Wild Flower (4 page)

“Carter! You want to ski you best get your ass down here!” Dodge yelled in his big roaring voice, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand, clutching a silo-sized can of beer in the other. His aviator sunglasses were settled like a headband over his bushy hair, and I sensed Mathias's grin.

He linked his right hand with my left as we made our way down the lawn to the lake, bringing it up to his lips to kiss my knuckles, and then the ring on my third finger, the slim gold band which had been engraved on its inner rim over one hundred and thirty years ago. Both of us believed the words there had been chosen by Mathias's ancestor, Malcolm Carter, though to whom the ring had originally been intended we had not, despite sincere determination, yet discovered.

“I'll ride with these guys,” I told him, smiling as my daughter caught sight of us and came barreling down the dock, her enthusiastic bare feet making the boards shudder with the impact. Her curly hair was tied into two pigtails, her small, plump torso buckled into a lifejacket that was patterned like a ladybug's wings.

“Hi darlin',” Mathias said, catching her into a hug as she raced to him with arms extended. Love has many guises, a lesson I've learned over and over again since becoming a mother. Watching my man as he cuddled my daughter, bouncing her on his strong forearm, listening with rapt attention as she rambled on in her cheery, high-pitched voice, a soft sweetness, as rich as the sunset light beaming low across the lake, caught me directly in the heart. Tears prickled in the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them rapidly away.

“You gonna ride on the big boat?” Millie Jo asked Mathias.

“Not right now,” Mathias said apologetically. “I'm going to ski with Justin for awhile,” and he pointed towards the motor boat, where Uncle Justin had finished his ministrations and was wiping his hands on a grubby towel.

“We'll clap for you!” Millie told him, and then stretched her arms to me, ordering, “Mama, you ride with us!”

Mathias handed her over to my waiting arms, and he kissed my forehead before stripping his shirt and jumping into the lake to follow after Tish, Clint and Ruthie. I slipped out of my sandals, leaving them on the shore.

“Camille, you want a burger?” Aunt Ellen asked as I stepped carefully onto the deck of the pontoon carrying Millie; Aunt Ellen and my grandma were also in lawn chairs, while Mom, Blythe and little Rae sprawled on the starboard bench seat. I claimed the port side for myself. Rae, Millie's best friend, came scampering across the bow to join us. Millie Jo wriggled free of my arms and immediately began roughhousing with Rae. One of Grandma's dogs, Chief, who had been lying quietly on the deck, barely stirred even as the girls tumbled over him, used to such antics. His tail thumped twice.

“Yes, thank you, extra cheese,” I told my great-aunt. I smiled hugely at little Matthew, who had reached his irresistible chubby arms my direction. I begged Blythe, “Can I hold him?”

“I'm too nervous to let him out of my arms when we're on the water,” Blythe told me. “Sorry, Camille.”

“It's all right,” I assured him. Blythe was so protective of his son that I was surprised he didn't make the little guy wear a helmet at all times. The expression in Mom's eyes was both tender and amused as she smiled and tucked loose strands of golden hair behind her ears. She slipped her hand under Bly's elbow and patted him twice.

“He hardly lets me take him when we're out here,” Mom said.

“Bly, he's about the age when you just pitch 'em in so they learn to swim,” Dodge said, with no trace of a smile. I knew he was teasing, but the look of horror that crossed Blythe's face pretty much ruined the joke.

“He ain't kidding!” Justin called over from the deck of his boat, using both hands to shade his eyes. “I think I was about that age. It was all sink or swim for us in the Miller house!”

“You're not helping!” Jillian called back to her grinning husband. “Bly is turning green over here.”

Mathias had reached the motor boat and I tilted my chin over one shoulder to admire from afar the way the powerful muscles of his back and shoulders bulged as he climbed up the rope ladder, his black hair sleek from the water. I felt all tingly and shivery-hot at the sight of him, thinking about how later tonight I would glide my hands and mouth all over those muscles. His fireman's hat was still on the floor on the far side of our bed, from last night when he had worn it as I –

“Camille, you want a beer, hon?” Grandma asked, and I jerked instantly out of my daydream. My cheeks were blazing as I turned back to answer my grandma's question, but the evening sun was beaming into my eyes and so probably my flushed face wasn't entirely apparent.

