The Potter's Daughter (Literary Series) (12 page)

Mitch sang the melody fast and slow
for almost an hour before deciding that he was satisfied he knew the bits well
enough to play again.
 
Mitch set the
guitar down on the couch, stood up, and stretched his arms toward the ceiling.
 
He put another log into the wood stove
and went out onto the screen porch.

Mitch closed the door to the cabin
behind him.
 
The unheated porch was
sheltered with storm windows so not as cold as the outside, still colder than
the cabin interior.
 
Mitch could
feel the cold through his grey t-shirt covered yellow thermal and through his
cotton socks.
 
He found the brisk
sensation revitalizing.
 
Curling his
fingers like claws, Mitch scratched his scalp with both hands then dropped them
onto his waist and scanned the lake, a recurring ritual that Mitch did several
times during the day.

Like most everyone else on these
waters, the open expanse attracted Mitch.

To meet Mitch, one might not guess
he grew up in the city.
 
Mitch
appeared as natural to the lake and woods as any of the hunters and fisherman
in Willow Lake and could easily be mistaken for someone raised on trout and by
shotgun.
 
Mitch’s transition from
concrete to woodland appeared seamless because he had embraced the simple life
with head and heart in the transcendentalist spirit of Thoreau.
 
He had brought a copy of Walden with him
to the lake and that suited him well.
 
Like the house on Walden Pond had been for Thoreau, the cabin was close
enough to the village and had just enough of the wilderness to suit Mitch’s
needs.
 
Of course, eventually Mitch
found out that the simple life was not all that simple and that life on the
lake went forward like everywhere else.
 
Still Mitch found a place where he could fit in.

The sun was now high above the lake
and Mitch thought best to get a few chores done.
 
He went back into the cabin and put his
boots and coat on then went out to the log pile to split wood.
 
Mitch had a couple hours before he would
be grabbing his hockey gear and heading into the village and wanted to do
whatever he could to pass the time quickly.

* * *
* *

Caroline and Abby shared many
memories on the ice.
 
Their mothers
loved to skate and often took Caroline and Abby when they were children.
 
Together the two girls had learned
spins, first in place, and then camel spins with one leg high in the air.
 
They helped each other make costumes and
laced each other’s figure skates.
 
Slung over Abby’s shoulder by the long knotted pink laces were worn
white figure skates.
 
Abby recalled
the late winter day when she first saw them.
 
Each year her mother would drive the
kids across the county to Floyd’s Skate Swap.
 
Floyd’s was an Old Dutch farm in
complete disarray.
 
The animals had
taken over the premises and roamed freely.
 
Emily would speed most of the way to the swap, determined to get there
before they closed at three.
 
Abby,
Caroline, and Michael droned the “Sanford and Son” theme song the whole way up
the dirt driveway while Emily futilely tried to keep order from the front
seat.
 
After lumbering the make
shift parking lot to find the driest spot to leave the Volvo, the kids draped
last year’s wrecks around their necks and set off running toward the field
stone skate swap in the bottom of Floyd’s barn.
 
As potentially embarrassing as this situation
could have been for the teens, all the kids in the county participated in the
swap.
 
Hundreds of pairs of
exhausted black and white figure skates, a good selection of clunky hockey
skates, and dozens of strap-on runners with tattered leather ties crowded what
used to be the leather tack end of the stable.
 
They were in every size from toddler to
adult.
 
The skates the kids brought
with them were turned in to Floyd’s freckle faced teenage daughter.
 
Floyd’s daughter sat at a table with a
clipboard.
 
She rated the incoming
skates as used, still in good condition, and recorded them for a credit so the
children could quickly scout out a new pair.
 
Michael wore hockey skates so his
selection had more to do with getting the right size versus how many socks molded
his foot to the skate.
 
He went
right to work.
 
The girl’s choice
was a bit more delicate, to them at least, and they inspected each pair of
figure skates with persnickety attention.
 
The kids had come to the skate swap late that year and the skates had
already been diligently picked through.

Abby found a bright white pair she
liked.
 
The skates appeared barely
worn however her mother told Abby they were the wrong size and that there was
no way she could squeeze into them.
 
Then Emily brought Abby a pair she had found in the back, a pair that
was unique to the other white figure skates because of the trim.
 
All of the other white figure skates had
white piping for trim if there was any trim at all.
 
The white skates that Emily held had
thin pink piping for trim.
 
Abby’s
eyes went wide.
 
The skates seemed
so new.
 
Emily told her that on the
way home, she would replace the dull grey laces with pink ones to match the
trim.
 
Though the laces had to be
replaced a couple times over the years, the skates still fit.
 
The last skates from the last skate swap
Abby had been to with her mother.
 
That was the year Emily was diagnosed with cancer.
 
That was the year Abby’s mother had
died.

* * *
* *

Abby walked over to the green
wooden bleachers behind the Stone bar.
 
Caroline would be there waiting for her.
 
The empty outdoor rink at the edge of
the fairgrounds sat next to an indoor arena.
 
A teal Zamboni resurfaced the grey blue
ice as children crowded the green carpeted benches surrounding the rink.
 
The children showed their eagerness to
get back on the ice by fidgeting their knit caps, mittens, coats, snow pants,
and skates.

Caroline sat on the bottom bleacher
and zipped up Lilly’s purple jacket while Andrew stood on his skates, mitten in
his mouth, watching the Zamboni crawl by.

“Thanks for parking the car,” said
Caroline.
 
“Herding these kids from
the back lot is tedious to say the least.”

“Not a problem,” said Abby.
 
