“Wait. You’re going to knock us over, and then you’ll fall in, too. When we beach, your dad will give you a hand.”
Annie sat down with a thump. She still looked ready to eject herself. She waited, just barely, for her dad’s hand.
When everyone was ashore, Pete slapped Susanne a high five. Patrick walked up to her.
Something looked different about her husband. “Where’s your hat?” she asked him.
He smacked himself on the head. “Darn it. Must have lost it on the rapids.” Then he hugged her. “I’m so proud of you.”
Even Perry gave her a wan smile, although he looked green at the gills. She ached for him. But more than that, she worried about Trish and Bunny. Even if Joe found them, how would they get through those rapids without life jackets? If one of them fell in, they could hit their head. Get sucked into the hole by the boulder. Drown. Then she caught herself. She was doing it again. Giving in to fatalistic thoughts. She couldn’t go there. She had to stay positive. She had to rely on Joe. She had to have faith.
Booger’s voice pulled her the rest of the way out of her spiral. “Now we portage for a mile or two.”
There were groans all around. Susanne looked up. And up. The path was steep and led up a rocky single track trail through a narrow strip of trees along a rocky cliff.
“Which is it,” Pete asked. “A mile or two miles?”
Booger just grinned and shrugged.
“It sounds harder than it will be,” Patrick said, smiling. “Vera and Susanne, can you carry a canoe together? Booger, Pete, and I will each carry a canoe and a pack.”
Susanne frowned. Booger hadn’t had a pack of his own with him. If he was going to town by foot for supplies, what would he bring them back in? She wanted to ask, but now wasn’t the right time.
“I can help them,” Brian said.
Vera hugged him to her, but she looked sad. Bunny, Susanne suspected. “Gotta love my little man. That would be great, buddy.”
“All right, everyone. Time’s a-wasting.” Patrick lifted his canoe in a smooth motion. “Oh, I almost forgot. Paddles and life jackets. Everybody wears their lifejacket. And if all the kids could take a paddle, and Brian and Perry take two each, we’ll be set.” His lifejacket was hanging from one shoulder.
“And no using paddles as walking sticks,” Vera said.
Bert and Barry looked disappointed.
“Or swords,” Pete added.
Danny mouthed, “Rats.”
Susanne and Vera each took an end of their canoe.
“How do we flip this thing over?” Susanne said.
Pete grabbed it from the middle. “Here. Step under.” He swung it up and over his head in one smooth motion. The women took their ends, letting the weight of the canoe floor rest on their heads.
“How does my hat look?” Vera’s voice sounded echoey to Susanne with them both under the canoe.
“About as uncomfortable as mine feels.” The smell was worse, though. Mildewy. A little fishy. She wondered if they had been cleaned after their last use. And then her stomach turned. What if this was the canoe that had transported the dead guy down the river? If she hadn’t been holding up the canoe, she would have put her hand to her mouth. Definitely a thought she had to banish.
Brian stepped between the two women. He slid the paddles under the center seat support. Then he grasped the sides of the canoe and took some of the weight off his mom and aunt.
“Follow me,” Booger said.
Patrick marched off behind Booger, and Susanne, Brian, and Vera filed in after Patrick and before Pete in the rear, with the younger kids, Lana, and Perry spread out in small groups between each of the canoes.
Just as they were leaving the riverbank for the forest, Susanne noticed someone had left a bright orange hat hanging from one of the trees.
“Did someone leave a hat?” she called out.
All she got back was a chorus of nos. It was a nice hat with a wide brim. Dirty, but it looked sturdy and useful. Too bad she didn’t have a hand to get it or she would have claimed it for Patrick.
Chapter Twenty-six: Portage
East of Trout Creek, Bridger-Teton National Forest, Wyoming
Friday, June 24, 1977, 2:45 p.m.
