Wynn in the Willows (3 page)

“I never knew that. After Grammy and Gramps died, my uncles came for me. Why didn't you?”

Roxie set her lips into a firm line while her hands clasped the dishrag. “Your mother wouldn't hear of it.”

“But she was in Central Africa. Still is. She couldn't have stopped you.”

“Well, she did. Even from there.”

“But why would she do that? I mean, the island was my home and I knew you. My uncles were strangers to me at the time.”

“I hope they were good to you.”

“Yes, they were very good to me. I grew to love them very much. They loved me, too, from the very first moment.” One of her sharpest memories was the day her uncles decided to share their home with her. The memory of the following years was a beautiful, happy note.

The sound of a lawn mower stopped. A silence fell between them.

Should she talk about her life with Uncle Dill and Matt? Two bachelors, who had plenty of time on their hands, which they gave unselfishly to her. They made sure her homework was always done and they kept track of her whereabouts—especially during those tumultuous teenage years. But Wynn couldn't think of a way of telling Roxie this without making it sound as though she was better off with them.

“Now that you're older, there's a new chance for me to know you. I hope we become good friends.”

“Me, too.”

“The last time you and I were together was at your dad's funeral. We took a long walk together afterwards.”

“I'm sorry, but I don't remember that.”

“It's OK. You were so little and it was a very long time ago.”

Wynn felt suspended, waiting for something to happen; the air to be stirred by a voice. The wall of secrecy between them seemed to be crumbling. Wynn decided to take advantage of the closeness. “My turn. Now I have a question for you.”

“Oh?” Roxie's eyebrows arched. “Ask away.”

“How did my dad die?” Wynn clenched her teeth so tight it made her jaw ache. Over the years, knowing what became of her dad had become an obsession, a fierce, fiery need gnawing away at her gut.

Roxie's eyes widened with surprise as her hand slowly trailed up to her mouth. “Oh, my. You don't know? Your mother never told you?”

“And my grandparents refused to talk about it. So now, I am coming to you. What happened?”

Roxie gave a big sigh. “I'll have to dig through old information to be sure. My memory doesn't serve me so well these days.”

“I don't understand. How can you possibly forget something like that? It seems amnesia runs rampant in our family,” Wynn said.

Roxie was a clever woman who easily memorized Bible verses and knew everyone's name on the island. A failed memory was only an excuse. And a poor one, at that. It was obvious her aunt was holding out on her.

“It's been a lot of years and I never dwell in the past. If you would be so kind as to allow me to get my facts straight first, I'd appreciate it,” Roxie said, dodging Wynn's gaze.

“Uncle Dill recently said it was in the island newspapers for weeks at the time of his death. I want to see the clippings. Do you happen to have them?” Wynn couldn't wait another moment.

“I don't think I saved them. As I told you, I never dwell in the past.”

Wynn was suspicious and even more determined to find the truth. “Never mind, I'll take the ferry across to Egg Harbor. The library should have it on microfiche.”

“Oh, Wynn, some things are better left alone. The past should be left there.” Roxie struggled with her words. “Let the past remain buried. Don't dig it up.”

“You mean like Joseph Reed?”

“What?”

“The island residents don't want tourists to dig up the sandy beaches looking for Joseph Reed, and you don't want me digging up information about my dad. Why is everyone afraid of the past?” Tears burned at the back of her eyes.

“Oh, all right. If you're really bent on knowing, I'll go to Egg Harbor with you. Meanwhile, your priority is that research project. Don't bother with family trivia for now. Live in the present. Do not look backwards, that is not where your future is.” Roxie spotted a truck pulling into her drive. “Would you check my house plants to see if they need watering, dear? I'll be back in a moment.”

Her aunt went outside to greet the young man getting out of the truck with the words, Reed's Landscaping, printed on the side. So that was Doug Reed, the man Roxie claimed not to like. What was he doing here?

His face was shaded by the brim of his cap.

Roxie spoke for a few minutes, and then walked to the front of the house.

