South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [119]
According to the satin-covered guest register, more than three hundred people drifted in and out of the reception through the long afternoon and evening. Not Paul, sadly. He was working. Gladys presided over everything with tranquil confidence, her planning-stage brusqueness gone. Madeline, on the other hand, lapsed into scattered moments of panic—More coffee! More punch! We’re out of 7-Up! Where’s the mustard?! Greyson ran around in a steadily more rumpled suit and tie, and John Fitzgerald and his wife served punch and refilled bowls of potato salad and cole slaw with Unflagging enthusiasm, promising not to abandon Madeline for the cleanup.
Pete and Arbutus opened their gifts late in the evening—Arbutus and Gladys both getting teary-eyed over the kicksled that Madeline had bought back from the antiques man over in the Soo—and then drove off in Pete’s sedan, a string of streamers and tin cans tied to the bumper fluttering and bouncing down the street after them. They were going home to Mill Street, and then in two days to Chicago for another party and a visit to Pete’s friends and family. They’d be gone two weeks—time to make the trip in stages so that Arbutus wouldn’t get too tired and Uncomfortable. Madeline wondered how she and Gladys would manage without them.
Sunday was devoted to cleaning Up, Monday to recovering, Tuesday to running the errands she’d let go the week before. Madeline took Greyson to see Randi on Tuesday afternoon, leaving him with her in the main room and climbing the stairs to Walter’s room. He was dozing and didn’t wake Up when she came in, so she sat in his armchair and looked out the window. After a while, looking for something to read, she opened his desk drawer. Maybe there’d be a magazine in it—he had a subscription to Sports Illustrated he must’ve paid for with his spending money. She didn’t care much about any sports but baseball, or any teams but the Cubs, but it’d be something to look at.
There were a few magazines in the drawer, and also a thick notebook with tattered cardboard covers held together by a piece of string. It was worn and very old. Glancing at Walter—was this a terrible thing to do?—Madeline slipped the book out of the drawer and onto the desktop.
It was a journal, a notion book, really. The name inscribed in old-fashioned script in the front cover was Ada Stone. Madeline stared at it, her heart beating faster, and gingerly turned the first few pages. Ada seemed to have put down whatever she wanted in it: recipes, quotes, thoughts, the weather. How to get an ink stain out of cloth, what to give a baby for croup. Madeline turned more pages and stopped to study a drawing: Ada had planned out how she’d set her furniture in the cabin. Madeline leaned over to gaze at the penciled diagram on the yellowing paper that had suffered many erasures: here the settee, there the coal stove, over on the other wall a sideboard and rocker and table.
Walter stirred and her head snapped Up. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and sat rubbing at his eyes. “Hello, Madeline,” he said.
“Hi, Walter. You were sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Okay,” he said.
“I was looking for something to read and went into your desk. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
“I found this.” She pointed at the journal. “I know I shouldn’t have taken it out, but I couldn’t resist.” Walter scratched the back of his head and yawned. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
“That’s okay. That’s Mama’s book. Joe had it after she died, he gave it to me. She liked to write things in it.”
“I see that,” Madeline said gently. “She says that on June sixth, 1932, it was cool and rainy and you helped her clean Up the cabin.”
“Oh, yes. I always liked to help