Half-Moon Lake, page 5
I shook my head, staring out over the shimmering water. “No. I mean, not really. Sorry. Sometimes I get a brief flash…not even a whole scene. Just bits and pieces, and it’s frustrating. Makes me worry about why my brain is blocking it. Plus, there’s the fact that Pat, who, by the way, I firmly believed was my mother, and was quite shocked to find out that wasn’t the case. Anyway, she kept it all hidden from me. Why would she do that unless it was something pretty terrible? And now that I’ve found out I had a twin sister who drowned in this lake, I’m afraid my memory loss has something to do with that.”
“How in the world can you not remember Kenna? You two were like each other’s shadows. It was almost comical to watch you talk. One of you was constantly finishing the other’s sentence. It was as if each of you knew what the other was thinking. I sometimes wondered whether just one of you could actually carry on a whole conversation by yourself.”
I shook my head, saddened that I couldn’t remember this person who’d been so important to me. “No, not even Kenna. I know only what Pat told me: she was my mother, I was an only child, and I had no father. It was the only information she ever gave me, and I believed it since I had no memories with which to argue the point.”
Levi squinted across the water, appearing deep in thought. He finally shook his head. “I was away at camp when…it happened.”
I noticed that he couldn’t even say the words, Kenna drowned.
“By the time I got back, you were gone…Kenna was gone…and no one would tell a kid like me anything.” After a beat or two of silence, he muttered, “I never even got to say goodbye.”
It was obvious he still had issues over that injustice even after all these years. I kept quiet, hoping he’d continue.
After a few moments, he did.
“I remember how no one ever talked about any of this. Oh, there were some murmured condolences over the tragedy of Kenna’s sudden death, but not many…not as many as I would’ve thought there’d be. But I never heard anyone say a word about the fact that you and Patty were gone. It was like everyone had taken a vow of silence or something. I couldn’t understand it and it nearly drove me crazy. No one ever let anything slip. I couldn’t find you and I didn’t know where to start looking.”
I could tell that he was reliving the past, the confusion, the uncertainty and loneliness of an adolescent boy who’d lost, not one, but two close friends and no one would answer his questions about it. His comments raised a big question in my own mind. It had been summer when Kenna had died, when Pat and I had left Half-Moon Lake, but the vision I’d had…the one of Swan Song surrounded by bare-branched trees…that must have been in late fall or winter. It was a puzzle-piece that didn’t seem to fit anywhere. Of course, that vision didn’t have to have anything to do with the time of Kenna’s death. It could be something totally unrelated. It was just that the memory had had so much terror associated with it; it seemed natural that the two be related. I kept my mouth closed and my eyes on the water.
After a stretch of silence, he said, “I wonder why Patty would steal you away like that. She must’ve had a good reason or at least, thought she did. She was always so deliberate; never did anything without a reason. She obviously thought it was the right thing to do; drastic, but necessary. Maybe you were in danger or she or someone thought you were. Maybe they told her to get you away from here, to take you somewhere safe. Do you think that could’ve been it?”
If his suggestions hadn’t been so close to what I’d already been thinking, it might’ve been funny hearing him refer to Pat as Patty, but as it was, it seemed scarier to have his mind making the same turns, travelling the same lines as mine. Before I could reply, though, a teenager riding a jet-ski zoomed past us so close that we got some of his spray. Its iciness made me gasp.
“Here.” He pulled a bandana from his pocket and handed it to me. “It’s not much, but it’ll help dry the worst of it. Or you can just tell people you were caught in your own mini rain shower.”
I laughed as I blotted. “Yeah, like Eeyore in the Winnie-the-Pooh books. I have a little raincloud hanging right over my head.” Folding his handkerchief, I gave it back. “Thanks. Now about Pat thinking I was in danger…as a matter of fact, I’ve been wondering that myself.” The fear in his mother’s eyes from our encounter in Kudzu’s flashed through my mind. “What about Cass? Does she think there’s danger?”
