Penelope's Suitors

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Spring, 2006

A few miles south of Twelve Pines he turned left onto a small road that took him to the short bridge to Mohawk Island, home of the Mohawk Hotel. It was the lake's grand old hotel from Gatsby days. Over the years, it became a seedy remnant as housekeeping cottage resorts like Twelve Pines proliferated, and was practically bankrupt when a developer took it over. He fully modernized it, refurbished the golf course, and lured from New York a top chef. It became a popular convention destination, and once again well-heeled visitors from New York found it an elegant place for a vacation or long weekend getaway.

"Good evening," said the cheerful woman at reception.

"I have a reservation. Jellinek."

"Oh yes, we have you here. I have a note here from Penelope Tolford that you are to be given one of the lakeview rooms, and she has already taken care of the bill. We have put you in room 303. Here is the minibar key. High-speed Internet access is complimentary. How long will you be with us?"

"I'm not entirely sure. Probably until Thursday."

"That will be fine, Mr. Jellinek." She tapped the information into her computer.

"Are you pretty busy this time of year?"

"Summer is the busiest time. We're already almost full for July and August. But we get a good ski crowd in the winter as well. This week we have the annual conference of the Middle States Society of Actuaries."

"Sounds like a lively bunch." But sarcasm was lost on her.

"They are a very nice group. This is their third time here. Now, to get to your room, just head down that corridor…"

The room was generous and the décor was true to the hotel's distinguished past—the Internet connection sprouted from an art deco desk lamp. Ted pulled back the curtains. The windows opened onto a sweeping view of the lake, where the buoys were blinking white, red and green.

He lay down on the comfortable bed, flipped channels for a while, then gave it up and mused over the evening with Ariadne. After a while he got undressed, set the alarm clock for 7:30, and watched the buoys blink until he fell asleep.



Ted felt refreshed in the morning, especially after a breakfast of fresh-squeezed orange juice, blueberry pancakes, and sausage. He hopped into his car, and rolled down the windows to let the spring air in as he headed down Route 18 to Fort Bramwell. The first stop of the day would be a change of pace: Collecting memories was useful, but it was time to try to locate some physical evidence.

The county sheriff's office had started as a small suite of rooms in the Victorian court building, but by the 1960s, with the growth of the county, it had moved into the new county government building at the south end of town. A low, unpretentious building, it was placed carefully out of the way of the tourist areas.

Ted pulled into the visitors' lot, where his was virtually the only car. In the lobby he found a directory: "Environmental Affairs…Revenue & Tax…Roads…Sheriff's Office." Suite 24. He walked down the empty hall, and entered the Sheriff's Office. Behind the counter sat a very young deputy, and behind him were more desks with more deputies, and a closed door, decorated with a large seal and the label "Hiram McCormack, County Sheriff." Ted thought it was a good name for a sheriff.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked the young deputy, who probably found talking to someone more interesting than whatever menial task he had been working on.

"You might. I'm a journalist and doing some research on an old accident." Probably when you were still in diapers, he thought.

The deputy frowned; this was something outside of his experience. "Was this a crime?"

"No. An accident, but the sheriff's office was called in, and I was hoping there might be some records you could share."

"Wait here one minute." The deputy walked over to an older colleague and spoke to him, and then they both came over to Ted.

"I'm Deputy Tomkins," said the new deputy, who looked around 35. "You want some information about an old accident. When did you say this was?"

"About 20 years ago."

"This wouldn't be the one up at the Tolford place?" he asked.

"Exactly."

Tomkins grinned. "Yeah. Every year or so some reporter comes around asking about that. You need to talk to Pete Cress. He was in charge of that, retired as chief county investigator a few years back, he's always tickled when someone asks him about it. Lives just a few miles from here."

"Well thanks. You wouldn't have his number, would you?"

"Sure do." He consulted a Rolodex under the counter, then produced a phone. "Here, use this. Just dial 9 for an outside line." He gave a handwritten Rolodex card to Ted, who dialed the phone.

"Hello?" said a female voice.

"My name is Ted Jellinek. I'm a reporter and I'm looking for Pete Cress."

"Oh! One moment please." Ted waited a moment. "Yeah?" barked a voice.

"Mr. Cress? I'm Ted Jellinek, I'm—"

"Yeah, a reporter. You probably want to talk about the accident at the Tolford place."

"Yes. Is today—"

"Can you be here around 12:30? Come for lunch."