She sat down next to her cousin and
removed her boots.

Caroline finished getting Lilly
ready and instructed her to stay next to Andrew.
 
He shuffled his skates back and forth
ready to go at first sign of release.
 
Abby and Caroline fervently got their skates on to be ready for Andrew
to launch.
 
When the Zamboni glided
off the back of the rink all of the skaters poured in from the edges in one
seemingly orchestrated flow.
 
Abby
followed behind Andrew and Lilly onto the ice leaving Caroline to finish lacing
her own skates and sort everyone else’s belongings.
 
Caroline would catch up with Abby and
the twins when they circled around.

To skate on the ice rink felt
fantastic.
 
Abby had worked out her
creeks and cobwebs by skating on the lake.
 
On the rink, skating was natural.
 
Her feet effortlessly slid over the ice in unison.
 
Lilly in front of her had the same ease,
Andrew looked as though he was working very hard.
 
Abby reached for the twins in vane.
 
The twins scurried away, their little
legs walking rapidly at times rather than skating.

The weather was warm for a winter
day.
 
The sun was out and the sky
was clear.
 
Abby and the kids did
not take long to circle the rink.
 
Caroline joined them when they neared the bleachers.

“You must be keeping up in the
city,” said Caroline.

“Not as much as you think,” said
Abby.
 
“This is great!”

They lapped the rink five times at
a leisurely pace before Lilly and Andrew fell back red faced and decided they
wanted to hold Abby’s hands.
 
As a
group, they lasted two more laps before the twins needed a break.
 
Caroline skated to the bench closest to
their bleacher to get the backpack.
 
Abby and her junior entourage, ready to receive apple juice and water,
slid in behind her.

Caroline fixed the children’s
scarves and hats as they sucked away at the straws of their juice boxes.
 
She arched her eyebrow at Abby, “So did
you think about what I said this morning?”

“Listening to my heart, that?”
asked Abby.

“Yea that,” said Caroline.

“Actually I have,” said Abby, “ and
something occurred to me.
 
Will is
holding back on something.”

“Why do you say that?” asked
Caroline.

“Because this morning when I saw
him talking to mom, he told me he did not have that much to say to her.
 
But, he has been having conversations
with that tree everyday since I’ve been here.
 
And he told her a lot more this morning
than he is letting on to anyone else.”

“So you think there is something
going on, beyond his drinking, because you see him talking to a tree?” asked
Caroline.

“Yes, I do, maybe even causing his
drinking,” said Abby.

“You know you sound ridiculous.”

“You think it’s ridiculous to think
he is confiding in my mother?” asked Abby.

“Not when you put it that way,”
Caroline buttoned up Andrew’s top button.
 
“It’s the talking to the tree bit that makes you sound a little
paranoid.”

“I see your point,” said Abby, “but
there has to be more there.”

“Why does
there
have to be so much more?
 
He’s old,
he’s alone, he drinks,” said Caroline.

“But why start now?
 
Michael has been gone for ten years, Mom
for twenty.
 
It doesn’t make sense
for him to start drinking heavy now,” said Abby.

“Who said he just started?”

“But Will was never a big
drinker.
 
Neither was Mom or your
parents,” said Abby.

“Well there is one way to find
out,” said Caroline.
 
Caroline
shifted her eyes toward the liquor store across the street.
 
To simply go into the only village
liquor store and ask them how often
Will
came in had
not occurred to Abby.
 
She could
only see the back of the store from the bleachers.
 
Abby imagined walking into the front and
hearing something that she did not want to hear.

“We’re overreacting, blowing this
all out of proportion,” said Abby.
 
The comment was not really meant for Caroline.
 
Abby was talking herself out of the
possibility that she could have missed years of alcohol abuse, denying that any
problem could exist with her father.

“You do remember why I called you
to begin with?” asked Caroline.

Abby did remember why Caroline had
called her in the city asking her to come back to Willow Lake.
 
Will had launched into a tirade with
representatives from his hotel account when one of them mentioned that they
might change some of the custom work on the new commission.
 
Fortunately, they put Will’s behavior
down to he being a passionate artist yet after they left he did not stop.
 
Will went into the Stone bar and tried
to stir up a fight.
 
Of course no
one would ever fight old Will or for that matter serve him in that state yet he
was still too drunk to drive out of there and would not let any one help
him.
 
After Bob Jensen took his
keys, Will insisted on staying in his truck, and that was when the police had come
by.
 
Bob talked the police into
calling Caroline to come down to the bar.
 
Bob knew Caroline could keep Will calm and get him home.
 
That pushed Caroline to call Abby to
come home.
 
Until then, Caroline too
denied the signs that her uncle was ill.

Abby was no longer interested in
going back on the ice.
 
Caroline
encouraged her to remove her skates, go to the liquor store across the street,
and ask about Will.
 
“It will only
take you five minutes,” said Caroline.
 
Abby did just that, unlaced her skates, and laced up her boots.
 
Abby sent Caroline and the kids back out
on the rink and headed across the street.

* * *
* *

The little bell announced Abby as
she left the sunlit street and entered the shadows of the village liquor
store.
 
Though Abby had been in this
store many times before today her stomach was knotted and the store had an odor
that tasted bad on the back of her throat.
 
Dennis was working the register today.
 
He sat on a stool doing a crossword
puzzle.
 
A little black and white TV
sitting at the end of the counter was turned to an old movie, or the movie was
black and white and the TV was color, Abby was not sure.
 
Either way Dennis’s eyes did not leave
the puzzle.
 
Like any good counter
worker though Dennis was well aware that Abby had come into the store.