The keepers, p.7
The Keepers, page 7
“Of course, I’ll make a note of that right away. Will you be bringing your family?”
“No, only myself. Tell Mr. Nolan I’m sorry to have missed him, but I’ll see him in June.”
“I will. But Mr. Milton...”
Before Jessie could say another word, the phone went dead. Had the man hung up or did something go wrong with the line? Jessie rattled the receiver hook. She didn’t care what this man had said; clearly, someone had made an error. Farley Pritchard was not a long lost family member. No one could convince her otherwise.
“Mr. Milton?” Jessie pressed the receiver against her ear. The dial tone buzzed loudly, and with a trembling hand, Jessie replaced the receiver.
Chapter Nine
When Stan returned from taking the U-Haul into Camdenton Jessie met him at the door and told him about Robert Milton’s call. She couldn’t bear having another secret that might come between them. Stan first blanched with fear and then flushed in anger and pounded his fist on the registration desk.
“Damn you, Jessie. How could you tell him we don’t know Pritchard? What are you trying to do, make me lose everything?”
Jessie backed up and covered her mouth with her hand. His violent reaction was a shock. She’d thought he might be upset, but not this much.
“I...I thought I was doing the right thing, Stan. We’re both so keyed-up and tense I don’t see how we can go on this way. We have to get our position out in the open. At least try to set the record straight.”
“I can always count on you to do that, can’t I, Jessie?”
As Stan glared at her, Jessie was glad she’d not found the nerve to tell him about her attempt to call Mr. Withers. If she had reached the man it wouldn’t have made any difference, the conversation with Mr. Milton proved that. His acceptance of them only deepened the mystery. Jessie was tired from the long trip and with Stan acting so crazy she felt on the verge of tears.
“Please, Stan, let’s not fight.”
Stan’s scowl grew darker. “Sure, that’s right, hit and run. You have to stop this. Now, you’re either with me or against me in this thing. So what’s it going to be?”
Jessie wilted. “Of course I’m with you, Stan. I love you, but promise me you’ll be careful.”
Stan came to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m always careful. Leave everything to me, you relax and enjoy the place, okay?”
Jessie nodded and they walked arm in arm into the dining room where she had set a table for dinner.
While the rest of the family laughed and chattered through the meal, Jessie pondered what Stan had said. There was to be no compromise as far as he was concerned, she either did things his way or—or what? Jessie searched her heart and mind and found no alternative. She refused to make their home an armed camp and besides, what was she so upset about anyway? Nothing terrible had happened so far. Mr. Milton certainly couldn’t say she hadn’t tried to tell him. By the time she finished eating, Jessie had adopted a wait-and-see attitude. Maybe she couldn’t agree with Stan but neither could she take a position of outright opposition. It would tear their family apart.
After dinner, Denise and Andy went upstairs to finish unpacking and Stan wandered off on another inspection of the lodge. Jessie was glad to be alone. She poured a cup of coffee and went out onto the back deck. Her reason told her what she must do to keep peace, but getting her emotions to go along was something else. That job was going to take some time. Jessie sat down on the thick green and white striped cushions of a redwood lounge and leaned back with a sigh. She only needed some time and rest.
Across the river, the sun had dropped behind the dark hills leaving the western sky stained a flame pink and the valley covered in dusty blue haze. The deepening shade encouraged a nighttime chorus to begin; insects clicked and buzzed like an out-of-control machine and a whippoorwill set the frantic pace with its incessant calling. In the last light of day, the valley was a soft, fuzzy, muted watercolor. It looked restful and relaxing; but when Jessie closed her eyes, the noises of the night beat at her ears. The rasping chirp of insects and the cry of a night bird whipped up visions of swooping bats. When a dog howled, Jessie thought of wolves lurking at the edge of the clearing.
Jessie shivered.
Perhaps tomorrow, in the bright sunshine, would be a better time to think. She drank the last of her coffee and quickly got up and opened the French doors leading to the lobby. Across the room, Stan was leaning against the door of the lounge a glass of Scotch in his hand. He indeed looked like the lord of the manor. He raised the glass in a salute.
