The keepers, p.5
The Keepers, page 5
A ripple of indignation ran down Stan’s back. What a way to treat the old guy, not even keeping in touch enough to know he was about to check out. That kind of person didn’t deserve to be left anything!
Chapter Six
On the afternoon of March 30, Stan drove through Cairo, Illinois and crossed the Mississippi heading northwest. Jessie sat beside him, one leg curled under her, and a Missouri map spread on her lap.
“We either have to go north or south and then cut over. The southern way looks the best.”
“You better tell me quick.”
“Okay. Let’s take sixty toward Springfield, then it’s a straight shot north in the morning.”
Stan nodded.
Jessie sighed and folded the map, glad her job as navigator would soon be over. Stan’s foot had rested like a rock on the gas pedal all the way from Florida. He had hurled the Lincoln along at speeds far too fast for the U-Haul they were pulling. They didn’t need to rush. There was plenty of time to reach Lost Crossing by April 1. Even the name of the small town close to Black Moss River Resort sounded ominous, a place to be avoided. If Stan had had his way, they would have left Davie the day after he had his meeting with Mr. Withers. Jessie leaned back against the seat in a minute of peace to gather strength for whatever lay ahead.
Denise and Andy were quiet, too. The strain of the past weeks showed in their faces. Andy wore a narrow, pinched look as if he were under a strain stretching him to his limit. Denise’s weariness surfaced in her eyes. They were glazed and the hollows beneath deeply smudged with purple. Stan kept up a facade of confidence and good humor, but occasional outbursts of temper revealed the tension behind it. The sudden uprooting left them in a mild state of shock. Their normal, everyday life had ended and they were uncertain as to what would replace it.
They were in limbo. All ties severed.
The bank manager hadn’t liked Jessie’s short notice and should she need another job it seemed doubtful she would get a good reference. Then they had to get Denise and Andy out of school early. That involved hurried last minute tests and extra make-up work adding to the burden of actually leaving. Like four people in a space capsule, they were free from the past and shooting across the country to a strange future.
Andy tapped her shoulder.
“Can I see the map?”
“Sure, honey.” Jessie handed it across to the back seat.
“Let me have it,” Denise said jerking it out of Andy’s hand.
“Hey, I asked first.”
Jessie turned to glare at them “Now don’t start. Give it to him, Denise. You can see it later.”
Denise shoved the crumpled map at him. “He’s already looked at it a million times. I want to see if we’ll be close to any cities. If I’m going to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of hillbillies I have to know there is civilization someplace!”
Andy slid his stubby finger along a red line running north and south through the lake region. “Don’t worry. Jefferson City isn’t very far north and Springfield isn’t much further south. Maybe you can live in one of them and come see us on weekends.”
“You’d like that wouldn’t you, twerp?”
“Don’t matter to me.” Andy shrugged still studying the map. “I was trying to make a helpful suggestion.”
Stan tilted his head back speaking over his shoulder. “Nobody is living anywhere except at Black Moss River Resort, at least for the next year. It’s going to be like a long vacation. And you take it easy, Denise. Don’t go around calling the natives names they might not like. We have to fit in.”
“One year,” Denise pronounced it like a prison sentence. “Then you promise we can get out of there?”
“I didn’t say that. Hey, you might love it. What happened to our agreement? We are going with an open mind, give the place a chance.”
“Oh, all right. What kind of name is that for a resort, Black Moss? And that little town, Lost Crossing, who would call a town that? I bet it isn’t even on the map.”
Andy moved the map closer to Denise. “Sure it is, see? Right here close to that little squiggled line, that’s the river.”
Denise and Andy bent over the map, her dark curls touching his blond hair. As they studied the foreign place that was their new home, they grew strangely silent. It was easy to understand Denise’s unhappiness. She was leaving a comfortable social structure where she was sure of her position. Still, the adjustment shouldn’t be too difficult for her. Denise was a survivor.
