Back at the cottage, I’m strolling along the shoreline after changing into warmer clothes; a walk to sort things out seems just the ticket. Since fall is sweeping its arm across the island, the air is crisp and chilly and refreshing, good for clearing the head. Pulling my sweater close, I bend down and scoop up a piece of green glass that was reflecting sunlight. Swishing it in the cool lake water, all the sand and goo slips away, revealing a bubble way inside. Since this isn’t the sea, I guess this would qualify as “lake glass.” I slip it into my pocket and walk on in the direction of the boys’ cottage.

There’s a grove of birch trees between our places, and the leaves have turned a brilliant yellow. A gust of wind reaches skyward, tossing hundreds of them into the air above me. I smile—then frown, wondering if Helen, what Helen is thinking right about now. Am I a disappointment to her? I’m no princess. I sigh and chuckle, wiping another tear away. Where’d that come from? I couldn’t believe how I lost it at Greunke’s earlier; talk about an “emotional episode.”

As I wade through the leaves, my boots make a crunching sound and it reminds me of corn flakes. Does she think like this? She’s so smart—slim, too. I look down at my chest and heave a sigh. Missed out on the big boobs, too. Good. They’re certainly hard on a girl’s shoulders. Bras, what an invention. At least she’s got a boyfriend; wonder if they’ll marry? Will I be invited? Probably not, I mean, her mom isn’t even sure if she wants to meet me, and really, who can blame her? The girl who gave away, I gasp, her girl. My imagination drives me crazy sometimes.

Sighing some more—I think I have to, no, I know I have to figure out what to do about my dad and all. It’s the “all” part I’m having trouble with. After so many years, what will I say? I’ve tried my damnedest not to even think about him. Now, things are different and I’m different and Helen, well, she’s got the right to at least meet him. A red cardinal zooms in front of me and lands on a low-hanging branch. I halt in my crunching tracks and watch. He seems to be looking me over, his head turning from side to side, considering me. I’m so close I can see his heart beating fast as hell in his pint-sized, puffed-out chest. I move a bit closer; he hesitates and then zips up and away toward the boathouse.

Funny how nature can pull you into the right place at times. This wind in my hair, these crispy leaves and the smell of fall, all damp and getting ready to go sleep. Madeline Island with its mossy meadows and woods that give way to gentle knolls crowned with silver birches and poplar trees. I love the white pine avenues that lead to hidden cottages like this one. It’s really such a wild place with a touch of mystery and a sky that goes on and on. Here, I’ve found so much—and now Helen.

I’m so grateful she turned out to be far more than the image I’ve kept in my heart all these years. She’s so much bigger and brighter and, well, she of course has my perfect nose, too. I’m obsessing about her parts that resemble mine, but I’ve got thirty years of not seeing those things to make up for, so give me a break here. But I can see her dad, too. Won’t be long until Helen will want to know about him, too. Oh boy.

“Well, here you are, darling,” Ruby puffs out. “Wasn’t sure if you wanted company or not, but then the strangest thing happened.” She flips her shawl over a shoulder for dramatic pause.

At which point I dramatically ask. “Ruby—do tell.” She smacks me on the arm, raises her chin a bit.

“A red cardinal had come tapping on the screen door over at the boathouse. I was afraid Rocky would investigate and wanted to shoo the would-be snack away. Well, when I came to the door, he flew off this way and I spied you.”

“I think we have company.”

Rocky meows a “hello” and rubs against my leg.

“Oh, look who’s here.” Ruby reaches down to pick him up—he scurries away. “I forget. He never wants to be carried around by humans out-of-doors. Doesn’t want any fellow creatures to think he’s a sissy or any such rubbish. Really, men are all alike, aren’t they?”

“Yes, I suppose they are. Hey—aren’t you going to ask me how my lunch went?”

“I’m practically bursting, but always the polite one.”

“Always?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake—spill the beans and be snappy about it—I want all the details and don’t leave a single thing out!”

A log snaps and crackles, shooting sparks this way and that. A red-hot coal leaps out of the fireplace, landing on the hearth. It sits there—throbbing with life. I jump up from the sofa and sweep it back into the fire. Dean Martin croons softly in the background.

“What an adventure you’ve had,” Ruby remarks, adding just a dollop of cognac to our tea. “Here, drink this, darling.”

“Sipping from these fancy teacups,” I say, softly replacing my cup into its lily-pad-shaped saucer, “makes me feel like I’m playing tea party.”

“Good. Now let’s get back to you and Helen. What are your plans—now that you’ve met and seen her—she’s, let’s see if I can recall all this correctly: not a convicted murderer on death row with four illegitimate children, not a lipstick lesbian, not a lazy moocher living on welfare, not married to a Baptist with five children and twelve grandchildren and not—God forbid the thought—a hairstylist. How’d I do?”

“You forgot about the transsexual.”

“Quite right,” Ruby states, pulling her afghan closer around her tiny shoulders. “Do you think we should throw a little soirée for her? Nothing fancy, of course. Invite the boys over; she could bring her boyfriend, Ryan.”

“Hey, slow down here. I don’t want to scare her off or anything. I mean, we just met and we need to—you know—get to know each other. It’s so weird, I feel like I should know everything about her, but I don’t. I don’t know a thing.”

“Yes, you do, darling.” Ruby reaches up and pulls a thread out of thin air. Swinging from the end is a big spider. “Think I’ll take our friend here outside.”

She heads over to one of the two French doors that open to the lake and tosses him out.

“There, now where were we—oh yes, not knowing Helen.”

