Roche Harbor Rogue

by D. W. Ulsterman

  Ophelia leaned forward. “Tell that to the raven that attacked us outside.”

  Fin shrugged. “Coincidence or some oddly aggressive version of a raven that is unique to the area. It’s hardly proof of the supernatural. I’m certain there is a more rational explanation than the one you appear intent on trying to convince us of.”

  “Blessed are they that have not seen and yet have believed, Mr. Kearns.”

  “And it is blind faith that human history has time and time again proven to be the most dangerous,” Fin replied.

  Ophelia scowled. “You are indeed your father’s son.”

  Fin grinned. “Thank you.”

  The two stared across the table at each other until Adele broke the silence. “Ophelia, do you really believe Bloodbone could somehow still be alive?”

  The old nun’s head dropped low as her shoulders slumped. She suddenly appeared every bit as old as her many years indicated. “All I know is that there has been no proof he isn’t.” When she looked at Adele, she was close to tears. “Please, I beg of you, don’t seek him out. Whatever he was, whatever he might still be, leave it alone.”

  Twenty minutes later, Adele was back on the Chris Craft looking behind her at Ophelia who stood watching their departure from the dock. Despite her sore ankle she had demanded to see them off. Neither Adele nor Fin were willing to leave it alone. If anything, the story Ophelia had shared only made them both even more determined to retrace Delroy’s long-ago steps.

  “Huh,” Fin said.

  “What?”

  “Well, there she is on that dock watching us make our way to Orcas just like she likely did when it was my father doing the very same thing all those years ago. I guess history really does have a way of repeating itself.”

  Ophelia waved. Adele waved back, sat down, and gripped the wheel. Across the water, Orcas island loomed. It was nearly noon. Adele was surprised by a sudden desire to turn toward Roche and leave the trip to Orcas behind. It would be so much easier and safer.

  Since when do I choose easy and safe?

  The Lancer’s bow pointed toward Orcas.

  The more difficult choice was made.

  15.

  T he trip from Shaw Island to the Eastsound village on Orcas was brief and uneventful. Adele did glance to her right as she passed the cliffs of Rosario on their way there, recalling her violent struggle with Visili Vasa that ended with the Russian falling to his death against the rocks below. The memory remained too vivid, too uncomfortable, to obsess on. Far better to move ahead and leave such things behind. So, that’s what Adele did, pushing the Chris Craft’s throttle forward and speeding on toward the Eastsound visitor dock.

  Soon they were walking the idyllic village streets on their way to the Orcas Island Historical Society building. The destination had been Ophelia’s suggestion. “Look up a woman named Prunella Brown,” she told Adele. “She was a Bloodbone follower. If anyone there still knows how to get to the old encampment it would be her.”

  Fin appeared delighted by the old world meets new age vibe that was a hallmark of the Eastsound experience. “It’s just like that line from the Don Henley song,” he said. “A Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac. You can feel all the money coursing through the veins of this place, yet it also feels equally unpretentious.”

  “You have it about right,” Adele replied. “I’ve always thought of Eastsound as Friday Harbor’s rebellious little cousin. Yes, the people here have money, but they don’t care to talk about it. Where Friday Harbor openly promotes and thrives on the commerce it creates, Eastsound comes off somewhat embarrassed by it.”

  Fin smiled as he continued to gaze into all the shop windows that lined the village’s main street. “That’s a very Irish sensibility. Be grateful for one’s wealth but never prideful. Having more than others should always be a private matter.”

  “There,” Adele said as she pointed to a single-story log cabin that sat atop a small hill a hundred yards off the main road. “That’s the museum.”

  They walked up the hill and then turned around. Eastsound was directly below and beyond that the waters of Fishing Bay. In the distance a ferry made its way toward the village. Adele felt Fin nudge her arm. He was looking at a large, multi-colored totem pole that rose up from the ground near the museum’s main entrance. “You see that?” he asked.

  At the very top of the totem was carved an oversized head and body of a raven with its wings spread out. Adele walked up to the pole and read the bronze plaque affixed to its base.