Andy was a different bundle of problems. He’d formed no close attachments to the kids in his school and didn’t seem to mind where he lived. There was a chance Andy might profit from the change. The lazy, peaceful life on a riverbank could give him time to ponder the things that ran through his mind. Provided, however, the new environment was a tranquil one.
When Stan broke the news to the children, they both raised questions about his uncle. Stan glibly explained. “Listen, I didn’t know him either. Don’t worry about it, Mr. Withers assured me it is all right. If anyone asks say, you didn’t know him. I don’t think anyone will be too nosy but if they are it might be better not to say anything about your family. Change the subject and go on about your business.”
Now the family had more than adjusting to do—they also had a secret to keep.
Jessie hated keeping secrets, it went against her nature, and it was better to have things out in the open. Still, Jessie had a secret of her own and it pricked at her like an embedded splinter. While she was arranging for their move, Jessie had tried, on three different occasions, to call Mr. Withers. She simply couldn’t disrupt her family without trying to straighten out what must be a terrible mistake. The first two times no one answered, the third time a recorded message announced the number was no longer in service. She bit her tongue to keep from telling Stan because he would have gone into a black rage. Besides, there was nothing to tell except that she had tried to sabotage his bright future. There wasn’t any point in letting him know that. He’d already warned her several times about doing anything to upset this wonderful opportunity.
“You know what?” Andy said. “It looks like a dragon.”
“What does?” Jessie asked.
“The Lake Of The Ozarks. See how it twists and turns. There’s the head and then it bends back with feet and claws and the tail runs way out here. We’re going to be out on the tail, that’s where Black Moss River comes in.”
Jessie bent over the seat and watched Andy outline the lake. It took some imagination, but she could see it, too. Denise flopped into the corner of the back seat and crossed her arms over her stomach.
“Oh, great! What I’ve always wanted, to live on the tail of a dragon lake!”
Chapter Seven
The next morning as Stan drove along Highway 54, Jessie read from the brochure they had picked up. In 1931, Union Electric Company had built Bagnell Dam across the Osage River backing it and its tributaries up to form one of America’s largest man-made lakes.
“With a shoreline of 1,375 miles,” Jessie read.
Andy puckered his lips and tried to whistle. “That’s big, huh, Dad?”
“Sure is.”
“Stan,” Jessie said. “Didn’t you say Black Moss Resort was built over sixty-nine years ago?”
Stan nodded.
“Well if the previous owner ran it for forty years, I wonder who had it before that? And why did they start a camp out on that little river before the lake was here?”
Jessie waved her hand at the curio shops, restaurants, and amusement arcades along the highway. “There would have been none of this to attract tourist that long ago.”
Stan frowned. “I don’t know, maybe they had foresight. Maybe they wanted an out-of-the-way spot and got upset when the activity started and then sold it. How should I know?”
As they drove by the signs and billboards, Denise read out each name. “The old man sure didn’t believe in advertising. I haven’t seen one sign for our place.”
“Guess we better get busy and find it, right guys?” Stan said.
Stan turned around at the dam and headed back southwest on Highway 54.
The low Ozark Mountains were old and worn down by centuries of wind and water. Yet, rather than rounded and smooth, it was a rocky, rugged land still in existence despite erosion. Where the highway cut through the hillsides, it exposed sheer rock cliffs topped by a meager, stubborn soil. Yet, dense interlocking woods of white oak, hickory, black oak, and short tangled sumac, their branches clad in thin spring green grew in mass. The only open places were where farmers had cut and burned to clear fields and rocky pastures, and where the developer’s bulldozers had ripped through the raw, red clay.
There wasn’t much activity around the lake, it was too early for the summer trade, but Stan optimistically saw white boats polka dotting the water and traffic lining the highway, bumper to bumper. However, now the trees in the distance wore a variegated green mist giving a hint of the full summer foliage to come, but the lake was still dull, winter gray. Stan drove through town and spotted the Camdenton Bank where his account should be. He was anxious to find the resort, but with Jessie sitting stiff and nervous, it seemed wiser to stop at the bank. It would ease her mind if he proved they weren’t on a wild goose chase.
