Keeping Time: A Novel Read online

  Leaving the hardware store. Back on the street. Asking at the movie theater, the gas stations. Showing people the military picture, providing what information they had.

  Getting nowhere. Asking at restaurants, waiters, busboys, owners.

  No luck.

  Picking up Hulda. Returning to the motel shortly before sunset.

  MICHAEL, IN THE POOL, splashing alone in the water. The sun was low, tall mountains were all around them. Summer bugs buzzed, sounds of laughter could be heard from the parking lot. The three women watched Michael cannonball, dive, kick, and swim as they discussed the situation. They all had more or less come to the same conclusion: Michael Baker wasn’t there. He was not to be found. He had probably moved away years ago—if he had ever been there at all. He could be anywhere in the United States or anywhere beyond.

  Even Daisy was no longer positive, but she was not sorry. “This trip has still been a huge success, not just to Long Island, but here, too. Look at how lovely it is. I would never have come here otherwise.”

  They agreed. The beauty of the area shed itself over them. Hulda, oriented toward the mountains from her lounge chair, zoned out in an appreciative stare, dreamily, hardly speaking. Elisabeth and Daisy, chatting aimlessly. Elisabeth, her pants rolled up, her feet in the pool. With arms straight, shoulders thrust forward, the palms of her hands flat on the concrete, her fingers curled over the edge of the pool, slowly stirring the warm pool watu.”

  FORTY

  ELISABETH, UP BRIGHT and early to watch the sun come over the mountains. Taking advantage of having just the one son. Being able to focus on nothing but him. Lying on their sides, facing each other in opposite beds, neither getting up other than to draw open the draperies to the breathtaking view. Talking leisurely together. Elisabeth, listening closely. There were no distractions, not even in her head. Getting to know him better, this new Michael, covering ground on the road to adulthood.

  Elisabeth, lingering over coffee—tea for Daisy and Hulda—outside at the pool. Michael was back in the water for a quick dip before breakfast. Complimentary donuts. Michael ate three. Elisabeth did not say a word but let him enjoy himself, licking his fingers clean with a noisy sucking sound. Normally she would never let him eat so to get the mower outatha home and much junk or make so much noise. There must have been something in the air.

  Nine a.m. Back in the car, pulling out. They had a list of nursing homes, retirement communities, and assisted-living residences. They also had directions to the long-term rehab at Littleton Hospital and a map.

  By three in the afternoon they had left no Littleton stone unturned. They had talked to at least half the residents, including a handful of Gateses: Harry’s son, a daughter, a nephew, and two nieces. Not a single person knew a Michael Baker.

  They had struck out, but you would never know it looking at them.

  HULDA WITH ONE last request before going home: Could they please take the cog railway up to the top of Mount Washington?

  She didn’t have to ask twice. All heads bobbing yes.

  The road was long and flat, straight through the valley. It was late in the day to be arriving. Most people were already done and down, heading back to their cars.

  They got out, looking up. The sky was perfectly clear. The temperature, still in the high eighties, a touch of humidity. People milling around the museum and the concession stand, large groups in the shadow of the mountain. Green, green grass. Dandelions. Kids lapping up vendor-bought ice cream or sitting on the enormous unused tractor. Once a working tractor, now there for show, for atmosphere, for ambience. The grounds smelled of fresh grass and flowers.

  Hulda, in heaven.

  Going into the small museum for a quick walk-through. Learning about the inner workings of the cog train, how it could go up such a steep grade. A display of the original train, more than a hundred years old. The placard proudly proclaiming that the cog railway at Mount Washington was operational before Switzerland’s first cog railway. Hulda, getting a kick out of that.

  Buying tickets to the top. Finding seats. Michael, alone in the back. The others, up front near the driver.

  The railway, a light load so late in the day. The trip to the top, thirty-five minutes, with the train sometimes angled so steeply that Elisabeth joked they were all going to end up in Michael’s lap. The mountain terrain changing as they ascended. Grass giving way to rock. Trees thinning until they reached the tree line, then disappearing altogether. Strange high-altitude bugs entered through the open windows—yellow and black ladybug-like things buzzing around, landing on them, on the glass, on seat backs. That part, unpleasant, but tolerated without complaint because of the excitement of nearing the top.