  Donated to the Orcas Island Historical Society by notable Native artist and healer, Karl Bloodbone: 1987

  “Well,” Fin said, “I guess that means we’ve come to the right place, yeah?”

  Adele kept staring at the plaque as she nodded. “I guess so. At least we now know for certain Bloodbone was still around here after the time with Delroy.”

  “And donating artwork no less. Seems he was more civic-minded than the story my father told to your nun friend.”

  Adele reached for the door. “C’mon, let’s see if this Prunella Brown is here.”

  It was unusually warm inside the museum. Adele heard an electric wall heater blasting away. Shelves and display cabinets were filled with photos and memorabilia depicting the rich San Juan Islands’ history, from the Native people of centuries ago, to the slow trickle of white settlers in the 1850s, and the booming logging and fishing eras of the early 1900s that followed. Adele looked around wondering if they were the only ones there. The old wood floor groaned loudly with every step she took.

  “I know you,” a voice called out from the shadows of a narrow hallway behind the counter near the center of the room. Adele watched the crevice-lined face of an old woman emerge from the darkness. Her silver hair was cut short. She wore a dark turtleneck sweater and loose jeans. An off-white crystal dangled from her bird-thin, wrinkled neck. “You’re the newspaper writer. I hoped we might someday meet.” She extended a bony hand marked with age spots. “It’s an honor. My name is Prunella, but everyone just calls me Prune. It was a cute little nickname back when I was younger. Now my face looks far too much like an actual prune so I’m not nearly so fond of it.”

  Prune laughed at her own joke as Adele shook her hand. She turned toward Fin. “So, I know her, but who are you?”

  Fin flashed his big smile and tipped is cap. “The name is Fin Kearns, ma’am.”

  Prune cocked her head. “Irish?”

  “I am.”

  “Have we met before?” She leaned forward and squinted up at Fin. “Perhaps in another life?”

  “Uh, I don’t believe so. This is my first time visiting the islands.”

  “No,” Prune said as she began to slowly stroke the crystal around her neck. “That’s not true. You’ve been here before. I’m certain of it.”

  Adele cleared her throat. “He’s Delroy’s son.”

  Prune’s eyes widened. “Delroy Hicks?”

  “That’s right,” Adele answered.

  Prune reached up to touch Fin’s face. “Do you mind?”

  Fin shrugged. “Sure.”

  The old woman slowly ran her fingers along Fin’s cheek, his temple, and his brow. “You are his son. That’s why I sensed you’d been here before. Part of you was. The same part that stands here now.” She stepped back. “What can I do for you two?”

  Adele removed Delroy’s book from her backpack and handed it to Prune. “I was told you knew the man on the cover,” she said.

  Prune looked down at the book and scowled. “Oh, how I’ve always hated that picture. It’s so deceptive, only depicting the dark without the light. The yin without the yang. It’s such an unbalanced perspective. Karl isn’t nearly so ominous as this photo would have people believe. He’s like most of us—a perpetual contradiction.”

  “You’re speaking of Mr. Bloodbone in the present tense,” Adele noted.

  “That’s right,” Prune replied. “And why wouldn’t I? None of us ever truly dies. Mr. Kearns is ample evidence o
f that. When I see him, I feel his father’s presence. And so, in a way, in the most important of ways, Delroy lives.”

  “Do you believe Karl Bloodbone is still alive?”

  Prune handed the book back to Adele. “Is this to be used as a story for your newspaper?”

  “It might be. It’s also about Fin wanting to learn more about his father.”

  “We’ve had our fill of media attention around here over the years. It’s been quiet for a while. I’ve experienced both extremes and am certain I prefer the quiet.”

  “Mother Mary Ophelia sent us here,” Adele said. “She thought you’d be willing to help us.”

  Prune leaned against the counter. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a very long time. How’s Ophelia doing these days?”

  “Good,” Adele answered. “As tough as ever.”

