Megan's Island Read online

  “What’s the matter?” he demanded.

  “Nothing,” Megan lied, and dropped the torn envelope in with the other trash. The envelope was addressed to Mrs. Lightner, their landlady, and was torn nearly in half, so that the check inside showed through the tear.

  Why was her mother tearing up the rent check she’d intended to mail tomorrow?

  The only reason Megan could think of was that they weren’t going to live here anymore. They weren’t going to pay the rent for the coming month. Whatever was the matter was serious, and they weren’t coming back.

  The fear inside Megan grew until she felt suffocated with it, unable to breathe. Yet there was nothing she could do except go with Sandy and their mother.

  * * *

  Mrs. Collier turned on the car radio to a program of soft music as they sped through the night. Occasionally they went through a town where there were lights around them for a few minutes. Mostly they were on the open highway with only an occasional set of oncoming headlights to break the darkness, or the diminishing red sparks of taillights as a car passed them at high speed.

  In the backseat, solidly surrounded by bundles and boxes, blankets and pillows, Sandy slept. Megan was tired, too, but for some time she couldn’t follow her brother’s example.

  She rested her head on the back of the seat, wishing she dared to press her mother for the answers she was almost afraid to hear. What could have sent them into flight this way, without even telling Annie she was going?

  It was flight, Megan thought. They were running from something, but what? She couldn’t imagine anything that could have caused her mother to be scared enough to run away.

  She turned her head slightly, intending to ask if there weren’t time, finally, to explain. Her mother’s profile showed in the dim light from the dashboard, and something about it made the question die in Megan’s throat, unspoken.

  She had seen her mother tired, and cross, and nearly sick with worry, but usually the anxiety was over how to pay for something important. Megan had never seen her looking this way.

  Her mother, too, was afraid.

  Her heart beating a nervous tattoo in her chest, Megan willed herself to be calm. To wait, until her mother was ready to talk.

  When they got to Grandpa’s, she thought. Then her mother would tell her what was going on.

  After a while, she slept.

  She woke as the sky was growing pink and gray in the east. Her mouth was dry, and there was a crick in her neck because her head had rolled sideways.

  Her mother glanced at her as she stretched and groaned.

  “Good morning. I hope you got a good rest.”

  Her mother had had no rest. She had driven all night, with only one stop to get gas and use a restroom.

  “I was dreaming,” Megan said, aware that she was hungry. Normally she would have had a snack before she went to bed last night, but the turn of events had driven hunger right out of her mind. “About Daddy, when I was a little girl, and he tossed me in the air and laughed.”

  Mrs. Collier turned on her flasher and swung the car out around a slow-moving truck. “Do you remember him, Megan?”

  “No, not really. He had red hair, though, didn’t he? Like Sandy’s and mine? And he was strong and good looking.”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew he was my dad, in the dream. I wish he hadn’t died.” Maybe, if he were still with them, they wouldn’t be running this way. He would be taking care of whatever the problem was. Daddies weren’t afraid of things the way kids and mothers sometimes were. Or were they? Until last night, she hadn’t thought mothers got scared, either—not scared enough to drive away from home in the middle of the night without telling anyone.

  Her mother didn’t answer, concentrating on her driving. “It’s only a few more miles now.”

  “Does Grandpa know we’re coming?”

  Mrs. Collier shook her head. “No phone, remember?”

  So they hadn’t set this up between them ahead of time, through their usual letters. If they had, she’d have told the children before last night. That only made it more peculiar than it already was.

  The village sign said Welcome to Lakewood, Minnesota—Population 840—A Friendly Town; a big, fancy sign for such a small place. And then they were slowing down to roll through the streets that were deserted at a little after five-thirty in the morning. There were two gas stations, a general store, and a church spire showing above a cluster of houses.

  In the other direction, the lake was still pewter-colored in the dawn. Before last night, Megan had been excited about coming here, had looked forward to it. Now she didn’t know how she felt.

  Behind her, Sandy stirred. “Where are we? Is there any place open to get something to eat?”

