For one horrible second, shock and disbelief crawled over the tired old face. The diminutive body quivered. And then it was gone. Over the edge with a splash and a thin incredulous cry.
Hamlet lifted his massive head and howled to the sky.
“What on earth is that noise?” Ruth asked, taking a sip of her tea.
“Those blasted dogs, they don’t shut up for a single minute.” Lizzie bent into the fridge to select a variety of cold meat and cheeses. Her back turned, Alan slipped through her defenses and grabbed a hunk of bread.
Lizzie whirled around and slapped his hand with a damp dishcloth. “Enough of that, my boy,” she said, sternly. “These sandwiches are for his Lordship ’imself. Fer the carriage ride back to London. ’Cause there ain’t no good inns on the way, you understand.”
Alan and Kyle chuckled and pretended to dive at the slices of meat and cheese. Lizzie swatted at their darting fingers like the pests they were.
“The grub’s plenty good here,” said Kyle, so well fed before and after a day’s work, he had no interest in the sandwich preparations, he only wanted to play the game. “But I don’t know if I could stand those damned dogs long enough to get through a meal.”
Ruth picked up her teacup. “I hear something else. It sounds like someone’s crying.”
Kyle laughed. “Oh, yes. It’s the ghost of Madison cottage. Crying ’cause she hasn’t got the prettiest gown at the ball.”
Ruth ignored the comment and pricked up her ears. No one would be crying out loud in this house: terrible breach of good manners. It wasn’t crying, she heard. But screaming. An animal caught in a trap? Kyle was making the woo woo sound that represents ghostly moaning to doe-eyed children.
“Shut up, you fool,” Lizzie said, her plump arms laden with sandwich fillings. “I hear something too.”
Alan leapt to his feet. Kyle followed. Lizzie threw aside the packages of food, and Ruth gently put down her china teacup to bring up the rear.
“Can’t you do something about those dogs, Manners?” Charles was on his way down the stairs, still fastening his tie. “Never heard such a blasted racket in all my life.”
“On my way now, sir,” Alan said.
“Let Alan handle it, Charles.” Maeve stood at the top of the stairs, still in her frothy nightgown. “We may not like them, but they are my sister’s dogs. Alan will calm them. I’m sure he’s extremely capable.” She offered what she thought of as her flirtiest smile, the one that had made her so popular in her youth.
Alan burst through the French doors to the deck, his entourage following close behind.
Once they were outside, no one could mistake the human screams for those of an animal. Falling over themselves, they tumbled down the steps and rushed along the flagstone path to the water’s edge. Ruth’s heart almost stopped when she saw Miss Madison’s wheelchair, toppled over, at the end of the dock. No sign of the elderly woman, but something thrashed in the water.
Hamlet perched at the edge of the dock, his toenails hanging over, barking as if his life depended on it. Ophelia, who hated the water, swam in circles around Elaine, bobbing in the gentle waves.
Fully dressed, Alan hit the water with a wave-creating splash, Kyle following almost on the instant.
Ruth stood on the dock, wrung her hands, and watched.
The water was dark, the consistency of thick tea or ink, caused, Elaine had read, by a high quantity of lead. Difficult to see much of anything, down there. The black water, the mist burning off under the growing strength of the sun, a splash of sunlight on a rogue wave, tiny silver fish scattering in their multitudes, a few larger ones gathering, sensing a feast.
A startled white face and a flash of red and turquoise scarf and churning pale limbs.
Elaine stared into the water for a few precious seconds. Gathering her wits at last she screamed as loud as she could and dove. The shock of her body hitting the cold was almost enough to knock the senses out of her, but she pulled her head back to the surface and screamed again. She struck out in long, powerful strokes to the spot where she’d seen Moira slipping under the waves. Elaine screamed with all the force she could muster as she grabbed the old woman and cradled the thin form to her chest. It was light, ethereal almost, despite being clothed in water-sodden wool and heavy running shoes. Moira said nothing, but she stared at Elaine with wide frightened eyes.
