Chapter Six
“I know you must have questions. I’ll answer whatever I can,” Banks said once they’d returned to his office and he’d resettled into his desk chair.
“So many I don’t know what to ask first.” Kit accepted the mug of steaming coffee Caroline brought in and wrapped her hands around it.
Even though she’d worn gloves, they had not been sufficient to keep out the Maine cold.
Kit’s hands were chilled to the bone. “I never met my grandparents or my aunt. I don’t know anything about this camp.
” She paused, then smiled. “The Camp in the Meadows. Someone must have thought they were immensely clever coming up with that play on words. I guess we could start with that, whatever you know about the camp, the property, whatever you know about my family. Was it like an overnight camp? A camp for kids? Like, scouts camp?”
“No, no. It was a sporting camp. There once were almost a hundred of them in Maine.”
“My kids both went to sports camps when they were in high school. Ned—my son—went to football, baseball, and basketball camps. My daughter went to lacrosse and tennis.”
Banks smiled. “Not that kind of camp, either. Sporting camps—not sports camps—were unique to Maine, maybe still are, I don’t know what other states are up to these days.
But back, oh, early, before the Civil War, people from the cities who wanted to have a wilderness experience—hunt moose and bears and such, fish in clean, virgin streams and lakes—they’d come up here, and of course, they’d need a place to stay.
So some entrepreneur types who owned some land with good hunting and maybe a lake built a couple of cabins to rent out.
Some were pretty rustic, just a hair above primitive; others built lodges that were more like hotels.
After a time, the men—men with means, that is—started bringing their families so they could enjoy the clean air away from the smelly, nasty air in the cities, once the factories were up and running.
So the owners of the factories would pile their wives and their kids onto the train and make the trip up here. ”
“There wouldn’t have been trains out this way, though, right?”
“Before cars, they’d take wagons. It would be quite an adventure, I’m sure.
Certainly something to write home about.
Then some industrious folks realized that the city slickers were not dressed for the wilderness, and started selling rugged clothing that could stand up to the environment, heavy boots that didn’t fall apart in the mud.
Pants and jackets that didn’t rip at the first sign of a thorn bush.
L.L.Bean was one of those folks. I betcha heard of them. ”
“I have. I’ve shopped their catalogs for years. But how did my family get involved with sporting camps?”
“The earliest section of the main house was built before the Civil War.” Banks leaned back in his chair, his elbows on the armrests, his hands resting over his chest. “I do know the house was there before the war because the son of the family who built it—Bell, their name was—volunteered to fight with the Maine militia. He—Warren Bell—did his time, came back home with a Quaker wife from Pennsylvania. Her name was Tolerance Weller. They had a general store right about where the sign for the camp now stands. You’ll see the sign when you drive up there. ”
“My daughter thought Tolerance had a Quaker ring to it,” Kit said.
“Warren died and his wife took over the store, so people started referring to the area as Tolerance, and the name stuck. Your great-great-grandmother was their daughter, Amity, who married a guy who came down from Canada, John Meadows. They were the first to add on to the house. John and Amity’s son, Daniel, and his wife, Alice, were the ones who started the camp. Do you know all this already?”
“I knew about Amity and John, but I didn’t know about Tolerance. My mother didn’t share a whole lot about her family history, so this is news. My sister is a real history buff, so she’ll enjoy having those early blanks filled in.”
“Alice’s father owned a lot of wooded land and a logging camp in the area.
He built the cabins for the men who worked for him.
But after a few years, he decided a sawmill was a more profitable venture than logging.
He’d cut down most of his trees and they weren’t regenerating as quickly as he’d like.
So when Daniel married Alice, her dad gave them everything he owned up here.
What was left of the woods, the cabins, and his rights to the lake, which is wholly within the property.
Added to the house and the acres around it, it was quite a large parcel of land.
Right about then, sporting camps were becoming the thing for city folks to do if they were wealthy and could take off for the summer with their family.
The Camp in the Meadows was very popular.
Your grandparents—Thomas and Annalee—added winter activities so people could come in the winter, ice-skate on the lake, cross-country ski, or spend a long weekend reading in front of the fireplace, if that was what they were after.
They modernized the cabins so they weren’t quite as rustic, except for a few cabins they kept on the other side of the lake for the hunters who weren’t concerned about amenities.
There was a whole list of repeat campers for years and years, right up until about two years or so ago.
Maxine had kept it up, but after she had that first stroke, she had to shut it down. ”
“She must have had help, if she’d had a stroke.”
“Oh, yes. Greta Crimmins, Maxine’s good friend, came in every day, weather permitting. Greta is the one who found her. Spring and summer, Stella Crosby took over when Greta was out of town, on vacation, or sick.”
“How did Maxine get by if there was no income from the camp?”
“She had some money she’d inherited from your grandparents and . . .” He paused. “Other sources. She wasn’t destitute, by any means.”
“What other sources?” Kit asked.
Banks waved a hand dismissively, apparently reluctant to elaborate. Well, if the money was to be hers, Kit assumed she’d find out eventually.
“What caused her death?”
“Heart attack. Died in her sleep, right there in her recliner, the TV still on and well into season four of Downton Abbey. I’m sure the death certificate’s been filled out, but I haven’t received copies from the state yet.
I’ll let you know when I get them.” He reached into the second drawer of his desk and took out an envelope.
Leaning across the desktop, he handed the envelope to Kit.
“The keys to the front and back doors of the house are in there.” He cleared his throat. “Now, chances are you’ll want to be getting rid of some things—old furniture or whatever—so if you need help moving things out, give me a call and I’ll round up some locals to head up there and lend a hand.”
“Thank you. I guess I should get out there, then. I thought maybe I’d be staying in the house while I’m here.”
Banks shook his head. “You might want to wait a night or so, see what shape the place is in. It’s been closed up since Maxine died.
For the last two years of her life, she mostly stayed on the second floor, so I’m guessing the whole place is pretty dusty, and I don’t know what condition the beds are in.
And it’s kind of isolated. You might not be used to that.
Why don’t we make a reservation for you at the inn down the road here?
You can drive out to the camp, get a feel for the place.
If you feel comfortable staying there, you can move your things out there tomorrow. ”
“That sounds like a good plan. Thank you.”
He called Caroline into the office and asked her to let Elly at the Tolerance Inn know they were sending Kit down as a guest, then gave Kit directions to the inn and to the camp.
“Thank you, for the reservation and for the directions. I think I’ll just take a quick drive to the camp before I go to the inn.” Kit stood. “I really appreciate your help. I’m sure we’ll speak again soon, Mr. Banks.”
“It’s just Banks,” he reminded her from the doorway.
“Anything you want help with, just give us a call,” Caroline said from the doorway. “We’re here for whatever you need.”
“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be calling on you sooner rather than later. I still have so many questions. This has been overwhelming.”
“I’m sure it has been.” Banks got out of his chair and walked around the desk. Addressing his daughter, he asked, “Have you heard from Liam?”
“Nope. I tried several times but he’s not answering his phone.” Caroline turned to Kit. “My son may still be out at the camp, so if you see him out there, don’t be frightened. He’s harmless.”
“Good to know.”
Banks held the door and Kit stepped out onto the small porch.
The snow had stopped, leaving only a touch of wispy white on the steps, and the sun peeked out from the clouds.
When she got to the sidewalk, she turned to wave at Banks but he’d already closed the door.
She unlocked her car, got in, and put her head on the steering wheel.
A house filled with what-all. Cabins that may or may not be falling down, and that may or may not have squatters living in them. What had she gotten herself into?
More and more, she thought Russ might have had the right idea all along.