Back to Madeline Island (21 page)

Bonnie pulls the front door of her restaurant closed and we all pile into the duck. Howard and Johnny had Bloody Marys with their breakfast, so there's a lot of giggling from those two. I check out the gang in my rearview mirror; turning to Ruby, she gives me the thumbs-up, so off to the ferry landing we head.

“Hold your hats, folks, we're heading in!” I put the pedal to the metal and we splash into Lake Superior. Switching to the outboard, we zoom across the glistening water. Overhead, the sound of screeching seagulls cheers us on. Spring has sprung.

The ferry is chugging by us on our left. Their wake is about to smack into us, so I turn into it—I've learned a few tricks by now.

I click on the microphone. “It's a beautiful day in Wisconsin,” I zing out and my entire crew claps and cheers! Of course, Ruby can't be outdone, so she does her finger-whistle thing that Sam taught her; it about blows my eardrums out. After the wake simmers down, I shove in the Queen Latifah CD and turn us back toward Bayfield.

“I've never been by Lilly's place,” I mention to the group. “Since Sam's already there, can someone give me directions?”

“She lives in a beautiful, historic home on South Sixth,” Bonnie offers. “I used to shop at her store in downtown—don't forget that I grew up over here. Go down Manypenny and then it's a right on Sixth. It's the Frank Stark House and it's a beauty.”

Driving down Manypenny, I honk and wave at the owner of the local bookstore What Goes 'Round, and then hang a right on Sixth Street. Pulling up in front of the two-story house, I put the duck in park and we all fall silent.

“That there”—Howard clears his lecture throat and continues—“is a Classical Revival. Note the lacy trim around the gables and check out all the detail in the verandah's side rails. I can't
wait
to check out the inside details.”

“Let's go,” I suggest and we all file down the ladder. “Sam must have parked out back in the alley.”

The seven of us tentatively approach the front door. “These lovely windows are all festooned with
lace
,” Ruby half whispers. “You can't see a
thing
in there.”

“Maybe that's the idea,” Marsha adds.

“By the looks of this immaculate porch,” Johnny says, pointing to the brilliant white chairs and matching tables on either side of the front door, “I don't think it's going to be as bad as we thought.”

I reach over to ring the doorbell, but before I make contact with the round button, the door swings open.

“Hey, look who all's here,” Sam beams.

Her girth fills the tall doorway. Dressed in jeans with an oversized teal top and matching headband, she looks ready for
something
. I spy a maple-colored staircase off to the right, curving into the ceiling, then Sam steps aside and we all gasp. Everywhere you look, there are boxes, bags and more of both and who knows what else, soaring well above my head; that's a good five feet, seeing as Lilly is taller than I. 'Course, who isn't?

We step into the tight round circle that's all that seems to be left of the foyer and Sam quickly closes and then locks the massive door behind us.

“She don't want nobody else coming in here.” Sam points toward a hallway that leads back. “Lilly's doing her best, she's so—well—humiliated, poor thing. Why I never seen this—I'm talking psychically here—but I've learned that only them that's reachin' out can let me in and Lilly is finally doing just that.”

We can hear dishes clatter in what must be the kitchen. It's a marvel in a way—not a
thing
is actually touching any of the walls. The place smells of old wood and history, and God, this house is so massive. Off to the left of us is what must be the parlor, only a path remains. Looking up, you can see an intricate Art Deco ceiling lamp; the crown moldings around
all
the ceilings are spectacular.

Looking down, the molasses-colored wood floors are actually shiny. Lilly must just clean what's visible, and since the rest is covered up, well, that sure saves on time. In single file, we follow Sam down the crowded hallway. We pass many wooden doors, and right before the kitchen, we pass the formal dining room; its double doors are open and you can just barely make out a long table and chairs. The gigantic crystal chandelier has boxes so tight to it, the prisms can no longer hang free.

We enter a spotless and really
cheery
kitchen. The harlequin floor is glossy-clean; acres of black-and-white-tiled countertops are bare of anything save a chrome toaster all shined up and standing ready. There's a farmer's table in the center with a fresh gingham oilcloth and all the fixings of coffee and cookies and several lovely glass trays holding gooey bars. Lilly rinses something over in the sink and then turns toward us, wiping her hands on her frilly apron. Before she can utter a thing, she starts to weep.