Hamlet and Ophelia set up a tragic chorus of barking that would surely alert the entire county. Ophelia hit the water like a participant in a game of cannon bomb, so beloved of children around any sort of water. There was nothing she could do, and she knew it, but she would try. Hamlet rushed to the dock’s edge in a frantic attempt to keep an eye on both his mistress and his mate.
The dog scarcely registered the impact as the force of his formidable bulk hit the fragile old woman who stood calmly at the edge of the dock, watching her sister struggle to live.
Megan gasped. Her thin arms churned as she tried to keep her balance. But she failed, and toppled over into the water.
Elaine feared the worst the moment she reached Moira, now silently slipping underneath the waves. An old woman, a fragile heart. But she grabbed and pulled and screamed nonetheless, hoping that by force of will, if nothing else, she could pour life back into the limp old body.
She kicked out, talking to Moira, telling her to stay strong, moving towards the shore. Slow but steady. She didn’t have a hope of lifting her burden onto the rocks.
As if in a dream, strong arms took the weight from her, and gentle strokes guided Elaine back to shore, where she was pulled up and out of the lake.
She shook water out of her eyes and saw Lizzie on the rocks, bent over the barely twitching figure that had been passed up to her, her head moving rhythmically over the tiny body, the fair ponytail bobbing up and down with a life of its own.
Onlookers gathered around, watching, stunned into immobility. Kyle and Alan clambered out of the water, pushing a sodden Ophelia ahead of them.
Moira coughed and spat and vomited a stomach full of Lake Muskoka onto Lizzie’s ample lap. Lizzie grinned in delight. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Moira.”
Hamlet and Ophelia crawled to either side of their mistress and licked her face in joy.
Ruth burst into tears.
A cheer died in Elaine’s throat. Megan! She grabbed Alan’s dripping sleeve. “Megan went in as well.”
Charles, Maeve, Amber, and Phoebe came stumbling down the flagstone walk, dressed in a wild assortment of traveling clothes and nightwear.
Charles heard his wife’s name. “Megan. What do you mean, she went in? Went in where? Where is Megan?”
This time Kyle hit the water first, closely followed by Alan. They floundered around, unable to see anything. Visibility in this lake ended a few inches down.
Amber turned on her heels and fled back into the cottage. Phoebe dove into the lake, her bright yellow flannel Winnie-the-Pooh shortie pajamas flaring out around her as they greedily soaked up the water. She touched Kyle’s shoulder, pointed down, and dove.
On the shore, Moira vomited up another stomach full of lake. “What, what?” She was confused but struggled to sit up, pushing ineffectively at the arms around her, not sure if they were restraining her or comforting her.
“There, there. It’s all right,” Ruth said. “Let Lizzie and me help you up to the house. Please…Moira. You need to be warmed, to rest.”
Loving arms lifted Moira to her feet and settled her into her chair.
“Megan. Where is Megan?” She grabbed Ruth’s arm, as she felt herself being pushed up the path to the cottage.
“Don’t worry about that now, dear. Just rest.”
***
It was a long time before Phoebe, Kyle, and Alan found Megan floating under the dark waters. They knew it was useless, she had been down too long, but once they had her, Phoebe began CPR immediately. Kyle guiding, Phoebe breathing in a steady rhythm, they reached the shore as the piercing siren of an ambulance echoed over the calm lakes.
Capable arms pulled Megan out of the water. The cold body was laid on the rocks and the mechanical process of CPR continued, without response. Paramedics and a stretcher arrived. A paramedic took over CPR, as they wrapped Megan in thick blankets and carried her to the ambulance. Charles, his thin face etched with shock and despair, looking every day, and more, of his age, stumbled to keep up.
Phoebe, Elaine, Kyle, and Alan huddled together by the waterside, listening to the sound of the ambulance as it began the long return journey to the hospital in Bracebridge, the siren screaming. The earlier mist had burned off completely and a weak, but valiant, autumn sun shone in a cloudless azure sky heralding one of the last of the pleasant fall days before winter once again had this land in her unforgiving grip.