Wynn snatched the watering can, filled it with water, and then moved to another window for a better view.

Roxie pointed to a tree as he chewed on something that appeared to be a red drinking straw.

By the time Roxie returned to the cottage, Wynn had watered the plants and the last of the plates had been put away.

“Thanks for finishing up. Come on, I'll walk you back to the Tree House. You can help me refill the feeders along the way.” Roxie snatched a straw hat and plopped it on her head. She picked up a small bucket of mixed birdseed. “And your name for the apartment on top of the garage is quite clever. I like it. ‘My Tree House.' Makes it more homey, more woodsy.”

Wynn held the tops of bird feeders as Roxie emptied a scoop of seed into each one. At the last one, Wynn spotted a small yellow bird with a black underbelly. “Look!” she pointed. “OK, time for a quiz. What kind is that?”

“Let me think,” Roxie said. “My mind is crammed so full of interesting things I can't remember them all. I will look it up in the bird book later.”

“That's cheating,” Wynn sweetly chided. “By the way, I like your friends a lot.”

“Which ones; my feathered garden visitors, or the ladies?”

“Both.” Wynn looked up. “But I was referring to your friends.”

“The ladies like you, too, I can tell.” Roxie smiled slightly. “There's a reason we call her Owl.”

“Because she's a plain talker, doesn't let food go to waste and shoots from the lips?”

“No. Most nights Owl walks the island, like Anna Reed walked the beach looking for her husband. It's been happening for as long as anyone can remember.”

“Insomnia runs in the family?”

“I love Owl—but how can I put this nicely?” Roxie lowered her voice. “She's got a screw loose. She married an old hippie who runs in the post office and reads all the postcards before they are delivered. That family tends to stray from the norm, and none more than Owl's nephew, Doug Reed.”

“The man who was just here? The landscaper?”

“He runs the island's only landscape business, and he's quite good. I have a half dead tree that needs taking out before it falls on the house. His prices are reasonable, especially with no competition. But that's business. That is non-negotiable. He likes pretty women, too. He has island charm and silver tongue sweet talk, so watch out.” Aunt Roxie set the bucket down on the ground, spilling some of the seeds on the grass. “I'll leave those for the squirrels. Now follow me; we're going to take a detour. I have something for you.”

 

 

 

 

4

 

They stopped in front of an old wooden carriage house almost hidden by Virginia creeper vines.

“I like driving my golf cart on the roads and pathways around the island during the summer months.” She reached up over her head and felt around for a key. She pulled on the handle and the large door swung wide flooding the place with sunlight.

A canvas covered a vehicle.

“For a long while now I've had my eye on a car over in Egg Harbor. When I heard you were coming for the summer it gave me a good reason to buy it. As soon as it comes in, the dealer will bring it to the island. In the meantime, this is for you.” Roxie tugged at the cover

The blue and white 1970's Jeep had plenty of room for all her equipment. “You're letting me use this?” Wynn ran her fingers over the pristine original finish.

“You may have it! It's just been serviced and I'll transfer the title to you sometime this week.” Roxie pointed to the key waiting in the ignition. “Go on and try it.”

Wynn got into the front seat, and turned the key. “I'll never be able to thank you for everything you've done for me.”

“Oh, Wynn,” Roxie sighed, “it does my heart good to see you so happy.”

“Come on, let's go for a drive!” Wynn beeped the horn.

“I think I left my sunglasses in here somewhere.” Roxie popped opened the glove box and stared at the mass of papers jammed inside. “Oh dear, I forgot to clean this out.”

“No problem, I'll clean it out for you.” Wynn hopped out.

“I thought we were going for a drive?”

“We are! I need my driver's license. Wait here; I'll be a sec.” Wynn dashed to the Tree House.

It was a comfortable two-story dwelling with the garage on the first floor, now converted into her work space. The second floor was one large, open room, with a kitchenette on one side. The other three sides were encapsulated by floor to ceiling windows that looked out into woods, with breaks in the trees to see the lake. Not only was the space roomy, with a large closet, and adequate bathroom, but it was an attractive arena for being part of nature.

