Rusty Lake Paradise

Chapter 1 - The Letter

April 22, 1796
My dear son Jakob,
I'm sorry to inform you that your mother passed away. Please return to Paradise. We need you here.
Your Father

I folded the parchment again, slowly, before sliding it back into the envelope it had arrived in. The small wooden box on my desk was nearly empty, except for a few supplies I thought I might need on my journey - a spool of fishing line, a handkerchief, and the end of last night's loaf of bread. I placed the letter on top and closed and latched the box.

"Leaving already?"

I turned around to see Eva in the doorway, apron already dirtied from the morning's work. Thin, blond wisps of hair had escaped from under her bonnet, and her face was red and glistened with sweat.

"I have to go," I replied.

"I know I can't stop you, and I won't. But promise me you'll be careful."

"I'll be fine."

 She had a rag twisted in her hands, and I could see her knuckles whiten. Her brow furrowed, and she had the same expression on her face that I had seen countless times over the years of living on the farm with her - the face she wore when the cow kicked me as I milked her, when my knife slipped as I butchered the chickens, when I fell off a ladder and nearly broke my shoulder.

"You don't remember much about Paradise, do you?"

 Truthfully, I didn't. I, of course, remembered my parents, my brother, and my sister. I had memories of the still, glassy lake and the iron gray mountains that seemed to keep the world out and shut us in. The smell of burning wood or the sound of bird calls always gave me a feeling similar to deja vu, except there was no memory beneath it for me to recall.

"I'll be careful."

 Eva wiped her hands on her apron and placed one hand on my cheek. I could smell the wheat she had been grinding, mixed with the scent of dust and the lavender oil she liked to wear.

"Help my daughter rest peacefully," she said.

 I nodded. "I will."

As I walked down the stone path around the property, the Vanderboom house loomed over me, as if rebuking me for leaving. The large, dark windows made the house seem empty. Only a single window was lit, with my grandmother's silhouette watching me leave. She closed the curtains as I rounded the corner.

 My boat was tethered by the edge of the river that led to Rusty Lake. In the fading darkness of the sunrise, I could see just well enough to weave my way through the waist-high reeds without twisting my ankles on the stones by the water. I waved the whining mosquitoes away as I set my box and machete in the little wooden boat. I took a deep breath, my eyes on the house, as I began to row.