They staggered up the hill to the cottage. Dripping wet, shivering with cold, overwhelmed by shock.
Without a word, Alan reached out and gathered Elaine into his arms. She collapsed wordlessly into his embrace. Their bodies melded into a chill, damp blob, which still managed to be so wonderfully comfortable.
Cold, wet, but secure, Elaine mechanically put one foot in front of the other and allowed Alan to lead her up the path. She hadn’t known it was possible to be so cold. If her teeth kept on chattering like this they would surely drill a hole right through her skull.
Amber and Lizzie met them at the door, armed with thick blankets. Alan kissed Elaine’s hair and held her close before allowing Lizzie to guide Kyle and him upstairs. Amber took charge of Elaine and Phoebe.
Amber pushed the two women into Elaine’s room, the closest, and ran to start the shower. When the water was hot and steam filled the bathroom, she helped them strip off the outer layer of their miserable clothes and guided them into the spray, like helpless infants. They stood under the jet of hot water, Elaine clad in bra and panties, Phoebe in her pajamas, soaking up the warmth.
“Aren’t you quite the extra from
Night of the Living Dead
,” Phoebe said, at long last. “Hope I don’t look half as bad.”
Elaine laughed, a laugh owing more to hysteria than mirth. But soon they were hugging each other and alternately laughing and sobbing.
Amber pulled back the shower door. “Undies off. No time for false modesty here. Take it all off, ladies.”
They complied.
When Elaine and Phoebe emerged, feeling almost like human beings once again, Amber was standing in the steam, thick yellow towels held out in front of her. Elaine remembered when she was ten years old, and being cared for by her mother during a mild bout of the flu. All that attention, and a day off school, too. Wonderful.
Amber had searched under Elaine’s pillow and found a neatly folded set of pink flannel pajamas, teddy bears cavorting on fluffy white clouds. Meekly following instructions, Elaine dried herself off and pulled on the pajamas. Slippers and a terrycloth robe followed. Amber then went through a similar ritual with Phoebe. As Phoebe’s pajamas were lying in a sodden heap on the floor of Elaine’s bathroom, Amber produced a maroon sweat suit.
Dry and warm at last, they were anxious to get downstairs.
The stunned survivors had gathered in the kitchen. Lizzie had the fireplace roaring and coffee and hot cocoa brewing by the time Amber, Phoebe, and Elaine arrived.
Kyle and Alan, showered and dressed in an assortment of warm clothes, gripped mugs of steaming coffee. Alan’s woolen sweater and sweat pants were so small on the tall black man that Kyle resembled a boy who had grown out of his wardrobe overnight.
Maeve sat in the scarred old rocking chair by the hearth. As she rocked she hummed a song lightly under her breath. Her cloudy eyes looked at a horizon very far away.
A timid knock on the kitchen door, and Lizzie rushed to admit Rachel and Karen.
“We heard a siren,” Rachel said. “What’s happened?”
Kyle reached her in one step and gathered her to his chest. “There’s been an accident,” he said.
She pulled back. “What kind of an accident? Why are you dressed in that ridiculous getup? And your hair is all wet.”
“Is it Moira? Has something happened?” Karen asked.
“Moira’s all right,” Lizzie said. “Ruth is with her. She was in the lake. Elaine pulled her out. I’d better get a pot of tea upstairs. Make sure they’re all right. Will you help me, Karen?”
“Of course.”
Elaine looked around the room. The kitchen, large as it was, was packed to overflowing. Family, friends, neighbors, and staff were either sitting stoically at the great oak table or milling aimlessly about. Ophelia had been toweled off and she and Hamlet were lying on blankets under the table. For once, they lay quietly.
Alan threw a smile at Elaine that had her still-chilled heart warming rapidly in her chest. She thought of her teddy-bear dotted pajama legs sticking out from under her shabby robe, and her unbrushed hair standing up in frizzy curls.
“They took Grandma to the hospital,” Phoebe said. “Granddad has gone with her. We haven’t heard anything yet.”