Trish
The nice man they’d run into on the trail had insisted on walking Trish and Bunny back to their campsite. Trish hiked behind him. His red plaid shirt and light hair were normal-looking, and it made her feel better. She’d been a little nervous about joining up with him at first, but she was glad she wasn’t alone anymore, even though he was a stranger.
Not that she’d been alone completely before. She had Bunny. But she was responsible for Bunny, and Bunny was no help. Trish had lost her bearings. She’d been completely turned around. How had she managed to get them upriver from the trail that led to the camp? It seemed to her that the trails would have had to cross. The only explanation she could think of was that the other trail just hadn’t been big enough for her to notice it. It could have been small, like a path left by wildlife heading for a drink of water. The trails she was used to in the Bighorns were wider. More established. Not that there wasn’t plenty of wild places with no trails there, too. The awful night with Kemecke she’d ridden double on her horse Goldie up Dome Mountain, with no trails at all. But her family only went to places that were marked on a forest service trail map.
Not like here, where her dad had taken them to a place that some old coot in a ranger’s hat described. Totally backwoods. What had her dad been thinking? If he hadn’t dragged them out here, she and Bunny wouldn’t be lost right now. She was kind of mad at him, actually. She’d still be glad to see him when they got back to camp. Really glad. But she was going to tell him how she felt about everything. Respectfully, of course, because she still wanted the babysitting money for the down payment on a car, and her mom had said that her attitude would factor into how much they paid her.
The nice man—he’d said his name was Jim Smith, but she called him Mr. Smith—gave Bunny a peanut butter and honey sandwich from his backpack. Trish had turned down beef jerky, which was the only other thing he had. Then they’d doubled back along the trail, since Mr. Smith said it would be fastest to take it back to the one that led to their campsite. He assured Trish he’d spent a lot of time out there and knew the trails really well. That made one of them, anyway. She was relieved to turn navigation over to him.
The going was slow, because Bunny was wiped out and the trail was steep. The little girl refused to let Mr. Smith give her a piggyback ride, too. Trish had tried to carry her for a while, but they’d finally had to stop so she could rest. Bunny had fallen asleep sitting straight up on the ground, head bobbing on her chest.
“Let’s give her ten minutes,” Mr. Smith said.
“But mine and Bunny’s parents will be worried about us.”
Mr. Smith nodded. It was funny, but when she wasn’t looking at him, she couldn’t remember anything about his face. It was ordinary, with dark brown eyes like saddle leather. “I’ll bet. But ten minutes won’t make much difference. It’s still faster than you would have gotten back without me.”
“That’s true.”
“How long have you been gone?”
“Two hours? Or maybe longer, I guess.”
“How did you get separated from your family?”
“We were going fishing and gold panning on Trout Creek. But Bunny threw a fit, so they made me take her back to camp by myself. Then I missed the trail. I thought I could get to the river and find my way from there, but that was harder than I expected it would be.”
He pulled at his chin. It was smooth. No whiskers. “Trout Creek, huh? Pretty. Did you see anyone else on it?”
“No. But I didn’t get very far. I didn’t see animals either. Our group scares everything off.”
“That’s a good thing in grizzly country.”
“Yeah. I was a little wigged out when I was alone with Bunny.”
“So, you’re with a
big group?”
“Really big. My grandparents. My aunt and uncle. My seven cousins. My parents. And my brother Perry and me.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of people.”
She nodded. “I’m going to be in so much trouble. We were supposed to canoe down the river to a new campsite this afternoon. I’m ruining things for everybody. And they came all the way from Texas for this.”
“They’ll be so glad to see you, they won’t even care.”
She sighed. “I’m trying to convince my parents to let me get a car. They’re probably going to tell me no, since I can’t find my way around by myself.”
He laughed. “Everybody gets lost sometimes. And the woods are a lot harder to navigate than roads.”
“I hope so. Do you have kids?”
“Me? No.”
“Well, I’ll bet you’d be a cool dad.”
“Maybe someday.”
