South of Superior Read Free Page B

top—a woodstove. The floor was linoleum in a pattern of brown and green squares, and the table was blue Formica with stainless-steel legs. A kerosene lamp sat in its center, along with a ceramic salt and pepper set shaped like a hen and rooster. The cupboards were covered with coffee-colored paint and the counters were narrow, with a big porcelain sink built into them. The room had lived-in warmth that Madeline liked. She took the mug Gladys offered and ventured a smile, about to say so. “Sit down, why don’t you,” Gladys said, and it sounded more like an order than an invitation. Madeline sat, stifling her irritation.
    Gladys got coffee for Arbutus too, rinsing out the dregs from her last cup, adding a dash of salt and cream and stirring them in, bringing the cup to the table and wrapping her sister’s hand around it. Madeline had a flash of connection with Gladys in that moment. So many times in that last year she’d been careful to make sure Emmy’s hands were steady on her mug of tea.
    She sipped at the coffee, intending to visit, but the bone-deep warmth of the kitchen, the smell of the wood heat (it was something like ironing, and Emmy had ironed when Madeline was small, and the smell swept her back to that long-past time), the sisters’ voices washing over her, was so soothing that she nodded off almost to sleep and took in their conversation only hazily.
    â€œCold today,” Arbutus said.
    â€œDown around twenty last night, I expect,” Gladys answered.
    â€œ. . . that low, you think?”
    â€œ. . . call on Emil to get Us some more wood in.”
    â€œYes.”
    It was like a fairy tale: the cold air and icy rain, the pounding lake, the acres of forest that had closed in behind her, the aged sisters in their kitchen, the boiled coffee and cook woodstove, her deep sleepiness.
    â€œYou may as well go along to bed for a nap,” Gladys said from far away at some point. Madeline began to apologize.
    â€œDon’t be silly, you’ve driven all night,” Gladys said, frowning.
    â€œYou’re tired, dear. Go on and rest.” Arbutus beamed, and Madeline could not help but smile back. She was so very weary. It was as if years of tiredness had caught Up with her all at once. She let Gladys steer her Up narrow stairs to a small bedroom with faded wallpaper where there was an iron-framed bed with scratchy wool blankets and soft flannel sheets. She dropped into it and slept with abandon.
    She woke Up in time to eat dinner, feeling guilty and apologetic throughout, but nearly dozed off again in her chair afterward. Gladys refused her help with the dishes and sent her back Upstairs to bed. Madeline considered protesting, but she didn’t have it in her. The drive had done her in.
    She woke Up once to find the room black and the house deeply quiet. She felt her way to the stairs, made her way to the bathroom, peered at her wristwatch—three a.m.—and when she was finished made a detour to the parlor window. The rain was still streaming down, her car sat out front like a faithful dog, the dark street was empty, and she could still hear, faintly, the pounding surf of Lake Superior. Out of nowhere the gleeful feeling shot through her again. She was here .
    In the morning she found Gladys and Arbutus—and Marley—in the kitchen again. The cookstove was shoveling out heat and the coffee was boiling. “We opened the stair door hoping you’d smell the coffee and get Up,” Gladys said, and Madeline heard criticism in her voice.
    â€œI’m sorry I slept so long. Tell me what you need me to do, I’ll get started.”
    â€œNonsense,” Gladys said, her frown deepening. “You’ve just woken Up.”
    â€œSit.” Arbutus patted at a chair. “Have coffee.”
    â€œAnd toast. There’s blueberry jam I made.”
    â€œ Wild blueberry,” Arbutus confirmed.
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    Each day began in more or less