Feather for Hoonah Joe

by Marianne Schlegelmilch

  But Doug had been wrong. Dennis had proven to be not only a leader, but one of the most articulate of all the workers. It didn’t hurt that the female crew members were constantly vying for his attention, and that the guys wanted to be just like him to look cool.

  Now it looked like Dennis was going to prove his worth again. Doug gave him a friendly slap on his shoulder as he walked off after having arrived midway through his conversation with Mara.

  “Let us know what we can do to help you out with this,” he said. “If you need me to cover a shift for you or whatever—just let me know.”

  Dennis nodded. “I appreciate that, but I’m good. Just give me a day or two. I might need to borrow your printer, but that’s about it, man—but thanks.”

  “I’m off to study for my flight exam,” Doug told Mara. “If all goes as planned, I can test out next week and then we can start flying our new plane.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Morally, Ethically, Passionately Right

  As Dennis had promised, he searched for and found several pictures of the blue bowl, including a couple that showed the unique dip in the glaze that he had referred to.

  Not only had he found the right documentation, but he forwarded it—along with a detailed account of its theft and subsequent publication on TV—to his father, Dennis Connor, who was a senior partner in a large Boston law firm that coincidentally specialized in acquisitions and value assessments.

  As Dennis had predicted, a copy of a letter sent to Elzianne LaMonte was sitting on the counter at KonaJanes by week’s end. In the letter was the assertion that the bowl had washed ashore as tsunami debris, had been in the possession of Mara and Doug at Beachmoppers, and even included a picture of the “family pet” Thor drinking from the bowl.

  Considering the case to be close to resolution—especially in view of a sternly worded admonition stating that further claims to the true ownership of the bowl would be met with vigorous pursuit of all available legal options—no one was more surprised than Dennis Connor Jr. when a lear jet carrying Dennis Connor Sr. landed in Hoonah the following week with two members of a legal team that vowed to take the case for having the bowl returned to its rightful owners all the way to the supreme court if necessary, just so that justice could prevail.

  “The legal snakes representing Elzianne LaMonte have scraped the bottom of the barrel of tolerance and decency by their carelessly worded assertion that my son has photoshopped pictures of this bowl and this location to suit the needs of those she refers to as ‘the opportunistic, publicity-seeking, avaricious townfolk,’” he said, thrusting a packet of papers in Mara’s hands.

  And if that were not complication enough in reclaiming the priceless bowl, he then presented Mara with a handwritten note from the minister of museum affairs in Honshu, Japan, that he had received just that morning, pleading for the return of the recently unearthed artifact to help preserve the deep history of the Japanese people.

  “If you are sincere in your offer to assist us,” Mara stated, “then surely we must allow you to pursue this—not just for ourselves, but for Sal Kindle, and Joe Michael, and simply for the sake of rightness and justice for all concerned.”

  Doug put his arm around his wife and kissed her on the forehead.

  “Wow,” Della said. “That was some speech, Mara.”

  “GrrWoof!” Thor added.

  “I would not be here if I were not sincere, Ms. Williams,” he said flatly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to visit with my son for a few hours before returning to Boston in the morning. But before I leave, I will ask you to allow my team members to obtain as much information from you as they can.”

  “Well, Sal—the person who owns this business—is currently out of state, and her husband has been sadly shaken by that very turn of events,” Mara tried to explain. “And both their and our own financial resources are limited against the unfettered capital available to someone like Elzianne LaMonte and, presumably, the museum in New York.”

  Dennis Connor Sr. waved his hand as if to dismiss all talk of charges before speaking again.

  “But it was to you that she entrusted the bowl?”

  “I guess so,” Mara answered. “She said she didn’t want it and didn’t think it was worth anything and told me to do whatever I wanted to with it, so instead of throwing it away like she asked me to, I used it for Thor’s water bowl.”

  “And you have witnesses to that conversation?” Dennis Connor Sr. asked.

  “I heard it,” Della spoke up.

  “I did, too,” Doug said.

  “And, actually, Father, I guess I did too, as Ms. Kindle specifically told me that she didn’t know why Mara insisted on keeping that old bowl around when it could get stepped on or broken and—let’s see, how did she put it—yes, and ‘get ma danged rear side sued fer injuries,’ is what she said to me. I remember it because she had stopped me from photographing it one day saying that I was wasting time when there was important stuff to be cataloged.”

  “If we can build a strong enough case for ownership of this bowl—and I think we can—and if we can get it safely returned, then if I understand things correctly, you stand to make more money than any of us could ever hope to spend if you can find a suitable buyer,” Dennis Connor Sr. said. “And should that occur, then a reimbursement for our travel time and expenses would be all that I would ask. On the other hand, returning it to its rightful owners—the people of Japan, would result in a complete waiving of all fees from our firm. The final decision on the disposition of the bowl once it is recovered will rest completely in your hands.”

  Mara smiled reassuredly at the half smile and wink that Mr. Connor had displayed during the discussion about potential costs.

  “But first, we must pursue the proper channels, and in view of this recent reply to our initial letter, they are not going to willingly hand over such a valuable item without a fight.”