Each of us takes a step closer; I go over and put my arm around her quivering shoulder. “Well, at least we can get into the fridge!” Everyone chuckles and the tension in the room flies out the back door.

“This is a
lovely
home,” Ruby offers and then adds, “I mean, from what I can see—oh dear, I mean, if I
saw
—could—oh Lilly, darling, you really must lighten up a bit, don't you think?”

“Is anything back there of value to you?” Howard asks gently. “Or should it all—”

“Go!” Lilly straightens a bit; she plucks her bifocals off her nose and plunks them high into her hair. “I can't explain it. I filled these rooms because I…I couldn't seem to fill
me
, I suppose. But something's happened to me. Oh, it took time, but all of a sudden I kind of came to and realized that—”

“That you've got more shit than Ruby!” I say and Lilly bursts out laughing and then we all do—thank God, it's a start.

 

It took us the better part of a week to rediscover Lilly's home—and what a showplace it is. Ruby spent one entire morning calling every church and thrift store from Bayfield, Ashland, and Washburn, to Red Cliff and even on over to Cornucopia. They in turn came over in minivans and station wagons, hauling away box after box after box.

Many of the upstairs rooms, Lilly claimed, she hadn't been able to get into for years. She'd plumb forgotten an extra bathroom; it'd been that long since it was seen, and the basement, well, that was an entirely
different
story altogether since it was mostly where she stored/jammed/
shoved
all her inventory from her notions shop.

Even though Lilly had been surprisingly organized in her “storing” technique, an avalanche of hundreds of bolts of material still managed to attack Ruby. Seems she was trying to pull one from the very bottom and, well, she got it out, but as she turned to walk away, they came slipping and sliding down all around her.

She was completely buried underneath all these dusty fabric bolts and no one had any idea where the hell she'd snuck off to.
I
figured she was out back having a cigarette. Johnny and I both about
peed our pants
when we figured out why this huge pile of fabric was cursing us to death. I bet the F-word is still bouncing around down there—with a British flair—of course. After uncovering her, she walked away, hair all askew, with the fabric tucked under her arm and her pride restored.

One of the best finds was several enormous boxes of rubber ducks left over from Lilly's shop. We're going to use them in the Ducky Derby, raffle them off and then float them down our creek for donations toward Toad Hollow. I think we're going to need a lot more though.

 

“What do you say to this, darling?” Ruby asks, showing me a big head of broccoli. “I could steam it up a bit and then ladle on my secret lemon-butter sauce.”

“Stop threatening me and toss it over,” I order. Ruby lobs it into my hands and I plunk it into our cart. “What else do we need—oh yeah—I'm getting desperately low on my Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.”

“Let's buzz through the snack lane—shall we?”

“Sure. Hey—remember who we literally
ran into
our first time down fat-grams lane?”

“How
ever
could I forget?” Ruby says as we marvel at all the snacks wanting to leap into our cart. “I
do
keep a stock at the boathouse for her, and nothing coats chicken breasts better than these.” She holds up a bag of BBQ potato chips, tosses one in and then shrugs and throws in another.

We love Andy's IGA and Lilly loves her chips. After filling our cart to brimming, we head over to the checkout lady and start unloading it.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” the jet black-haired woman offers. “Stocking up for—oh, I know you two, you're the ones with the apron business—huh. I just love the ones I bought from you all at the Apple Festival last year. Ended up giving them all away, aren't these salad greens nice.” Over the country western music, she grabs her handy microphone and asks in
high
volume, “Price check on
light-days tampons
!”

“Good thing,” Ruby proclaims louder than Jet Black, “my
Depends
were marked properly!” I look in our cart for them and then realize she's joking.

“Thank you, have a nice day, ladies,” Jet Black says after packing up our goods. “Maybe we'll see you for our singles night?” She sends us off with a toothy grin.

“My heavens.” Ruby leads the way to the duck. “You'd think people never
heard
of tampons, let alone Depends. Thank goodness I don't need them myself.”

“Which?”

