Page 33

Izzy

One moment, I’m lost without hope. The next, I’m having a warm cup of tea in Grace Olsen’s home.

My leg is elevated with a bag of ice draped over my ankle.

The swelling frightens me, but I think the ice is helping.

My ankle is big, misshapen, purplish, and so unfamiliar I can’t bear to look at it.

It’s like I have someone else’s body part attached to me.

Grace assures me it isn’t broken. She seems certain, so that’s a relief.

Her home itself feels healing. It’s as though I’ve stepped into some kind of fairy-tale apothecary.

There are exposed wood beams throughout and a few old-fashioned windows with lots of small panes that let in plenty of natural light.

Herbs hang drying on the walls. The room smells of lavender and lemongrass.

From the living room I can see into the kitchen, which is stocked with mason jars full of dried goods—beans, barley, lentils, and an assortment of loose teas, nicely displayed on wooden shelves that are as misshapen and varied as the trees they came from.

I’ve concluded Grace is some kind of naturalist. She uses a large mortar and pestle to create an aromatic-smelling herbal poultice (her word, not mine), which she rubs all over my injury.

Whatever it is, it smells delightful, like it came from an exotic spice shop.

Perhaps there’s turmeric in the mixture, for the whole paste has a yellowy-orange tinge.

Grace lists the ingredients: “It’s made of onion, ginger, dandelion root, garlic, turmeric, and several other herbs I can’t name because they’re part of an ancient family secret.”

Turmeric! I enjoy a sense of pride. I try to guess what the other mystery ingredients might be. My mind goes to something witchy: small toads, eyes of newts, things I’ve read about in storybooks. Whatever she’s applied, it seems to be working. I take a peek, and the swelling is down considerably.

Grace trades her hiking clothes for a billowy patchwork skirt and white top.

She’s accented her outfit with a colorful string of beads and dangling earrings that plink ever so slightly as she moves about, tending to her patient.

I wonder where she acquired her skills. I was impressed with her quick thinking in the woods.

She fashioned a splint from two sticks latched together with a belt, then used her teal fleece to pad the injury.

That’s what enabled me to walk out of the forest. I should return the light jacket to her, but it’s keeping the ice bag from freezing my skin.

It took us an hour to reach her small house hidden in the woods off the main road. If I had been uninjured, the trek would have taken half that time; that’s how close I was to the house before Lucas left me for dead. I can’t count the thank-yous I uttered on our way back, but it was plenty.

The decorative lamps scattered throughout the room are perfect for reading, as is the worn and weathered couch, with a multicolored afghan draped over the back.

She has a cozy little book nook stocked with paperbacks and hardcovers, inviting me to settle into one of her comfy chairs and get lost in a story.

Several nice rugs, a few of which are the classic farmhouse oval design, are scattered about, but nothing is upscale.

It’s all very modest, with signs of wear and tear, which is how I’m accustomed to living. It’s homey.

But it feels lonely, too, despite the orange tabby cat purring at the foot of my chair.

Winston, her feline companion, appears to be the only other inhabitant of the house.

I mean, yeah, the cat-lady trope can definitely paint a picture of isolation, but it’s something more.

The knotted pine walls are filled with framed pictures of Grace’s family, all from so long ago.

They’re photos from her childhood, and this woman must be in her seventies, judging by her gray hair and kind, but wrinkled face.

The images look aged as well, like vintage postcards, yellowing, and set inside tarnished frames.

It’s a family of five. I remember the brother, Tom, from the Globe article I sourced, and I’m certain the beaming girl in the bikini decorated with gingham checks must be Anna.

She’s standing next to her younger sister, who’s looking at me from the photo with the same bright eyes I saw when she saved me in the woods.

The sisters appear radiant, like they’re living their best lives.

But there are no recent pictures on display. If Grace never had a family of her own, maybe she’s clung to the one she once knew, from a time before sorrow swallowed joy, back when her beloved sister was a fixture at the lake.

“More tea, dear?” Grace asks, preemptively heading to the kitchen to heat the kettle.

