The Lake of Dreams Read Online Free PDF

under eminent domain, their houses and barns razed like the Iroquois villages before them, airstrips and Quonset huts and weapons bunkers rising almost overnight out of the land amid the corn. Usually this stretch was deserted except for the dull green military vehicles that came and went on their mysterious errands, but now dozens of cars were parked on the grassy shoulders, and a small crowd had gathered at the open gates.
    “What’s going on?”
    “That’s the other big news,” Blake said. “See what happens when you stay away so long? The depot closed, just last week. It was announced three, four months ago.”
    I was still thinking of Keegan, the way he used to speed his motorcycle flat out on this stretch, the wind tearing at our sleeves, so it took me a minute to process this news.
    “Is that possible? I thought the depot was a fact of life.”
    “Yeah, weird, isn’t it? The economy is lousy here anyway, and now it’ll only get worse. This place employed a lot of people.”
    I looked south along the shore at the miles of undeveloped land behind the formidable fences. Our mother’s grandparents had been among those evicted when the land was taken and we’d heard stories of that loss all our lives. We’d grown up traveling along the depot’s miles-long fence with its barbed-wire summit, the world within a secret place we could never enter. Blake slowed to maneuver through the unexpected traffic, then stopped, waving over a guy wearing jeans and a jacket with the logo of the local television station.
    “Hey, Pete. What’s happening?”
    “Hey there, Blake.” Pete was short, with wiry dark hair, and he sprinted across the road, ducking to look in the truck window. “It’s a rally—save the black terns, or something.” He gestured to the south, toward our land, toward the marshes. “One group is trying to get all of this designated as a protected wetlands area. I don’t know what the rest want yet—about six other groups have showed up. You here to watch the fireworks?”
    Blake laughed. “Not me. I’m on my way back from the airport. My sister just got in—this is Lucy. Lucy, Pete.”
    I nodded hello.
    “Developers here, too?” Blake asked.
    Pete nodded. “Oh, yeah. All kinds. Plus, the Iroquois want it back, and there’s a coalition to protect a herd of rare white deer that’s living on the land. Some of the descendants of families who got evicted during the war have filed claims, too. You sure you don’t have a dog in this fight, Blake? Everyone else seems to.”
    Blake grinned. “Nah. Haven’t even figured out who the dogs are yet.”
    Pete laughed. “Plenty to choose from, that’s for sure. Well, good seeing you. Good to meet you, Lucy.”
    He slapped the side of the truck as he stepped back. Blake drove slowly through the crowd, picking up speed as the road cleared. Glimpsing the shallow reeds where my father always loved to fish, where herons hid in the rustling grasses, I was pierced suddenly with grief, remembering the long, thin sound of the line flying through mist.
    “I used to love it when Dad took us fishing.”
    Blake took his right hand from the wheel and gripped mine for a second.
    “I know,” he said. “I did, too.”
    It was a deep and yet comforting silence that rose between us, one I could have shared with no one else. When we reached the driveway, low-hanging branches of the apple tree scraped the truck roof. The grand house, Italianate, with two wide porches and a cupola, sagged a little, as if it had exhaled a deep breath. Paint was peeling on the trim and the porch. My mother’s moon garden had run completely wild. It had once been a magical place, white crocuses, daffodils, and freesia poking from the mulch, the angel trumpets and night-blooming water lilies carried outside once the air had grown as warm as skin, everything fragrant and luminous, the blossoms floating in the dusk. Now, the trellises were broken and leaning at crazy angles; the moonflower