Bone River (14 page)

The question didn’t surprise me. I suppose I’d even been waiting for it. “I liked him. He was a good man.”

“But you knew he was already married.”

I nodded, feeling guilty again. “He said he would take care of that. I believed him. And I knew he would take care of me. Of this land.”

“This land?” Daniel’s gaze sharpened.

“It was mine. My father’s.”

“How much is there?”

“A section. And the whacks—Papa’s eight acres of oysters.”

“And a pretty little seventeen-year-old on top of it.” Daniel made a sound of disgust.

“It wasn’t like that,” I said quickly. “It was my father who wanted it.”

“Your father?”

I turned back to the bag. I picked up one of the spoons, twirling it in my fingers. “He was dying. He was afraid to leave me alone. He wanted...Well, June and Papa were friends, and...my father asked Junius to marry me. To take care of me.”

“And out of the goodness of his heart, he agreed.”

“Yes.” I looked at him. “Your father’s an honorable man. I know you don’t believe it, but it’s true. He wanted to ease a dying man’s worry. And then he kept the promise he made.”

“But he broke another promise to keep it, didn’t he?”

There was nothing to say to that. It was true. I reached for the other mask, the woven jar.

Daniel rose. “He was with my mother for seven years, and he was always itchy. That was what she used to say. That he had itchy feet. We moved nine times from the time I was born until he left for good.”

I put the rest of the things in the bag. I felt the scratch of the rough twine about my wrist, the brush of abalone charms.

Daniel went on. “But you’ve kept him here for twenty years. What keeps a man like him for so long?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “He doesn’t want to stay. He’s always talking of moving on. But I don’t want to go. So...love, maybe. Or loyalty.”

“My guess is that it’s something else,” he said, and I looked at him, confused until I saw the frank appraisal in his gaze, until I understood his insinuation. He gave me a knowing smile. “So are you that good?”

It was a moment before I could speak, and by then, he was at the stairs. Sharply, I said, “Daniel,” and when he stopped, looking over his shoulder at me, I matched his cruelty with mine. “You’ve a long way to go before you’re half the man your father is.”

He went still—for a bare moment, less, but long enough for me to think I’d wounded him—and then he turned back to the stairs and went up without a word.

T
HERE WAS THE
rushing of the river and the caw of the seagulls and the chattering trill of squirrels. And then, breaking the noise of the world, was a quiet, “Please.”

Horror came with the word, with a gaze, weighting the air. I was only a yard from the river when I was caught. I struggled and fell to my knees and tried to crawl away, but the hands were too tight. I pried with my fingers, then something twisted at my throat and I couldn’t breathe and I was nothing and my life was ending now, and I’d done nothing, been nothing. My hands were shriveling, drying up, losing strength, crumbling. No, no, no, not this. Please not this—

I was hardly aware of waking, only that I was in bed, sweating in the cold, tears streaming over my cheeks to pool in my ears. I reached for Junius, searching for comfort. But he was gone, and beyond the curtains it was morning.

I rose quickly, going to the washbasin, splashing cold water onto my face, feeling it trickle into my hair, to my scalp, and I kept doing it until my trembling stilled, until my heart steadied, and my horror eased into something less threatening—only uneasiness. I put up my hair and dressed, uncertain whether I was glad Junius was already gone to the whacks or whether
I wanted him and his calm certainty. And then was surprised when I went downstairs to find him still there, sitting in silence at the table with Daniel, and I remembered yesterday, the skulls and Baird’s letter and the way Junius’s son had insulted me, and how I’d insulted him back, and I was exhausted already.

I said, “I thought you’d gone out to the whacks.”

Daniel looked up; deliberately I avoided his glance.

Junius took a sip of coffee and shook his head. “Don’t you remember what I told you last night about that settler over at Stony Point? I want to talk to him today. So eat something and come on.”

“But the mummy—”

“Will wait.” Junius’s voice was firm. “You’re coming with us.”