  Gears under their feet, churning. The driver making jokes about having bad brakes.

  Finally, the summit. Hulda, breathing deeply before stepping out onto the mountain. Holding the metal door frame with a trembling hand, saying, “Albert’s watching me. I can feel his eyes on me.” Eagerly stepping out into the thin air, the brilliant sunshine.

  Strolling away from the cog railway toward the steps to the highest spot, the observation deck. All of them enjoying the view.

  Michael, looking at Hulda, saying, “Any minute now she’s going to break into song. We’ll all be hearing that the hills are alive with the sound of music.”

  Hulda, chuckling. Saying she just might at that.

  Walking past the restaurant, a small crowd inside. Stopping at the kio#syhabcksk, all of them buying postcards. Up the steps to the observation deck. To the highest point in eastern North America. Up there, Hulda hugging them each in turn, her cheek pressing into theirs. Thanking them through tears. Crying that she never thought she would make it to the top of a mountain again. She had given up hope, but they had made the impossible come true. She could die happily now.

  Benches ran along the perimeter of the observation deck. Hulda and Daisy, sitting down, winded, needing to rest. Michael, plunking down, too.

  Elisabeth, grabbing him by his shirt. Saying, “Come on, Michael. Let’s go explore.”

  Michael, surprised to hear such words from his mother. Jumping up, ambling down the deck steps ahead of her. Elisabeth, running to keep up.

  Hulda and Daisy, settling back in a shared silence, each in her own private paradise. Hulda, busily writing out the postcards. Daisy, thinking of home. Gazing out over the surrounding mountain peaks and remembering happy times in the French and Swiss Alps with Paul. Thinking she could feel his eyes on her, too. Thinking about Lenny getting married and Dennis and Amanda living far away. Feeling a nervousness regarding maintaining the house by herself. What if Dennis was right—especially now that Lenny was remarrying? Maybe she should sell the house, not to move into The Carillion but maybe into a little apartment like Hulda’s. An apartment would simplify things. It would eliminate the issue of gardening.

  But it would also eliminate the garden. Daisy loved her garden. Sighing. No closer to knowing what to do than before she had left Liverpool.

  Michael and Elisabeth, trolling around the top of the mountain, starting down various hiking trails but not going far. Talking about how awesome it would be to actually hike up from the bottom to the top. Michael, saying, “If Dad could ever take a vacation again, we should come back here. He’d love it.”

  “So would Josh and David,” Elisabeth, adding. “Pete and Steve, too. We should come back here in early August before they leave for college. It’s only a six-hour drive.” Elisabeth, thinking she’d better get herself on an exercise machine first—and fast.

  Hiking around, spinning family plans. Eventually deciding it must be time to head back.

  Finding it was actually past time to head back. Out of earshot, they had not heard the many shouts of the employees that the last train was departing momentarily. Daisy and Hulda, already at the bottom of the observation deck steps waiting for them. Panicked that they would miss the last train down. Both in an old lady tizzy.

  Michael, pleading for a bo
ttle of water, saying he’d be quick getting one from the kiosk. Elisabeth, thrusting two dollar bills in his hand, telling him to hurry.

  Michael actually made it to the train before them, such was Hulda’s pace this late in the day. Standing at the doors with a sly smile and a bottle of water in hand, telling them to get a move on. Holding the door open as his mother whipped in past him, with Daisy right behind. The two looking around for a seat, heading toward the front. Hulda, slowly bringing up the rear, handing Michael her purse to hold. Michael, looking from front to back for a seat, trying to decide whether to be in the front near his mother and Daisy or at the back as he had been on the way up. Deciding on the front, heading that way, thinking it would have the better views. The people in the half-full car, talking quietly, pointing out things outside the windows, taking last-min#ldshaute pictures.

  The doors closing. The cog train starting down the mountain. The driver again making jokes about bad brakes.