  “We’ll be at Grandpa’s cottage in another twenty minutes,” Mrs. Collier assured him. “He’ll feed us. It’s a pretty lake, isn’t it? You’ll have fun here.”

  Fun. The word was jarring, after what had happened last night. After they’d had to leave home without telling Annie they were leaving. Annie would be hurt, as hurt as Megan knew she would be if the situation were reversed. She didn’t want to hurt Annie. Annie was the closest friend she’d ever had.

  The air was cool and pine-scented as the road left the water and plunged into a forest of evergreens. Megan sat up straighter. In spite of her anxiety, she was hungry, too, and she looked forward to seeing Grandpa Davis and the lake up close.

  “Watch for a red mailbox,” her mother instructed, and then, “There it is! We turn here!”

  Sandy glanced over his shoulder. “It’s quite a ways from town, isn’t it?”

  “Six miles,” his mother confirmed. “Too far to walk, but Grandpa goes in once a week for groceries and supplies.”

  There wasn’t much of anything else to go to town for, Megan thought. She hadn’t seen a movie theater or a bowling alley, or anything like that for entertainment. She wondered if there were any other kids living on the lake. A friend like Annie would be wonderful, but Annie probably would never forgive her. Not unless she could come up with a powerful excuse for having simply disappeared overnight.

  The trees around them thinned, and they saw the lake again.

  Now the sun was red in the eastern sky, and it tinted the surface of the water a shifting pink; on the far side, the forest remained black and seemingly impenetrable.

  “The second driveway, Dad said. Ah, there it is.” The car swung to the right, and they went a short distance before coming to a small clearing.

  The cottage was nothing special, just a frame building with peeling white paint and dark red shutters. If there hadn’t been an old car in the yard, Megan would have thought it was deserted. Beyond it, there was a narrow strip of pale, sandy beach with several outcroppings of dark rock, and beyond that, black on the pink-tinged water, an island.

  Megan’s heartbeat quickened. An island? It was only a little one, but it was so close to land that surely she could get out there. She wondered if Grandpa had a boat. There was something mysterious and special about an island.

  Mrs. Collier let the car roll almost to the screened porch that ran the entire length of the cottage, then turned off the ignition. In the silence they heard a frog croaking, and far out on the lake, an outboard motor.

  “Well, we’re here. We might as well get out,” Mrs. Collier said, and Megan wondered if she imagined the quaver in her mother’s voice.

  Chapter Three

  Megan’s uneasiness deepened as they got out of the car. The early-morning air was chilly and out across the lake something gave a wild, sad cry. A loon? Hadn’t one of Grandpa’s letters said something about the loons?

  Obviously Grandpa Davis wasn’t expecting them. If he’d known they were coming, he’d have come out to meet them by this time, for he would surely have heard the car.

  Mom was uneasy as well as exhausted, Megan thought. That’s why she was acting so oddly—fumbling with her seat belt, groping for her purse, and then having
difficulty in finding the key for the trunk so they could take out their luggage.

  Sandy looked around with interest. “This is a neat place,” he said. “Megan, did you see the islands?”

  “Is there more than one?” She turned to stare out over the slate-colored water, which was already losing its pink tinge as the sun rose higher in the sky.

  “Yeah. There’s the one right off that way, and then there’re a couple more farther on down the lake. One of them’s so little maybe it’s only a big rock. Gosh, I’m starved! Where’s Grandpa?”

  “Maybe you’d better carry one of these bags over to the porch, and knock on the door,” Mrs. Collier suggested. Her voice didn’t sound quite right, either.

  Sandy had his fist raised toward the cottage door when it suddenly opened and Grandpa Davis stood there in a pair of old flannel pajamas, his graying hair standing in uncombed wisps. He blinked, and his jaw sagged momentarily. “Well, I’ll be darned! I didn’t expect you folks for another couple of weeks!”

  Megan glanced at her mother. Though she was smiling, it wasn’t her usual open smile.

  “I hope it’s all right, Dad. There wasn’t any way to call you. I’ll explain later. We’re all starved. I hope you’ve got something to eat.”