  “On behalf of my wife and Sal Kindle and her husband, Joe Michael, I would like to thank you for coming here and for personally taking this matter on,” Doug said.

  “Well, young man, there are only a few times in a man’s life when he chooses to passionately pursue justice to this extent, and this time for me is one of them. I am happy to do this not only for you, but for the sake of my son’s credibility, as an example to him of how justice must be sought, and for myself—simply because it is the right thing, and the moral thing, and the ethical thing to do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  A Little Solitude

  Mara and Doug Williams walked hand in hand along the beach. The sunset was spectacular and the water unusually calm. Overhead, several eagles swooped for their evening meal before settling into the branches of the thick spruce stands that marked the area. Across the water, Graveyard Island stood silently beneath a thin layer of mist. In the distance, the dull roar of an ATV was the only sound except for the screeches of the gulls and the occasional high-pitched call of the eagles.

  A few silver salmon splashed across the calmness as they jumped en route to their spawning grounds—their white bellies catching what was left of the sun. A slight rustle in the brush made Doug reach for his pistol, but it was only a loose dog and not a bear. He called Thor to his side anyway, before leading Mara down closer to the water, where they found a large rock that they could both sit on.

  He knew she was thinking about the bowl just like he was. He also knew that the bowl and its potential value was a mere sideshow to their real concern, which was the fate of their friends and elders, Sal and Joe.

  “Why does there always have to be something?” she asked her husband. “Can’t we ever just have a normal life?”

  Doug didn’t answer right away. He didn’t have an answer. This summer was to have been the start of a normal life for them both.

  “I don’t get it either,” he finally said.

  Then he squeezed her hand and led her away from the rock toward an outstretch of beach that had been exposed by the
minus tide of the day. For the next hour, they walked quietly; stopping to study the occasional tidepool before walking on towards the next freshly exposed treasure.

  They found an old rope that was still in good condition. It looked like something used to tie up ships or barges and had a large loop in each end as well as a couple of iron hooks, one of which was attached to a two-foot section of iron chain.

  “I can use this for sure,” Doug said, as he helped Mara drag it along the beach.

  The rope was heavy, obviously washed in by the tide, and too nice to leave unclaimed. When they got back to the SUV, they hoisted it into the back section, trying to shake as much sand out of it as they could, before calling Thor to them.

  They watched as Thor situated himself on top of the coiled treasure, and then climbed back into the vehicle for the short drive home.

  “Derrk says that the fishing season went really well and he’ll have the final numbers to me next week,” Doug said, breaking the solitude. “If the numbers come in as good as I think they’re going to, maybe we should take a trip over to Juneau just to get some hours onto the Cessna.”

  “I wonder if Joe would want to go with us?” Mara asked.

  “We’ll make sure that he does,” Doug told her. “Della should be able to help with Beachmoppers while we’re gone, and I’ll put Dennis in charge.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she said. “I need to get out of here for a while.”

  “Me, too,” Doug said, squeezing her hand again. “Trouble is, it’ll all be waiting for us when we get back—but the break might do us both some good, and maybe it’ll help Joe out some, too.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Juneau

  The Cessna flew like a dream. Even Joe Michael had to admit that, despite knowing that Doug had just passed his flight exam and had precious little experience with piloting a plane in the steep mountains, unstable weather, and windswept currents that made flying in Alaska especially challenging.

  Unknown to Joe, Mara had completed a flight course and also passed the exam, so it was hard for her to contain her smile when she mentioned that fact halfway over the Gastineau channel as they approached Juneau’s Hoonah airport.

  When she finally turned around, Joe Michael was staring blankly out the window.

  “You heard me, didn’t you, Joe?” she asked him.

  “Huh?” he answered.

  “I was telling you that I took the flight course and passed the exam along with Doug.”

  “Oh,” Joe answered.

  Mara turned around. She watched as Doug lowered the Cessna carefully downward and silently practiced the sequences in her head as he went through the steps for a careful landing.

  “I think we should sleep at home tonight and get up early to hit Costco and do our other shopping,” Doug said. “That okay with you, Joe? You can open up yours and Sal’s place or just bunk at our place.”

  “Okay,” Joe answered.

  They had no sooner climbed into the cab at the airport, when Joe wanted to stop at a nearby convenience store. While they waited, Doug and Mara decided that they should start leaving one of their vehicles at the airport now that they had a plane and would be flying back and forth.

  Joe seemed as uninterested in that information as he had in the rest, so they drove straight home, stopping only to pick up some burgers on the way.

  “I’ll be fine in my own place,” Joe said as they walked the boardwalk to their cabins.

  “Well, if you’re sure, Joe,” Mara said.

  “Goodnight,” Joe answered before opening the door to his cabin after fumbling for the key in his pocket.

  Mara saw the tip of the feather lift out of Joe’s pocket for an instant, and she saw him touch it gently before pushing it back inside.

  “Do you need any blankets? I know that Sal packed up just about everything . . .”

  “Goodnight, kids,” Joe answered, before walking into his cabin and closing the door behind him.

  When Doug knocked on Joe’s door the next morning, it took several minutes for the old man to answer. When the door finally opened, he could see that Joe was not only rumpled and tired looking, but that there was the unmistakable odor of alcohol on his breath.