  Halfway down the mountain, Daisy, suddenly startled. Looking around. Alarmed. Saying, “Where’s Hulda?”

  The three of them shaken, peering into every face, no Hulda. Sweat springing up. Notifying the driver that they had left an old lady behind. How could they?

  The driver, shrugging his shoulders, saying, “These things happen. There’s not much we can do about it now. I’ll radio up when we get to the bottom.”

  None of them speaking. Staring wordlessly out the window for the torturous duration down.

  THE DRIVER, RADIOING up from the bottom, talking to Charley at the top. Telling him they had left a Hulda Kheist behind. Charley had been managing the mountain for thirty-seven years. He had seen this before—usually kids and sometimes old people, but not usually that old: ninety-three! Not to worry. She was probably in the restaurant. She could come down with the crew.

  Elisabeth, Daisy, and Michael, with Hulda’s purse on his lap, sitting on a bench in front of the display tractor. Going over the circumstances of entering the cog train. All of them feeling guilty. Hoping she wouldn’t be mad at them.

  Thirty minutes later the radio crackling on. Charley, telling the driver that Hulda was not in the restaurant, in the ladies room, at the kiosk, or on the observation deck. In short, they couldn’t find her. They would keep looking.

  Sullen faces on the bench. Daisy, saying, “Goodness, this is terrible.” Elisabeth and Michael, nodding.

  FORTY-ONE

  BARELY SLEEPING A WINK. Tossing and turning and up talking in the dark. At around three, turning the light back on. The three of them rotating through roles, moving from blaming themselves to counseling the others.

  In The Swiss Hut—them, their overnight bags, and Hulda’s purse.

  They had come down from the mountain in near darkness after three fruitless hours of searching. Daisy’s knees were weak from fatigue and threatened to go out from under her. Charley finally called the police. They said what Charley said they would: They couldn’t do anything that night. It was too soon and too dangerous to send up search teams or helicopters into the mountain at that hour because of updrafts and limited visibility.

  Elisabeth phoned Richard to tell him they would have to spend another night. Richard, who had been called out from a meeting, consoled her and told her not to worry, that he would go back to the meeting and inform everyone that he had to go. He would be on the next train home to take the boys off Ann’s hands. He would get the boys together and go out for Chinese food. Satisfied, Elisabeth hung up and went back to worrying with Daisy and Michael. The three of them tried to imagine what Hulda was doing up there on the mountain alone in the dark.

  Charley had promised to get a search team together to assemble at first light in the morning. So there they were, counting the minutes until daybreak.

  THEY WERE AMONG the first to arrive at the mountain, well before it opened to tourists. Charley handed the lead to the captain of the police, Captain Miller. Word had begun to get around that a search party was being formed. People trickled in to offer their time and their hearts. Daisy, Elisabeth, and Michael were asked to be on hand to field questions that might arise in addition to what they had already told the police. A crowd formed, the cog train filled, taking special search units to the top where they would scour the area before fanning out to work their way down. Regular people were being organized at the bottom to work their way up. There were search helicopters and dogs that had sniffed Hulda’s garments from her overnight bag. They would find her, Daisy, Michael, and Elisabeth were assured. Captain Miller, placing his rough hand on Daisy’s shoulder. to get the mower outenha home and

  The three of them mingling with the people who had come to help. Joining them in the circle that had formed around the police. Listening to the policeman with the bullhorn saying, “Pick a path and start up slowly. Look both right and left off the path, for Hulda can be anywhere. There is no guarantee she’s on a path or even near one. She’s ninety-three.” Repeating that. “Ninety-three.”

  People breaking into small groups, talking in hushed voices. No laughter.

  The three of them staying back to make themselves available to answer any questions, then slowly spreading out on their own. Sticking together, picking a path—one of many—to start up. Not that they thought they would make it to the top. It was an eight-hour walk for those in good shape, six for the stars, and four for the superstars.

  Daisy was exhausted from all the walking the night before, plus she had had a sleepless night. Ordinarily she would take to keeping off her feet, but this was not ordinary. She continued walking, stopping often to rest, taking a break on every bench they came to.