“Sure,” I said, and Grandma passed it to Aunt Jilly, who passed it to me with a wink. I almost held the icy-cold can to my neck.

Clint and Tish whooped as Uncle Justin fired the outboard to growling life. He goosed it a little as he hung a sharp left and took the five of them out towards the widest part of Flickertail. Dodge hauled in the anchor rope and got the pontoon rolling then, and we followed in their wake at a much more sedate pace, the engine issuing a comforting, purring
putt-putt-putt
. Millie Jo and Rae clapped their hands and crawled onto the bench, settling themselves on their knees, facing the water and clutching the top railing.

“Those two,” Aunt Jilly said fondly. “Camille, that may as well be you and Tisha, once upon a time.”

“It seems like yesterday you guys were that little,” Mom said, sitting cross-legged on the bench seat. “And now look at you, a big girl getting married.”

I knew she had chosen her words to make me smile, but even still I heard the note of wistfulness in her tone. I noticed things like that now, an extra-perceptive set of senses I had inherited with motherhood.

“Joelle, now she's blushing again,” Aunt Ellen admonished, smiling at me.

“I can't wait to see your cabin,” Aunt Jilly said, ruffling her golden hair with both hands before resting them on her growing belly. “I remember partying out there back in high school, with Tina and those guys. But you two will make it beautiful again.”

“Everyone has been so great about pitching in,” I said. Mathias's father, Bull Carter, was so happy that we were restoring the cabin that he had shed tears. I added, “We brought the blueprints over. We can look at them when we get back to Shore Leave.”

“Camille, sweetheart, I know you're doing what's right, but we'll miss you something fierce at home,” Grandma said then, leaning to pat my knee.

“Oh, Gram,” I said, tears stinging my eyes again.

“Mom,” Aunt Jilly said to Grandma, scolding her. “It's not like they'll be far away. Just a canoe ride away.”

“Lookit, there's Daddy and Clinty!” Rae yelped excitedly, pointing to the boat skimming the waves, now across the lake from us and no bigger than a toy as it flew along the surface. Clint was gripping the tow rope, skiing slalom-style, as he'd been practicing since the moment the water was warm enough. Rae and Millie giggled as Clint jumped the wake and landed, smooth as whipped cream.

“Wave to them!” Aunt Jilly said brightly, giggling at the excitement on Rae's face, mirrored on Millie Jo's.

“What day are you two heading out again?” Mom asked me, referring to the trip Mathias and I had been planning since last winter, when we'd learned that one of Bull's cousins out in Montana had a potential lead on Malcolm Carter. Though I was reluctant to be away from Millie Jo for the week that we'd planned to be gone, I would be lying through and through if I didn't acknowledge the intensity of my elation at the prospect of all that incredible time alone with Mathias. We kept calling it our ‘pre-honeymoon.'

“July fifth,” I reminded Mom, taking a long swallow of my cold beer.

“It's great out that way. The mountains will draw you in, watch out,” Blythe teased. And then to Mom, “You don't think he's cold, do you?”

The boat's motion stirred the still air, creating a rushing breeze that was a little chilly. Mom bent and nuzzled Matthew's little cheek, making him squirm and giggle. She assured Blythe, “He's not cold, sweetheart. He's right up against you.”

“You two out to look for that stash of gold that Bull's crazy Grandpa Grafton raved on about in the old days?” Dodge asked me then.

Mom and Aunt Jilly both groaned at this question.

“Here, hon,” Aunt Ellen said, handing me a plate. As Dodge was busy driving the pontoon, Aunt Ellen was taking care of grill duty.

“Thanks,” I told her, and then to Dodge, “What do you mean?”

“Bull hasn't told you that story yet?” Aunt Ellen asked me. “I'm stunned.”

Dodge assumed his storyteller voice, the one we had all listened to a thousand times sitting around the fire, and said, “I heard the tale for the first time when I was just a boy. My pa was still alive then and he knew Grafton Carter well. Grafton was Pa's second cousin, once-removed, on the Riley Miller side…”

“No, for the love, don't get into family connections,” Jilly scolded, though not without affection. “We'll never get to the point!”

