Everything To Prove

by Nadia Nichols

  “I don’t remember the day. When you start to get old, the days and seasons run into each other. And, anyway, the day is just the day. But it was good fishing then, just getting good, and I got my first good fish that day. A big one, but not too big. I could get some steaks out of it, and smoke the rest for later. It was good fish and it would be good eating.” He paused as if waiting for his memories to play catch-up.

  Libby had to restrain herself from telling Solly that she didn’t give a damn about him catching a good fish twenty-eight years ago that would be good eating. Instead she forced herself to be patient and wait in silence.

  “I remember I was cleaning that fish on the edge of the lake when I heard the plane,” the old man continued at last. “There was only one lodge on the lake back then, the one on the warm shore where Daniel Frey lives. The plane was taking off from that lodge. It was a bright yellow plane. The young one flew it. It was his plane.

  “Back then, I seen it take off a lot. Every time, he would come down the lake the same way. So I knew he would come down the lake like that, like a duck flying just above the water, and then the yellow plane would fly up steep and disappear to the west. He always flew out the same way. He always headed west.”

  Libby’s fingers tightened around the ring. “He was going to Umiak, to visit my mother.” Her knees suddenly felt so weak that she lowered herself into the nearest chair.

  “This day, I thought it would be the same,” the old man said. “But it wasn’t. The plane went straight up in the air and all the noise stopped, and then it fell forward into the lake and sank. It sank fast. I thought it would float a while, like a canoe, but it just disappeared.”

  Her heart was beating so hard she was sure the old man could hear it. “How did you get this ring?” she repeated.

  “After the plane disappeared, something came to the surface and swam to shore. It was the yellow dog with three legs. It was on the shore when Frey came down the lake in the boat.”

  “Frey went to the site of the plane crash?” Libby fought for breath.

  “He came very fast from the lodge. The legs broke off the plane when it hit the water and floated there on the surface. Frey tied them together and towed them back down the lake. He didn’t see me, and he didn’t see the yellow dog.”

  Libby felt as though she might faint. She raised her hand to the side of her head and her fingertips touched the scab of blood at her throbbing temple. The jolt of pain helped to clear her head. “Solly, how did you get the ring?” she repeated for the third time.

  “The yellow dog stayed on the shore,” the old man continued. “He never left that spot. When I went down to where he was, he wouldn’t let me near. I could see he had a strip of leather around his neck, and I could see the gold ring hanging from it. But the dog wouldn’t let me near him.

  “He stayed there all that day and all the next. I brought food for him but he wouldn’t eat it. He just watched the lake, like he was waiting for something to come out of it. I guess he was waiting for the young one who flew the plane. Sometimes, he would howl. In the evening when it was quiet, the sound carried a long ways. I thought Frey might hear the howling, but if he did he never came for the dog. Maybe he thought it was a wolf.

  “A week went by. I kept putting food out, but the yellow dog never touched it. He just lay on the shore with his head on his paws and stared out at the lake.

  “One day I came down and I walked toward him and he was lying that same way but he didn’t move when I got close. He never moved again. So I took the strip of leather with the gold ring from around his neck and I buried him up above the waterline. I piled rocks over his grave so nothing would dig him up. The rock pile is still there.” The old man nodded that he was finished.

  There was a long silence that stretched into eternity.

  That was it. There was no more. Libby stood so abruptly that the chair clattered to the floor behind her. She rushed to the door, opened it and fled into the early morning, drawing deep breaths and fighting to stay in control. She walked to the river’s edge and knelt there, rocking back and forth in a silent agony of grief as she gripped the ring in her hand. She thought about the loyalty of the three-legged dog her father had brought back from Vietnam and the young woman who had waited for a young man who never came on her wedding day and the girl who had grown up without a father and Daniel Frey, who had lived here all these years without paying penance for all the pain and suffering he’d caused. Wave after wave of emotion overwhelmed her. She heard a slow, limping approach from behind and felt a hand close firmly on her shoulder.