“Care to join me?”
Jessie didn’t want to anger Stan by refusing, but she wasn’t in the mood for a drink. Still, if she meant to ease the tension between them.... A sudden knock at the door saved Jessie from making the wrong choice.
When Stan opened the door, the woman from the antique shop in town stood there, the lobby light spilling around her. She was wearing a pale yellow dress that clung to the soft curves of her body. Her eyes, like almond-shaped black diamonds, shone from a face of ivory satin framed with a cloud of black hair. She was even lovelier at close range. As Stan invited her in, she held out a tapered, red-nailed hand to him.
“I hope I’m not intruding, I could have waited until tomorrow, but I was anxious to meet you. I’m Melanie Knight. I have a small antique shop in Lost Crossing and I also make pottery.”
Stan almost bowed over her hand, but who could blame him? Melanie Knight was enough to bring out courtly manners in any man.
“I’m Stan Nolan. This is my wife, Jessie.”
Melanie turned her dark sparkling eyes on Jessie and a prickly tingle crept up the back of Jessie’s neck. Quickly she stifled the sensation, overlaying it with years of practiced control. At that particular moment, the Nolans were not getting along well enough for Jessie to upset Stan further by being ungracious to their first guest.
“Jessie. Is that short for Jessica? It’s a lovely name, it suits you.”
“No, it’s Jessie. Please, come in. Can I get you something to drink?”
Melanie shook her head and her long silver earrings flashed. “No, thank you. I’ll only stay a minute. I wanted to welcome you to the valley and see if there’s anything I can do to help you get settled.”
Jessie and Melanie sat down on one of the sofas and Stan took a chair across from them.
“Thank you,” Jessie said, “but I can’t think of a thing we need. Everything is perfect.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I did a good job then.”
Stan leaned forward. “You’re responsible for this? But why? Of course we’re grateful...”
Melanie’s laugh was high and silvery, like the tinkling of her bracelets. “Don’t thank me, I only gave the instructions. It was really no work to speak of.”
“Did Mr. Milton ask you to do this?” Jessie made a guess.
“Hired me is more like it. In the off-season, I’m always glad to find work. Have you met Mr. Milton?”
Stan shook his head. “No, but he phoned. I was out so he spoke with Jessie.” There was still a slight edge to his voice when he mentioned the call, but Melanie didn’t seem to notice.
“Is he a friend of yours?” Jessie asked.
“I’ve known Robert for years. Did he reserve his usual cabin?”
“Yes, he did.”
“You’ll like him, he’s a charmer in person.”
In the lull that followed, Jessie waited for Stan to ask more about Black Moss Resort and the small town, but Stan seemed relaxed to the point of simply drifting and letting strangers manage for him. Jessie tilted her head and smiled at Stan hoping he would get the message. If he did, he elected to ignore it. Maybe Stan didn’t have any questions, but she certainly did. Jessie decided to plunge ahead.
“I don’t want to impose, you’ve done so much in preparing the lodge for us, but there are things I’d like to know.”
Stan shot Jessie a warning but Melanie’s laughter softened it, rounding it instead to a mild look of apology for his inquisitive wife.
“I’m sure there are,” Melanie said. “It must seem strange and possibly a little terrifying.”
“Yes.” Jessie nodded. “How many people can we expect to stay here during the season? Do we need to send out advertising? This place is a little off the beaten track, the activity seems closer to the lake. And I’m not a cook, what would I feed everyone if we do have customers?”
These were not the questions Jessie wanted to ask. More to the point was what are we doing here? Still, if the woman started talking maybe she's reveal something.
Melanie patted Jessie’s hand as if comforting a small child. The touch was surely a kind gesture, but it was instantly repulsive. Jessie struggled to keep from drawing back.
“I’m glad I didn’t wait until tomorrow to stop by. Don’t worry, Jessie, there’s nothing to it. First off, you won’t have to cook. Velma Sloane has been doing the cooking here for years. Her husband, Shorty, will be available for odd jobs. Then, there is Posey.”
