At the Water's Edge

  The water was eerily black and seemed to move against itself, the top layer gliding across the ones beneath. The bottom third of the oars disappeared with each stroke, and I found myself thinking of what might be lurking down there. I decided to focus on the shoreline instead. It was densely wooded, marshy even, and almost level with the water. Since we were headed south, I realized that it was the Cover, and that the village was right behind it.

  "That's the Urquhart Woods," said Ellis, pointing. "Drumnadrochit is straight through there, although you'd never guess."

  The banks became steep immediately beyond the Cover and remained so--three to four feet high, with thick scrubby vegetation that reached right to the edge, and trees that seemed to rise straight from the water. We passed two sheep stranded at the brink, bleating and struggling to keep their footing. Their wool was thick and full of twigs, and their skinny black legs bent at odd angles as they tried to gain purchase. Their cries were pitiful, and sounded for all the world like people making fun of sheep.

  "How on earth did they end up there?" I asked.

  Hank glanced at them and shrugged. "They're not exactly known for their brains."

  "Surely we're not just going to leave them there," I said as Hank continued to row. "Ellis?"

  "There's nothing we can do about it, darling," he said, prying my hand loose from the bench and holding it on his thigh. "Anyway, sheep can swim. The wool makes them float."

  Hank was rowing mightily, and soon the sheep were just tiny dots on the bank. I twisted in my seat, continuing to watch and worry. Even if they got up the bank, how would they ever make their way back through the thorny scrub? I couldn't figure out how they'd gotten past it in the first place.

  "Look!" said Ellis, touching my arm to get my attention and then pointing. I turned around and caught my breath.

  The castle was on a promontory immediately in front of us--spectacular, massive, and ruined, with a single tower that was missing its roof and much of its face. The surrounding walls and battlements were crumbling and jagged, their stones mottled with lichen and moss.

  Ellis watched me take it in and broke into a mischievous smile. "So enlighten us. Tell us everything you know."

  The blood rushed to my face. I hadn't read any of the books he'd asked me to.

  "You haven't cracked a single spine, have you?"

  "I'm afraid not," I said. "But I will. I'll start tonight."

  He laughed and patted my knee. "Don't worry your pretty little head. I only got the books to keep you out of trouble on the trip over, although I can't say that was a great success."

  Hank snorted.

  "Fortunately, I have all the news that's fit to print right here," Ellis continued, tapping his head. "I read everything in my father's library before the Great Purge." He drummed his fingers against his lips. "Hmm, where to start...Well, the part you can see from here was built between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries, and changed hands many times. It was last used by Loyalists in 1689, and when they were forced to retreat, they blew up the guardhouse"--he made sounds like explosions and threw his arms over his head, causing the boat to rock--"so the castle couldn't be used by Jacobite supporters ever again. There are huge chunks of it lying near the entrance."

  "Try not to tip the boat, Professor Pantywaist," Hank said. "This particular spot is more than seven hundred and fifty feet deep."

  I checked quickly for life belts and, seeing none, resumed my death grip on the bench.

  Ellis went on. "For our purposes, the interesting thing about the castle is that it was built on the site of an ancient Pictish fort tied to the earliest monster sighting ever recorded. Saint Columba was on his way here in the year 565 A.D., and several witnesses claim he saved a man who was clutched in the monster's jaws by making the sign of the cross."

  I shrank away from the water. "The monster eats people? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

  Ellis laughed. "You have nothing to fear, my darling. The worst it's been accused of since is mauling a sheep or two."

  Knowing that Anna's cousin had been too traumatized to ever get back on his boat or speak of his experience, I wasn't entirely reassured.

  "Here we are," said Hank, using one oar to turn the boat toward a small landing next to the castle. He held the boat steady while Ellis removed his boots and socks and rolled up his pants.

  Ellis nodded at Hank, who bared his teeth in a primal roar and dug both oars into the water, pulling so powerfully the veins in his face bulged. He drove us hard and fast toward the shore, and when we hit, I almost came off the bench. The bow lifted, which dropped the stern even further, and I shrieked.

