” Faith began texting.

“Roxie, please don't…” Wynn had terrible visions of someone walking in with a chocolate cake while the servers sang to her, holding balloons.

Maybe there'd even be a red-nosed, freakish clown in the vicinity. Everyone would turn and look at her. Nightmares were made of this. It was hard focusing on the conversation while trying to figure out a way to get out of attending her birthday bash. Suddenly she knew what she'd do. She'd call in sick.

“Pay attention, Wynn,” Aunt Roxie nudged her. “Owl is asking you a question.”

“Oh, sorry…what did you say?”

“I said, do you know that people still dig through the sand trying to uncover poor Joseph Reed?” Owl's eyes widened for emphasis.

“You're kidding.”

“When you go to the beach Wynn, you'll see cute police signs that say, ‘No digging for Joseph Reed',” Sheri said.

“That's actually a problem?” Wynn asked.

“Oh, yes indeed, we've lost shoreline because of it. Digging used to be one of the island's tourist draws, but now it garnishes a hefty fine.”

“That's right. Thanks to my nephew's complaints to the town board,” Owl pointed out. “He is concerned about the damage to the island.”

“I see him out in his sailboat quite often,” Jackie commented. “Last summer he took Boone, his mother, sister, and me out on it for the day.”

“Isn't it a sloop?” Faith asked.

“No, a schooner.” Owl corrected and continued with her story. “Anna grew to be an old woman on this island and never remarried. Poor thing.”

“Her two sons went to boarding school on the mainland.” Roxie said impatiently. “End of story.”

“One of them remained there and lost his inheritance as a result. The other child, Joel, came back and never left,” Owl said.

“True and he built a lovely home just down the road from here. But have you noticed the newest residents painted it an awful shade of ochre? It's the only house on Zoha Lane. It's much smaller than the grand mansion, of course, but still quite nice.” Faith stated.

“Zoha Lane? Isn't that the house where my parents and I once lived, Aunt Roxie?” Wynn asked as a long ago memory floated to the surface.

“Oh,” said Roxie. “Yes, I believe it was.”

“Your family once lived in the Reed house?” Faith nearly came up off her chair with curiosity.

Wynn opened her mouth to answer, but Roxie took over. “Yes, but they decided to move away. We're fresh out of éclairs, but there's more lemonade. Anyone?”

“We moved after my dad died.”
Instead of my sixth birthday party, there was a funeral.
But Wynn didn't say that out loud.

“Your dad?” Owl asked.

“Yes, he ran a greeting card shop on the beach. My mother sold it. We left the island.” Wynn wanted to know more about the mystery. “Earlier, you said something about a curse.”

“Don't pay any attention to that kind of talk, Wynn. The Bible speaks against it. There's no such thing as curses, and it'll just upset you, and drive down the real-estate prices.” Faith's phone rang again. “OK, that's it ladies, I really have to be getting back to the office now.” She picked up her briefcase, tucking the cell against her chin. “Hello? I'm on my way to the office this moment.” Faith closed her call. “Wynn, I enjoyed meeting you. If you ever decide to make Willow Island your residence, I have a listing you might be interested in seeing...just don't wait too long.”

“Thanks, but I'm quite content staying in Aunt Roxie's tree house.”

“You're staying in a tree house?” Faith's hand fluttered.

“It's actually Aunt Roxie's efficiency apartment over the garage, but its tree top level. It's my tree house.”

“You and I are going to be great friends, I can tell.” Faith hurried out the porch door.

Faith's departure created a domino effect. They hugged Wynn one by one, calling her a blessing.

Wynn felt their sincerity. She now belonged to the Bridge Over Troubled Waters Ladies Club.

 

 

 

 

3

 

By the time everyone left, the best part of the day had passed. Wynn pitched in with the clean-up.

Above the sink were jalousie windows that overlooked the back garden, now filled with late afternoon shadows. A warm breeze shifted through the screens, ruffling the hems of lace curtains.

Water thundered down into the sink as Wynn squeezed the belly of the plastic dish soap bottle.

“There's something I've wanted to ask since you moved in, but have hesitated. I don't want to hurt your feelings by dredging up what might be best left alone.”

Hurt. Such an ambiguous word. By what degree did one gauge pain? Physically she was strong, but inside she was shredded. Wynn looked into her aunt's indigo eyes trying to recall her own mother's eyes.

“Go ahead, ask me anything,” Wynn said.

Sentences never opened well when prefaced by ‘I don't want to hurt your feelings, but…'

“Have you heard from your mother recently?”

Not too far down the lake, a lawn was being mowed. A dog barked just beyond the fence. Life moved on, even when she was sure time had stopped for a few seconds.

“Not for months, but that's not unusual. Eventually another one of her greeting cards will arrive with only her signature.”

“Perhaps another card will arrive in time for your birthday.”

“I doubt it. I never mentioned I was coming here.” Wynn touched her aunt's arm, leaving an unintended cloud of suds. “You've heard from her?”

“Me? No! I haven't heard from her in years.” Roxie dried the glasses and set them neatly by rows on the open shelves.

“But you're her sister. She should have written to you.”

What secret was Roxie keeping about her parents? She was quite positive the women of Willow Island knew.

“And you're her daughter; I thought she'd at least keep in touch with long letters.”

Tears stung Wynn's eyes as she pulled the plug in the sink and watched the water twirl down into the hole, leaving behind a skirt of bubbles. “What's wrong? Talk to me.”

“Nothing is wrong. It's just that I miss your mom so much. You remind me of her.”

Unsure she liked the comparison, a worm of sadness wiggled through Wynn. “If that's true, it's purely through genetics.”

“Spoken as a true scientist!” Roxie kissed Wynn's forehead, and then took a deep breath. “But I must admit, genetics is all your mom and I ever had in common, too. There was always something between us.”

“Like what?”

“Our parents' affection. Ruth thought I was the preferred twin.”

“Were you?”

“Not as far as I was concerned. There was also competition between us.”

“Sports competition?”

“No, it was all about the opposite sex. We seemed to always compete for the same man. Whenever I liked someone she enjoyed trying to get him. It's silly. Never mind that.” Roxie waved the towel in the air as though she was wiping away such pettiness. “What matters is you. For a short time I had the privilege of being an indulgent auntie to you, but that was cut short when your father…passed. Ruth and I were never close. And once she left the island, a curtain of silence seemed to drop between us. I would have given anything to have had you here with me.”