South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [78]
She was such a pretty woman, still, plump and pink-cheeked, with those bright blue eyes ready to take pleasure in almost anything. But there was more to her than prettiness and kindness and cheer. She was Gladys’s best friend, had been, all their lives. Thank goodness for a blessing like that—a soul who Understood you, through and through, for better and worse, through thick and thin, who didn’t plague you to be something other than you were, though she might nudge you in the direction of being a better person now and then. And she was forgiving. Too forgiving sometimes. Look at how she’d coddled Nathan his whole life long. But Butte’s forgiving nature was going to be a good thing for Gladys when she found out about the kicksled, which was now in Bentley’s Antiques in Sault Ste. Marie. Mr. Bentley had driven over one day last week and taken it out of Madeline’s trunk, which even Madeline might not realize.
Arbutus poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down, and then, divining Madeline’s cranky mood, dived right into the job of changing it. “I do wish I knew what to take to the potluck at church tomorrow night,” she said, pretending a fretfulness that Gladys knew perfectly well she did not feel. “I’d like to do something different. Something—fun!” Madeline visibly set aside her pique and focused on Arbutus.
Gladys smiled to herself and went back to the paper.
18
The morning of the hearing dawned hazy and humid. “So today’s the day,” Madeline said glumly.
“Yes,” Gladys said.
Arbutus sighed. “This is no fun. I don’t think I’ll go after all. I think I’ll just stay here and read my book.”
“I think I’ll join you,” Madeline said.
But of course in the end all three went, riding to Crosscut in Gladys’s car. Gladys insisted on driving—determined to be the master of her own destiny from start to finish. Madeline sat in the back, her knees hunched Up Under her chin. The huge bright blue of Lake Superior disappeared in the rearview mirror, the acres of mossy swamp with tiny patches of water near their middles shone in the sun, the greenish-gray firs poked into the sky. Magic. But there was grimness along with the beauty, too.
It got worse as they headed inland. They passed the scattered cabins and camps that were too lonesome and poor to be quaint. There were old trailers surrounded by broken-down cars and trucks, discarded toilets and cast-off woodstoves, black plastic garbage bags stuffed with God knew what. It all sat listless in the sun, as eternal as the big lake and the pointed firs. Dogs lay panting on short chains in bare yards, and everywhere there was the barren, thin-lipped look of poverty. By the time they got to Crosscut, Madeline was in a hopeless mood.
She Unfolded herself from the backseat and pulled Arbutus’s walker from where it had been jammed in next to her, and lumbered after the sisters into the courthouse.
It looked like half of McAllaster was there, divided along opposite sides of the courtroom like guests at a wedding. On Gladys’s side were John Fitzgerald and Mabel Brink, some women from the Lutheran church, a few others, some Madeline recognized and some she didn’t. Also Randi, sitting near the back, holding Greyson, looking serious. Madeline was surprised. Impressed, really. She wouldn’t have expected Randi to have the sense to take an interest. Neither Mary nor Emil was there but she hadn’t expected them. Crosscut was a world away to them, only to be visited in an emergency like a hospital visit or a funeral, and then only their own funeral, and preferably not even that, probably they both envisioned themselves being buried at home in a plain pine box. Gladys had told her that,