  Ellis grabbed a coil of rope and jumped out. The water came up past his knees, soaking his pants to midthigh.

  "Shit!" he yelped. "Cold!"

  Hank laughed as Ellis sloshed out of the water. "Approximately thirty-nine degrees, if I'm not mistaken. Sit in the bow next time, and you'll be closer. Better yet, you can row, Mr. I-Was-on-the-Rowing-Team-at-Harvard."

  "Damned right I'll row," said Ellis. "Starting today, on the way back."

  He grabbed the bow, hauling the boat toward him. I could feel and hear the gravel scraping against the bottom.

  "Works for me," said Hank. "There's a dock at the other end."

  "Ha, ha. You think you're so clever, don't you?" said Ellis.

  "That's because I am," said Hank. "I keep telling you."

  Ellis continued to pull until the boat was solidly grounded. He wiped his hands on his thighs and said, "That's it. Everybody out."

  Hank grabbed the tripod and a couple of bags and hopped off the side.

  Ellis reached in for his boots, then helped me climb out.

  "At least my socks are dry," he said, glancing at his soaked pants. He was grinning, beaming really, and it was like I'd been whisked back in time.

  I was looking at the Ellis I'd met at Bar Harbor--before the war, before his diagnosis, before my own diagnosis, before the rift with his father. The charming, optimistic devil I'd married was still in there, and was apparently just as close to the surface as the Ellis who'd been so awful the night before.

  I decided then and there to send a second telegram to my father that rescinded the first. I had to, even though I knew it would infuriate him, because I realized Hank had been right all along.

  Ellis did need this, and I wanted to be there when he found the monster, to watch his restoration with my own eyes. Just as importantly, I didn't want Hank to be the only one tied to the memories of that glorious day.

  --

  Hank set up the tripod and screwed the camera onto it while Ellis spread out a blanket and pulled a variety of things from the bag--beakers, binoculars, compasses, a thermometer, maps, and logbooks. Although I hadn't gone to college, it all looked terribly scientific to me.

  I arranged myself on the blanket and looked out over the loch's glistening surface. If Hank was right about how deep it was, I was having trouble imagining it. Were its depths as low as the hills were high? The loch became so deep, so dark, so quickly, it seemed as impenetrable as the fortress beside us once was.

  Ellis ran through the plan. "First, we record the temperature of the water. Then we take a sample to see how much peat is floating at the surface. It affects visibility, and also tells us how strong the undercurrent is. Then we record surface conditions, weather conditions, wind speed and direction, et cetera. We'll repeat all of this once an hour."

  "And in between?" I asked.

  Hank took over. "In between we scan the surface of the water and watch for disturbances. If you see something, call 'Monster!' We'll confirm its location by compass, and I'll begin filming. You two keep it in your sights at all times, in case I somehow lose it in the viewfinder."

  There were supposed to be three pairs of binoculars and three compasses, but one of the compasses was missing. Ellis gave me one of the remaining two, insisting that he and Hank could share.

  When I finally admitted I didn't know how to use it, I expec
ted some kind of smart-aleck response, or at the very least an eye roll. Instead, they simply showed me.

  "It's easy," said Ellis, guiding my hands. "Turn it, like this, until the arrow points north. Now, imagine a straight line from the degrees marked around the edge to the object you're looking at, and read the number next to it. And really, that's all there is to it."

  I successfully confirmed the location of a speck of shore on the opposite bank, which we decided would define one edge of my viewing area. I was to start there and scan to the left, slowly, carefully, before coming back and going just far enough past the landmark to ensure a little overlap with Ellis. Hank had no boundaries, which I thought hilarious, but since they hadn't made fun of me for my lack of technical knowledge, I refrained from making a joke.

  A few minutes after we began, I thought I saw something and swung my binoculars back. A rounded thing was poking out of the water, moving steadily, and leaving a series of V's in its wake.

  "Monster!" I shouted. "Monster!"

  "Where, Maddie? Where?" said Ellis.

