Daughters of the Lake

by Wendy Webb

But some stories, especially peculiar, hidden ones involving murder and mystery, have a way of bubbling to the surface, especially when wrongs need to be righted. They make themselves heard despite efforts to keep them silent. All in the proper time. And now was the proper time.

She had never felt this feeling of love, the one she had in her dream. This is what true peace feels like, she thought. This is what it is to be where one’s soul resides.

A moment ago, Celeste sat here, shepherding her daughter through polite dinnertime conversation as she enjoyed the expansive view of the harbor. A century passed in the blink of an eye, and now it was Kate’s turn to enjoy the view. When she was here, she felt very close to those ancestors of long ago, as if they were still here, living their lives in their own time, just beyond an invisible barrier that Kate could almost, but not quite, penetrate. It seemed like, if she held her breath and became very still, she could feel them, just there.

And now that you’ve told someone and know you’re not alone, you can let down your guard. When that happens, when you finally let go and unclench, you can feel how much work it was to hold everything together. Translation: exhaustion.”

She slipped into the other world peacefully, even joyfully, surrounded by the living, who were grieving her passing, and the dead, who were rejoicing her homecoming.

He wasn’t one of the best-looking men she had ever seen, but with his freckled nose and crooked smile, he was attractive in a flawed sort of way.

After many years of this, it became easy for Kevin to create relationships. Sustaining them was another matter.

He simply left people behind as he began new phases of his life, knowing that someone else would arise to take their places.

“This is such a soft place for me to fall,” Kate said, the tears stinging her eyes. “Do you know how wonderful you are?”

“Come on, let’s have some coffee. Everything seems out of control until you’ve had coffee.”

Her visits were enough company for Addie, who tired easily and wanted nothing more than to sit in her rocking chair, reading and staring at the wide expanse of water that lapped at the edges of their sloping backyard.

“Honey, you’re doing the right thing. The truth needs to come out, no matter how painful or confusing that truth might be. Otherwise, what was the point of it all?

The lakeshore was magical then, in those days, and so it remained. But people had grown too noisy, too preoccupied, too sophisticated to listen to its song.