Free The Northwoods Chronicles by Elizabeth Engstrom Page A

live with it.” She
took a deep, ragged breath.
    Doc. The feel of his lovemaking was still fresh
on her skin, and her heart turned over and lay on its side when she
thought of him waking up in the morning alone. “I wonder if I’ll
remember him the same way he’ll remember me,” she said.
    She stood up and walked down the boat ramp to
the water’s edge, then lifted the sweater up over her head. She
took off her shoes, and then her jeans, folded everything neatly
and placed it in the middle of the rough concrete ramp.
    “Good-bye, boy,” she said to Cane. “Tell Doc to
catch and release.”
    Then she walked into the water, fighting the
panic as the cold liquid closed over her head.
    She looked up through the greenish haze and saw
the moon, then felt her kin swarm around her in curiosity. Her
memories faded as her gills opened and she breathed deeply,
gasping. Then she darted deep down into the seaweed where she had
been spawned. She waited quietly for the daylight and the clear,
ringing blue that she both loved and feared.
    And longed to touch.

The Northern Aire
Motel
    Cook took care of the business of registering
them while Missie examined the lobby. It was a big log lodge, just
like in the movies.
    She, of course, thought immediately of cobwebs
on those log beams twenty feet in the air, and wondered how they
were dusted, but she couldn’t see anything from the lobby floor, so
she stopped looking for flaws. The place was neat and clean, and
well tended, though the woman that Cook was talking to looked as
though she were well into her eighties.
    The pine front desk had a deer in a forest
carved into its front and was topped by a dark green Formica
countertop. Next to it was a card stand with picture postcards of
the north woods. Missie picked up a nice one of a lake at sunset,
and on the back was red-stamped, Northern Aire Motel, White
Pines Junction. They were all stamped like that. The carpeting
was a fairly new forest green with a dark viney theme running
through it that matched the countertop and was pleasing to the eye.
Nice antique furniture in the lobby, with exquisitely shaded lamps.
A pair of old leaded-glass French doors led to a small dining room.
She wandered in.
    A sign on the wall said, “Continental Breakfast
6-9am - Dream Report 8-9am - Coffee pot on all day - Box lunches
available with 24 hr notice.”
    Inside the dining room were eight or ten tables
with chairs, a tall coffee pot that did indeed have its indicator
light on and a stack of Styrofoam cups.
    Missie poured two cups full and wandered back to
see how Cook was faring with the old lady.
    “This is my wife, Missie,” Cook said, and put
his arm around her.
    “Marjorie Atkisson,” the woman said, and
extended a frail hand over the counter. Missie set the coffee down
and reached for her hand. Just before making contact, the old woman
said, “Now don’t squeeze.” Missie thought that she could probably
break every bone in the frail woman’s hand with a good handshake.
So they touched skin and it felt nice, that light handshake. She
smiled into the woman’s sharp blue eyes, and the woman smiled back,
a radiant smile.
    “Mrs. Atkisson owns the Northern Aire,” Cook
said.
    “It’s wonderful,” Missie said.
    “My family bought it in 1947 for forty-seven
thousand dollars,” Mrs. Atkisson said. “It’s been through good
times and bad times, but we all love it here. My son and grandson
come up with me every summer to help.” She handed Cook a key. “Your
cabin is on the lake. Everything you need should be there. There’s
a little store in White Pines Junction, but a nicer supermarket
about fifteen miles south. If you need anything, don’t be afraid to
ask.”
    “Are you busy?” Missie asked.
    “The season is winding down. Everybody will be
gone after Labor Day. We have twelve cabins. One has a young
family; I put them at the other end of the resort, so you won’t be
bothered by the kids. The rest are couples, or fishermen. Two