Highways 54 and 5 formed a crossroads in the middle of town with a stone courthouse on one corner. Stan drove a block past the intersection and parked in front of the red brick bank. With a quick word to Jessie, he got out and briskly strode inside.
The small bank had a black marble counter across the back with two teller cages, and to Stan’s right was a reception desk. As he stood inside the door, sweat popped out on Stan’s palms. For a second he expected bells to start clanging and armed guards to rush him, but that was silly. No one paid him the slightest attention. The two tellers were talking to each other and the dark-haired woman at the information desk was busy punching numbers in on a desk calculator. She didn’t look up until Stan sat down in the round-backed chair in front of her desk.
“May I help you?” Her smile was friendly.
“I’m Stan Nolan. I have an account here. I’d like to confirm the amount and have some checks printed.”
“Certainly. Just a moment.”
The whole process took less than ten minutes. Everything was in order. The checks were already printed and Stan walked out with a ledger type checkbook under his arm. He swung into the car seat and dropped the black book onto Jessie’s lap.
When she opened the book Jessie’s eyes widened in surprise. The checks were yellow printed with black, a river scene running under the scroll letters ‘Black Moss River Resort’. On the stub portion, there was a credit of twenty thousand dollars.
“It didn’t take long. Was this all ready?”
The note of wonder in Jessie’s voice pleased him; maybe now she’d have a little more faith. Stan eased back out onto the highway. As the Lincoln picked up speed Stan’s confidence gathered momentum. “Sure it was ready, I knew it would be. If the rest goes this smooth I’m going to put up a statue for old Farley.”
Jessie’s lips tightened and Stan let the matter drop, no sense bringing up a sore subject. She didn’t like his mentioning the old man in front of the kids. She seemed to have the crazy notion that if you didn’t talk about something it would go away. He drove on out of town and away from the lake. After five miles, a little tingle of nervousness set up shop in his stomach, but Stan maintained a confident smile. They had passed the last curio shop; baskets-Indian jewelry-cold cider, and gas station several miles back. The silence in the car became oppressive. An ominous foreboding hung in the air, as if his small family was silently awaiting its doom.
“Hey, what’s the matter with everyone? We’re almost there. Aren’t you excited?”
“Do you know where you’re going, Stan?” Jessie’s words carried a meaning far beyond the simple question.
“Of course. We should be coming up on county road ‘C’ any minute now.”
Stan’s forced smile slipped and he shoved it back into place. Jessie’s somber attitude was irritating. Didn’t she know he had to be a little worried, too? If things didn’t work out Jessie would blame him; put the entire fault at his doorstep. Sometimes her cautious ways were enough to drive a man straight up the nearest wall! He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Denise was expressionless, withholding her judgment. That was okay. She seemed willing to wait and see, he couldn’t ask more than that. However, there was a small ripple above Andy’s eyebrows, the beginning of a frown, and he sat arrow straight.
Same as his mother!
Stan saw the road sign too late to make a smooth turn and he cut the wheel sharply throwing Jessie forward. As Stan turned left off the highway Jessie’s hand shot out catching herself against the dashboard. His punishment for that unforgivable blunder was a tight-lipped scowl as Jessie settled back again.
The blacktop county road became steeper, steadily winding upward; they were getting further from the lake with every mile. The fear that he might be lost formed a tight knot between Stan’s shoulder blades. He wanted to be at Black Moss that afternoon and spend the night so that the first of April would find the Nolans firmly established.
When Stan reached the narrow crest of the mountain range, the road finally flattened out and followed the backbone of the ridge. To the left, the lower hills were a buckled carpet of pale green and brown and they seemed to roll on forever. On the right, when the road curved close to the sharp drop-off, there was a glimpse of a deep valley. Stan ached with the effort of appearing calm and confident. Jessie leaned over and put her hand on his arm. Her touch sparked a flash of resentment.