“Neither, of course. Isn't this the Christmas Tree Stud Fellow?” She taps a frosted pink nail onto a poster stapled to a pole next to the duck.

“It
is
, he's playing guitar with some hot jazz band and look who's their star singer! It's Connie Evingson. Hmmm, it'll be during the weekend of Helen's wedding and just maybe…”

“Oh dear, you have that look in your eyes.”

“I want that girl's wedding to be something special.”

“I wonder.” Ruby pauses as we head over to the duck.

“What
are
you thinking?”

“I wonder…does Helen know what she's in for? Having the lot of
us
assist in her plans?” We slump down into our seats.

“If she did”—I rev the motor for emphasis—“she'd elope!”

“T
his has got to be”—Helen turns on top of the footstool—“the most stunning dress I've ever
seen
—ouch!”

“Sorry dear,” Lilly says through her mouthful of pins. “There, that should do it, you can change now.”

I can't help but stare; how can I describe how she looks in her pastel lavender wedding dress (her favorite color). I'll try. It's a very old-fashioned, off-the-shoulder design, and since her girls are a more sensible size, I'm pretty sure her dress will
not
head south should she sneeze. There's lace around the very top, where it meets her creamy skin, tightly fitted through the waist, flaring down to many, many folds that trail behind her. The entire dress shimmers with light every time she moves. I've tried a couple of up-dos, and we finally decided on this one: kind of loose and soft, with some curls spilling out down onto her bare shoulders. God, she's a sight, and I'm so happy she's letting her hair be curly.

Helen heads down the hallway to the library in order to change. Billie Holiday softly croons “Them There Eyes” on my boom box in the corner. The crew is all focusing on getting Helen's dress done, since the wedding's going to be in a couple of weeks and April is always so cranky when it comes to the weather. Howard and Charlie are down in the speakeasy, doing some minor repairs and giving it a good going over. We're wanting to have it ready, in case of rain, and the way things have been going, we may just have the entire event down there. But that would be fine as it's turning out to be such a beautiful room. Besides, I'm a woman with a plan.

“Let's break for lunch,” Ruby says, peeking her head into my cottage salon. Rocky is slunk over her arm and he meows a hello. “Helen modeled her dress for Rocky and me. What a lovely bodice, Lilly. What makes it so jolly
sparkly
?”

“I had an enormous collection of Swarovski crystals and, well”—Lilly fidgets a bit—“since I never seemed to miss them before, what better use could they have?”

“I can't get over how heavy that gown is,” Johnny adds from my chair. “She's gunna be real purdy—speaking of, just how many foils are you putting in my hair anyway?”

I slant my newly shaped brows at him in my mirror.

“You told me that you wanted me to add some coffee cream colors in order to blend this gray. Well, honey, you've got yourself quite a head of gray going on here so I've got my work cut out. Now sit tight and let me finish so we can all get lunch—nothing worse than working a miracle on a hairstylist.” I mutter this last part and everyone giggles.

“Well, come along then,” Ruby urges us on. “I've rung down to the speakeasy and Howard and Charlie are on their way up to the kitchen as well. I thought we could have lunch on the porch. I love your new look, Sam. You look so feminine without those braids of yours. You should tell that Whoopi Goldberg to try this. That woman should at least wear lip color.” She dashes out the door.

“Lord,” Sam chuckles, “that lady does not mince her words.” She comes over and studies her image. “I don't know that I've had my hair this long and straight—ever. I look sooooooo good.” She flings a waft of hair over her shoulder and smiles at her reflection. “Such a shame, we all's gunna look better than the bride.”

Helen breezes in, re-dressed in creased jeans and a tan sweater set. “Ex-
cuse
me! I heard that.” She carefully hands Lilly her gown. “I love this dress so much, how can I ever thank you—all of you?”

“Get your bums in the kitchen this minute!” Ruby yells, and boy, can she project.

Sam puts her arm around Helen's shoulder and we follow them out.

