My Way Home (St.Gabriel Series Book 1) (St. Gabriel Series) (25 page)

The steamer trunk that sat in the corner and the hat boxes on the shelf above the clothes rod were empty. But the suitcase next to the hat boxes was packed. Inside were two suits of men’s clothes, circa 1940, a set of striped pajamas, three handkerchiefs, a shaving brush and razor, and a pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses in a case. I folded the clothing, put everything back inside the suitcase and closed the latches.
Someone might be back for it.

I moved on to the attic and stood in the middle of the space.
Where to start?
I went back to the top of the stairs and decided I would work from one end to the other. Little by little, I spent the rest of the summer working through that room—it was like Christmas morning every day.

I found photographs of The Lake Lodge property before, during, and after the lodge had been built. Before the lodge was built, a small building, maybe a shed was sitting where the lodge is now, and the roof of the barn could be seen behind the hill. There were old photos of other parts of the island and guest registers from April of 1920 through October of 1943. The first entry in
Register Number One
was
T. L. Tadyshak II, St. Gabriel Island.

I found architectural blueprints of the lodge and other buildings, clothing, dishes, books, more snow shoes, skis, horse tack, paintings, toys, a canoe, wooden egg crates, quilts, linens, two steamer trunks, canning jars, two Victrolas and boxes of records, copper pots, door hardware, phones, five years of
LIFE
magazines, boxes of
The St. Gabriel News
, furniture, and empty luggage.

I moved some things to other parts of the lodge and to the cottages and boxed the rest for later use or just because, like the previous owners, I couldn’t get rid of any of it. We were living on an island. You never knew when you might need something.

One morning shortly after I had begun sorting through the attic, I took some canning jars I had found down to the cellar and was stacking them on the shelves when I heard faint voices. Then clearly but at a distance, I heard, “Those don’t belong to you. Put them back!”

I looked around the room and then heard a scream and laughing. My skin twitched from head to toe, and I ran up the stairs thinking the whole way,
Oh my gosh, the place is haunted and the ghosts do live in the cellar!

I ran to the library to find Race, and he wasn’t there. I ran to the cottage, and he wasn’t there either. I finally found him, sitting on the back porch of the lodge, just feet from where I had started my search. His laptop was open and balanced on his knees. I skidded to a stop to keep from crashing into him, and he grabbed his computer to prepare for the impact.

“Slow down, Cammy. What’s wrong?”

I was out of breath. “In the cellar, I heard something.”

“Heard what?”

“Talking.”

“Who was talking?”

“I don’t know. I was the only one down there.”

“Cammy, slow down. Tell me what you heard.”

“It sounded like a girl or a woman and she said, ‘Those don’t belong to you. Put them back’ and then there was a scream and laughing.”

Race just sat there staring at me.

“Race, I heard it. I swear I did.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I’m just trying to think what might be an explanation for what it is you think you heard.”

“I know what I heard, Race.”

“Okay, okay.” He set his computer on the chair, came to me and put his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go back down there and check it out.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Cammy, come on. There’s a logical explanation for this.”

“Yes, there is. The lodge is haunted, just like everyone’s been telling us.”

Race chuckled. “Cammy.”

I pulled away from him. “It’s not funny, Race, I’m serious. I know what I heard.”

“I’m sorry. Come here.” He cocooned me up in his arms and said, “I’ll go down there, okay?”

“Okay.”

Race took me by the hand and moved toward the door of the lodge kitchen, but my feet didn’t budge.

“I’ll stay here.”

He smirked and went inside. I don’t know how long he was gone. It seemed long at the time. When he came back, he reported, “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Well, I did, Race.”

“I believe you.”

“Do you really?”

“I have no reason not to. Do I?”

When we were in bed that night, Race was trying to get something started. His hands were roaming but so was my mind.

He sat up and asked, “What is it?”

“I was just thinking. What if the ghosts are upset because I’m moving stuff from the attic?”

Race lowered his chin and looked at me with a kind of impatience.

“That’s what she said, ‘Those don’t belong to you. Put them back!’ ”

“I guess you could put it all back.”

“There is no logical, non-ghost explanation for what I heard, Race. Can you come up with a logical explanation?”

“If it is haunted, do you want to move?”

“No.”

“We’re going to have to get used to the idea, then. Mrs. Muir lived with the ghost of Captain Gregg quite amiably. There’s no reason we can’t do the same.”

“You’re making fun.”

“No, I’m not, Cammy, but we only have two choices here.”

“If you had heard with your own ears what I told you I heard, would you want to move?”

“No.”

“Really, even if I said I’d go?”

“No.”

A week went by and I didn’t hear anymore voices, but I hadn’t been in the cellar either, although I did stand at the top of the stairs with the door open and listened.

Okay, now I’m going to admit something that only Race knows about. And he only knows because he came up behind me when I was going through the attic, and he caught me.

“Who are you talking to?” Race asked me.

“Talking?”

“Cam, I heard you talking. Who were you talking to?”

I had a mini debate with myself, weighing my options—lie, pull a George and don’t answer, or just say it. I decided I would just say it but before I could, Race asked, “You are not talking to a ghost, are you?”

“As a matter of fact…”

“Cammy.”