Bunny stretched and started to wake up. When she opened her eyes, they landed on Mr. Smith first. She started to cry. “I want my mommy.”
Trish held out her arms. “Let’s go see your mommy, Bunny. Right now.”
Bunny launched herself into Trish’s chest. “Really?”
“Really.” Trish stood up and put Bunny on her own feet.
“My feet hurt.”
“Mine, too. Can you go a little further, though?”
Bunny nodded, her face solemn.
“Follow me, girls.” Mr. Smith set off down the trail in front of them.
Trish gave Bunny a gentle push to send her after him. His blue jeans had dirt and twigs on his bottom from sitting on the ground. He walked slowly so Bunny could keep up, his big work boots thudding on the path. Trish brought up the rear. Earlier, she and Bunny had sang songs. But that didn’t feel right in front of Mr. Smith. They hiked in silence.
After about five minutes, Mr. Smith said, “Wait here for a second.”
“What is it?”
“I thought I heard something.” He walked ahead.
Nervous butterflies took flight in Trish’s tummy, dipping and swirling. What could he be checking on? She didn’t want to be alone in the forest with Bunny again. She hoped he didn’t walk so far that he was out of sight. Right now, she could still see his red shirt through the trees.
Then he was heading back to them, smiling. “I guess I was hearing things. Good news, though, I think we’re at the place where your family camped last night.”
“Really?” Trish couldn’t help herself. She ran ahead into the clearing. It looked familiar—a fire ring and flattened grass inside a semi-circle of trees with a view of mountains from the open side—but there were no tents, no sleeping bags, no backpacks, and no people. She turned back toward Mr. Smith, her cheeks aching from the effort of holding back tears.
He’d followed her. “The bad news is they’re not here.” He didn’t sound like it was bad news to him though. But why should it be? They weren’t his family.
Trish turned in a slow circle. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”
“Doesn’t it look familiar to you?”
“Yes, but . . . I just . . . I . . . ”
He pointed at the ground. “See here, the holes from the tent stakes? And the fresh ash in the fire ring?”
“Yeah. But maybe it’s someone else’s camp.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Except not many people camp back here, and this is where you said it would be.”
Bunny put her hand in Trish’s. “Where’s my mommy?”
“I don’t know sweetie. We’ll find her.”
Bunny released a wail that pierced Trish’s heart. “I want my mommy. I want her right now!”
Trish would never have said it out loud, but inside her head, the words were strong and clear. I want my mommy right now, too.
Chapter Twenty-seven: Disagree
North of the Tukudika River, Bridger-Teton National Forest, Wyoming
Friday, June 24, 1977, 3:00 p.m.
Patrick
Patrick watched as the youngest of their group wandered off the trail, kicked a rock, and held up the line behind him, again. “Come on Bert. You need to hike a little faster.”
There were a lot of rocks to kick. They covered the steep trail. Small, loose rocks. They made the footing precarious, and the traction terrible. More than once, one of the kids had gone down. There had been tears. He’d have some patching up of hands and knees to do later.
Bert’s voice was wheedling. “I can’t, Uncle Patrick.”
“You can do it. I know you can.”
“My legs hurt.”
“So, don’t think about your legs. Think about something else. Something you like. What’s your favorite sport?”
“Soccer.”
Soccer was starting to catch on in Texas. It was nowhere near as popular as football or baseball, but there were kids’ leagues in all the bigger cities now. “Playing it or watching it?”
“Both.”
“Are you on a team?”
“We’re called the Dynamos, and I play forward.” Bert grew more and more excited as he talked about the game.
Patrick kept the conversation going and encouraged the other kids to join in. It was the best thing he could think of to keep their minds off what they were going through. Not just the steepness and altitude, but the punishing sun. The tree cover was only intermittent, and he was starting to notice pink noses and necks along with sweaty armpits and foreheads. He knew he was pushing the group to hike faster than the youngest kids were comfortable with, but what choice did he have? Between Perry’s condition, the encounter with the prospectors, and the uncertainty about Trish and Bunny—and his dad—they had to hurry.