A little desperately, I said, “Take Lord Tom.”

“He’s still not speaking to me, at least not this morning. And you know how he feels about Stony Point. He won’t go near it. And Lea, I think it’d be a good idea for you to get away from the mummy for a day. Think about something else for a change.”

“Junius, no—”

“You’re coming.” Junius rose and put his dishes in the sink. “No arguments.”

I let my further protests die on my tongue. I didn’t know how to explain why I wanted so badly to stay without sounding half-mad. Junius would only call me superstitious and sentimental, and how could I say he was wrong? My dream still troubled, and—I glanced at the bracelet dangling on my wrist—along with yesterday’s...what did one call it? An episode? A waking dream? Whatever it had been, I couldn’t loose myself from the fear that had sent me running into the house. I needed desperately to restore my objectivity. A day away would be good, no matter that I felt uneasy at the thought, and impatient, time slipping away and nothing to show for it, nothing that belonged to me...

Enough. I was going.

Stony Point was only a mile or so from the claim, an easy walk along the beach when the tide was out, impossible when it was in, and the water came all the way up to the bluff. We took the canoe. Junius gave his son a paddle and he sat aft while Daniel sat in front, with me in between. Daniel picked up paddling so well he seemed almost born to it. His father’s son indeed—the thought pricked; I felt even worse for the insult I’d given him last night. Though Daniel had been unfair in his appraisal of me, I understood he was angry, and he had a right to be. If I meant to atone for my part in keeping father and son apart, I had to forget what he’d said; I had to apologize. It didn’t mean that I shouldn’t also be wary of him—Junius was right in that. But I could be wary and still be kind.

The sky was broken clouds, the morning streaming through in golden bursts, reflecting off the water so that it was almost blinding, golden sheets crowded with the tiny black figures of ducks, brants, and Canada geese, and a line of brown pelicans that flew back and forth, scattering seagulls that cawed raucously as we passed. It was cold, and my hands were chilled even through my heavy gloves.

I spotted the narrow strip of land well before we got there, the boulders of black rock jutting out three or four hundred yards into the bay, huge, bare stones piled into a rocky base at the foot of a cliff that was about sixty feet high and probably not ten yards wide, crowned thickly with spruce and undergrowth of vine maple and salal.

Daniel laid aside his paddle and jumped out when we came close, pulling the canoe onto the rocks. He offered a hand to me, meeting my gaze deliberately as he did so, as if he meant to communicate that he wasn’t angry, which reassured me as I let him help me from the canoe. Perhaps my apology would not be so difficult.

“McKenna said the cabin was about half a mile in,” Junius said, stepping onto the rocks and helping Daniel bring the canoe farther ashore. He stood, his hands on his hips, staring up at the
precipitous cliff. “Your father found relics here once, you know. Beads. A few brass bracelets—the ones we sent off to Baird earlier in the year for the exhibit.”

I’d never heard Papa mention that. “He found them
here
?”

“Along with a few other things.”

“What other things?”

Junius looked thoughtful. “There’s a reason the Indians call this place sacred.”

I didn’t like his thoughtfulness, or the foreboding that struck me at his words. Beads. Brass bracelets. The kinds of things Indians left with their dead.

But I said nothing as we followed Junius to the path that led from the bay. It was narrow and tangled with wild currant and brambles, salmonberry and ferns, and Junius took the hatchet from his belt and hacked our way past the cliff, deeper into the forest. Daniel followed behind, and I forgot Junius’s words in my anxiety to find a moment to apologize when Junius wouldn’t hear. But before I got the opportunity, I heard Daniel’s soft, “Leonie.”

Junius was a short way ahead. I paused, looking over my shoulder as Daniel came up beside me and said, “I wanted to apologize for last night.”

“As do I,” I said quickly, relieved. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I had no right.”

