The Lilac Tunnel: My Journey with Samantha

I tell Samantha she should swim, I’ll just watch from shore. She hesitates, agreeing only for a little while, promising something fun together after. I dress quickly and follow her down to the lake, the morning sun already warm, where Uncle Gard’s already swimming and Cornelia lounges on a blanket in the grass.

Samantha rushes in squealing, swimming with long confident strokes to Uncle Gard, splashing past him toward the big rock, both of them soon pulling themselves up onto it, water streaming off their arms. Cornelia calls me over to sit.

Cornelia pats a spot on the blanket, and I puzzle out the most ladylike way to sit in a dress, criss-cross applesauce clearly wrong, settling instead on mimicking her sideways lean, the grass tickling my ankles, knees and feet tucked beside her.

Watching Samantha and Uncle Gard roughhouse and splash on the rock, I say they’re having fun. Cornelia nods, tilting her face toward the sun with a faint smile, agreeing Piney Point makes everyone feel freer, though she’d never risk losing that itchy hat—her fair skin would freckle in minutes. Her ginger hair glows almost red in the morning light, so different from Samantha and Uncle Gard’s matching dark hair, gleaming wet. I say they look alike, and Cornelia says I should tell Samantha that. It would make her happy, Cornelia adds, smiling.

Samantha doesn’t stay in long, glancing back at me often, and soon comes out dripping, water sheeting off her, calling it enough for the day.

Walking back to Wood Tick Inn, feeling guilty for cutting Samantha’s fun short, I admit I’m just not used to swimming in so much clothing, and it scares me. What do I wear instead, she asks. Struggling to explain a two-piece bathing suit, I settle on no shoes or stockings, and she stops walking, certain Grandmary would never allow that, even here. I’m suddenly ashamed, remembering she doesn’t get to choose her own clothes at all, not even for something as simple as a swim. But she moves past it, curious whether the water feels cold on bare legs, whether I mind the lake bottom underfoot. I answer as best I can, then repeat that she and Uncle Gard really do look alike, and her whole face lights up, pleased all over again. Cornelia was right about that.

After a day of wildflowers and a fine dinner at the main house, Samantha leads me back down to Wood Tick Inn as the sun sinks low. Inside the cabin, she suggests swimming, and my stomach drops, unsure I’ll actually go in, and isn’t her suit still wet anyway? She just smiles: no bathing suits at all. She wants to try swimming the way I do, peeling off her dress, pinafore, shoes, and stockings, twirling in nothing but a lacy undershirt and long lace-trimmed underpants, giggling at herself. I ask her if she’s sure about this? She nods. Now we can swim together.

I strip down to my own undershirt and pants, and we creep to the shore, Samantha pressing a finger to her lips, Grandmary catching us out here is unthinkable. Stepping into the cold water, her eyes bright and shivering, we wade up to our necks and bounce on our toes as dusk settles and the moon rises overhead. She confesses how free the water makes her feel, and I’m about to answer when a voice calls her name from the trail above.