  The weather, suddenly changing. Clouds hustling in, unseen until they were overhead, knocking out the sun. The air, already heavy with humidity, thickening, turning a dreary day more dreary.

  A group of two men and two women, all members of the National Ski Patrol during winter months, overtaking them on the path although they had just started out. Reaching them in fifteen minutes. It had taken Daisy, Elisabeth, and Michael over an hour. A quick exchange of information. Daisy, thanking them for volunteering. They said they were happy to and continued on, propelled up the mountain on strong ski legs—unlike Daisy, who was winded, perspiring, and nearly hobbling but insisting that she was fine, saying it was Hulda they had to worry about.

  Elisabeth, worrying about both, wondering if they should turn around, go back to the bottom, check in with Captain Miller, get Daisy some water and a place to sit.

  Doing all that. Back on the bench at the bottom, Daisy, saying, “This is awful.” Coated in perspiration, red in the face. “How could this have happened?” Asking for the hundredth time.

  “What are we going to do?” Elisabeth, small twigs undetected in her cropped hair. Exhausted herself.

  No one answering.

  Michael, in between them, his face falling into his palms. “Maybe she’ll hear the cog train and go back up to get it.”

  The people around them had a purpose. Everyone there was there for the search. “I wonder if anything will change when it opens to the public. Do they ask everyone to help or not mention it at all?” Elisabeth, inquiring.

  Neither Daisy nor Michael answering. They didn’t know the answer and were too tired to speculate. They could only sit and stare at the people with not an ounce of strength left to give. All of them, totally spent, needing a fresh burst of energy. Michael, going to buy a supply of water bottles and giant Snickers bars from the vending machines. Returning, handing them out. Eating and drinking, but still needing more of a boost.

  Getting more of a boost. From a certain face in the crowd.

  Daisy’s arm flying to Michael, with an unwrapped Snickers bar in her hand, Snickers residue smudged on her lower lip.

  Michael, turning to her. Seeing her face. Following her eyes watching the pe to get the mower outedhabckople heading for the open cog train. Looking as if she had just spotted Hulda. Michael, saying jokingly, “What? Did Hulda join her own search team?”
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  Daisy, not laughing with him. Saying, “Look, over there.” Pointing. Words squeezed tightly through unmoving breath.

  Elisabeth and Michael, eyeing the crowd. Seeing, not too far away, a tall, robust old man with a younger woman, maybe fifty, at his side, her hands wrapped around his left forearm. Both of them were boarding the cog train, moving in step with the group through the open doors of the car.

  Elisabeth, “What, Daisy?”

  “That could be him.”

  Elisabeth, “Him who?” Suddenly getting it. “You mean Michael Baker?”

  Michael, excited. “Really?”

  Daisy, her voice shaky, saying, “It could be. I’m not sure.”

  Michael, urgently, “Quick. Let’s go ask before he gets away.” Pulling on Daisy, yanking her off the bench to her feet.

  Elisabeth, getting up, too. The three racing across the grass to the train. Groups of people were in their way, some walking, some stalled. Michael, pulling Daisy, trying to get her to go faster. Daisy, moving as fast as her thin legs would take her, trying to see through the crowd. Losing sight of him. Hurrying, wondering if it could be. Could it really be? Could they really have found him? Was that really him, or was she just exhausted and seeing things? Was he just a tall old man?

  Michael, saying a little more loudly, “Come on, Daisy, faster.”

  Daisy was moving faster than she had in half a century, but not fast enough. The doors on the cog were starting to close.

  Michael, saying more urgently, “Come on, Daisy.”

  Daisy, panting, red in the face. “I can’t go any faster.”

  Elisabeth, looking at her. Worried. “Take it easy, Michael. It’s not worth a heart attack.”

  Michael, yelling, “But the doors are closing!” Letting go of her. Taking off. Running up to the train. The doors closed, the train beginning to depart. Michael, peering into the crowded car. Finding the man. Shouting, “Are you Michael Baker?” Feeling the old man’s eyes on him. Getting no reaction.