The stump table is loaded with lunch goodies. A tossed salad with mustard–maple syrup dressing (Sam's specialty), garlic focaccia bread and an olive oil dipping sauce (Howard's secret recipe), and a big pan of spinach and ricotta vegetarian lasagna. Ruby made it without meat, just for Helen. There's also a pot of Lilly's three-bean casserole and Sam is trying out a whipped sweet potato item that looks delicious. We file along, filling our plates; everyone makes room for a gooey bar (or two). Ruby's always got something sweet to keep our energy up. Very important.

“So lovely to have the porch opened up again,” Ruby comments, pulling up to a wicker table. “I do love the sound of the lake, and oh look—Howard and Charlie have just finished putting the dock back in, how divine.”

“This here porch of yours,” Sam plops down in a love seat, “sure is a fine place to enjoy all this sun—you make all these throw pillows, Ruby?”

“Heavens no,” she answers through a mouthful of salad. “Some of them are antiques, I should think—unlike myself, of course.”

“You two men out there,” I yell out toward the dock and two heads turn my way. “Get your butts up here or there won't be anything left!”

We hear a “yes ma'am,” and in several minutes Howard and Charlie are in the kitchen.

“What have you done to my Johnny?” Howard asks, thumping down next to him.

“You don't
like
this look?” Johnny turns his foiled head this way and that.

“Have you ever had color?” I ask Howard and he shakes his head “no.” “'Course, it's only you men that look all handsome and dashing with silver locks. When's the last time you had a trim, Charlie?”

He sets his plate down on his lap and reaches back for his long braid. “Must be 'round ten years since I've been anywhere's near a shears.”

Sam, Helen, and Lilly are near by deep in a discussion about a veil for her and, if so, just how long, what color and so forth. I can't quite get over the fact that she's here and going through all this planning and not doing it with her mom. But Helen assured me that her mom is the last person on earth that she could turn to with stuff like this. Apparently she's far too busy with all her social events and fund-raisers to be bothered. Can you imagine?

I lean over to the three men and ask in a quiet tone, “How's the speakeasy looking—did the lights over the stage come to life or—”

“It's looking fantastic.” Howard's deep voice carries over to Sam, who turns from their conversation for a brief moment and sends us a look that says she knows just what I'm up to. Thank goodness she grins, then goes back to the veil huddle. I want Helen to have a few surprises on her special day. She will.

 

“Okay—now
this
is living,” I say and we clink our goblets. “There is absolutely nothing more wonderful than being back out here on the dock; the sun is setting and the world is so right.”

“So true, so true, darling,” Ruby sighs. “Sometimes—don't you wish it would all just stand still…that you could have everything as it is…only stretch it all out a bit? I'd like to savor moments more.”

“Me, too. Even sunsets should have an extension button on them. So you just reach up into the air and push
pause
. But you know, there's a reason that things that are so precious aren't around all the time and I suppose it's the same reason things like—oh—tulips, don't last that long. It's part of their beauty—you know?”

“That simply sounds so darn
dodgy
, all pat and…so very true.”

“Sam's cool with my plan and so much for keeping
anything
from her; not that I was trying and besides—I really think it would be best if she called Connie herself.”

“You're putting so much effort into Helen's wedding, darling. It's going to be such a lovely occasion—we must plan an outing—we've got to find fancy frocks! Not that I want to out-shine the bride, mind you, but with this new color job, and I must say, Johnny has certainly made yours look divine.”

“It's amazing what getting your roots fixed can do for a gal, and leave it to Johnny to foil in all these shades of red.
And
good grief—my
family
roots sure have taken some bizarre turns.”

“Perhaps, darling, it's all exactly according to plan.”

“I'd sure like to think so.” I fluff up the pillows we hauled out here and lay back into the cushiness. “So I'll finally get to meet
the mother
, but not until her wedding day, and I
suppose
that's fine with me.” I'm a little nervous, to be honest.

“After this wedding insanity and summer is full steam ahead, don't forget, darling, we've all those rubber ducks on order and I believe we'll be in need of certain permits and—”

“I've got it all under control.” I hold up my freshly manicured hand. “I realize it was a little tight there in the beginning, but between Alice Anne handling the upgrades to the house
and
the fact that our website donation area is turning out some serious bucks, well, we can at least keep the lights on at Toad Hollow.” I sigh. “Hey—isn't Helen's mom loaded?”

