by Laura Kemp
“I shouldn’t have said that—”
“We all have a past,” I settled against him again, wanting him to comfort me but knowing he couldn’t—not where Karen was concerned.
He seemed to appreciate my understanding because I felt his hands rubbing my arms, keeping me warm in the cool evening breeze.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Stoddard got off and there’s nothing I can do about it. A wise person once told me to let it go.”
I chuckled. “She sounds super intelligent.”
“Strong, too. You should see her right hook.”
“I have, come to think of it.”
He laughed and the hippies sitting by the campfire turned, focused for a moment on the copse of trees we were hiding in.
I giggled too, but more quietly as he continued to rub my arms, our feet playing catch up while I closed my eyes and drifted off.
Dylan said nothing, just continued to stroke my bare skin until it had lured me into a place I’d never seen before.
An island in the middle of a marsh beyond Ocqueoc Falls.
I didn’t know if such a place existed, or why it had come to me here on the beach at Salmon Fest when I saw Butler step from the forest. He was wearing cotton pants, a work shirt open at the collar and a vest made of leather. His long hair was tied back with a piece of rawhide, his black eyes unmoving as they took me in.
Moments later he knelt and traced something I’d seen before: a picture of a wheel with four spokes—something I could now place because Dylan had become my lover.
A tattoo on his back between his shoulder blades.
I’d asked him about it, wondering why he’d gotten it and if it had any significance, never realizing until this moment how it matched my necklace.
Adam’s necklace…
I remembered his explanation now as I floated between the world I occupied with Dylan and this sacred space with Butler.
Got it in Florida on Spring Break. No idea why. Mom flipped out.
Just like my own mother had caved in when I found the necklace in her jewelry box.
Was it just a coincidence?
I knew better than that.
I’d always wondered what the intersected circle had meant, imagining it to be something holy and miraculous and transcendental and realized it was all three. Butler was drawing a medicine wheel and placing inside it the four totems that would safeguard the woman he loved and her descendants.
And marking those he had chosen to protect them.
Chapter Seventeen
“Thanks for letting me borrow the laptop,” I scurried to keep up with Holly, computer pressed to my chest as we made our way towards Camp Menominee
She nodded quickly, double latte in one hand, car keys in the other as she hurried towards the dining hall. “Don’t know why you needed to borrow it today.”
I didn’t know either, but ever since Salmon Fest I felt a sense of urgency, amplified by the fear that Dylan had somehow been chosen by Butler to protect me and that nothing I said would make him change course. Even if it meant sacrificing himself. I couldn’t let that happen, not when I had the opportunity to find out what was happening.
“The internet’s down at home and I wanted to see where you work and thought I could help with canoeing or something,” I smiled, shifted the laptop. “Dad used to let me sit in back and steer.”
Holly narrowed her eyes, pushed open the door with her hip. “I’ll take that into consideration when the PowerPoint I’m supposed to finish doesn’t get done in time for Family Fun Weekend. I need it back as soon as you’re finished.”
I nodded, the sound of chatter quickly filling my ears as we entered the large space where campers had gathered to devour eggs, bacon, and pancakes loaded with extra syrup.
“Dammit!” Holly muttered when she caught sight of their trays. “I told Jen to go easy on the fructose corn crack. Now we’ll have kids spinning in circles during archery.”
“Listen,” I put a hand on her elbow, held her in place before she spun into the stratosphere. “I know this was last minute, but I’ll make it up to you.”
She smiled, “You’d better,” then gave me a nudge towards the employee lounge.
Moments later I was at the end of a large wooden table with mismatched chairs, a Birds of Northern Michigan clock that chirped the hour just over my left shoulder. The windows to my right offered a view of Cade Lake and the pubescent band of girls who had decided to model their new swimsuits.
They stood in awkward circles, arms crossed low across their stomachs, shoulders hunched, the sun shining behind them and casting brilliance on the water. I was reminded of myself at the community pool, my crush doing backflips behind me, my flowered towel resting over my shoulders to guard them against the sun.
The lilting twitter of a robin reminded me that the clock was ticking and so I dove in, opened the laptop and began my search by looking up the four totems.
Elk—An animal of great strength, power, and stamina. One of its primary defenses is to outrun its predators.
Wolf—Defined by rules, ritual, and intuition. Protective of the pack, able to make quick and firm emotional attachments.
Raven—A messenger for the spiritual realm with the ability to shapeshift. Known to mimic the sounds of other animals.
Turtle—A symbol of longevity, survival, and clairaudience.
I thought of their attributes, thought about Butler and his love for Odessa and understood why he had chosen these totems.
He wanted my grandmother to live a long life surrounded by those who would protect her. He wanted her to be strong and wasn’t above using a bit of magic to do that.
Which still didn’t explain why she had chosen to lead a lynch mob against Jonas Younts.
And so, I searched again as a chickadee sang me past lunch hour, enduring the curious stares and mindless chatter of four counselors who had chosen to eat indoors.
It was almost one o’clock before I found something.