"Thanks, but that's really not necessary—"

"Do you want chicken salad or tuna?"

Deputy Tomkins was trying hard to tell him something. "Have the chicken salad," he whispered. "She makes it with walnuts."

"Uhh, chicken salad, if it's not a problem."

"Fine. See you at 12:30." The line went dead.

"Well, you made Pete's day," said Deputy Tomkins. "Let me show you how to get to his place." He produced a one-page Chamber of Commerce map, and drew directions on it.

"Thanks a lot," said Ted. "Much appreciated." Deputy Tomkins went back to his desk, and the young deputy went back to his tedious task.

It was too early to drive to Pete Cress' house, so Ted indulged himself by driving to Amherst Street, where he easily found parking. He visited the skee-ball center, but it was still closed. A sign said that it was open only Friday and Saturday nights until Memorial Day weekend. He peered in, and was pleased to see not much had changed. Some new games, but the skee ball lanes were still there.

He crossed the street into the park and wandered down to the water. He thought he recognized the tree where he had kissed Mary-Lou. In the daylight, he could see the mud where the water lapped at the grass, and the tour boat docks were empty.

Ted walked to the new art gallery where the cheap restaurants used to be. It was now open, and the paintings in the window looked familiar. Inside, he found a cool and spacious exhibit area with more paintings, all clearly by the same artist, on a series of angled walls.

In the front, a man sat behind a small wood desk looking at some papers, and he stood as soon as he saw he had a visitor. He was tall and slim, with perfectly combed black hair, a pastel-green blazer, white shirt, and lightly patterned pink tie.

"Welcome to the Adirondack Gallery. We have a one-artist show going on right now."

"I think I saw a sample of this artist's work. This wouldn't be Ariadne Tolford?" The man gave him a conspiratorial smile.

"You must be a friend. If you note the signature, she paints under her married name, Andrews. Tolford is a rather famous name."

"Of course. Well, I've known the Tolford family for some years. In fact, I dined with Ariadne at Twelve Pines last night, although she apparently was too modest to mention this." He stuck his hand out. "Ted Jellinek."

"Glen Kurlian. I'm the proprietor, and I'm pleased to present Miss Tolford's work. I find it very exciting. Excuse me, but from your accent, I believe you’re a fellow New Yorker?"

"Very good. Born and raised in Manhattan."

"I thought so. I was manager and partner in the Verstein Gallery for years, but took a semiretirement here several years ago, and I have to say, I've met with some success. There is increased interest in fine art up here, with an increased influx from the cities. Please, look around as much as you want. Titles and prices are posted beneath each picture." He went back to his desk and his papers.

Ted wandered around the gallery. Ariadne had painted a few pictures of the old log cabins you could still find up in the mountains, but mostly she had painted the lake and surrounding mountains, with few signs of habitation or people.

Several were just as good as the one over her mantle. All of them did a beautiful job of catching the light and color of the countryside. The titles she had placed on the cards were simply the scene description: "Chandler's Bay…West Toward King Island…Heller's Point from the North." Under the titles were the prices—certainly a stretch on Ted's budget. Nevertheless, several were marked "sold."

One brought him up sharp: "Longwood Mountain, from Twelve Pines." It was from the dock in front of the Hall, with the shadows heavy on the resort but Longwood Mountain still brightly lit. He had seen that landscape a hundred times, just that way. It was still unsold…dare he treat himself?

Around the corner of that wall was another little room, with only two paintings, larger than the others, and if "Longwood Mountain" affected him, these two knocked the wind out of him.

Ariadne had painted the same image twice, but with different lighting. Ted immediately recognized the beach at Twelve Pines, with the Adirondack chairs scattered as usual. The scene was empty of people, except for a young woman who stood by water. She looked down, her face half hidden, and a black braid flowed down her front. Her thin shoulders were hunched in a blue sweatshirt, and she had shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. Ted couldn't tell if she was sad, or just thoughtful. Above her, the resort's pine trees towered to the top of the canvas.

In one painting, the strong morning sun rising over Longwood threw everything into sharp relief. The sand shone gleaming white against black shadows. In the other one, softer shadows came from behind the woman, as the fading light filtered through the pine trees. She stood in the semi-dark, and the lake managed to reflect one or two gleams of the setting sun.

"Penelope, by Dawn…Penelope, by Sunset" read the cards. Where the prices should have been, Mr. Kurlian had simply written, "Not for Sale."

