Penelope's Suitors

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Spring, 2006

A sign may have once marked Hale Road, but if so, it was long gone. Those who wanted to find it had to know it was that turnoff up the mountain, about five miles north of Twelve Pines. Not that many looked for it—it just led to a few log cabins, nothing to interest a tourist. Like the road that served Pete Cress's house, it was one of the old roads to the houses that residents built long before vacationers discovered the lake, long before the Interstate, even before the train station in Fort Bramwell was built.

Now the train station was gone, but Hale Road was still there, leading up to Stanislaus's cabin. Ted had been there only once, when Stanislaus had let him take his ancient pickup to his house to get a certain kind of wrench the resort's own toolbox lacked. Ted remembered an old solid house, smelling pleasantly of pine. The furniture was faded 1950s era, but in good condition, and the place was almost obsessively neat and clean.

The afternoon sun was still shining bright, but Hale Road was dark under the pines. Ted's 20-year-memory found the turnoff again, and the rental car bounced over the rutted dirt road. It led to a small grass yard that served as Stanislaus's front lawn. And there was Stanislaus, sitting in an Adirondack chair on his porch, reading the paper as he puffed on his pipe. What had Denise said—it was like Brigadoon, and Stanislaus had been sleeping for two decades, waiting for Ted to show up.

Stanislaus had build a separate workshop/garage beyond the house, but there was no real place to park in front of the house. Ted just pulled over to the side of the road and got out, taking a paper bag with him from the passenger seat. Stanislaus put down his newspaper and took his pipe out of his mouth. As Ted walked closer, he could see Stanislaus had aged after all. He was thinner, and his face more heavily lined. But he sat straight, and easily stood as Ted walked up the porch steps.

"Good seeing you again, Ted." He shook hands with Ted and gave the slight upturn of his mouth that passed for a smile. "Pull up a chair." Ted grabbed another Adirondack chair and dragged it level with Stanislaus.

"I'm surprised you recognized me. It's been a while."

"You haven't changed much. And anyway, Ariadne told me you were up here."

"You haven't changed at all."

"I'm a little stiffer. Needed a little help with the firewood this year. Still, better than some. You know Harry LaCoeur, had a cabin off Ludlow Bay. Had a heart attack shoveling himself out last February. When his nephew went looking for him, he was already under 30 inches of snow. The undertaker had to let him thaw for two days to get him into a position fit for burial."

Ted dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand to keep from laughing.

"What are you driving these days?"

"Same Dodge pickup I had 10 years ago. Runs fine. Just have to take care of it, that's all." He puffed on his pipe. Ted reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label he had picked up in the Village on his way over. Stanislaus eyed it more with curiosity than desire.

"I was hoping you'd join me in a toast to our late employer." Stanislaus got up and went inside. He came back a minute later minus his pipe but holding two glasses, which he set on the wide arm of his chair. Ted poured generous glasses. "To Maxwell," said Ted.

Stanislaus drained his glass and eyed the bottle speculatively. "Costs a little more, I guess, and worth it." Then he looked at Ted. "Thank you, but I'm guessing you didn't drive all the way from New York to have a drink with me."

"What did Ariadne tell you?"

"That she would appreciate it if I would speak with you. And after all, she's my boss. She and Penelope." Ted figured Stanislaus knew why he was there, but wasn't going to give anything away.

"I'm here because of William. It's been hard to forget him. I thought I'd ask around. Try to figure out what happened that night."

"It was an accident," said Stanislaus.

"Maybe," said Ted. "But what was he doing on the cliff that night, in the rain?"

"Damned if I could figure out half things you kids did. I'm willing to bet there was a good solid reason for him to be there, and that we'll never figure it out. I wasn't even around anyway. I was here. Penelope had the police call me after they arrived. And if I remember rightly, you and your friend Mary-Lou weren't here either." He actually managed to say "friend" without a hint of sarcasm.

"I was called away to pick up stranded guests in Mohawk Falls."

"Yeah, I know the story. I figured you cooked it up to get behind the wheel of Maxwell's Land Rover."

Ted grinned. "You and everyone else. I won't deny I was dying to drive that car. But as far as I knew it was a true request. I made nothing up."

