The Finding Tree

Prologue

Early Spring 1958

Mabel woke up with a start. Her heart was beating violently against her ribs and felt like it was trying to escape.

Gasping, she gulped in the cool night air and struggled to slow her response and find balance. This wasn't the first time she'd awoken from a nightmare, but this was the first time that she'd had this kind of purpose from a dream.

With continued even breaths and her hand to her chest, she finally felt the beat slow. Once she was sure she was calm and the sweat had dried from her hairline, she sat up and slowly swung her legs out from under the coverlet and dropped her toes to the cold floorboards.

The soles of her feet were chilled, but she didn't want to bother with slippers or a dressing gown, this wouldn't take long. She stood, swaying slightly, and tottered to the tallboy glowing burgundy in the moonlight.

Her breath steadied, she stood on tiptoe and pulled the top drawer out, reached as far back as she could in the darkness, felt for the small box she knew was there and drew it from its hiding place.  With the trinket clutched tight she shoved the drawer closed and shuffled back to bed, resettling under the quilt.

Mabel fumbled the box in the dark and dropped it in her lap. Cursing her trembling fingers, she picked it back up and worked at the seal that kept the lid locked and contents hidden. Pushing the slides and levers, not needing to see, her hands knew by heart how to open this puzzle.

The lid popped open and a gold band glinted in the moonlight. Mabel took the ring and slid the familiar weight of it on her left hand. Holding it up to the window's dim light, she looked at her hand with a slow sorrow and wondered how the heavy metal still felt at home on her ring finger after so many years.

She took a deep breath, then another.

It was time. Time to go back to the lake house.

Mabel's nightdress billowed around her as she lay back and rested her head on the pillows.

"I'll be there soon, Lawrence. I'll be home soon."

The papery lines around her eyes were crinkled from more than eight decades of full life. She smiled and then relaxed back into sleep.

****

The luncheon table was laid out with creamed eggs, toast points, steamed fish with caper berries, and homemade blackberry jam. The lace tablecloth fluttered in the late morning breeze, weighed down by heavy china and silver serving ware.

"Becky, I'd like another, please. Why don't you have one with me?" Mabel's eyes sparkled as she held up her champagne flute and gestured toward the pitcher of Mimosa across the table.

"Now Mrs. Cameron, you know just as well as I do, that Ms. Margaret will have my hide, if I allow you to have another, much less me." The pudgy young woman huffed, shifted in her seat, and pulled her sensible skirt lower over her knees, recrossing her ankles as she did so.

Mabel leaned closer, speaking in a low conspiratorial tone. "Nurse Margaret doesn't need to know anything, Becky. She's sound asleep in her room, drying out from that entire bottle of 'Dr. No-good's anti-nausea syrup.'" Mabel offered Becky an empty champagne glass. "You and I both know that it was probably apple brandy, and she's bound to sleep for another three hours." Mabel chuckled and waggled the extra champagne flute in Becky's direction.

Nurse Margaret was easily car sick, something that Mabel was counting on especially after the long car ride on winding mountain highways, and a boat ride across choppy water.

Becky huffed again and looked at Mabel. Her round face was contorted with worry but then smoothed out with Mabel's continued smile. Becky was a good girl, she helped Mabel with bathing, dressing and accompanied her outside. But Becky wasn't very bright. A trait that Mabel was especially glad of right now.