“I see it as a kind of necessary negotiations. I don’t want any trouble, and I don’t want to be afraid in our own lodge.”

“So, how does this work exactly?”

If Race didn’t think I was losing my mind when I bought the lodge, he was certainly thinking it at that moment.

“I’ve decided if the place is haunted, we will all get along. Like the Ghost and Mrs. Muir, just like you said. The best thing is to let them—”

“Them?”

“It’s a big place. I’m assuming there might be more than one. So, as I was saying, maybe the best thing is to let them get to know us and to include them in on the renovation. I’m telling them what our plans are. Sometimes we discuss, or should I say I talk and they listen to me tell them what I’m doing with this or that. Occasionally, I ask questions about things I find. If anybody knows about this stuff, it would be them, right?” I grinned and winked, which usually worked with Race.

“Do they answer?”

“Race, it’s just a sort of game. I don’t want to be freaked out all the time. It just makes me feel better. Am I freaking you out?”

“A little bit, Mrs. Coleman.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist, looked up at him, and asked, “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”

“And have you carted away, leaving me here all alone with the ghosts? Not a chance.”

I’m not sure what Race was really thinking, and I got to the point that I was questioning what I thought about the whole situation. I’ve always had an active imagination, but it had never spoken audibly to me before.

What did I hear?

We continued to follow through with our plans for the lodge and if there were any beings inhabiting it, we had apparently come to an understanding. I reupholstered furniture and sorted through the attic. I moved stuff around the property and not another word was heard from anyone in the cellar, the rafters, or beyond.

Together

I know I’ve said it before, but even if it takes all day, riding or walking the Shoreline Drive loop around St. Gabriel Island, really is a must. Although many of the tourists never make it more than two blocks off Main Street, plenty of Landers, Summers, and Gabies of all ages venture out to the north side of the island. There they get to see a coastline that looks much like it would have a hundred years before.

In the month of May, we saw an increase in the buggies, bikers, walkers, and runners on Shoreline Drive below the lodge. By the number of them that stopped and took pictures, it seemed those who had been to the island before were surprised to see signs of life at The Lake Lodge.

That week a call came in about the cottage for rent from the ad we had posted on the St. Gabriel Community Website. It was a young couple who were planning a last-minute trip to the island, and everything reasonably priced downtown had already been booked.

I mentioned more than once that the cottage was rustic. I didn’t want them to be disappointed. I also thought about saying, “Oh, by the way, the place is haunted. That won’t be a problem, will it? And we won’t charge you extra if you have a sighting or if you hear from any of the ghosts.”

The couple was ecstatic about the weekly rate we were offering and booked the third week in June. By the time we flew to California for Janie’s graduation, we had Rhubarb Cottage booked for a total of five weeks through the end of September. Not bad.

College graduations are always an exciting time,
but when Janie finished school, we let out one big sigh, which was followed by a big boost to our bank account. Janie had already gotten a job at a little magazine in New York,
The Local Press
. When she called to tell us about it, she was so proud and said, “Looks like I’m going to be off the Coleman payroll sooner than we thought.”

After graduation Janie would be moving to New York, and Paul would fly to Florida to join a research team for the summer. But first, they would fly home with us to spend two weeks on St. Gabriel.

Paul picked Race and me up at the airport, and we drove to our hotel near the campus. We were just checking in when Janie came into the lobby, her eyes bloodshot and puffy. She grabbed my hand and said, “Mom, I need to talk to you.”

Race and Paul went to the hotel restaurant, and Janie and I went up to the room. I held her while she cried. Through her sobs she managed to say, “Mom, David’s been dating another girl.” More tears. “I found out this morning. She came by the Student Union looking for him to give him a graduation present.”

“How do you know she’s not a friend?”

“Because I confronted her.”

That’s my girl.

“She told me they had been together for four months. ‘Together’ that’s what she said.”

David had been Janie’s boyfriend since the summer before her junior year. They met at a Young American Journalist Conference, and Race and I had liked him.

“Men are creeps. They’re pigs. None of them can be trusted.”

“Janie.”

“Look what Daddy did to you.”

I was not prepared for that conversation. I wanted to say, “Can I have some time here, and I’ll get back to you on this?”

Janie wanted me to commiserate with her, but how could I start bashing men, her father? I had held myself back from berating Race when I had really wanted to, and I no longer wanted to. I wouldn’t.

“Janie, what your dad did, he really regrets. You know that right?”

She just looked at me with an expressionless face.

“What he did is not who he is. He was going through a bad time.”

“What if he does it again?” Janie’s face hardened with distrust, a look I’d never seen on her before.

“I don’t think he will.”

“What if he does?”

Wow! Ozzie and Harriet we are no more in your eyes.

“If he did, it would be over. He knows that.”

Having that grown-up conversation with my daughter about my marriage, her own parent’s marriage, was surreal.

“I just don’t know how you could have forgiven him and gotten over what happened.”

“I’ll never get over it, Janie, not entirely. But I love your dad very much, and he has done everything he can to try to make up for what happened. We had a life and a marriage that was worth trying to save, so I made the decision I would try to forgive him.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

“I could never forgive that.”

How many times had I said those very words until it happened to me?

“You’re not happy your dad and I are together?”

“I am. I just couldn’t forgive that.”