A letter from Odessa’s brother to her mother, preserved on a website entitled ‘Was Jonas Younts Framed?’ I scrolled down past a faded picture of Back Forty Farm and found the author—a male nerd in his prime—and wondered who else in Presque Isle County was thinking the same thing I was.
Dear Ma,
Dess is not herself. I do not mean that you should hurry home and waste that horse what is ready to drop, but I want you to know I can’t think of a way to care for her.
Cal is sick, too, but Doc says not to worry, it is spread by eating those spotty melons what grows in the swamps.
Mrs. Karsten stopped by to tend to Cal and she and Dess has become friends even so that Dess wants to be godmother to her babe in arms.
She does things like that and I think I don’t need to worry but then the other day she went and told fortunes for a lady in town what lost her husband in a house fire.
Then she tells me that I don’t need to watch over her no more and she will prove it by telling fortunes for the ladies in church. I din’t understand this but the other day she went ahead an’ called them over while I was outside tendin’ the hogs. She tells me the Injun what helped her plant the vegetable garden gave her the Sight.
I must admit, Ma—that I sinned and listened to what them gals was sayin’ and some of it was true spot on. No way Dess could’ve known and now I wonders what that Injun has done to her.
I’m afraid that when she takes it into her head to do it again I won’t catch her. Injun tells me not to fret because Dess is still the old gal we used to know and that I should not talk about things to the men in town.
Hurry home, Mother. I will buy you a new horse if Lolly cannot bear it.
Your boy,
Johnson
I sat back, thinking of the peculiar family Johnson, Odessa, Cal, and their Ma must have made, then scrolled down until I found another letter dated three weeks later.
Dear Ma,
Sorry to hear you cannot get away from Sister Nan. She
always was one to keep company when they din’t care to be kept.
I write to tell you that Dess has gotten herself into more trouble and that you should come as quick as you can. The Injun was made to move on and Dess cries day and night for him. I don’t want this to worry you ‘cause the Lutheran preacher still has hopes of giving Dess his last name even though he says she is damned to hell.
That pretty gal what moved into the Back Homestead with Ebersole was found dead four nights ago. Husband was kil’d too and now folks in town wants to lynch somebody.
Dess has talked to the sheriff and said she knows who we should go after. Said the Injun’s medicine helps her see the killer and that Jonas Younts (that timber jack what came by and cut wood last spring) stole something what belonged to her and she’d be darned (‘cuse my language) if he was going to get away with it.
I’m afraid she’ll do something foolish for wantin’ that Injun. Hurry home and tell Sister Nan you have a headache.
Your boy,
Johnson
Odessa had been angry at Jonas Younts for stealing something that belonged to her.
I scanned the list again, wondering if he had stolen the medicine bag and if so, why? Had he wanted to read omens? Form quick and lasting relationships? Run really fast? All of these things seemed trivial in light of what he had suffered at Esther’s death and instinct told me it must have been something more he desired. Something that would earn Odessa Cook’s eternal hatred.
“Squirt?”
I jumped, slammed the laptop shut and spun to face Holly.
She raised an eyebrow, a fresh latte firmly in hand as she swept the lounge for errant counselors. “Canoeing? Twenty minutes?”
“I can’t,” I stalled. “Mallard needs me to go over inventory.”
“So, you’re a watersports tease?”
“That’s the word on the street.”
She mumbled something meant to make me feel guilty, but I ignored her. I needed to get home to shower before my shift began at Huff’s, although sometimes I wondered why I bothered.
“Thanks again,” I handed her the laptop. “I found what I needed.”
“You owe me,” was her cryptic response, and so I shot her a thumbs up before exiting down a long hallway that bypassed the cafeteria. Halfway to the door, I slowed down next to a large display case, unable to understand why I would be drawn to it at a time like this.
I stood, slightly mesmerized while looking at ribbons from fishing contests past and pictures of campers who had since become grandparents. Leaning closer, I followed the chronology backward until I reached the oldest photographs.
I bent down, squinted into the reflection cast by a large window and saw a group of lumberjacks next to a clot of cut timber. Following their line to the left, I spotted a young man leaning casually on the upended handle of a wooden bucksaw. The slant of his shoulders told me all I needed as I noted his brown hair, strong forearms, and crooked smile.
Can’t kill what’s already dead…
And underneath the picture, a caption was written.
First groundbreaking at Cade Lake, summer 1889
I took a step backwards, tried to talk myself out of what I was seeing, but it was too late. And unless Jamie Stoddard had a twin he’d never mentioned this picture proved he was alive and well and sawing logs over a hundred years ago.
I moved away slowly, turned and almost smacked my head on the glass doors.
“Get a grip,” I mumbled to myself, “Anyone could look like Jamie.”
But something told me otherwise as I climbed into the Jeep and sped back towards the apartment, intent on getting some answers from Iris or Pam or whoever else I had to shake the crap out of.
Because it had suddenly become much more than just looking for my father.
I arrived home twenty minutes later and knocked on Iris’ door—wondering why she hadn’t invited me down for tea and crumpets and the abbreviated history of Lantern Creek.