“It’s not like I…It just seems so odd that I never saw her…blow the candles out on all those birthday cakes…and never once gave her a Christmas gift, or made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or splashed in puddles or kissed a scratch,” I say, sighing long and trying hard not to cry.

“Eve—things are exactly the way they’re supposed to be. Why—you didn’t have to change one diaper and never once had a crabby baby clamped to your breast.”

“How would you know about getting clamped by a baby?” I chuckle. If men had to breast-feed, I bet things would be different.

“I overheard one of your clients complaining about how sore her breasts were, poor dear.” We both suck our chests in. “She was ranting and raving about feeling like a cow and pumping at all hours of the day and night—really, darling, you lucked out, if you ask me.”

“Maybe so and I guess you’re right about the other stuff, but…when will I stop this guilty feeling I have from stealing away all this good stuff?”

“I should think, when you’re good and ready and not a moment sooner.”

It’s going on toward eleven. Ruby and I had a light supper of pasta with a pesto sauce that we made together last summer and froze. It was great. Ruby’s great, what a gem. I can hear her say, “duh.” Get it—Ruby—a gem. Never mind.

Rocky and I are heading down the basement stairs. Ruby has gone off to bed and I’m too wound up to sleep, so we’re going to use the secret passageway to get down into the boathouse without having to step outside. This cottage used to be a front for an illegal bootlegging operation. Ed’s grandfather was quite the entrepreneur.

All a “deliveryman” had to do (in the dark of night, of course) was pull his boat into the bottom half of the boathouse, probably blink the boat-lights to some code and presto! The back of the boathouse has a false wall that slides open, revealing a longer space that he then would pull into and unload the goods.

There’s a passageway from the basement wine cellar leading all the way down to that backroom behind the boathouse. That’s where Johnny came from the other day. Then if you go up a spiral staircase, push up a trap door—voilà—you’re in the closet of Ruby’s Aprons. The name of Gustave’s (Ed’s grandfather) bootleg was Toad Tea. There’s a picture of a winking toad on the label of every bottle, exactly like the one in the huge stained-glass window in the cottage. Kind of explains the toads all over the place, now, don’t it? I’ve kissed a few myself, never did find the prince, well, not yet anyway.

So, I’m heading there now. Walking past the washing machine, I pull open the metal door of our wine closet. Its shelves are filled with dusty, but full, wine bottles. The wine Ruby and Ed used to make. I reach up and yank a cord. A bare lightbulb snaps on, throwing its garish light all over. Rocky paws at the back wall. Smart cat. Pushing the wall, it clicks. I push it again and it groans outward. I snap on an ancient switch inside the passage and naked lightbulbs pop to life, illuminating a long curving corridor.

Rocky “meows” and then steps down the metal stairs. He turns back to me.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

We wander down the passage; my footsteps echo off the walls, giving me the willies. Around a corner, the hallway opens up to an enormous, high-ceiling room; on either side are rows and rows of huge wooden barrels. Their brass spouts have long ago developed a deep patina green. Farther on, Rocky sits in front of a huge wooden door that opens by pushing it along a metal runner spanning above us. I give the leaf-shaped handle a tug and it squeaks open, sliding to the right of us.

Rocky steps up the metal stairs and into the odd water-floored room. I snap on more lights and follow him. A wide cement path leads along the left wall to a larger flat area. Most of the room is lake water; it laps lazily against the sides, reflecting the light of the bare bulbs, making it dance and sparkle. There’s a motor suspended in the middle of the wall facing out to the lake. It can slide the doors open, revealing the front of the boathouse and on out to the lake. This is where you would pull your boat into to unload the casks of booze. What a lot of work for a lousy drink!

Passing by the furnace that heats our factory upstairs, we head up the spiral staircase, push up the trap door, click open the closet door and we’re in the office. We just call this entire building the boathouse, even though it’s really a guesthouse on top of the boathouse. Isn’t life confusing enough?

I click on the lamp over my desk, thump down into the chair and try to remember where the “on” switch to my laptop is.

“There.” The screen flashes to life. A laughing Ruby and I are dancing the “cancan” on the hood of the duck. We were in the parade for the Bayfield Apple Festival not long ago and had a blast. I click to my e-mail. Rocky leaps into my lap and settles in.

Yes—I’m checking to see if Helen wrote. “Hot damn!” She did.

I take a deep breath and then think. The chair tilts back, so I rock slowly. Rocky’s low purr vibrates against my heart and is so soothing.

Stands to reason she wants to know about her roots; who wouldn’t? But I don’t know much about what happened to her dad, my teenage romance. My big mistake—no, no, I can’t say that, not now. And like Ruby said, things are exactly the way they’re supposed to be. Supposed to be—are. Maybe Mary Jo can lend a hand.

Lifting Rocky to my shoulder, we head into the front room. I click on lights and marvel at the neatly piled aprons, the sewing machines and the silly deer-head-phone thing. Noticing the light on Sam’s sewing machine I go over to turn it off. She’s forever forgetting to.

I bend down, then see a note lying just so—just so I’d find it! I slide into her chair and wonder how many more notes am I going to be reading tonight? I flip open the paper:

“Oh, Sam.” I sigh and snap off her little light. Hmm, the daddy that raised me?

Rocky and I are cuddled up out on the balcony that runs along the entire front of the boathouse. Stars are blinking over Lake Superior like crazy, making the water twinkle as if silver glitter was raining down. A spiral of smoke snakes from my nose and then slips up and disappears.

All this sky and water, here, so far north. I no longer feel like I’m far away from anything. When you feel connected to a place, don’t you find that there’s something familiar about it? Like way inside, you think to yourself, “Haven’t I been here before?” Maybe, just maybe, you have.