Melanie hesitated, a fleeting frown rippling her smooth brow. “Well, you’ll understand about Posey when you meet him. He’ll show up in the morning. I’m surprised he wasn’t on the doorstep when you arrived. Posey is very sweet, he’ll do anything you tell him, but don’t pay much attention to whatever he says. Posey is, well, child-like. But perfectly harmless.
“And the Traskers, you might have noticed the grocery store when you came through town, the two daughters worked here as maids last summer. I’m sure the girls will want the jobs again this season. Mike Hudson will be stopping by; he’s a river guide. He’ll arrange fishing and float trips for any of the guests interested in that sort of thing. You won’t have to run Moss River alone. Actually, it runs itself. As you might have guessed, it and Lost Crossing depend on each other. Without the resort, the town would dry up and blow away. And Moss River uses most of the townspeople in one way or another to keep it running smoothly.”
As Melanie talked, Stan’s smile became relaxed and a little sloppy as if he’d had too much to drink.
“You see, Jess? I told you there was nothing to worry about.”
Jessie felt the smile on her own face lock in place, her jaw muscles tightened to a rock-like hardness. Rather than being comforted, a panic set in, as if she were trapped in a satin box. She grew dizzy and her thoughts refused to form any logical pattern, but worse was the frantic urge to jump up and run. The long buried image of a brown-eyed man in a high school gym slowly rose from the depth of memory and Jessie froze. Melanie and Stan were looking at her with concern. Jessie could clearly see their expressions, yet their faces seemed distorted as if on the other side of a concave glass making them large and menacing. Melanie put her hand on Jessie’s arm and it sent streams of icy fire clear to her shoulder.
“Are you all right? You look pale. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come tonight. I know how tired you must be.”
Jessie drew a great shuddering breath. “No, I’m glad you came, but I guess I am worn out.” Jessie’s laugh came out shaky and uncertain.
Melanie abruptly stood and the folds of the yellow skirt fell with a silken rustle over her rounded hips.
“I didn’t intend to stay so long; I must go and let you get some rest.”
Stan and Jessie walked her to the door as Denise and Andy came down the stairs. Melanie turned and looked up at them. Stan held his hand out to Denise helping her down the last few steps and motioned Andy to stand beside them. Then he introduced them to Melanie. Denise smiled her brightest, obviously delighted.
“Melanie. I saw you in town when we first got here.”
Melanie wrapped Denise in a conspiratorial smile. “I saw you, too. When you drove through. Not that many strangers find their way to Lost Crossing. I hope you’re going to like it here.”
“I do already.”
Melanie reached out to touch Andy’s shoulder, but Andy drew back closer to Stan. Stan gave Andy an impatient nudge in the middle of his back.
“Don’t pull that embarrassed routine, sport. Say hello to the lady.”
Andy put one foot forward and curved his lips in a half smile. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Are you leaving?” Denise said. “Can’t you stay a while?”
“Not tonight, dear, but if it’s all right with your parents you can come visit me anytime. I know we’ll be good friends.”
As he opened the door for Melanie Stan flipped a switch by the door flooding the circle drive and a bit of the parking lot with light. When they stepped out onto the veranda the total darkness hanging at the edge of the driveway was startling. Surely, there had never been a night with such solidness to it, as if a wall of black basalt were surrounding the lodge. Jessie folded her arms across her stomach and shivered. While they waved and called goodbye, Stan put his arm around Jessie’s shoulders. They stood and watched as the taillights of Melanie’s Buick disappear around a curve. Then Andy’s small hand worked its way into Jessie’s curled fingers.
“Who is she?” he asked softly.
“The lady we saw in town, stupid!” Denise said as she whirled and went back into the lodge.
Later that night, lying in the four-poster next to Stan, Jessie let the muscles of her legs, back, and arms sink heavily into the soft mattress, hoping to relax. The room was as dark as the night making it impossible to see, but there was an energy flowing from Stan giving evidence that he was wide-awake.
“What are you thinking?” Jessie asked.
“Nothing, just trying to go to sleep. And you should too after nearly passing out in front of Melanie.”
“I’m sorry, I hope she doesn’t think I’m strange, but you know something? I think she is!”