Ted found him still at his desk.

"Did you see anything you particularly liked?"

"Many things. But I am heartbroken 'Penelope, by Sunset' is not for sale."

"Ahh. You are not the first person to express disappointment regarding that pair. Ariadne let me show those two but she said she couldn't bear to be parted from them. If you notice, they are virtually the only paintings to have people. Perhaps, as her old friend, you can persuade her to sell, but she seemed very adamant."

"Well, it's not a total loss. I very much liked Longwood Mountain, and I think I have to have that in my apartment."

"I am so glad. This exhibit is running for a few more weeks, and then some of these paintings will be part of the County Art Fair in the summer. We are asking for a small deposit now. After Labor Day we will collect the balance, and arrange for shipping. Will that be satisfactory? We accept major credit cards and personal checks…there are just a few forms to fill out, insurance for shipping and so forth…"

Ted took another look at his new purchase, imagining it in his bedroom. Then he took a final look at the Penelope series, and stepped blinking into the sunlight. A quick walk along Amherst, and then he'd be on his way to Pete Cress.



Summer, 1986

Ted had told Mary-Lou to meet him by the back door of the Hall, and told her to let herself in with the key hidden in the adjoining storage closet if it started to rain. Ted arrived first, at 7:25, and saw the Hall was closed and dark—Matthew must’ve stopped work on the old outboard for the night.

He kept looking at his watch. By 7:35 he was getting nervous, but then he saw Mary-Lou walking down the hill path to the Hall. She was wearing blue jeans, a dark red polo shirt, and white Keds sneakers. A red rain poncho was slung over her right arm, and a rubber-encased waterproof flashlight hanging from a belt loop bounced against her left thigh.

She never looked prettier, he thought.

“Okay, mister, what’s on for the evening?” Punctuating her question was a rumble from the sky. They looked up. “Let’s take care of it fast, because it’s going to start raining.”

He reached for her hand, and led her along the path to the beach, then up another path toward the guest cabins. Each cabin had its own stone barbecue pit where the guests cooked out under the trees. They had finished early because of the rain, but the charcoal fires continued to send up smoke into the damp air. On the porches, the adults finished their dinners or poured themselves drinks, as children ran around the cabins trying to catch fireflies in glass jars.

Most of the guests knew the Hall boy and lifeguard—they said “hello” and raised their glasses in salute. “Better get inside, it’s going to pour,” said one concerned mother. “You can come in with us,” said another, “We have pie—apple and blueberry!”

“Don’t worry, we have a few more minutes left!” laughed Ted.

“Where are we going?” asked Mary-Lou.

“Just a little further.” The path curved through the woods, to where the last of the rented cabins bordered on a dry stream bed that was active only in the spring, when it channeled the melted snow from the mountains into the lake. A small wooden bridge, without even railings, crossed the stream bed. On the other side, in a dense knot of trees, stood the three never-rented North Cabins, hardly visible from the rest of the cabins, or even each other.

At the bridge, Mary-Lou let go of Ted’s hand, and folded her arms across her chest.

“Oh no you don’t!” she said.

“What?” he said. The sky rumbled again. Lightening flashed.

“I know where you’re taking me and you can forget it.”

Ted’s face was a model of innocence: “I have something nice set up for us—what’s the matter? Come on, it’s starting to rain.” A few fat drops hit them.

“Ted, every girl in the county knows what happens in those cabins with you guys, and if you’re assuming…just because Laurie…” Her cheeks were flushed and now her hands were by her side, folding and unfolding into little fists.

“Mary-Lou—please.” He was all contrite. He took both her hands in his, and then actually kneeled in front of her. “I swear, I have something all set up for us. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“Get up. You look ridiculous and people are starting to stare. And we’re going to get wet.”

“Not until you say you’ll come into the cabin.” At that point, the sky opened and the water poured down. Ted got up, and without further conversation they ran across the bridge to the cabin. They threw open the door and ran inside.

“Where’s the light switch?” She fumbled along the wall.

“Not this evening,” he said. In the dim light he found a box of matches on the table, and struck one. The small flame revealed one of the kerosene lanterns he had cleaned earlier that day. He lit it, and the burning wick cast a warm glow over the living room and kitchenette.

And also over the table, where he had laid dessert: Ted had found a plastic tray among the jumble of old plates and silverware in the back of the Hall, and on it he had arranged small bunches of red and green seedless grapes, and little dishes with strawberries, blueberries, raspberries and sliced peach halves. In the center was small gold box.