It would feel rude to decline.

“I did get in touch with your employer—what’s his name, David?” she calls from the other room.

Grace saunters back to the sitting area, and I nod as I shift position slightly.

It’s enough to send a sharp twinge through my injured ankle.

I prop it up on a pile of pillows set atop an ottoman in front of my chair.

The cat lurks nearby, eyeing me like I’ve stolen his favorite lounging spot.

Twice now, I’ve had to redirect him from licking the paste off my leg.

“He was very relieved to know you’re safe,” says Grace. “I guess a whole group was out looking for you. I told him I’d drive you home after we get that swelling down. I was surprised, though—he offered a reward, like I’m returning a lost pet or something.”

I harrumph in my head. A pet? At the very least, I’m a service animal.

While I don’t complain about David, I do share that I’m not the first female to go missing from his home this week.

“I heard about that woman, Fiona. It’s terrible,” Grace says as she brings me my drink. Her hand is shaky. The teacup clinks against the saucer as she sets both on an antique table within reach. Grace’s eyes are strained like she’s holding something back.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t seen her. It’s so distressing.

A third missing woman…” Her voice trails off as she gets lost in thought.

She peers at me as though just remembering I’m still in the room.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to scare you. I’m sure you’re safe.

It’s probably just a bizarre coincidence. ”

She doesn’t know I’ve read about her online and searched her sad history for my own investigative purposes. But this is exactly who I need to talk to, and I can’t miss this opportunity. I gulp, preparing to push her a little more.

“Three women vanished from this lake, including Fiona?” I say, playing dumb. “Do you know anything about the others?”

Grace’s mouth slips into a frown. “One was my sister, Anna,” she says, pointing to a picture on the wall, confirming my earlier suspicion. Heartbreak invades her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “You were close?” It makes me queasy to ask questions I know the answers to, but I must build rapport.

“The closest,” she tells me. “I sometimes miss her more now than I did when she first disappeared. The longer I go on, the more I realize how much life she didn’t get to experience.

” Grace releases a sad sigh. “But that was a long time ago. I have memories to comfort me, especially in this place, our old home. Never thought I’d be a year-rounder, one of the hearty few.

But I love the quiet solitude of winter almost as much as I do the summer.

This land has healing powers. Speaking of, how’s your ankle? ”

I move the ice away and see that the swelling has subsided. The pain is better, too.

“I’m not surprised,” Grace says. “That concoction is quite potent. People don’t trust herbs enough.

What we need to heal is growing all around us.

My family doesn’t like me living out in the woods alone, especially because my memory isn’t what it used to be.

I do have a nephew who checks on me, but that isn’t enough to appease my family.

They want me to move. They don’t understand how important it is for me to be close to nature.

Besides, I’m worried my memories of Anna will fade like all my others if I leave the lake. ”

“You and Anna lived here year-round?”

“No, this was a summer place for us, but when I inherited the house, I had it winterized. Not much has changed from when we were kids. The furniture is mostly the same. But after my sister went missing, my parents stopped vacationing here. They sold off anything that reminded them of her. I understood why, but I was the opposite. I liked having her things around. They reminded me of her and a better time in our lives. Over the years, I’ve found some of Anna’s belongings my parents sold or gave away to antique shops and thrift stores in the area.

Anytime I saw something, I bought it, but it’s been a long time since that happened. ”

My heart is heavy. I don’t have any siblings, but I can imagine the pain of losing someone so close to you.

“Who was the other woman who went missing?” I ask, my stomach tightening. Another lie, since I likely know more about the second disappearance than Grace does.

“She was a young girl named Susie Welch. I was in my forties when she disappeared, so I didn’t know her well, but I was living at the lake at the time. My parents had passed by then.” Grace pauses, and I allow her space to connect with that difficult time.

“Everyone at the lake looked for Susie, myself included. It was like Anna all over again. That’s when the lore started—murmurings that the lake takes them. ”

I don’t tell her that I’ve heard the lore. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that three young women disappeared from the same lake exactly thirty years apart? Is the lake cursed or something?”