“I have reason to believe she may be quite
solvent
,” Ruby sips and ponders. “But this may be a bit too close to her heart. Let's just focus on the Ducky Derby and—”

“Maybe we could give a belly-dancing recital in Bayfield, a fish boil over at Greunke's, raffle off aprons—”

“Look, over there, by the boathouse,” Ruby points. “The cardinals are here, how lovely.”

I sigh and realize, no matter how far away from the world you think you are, the world is right there inside of you.

 

With the wedding only days away, the cottage, the barn, the boathouse,
plus
the secret speakeasy are all busy with someone doing
something
. Like cleaning or putting out tables or just plain thinking about what needs to be done next. Bonnie and Marsha are making all the food, as well as the hors d'oeuvres. I'm so glad that this is a small gathering of maybe thirty, at the most, forty. They've still not heard back from a bunch of Ryan's old college buddies, so we're planning for fifty, just to be safe.

Ruby and I found the coolest dress shop over in Duluth called Petite Sophisticate—can you stand it? Anyway, we've got some hot-looking dresses, too bad both Helen and Ryan were in classes; otherwise we wanted to do lunch with them. It's funny, Ryan was
in
a class and Helen was teaching one.

“Lilly and I”—Sam huffs onto a stool in the kitchen—“are all done setting up the chairs down next to the boathouse, and the tent we all made—under that Lilly's fussy eye—why, that thing couldn't blow away if there was a tornado down there!” Her huge hoop earrings sway this way and that for emphasis. “This is going to be a
hum
dinger, yes ma'am.”

“Have a sip of this, darling.” Ruby hands her a glass of ice water. “There's never
been
a wedding here before—that I know of—how divine it all looks.”

“Howard and Johnny have headed home,” I add, sipping the remains of some cold coffee. “I've not seen that Charlie; is he still here or—”

“Headed over to Al's Place,” Sam says with a chuckle. “That man is in such demand up here, all them skills of fixing things. Anything made of wood and he can come up with
something
.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask. “I don't know of anyone who can lift up the hood of, well, even the duck, and know not only what the hell's in there, but which thingie to fiddle with in order to make it work, not to mention your blowtorch skills.”

“We all's got gifts, I suppose—'cept—I sure wish I could turn this one a' mine off sometimes.”

“Oh no,” Ruby and I say at the same time.

“There's something gunna go down at this here party and all I know is it can't be stopped. Things just got to run their course is all.” She waits a beat. “I am just pullin' your
chain.
Good Lord, if you could see the look on you-all's faces. Things are gunna be just fine—you'll see.” Sam chuckles as she walks away.

 

I'm up in my bedroom, I've just enjoyed a long, hot shower, and now I'm selecting something way comfy to wear next door. The boys have invited us over for “drinks and dishy dishes.” I have no idea what that could mean, but knowing those guys, it's gunna be yummy and the wine's gunna flow and I need to relax.

It's the night before, and boy, are we bushed. I can't think of another detail that needs attention, but I'm sure something will come up. For the first ten or so years I had my salon down in Eau Claire, I did weddings. I mean, I went to the church or the park or wherever the service was being held and did the bride's hair, usually her makeup, too. I always ended up doing the
entire
wedding party. Someone's up-do didn't turn out right from having it done poorly somewhere else. After they see my fancy work on the bride, you could set your clock on at least one gal stepping forward with that pouty look of “Could you fix this?” I always did, too.

But over time it just was too much, all that tension. I mean, you never know how the hair is going to turn out, and let's face it, if your hair is all goofed up on your wedding day, you better just file for divorce the next day. Well, that's the pressure I would feel anyways. But there never was a bad one, not once—and never,
ever
have I seen an ugly bride. And I've seen a lot of brides, let me tell you.

There's just something magical that happens that day and it's genuine and maybe
that's
why I'm enjoying this whole process so much. That and the fact that Helen asked
me
—who could say no to those eyes; my mom's eyes is what I saw/see. Not all the time, but when she tilts her head a certain way, and
yesterday
she lifted her hand up to explain something and I got this feeling in the pit of my stomach, like when you walk in a place and you just know you've been there before—but you couldn't have. I saw my mom. Now how the hell can that be?