"Then I'm sorry for thinking that for the last 20 years," he said. "It's all a mystery to me then. But there was probably a good reason for that, too."

"What can you tell me about William?"

"Probably nothing that you don't know. He was a lazy bastard, but you remember that yourself." He said it as an observation, without rancor.

"We didn't mind. He was a great guitarist."

"I was never musical. He was certainly popular with the girls. I remember you and Vic hauling stuff around the Hall, and Matthew hammering away at the outboards, and every girl in the place sitting in a circle around him."

This was getting Ted nowhere, despite the hefty outlay for the scotch. But detective work was like journalism, he reasoned, and not every interview paid off. Still, he had a feeling that Stanislaus knew something more.

"I saw Penelope in the city. I was at Maxwell's funeral." Was it his imagination, or did Stanislaus's jaw tighten?

"We had a memorial service for him up here. An interfaith service at the town hall."

"He would've liked that. Do you see Penelope much? I know she comes up occasionally to visit Ariadne."

"Not much." He looked across his lawn.

"I think back to that summer and of course, William's death was the big event. But I also remember Penelope."

"You were sweet on her. Everyone knew that."

"I guess I was pretty obvious," he said, ruefully. "Anyway, by that summer I spent most of my free time with Mary-Lou. Still, you'd think I'd see more of Penelope. Winters must've been pretty lonely up here. My guess is that she didn't have a lot of school friends. You'd think she'd want to spend more time with us down at the lake evenings. She'd known me and Vic since we were all kids together, after all."

"She was off the property," said Stanislaus.

"Where?" asked Ted. Stanislaus sighed.

"Does it matter?"

"It might." Stanislaus didn't say anything for a while, and Ted began to wonder if he had heard him. "Do you think I'd say or do anything to hurt Penelope?" Ted finally said.

"Will you promise not to go pushing into anything if it has nothing to do with William?"

"I promise."

Stanislaus sat back in his chair and looked across his chair. "Stupid girl was seeing a man. One of her teachers. At any rate, it didn't end badly as it could've. They were sneaking around, hiding it from everyone."

"But you found out."

"I don't miss much. I've lived here all my life. So did my father, and his. I knew the guy who was rebuilding the fireplace in the hunting lodge where they met. And I knew the young man's landlady."

"Did you think about telling Maxwell?"

"She was an 18-year-old adult. You're going to make a fool of yourself, that was the time to do it."

"But she didn't make a fool of herself."

Stanislaus looked surprised for a moment. "No. She didn't. I guess if you're going to manage an affair with your teacher, she was smart enough to get away with it. Still, I wouldn't recommend it. And anyway, he had more to lose than she did." There was another silence. "Who else are you talking to?" asked Stanislaus.

"I spoke with Vic in the city. He's become quite a big shot."

"So I heard. Can't say I'm surprised. He engineered that hot dog sale you guys ran."

"Exactly," said Ted, smiling at the memory. "I hope to speak with Mary-Lou, my old friend." He blushed despite himself. "Laurie, who worked at the restaurant. Matthew."

"You play golf?" asked Stanislaus, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Oh, ah, a little bit. I don't get to play very often, living in Manhattan."

"The Twelve Pines course is open, even though the cabins are stilled closed. So is the Mohawk Hotel course. Ariadne told me you're staying there. Why don't you get up tomorrow morning, rent some clubs, and play a round of golf or two in one place or the other, and then drive back to New York. For what it's worth, I think that's what you should do." He got up and went back into his house. When he returned, he was lighting his pipe again.

"I can't," said Ted, softly.

"I thought you'd say that," said Stanislaus, his voice free of anger, but with just a little sadness. He puffed his pipe and stared at the fading light across his lawn. "It was just a suggestion."

"Thanks for your time. It was good seeing you again."

"Same here. Don't forget your scotch."

"It's a present."

"Thanks. I have an old army buddy coming over next week. He'll appreciate it." Army buddy, thought Ted—from what campaign: Inchon? Okinawa? Ypres?

They shook hands again, and Ted walked back to his car. It was getting too dark to read, and Stanislaus took his paper and pipe inside.

Ted did a U-turn on Hale Road and bumped down to Route 18. Stanislaus was right—he should just forget the whole thing. Play a round of golf, go home, and tell Penelope it had just been an accident. He started feeling maudlin.