  “Sure, sure. Come on in.” Grandpa was a tall man with wide shoulders and hips narrow enough so his pajama pants sagged. He hitched them up with one hand. “Give me a chance to get dressed, and we’ll mix up a batch of sourdough pancakes, how about that? Got some real maple syrup to go on ’em. Bet you kids never tasted any real maple syrup, just that cheap stuff they bottle these days. Sandy, I didn’t exactly get things ready for you yet, but I figured you’d have the little bedroom in the back, there, and Megan and your mom could share the front bedroom. Take the bags through that door, boy, and give me a few minutes.”

  His right foot was in a cast, and it made a clumping sound on the wooden floor as he moved away.

  Megan hauled the heavy suitcase through the doorway her grandfather had indicated. The cottage sure wasn’t fancy, she thought. Probably they’d spend most of their time outside, on the beach or in the woods. Or maybe on those little islands.

  The living room was small, with a stone fireplace and old, comfortable furniture. No rugs, just a bare wood floor, and not the polished kind, either; it was painted dark brown.

  The bedroom was so tiny Megan couldn’t see anywhere to put the suitcase except on the bed. There was a dresser and a chair, and that was all. Not even enough room on the floor for Annie’s sleeping bag, unless they moved the chair out into the living room. If Sandy’s room was smaller, he must have a single bed like the one she’d glimpsed through Grandpa’s bedroom door.

  Then her attention was caught by the view through the window facing the lake; she swung the suitcase onto the bed and gazed out over the water.

  So quickly it changed as the sun rose! There were blue tints now in the gray of the placid surface. She could make out separate pine trees and a lone white-barked birch on the nearest island, and in spite of her uneasiness, she felt a tingle of eagerness. This was heightened by the sight of a rowboat drawn up in the shadow of the pines directly in front of the cottage. A way to get to the island!

  “It’s going to be fun, isn’t it?” her mother asked from behind her.

  “Not as much fun as if Annie had come with us, the way we planned,” Megan said. “What’s she going to think?”

  For a moment her mother’s throat worked, as if she found speaking difficult. Then she swallowed. “I’m sorry, honey. It couldn’t be helped.”

  “Why not? What’s wrong? What happened? Why did we have to leave in the middle of the night, as if we’d done something wrong?”

  Her mother had always talked openly to Megan; when there were questions, they had been answered. This time, however, it was as if a door had closed between them, shutting Megan out, though Mrs. Collier gave her a hug as she turned away from the window. “Later, honey. Come on, let’s get some of those sourdough pancakes Grandpa makes.”

  Sandy was emerging from his room as they came out of theirs. “There’s a boat, Megan, and a canoe! Did you see it? Wow, we can be explorers, or voyagers! We can explore the whole lake, and even the woods on the other side!”

  “You don’t want to wander too far and get lost,” Mrs. Collier cautioned.

  Grandpa appeared, still stuffing his shirttails into his trousers. “Now that’s a fine way to talk, from someone who ran wild when she was a little girl,” he told the children. “She picked berries and swam, and we hardly saw her from breakfast time until supper because she was out in the woods. Only reason she came home then, I guess, was because she ran out of food. Couldn’t carry enough to keep her going past suppertime.”

  He chuckled and led the way into the kitchen, which was crowded with four of them in it. There was a tiny table covered with a plastic tablecloth, and four chairs, and cupboards made of knotty pine. Grandpa opened a door and took down a bowl.

  “Megan and Sandy are city kids, Dad,” Mrs. Collier said. “They don’t know about the woods and the wilds.”

  “Well, this country’s safer than the city these days,” Grandpa said, and began mixing pancakes.

  Megan waited tensely for her mother to explain their early arrival. She thought her grandfather was waiting, too; he was more relaxed about it, but he gave his daughter uneasy glances from time to time. He cooked pancakes until they’d all had their fill: light and fluffy and delicious with the real maple syrup and a chunk of butter atop each stack.

