Russell Banks - The Reserve

Later, when she had her mother ensconced at the camp, she would not feel she had to bind and gag the woman — except when she left to chase down the artist Jordan Groves at his home in Petersburg and, of course, the following day, when he flew his seaplane to the Second Lake with Dr. Cole’s ashes and briefly visited the camp afterward and Vanessa almost succeeded in seducing him. She bound and gagged her then. “You can have the run of the camp as long as we’re here alone,” she said. “But you can’t go outside, Mother. And if someone comes up the lake in a boat or a hiker or someone from another camp stops by for a friendly chat, I’ll do all the talking. Otherwise, I’ll have to tie you up and lock you in the bedroom again and keep you there.”

Vanessa’s plan was not a plan; it was closer to a wild desire than a strategy. She wanted simply to avoid being institutionalized again, and she wanted somehow to regain control of the very large trust funds left to her by her grandparents and father that she had so placidly, so stupidly, placed in the hands of her mother, Mr. Brodhead, and U. S. Trust. She believed that the first of these desires would be satisfied if she did not willingly go to Zurich and her mother were kept from committing her elsewhere. The second would be satisfied only when her mother died of natural causes, highly unlikely at her age, or removed herself, Mr. Brodhead, and U. S. Trust as executors, also highly unlikely. Especially now. Vanessa’s ultimate wish was that, until her mother died, no one except Vanessa herself would be allowed to see the woman or speak with her. For the time being, then, and for as long as possible, the two of them would stay here at the camp, not exactly unknown to the world, but in relative isolation and very difficult of access. After that…well, she’d figure out what to do when she actually had to do it.

Rangeview, at the Second Tamarack Lake, was located as far from other people as Vanessa could presently imagine, but to stay there for more than a few days she needed supplies — fresh and tinned food, kerosene for the lamps, cigarettes, and liquor — and someone to deliver it on a regular basis. She thought first of the artist and his seaplane, but realized at once that he would refuse to help her, at least for now. Then she remembered Hubert St. Germain, the local guide who for decades had been attached as caretaker to Dr. Cole’s camp. Every July first, before the arrival of the Coles, Hubert opened the camp, stocked the larders, cut the firewood, and made the seasonal repairs to the roof and chimneys, tightened wind-loosened windowpanes and replaced torn screens, fixing whatever the hard Adirondack winter had broken. Vanessa liked and trusted Hubert St. Germain. He was very good looking, she thought, and shy and kept a discreet distance from his employers. You barely knew he’d been there, until you noticed a high stack of freshly cut firewood or saw that the broken steps to the deck had been replaced or opened the kitchen cupboard and realized that it had been restocked with oatmeal, soups, flour, sugar, and tinned beef, and in the icebox a large chunk of ice from the Tunbridge icehouse and a half-dozen freshly caught trout and a chilled bottle of Alsatian wine.

She would have to get to Hubert somehow; she would have to induce him to make weekly deliveries without having to come inside or hang around the camp, without having to see or speak with her mother.

“I’m sorry, Mother, but I’m going to lock you in the bedroom again.” They were seated at the kitchen table eating a breakfast of canned pork and beans. After two nights and one full day, it was the last of their food. “It’s going to be for four or five hours this time, so eat up. And you’d better use the bathroom before I leave.”

“You won’t tie my hands and feet and cover my mouth again, will you? Please don’t. Please. It’s an awful thing to do, Vanessa. Just awful,” her mother said and began to cry quietly.

“I know. And I hate doing it. But, Mother…,” she said and paused. “I can’t trust you, Mother. I just can’t. If I don’t keep you here, I know you’ll get the men in white coats to carry me off to the loony bin. It’s that simple. It really is. If Daddy were alive…well, if he were here, none of this would be necessary, that’s all.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “Ready?”

“I’m an old woman, Vanessa. Please don’t do this. And I’m not well, you know that.”

“You’re fifty-three, and you’re healthy as a horse. You’ll probably live another twenty-five years. By then I’ll be an old woman. Come on, I’ve got a lot to do today. We can’t live on canned beans and spring water.”

AN HOUR LATER, VANESSA HAD CROSSED THE SECOND LAKE and had made her way over the Carry, as the quarter-mile land bridge between the two lakes was called. She rowed the length of the First Lake, tied the guide boat at the dock, and quickly walked the gentle sloping trail back through the forest along the Tamarack River to the clubhouse, two miles away. There she went straight to the office of the manager, Russell Kendall, and entered without knocking.

He stood up abruptly, red faced, as if she had caught him doing something illicit. “I’d appreciate it if you knocked first, Vanessa. I could be having a confidential conversation with a member, you know.”

“But you’re not.”

“No. Not at the moment.” He wished he could make this girl just go away. The mother, too. These women, Evelyn and Vanessa Cole, or whatever she called herself now, were demanding and imperious. They were like a showgirl and her stage mother, he thought, and admired the thought. He was sorry the father had died. He had rather liked Dr. Cole, a gentle, gregarious man from an old Reserve family who liked to talk about Art and Nature. A man with a philosophical turn of mind. He tipped the staff well, and at Christmas, when the Tamarack Club was closed and Russell Kendall was in Augusta and the Reserve was the furthest thing from most members’ minds, Dr. Cole always remembered to send Kendall a hundred-dollar holiday bonus, ten times a club cook’s weekly pay.

“What can I do for you, Vanessa?” he asked.

“You can tell me how to get in touch with Hubert St. Germain. I need him to bring supplies up to Rangeview. Mother and I expect to be staying for longer than we had planned.”

“Oh. How long? I thought you were here for only a few days,” he said. “What happened with your father’s…his ashes? I hope you didn’t—”

“Don’t worry,” she interrupted. “I dumped them in the Tamarack River, but way over at Wappingers Falls. Not on Reserve property. By now Daddy’s doing the backstroke in Lake Champlain, heading north to the St. Lawrence and on to the freezing waters of the North Atlantic.”

“Vanessa, please,” Kendall said. “He’s your father.”

“Was. But you’re right,” she said, suddenly shifting intent and tone. “I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s just that Mother and I are both terribly upset by his death. Especially Mother. We’re mourning together. We’re grieving over him at the camp. The Reserve was Daddy’s most sacred place in the universe, you know. It was his true church. Somehow, even though we were forbidden by you to scatter his ashes at the Second Lake, we feel closer to him at the camp. So we’ve decided to stay for as long as his spirit lingers there. Possibly the rest of the summer. Possibly into the fall. It’s why I need to speak with Hubert St. Germain. I hope he hasn’t gone and arranged to take care of other camps and completely abandoned us. I know how popular he is, but he’s always worked for us, and Daddy was very fond of him. I’d hate to lose him…now that my father’s no longer here.” She brushed away a tear.