South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [8]
She loved to read, but there were limits. Plus she’d already run through half of one of the boxes of books she’d brought with her, which gave her an Uneasy feeling. She had the impulse to hoard what was left. There was no library, no bookstore, no borrowing from a friend. Gladys’s shelves held only the Bible and half a dozen Reader’s Digest Condensed Books from the 1960s, and Arbutus read only romances. These were brought to her by friends from the library in Crosscut, and Madeline didn’t see herself getting there on any regular basis. She’d already figured out that the round-trip would cost at least ten dollars in gas, which was not nothing, now that she had no real income, just the tiny wage from Gladys and a small savings account from Emmy’s insurance policy set aside for emergencies. Besides which, it was obvious the Buick only had so many miles left in it. So, no frivolous driving.
McAllaster did have a small antique store that was closed in the winter; when she peered in the window she could make out a shelf of paperbacks toward the back. It was obvious even from the street that they were worn-out old mysteries and romances and celebrity bios and true crime thrillers, but still she longed to get at them, just so she wouldn’t feel so deprived.
She loved to walk, but there were limits to that, too. Besides which, the weather was dismal, day after day of sleet and scattered snow showers and drizzling rain and endless wind. Chicago wasn’t exactly balmy, but it was a playground compared to this. She kept going out doggedly, marching Up and down the same few streets of town or slogging along the beach, willing to be amazed by the lake no matter what, but if she didn’t get pneumonia pretty soon it was going to be a miracle.
She rarely saw anyone else on the beach, and hardly anyone in town, Unless they were in their cars or popping in and out of the handful of businesses. There were practically as many dogs as people out and about. They wandered freely, trotting with great purpose to wherever their dog business took them, and Madeline was beginning to wish they’d invite her along. She was getting to know them: a mischievous-looking spaniel, a lumbering chocolate Lab, a beagle, a retriever, a couple of Unclassifiable mutts.
There were a few hints that she hadn’t somehow wandered back in time to 1950—mainly the huge new homes lining the beach and the ridge above town, summer places undoubtedly—but not many. She had never been out of the United States, never even out of the Midwest, but McAllaster seemed to her like a small Cornish, or perhaps Welsh, village on the sea. There was more loneliness and less charm to this than she would have imagined from the novels she’d read.
Her only job was taking care of Arbutus, and that had turned out to be an understudy position. So what else was left? She had an edgy, dissatisfied sense of waiting. But what did she expect to happen? What could happen? It was a town of eight hundred or so, and half—more than half?—of these people were over the age of sixty. Arbutus had told her that the grade school only had forty children in it. The high schoolers were bussed to Crosscut. The parents of these few kids had to be busy working and raising their families. So who, exactly, was she expecting to run into, and what exactly was likely to happen?
Occasionally she recalled her sense of being on the brink of adventure, Up on the hill that first day. Richard had been right. She had been—naïve.
3
Madeline was forever reading a book or taking a walk. Gladys supposed she couldn’t blame her. What else was there to do for a person accustomed to the city? Arbutus didn’t need watching every second and Madeline did finish her chores first. She was a good worker and that didn’t surprise Gladys. Madeline might