He rolled his eyes. “You have to understand my mother. She’s too superstitious for her own good. I think it must be the Cherokee Indian in her. They tend to be that way, you know…being raised with all that Indian lore, they find hidden meanings and danger in everything that happens in life.”
Hmm…a non-answer, if I ever heard one. Avoiding my question, are we, Mr. Wolfe? I hope you don’t think I’m so dumb that I don’t know what you’re doing. Well, I’ll let you think you’ve sidetracked me for now, but we’ll revisit it later. “Cherokee, huh? I thought that might be the case. Well, I wasn’t sure about the Cherokee part, but with hair and eyes like that, I knew she had some sort of Indian lineage.”
He seemed relieved that I’d followed his lead, and launched enthusiastically into his explanation. “Yes. I guess you don’t remember that Half-Moon Lake was actually named after my great-great-great grandmother, Half-Moon. According to family history, she was a medicine woman whose husband was killed while trying to flee to the high mountains when the soldiers were rounding up Cherokee to march them West on the Trail of Tears. Half-Moon was able to escape with her son. She later changed her name to Mary Wolfe in an effort to help her fit in with the white man a little better. From the stories Cass told me, there were two reasons no one bothered Mary, in spite of the fear and prejudice the settlers had toward Indians at that time. One was because she was a close friend of a very influential family in our local history. Do you remember seeing signs for the township of MacKinlay on your way here from the airport?”
“Yeah. It was the same exit as Bat Cave, right?” I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth while the Batman theme ran through my mind. Nana-nana-nana-nana. Nana-nana-nana-nana. Batman!
My inner-Kate had on her mask and cape and sang along with me.
“Yes, and no wisecracks, either. Believe me, we’ve heard them all.” An answering smile twinkled in his dark eyes, belying his seemingly stern admonition. “Anyway, back to MacKinlay. It was named after a Scottish immigrant who settled here, way back in the early nineteenth century, with the intention of starting an apple farm. There’s been a lot of speculation and rumors about how Mary became such good friends with this family, but no one really knows for sure, or at least they’re not telling—not even the MacKinlay descendants, one of whom still lives in the old home place. It’s a bed-and-breakfast now—Golden Apple Farm. They had a big scare a few years back, concerning an up-and-coming young artist from Atlanta named Emma Franklin. You ever heard of her?”
I shook my head.
“Well, according to the news reports, she disappeared from that B & B without a trace, no signs of foul play, she was just…gone.”
“They never found her?”
“Nope and believe me, in a small, country community like MacKinlay, it caused quite a stir. There were some pretty incredible stories floating around about it, but they’d make you think…well, never mind.”
I raised an eyebrow and waited. He seemed to shake the thought away and then grinned. “The second reason was because she lived right next door to Little Hawk Croft, a half-breed Cherokee. Back then, most folks considered him to have magical powers, so they basically left him alone.”
Now, both eyebrows went up. “Magical powers?”
He laughed, looking a little sheepish. “Yeah, well…good thing I didn’t tell you about the other stories. And, let me state for the record, I don’t really believe all the hocus-pocus stuff about Little Hawk, but his talent in blacksmithing can’t be denied. I’ve seen some of his work before and it is almost magical. Croft-Works—that’s the name of his company—is on top of that mountain.” He gestured across the lake to where a timber-covered peak seemed to rise right out of the water. “It’s still thriving after all these years. It’s not far away, as the crow flies, and they give tours on Fridays and Saturdays. We could check it out if you want. It’s a fascinating place. I’m sure you’d like it.”
Poor guy. He’s working so hard at avoiding my question about Cass. “So, why did they name the lake and town after your great, great, great grandmother?”
“Huh? Oh.”
He gave me a speculative look. Probably realizing I’m not as easy to sidetrack as he might have hoped. After a moment he gave a grim little smile and shrugged.
“Supposedly, she mixed up herbal medicines that healed Burch Corn’s son and wife. He was the man who used to own all this.” He threw his arms wide to indicate the entire area. “It’s said that old Burch didn’t put much stock in women; said that they were only good for two things—keepin house and beddin’—his words, not mine.”
