The Lake Of Dreams Part 23

"Ah. That must have been hard."

"I think it was. It was hard for Rose, anyway."

Yos.h.i.+ nodded. "My mother talks about the loneliness she felt when she first moved to California. It wasn't that she didn't like the United States. Just that no matter how long she stayed here, it never truly felt like home. Maybe that's why she and my father have been so willing to move every few years."

"Well, it is lonely, isn't it, being by yourself in a new country? At least your mother had a phone. Rose and Joseph had letters that took three weeks to arrive, and no money."

We walked on, stopping at The Green Bean to have some coffee. It wasn't crowded, so we got a table right by the water. I went to look for Avery, and when I couldn't find her, I left a note of apology in the kitchen, folded and taped to the stainless-steel fridge. A flock of ducks, a mother with her babies, floated by us, traveling down the outlet past the gla.s.sworks, where tourists were once again lined up waiting at the door. I didn't let myself think of Keegan handling fire inside, or the gla.s.s wavering and growing like a living thing. The ducks went on their way, floating and swimming with the current. They could follow this outlet to the Erie Ca.n.a.l, travel all the way to Buffalo, and beyond. But the place they pa.s.sed first was the dock of the gla.s.sworks, where I'd climbed into Keegan's boat with such a feeling of antic.i.p.ation just two days before.

"Yos.h.i.+," I said. He looked up smiling, and I glanced away. By the time I looked back I could tell from his face-suddenly serious, so braced for bad news-that he knew something was wrong. I told him quickly that Keegan was the person I'd been dating when my father died, that I'd gone out on the boat with him, that I'd kissed him twice since I'd been here and stirred up the unfinished past, but that in the end I couldn't go forward, because it wasn't right.

"You mean morally right?" Yos.h.i.+ asked. "Are you saying you'd see him if you broke up with me?"

"No. No, I mean it didn't feel feel right. It wasn't the right thing to do. I got confused, that's all, being back here, and seeing him again, and you were so far away. I'm so sorry, Yos.h.i.+. I was off balance. I've been off balance for a long time. You know that's true. Maybe since we went to j.a.pan. This was something I had to settle from the past. And now I have." right. It wasn't the right thing to do. I got confused, that's all, being back here, and seeing him again, and you were so far away. I'm so sorry, Yos.h.i.+. I was off balance. I've been off balance for a long time. You know that's true. Maybe since we went to j.a.pan. This was something I had to settle from the past. And now I have."

He didn't answer right away. He folded his arms and looked off across the water, keeping his emotions to himself. I tried to imagine how I would feel if the situation were reversed, and found that I was scared. Always before, I was the one to break things off. I was never the one who got hurt. But it was possible that this could happen now.

"Yos.h.i.+? I'm really sorry."

He looked at me then, waved one hand. "I can't talk about it," he said. "I'm so tired. I feel like I'm falling through s.p.a.ce."

The water flowed by; we waited for our order. It seemed best not to break the silence. As the waitress brought us coffee and cinnamon bread, I had a flash of insight that seemed, on the surface, to have nothing to do with anything, but went back to the drive we'd made that morning, the green exit signs flas.h.i.+ng past: Canandaigua, Seneca Falls, Corning, and Elmira; back to just yesterday, to the letters I still carried in my purse.

And I feel glad to know that the famous author who once lived down the street was born and died in the same light beneath which I once stood, dreaming that the world would s.h.i.+ft and change, or even end.

Elmira, home to Mark Twain, who was born as Halley's Comet pa.s.sed over in 1835, and died in 1910, when it pa.s.sed over once again.

I took out my phone and did a search for the white pages in Elmira. And there she was, just like anyone else listed in the phone book: Stone, Iris J. Stone, Iris J.

"What are you doing?" Yos.h.i.+ asked.

His tone was normal; maybe we'd just carry on and everything would be okay. I moved my chair over so he could see the screen. "Yos.h.i.+, look at this. It's Iris. I found her. She's in Elmira."

And then I explained the essence of the story, how Rose had left her daughter and yet followed her from afar, how I'd found the letters. How Iris might not know about Rose at all, or about the windows, or about her mother's extraordinary life.

"Are you going to call?"

"Do you think I should?"

"Why not?"

"Right, you're right-why not?"

Still, I had to enter the numbers four different times before I could bring myself to press SEND. It might be the wrong person, or if it was the right Iris Stone, she might not want to talk. She'd be ninety-five years old, after all; she might not remember, or it might be such a shock that she'd collapse, or she just might hang up. But all the time I was thinking of Iris, I was also hesitating because of what it might mean for me to find her. It was like standing on a threshold, a door in the world that would open into a place you'd never expected to be, a place from which you couldn't return. Welcome or unwelcome, knowledge was something you could never undo.

"What are you waiting for?" Yos.h.i.+ asked.

"I don't know. It's just a little unsettling, that's all. I don't know what I'll find."

He shook his head. "Is it at all possible you won't call in the end?" he asked. "Could you imagine finding her like this and never getting in touch?"