  “That she is,” Prune said, chuckling. “Like a piece of old leather. It was quite a war between her and Karl. I was so much younger then, but I remember it well. And then came Delroy Hicks and all his notes and questions and pictures. Before long, we grew tired of the attention and scattered to the four corners of the earth. Well, not me of course. I remained here. This island is the only world I care to ever know. I tell you what. I’ll happily take a little time to sit and talk with you two if you do something for me first.”

  “What’s that?” Adele asked.

  Prune pointed to a box that sat on one side of the counter. “Make a donation to the museum. It’s the slow season and we’re hurting for funds. Look around. This place is the culmination of years of work and dedication. Unfortunately, people don’t always stop and consider how that kind of work requires a certain level of financial support in order to keep it going.”

  Fin took out a $20 bill and held it up. “This work?” He dropped the money into the donation box.

  Prune nodded. “That works just fine, Mr. Kearns. On behalf of the Orcas Island Historical Society, I thank you.” She motioned toward the hallway. “Now, if you would both follow me to the office we can sit down there and have us a chat.”

  The windowless office was a ten-by-ten space with a desk, a few chairs, and a rusty file cabinet. The only source of light was a single bulb that hung down from the middle of the ceiling.

  “Have a seat,” Prune said as she plopped into the chair behind the desk. She pushed a bowl toward Adele and Fin. “Feel free to have some hard candy if you like. It’s made local.”

  Adele and Fin both declined the offer. Fin then pointed at Prune’s crystal necklace. “I’ve read up on the crystals from around here. Some seem to think they have the power to heal. Given you’re wearing one is it safe to assume you think the same?”

  “I’ve come to learn it’s never safe to assume anything, Mr. Kearns. As for our island crystals, yes, some do believe them to possess a myriad of useful properties, healing being among them.”

  “You mind my asking how old you are?”

  Adele wanted to smack Fin on the back of the head for asking. Prune didn’t appear bothered by it though. She took a piece of candy and plopped it into her mouth. “My birth year in this life was 1930.”

  “You’re 89?” Adele said far louder than she intended.

  Fin was looking down counting his fingers. He nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re 89.”

  Prune shrugged. “And?”

  “And you appear to be in great health,” Adele answered. “Good on you.”

  “On the islands living to a ripe old age is rather common, especially on this particular island. You didn’t know that?”

  “As I mentioned, I read about it,” Fin said. “But seeing an example sitting right across from me is quite another thing.”

  “Then you also likely know that the life expectancy for people living in the San Juans is among the highest in the world. I’ll be 90 in two months, yet there are quite a few around here older than that.”

  Fin nodded. “Sure. What I’d really like to know is why people here are living such long lives.”

  Prune started to rub the crystal again. “You mean you wish to know if our crystals have anything to do with it?”

  “Crystals, magnetic fields, whatever you got I want to hear it.”

  “And what about you, Ms. Plank?” Prune asked.

  “I’m curious as well. I wasn’t aware it was normal for people on Orcas to live so long.”

  “We don’t like to boast. It’s a blessing we mostly keep to ourselves so as to avoid too many people poking around with their questions and biases wanting something for nothing. Not that it’s been a secret. You’re not the first to come here looking for answers and you’re not likely to be the last.”

  “Which is it?” Fin said. “The crystals like the one you have there or the magnetic field?”

  “There’s no simple answer. Like all things it’s interconnected.”

  Adele put the book down on the desk so that Bloodbone’s picture faced Prune. “So, you do believe there’s something different about Orcas?”

  “Oh, yes, this is a very special island.”

  “And what about Karl Bloodbone?”

  Prune glanced at the photo, cracked down on the candy with her teeth, and then leaned forward to stare into Adele’s eyes. “If he wishes to be found you’ll find him. If not there’s nothing I or anyone else can do to change that.”

  Adele didn’t blink. “Where do we start?”