  I leapt to my feet, pointing strenuously. "There! Over there! Do you see it?"

  "Use your compass!" Ellis cried.

  "Keep your eyes on it!" Hank ordered, dropping his binoculars and getting behind the camera. He bent over it, peering through the viewfinder, cupping one hand around it for shade.

  "I can't do both!" I said desperately. "What should I do?"

  "It's okay! I see it!" Ellis shouted. "Maddie, keep your eyes on it. Goddammit, I think we've got it!"

  He jumped up and held the compass right next to the camera so Hank could steal glances at it while aiming the lens.

  "It's at seventy degrees," Ellis said, coaching Hank. "Still at seventy. Now it's just past seventy. Still moving. Call it seventy and a quarter."

  "Got it," said Hank. He began turning the crank handle on the camera, quickly, at least two rotations per second.

  I had my eyes locked on the object in the water. It flipped on its back, exposing whiskers and a black nose.

  "Oh my God," I said, utterly deflated. "I'm so sorry."

  "About what?" said Hank, still cranking away.

  "It's an otter."

  "Ellis?" Hank said, continuing to film.

  Ellis picked his binoculars back up. After a short pause, he lowered them and said, "She's right. It's an otter."

  Hank let go of the handle and straightened up. He shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed over the water. "Oh well," he said, sitting down. "Never mind. At least we know Maddie's got sharp eyes."

  Ellis recorded the event in the logbook, Hank lit a cigarette, and they passed a flask, which I declined.

  --

  "I'm sorry," I said, after calling the alarm over a duck.

  "It's all right," Ellis said with false cheer. "Better to have a hundred false alarms than to miss the real thing."

  He duly recorded it. He took the water's vitals again, and we resumed our watch.

  --

  "I'm really sorry," I said, after a floating log.

  "Never mind," said Ellis. "I suppose it did look a little like a creature's back from that distance."

  --

  When I apologized for the jumping fish, Hank said, "Ellis, maybe you could take a quick peek at whatever Maddie's looking at before anyone calls the official alarm?"

  "I don't think that's a good idea," Ellis said, clearly dispirited. "Because if it's the real thing, that kind of a delay would give it time to dive down. That's why my father only got three pictures."

  I stared at his back.

  He really did believe his father. This wasn't just about fixing himself--it was also about vindicating the Colonel. How could I have been so clueless about my own husband? I sat beside him on the blanket, so close our shoulders were touching.

  Hank sat next to us and lit a cigarette. "That's all well and good, as long as we don't run out of film," he muttered. "Pass the flask, will you?"

  Four and a half hours later, Hank had smoked eleven cigarettes, he and Ellis had finished a third flask, and I had seen a twig, two thrashing ducks, and a second airborne fish.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When the sun began to sink behind us, Hank declared it a day. They tried to hide it, but I could tell they were both out of patience with me and my false alarms, and I felt terrible for disappointing them. We barely spoke as Ellis rowed back.

  I was also anxious about facing everyone at the inn, but there was no avoiding it. I couldn't even slip in unobtrusively because of my Rosie the Riveter getup, never mind my bright red gloves and gas mask case.

  It turns out I needn't have worried. I smelled perfume and heard giggling as soon as we cracked the door open, and when we stepped inside, no one gave us a second glance. A crowd had gathered, and this time it included young women.

  "Well now, what have we here?" said Hank, casting his eyes around the room.

  A dance was about to start at the Public Hall, and the excitement was palpable. Meg and the other girls had pulled chairs over so they could sit together, and were sipping drinks, praising each other's shoes, hair, and outfits, and surreptitiously posing for the lumberjacks, who colluded by pretending they weren't looking.

  One girl told how she'd dismantled an old dress her mother had "grown out of" and transformed it into the latest style using a pattern from the most recent "Make-Do and Mend" booklet. Another girl was wearing real stockings, which were the object of much admiration. She extended her leg for the other girls to examine, although there was a great deal of examination from the lumberjacks as well.

  "They're lovely," Meg said enviously. "Look at the sheen on them. Are they silk or nylon?"