Dodge draped his wrists over the top of the big steering wheel, gazing into the middle distance, seemingly serious. This was unusual enough that I sat straighter to listen. He continued, “Grafton swore that there was a legend in the Carter family about a letter scribbled with a map, with directions to a stolen haul of gold from sometime back in the 1870s, if I do recall. Not that the Carters would ever admit to thievery, being a prideful lot, so sure as shit there was a good reason for the theft. That is, if the story had any truth to it. Somewheres out west was all Grafton knew.”

“Does it have anything to do with Malcolm?” I asked, rapt with attention. The old, fading picture of Malcolm and his horse, Aces, was still in the top drawer of my nightstand. I had found it over two years ago; fate, I was certain, as the discovery had led me to White Oaks and eventually Mathias.

“That I don't know,” Dodge said, speculation ripe in his tone. “Ask Bull. From everything I know, Malcolm was the boy who disappeared. I don't know if he's connected to Grafton's story or not.”

“There's no record of him after the telegram from 1876,” I affirmed, heart increasing in speed at the thought.

“I just felt a jolt when you said that,” Aunt Jilly said intently. “There may be no record, but he lived beyond 1876, I'm certain.”

“We've searched through everything that Bull could find in the attic at White Oaks,” I said, goosebumps shivering over my arms at Aunt Jilly's words. I believed whole-heartedly in her ‘notions,' which she had once explained to me as striking her with all the unexpectedness of lightning on an otherwise clear summer night. Usually they were precognitive, and when she told you something, you'd do well to heed it. “But there's more, I know there's so much more. That's what we're hoping to find in July,” I added, catching my ring between the index finger and thumb of my right hand, and just as I touched it, an odd part of my dream from last night sprang into my mind. The disjointed flash of it struck me almost like a blow, and the memory of a voice, a girl's terrified, pleading voice, sent a ripple of discomfort racing with little cat-feet up my spine.

“Lookit, Mama!” Millie Jo cried, pointing, and I turned to see that Mathias was skiing now. Uncle Justin angled the boat towards us, cutting close enough so that the pontoon rolled gently with the aftershocks of the waves stirred up by the speedboat. Mathias waved to us and Mille Jo shrieked excitedly as they roared away. I refocused all my attention upon my daughter, willing away the twinge of discomfort; I hadn't even remembered dreaming last night until just this moment.

Later, after we'd eaten our fill of burgers and chips and the last of the day's light was receding, Uncle Justin maneuvered his boat back to the dock, catching up with us. It was getting mosquito-y, but the air was warm and soft, and we were all reluctant to retire. It was so lovely on the water, a waning half-moon crisp against the indigo sky, long fingers of translucent pink light yet stretching from beneath the far western horizon. Uncle Justin cut the motor and the quieter sounds of the lakeshore again took precedence in the evening, the peepers and crickets, the gentle lapping of water against the hull of both boats. Grandma and Aunt Ellen were laughing about something Dodge was saying, Aunt Jilly was collecting lifejackets from Clint, who had swum over to the pontoon with an armload of them, handing these off to both Millie and Rae; the girls were importantly stashing the jackets in the storage compartment under the stern seats. Mom had her arms hooked lightly around Blythe's neck as they watched the sunset, Blythe cupping the back of Matthew's head and stroking his golden curls. Above our heads, little brown bats swooped the air with their strange, choppy flight patterns, feasting on insects. From a few trees down the shore, a crow called raucously.

“Honey, you should come swim!” Mathias called to me, before flopping backward into the water with both arms extended. Millie Jo and Rae shrieked with excitement as he made a gigantic splash.

I hadn't really wanted to get my hair all wet, but I found myself shucking down to my swimsuit and then climbing gingerly onto the bench seat to hop feet-first into the water.

“Yay, Mama!” Millie Jo cheered as I surfaced, smoothing back my hair with both hands. The lake water was warm and murky this close to the dock. I kicked quickly out of the marshy weeds that waved from the bottom and ducked under as I swam, opening my eyes and regarding the dark green world that unfolded before me. Mom had always told us to keep our eyes closed under the lake, but I liked the way it looked, the feeling of submersion into this liquid existence, where sounds were muffled and the beat of the blood in my veins amplified. Tish jumped in no more than ten feet from me, creating a maelstrom of bubbles beneath the water. I broke the surface and breathed deeply, kicking out my toes so that I could back-float, my hair streaming behind. Mathias swam to my side and grinned down at me as he treaded water.