Chapter 50 Reuben
Chapter 50
Reuben
The summer people were gone.
Last night there had been a hard frost, and this morning as Reuben paddled his kayak on the pond, he saw delicate panes of ice, as translucent as glass, drifting by. By noon the ice would melt away, but this morning it was a harbinger of the long, cold weeks ahead, as was the flame-red maple leaf that floated past. How quickly summer rushed by, like a northeaster blowing in, here and gone again.
Like the summer people themselves.
Their homes stood empty now, the windows shuttered, the deck furniture and canoes stored away for the season. He paddled past Arthur Fox’s house, its lawn already littered with fallen leaves, and then past Hannah Greene’s house. A broken tree branch had toppled onto the back deck where Hannah, that pale dumpling of a woman, liked to sun herself.
He paddled on, toward Moonview.
Like the other houses, it, too, stood empty. The dock had been pulled out of the water, and with all the shutters closed, it seemed as if the house had retracted into itself, its tentacles now withdrawn behind protective walls. Once, Moonview’s presence on the pond had seemed like a wound that festered and never healed, but now when he looked at it, he saw a house, nothing more. A house that he’d heard was now for sale.
And no wonder. Soon after the arrest of Brooke and her son, the glare of publicity and the whispers and stares of the locals had forced Elizabeth and Colin to flee Purity. While Reuben was happy to see the last of those two, he was sorry that Ethan and his family had also departed and would not be returning. And really, why would they want to return? Purity was where Susan and Zoe almost lost their lives; for them this would always be a cursed place. Soon the house would be covered in a cloak of fallen leaves, and later by a velvety blanket of snow. When the sun arched higher again, and new leaves unfurled on the trees, perhaps another owner would move into Moonview. Someone with children, he hoped. He would like to see children in that house, children who’d happily wave to him, who weren’t poisoned by fear against him.
Until then, Moonview was just an empty house, haunted by the ghost of a woman named Anna.
He reached into the kayak for the bouquet he’d picked this morning. It was too late in the season to find daisies or buttercups, so he’d gathered purple asters from the roadside and bound the stems with twine. A sad and scraggly offering, but Anna would not have minded. She would have accepted it, as always, with a smile. He set the bouquet on the pond and watched it slowly float away, a clutch of purple blossoms adrift on the sun-gilded water.
Squinting against the morning glare, he could almost see her standing on the dock, ethereal in her white nightgown. Then he blinked, and although her image vanished, she was not gone, not really. As long as he did not forget her, she would be there, smiling. Waving.
He raised his hand and waved back.
Then he dipped his paddle in the water and turned the kayak toward the opposite shore, where the trees were ablaze in autumn colors. This morning, he could smell a change in the weather. It was time to put up the storm windows, get the snow shovel out of the shed, and bring in another load of firewood. Time to gird himself for the long, dark nights ahead.
Winter was coming. Reuben Tarkin, as always, would be ready for it.