“Don’t say it, Jess. Just don’t say it!”
She drew back with storm clouds of worry gathering across her forehead. He hadn’t meant to snap, but her caution and fear brought out the worst in him. At times, he seriously doubted her stability. So much anxiety in a person wasn’t normal. Throughout their marriage, he had certainly done everything he could to reassure her. It was a puzzle. Sometimes Jessie was completely happy and carefree, lighthearted as a schoolgirl, then when he would be onto something that could shoot them to the top she would turn gloomy and sour. Her erratic behavior was infuriating. It was a credit to his patience that he had put up with her. It was a wonder the kids weren’t neurotic as hell, maybe they were still too young to notice. Course Andy was a little strange anyway. Lately, however, Denise was becoming more defiant. She wasn’t going to have anyone put restraints on her life and, damn it he’d had about enough of it too.
“Stan,” Jessie said. “Look, over there.”
He saw the sign the instant she spoke.
“Yeah, I see it.”
The white metal sign read: Lost Crossing, 2 miles. An arrow pointed to the right. Carefully Stan made a wide swing to accommodate the U-Haul and turned onto a smaller dirt road. As they got closer to the town, it brought a rush of encouragement. Yet, when the roadside brush and trees grew scrubby and tangled, some of Stan’s excitement faded. The Lincoln bounced over the rocky ruts raising a cloud of dust that rolled up over the trailer. They were still traveling an elevated route, but on a ridge that veered away from the first one. After they had traveled a mile, the road reached a crown and dropped away giving a view of a narrow valley.
Far below, where the river broke out of the trees, a thread of blue flashed like silver and sparkled in the sunlight. Stan nosed the Lincoln over the rise and started a slow descent. The road twisted and switched back ever winding its way downward. At the extreme right end of the valley lay the wide-open slate-gray water of Lake of the Ozarks. The river followed a rambling course along the valley floor until it finally poured into one of the lake’s thousand coves. Inwardly Stan sighed with relief; they were close to the lake. The resort wasn’t stuck out back-of-beyond away from the activity. Stan hadn’t said anything when Denise mentioned the lack of advertising, but he’d taken note and decided to remedy the oversight as soon as possible. Farley hadn’t left that much operating capital, but when the first tourists started checking in the cash flow should improve. In Stan’s mind, the resort loomed larger and larger as his last chance to make it; a resort of last resorts you might say. Stan made a silent promise to make it successful.
“We’re really going to get there, aren’t we?” Denise folded her arms across the back of Stan's seat and they pressed against his shoulders.
He leaned back and smiled. “Sure. Stick with your old man, baby.”
“I still don’t think I’m going to like it, but...”
Jessie swiveled toward Denise. “But what?”
“I don’t know. Wait till I see the resort. If it’s really nice, you know, like a fancy hunting lodge, something like that. It might be okay. Out there,” Denise made a sweep of her hand toward the back window indicating the rest of the world. “Lots of people have money and big places; maybe here we’ll have more than most.”
“Like a big duck in a little pond, you mean,” Jessie muttered.
Jessie didn’t look entirely pleased with Denise’s vision of the future. Stan understood Denise as if they shared the same skin. The hopes she expressed were his own. Nobody ever got anywhere if he were afraid and willing to settle for crumbs.
Before long, they arrived at the foot of the mountain. The town of Lost Crossing was nestled in a bow shaped area at the side of the valley, as if it were trying to hide under the hills. At the entrance of the town was a half-acre roadside park. The grass was a fresh green and daffodils formed a bright yellow border along the edge. Stan leaned forward expecting to see a bustling little town, but a quick glance through the center of town showed where the buildings stopped and the road curved back into the trees. The single street pressed close to the mountain and the buildings huddled on either side as if for safety in their few numbers. It was disappointingly small. Hardly a town at all.