I laughed, glad for his calm, pragmatic view. "No. Not really."

"So why wait? What's the worst thing that could happen?"

"I don't know." And I didn't-that was the problem. It wasn't so much about finding Iris as it was about finding out whatever she might reveal about my family. Still, I pressed the final b.u.t.ton. I let the phone ring. Six times, then seven. No answering machine, apparently. I was about to hang up, both disappointed and relieved, when a low voice spoke across the wires.

"This better not be a solicitor," she said, severely. "You got me out of the bath."

"Don't you have an answering machine?" I asked, waving my hand at Yos.h.i.+'s quizzical look.

"Who is this?"

I took a deep breath. "You don't know me," I began.

"Good-bye, then. I'm not buying anything."

"Look, please, don't hang up, okay? It's important. I'm not selling anything, I promise."

"Well? What is it, then?"

"My name is Lucy Jarrett," I said in a great rush. "My father was Martin and his father was Joseph and so was his grandfather. I have an idea that we might be related."

There was a silence so long that I wondered if we'd been disconnected, or if the shock of my call had been so much that she'd collapsed after all.

"h.e.l.lo?" I said. "Mrs. Stone, are you all right?"

"I'm quite fine," came the crisp reply.

"Good. I'm so sorry to call out of the blue. I know it must be a shock."

"What's your name?"

"Lucy Jarrett."

"And how old are you, Lucy Jarrett?"

"Twenty-nine. Thirty in October."

"I see. Twenty-nine and thirty in October. Well, let me tell you this, Lucy Jarrett. I'm not interested in my roots. I cut my ties, do you understand? Long ago. Long before you were born. It's not personal. But I'm going to hang up now, and I don't want you to be calling me again. Do you understand me? Am I clear?"

"Yes, very clear, but please-let me give you my number. Because I have some information about Rose Jarrett. Maybe you knew her as Rose Westrum. That's who I want to talk about, when you're ready. If you're ready, I should say. About Rose."

There was a long silence then, and when she spoke I had the sense that her voice was trembling a little, though that might have been the connection.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

I took a deep breath and glanced at Yos.h.i.+, who was watching me intently, as if he didn't know me, his expression so tight and pained that I knew he must be thinking about Keegan. "I found some letters," I said. "They are letters written to you. From Rose, who knew you from the time you were very small."

There was a silence.

"Give me your telephone number," she said.

I did, and after repeating it once she hung up without saying good-bye, leaving me with a vast silence and a pounding heart.

"What happened?" Yos.h.i.+ asked.

"I don't know." I shrugged, put the phone down on the table. "She's the right person. She recognized Rose's name, and at least she took my number. I'll just have to wait and see if she calls back."

"I think she'll call back," Yos.h.i.+ said. "She'll want to know what you're talking about."

I nodded. "How are you doing?" I asked.

"I don't know, Lucy. I mean, I never expected to get here and find this."

"I didn't want to tell you on the phone. But actually, I didn't mean that. I meant, are you tired?"

"Not really, no. I started to fade awhile ago, but I think I've got a second wind. I'm good for a few hours."

"There's a place I'd like to take you. A place I love. If you're up for it."

He didn't answer right away, and all my fears rushed into the silence.

"I think I could handle it," he said, finally. "I think it would be okay."

The place I had in mind was the gorge, where I'd spent so much time in my last year of high school, a place I hadn't been since the night my father died. Yet as we were driving by the church a car pulled out of a parking place just in front of the door, and on an impulse I pulled in. I'd heard there were plans to move the Wisdom window back to its place in the chapel in the next few days-Oliver had insisted on this, arguing for the integrity of the complete collection-and I wanted Yos.h.i.+ to see it.

We went in the side door and I waved to Joanna, the secretary. Then I led Yos.h.i.+ through the maze of corridors. They had hung the window in the fellows.h.i.+p hall, and it was even more striking than I remembered. Early afternoon light poured intensely through the colors, through the patterns whose style had grown so familiar, the stems and flowers, the interlocking moons making the repeated shape of the vesica piscis, an ancient sacred geometry, the hands of the people all upraised, turning into leaves, into words, rising up. an ancient sacred geometry, the hands of the people all upraised, turning into leaves, into words, rising up.

"In the j.a.panese creation story there's a moment like this," Yos.h.i.+ said. "The story tells of a time when the earth was floating on the water, and then a pair of immortals sprouted up from the earth like reeds. Some parallels, anyway-everything interwoven."

"I like that-sprouting up like reeds. I'll take you kayaking in the marshes while you're here. Now that the depot is closed, we can follow the sh.o.r.e for miles."

We paused outside the offices so Yos.h.i.+ could use the restroom across the hall. As I waited, Suzi hurried out of the office, carrying a briefcase.

"Lucy," she said, pausing. "What brings you here?"

"I was showing the Wisdom window to Yos.h.i.+. He just got in from j.a.pan. Thanks, by the way. For whatever you said to Oliver Parrott. He sent me information that helped me find Iris. She's ninety-five. She lives in Elmira."