I needed to know why I’d seen Jamie Stoddard in a picture that had been taken over a century ago, why he seemed to know my every move and why he seemed to be torn between killing me and protecting me.
After several minutes it became obvious that Iris was either hiding under her bed or simply not home.
I chose to believe the latter and so climbed the steps with a distracted air, not noticing the strange car parked in Holly’s spot.
I’d already entered the kitchen when I sensed something was off. Joey didn’t come out to greet me and the place had a strange smell, a smell I’d had on my own skin many times.
“Babe!”
I spun in a circle, fists clenched when I spotted him standing in the middle of the living room. “Brad?”
He took a step closer and I saw that his auburn hair had gotten longer, that he hadn’t shaved in a day or two, but he still had the same dear face, boyish in its vice.
“What’re you doing here?” I stammered while reaching back to grip the counter, cursing Holly for not locking the door…again. “That’s not your car.”
“It’s a rental.”
I couldn’t answer, could only ask, “How did you find me?”
“Small town idiots always remember pretty strangers like you…for the right price.” He smiled, and I was struck by his dimples, by the way his mouth moved when he spoke and realized I was starved for all things familiar. Which scared the hell out of me. “You look good, Princess. I could eat you up.”
“I told you not to call me that,” I muttered while smoothing my shirt.
“And you freaked me out big time.” He circled the counter and I didn’t know whether to send him packing or throw myself into his arms, hoping a little bit of his downstate sanity would rub off on me. “Is it true?”
“What,” I took a quick breath. “Is what true?”
I saw his face harden. “The other guy.”
I didn’t answer.
He tried to smile, tried to laugh it off, but couldn’t. “Why?”
“Are you serious?”
He took a step back, leaned against the counter. “I’m sorry,” he shut his eyes, worked the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Just come back home and we’ll work it out.”
I looked away. “Are you getting a divorce?”
“Not yet,” he took a step towards me and cupped my shoulders, working the flesh under his thumbs as he’d worked other parts of me in the past. “But it’s in the works.”
“It is?” I asked, thinking of how happy this news would have made me last winter.
“I want you where I can keep an eye on you, Princess.”
“You do?” I whispered, feeling my resolve slide away to a place where I didn’t have to worry about dead ex-girlfriends or century-old lumberjacks.
“Of course,” he said, his index finger seeking my chin. “I love you.”
Nothing had ever sounded so good as I melted into Brad’s embrace, my mouth seeking his if only to prove I’d chosen the right man, and in that instant, I felt a jolt of electricity that had nothing to do with attraction.
“God, I miss you,” he whispered against my cheek, his hand on the waistband of my shorts in an effort to ease them over my hips. “Then you mention this other guy,” he paused, drew back slightly so he could look into my eyes. “This asshole think he can satisfy you?”
I stiffened, my hands seeking his in an effort to stop their progress. “You need to leave.”
He chuckled.
“I mean it, Brad.”
He dipped to kiss the skin just beneath my earlobe. “I didn’t drive three hundred miles just to turn around with my dick in my hand.”
I put my palms up, pushed against him.
“Hey, now,” he muttered, clearly annoyed.
I took a breath, closed my eyes and imagined myself as a woman who would have made her father proud had he been there to see it. “It’s over.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Don’t get all worked up,
” he smiled, accustomed to getting what he wanted. “I just came to pay a friendly visit.”
“So, you suck face with your friends?”
“Maybe,” he bent his head again, nibbled at the other ear. “If she’ll let me.”
I clenched my teeth, imagined taking Brad’s hands between my own and squeezing until his fingers popped open like wet summer sausages. Until he listened. Until he heard me.
I saw Dylan, saw the medicine wheel painted between his shoulder blades and realized I may have already blown it with the most decent guy I’d ever dated.
I quickly did a mental checklist of where he would be today.
Thursday afternoons meant patrol duty until six o’clock, which meant he might drive by and see the strange car parked outside the apartment. And if he walked upstairs and saw us now… I might as well have been naked with him in my bed.
“Get out.”
I saw Brad shake his head, thought he might refuse and reached out to touch his shoulder, calling upon the totems Butler had given Odessa to control the anger I feared.
“What’re you doing?”
I let my instincts guide me and tightened my grip.
“What the hell?”
I felt the fabric of his cotton shirt and beneath that his skin and muscle and bone, felt the beating of his heart and the rapid breath he drew while still uncertain of my affection.
“It’s okay,” I began, hearing his thoughts for the first time. “You can let me go.”
He shook his head, his fear displayed, and an image of an old man flashed before me. A man confined to an empty house while rain, slate gray and the color of his eyes, beat against the side of a bay window.
I saw bedrooms once occupied by his sons, pictures of grandchildren who never came to visit and wondered at his regrets—the lover who thought of me on days like this.
Sadness pressed me to the floor, held me solid by the heels and left only fear in its wake. Fear of the empty house and the rain and the sounds that never came.
“Don’t worry,” I whispered, feeling his heartbeat slow, wishing I could erase every sorrow ever etched there. “That man isn’t you.”