“I meant to be cruel,” he admitted. “I was angry, and I’m not very good at holding my tongue. I never have been. A failing, my mother often said. Regardless, you’ve been very...obliging, and you don’t have to be. I’m not certain I wouldn’t have sent me back into the wilderness. And I’ve repaid your hospitality with insults, which is unforgivable.”

“I think you have plenty of reason to be angry,” I said.

“Perhaps.” Daniel glanced ahead, to where Junius hacked his way through the underbrush. “I don’t agree with you about my father, that’s certain. But that’s no excuse. He’s the one at fault.”

“I knew he had a wife,” I protested.

“But it’s obvious you knew nothing of me. You were a child. I’m sorry I said those things.”

“Leonie! Daniel! Keep up!” Junius called back.

Daniel exhaled and looked at me, waiting.

I said, “Shall we just call it a misunderstanding and leave it at that?”

His smile was small, self-deprecating, but it was a smile, and clearly he was as relieved as I. He nodded, and then glanced ahead. “Did you tell him?”

“It was between you and me,” I said. “There was no reason for him to know.”

Daniel hesitated. “Something else to thank you for, I think. He wouldn’t have liked it.”

“No.” So he
did
want a relationship with his father after all. It was the first indication I’d seen. It made me feel more charitable—perhaps Junius was wrong about him. “But there’s no harm done. Come, let’s catch up.”

I turned to follow Junius. The way grew steeper, into the hills that ringed the point, and we struggled past cedar and alder and salmonberry until suddenly there was no more need to make a path, because one was already there. We broke through the forest and into a roughly cleared spot—still dotted with stumps and brown and rotting pumpkin and squash vines. The cabin was rough as well, split logs and zinc plates, with stacked wood beneath the eaves, and a splitting stump with an ax planted firmly in the middle of it. Smoke curled from the chimney, catching in the branches of the trees above.

“Hey there!” Junius called out. “Sanderson!”

The door opened, revealing a short, barrel-chested man with a thick beard and a bald head. He peered at us curiously as we approached, hooking his thumb in his suspenders.

“Junius Russell,” Junius said, taking two long strides to reach him, holding out his hand. “This is my wife, Leonie, and my son, Daniel. We live just south of here. On the Mouse.”

“Evan Sanderson,” said the man, shaking Junius’s hand, and then Daniel’s, acknowledging me with a polite nod. He motioned us inside. “Good to meet you, neighbor. What brings you out here?”

The cabin was small, a bed built into the far wall and covered with furs, a table built into the side, a fireplace with a poor draft, over which hung a kettle. The table was littered with traps. There was a loft above, a ladder to reach it, and walls studded with hooks from which dangled leather straps and long links of traps and tools I didn’t know. The room smelled of a gamy kind of oil and smoke.

Junius said, “I spoke with Robert McKenna yesterday at Oysterville. He mentioned you were out here. I was surprised. Hadn’t heard of anyone settling near the point.”

“Been here eight months or so,” Sanderson said. Junius sat at the table. Daniel and I sat on the bed. Sanderson pulled up the rocking chair that had been before the hearth. “Can I offer you something? Coffee?”

Junius shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“McKenna’s a good man. Met him out of Astoria last year. Liked the drink a little too much, I recall.”

“Still a fault.” Junius leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “But he said something that intrigued me. That you’d seen a cave with Indian remains.”

Sanderson regarded my husband thoughtfully. “You one of those bone collectors?”

“An ethnologist,” Junius corrected.

Sanderson shrugged. “Yeah, I saw a cave like that a few seasons back. I was trapping near Toke’s Point, back in the woods there along the river about...oh, maybe half a mile in, past these big rocks on shore. You know where I mean?”

Junius nodded. “I know the rocks.”

“It started to rain and I was tired of being wet. Just stumbled upon it. Looked like nothing but moss-covered rocks from the
outside, but there was an opening and I crawled inside. Wasn’t until morning that I saw I’d been sleeping with skeletons.” He shuddered. “Surprised I didn’t have nightmares.”