  “You okay?” Carson said.

  She nodded jerkily, unable to speak, but when she regained her feet and his arm went around her, she turned and plastered herself against him with a harsh, wrenching sob. She couldn’t help herself. She broke down completely in his arms. He didn’t say anything to try and make it better. He didn’t soothe or placate with meaningless words. He just held her. He held her while the river ran past and the hermit thrush sang and the sun came up and life went on around them. For a few brief moments in time they became an island of two, insulated from the random chaos of a cruel and uncaring universe, and in those moments Libby felt the beginning stirrings of something she had never felt before.

  Peace.

  It was an extraordinary feeling, profound in its simplicity, flowing into her the way the river flowed into the ocean. She felt the agony within her gradually ebb, and she lifted her head and looked up at Carson.

  “Thank you,” she said, marveling at the beauty she saw inside of him.

  THE OLD MAN WALKED down the path with them, following the river as it rushed toward the lake. It was a slow walk, though Carson did his best to make good time. He was as anxious as Libby was to have Solly point out the place where the plane had gone down. He was wondering how deep the wreckage was, and if the ice had moved it. He was thinking about the side-scanning sonar that was now at the bottom of the lake, and wondering if Trig could be persuaded to make a trip back with him, once he got the Pacific Explorer up and running. He wanted to speak his thoughts aloud to Libby as they descended the steep trail, but it was all he could do to keep to his feet. She cast frequent quiet glances back at him, and once she waited when he dropped too far behind. He wanted to tell her to go on ahead but was too winded to speak. He could only struggle painfully along while his chest burned with every breath he drew.

  By the time he reached the lake, the old man and Libby were waiting for him and he pushed himself to pick up his pace. Solly walked down the shoreline about a hundred yards, not far at all from where Carson had dragged Libby ashore hours earlier. He poked around a bit in the alders that grew along the high-water mark, then gestured down at his feet and held the alders aside, revealing a jumbled pile of weathered stones.

  Libby stood over the grave for a moment, then knelt and pressed her hand to a stone in a tender gesture that Carson thought the yellow three-legged dog would have understood. She rose to her feet and the old man turned and looked out at the lake. He raised his arm and pointed, and Carson followed with his eyes.

  “The plane went down there.”

  Carson squinted into the morning sun. There was a relative term that could cover a lot of territory. He couldn’t tell how far out the old man was pointing. “How deep is the water in that spot?”

  “Not so deep,” the old man said. “But the runoff from the river flows over it.”

  Carson rubbed the rough stubble on his chin. “That’s why the search planes couldn’t find it,” he mused. “Not only were they looking in the wrong spot, but even if they flew right over it the glacial silt from that river must’ve covered it almost immediately, especially if the plane dug in and kicked up a cloud when it hit bottom.”

  “If it’s buried in silt, how will you find it without your sonar?” Libby asked, echoing Carson’s own thoughts.

  “We’d have to bring in another piece of sonar equipment,” Carson said. “I’ll have to do that anyway, to
find the sonar we lost when Frey rammed us. In the meantime I have my dive gear in the plane. If someone were to stand on shore and signal me to the right spot, I could go down and have a look.” Carson knew it would be a crapshoot trying to find the wreckage that way, and even if he did, it would no doubt be buried beneath twenty-eight years of glacial silt. All he’d be able to locate was the tail section. Still, he was itching to see what shape it was in and what it was going to take to raise the Beaver to the surface. Only then would Libby know if her father’s remains were still in the plane.

  Only then would she be able to prove her paternity.

  Libby had slipped the leather thong holding the ring around her neck, and her hand was closed tightly around the gold wedding band. “That’s not a good plan,” she said with a shake of her head. “It’s too risky, and the odds of you being able to spot the plane if it’s covered in silt aren’t very good.”

