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Ellen Airgood - South of Superior

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Ellen Airgood South of Superior
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    South of Superior
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
McAllaster is a fictional town, but its like the one I live ina small village in an isolated spot along Lake Superiorso Id first like to thank Grand Marais, just for being itself. Also my thanks to the Gitche Gumee, the Big Water that makes life so special here.
Midway through writing this book, I started doing interviews with some of the elderly people in town and writing their stories for the local newspaper. I want to thank those people for sharing their lives and outlooks with me. This novel became something I was doing for them, in many ways. If I could create a character or two who hinted at their great reserves of strength, acceptance, and humor, I would have done something worthwhile. They inspired me to keep working.
Yale Bailey, b. January 1, 1918, Manistique, Michigan.
Isabella Bess Capogrossa, b. June 19, 1911, London, England.
Bruce Erickson, b. January 25, 1932, Grand Marais, Michigan.
Nelmi Hermanson, b. May 25, 1910, Grand Marais, Michigan, d. June 6, 2008.
Bill LaCombe, b. August 7, 1917, Grand Marais, Michigan, d. February 18, 2009.
Aino Schultz, b. October 10, 1913, Grand Marais, Michigan, d. June 20, 2009.
Ted Soldenski, b. December 29, 1912, Grand Marais, Michigan, d. February 22, 2008.
Evelyn Tudy Tornovish, b. June 1, 1916, Grand Marais, Michigan, d. March 3, 2010.
Evelyn Wood, b. September 1939, Petersburg, Michigan.
Many people have shared their stories and memories with me over the years (mostly over coffee), and I thank all of them. But also particular thanks to:
Bill Bailey and Al Tornovish, for many memorable phrases, including Always been broke flatter than piss on a platter.
Jack and Mary Alice Johnson, for telling me about Sweet White Birch Vitamins and Minerals, and for letting me consult on all things Finnish. Also thanks to Jack for keeping the whole show running by fixing everything from Jeeps to espresso machines.
Also special thanks to:
Rich Anderson, for a tour through the Hotel Nettleton.
Stan Bontrager, for miraculous technical support.
Ilsa Brink, for a lovely website.
Rebecca Fuge, for photographs that I love.
Kristen Hurlin, for insight into an artists life.
Steve OConnell, for building the office.
George VanderHaag, for decades of hard work and fine produce, plus permission to put a produce man much like him in the book.
The West Bay Diner crew of 2010, for going the extra mile on top of all the normal extra miles, so that I could take care of not only the diner but also the book: Laura Bontrager, Amelia Brubaker, Rebecca Fuge, Jamie Hersman, Jenna Hoop, Meghan Malone, Patience Neville-Neil, and Terri Poliuto.
Our friends and customers at the West Bay Diner, for their enormous enthusiasm and support.
A number of friends read this book in manuscript form and gave me valuable insights and encouragement. Thanks to Jean Battle, John Battle, Karen Cody, Tom and Debbie Darling, and Sarah Miller. Jean in particular read this story more times than any civilian should have to, and read like a professional editorher contribution was significant. Id also like to thank Lisa Snapp for her years of friendship and reading.
Peta Nightingales interest in the manuscript from afarLondon, Englandwas heartening at a crucial time, and her input was invaluable to the storys development.
I want to thank Caroline Upcher for her editorial work with me, for her admiration of Gladys, and for going beyond the call of duty on my behalf.
My Undying affection goes to Joy Harris and all at the Joy Harris Literary Agency. Special thanks to Sarah Twombly for the title.
Similar affection and regard to Sarah McGrath and Sarah Stein at Riverhead, and to everyone at Penguin who had a hand in building this book.
And now for the family...
My mother encouraged me as she always has in every endeavor.
My father held an unshakeable conviction that I was a writer from the get-go.
Mark was one of the earliest readers of this novel, and he Understood what I was getting at right awayhe always doeswhich was heartening through the years of work that followed.
Mariann has always been a tireless listener and reader, and her ways of helping are too various to list. On top of this she sends packages full of things I need.
Matt takes a serious interest in my work and offers comments that get right to the heart of the matter.
Peg has been a great listener and friend, happy for me in whatever makes me happy.
And finally my love and gratitude to my husband, Eric, who has always Understood my hunger to write.
Madeline left Chicago three weeks later, on a windy night in the middle of April. It hadnt taken long to arrange things, once shed decided. Almost before she knew it shed quit her job, packed her belongings, said her goodbyes, taken one last look at everything. Of course shed be back eventually, but for now she was headed for the middle of nowhere.
The general consensusand it was a popular topic at Spinellis, where shed worked for so many yearswas that this was a terrible idea, shed lost her judgment, and she was going to wake Up in Timbuktu feeling very, very sorry. Richard (whom shed met at Spinellis, back when he was working on his dissertation and liked to come in with his laptop and sit at the counter drinking coffee for hours) thought that too, with a fury. The size of his anger had surprised Madeline, though it probably shouldnt have.
Look, shed told him toward the end of yet another argument about her decision. Our planstheyre your plans, really.
Theyre good plans, he fumed. And weve practically signed the papers on the house. Why are you making things so complicated? All this Upheavalits for nothing. Youre afraid to actually live your own life, now that you can.
She couldnt tell him that the nearer it came, the idea of the life they were supposed to lead together in that sweet little Victorian a few blocks from campushim teaching at Northwestern, her in art school finally, on his dime, their friends (his friends?) coming over for casually gourmet dinners that involved lots of talk about books and films and musicmade her Uneasy. Uneasy and curiously flat. Confined instead of secure, angry instead of happy. But then, she was angry almost all the time now.
Madeline stared at his craggy face, that shank of dark hair that fell over his eye. At first, when he was a doctoral student and she was a waitress whod once dreamed of being an artist, the differences between them hadnt been so apparent. But that would change. It was already changing. They came from such different worlds.
Richards parents still lived in his childhood home, six thousand square feet of elegance that required not one but two massive furnaces in the basement to heat it. Emmy, on the other hand, had struggled just to hang on to their not-huge, not-fancy apartment. Shed scrimped and saved to keep it all together, and that was what Madeline was Used to. She wasnt sure she could glide across the tracks into Richards world. Not and still be herself, whoever that was.
She bit her lip, her heart sinking. Then she said. Im sorry, but I am going. I have to. Im not sure when Ill be back.
And suddenly there was nothing more to say. She gave his ring back. Shed been surprised at how relieved she felt when she called the bank to say that they wouldnt be buying the house after all.
Maybe everyone was right, maybe she was crazy. But the thing was, she had nothing to lose. That shouldnt have been so. Chicago was her homeChicago, Spinellis, the dear old drafty apartment Emmyd bought before she ever took Madeline in, the neighborhood that was so familiar Madeline knew every angle and shadow by heart. There was her job, her friends, Richard, all their plans, everything. But the emptiness inside was more real and more pressing than any of it.
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