"That's amazing that she's still alive. Have you talked with her?"

"A little. Not really. She's supposed to call me back. I've learned so much more about Rose. I'll have to stop in sometime and bring you up to speed."

"Anytime-just give me a call. I've got to rush off to a meeting right now."

"Right. And Yos.h.i.+'s here."

"Yes. You know, Lucy, I was thinking about our last conversation, your concern about Rose. Forgiveness is at the heart of the church, G.o.d's forgiveness and love, and whatever mistakes she made-whatever mistakes we all make-they don't cut us off from life, or from a spiritual life, unless we choose to let them."

I felt myself flush, because it seemed that maybe she'd read through my concern about Rose to the story I'd almost told her about the night my father died, the sense that I could have made a different decision and changed everything.

"Well, thanks," I said, sounding flip, I knew, and I was sorry about this even as I spoke. "That's good to know."

She nodded, smiled, started down the stairs. "Okay, then. Be well."

By the time Yos.h.i.+ emerged, she was gone.

Back in the car, driving along the road that hugged the lake, Yos.h.i.+ and I didn't speak much. I worried; his silence could hold almost anything. As we neared the end of the lake I left the main highway and drove down the narrow, curving gravel road to the parking area. It had changed over these last years, become less wild. There was now a neat signboard displaying posters of the various sorts of ferns and fossils to be found, along with warnings not to pick anything, and gravel on the path that we followed as it wove and narrowed and finally ended in the stream below the falls.

Water was pouring over the stony riverbed. I waded out into the center, up to my knees, and let it rush past, so clear my bare feet stood out pale against the dark stones below. Soon Yos.h.i.+ was beside me, staggering a little on the slippery rocks. I caught his hand to steady him.

"Lucy," he said. "If it didn't matter, why did you even tell me?"

"Because I didn't want to have it between us. That secret. That lie."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"It's over," I told him. "It was over before it began. I'm sure."

He nodded. "Okay. I believe you. I'm glad it didn't feel right," he said.

I smiled, and then he did. "Come on!" I shouted over the rush of the water. Slipping, laughing, we made our way to the falls. I stepped beneath the cascade, water pounding off my face, my shoulders, and lifted my arms high, my hands open like the people in the window, as if I could catch the downpour, let it fill me up. Yos.h.i.+ stepped in, too, laughing out loud in the wild hard rush of water, and in that moment the uneasiness that had trailed me throughout the day washed away completely. I took a step toward Yos.h.i.+, meaning to kiss him like we were in a monsoon, but my foot slipped and I fell trying to catch my balance. I fell through the falls into a calm s.p.a.ce behind the wall of water, a wet shale wall to my back and the water like a curtain rus.h.i.+ng down before me. The world beyond the water was a blur of green and stone and blue. A moment later Yos.h.i.+ pushed through, the water pouring down in sheets so smooth it looked like gla.s.s, and stepped into the calm. He helped me stand, and pressed his hands against my wet face, and this was the moment from the past that mattered, this was the moment I wanted to continue. We stood there kissing in the little hollow between the water and the stone, a place completely and utterly private, a place I'd never known existed.

We stayed behind the curtain of water until we grew chilled, then stepped out to sit on the warm rocks, our feet dangling in a pool hollowed out by the power of the falls. Yos.h.i.+ told me the story of how he'd spoken up at the meeting, feeling the room go coldly silent around him. We talked about money, how much we had and how long it would last, and we talked about what we might do next. We both had enough experience to move easily into new jobs, but we decided that this time we'd both look for work, and we'd be more careful about what kinds of jobs we took, and where.

Yos.h.i.+ made it back to the house and through the early dinner my mother fixed-grilled chicken and a salad-before jet lag hit him like a train. He barely made it up to the cupola, where I'd set up a s.p.a.ce for us, hauling up two old futons and putting on clean sheets. I'd left the windows open and the early evening twilight filled the little room.

"Nice," Yos.h.i.+ said, collapsing on the futon and closing his eyes. Within seconds, he was asleep.

I went back downstairs and chatted with my mother while we cleaned up. When I told her about Iris, she was surprised that I'd called and a little disapproving, concerned I might be stirring up histories better left hidden.

"What's to lose?" I said. "Besides, I'm too curious not to find out what I can. If Oliver hadn't sent the information, I never would have found her."

She laughed. "Well, that's one way to spin it," she said. "By the way, I like Yos.h.i.+. He's very charming, isn't he? It's so strange, he almost has a British accent. I didn't expect that, somehow."

"His mother's British," I said. "He spent some time in London, too, though they moved around the world a lot for his father's work. Sometime I'd like to go there with him. I've heard it's a wonderful city."

"Well, I hardly know him. I mean, he just got here. But there's something very easy and comfortable about him. You feel right away like you've known him a long time. Do you think he'll be up for a trip to Niagara Falls tomorrow? Or will his jet lag be too bad?"

I said we'd have to wait and see. Then we discussed what to bring to Blake's Fourth of July party. My phone rang and I went to get it, drying my hands, still debating between potato salad and fresh fruit.