  Prune looked away. “Locate Raven Creek on the eastern slope of Turtleback Mountain. There are no public trails on that side of the hill. Follow the creek north until you come to the remains of an old logging road. Beyond the road is an even older path hidden by grass and trees. Take it and you may find nothing, or you may find something. In the end, hope that you’re allowed to then find your way back.”

  “You make it sound a little dangerous,” Fin said.

  Prune shrugged. “It’s no more or less dangerous than you, Mr. Kearns.”

  “Have you been there recently?” Adele asked.

  “No,” Prune replied. “Not for some time. I’m old. It would be a difficult climb. I like to believe I could do it if I had to, but I don’t wish to find out that I’m wrong. The last time I was there the shack Delroy slept in was still standing, though the grass around it was several feet tall. If it’s still there it’ll be even more difficult to spot by now.”

  Fin’s eyes danced with excitement. “When was the last time you saw it?”

  “On my 80th birthday. I camped there alone and spent the night looking up at the stars. When I awoke the next morning, I found the most beautiful bouquet of wild purple camas flowers lying next to me.”

  Adele returned the book into her backpack. “And you think it was Karl Bloodbone who put them there while you slept?”

  Prune’s face lit up as she recalled the memory. “Yes, of that I have no doubt. Karl adores camas bulbs. He snacked on them often. They’re like a sugary-sweet onion but better—much better. I recall Delroy being quite fond of them as well. We all were.”

  “How far is it from here?” Fin asked. “Too far too walk?”

  “If you hope to get back before dark then yes, but I can help with that.” Prune stood and walked into the hallway. “Follow me.” She went outside to the back of the cabin. “See? These will get you there and back soon enough.” She pointed to a pair of antique bicycles. “They were donated to us last year. They’re turn of the century. Not this century—the last one. 1905 I believe. All original except the tires have been updated. Everything works. I’ve ridden them myself.”

  Fin grabbed one of the bikes and ran his hand along the top of its red-painted steel frame. “Oh, this is brilliant,” he exclaimed. He looked at Prune. “May I?”

  “Certainly.”

  Fin walked the bike onto the road, got on, and began peddling around in circles. “C’mon,” he yelled out to Adele. “Get to it, woman. Time is wasting.”

  “Just remember to follow the creek until you find the old logging road. Once you reach the path,
you’ll have to leave the bikes behind. The only way up the hill is by walking. If you start to see marked public trails that means you’ve gone too far west. Turn back, relocate the path, and try again. Eventually you should come to a small clearing. If you find the shack, you’ll know you’ve made it.”

  “Is that all we’ll find there?” Fin asked. “The shack?”

  Prune watched him as he continued to ride in circles. The hint of a faraway smile crossed her face. “I can’t answer that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t know. Just be careful. I’ll be here waiting.” She turned her head and looked up at Adele. “You’ll be different when you return. Changed in some way great or small. Are you prepared to accept that?”

  “Changed how?”

  “Again, I don’t have the answer. For each person who has ever been up there it’s different. Some have said it was nothing. Others have said it was everything. In the end that part of the journey will be yours and yours alone to interpret.”

  A raven landed atop the totem pole. It squawked once, ruffled its feathers, then flew off toward Turtleback Mountain. “I’m a little embarrassed to admit it,” Adele said, “but a part of me is kind of scared.”

  Prune nodded. “You listen to that part of yourself, young woman. Listen close because you know what? You should be.”

  16.

  A dele and Fin located the logging road where Prune told them it would be. Finding it proved a lot easier than biking over it. The ground was dotted with a multitude of potholes, ruts, and rocks. Adele glanced back to see Fin gritting his teeth as he narrowly avoided crashing. Finally, they reached a large boulder that marked the end of the road.

  Fin got off his bike and leaned it against the boulder. “There’s supposed to be a path?” he asked.

  Adele put her bike next to Fin’s and then walked beyond the boulder and looked down. “I think so. It’s grown over, but it’s still here. See?”

  “Can’t hardly tell. If that’s a trail it’s been a mighty long time since anyone’s used it.” Fin looked up at the hillside. “It’s gonna be a climb.”