The Lighthouse Road (25 page)

I
t was after lunch when Trond and the bull cook met the constable. He walked into the mess hall, his hat and gloves already removed, his wool coat opened, a black belt and holster plain to see. She wondered,
Was judgment so swift?
But the men took seats on the other side of the mess, and except for asking for tea to be served, Trond and the constable and the old bull cook did not mind her at all.

   At the midpoint of their meeting the bull cook left, returning minutes later with the barn boss, who was perhaps most aggrieved by the horse now strung from the pulley behind the barn. His name was Jacque and he'd come from Quebec. He spoke scant English when he spoke at all.

   Jacque was asked: Why was the horse in the paddock at such an odd hour? Why was the horse hobbled? Was it his job to oversee the care and protection of his stable? Oblivious to the insinuation, Jacque answered the questions. He wanted to know himself why the horse was hobbled in the middle of the paddock. Of course it was his job to oversee his stable. Did the constable wish to see his well-kept barn? The horses worked six days each week, they hauled one hundred thousand board feet of white pine down a road of ice every day, and there wasn't a cracked hoof among the dozen of them, not a single harness gall or skin sore to show for their labor.

   When the constable pressed him, and when Jacque finally understood the tone of incrimination, he wasted no time indicting the watch salesman Smith, whose own horse was footsore and frostbit and readier for a pistol shot than another step through these woods. Where the hell was Smith? He'd shoot the bastard himself, shoot him right in the knees before finishing him with a bullet in the ear.

   The bull cook ushered Jacque from the mess hall. Trond and the constable stood and stretched their backs and poured more hot water into their teacups. They scratched their beards and consulted the list of loggers in camp. The morning passed with a slow parade of men being led into the mess for interrogation. It was a dispirited investigation. The men were simply spent.

   After dinner, after the mess hall had emptied, Rolf, the Norwegian, approached the kitchen. He told Thea that the constable and Trond wished to speak with her. He said they would return from their smokes in a moment, and that he would translate for her. He told her not to worry, that they only wanted to know if she'd seen anything suspicious the previous night. He must also have judged some look on her face because he proceeded to elaborate on what had happened: The wolves had come, one of the dogs put down, one of the horses, a crime indeed. They suspected the watch salesman Smith. Thea asked if she could have a moment, she motioned to her room back of the kitchen.

   In her hovel she washed her hands and face, brushed her hair, checked her dress in the reflection of the candle sconce. She took her Bible and kissed the cover and opened it to Deuteronomy. That scripture would be her testimony.

   These were three beggared men. Each wore a face as drawn and long as the winter had been. Their hands were cracked and folded in front of them. Their lips behind their mustaches and beards were white and bled dry. Rolf 's face was mapped with frostbitten scars. The constable licked his pencil tip and turned to Rolf.

   "Ask her to tell me her name."

   Rolf did, and the constable wrote it down in his notebook.

   "Ask her why the Bible."

   Rolf turned to Thea, he pointed to the Bible. "He wishes to know why you've brought your Bible."

   Thea looked down at the open book. Her pulse was galloping. Trond had withdrawn a pocketknife from his vest and pulled open the blade, the mother-of-pearl handle glinted in the lantern light as he trimmed his fingernails. She whispered to Rolf, "I am a fearful child of the Lord."

   Rolf sat back. He looked at her as though he'd never heard a word of Norwegian spoken before. "Says she's feared. Says she's a child."

   The constable put the pencil tip to his notebook and began to write but stopped. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and wrung his hands. He turned to Trond, who was still tending his fingernails. "Christ, Trond, what can this girl tell us? She's a child. She don't know about dead horses nor misdeeds."

   Trond turned to Rolf, "Ask the lass if she saw anything suspicious last night."

   The constable was already closing his notebook. He'd already put his pencil in his sleeve pocket and was buttoning his vest when Rolf asked Trond's question.

   When Thea began to weep the constable stopped readying to leave. He looked at Trond, then Rolf, then Thea in turn. "What's she cryin' for?" he asked.

   Thea took the Bible from the tabletop and opened it and found her passage. She handed it to Rolf, who withdrew his glasses from his shirt pocket and held the good book to the lantern light.

   He read the verses to himself. When he looked at Thea her face was in her hands.

   "What's this nonsense?" the constable asked.

   Trond addressed Thea. "What's the meaning of this?" He turned to the Norwegian. "Rolf, ask her what's the meaning of this."

   Rolf read the verses again, this time out loud in Norwegian. "If a man find a betrothed damsel in the field, and the man force her, and lie with her: then the man only that lay with her shall die. . . . For he found her in the field, and the betrothed damsel cried, and there was none to save her."

   "Good God almighty, let's speak our common language," the constable said.

   But Rolf raised a hand as if to ask for silence. He touched Thea's arm and said, "What do you mean to tell us, child?"

   Thea looked up at his kind words, at the gentle tenor of his voice. She whispered, "That man. Last night, he came. When the horse was out."

   Rolf closed his eyes, then opened them and looked at Trond. He shook his head.

"What is it, old man?"

   "If I understand her, we've got a heap of trouble. Sounds like maybe Smith paid her a visit last night."

   "What does that mean?" the constable hissed. " Plain English. Tell me in plain English what happened."

   Rolf looked disgusted with the constable. He turned again to Thea, who had startled at the constable's sharp words. "Do you mean to say the watch salesman Smith came here last night? When? Why?"

