A Northern Light(11)

I'd run upstairs to get the letters right after Graces body was brought in, and I'd been waiting ever since for Cook to turn her back. It was nearly five now. We'd be serving supper in another hour, and I knew I wouldn't have the time to run down cellar even if I did get the chance.

The door from the dining room swings open and Frannie Hill marches in, an empty tray on her shoulder. "Lord! I don't see how sitting on your backside watching an illustrated lecture about castles in France can make people so hungry," she says. "It's just boring old slides in a lantern and somebody holding forth."

"I must have put six dozen cookies on that tray. They et 'em all?" Cook asks her.

"And drank two pots of coffee, a jug of lemonade, and a pot of tea. And now they're clamoring for more."

"Nerves," Cook says. "People eat too much when they're nervy."

"Watch out for table six, Matt. He's at it again," Fran whispers as she passes by. That's our name for Mr. Maxwell, a guest who always takes table six in the dining room because it's in a dark corner. He has trouble keeping his hands, and other bits, to himself.

The door bangs open again. It's Ada. "Man from the Boonville paper's here. Mrs. Morrison says I should bring him coffee and sandwiches."

Weaver is on her heels. "Mr. Morrison says to tell you he canceled the campfire and sing-along tonight, so you don't need to do the refreshments for it. And he called off the hike to Dart's Lake tomorrow morning, so there's no picnic to pack. But he wants to have an ice-cream social for the children tomorrow afternoon, and he wants sandwiches for the searchers when they come in off the lake tonight."

Cook wipes the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. She puts water on to boil and opens a metal canister on the counter next to the stove. "Weaver, I told you to bring up some coffee this morning. Doesn't anyone listen to me?" she grumbles.

"I'll get it!" I nearly shout. The large burlap sack of coffee beans is kept in the cellar.

Her eyes narrow. "You are just determined to go down cellar, aren't you? What are you after?"

"Maybe she's got Royal Loomis hidden down there," Fran says, smirking.

"Standing behind the coal bin, waiting for a kiss." Ada giggles.

"Scratching his head wondering who turned out the lights," Weaver adds.

My cheeks burn.

"You stay where you are and finish that ice cream," Cook says to me. "Weaver, go get the coffee."

I pick up the churn's lid and look inside. Not even close. I'd been cranking so long I thought my arm would fall off. Weaver had already cranked a gallon of strawberry, and Fran had done vanilla. The kitchen was busy enough with the hotel and all the cottages full, busier still in the hours since the body was recovered. Mrs. Morrison had informed us that the sheriff was coming all the way from Herkimer tomorrow. And the coroner. And there were bound to be men from the city papers, too. Cook was determined that the Glenmore not be found wanting. She'd baked enough bread and biscuits to feed every man, woman, and child in the county. Plus a dozen pies, six layer cakes, and two pans of rice pudding.

Weaver disappears into the cellar. As he does, I hear gunshots coming from the lake, three in a row.

Ada and Frannie draw near to me. "If he was still alive, someone would have found him by now," Fran says, voicing what we are all thinking. "Or he would have found his way back. Those gunshots carry."

"I looked in the register," Ada whispers. "Their last names weren't the same. They were traveling together, but I don't think they were married."

"I bet they were eloping," I say. "I served them at dinnertime. I heard them talk about a chapel."

"Did you, Matt?" Ada asks.

"Yes, I did," I say, telling myself that fighting is talking. Sort of. "Maybe Grace Brown's father didn't like Carl Grahm," I add. "Maybe he didn't have any money. Or maybe she was promised to another but loved Carl Grahm. So they ran away to the North Woods to get married..."

"...and decided to take a romantic boat ride together first, to declare their love for each other on the lake...,"Ada adds wistfully.

"...and maybe he reached out over the water to pick some pond lilies for her...," Frannie says.

"...and the boat tipped and they fell out and he tried to save her, but he couldn't. She slipped from his grasp...," I say.

"Oh, it's so sad, Mattie! So sad and romantic!" Ada cries.

"...and then he drowned, too. He gave up struggling, because he didn't want to live when he saw that she was gone. And now they'll be together forever. Star-crossed lovers just like Romeo and Juliet," I say.

"Together forever...," Frannie echoes.

"...at the bottom of Big Moose Lake. Just as dead as two doornails," Cook says. She has ears on her like a jack-rabbit and is always listening when you don't think she is. "You let that be a lesson to you, Frances Hill," she adds. "Girls who sneak off with boys end badly. You hear me?"

Fran blinks. "Why, Mrs. Hennessey, I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she says. She is such a good actress, she should be onstage.

"And I'm sure you do. Where were you two nights ago? Round midnight?"

"Right here, of course. In bed asleep."