“What do you mean?”
“For one thing, what’s a beautiful woman like her doing stuck way out here? Stan, she could be a model, or anything she wanted for that matter. And did you notice her car? I know you did. It is brand new. The pottery business must be pretty darn lucrative. I get a funny feeling about her. She’s like this place, too good to be true. And what was that she said about not many strangers finding their way to Lost Crossing? This is a resort, there’s suppose to be lots of strangers.”
Stan’s gut-deep sigh hung over the bed for a second.
“Jessie, I thought we settled this. We have a great opportunity here; don’t spoil it with that constant anxiety of yours.”
Long after Stan went to sleep Jessie stared into the darkness thinking about what he had said. Yes, she was an anxious person and became more so when handed a golden apple on a silver platter. Everything had a price. Stan accused her of being a dreamer, of not seeing things realistically, but that wasn’t true. Stan was the one with the rose-colored glasses, not her. How could he be so naive as to believe this fairy tale was real? At the very least, it was a gigantic mix-up. Mr. Milton, or someone, would discover the mistake and toss Stanley A. Nolan and family out on their collective ear.
Jessie gently touched Stan’s chest feeling the steady rise and fall, like Andy’s when he was deep in sleep. A sudden tenderness swept over her. He had taken this wild chance because he needed to prove himself, finally be somebody. To make up for the deals that had gone sour; like the last house he’d built and underbid causing them to lose their savings. How he envied men whose path seemed so smooth. Stan always wanted too much, never willing to settle for what his hands could earn. Stan’s dreams and ambitions far out stripped his abilities or endurance; as if he’d been made to order for this case of mistaken identity.
Jessie moved closer, holding his warm body in her chilled arms. Poor Stan. In that instant, Jessie hoped the lodge would be his forever; even if it were wrong.
Chapter Ten
The walnut top of the lobby desk, polished to a glassy finish, stretched before Stan like an altar upon which he presented his hopes and dreams to be blessed by whatever force of fate that had brought him to Black Moss River. He opened the reservation book and studied the names entered there. Under his new shirt, his chest swelled with satisfaction. The exhilaration filled him down to his feet that were resting comfortably in the fine-grained leather Town and Country oxfords. His new clothes were part of the proper image for the prosperous proprietor of a secluded, exclusive lodge.
For the past four weeks, the reservations came in a steady stream. With each one Stan’s confidence grew. The clientele were long established guests; wealthy businessmen looking for a few days’ rest; elderly widows escaping the pressure of their social lives, wanting to ‘rough it’ for a week, but not too rough. All of them moneyed enough that the two hundred-dollar per day rate meant nothing.
Stan had found the rate card tucked in the corner of the reservation book and the first time he quoted it his throat tightened and his voice threatened to crack. Yet, that small qualm quickly disappeared, fading like the old Stanley Nolan into the gray, dead past. Here things were new and with eager willingness, Stan shook off every vestige of his former life. The conversion came with the ease of a leaf unfolding beneath the spring sun, aided by the smooth effortless way the lodge hummed along toward the summer season. One Chicago matron, Mrs. Carl Winslow, gasped in surprise that the rate had not increased. “You simply don’t know what you have there, Mr. Nolan,” she had gushed at Stan over the telephone. “The privacy and peacefulness, and so close to my home. There is nowhere I can relax so completely. I never tell anyone where I am. It’s my own special place.”
The season for Black Moss River ran from the last week in May to the end of August. Stan’s mind began to spin with plans to extend it. Early spring was a beautiful time. The dogwood and redbud trees were in bloom. Tiny violets carpeted the woods, and the fresh, clear cool mornings were a great selling point. Autumn should be every bit as spectacular with the blazing sumac and red-gold oak. Yes, Stan could see a glittering, golden future for the Nolans of Black Moss River Resort. Stan shut the reservation book and taking his coffee cup sauntered across the lobby to look out at the river. Mr. Withers had been right, Stan didn’t want to sell, exchange, trade, or in any other way dispose of the lodge. With bone-deep certainty, he knew he never would.