  “I’ll take one shallow dive for a quick look-see,” Carson said, “but by noon I’ll have to be out of here. I have to pick up the engine part at my shop and fly it out to the ship. I’ll come back just as soon as I fix the Explorer’s engine and I’ll bring another side scan sonar.” Carson turned to Solly. “Do you think you could signal me from shore to the spot where the plane went down?”

  The old man nodded. “I think so.”

  They heard the approaching drone of an outboard motor and looked down the lake. One of the boats from the lodge was approaching at a good clip. As it drew closer Carson recognized the man who’d gone out with Libby to search the lake and he felt a dark twinge of jealousy mingle with all the other twinges of pain he was experiencing that fine morning.

  “It’s Graham.” He heard Libby speak at his shoulder. “Solly’s son.” She lifted her arm in a wave. Graham cut the motor and let the skiff drift to shore. When it beached he jumped out and waded toward them, his relief at finding them alive brightening his expression.

  “Everybody okay?” he asked, his gaze drawn to Libby’s bruised and bloodied temple. “What happened?”

  “We’re fine,” Libby replied. “Frey chased us down in his boat last night and he ran right over us. Carson got me to shore, and from there we made it to your father’s cabin. Solly took good care of us. Your father fixed me a poultice, and made us some very nasty-tasting tea.”

  “That was good medicine.” The old man nodded with a satisfied gleam in his eye. “Powerful.”

  “The wardens should be here soon,” Graham said. “Karen called them as soon as we came back from the first search, around midnight, I guess it was. They were going to wait until sunrise to fly in. We’ve been searching all night, ever since Luanne came to the lodge saying that Frey had gone out after you. She suspected he was up to no good.”

  “Bless Luanne,” Carson heard Libby murmur. “Graham? Don’t let her go back there. Keep her away from Frey. She can move into the cabin I’m in. There’s plenty of room, and I’m sure Karen would be happy to hire her.”

  “She already has. Luane’ll be working for Karen for the rest of the summer. I’ll let her know about sharing the cabin. The two of you want a ride back to the lodge, or were you planning to walk?”

  Libby turned to Solly. “Come with us. Karen will fix us breakfast, and then we’ll look for the plane.”

  The old man shook his head. “I have to go back and feed my dogs. I’ll come down to the lake when it’s time.”

  Libby hugged him, and Carson didn’t have to wonder at Solly’s startled expression. “Thank you, Solly,” she said in a voice choked with emotion. “Thank you for telling me about my father.”

  THEY WERE HALFWAY BACK to the lodge when the warden’s plane flew over. It made a long banking turn when they waved a paddle, and flew back over them again. Then the plane landed across their bow and as they drew alongside the prop feathered to a stop. The pilot popped open his door and leaned out. “Everyone okay?” he said, echoing Graham’s words.

  “We’re okay,” Libby said, “but Daniel Frey sank our boat and tried to kill us.”

  The warden piloting the plane was young and zealous-looking, which Libby took as a good sign. The warden riding shotgun, on the other hand, looked old and mellow. He probably didn’t have the spit and vinegar to chase down real criminals anymore. The young warden gave her a curt nod. “The woman at the lodge explained the situation. We’ll talk to Mr. Frey.”

  “You need to do more than just talk to him. You need to arrest him!” Libby said. “He should be in jail. He tried to kill us last night. He’s a dangerous man!”

  The warden nodded again. “We’ll be sure to look into it, ma’am. We’re just glad you’re both okay.”

  He slammed the plane’s door shut and taxied off toward the lodge’s dock. Libby blew out an angry whoosh of air. “You wait and see,” she fumed. “Frey’ll somehow talk his way out of this.”

  “His money will do the talking,” Carson said. “Billionaires rarely go to jail. They don’t have to play by the system’s rules. But don’t worry. One way or another he’ll get what’s coming to him.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Libby responded, staring across the lake toward the big fancy lodge. “He’s lived pretty high off the hog for a long time.”

  Karen met them down on the dock and gave Libby a heartfelt hug. “You scared us all to death!” she exclaimed, holding Libby at arm’s length. “What happened? How did you cut your head?”