  “You go on ahead,” Joe said. “I’m not feeling that well.”

  “Maybe some breakfast would . . .” Doug began, but before he could finish, the door clicked closed, leaving him to stand drop-jawed at this sudden change in the old man’s behavior.

  The scenario played out in much the same way over the next two days. Even Mara could not get the old man to leave his cabin.

  By the fourth day, both Doug and Mara had grown so concerned that they feared that they would have to do something radical to get Joe Michael moving again. Was he even eating? Neither of them had ever seen him act this way.

  They were sitting on the deck looking over the harbor when they heard someone walk through the house. It was Joe Michael, looking like his normal self—clean shaven, dressed neatly, and shuffling along in his usual manner. In his hand he held his phone.

  “Got a cup of coffee, Mara?” he said softly, as if there were nothing at all unusual going on.

  Mara got up and made coffee for the three of them, brought out some cinnamon rolls to snack on and sat down without saying anything.

  “She really laid into me,” Joe said.

  “What do you mean, Joe?” Doug asked.

  “Sal. She laid into me a good one. Said she was comin’ back and that I darned well better not be doin’ what she thought I was doin’ or there’d be hell to pay.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Sal Returns

  It was as if Sal’s trip and Joe’s additional trip to Rhinebeck had never happened, the way the two of them jumped right back into the life that had always been their norm.

  The flight back from Juneau had been as smooth as the flight there, and this time Joe even pretended to be impressed with Doug’s flying skills and Mara’s diligence in coaching him.

  Sal was waiting when they got back, and by the looks of things, completely her old self.

  “What the hang, Donald, Darrell, Denton—”

  “It’s Dennis, Mrs. Michael,” the exasperated summer worker said more patiently than most would have. “Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Williams can explain everything about the bowl to you.”

  “Yeah, perhaps!” Sal sniffed before stomping off while muttering something under her breath about the colossal waste of time they were all spending on a worthless piece of pottery that even the dog wasn’t impressed with.”

  Still, despite her misgivings about the situation with the bowl, the fact that there was solid evidence that it was a priceless artifact did not escape her attention.

  “So, Darrell—”

  “It’s Dennis, Mrs. Michael.”

  “Whatever,” Sal dismissed him. “You say that you’ve got the true blue goods on this bowl so as ya kin prove it’s ours?”

  “I do, Mrs. Michael,” Dennis answered.

  He began explaining the entire sequence of events leading up to the discovery that the bowl was valuable, including the photos, glazing, offer of his father to handle the case without charge, and the letter from the Director of Museum Affairs in Honsu, Japan.

  “And, if that is not enough to convince you, then I think you should see this.”

  Dennis took Sal into the back room where he kept all the files and photos of the tsumani debris. He pulled up a chair to make her as comfortable as possible, and then proceeded to insert a flash drive into his computer, turning it towards Sal and adjusting the screen so she could see it.

  Minutes later, the replay of the breaking news bulletin by Elzianne LaMonte played across the screen.

  “I don’t need to see any more,” Sal said in her perfect Sylvia LaMonte speech pattern, then she abruptly got up and left the room, leaving Dennis Connor to wonder what had just happened.

  Mara was the first person to see her leave.

  “Sal, you look
upset.”

  Sal brushed past her and began arranging things on the tables inside Beachmoppers.

  “Sal, what’s wrong?”

  Sylvia LaMonte stepped back, squared her shoulders, brushed a wisp of gray hair back from her face, and began walking towards the door. Then, just as abruptly, she turned and walked back to Mara.

  “I thought I could bury the past,” she began. “Then, when I went back to Rhinebeck, it was all still there.”

  She went on to explain her meeting with Monsignor St. Jean, his death, the box with his belongings, the key, the safety deposit box with the envelopes, and her surprising—even to herself—rejection of Joe Michael.

  “The first time, it was just me being scared to face him; scared to let him know who I really was, and scared just because I felt scared,” she said.

  “Is that why Joe was so upset?” Mara asked.

  “Well, it was a good enough reason if you ask me,” Sylvia answered, “But I talked to him and we spent some time together—some quality time like we haven’t done in a long while.”

  Sylvia paused and smiled at the recollection before continuing.

  “The second time, though, was a total collision of circumstances. When I think of how my poor husband must have suffered after having shared such closeness with me, and how hard it must have been for him to be rejected so publicly, well, words can’t even express . . .”

  “He didn’t talk about it to us,” Mara said gently. “And then there was the episode in your cabin back in Juneau.”

  Sylvia took her by the hand and walked her over to the waiting area of the now closed Beachmoppers showroom. There she sat on one sofa, facing her friend on the other.

  Slowly, she retold the story of missing the deer, landing in the ditch, thinking all was fine, and truly not remembering her recent past when her husband arrived for dinner.

  “I didn’t piece it together for weeks,” she said. “Not until people started telling me bits and pieces of what happened. Later, I went in for a CT scan and they found a small clot pushing on my brain. I guess it happened during the accident. I spent another week in the hospital while they treated me with blood thinners. I’m still taking them now, matter of fact.”