"Oh, c'mon. Carol. Let's try to enjoy ourselves, okay? Lately, you see only the dark side to
everything."
"Maybe that's because that's all there is," Mama muttered, folded her arms, and turned away from him.
Ian, who had been reading nearly the whole trip, looked up as though he just realized someone had spoken.
"Look at those boats out there," Daddy said. "The lakers crowding up quickly this year. Lucky for all these well-to-do people nature formed it, huh, Ian?"
"Lake Wallenpaupack is a man-made lake," Ian said dryly. "It was created by the Pennsylvania Power and Light Company for hydroelectric power in 1927."
"Really? You know, I don't remember hearing about that. It's big, nevertheless."
"It's fifty-seven hundred acres, thirteen and a half miles long with fifty-two miles of shoreline."
"How do you know all that, Ian?" Daddy asked him.
"I always read up on something before I do it or visit it," Ian said.
"Very wise," Daddy said. He turned to Mama, "I don't know where he gets it from."
Mama turned back to him. "I wasn't a bad student, Christopher. I had every intention of finishing college before you swept me off my feet with sky banners full of promises."
"And they're all going to come true someday, too," Daddy said.
"yes, but it wasn't supposed to be dependent upon inheritance and as I recall, we were going to build something on our own," Mama reminded him.
Daddy laughed. He wasn't insulted. It occurred to me that he was like his mother in one very important way--he was as thick-skinned. Neither Grandmother Emma's criticisms and complaints about him nor Mama's really seemed to bother him. Every reprimand, every accusation, was, as Grandmother Emma once put it, "like water off a duck's back," only she claimed that made him more like his father and less like her.
I realized that whenever she spoke about Grandfather March, she seemed bitter and critical. I wondered what sort of a life they really had together or even if they had been together. Had they been in love? Why was it they only had Daddy? Was he right saying he came into this world as a result of some accident? My grandfather had died before I was old enough to really know him. Ian remembered him far better, of course, but didn't have a lot to say about him, much good that is.
What, if any, of all these characteristics and ways did I inherit? Whom would I be more like. Mama or Daddy? Grandmother Emma or Grandfather Blake? Or, and this made me wonder and think even more, Great-aunt Francis? Everything about us seemed to come directly from Daddy's side of the family. Mama's side was nowhere as flamboyant and impressive. The only one who had any real interest for me was Uncle Onnand out in Oregon, who, according to Mama, had a clock in his room without hands to make the point that time didn't matter for him. She said he would never punch a time clock at a job or live according to a schedule, and having a family to support didn't seem to make a difference either.
We made another turn and the lake came into view again. With the sunlight spread like butter over it, the water looked as smooth as ice peppered here and there with sailboats that glided with ease in what looked to be random courses taking carefree people into dreams. It was hard, at least at the start of a vacation here, not to be drawn to it and excited by it.
"What else can you tell us about the lake, Ian?" Daddy asked.
I sensed that Ian knew Daddy wasn't really interested in the information, but liked to tease him by drawing amazing information out of him. His teachers had already agreed he functioned on a level far above his peers. They believed he could be one of those children who get admitted to and attend college before they are old enough to graduate from high school. At thirteen, he was doing senior grade math and reading books the seniors struggled to read. Everyone thought he would be either a brain surgeon or a nuclear physicist. It was second nature to him to analyze and work to understand everything in his life. Mama said he was born with the question "Why?" on his lips.
I could see that Daddy was often confused about him and even alienated from him. I sometimes caught him looking at Ian as if he was wondering if Ian was really his son. They were so different from each other. Daddy rarely did anything with him that other fathers and sons did together.
That was partly Ian's own fault. He avoided sports and never wanted to go with Daddy to ball games or watch them on television, so Daddy stopped asking him. Ian was keen about keeping himself in good health and physically fit, but not because it would make him a better athlete. It was simply the intelligent thing to do. He thought of his body as just another machine. It had to be maintained, well-oiled, and serviced regularly. To do other-wise was merely stupid. He had disdain for people who were overweight or people who smoked. He never snuck alcoholic beverages except as an experiment.
"An original survey showed that it started with a twelve- thousand-one-hundred-fifty-acre parcel transferred from the estate of William Penn to James Wilson, who was one of only four men who signed the Declaration of Independence in 1776 and the Constitution in 1787. George Washington appointed him to the first Supreme Court.'
Daddy laughed again. "I've got my own walking encyclopedia. There's nothing I can't find out."
"Except how to handle your mother," Mama muttered. Daddy ignored her.
"You want to try to do some waterskiing this year, Ian?" Daddy asked him.
Ian looked out the window. "Not really," he said.
It was as if his words shut off a television set. Daddy's smile faded quickly and he concentrated solely on the road, making the turn into our cabin's driveway. We could see Mr. Pitts trimming some bushes in the front yard.
"Probably rushing to finish what he was supposed to have done by now," Daddy said.
"Yes, Mrs. March," Mama told him.