  Libby explained as they walked up toward the lodge, where Karen sat her down in the kitchen, poured her a cup of coffee, and then very tenderly administered to the gash on her temple. “The wardens have gone to speak with Daniel Frey,” she said, applying antibiotic ointment to the gash and then taping a clean bandage over it. “They’ll probably haul him straight to Fairbanks and throw him in a jail cell after what he did last night. Would you like a couple of aspirin?”

  “Love some, thanks,” Libby said. “Where’s Carson?” She stood with a surge of anxiety and moved to the window, staring up the shore toward the point, but there were no signs of activity.

  “Relax. Mike took the wardens over to Mr. Frey’s lodge in the big boat. Graham and Carson went along with them. I guess you didn’t find your father’s plane last night?”

  “Not exactly,” Libby replied, refocusing her attention on Frey’s dock, where she could see another boat tied off next to the Chris-Craft. “But we came a whole lot closer. Solly showed us where it went down. He saw the whole thing. He also saw Daniel Frey drive his boat out to the spot right after the plane crashed to tow the two pontoons away with him.”

  “Dear God!” Karen said, handing her the aspirin and a glass of water. “Then he knew all about that crash, even where the plane went down, and never told anyone about it.”

  “Carson wants to find the spot this morning, but Karen, as much as I want to locate the plane, he’s in no shape to do anything right now, let alone dive on the wreckage.”

  “He’s very experienced. Surely if he thought he couldn’t do it, he wouldn’t take the risk.”

  “Of course he would,” Libby said. “Would his stubborn, prideful ego let him do anything else?” Libby swallowed the aspirin and set the water glass on the table. “Karen, if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to go lie down for a while. I have a world-class headache and last night wasn’t very restful.”

  “You go ahead. And don’t worry, I’ll wake you when Carson comes back. The wardens will want to get a statement from you.”

  Libby retreated to her little cabin, where she lay on the bunk and tried to sleep, but as exhausted as she was, all she could think about was her father’s plane lying just offshore in water that Solly said wasn’t too deep.

  How deep was not too deep?

  Maybe it was only ten feet down. Could she dive down to it? If she had one of those face masks all she’d have to do was hold her breath and… Ridiculous to even think about doing something like that.

  Or was it?

  She closed her eyes and pictured how she’d
go about it. She’d need a raft, something to swim off of and climb back onto easily. She’d need a face mask and a snorkel. She could snorkel along above the surface until she saw the tail section, and then hold her breath and dive down into the cold, dark, deep water….

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SUNLIGHT SPARKLED ON THE surface of the lake and not a breath of air marred its glassy expanse. She could see the outline of the Beaver so clearly. How could the search planes ever have missed it? The yellow color glowed like the sun itself on the lake bottom. She could even read the numbers on the tail of the plane. The water over the crash site wasn’t that deep at all. She’d easily be able to swim down to it. She held her breath and began the descent. It wasn’t nearly as difficult as she’d feared, nor was the water very cold. As she swam closer she could see the front of the plane and how it had gouged into the silt when it bottomed out. The prop was bent but the windshield was intact and clean. She could see inside the cockpit and as she drew near she could hear her heart clubbing in her ears and the pressure in her lungs intensified.

  There was a skeleton strapped in the seat, and she knew the anatomical name of every bone in that skeleton, just as she knew the name of the man whose bones they were. One of the skeletal arms floated in an unseen current. It lifted up and beckoned to her, and she jerked back, gasping with fright, and drew icy water into her lungs. Suddenly she was drowning in the cold dark depths, sinking toward the plane and the pale gleam of the bones in the cockpit. The bones were talking to her. Calling her name. She tried to scream but couldn’t make a sound. She tried to swim to the surface but her limbs were leaden and unresponsive.

  “Libby. Libby?”

  She cried out in terror as she felt something grab hold of her arm.

  “Libby. Wake up!”