For the millionth time, he considered taking Perry and pushing ahead of the rest of the group. If he did that, though, they’d have to take one of the canoes. There wouldn’t be enough space left in the others for the rest of the family. He could solve that by bringing Brian along. It wouldn’t resolve the bigger issue, though. And that was that he could not and would not split this group up any further, and he could not and would not leave them out here. Maybe he hadn’t been able to prevent the catastrophes that had happened so far. He couldn’t have foreseen Perry’s accident. And he never would have guessed Trish would get lost. Or that Pete would run into gold-greedy murderers. But he still felt responsible. Guilty. Like a failure. Like a man who had a lot to make up for.
He sensed a shift in the mood of the other adults toward him in the last half hour, too. Portaging was hard work, and it was giving everyone too much time to think. He suspected what they were thinking was that this was all his fault. That it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t taken them on this trip on the Tukudika River and then camping along Trout Creek. Susanne had rebuffed his hug. Vera was shooting him dirty looks. Pete wasn’t speaking to him. Even his mother had been avoiding him.
It was my job to keep them out of harm’s way in the first place. It’s my job to protect them now. Putting everything on Pete’s shoulders wouldn’t be fair. Worse, it would mean their fate would be outside of Patrick’s control. He wasn’t going to leave anything else up to chance.
The conversation between the kids continued without him, and he became aware of another one going on at the same time, at the front of the line, between Pete and Booger. He strained to hear them, eager to learn more about this guide who had magically appeared in their lives. He hoped it was providence and not more bad luck that had brought them together. They were due to catch a break.
Booger said, “Vera told me you had a scare this morning, Pete.”
Pete’s answer wasn’t immediate. “Um, yeah. Perry was injured, but you already know that. It’s why we’re, like, in a hurry to get to Jackson, to get him treated at the hospital. Patrick is a doctor, but he can’t fix a head injury out here, you know.”
“A doctor, huh? I’m hanging out with rich folks.”
Patrick ground his teeth. He hated the perception that all doctors were rich. He did well as a f
amily practice physician in a small town, but rich? That was the stuff of big city surgeons whose parents had paid their way through medical school, not small-town doctors who’d footed their own bills. His salary was in line with the principal at the high school, and no one was calling principals rich.
“He’s the successful one in our family. I’m the starving musician.”
“Your job sounds more interesting in my book.”
“I think so.”
“But when I asked you about your scare this morning, I wasn’t talking about the boy’s injury.”
“Well, also, our daughter and my niece are lost. My dad went back to find them. So, yeah, a few scares.”
Vera piped in. “I told Booger what happened to you, Pete. When you ran for help for Perry.”
Patrick stiffened. With everything happening so fast, there hadn’t been a chance to talk to Vera, Susanne, and the kids about keeping that incident to themselves. He was highly uncomfortable sharing it with strangers in the wilderness. It was a story for law enforcement, when they were safely back in civilization.
Pete cleared his throat. “That was nothing, honey.”
“But you said—”
Patrick raised his voice. “Booger, how much further do we have to go? Didn’t you say a mile or two? We should be about halfway, right?” Today he was the master of the conversational redirect.
The silence from Booger was deafening.
But then Pete jumped in. “A little downhill would be a relief about now. Are we almost to the highest point?” Happily, the group had just entered another thick stand of trees. Shade. Protection. Cooler temps.
Patrick relaxed a little. Pete was in sync with him, at least. Good. Because he was certain he’d just hurt Vera’s feelings, which would make Susanne even less happy with him.
Finally, Booger answered. “If you look there to your left, through the trees, you can see out over the river. Perfect spot for a break. I need to make a pit stop.” He set his canoe beside the narrow trail, then turned to face them. “Listen, folks. I don’t know why you don’t want to talk about what Vera told me.”
Scapegoat: A Patrick Flint Novel Page 14