Ted peeled the plastic wrap from the tray and opened the box to reveal half a dozen chocolates.

“Ohh, that looks lovely,” she said, and her eyes lost most of their former frost.

“There’s more,” he said. “And there’s a show too. Here, you carry the tray into the bedroom, and I’ll join you in a sec.”

“The bedroom?” She looked wary again.

“For God’s sake, Mary-Lou, do you think I’m going to rape you on top of a tray full of fruit?”

“I’ll trust you because this was such a nice surprise,” she said. She hung up her poncho on the door hook and unstrapped her flashlight, then carried the tray into the bedroom.

“Look out the window,” called Ted. “You should be able to see the storm on the mountains. That’s the evening entertainment.” And she did: the buoy lights waved in the wind as the storm raised waves on the lake. On the far mountains, she watched lightening strike the peaks. Occasionally a close strike rattled the windows in their casements, and the rain provided a steady drumming on the cabin’s tarpaper and wood roof.

She put the tray in the middle of the bed and sat on one side. A few moments later Ted came back, carrying the lantern, which he placed on a night table. It cast its pleasing glow on Mary-Lou’s tanned face. He produced a small cassette player, and popped in a tape.

“You are certainly resourceful. How did you pull all this together?” she asked, with a look of complete wonderment.

“It’s the best of Les Paul and Mary Ford,” he said. “You’ll like it.” And the easy strains began filling the room. “And finally—” he produced the champagne, and two glasses. He joined her in bed, with the fruit tray between them.

“Oh God, champagne.” She looked at the bottle. “I’ve never had it before,” she said shyly. “Well, a sip at my aunt’s wedding, but I was only 12.”

“I’d live on it if I could afford it.” The cork came off with a satisfying pop, and he filled the glasses. He gave her one, and looked at her in the eye. “To us.” They clinked glasses. Mary-Lou took a cautious sip.

“It’s awfully good.” They looked at each other over the fruit plate. Another burst of lightening lit up the room, following by a blast of thunder. Mary-Lou made herself comfortable against the headboard, and plucked a grape, which she fed to Ted.

“Would you like a strawberry?” he asked.

“I’d love a strawberry,” she replied, and he fed her one. Then came a peach slice—he ate it out of her hand and licked the juice from her fingers. Her face was impassive in the lantern light, but he could see her heart pounding. He topped off her glass, and his. They fed each other more fruit, and then moved to the chocolates.

The storm began moving off the resort, beyond the mountains on the east shore. The lightening became distant flashes, and the thunder merely low rumbles. The rain was less violent, but still steady on the roof.

Mary-Lou took another long sip. “I thought you drank champagne from those really wide glasses, like I saw on an old movie.” she said.

“The bubbles disappear too quickly in those. Most people use these glasses now. They’re called flutes. Do you know where those wide glasses supposedly came from, though? Legend has it they were based on the shape of Marie Antoinette’s breasts.”

“You got to be kidding.” she said. “Where do you come up with things like that?” He shrugged. They drank in silence, then Ted put his flute down on the night table, gingerly leaned over the tray, and kissed Mary-Lou. He could taste the tang of the wine, and the sweetness of peaches and chocolate, all together. She put down her glass, and kissed back.

Now, thought Ted, I just have to unobtrusively get rid of this damn tray. Might as well make a quick job of it. With one arm, he lifted the nearly empty tray off the bed, turned, and laid it on the floor next to the bed. Reaching back, he took her in his arms and resumed kissing.

“I ought to go,” she whispered in his ear, “but I’ve never been so comfortable in my life.”

“And it’s cold and rainy outside,” he whispered back. “And you’ve had too much to drink to drive right now.”

“But I can’t stay here. You’re going to seduce me.”

“Yes I am,” he said, and kissed her ear, then kissed his way down her neck.

“Ted, I just can’t…” she said, speaking out loud now. And maybe she would’ve gotten up and left, if it hadn’t been raining outside, if the air through the open window hadn’t been so cool, if Ted’s freshly shaved cheek hadn’t felt so smooth against her own.

They kept kissing, and their clothes came off slowly, but steadily. Her body was white where her bathing suit had covered it, a sharp contrast with her golden tan. Ted thought that was sexy.

The rain-soaked lake breeze was truly chilling—they slipped under the covers, and made love by kerosene light.