“What in heaven’s name was Moira doing going for a swim, anyway?” Maeve said from her chair in the corner. She rocked so rhythmically, it was almost hypnotizing. “She hasn’t been in the lake for near on twenty years or more. Nor have I. Not quite suitable for a respectable woman’s dignity, I have always maintained. The swimming costumes they have these days. How strange that she’d decide to go for a swim today of all days.”
They stared at her in disbelief.
“But my sister did always tend to be a mite unconventional.”
The sharp ring of the phone cut through the tension in the room. Everyone jumped. They looked at each other, no one wanting to pick up the instrument and hear what they all knew would be terrible news. On the fourth ring, Alan grabbed it. He faced the wall, his back to the room; shoulders hunched, head down, making a cave of his body. He said nothing but “Hello” followed by a few murmurs. He placed the phone back in the cradle, straightened his shoulders and turned to face them.
“That was Charles. Megan was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.”
“Oh, God,” Kyle exclaimed.
Rachel fell into a chair. “How terrible.”
Alan threw another log onto the fire, which didn’t need one. Expressionless, Phoebe opened the cookie tin and arranged treats onto a tray. Maeve hummed quietly to herself as she continued to rock.
Watching them reminded Elaine of one of Moira’s stories. A trip to London spent mostly in the tunnels under the city, while wave after wave of German bombers pounded the city above. She had talked about the expressionless features on people’s faces, women trying to be brave, holding back the tears, their children gripped tightly in their arms, forced laughter, and unconscious generosity as bits of food and drink and comfort passed between strangers thrown together.
“Charles wants me to bring the car.” Alan looked at Elaine. “Will you be all right?”
She smiled, feeling all warm and cozy inside, and not from her proximity to the fireplace. “I’m fine. Thank you. You go and help Charles. I’m sure he needs you.”
“If you’re sure, Elaine?”
“I’ll walk out with you.”
They reached the kitchen door as Lizzie and Karen returned. “Moira’s sleeping,” Lizzie told them. “But Ruth’s sitting with her. We’ve called her doctor and he’s on his way. She wants to see you, Elaine. She asked Ruth to fetch you. But she’s asleep now. Ruth’ll let you know when she’s awake.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“What happened, Elaine?” Alan took her hand as they walked down the long, dark corridor. They passed his painting, secure in its place amongst the Canadian masters. Elaine smiled at it fondly. It looked even more beautiful than the first time she’d seen it, if that were possible. She would ask him, someday, what lay behind it. The painting was so emotional, there had to be a story there. As they passed the staircase, she could feel the force of Augustus’ disapproval digging into her back. She suspected that he was scandalized that a woman of such a lowly position would have the audacity to pass up the son of a prominent Muskoka family. She couldn’t see them, the portraits were behind her, but she imagined that if she turned around Elizabeth would have winked.
She pulled her mind back to the question. “They were arguing. Moira accused Megan of killing Donna Smithton, setting the fire, and trying to kill her by smothering her as she slept. Megan didn’t deny it. Oh, God, Alan, she pushed Moira into the lake. Her own sister. I saw it. It wasn’t an accident, although Megan claimed that Donna’s death was an accident. One she didn’t do anything to prevent. But I don’t understand. Why would she do that? They’re sisters. And they’re so old.” Huge, warm teardrops fell silently down her cheeks. Her chest heaved and her body felt as if it would break in two.
Alan gathered her into his arms and stroked her back. She buried her wet face into his chest. “I don’t understand, either,” he said. “We probably never will. But it’s over. You’re all right. Moira’s all right.”
“But Megan’s dead.”
“So she is. But from what you’ve said, I think she brought it on herself. Don’t you?” He reached under her chin and tilted her head back. With his forefinger, he wiped a single tear from her face. “Let it all sort itself out, Elaine. You did what you had to do and you did it well. That’s all that counts.”
She tried to smile, to regain that brief moment of feeling loved and cared for. “Do you think so?”