   Thea offered the Bible again. She trembled, her fear was stupendous.

   "Are you trying to tell me what happened?" He pointed to a word—
skrek,
cried out— and read to her the verse, "H
an traff den trolovede pike
ute på marken, hun skrek, men der var ingen til å hjelpe henne." And the
betrothed damsel cried, and there was none to save her. "
Do you mean to say that man Smith lay with you?"

   Thea put her hands over her face again.

   "Child, did that man hurt you?" He took her arm and shook her. "Did Smith hurt you?"

   Now she burst into tears and laid her head on the table. Rolf looked up, first at the constable and then at Trond. "We've got ourselves a hell of a mess," he said.

   "What's wrong with the girl?" the constable asked. "What kind of a mess?"

   "I gather Smith took what weren't his. Her Bible talks about a girl in a field and nobody to help her. I think she's meaning to tell me she were that girl, and Smith laid with her."

   The three men sat in dumb silence, each of them looking blankly ahead. Thea sobbed silently, her head still on the table.

   It was Trond who spoke first. "What does that have to do with the horse, though? How did the horse get into the paddock?"

   They were rhetorical questions. He was thinking out loud. But Rolf misunderstood, and asked Thea if she knew of anything about the horse.

   She looked up and said, "I saw a tall man leading a horse last night." She pointed outside. "Before the wolves."

   Rolf translated.

   "A tall man?" the constable repeated. "Leading a horse, she says?"

   " Smith is a damn sight taller than six foot," Trond said.

   The constable had taken his notebook back out and was scribbling furiously. "Ask her what time," he said.

   Rolf asked her and Thea considered, she told Rolf.

   "She says it was late, after ten or eleven. She was done with her chores and readying for bed."

   "It makes no sense," Trond said.

   "Ask her was it Smith leading the horse."

   She couldn't say who it was, she only saw from a distance and through the darkness. She repeated that it was a tall man, that he led the horse by the bridle past the trough, where the horse was left.

   There was a moment of confused silence before Rolf said, "He was looking to stir up a commotion. That horse was bait for the wolves."

   The constable looked at Trond, "By God, the old man's right. Why else would he do it?"

   Trond stood and walked to the door and looked out the window. He'd been in the woods for a long time, he'd solved his share of problems. More than a few of his crewmembers had been sent off the parcel for one misdeed or another, some of those had ended up in the hoosegow. But this was a full-fledged crime if Thea told true. There was a goddamn lawman in his mess hall to attest to it. He had a dead horse butchered; he had a young lady defiled. Things were entirely beyond his experience now. He turned back to the group. "What do we do?"

   The constable rose. "I'll bring Jacque and the girl before the magistrate first thing in the morning. They'll give their testimony. We'll put a warrant on the watch salesman Smith. He'll be charged and sought. We'll offer a reward for his capture."

   Trond walked back to the table. "If Smith is smart he'll be gone, to Canada or Chicago or goddamn Mexico."

   "Then we'll find him in Mexico, Trond."

   "What about my horse?"

   Rolf said, "Your horse ain't quite as important as it was a few minutes ago, chief." He turned his attention to Thea. "The constable is going to bring you before Curtis Mayfair in the morning. You'll have to travel to town and make a testimony. You can't use your Bible to tell the story. You'll need to tell them what happened in your own words. I'll go with you."

   "Tell her to get some rest," the constable said. "Tell her we'll leave with the light."

   When they were still a mile outside town they passed a farmer mending his fence a stone's throw off the road. A sorry herd of six gaunt Holsteins stood behind him in a small pasture cut from the woods and still pocked with pine stumps. The farmer looked up and waved as if to hurry them along. He had a long beard and hair and like many of the men Thea saw, he bore the scars of frostbite. The farmer took a step toward them and waved his hammer at them and shouted, "Trespassers!" and pounded the packed snow with his sorry boot.

   Trond turned to Jacque and Rolf and smiled. "That's Rune Evensen," he said. "Poor fellow's been touched by more than this cold season, I'm afraid."

   Thea had been watching the farmer, and when she heard him shout in Norwegian and then Trond announce his name, she turned quickly to look again. Evensen was her uncle's name.

   Thea kept watching him as the road curved and began its last plunge into Gunflint. The morning and their errand had been confounding enough without the revelation of a man named Evensen. Now she was as distraught as she'd been during her first hour in this place. Unable to help herself, she turned to Rolf and said, "Sir, I beg your pardon, but did the foreman say that farmer's name was Evensen?"

   Rolf only nodded affirmatively.

   "Sir, my uncle's name is Evensen."

   "Your uncle?" Rolf asked. He was of course not privy to any knowledge of Thea's situation. Nor did he much care. He was sympathetic about what had happened to her, he felt some pride in his role in helping to uncover the extent of the watch salesman's crime, he may have even felt a moment's relief in being spared a day on one end of a double-bitted saw. Even still, he was already dreading the prospect of a day in the magistrate's chambers. He'd spent too much time in courthouses for his liking. "What about your uncle?"

   The tone of his voice was stern and suggestive of silence, so Thea said no more, only rode the rest of the way to Gunflint more befuddled than ever.

   The constable had left an hour ahead of them, and they met him now outside the livery stable. He looked harried. He carried his saddlebag over his shoulder.