I folded my arms and glared at him.
He raised his hands in surrender and laughed. “Hey, I’m just telling you what’s in the history books! Anyway, the nearest doctor was a woman from MacKinlay and he’d have none of that. No woman was going to work on his son! He would only have the best! So he sent a rider to Hendersonville to fetch a real doctor. By the time they made it back, Burch’s son had passed the point of no return. The doctor told him there was nothing he could do. Burch refused to believe him. As a last resort, he took a friend’s advice and called for Half-Moon since she lived even closer than the woman doctor from MacKinlay. His desperation caused him to get beyond some of his prejudices. It was quite a shock for his neighbors to learn that he allowed, not just a woman, but an Indian woman to treat his son. They knew how he was…he’d made his opinions clear on the subject. In spite of all that, somehow Half-Moon was able to do the impossible. Not only his son, but also his wife pulled through and made a complete recovery. To show the depth of his gratitude, he renamed the lake after Half-Moon—up until then everyone had always called it Summit Lake. Eventually a community and then a town grew up and it took the same name. And that…” He grinned and lowered his voice. “…is the rest of the story. Good day.”
I had to laugh. “You do a good Paul Harvey imitation.”
His grin widened. “Well, there’s your story, Katie…and they all lived happily ever after. Satisfied?”
I tried to arrange my face into an appropriately affronted look, tilting my head back so I could stare at the top of the mountain across the lake from them. “Hmpf… Burch Corn was a chauvinistic jerk! I’m glad Half-Moon showed him that women are good for more than just procreating!”
He groaned. “You’re not one of those women’s activists, are you?”
“You can relax. That’s definitely not what I’m about. I just get a little riled when anyone belittles the existence of anyone else. No matter who they are.”
We watched a small fishing boat being backed into the lake, and after it chugged away, he got to his feet, stomping the water off before slipping on his shoes, then he held out a hand to help me up. “It’s almost noon. You want to grab a bite to eat at El Tango before meeting the attorney?”
I pulled my feet out of the lake, kicking as much water off them as possible before grabbing his hand and heaving myself up, once again experiencing the zing of electricity. Even though I was expecting it this time, the jolt was still unnerving. Even so, I didn’t release my hold immediately, but instead used him for balance while I slipped on my sandals. Once they were in place, I grinned up at him, but I found myself not wanting to let go of his electrifying hand. “Thanks for your assistance, kind sir.”
He didn’t seem all that eager to break our contact either. “At your service, m’lady.” After an awkward moment, he reluctantly dropped my hand and motioned back toward town. “Shall we?”
I nodded with a smile. “Let’s.”
****
The interior of El Tango was a surprise. With a name like that, I was expecting a more Latino flair and a Mexican menu, but the theme seemed instead to be in-sync with Cass’ shop next door.
My inner-Kate snatched off her sombrero, flinging it onto the hat rack, clearly disappointed.
The tables and chairs were hickory and oak, very rustic. The centerpieces on each table were potted herbs. Since three of the four walls were mostly glass, it gave the large room plenty of natural light, making it seem more like it was outdoors…a continuation of the garden courtyard. The fourth wall was stacked rock and included a large fireplace with a massive slab of hand-hewn wood for a mantel, intricately carved with a beautiful mountain scene—complete with lake, deer and log cabin with smoke curling out its chimney. The restaurant’s floors were wide-planked heart pine. The same kind of fat, gnarly trees trunks that supported the front porch of the shop next door provided support for the large square room. Again, some of the upper branches were kept intact and wrapped with white twinkly lights.
The hostess seated us at a table that overlooked the lake, left us with menus and went to get our drinks. When I looked up, Levi was studying me.
“Not what you were expecting is it?”
I laughed. “No, not at all. Where are the sombreros and mariachi music?”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I’ve tried and tried to get Cass to change the name, but she won’t listen. I’ve finally given up.”