He mentally slapped himself. There were more people to talk to. He needed to call Miranda after dinner—it would be good to hear her voice, and he had some work for her, too. And tomorrow, he'd visit Mary-Lou. The thought filled him with a bittersweet pleasure.



Summer, 1986

“Ted? Imagine seeing you here.”

“Penelope—you almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing here this late?” He walked closer to her; she pushed back her hood.

“I could ask you the same thing. Except I can guess—saying goodnight to your girlfriend.” Just the hint of her mocking tone. “I thought I’d take a walk after the storm. It always smells so nice after the rains end.”

“It’s late for taking walks.”

“It’s late for saying goodnight to girlfriends.” She reached for one his plastic bags, and he was so startled he let her take it. “Wine—I thought so…I could tell from the outline.” She reached in and pulled out the empty bottle. “And not just any wine. Champagne. You’re certainly a generous boyfriend.” Ted had never seen her like this. He took back the bottle and bag.

“My life seems to have become of enormous interest and entertainment this afternoon.”

“Well, it’s a dull town. Would you like to walk me back up to the Stone House?”

“Sure.” He threw out the trash in the parking lot dumpster, then they headed up the hill, their feet splashing in the little streams of water that continued to flow.

“Ariadne told me you were mean to her this afternoon,” she said.

“She started it,” he said, and then wished he could have bitten it back; it was such a childish thing to say. She laughed, low and rich, not musical like Mary-Lou.

“I’m sure she did.”

“She has an overly busy mind.”

“And a rich fantasy life,” continued Penelope.

They reached her doorway. Ted suddenly thought of Matthew, alone and working late on a motor in cluttered machine shop. He was so happy, he wanted everyone to be happy.

“If we made a fire on the beach tomorrow, would you come?”

“Why do you care?” she smiled. “You have a pretty girlfriend to keep you company.”

“I’m always your friend. And you have other friends too.”

“I do? It's so nice to be popular,” she said, and there was no trace of sarcasm in her voice. "Mrs. Bretton baked some cookies this afternoon. Would you like to come in and have some?"

"Thanks—I'd never miss a chance for some of her cookies." They walked into the dark kitchen and Penelope turned on the light. She placed the old-fashioned cookie jar on the table, then poured two glasses of milk and joined him.

"Ariadne can make a big deal of staying up late, but often she gets tired early in the summer air. She's already asleep. So is Mrs. Bretton, and Dad is traveling."

Ted found he was still hungry, even after his dessert earlier, and eagerly munched the chocolate chip cookies.

"You boys got girlfriends pretty quickly," said Penelope.

Ted laughed. "I guess so. But Matthew is still available," he said.

"That's his choice. He could've had any girl in school. Well, almost any girl. You must know he wanted to date me. I have no illusions about Ariadne's ability to keep a secret."

"Oh no. She told me very quickly."

"How about William? He seems to have quite a circle of female followers, when he plays his guitar, which seems to be always. Does he have one girlfriend in particular?"

Ted shook his head. "Not that I could see. They all enjoy being with him and listening to him play. He hasn't sought out any one of them especially."

"That's okay then. Last year, there was a father or two who had problems with Vic's behavior. I'm glad this year you and Vic have landed yourselves with fellow employees. We don't need William creating a mess with a guest."

"I think he likes the attention. But I don't think any girl is going to come between him and his guitar."

"I'm glad to hear it." She looked up at the kitchen clock. "Good God, it is late."

Ted stood up. "Yes, it’s time I was off to bed."

Penelope arched an eyebrow. "You mean 'to sleep.' I have a feeling you've already been 'to bed.'" Ted blushed. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. Just don’t let Ariadne find out, although I imagine she will anyway. Thanks for walking me back up."

"Thank you for the milk and cookies. See you tomorrow."

Ted heard Penelope lock the door behind him as he left. She was different tonight. Perhaps, he wondered, she is more comfortable with me now that I am not chasing her. He might have followed this brief moment of insight further, but it was very late, he was a little drunk, and rather than wrestle with the complexities of Penelope it was much pleasanter to think about how warm Mary-Lou was lying against him, and her sweet lake-scented hair.

He almost missed the turnoff to the cabin.