The recently added ten-foot wide deck put her right into the tree top branches, which would have been problematic if holes in the decking hadn't been cut. The branches served as the perfect sitting place for reading.

Wynn grabbed her purse and left. She got into the Jeep, rolled down the windows and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Do you want to lock your cottage first?”

“No need.”

“Well then, are you ready, Aunt Roxie?”

“Ready, Niece Wynn!”

Wynn backed out of the garage. Within minutes they were wheeling down the lake road. A cold wind came off the water.

Wynn needed to trust Roxie. If only she'd open up. She glanced over at her aunt.

Roxie was watching the scenery float past.

For a while the women fell into a companionable silence. They headed towards the forest preserve, a thirty-acre piece of land in the center of the island that dipped into a valley. The granite cliffs that were too sharp and steep to climb hemmed in one side, with a residential area on the other side.

“Aunt Roxie?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Why did Mom sell the house and leave the island with me?”

Roxie turned towards her.

“I mean, why didn't we just stay here?”

“I wanted you both to remain here. I thought it was a golden opportunity to be close to my sister again.”

“Again? So, you once were close?”

“Yes, closer than one could imagine. Our dad called us ying and yang.”

“What happened?”

The start of storm clouds rolled across the sky. The sunny day had crumbled and was now becoming overcast.

“Life. Jealousy. Disagreements.” She sighed. “Just normal sisterly stuff. Being the only child, you don't know how things can get between siblings.”

Wynn tested the windshield wipers as she pulled into the reserve.

Campers were allowed to stake tents in the forest but trailers, ATVs, and three wheelers weren't allowed on the island.

“Why don't I park and we take a trail?”

Roxie glanced at the clouds and shook her head. “Rain is close; I smell it in the air. Besides, I don't have on good walking shoes and my ankles tend to twist on uneven ground. Let's plan on another day.”

“OK, but you now owe me two days, one for birding and one for hiking.” Wynn turned and headed back towards the cottage. She wanted to press her aunt more, but decided against it. She needed her aunt's full cooperation to learn the depths of the past.

“Drop me at the Tree House and I'll walk back down to the cottage.”

Wynn pulled up to the front of her summer residence. “This car is so perfect. It fits me. Thank you, so much.”

“Well, it thrills me to give you something you can use, Wynn.” Roxie got out.

Wynn got out, too.

“Why don't you come down for dinner in a little while?”

“Great. Then you can explain to me this curse Owl was talking about.”

“Forget about the curse. It is nothing but nonsense. As a scientist you must know that.”

“Well, something sure keeps Owl up at night, walking.” Wynn turned to go inside. “I'll see you later.”

“Wait.” Roxie froze.

“What?”

“Listen. Don't you hear it, too?”

“Hear what?” Wynn listened, thinking she'd catch the trill of a songbird. “No, I don't…wait, I do think I hear something…someone's…calling our names?”

“Roxie! Wynn!”

Wynn felt a ripple of fear.

“Where are you?” Owl stumbled out of the woods and faltered down the path. Her skin ran with perspiration. “It happened again! The island curse struck, there's another widow!”

“Whose husband is it this time?” Roxie asked, concern etched on her features.

“Jackie's husband is dead!”

 

 

 

 

5

 

A week later, Wynn drove along the coast with Verdi's Rigoletto music soaring. She planned to explore the sandy beach near the cliffs where fish were known to be in small pools of water during low tide. She'd take samples of the plankton and check the nitrogen levels at her lab.

She pondered her aunt's circle of friends, the flurry of activity as they circled around Jackie, who was waiting for her husband's body to come home and be prepared for the funeral. They received visitors who dropped by with condolences and food.

Wynn had never really been part of a community who loved and helped each other so much. She found it mesmerizing and something inside her heart longed for the same sense of belonging. She'd only been able to help out a little, because her research project was using up the better part of her days.