  "Nylon," said the other girl, pointing her toe in various directions.

  "Where on earth did you find them?"

  "My George sent three pairs from London. He says the girls are stealing them right and left, in plain daylight. Shopkeepers have to store them under the counter."

  Meg sighed. "And here we are without a single pair to steal." She turned to a large and ruddy-faced lumberjack sitting at the next table. I realized he was the man I'd seen slipping out of her room. "Rory, next time you're on leave, do you think you can get me some real stockings?"

  "And risk being ripped limb from limb by roaming packs of thieving girls?" He flashed a grin. "For you, anything."

  Meg turned her leg so she could examine the line she'd drawn. "I suppose I've done well enough with gravy browning and a pencil. But if it rains, I'll have the dogs chasing me again, licking my legs."

  "I'll keep the hounds away, canine or otherwise," said Rory, winking. "Go on, girls, have one more drink. My treat."

  "Och, but you're an awful one!" said Meg, wagging her finger. "Don't think I'm not onto you. We're all onto the lot of you!"

  There were giggles all around as the girls blushed, each casting a shy glance at a different lumberjack. They cleared out together a few minutes later, laughing and excited, leaving only three older locals perched on stools at the bar.

  One twisted around to watch the young men file out after the girls. When the door closed behind them, he turned back.

  "Well, I suppose if there's a good time to be a sheep it's when you're a lamb," he said with a sigh.

  "Aye," said the others, nodding sagely.

  "Say, I don't suppose you want to go," said Ellis, giving me a playful jab.

  I tried to smile but couldn't. He'd meant it as a joke, but I would have given anything to be part of that pack of girls making their way to the Public Hall.

  --

  I'd never had female friends. My single best opportunity--boarding school--was a complete wash. What happened with my mother ensured I was a pariah before I ever set foot in the place. My next opportunity, the summer I graduated, was no better. It was clear the other girls were simply enduring me in order to gain access to Hank, Ellis, and Freddie, and when I apparently took two of them off the market at once--breaking one's heart and marrying the other--most of the
girls dissipated. Hank's sweethearts continued to tolerate me until they realized he wasn't going to marry them, but not one of them had tried to stay in touch after. Violet was the first one I'd felt at all optimistic about, especially since I thought Hank was finally going to let himself be caught.

  I felt guilty again about how we'd left her behind.

  --

  There was a knock on my door shortly after I'd gone to bed and blown out my candle.

  "Who is it?" I asked.

  "It's me," said Ellis.

  It didn't happen often, but from the tone of his voice I knew what he wanted.

  "Just a minute."

  I groped my way to the dresser, found the hand towel, and wiped the cold cream off my face. Then I began fumbling with the rollers.

  "What are you doing in there?" he said.

  "Nothing," I replied. "Just making myself presentable."

  "I don't care if you're presentable."

  There was no way I was going to get the rollers out in the dark, so I gave up and opened the door.

  Ellis stepped in and took my face in his hands, pressing his mouth against mine.

  He had shaved and applied cologne, a custom concoction he'd been wearing as long as I'd known him, and although his lips remained closed, I could taste toothpaste. His pajamas were silk.

  "Oh!" I said, pulling back in surprise. There was usually no preamble at all.

  "What on earth?" he said, patting the sides and back of my head.

  Because Lana had always taken care of the serious business of maintaining my hair, all Ellis had previously encountered on my head were bobby pins and a delicately beaded hairnet.

  "Rollers," I explained. "I've been setting my own hair. If you give me ten minutes, I'll light a candle and get them out."

  "In the middle of nowhere, with no electricity, my intrepid wife still finds a way to be gorgeous," he said. "Hank's right, you know--they did break the mold when they made you."

  He pushed the door shut and slipped his arms around my waist.

  "After our little misunderstanding, I thought we should make up properly," he said in a low growl. "Also, I was reminded today of just what a good sport you are. You have no idea what it means to me."

  He backed me against the dresser and pressed his hips into mine. There was no mistaking his intentions.