  Sandy leaned back at last, patting his stomach with satisfaction. “Boy, I may get fat this summer.”

  “No, you’ll run it off, same as your mother did,” Grandpa predicted.

  Sandy hesitated, then blurted out what Megan was thinking. “Mom, are you going to tell us now what this is all about? How come we’re here early and everything?”

  Grandpa seemed to nod very faintly. “You must have driven all night, Karo, to get here before I was even out of bed.”

  Megan held her breath. Now she’d know, she thought.

  Only her mother didn’t reply directly. She rose and began to clear the table. “It’s a long story. And I did drive all night. I need to sleep a while before I’m up to it, I think. Why don’t you kids go explore a little? This isn’t where I grew up, but it’s a lot like it. You’ll have fun here, I know.”

  Fun? Megan wondered. All the happy anticipation she’d felt about coming here had disappeared during the night. Sandy gave her a look that suggested he was going to go along with the situation, at least for the moment.

  “Yeah, let’s go look around,” he said. “Can we take the boat out, Grandpa? And the canoe?”

  “The boat’s safe enough, you couldn’t turn it over if you tried. Just be sure the oars don’t float away from you. You’d better practice with the canoe in shallow water at first; if you stand up in it, it’ll dump you. You can both swim, though, can’t you?”

  “They’ve only done it in a pool,” Mrs. Collier said.

  “Water’s water. Pool or a lake, swimming’s the same. Actually, there are life jackets hanging on the tree there; be a good idea to wear them when you’re on the water, just to be on the safe side. The paddles are under the canoe,” Grandpa added, and Sandy was off at a trot, letting the screen door slam behind him.

  Under other circumstances, Megan would have been right behind him. As it was, though, she was too worried to enjoy herself. It wasn’t like her mother to act as if Megan and Sandy hadn’t even asked her those important questions.

  It was chilly, and she decided to get a sweater from the suitcase in the bedroom. She heard the murmur of voices from the kitchen as she searched for it, and then the words came more clearly as she returned to the living room.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” Mrs. Collier said, “except run to you,” and Megan came to a halt, heart thudding. Her mother sounded as if she were about to cry.

  Clearly they thought both children
had left the cottage. It was eavesdropping to stay there and listen, yet Megan couldn’t help it. She felt as if she were rooted to the floor, her fingers numb on the sweater buttons.

  Grandpa’s voice, too, was serious. “What did you tell the kids?”

  “I haven’t told them anything yet. I didn’t want to frighten them.”

  “You don’t think you scared them by taking off in the middle of the night, before school was out for the summer? With no explanations?” Grandpa asked.

  Megan felt the numbness spread through her body, accompanied by a chill that the sweater didn’t help.

  “You saw Sandy. He’s tickled to be out early, and to be here.”

  “I saw Megan, too. I think you’ve scared her, Karo.” It sounded strange; everyone except Grandpa called her mother Karen—he never did. When he wrote letters to her, he addressed them Dear Daughter or Hi, Honey. “Megan’s a bright little thing. You’re going to have to tell her something, or she’ll be more worried than if she knows the truth.”

  “What? How can I explain, without really upsetting her? Maybe . . . it’ll be all right, it will die down again and we can get on with our lives. . . .” There was a note of desperation Megan had never heard in her mother’s voice.

  “Die down again, the way it did eight years ago? Sooner or later, honey, the kids are going to have to know the truth.”

  Eight years ago? What had happened eight years ago? Megan wondered. There was no time to dwell on the question. She was holding her breath until her chest ached, waiting for the reply.

  “Not yet,” Mrs. Collier said, and it sounded as if she were pleading. “We were all right for eight years. . . .”

  “Sure you were,” Grandpa said, and though he didn’t sound accusing—in fact was gentle, even tender—Megan thought he was trying very hard to convince her mother of something. “You moved how many times since then? Twelve? Fifteen? Every time you got spooked, you moved to a new town, a new job. The kids changed schools. Had to make new friends. That’s hard on kids, Karo.”

  “Maybe not as hard as being as afraid as I am.”