“This is Cass’ restaurant too? How does she do both?”
“Good employees. She has someone else do the lunch shift and then she comes over after she closes up shop next door. Her ‘family,’ as she calls them, have been with her for years, some of them, ever since she opened. Everything that’s served is organic, the vast majority grown on her farm, especially during the summertime. That kind of cuisine is great and I’m all for it, but it doesn’t fit with the name. El Tango sounds Mexican and I think it sets an expectation in the customer’s mind. It confuses people when they get inside, but I can’t convince her. She thinks the confusion is part of its charm…that it’s ‘eclectic.’ And apparently, it doesn’t hurt business any. She’s packed every night. Of course, the fact that the entire upstairs is a dance floor with live music doesn’t hurt its reputation. The country singer, Ronnie Milsap, even played here.”
I shook my head, not recognizing the name.
“That’s okay. He was big back in the seventies and eighties; supposedly one of the most popular and influential country music singers of that time. Cass has been instrumental in helping several unknown little bands on their way to stardom over the years.”
I couldn’t stop my groan.
“What?” He looked confused.
“She’s been instrumental in helping bands? Surely you don’t expect me to believe that pun was unintentional?”
“Don’t call me, Shirley.”
That elicited another groan, but I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
He grimaced and shrugged. “I know you won’t believe it, but it wasn’t intentional—the first one, anyway. But back to the restaurant…the El Tango would be successful even without having a dance floor upstairs. It’s known from Miami to Hollywood for its food, which is superb by the way. Her specialties are dishes she cooks with kudzu.”
“There’s that name again. What is kudzu?”
“You remember seeing whole hillsides covered with a green vine on your way here from the airport?”
I fought off a shudder and nodded.
“That’s kudzu.”
“Why is there so much of it? It looked like it was covering trees too.”
He sighed. “It is. The men who started it had no idea that they were releasing a monster.”
“A monster?”
“I guess I should give you a little kudzu history lesson so you’ll understand what I mean. You interested?”
I nodded.
“Okay…well, it originally came from China; imported to Japan and first introduced into the United States at the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition by the Japanese back in 1876. Eight years later, it was made known in the South at the New Orleans Exposition. The South fell in love with its fragrant flowers—they smell like grape Kool-Aid, by the way—and the romantic way it climbed porches and provided shade. In 1902, a botanist named David Fairchild warned that it could be invasive, but he was ignored. The US Soil Conservation decided to use it for controlling erosion, soil improvements and for cattle feed. As a result, our government offered to pay eight dollars an acre for farmers to plant kudzu on their property. As you can imagine, they jumped at that offer. That was big money back then.”
He was interrupted by the waitress bringing our tea. Since I hadn’t even thought about looking at the menu yet, we were granted a few more minutes. I automatically reached for a little blue packet of sweetener.
Levi smiled crookedly. “Uh, you might want to taste your tea before adding that. You’re in the South, Katie. Our tea is already sweet. Cass uses stevia, though, rather than sugar.”
“Stevia, huh? I’ve heard of that. It’s a natural sugar substitute, right?” He didn’t answer, obviously waiting for my reaction so I took a tentative sip. “Wow! You’re right. Thanks for the warning.” A larger swallow brought a deep sigh. “Mmmm. That’s good. I like the way you guys do tea, but go on…continue with your kudzu lore.”
“Three years after the government started paying for people to plant it, Fairchild published his warning about its invasiveness. I guess he thought people would pay more attention to his warning if it was written down in a scientific journal, but they didn’t. Two years later, in 1940 the Soil Conservation Service produced its seventy-three millionth kudzu seedling for workers to plant along highways and ditches. Twenty years later, the government finally got the message and shifted its focus from propagation to eradication. By 1970 it was declared a weed and in 1997, Congress labeled it a noxious weed, but by then it was too late. Apparently, kudzu really likes our weather and soil here in the South. Once it got started…well, I guess you could compare it to trying to stop a freight train with a feather.”
