To be awoken moments later by Jack touching her shoulder and saying quietly, “I’ve started the coffee and I took the pastry dough out of the refrigerator to rise. Is that okay?”
“No, no it’s not okay, it’s way too early, it’s not morning yet. I only just started to sleep,” Senna protested. But when she focused her eyes, lo and behold, she could see the gray light of morning and Jack standing beside the couch, looking concerned.
“Are you sick?” he said.
“Don’t worry. I can still cook breakfast and clean rooms.” Senna pushed herself up on one elbow and brushed her hair back from her forehead. “Goody’s a dear woman but she snores.”
Jack grinned. “When she stayed at the lake house, God love her, I slept on the floor out in the workshop. Grab a few more winks. I’ll give you another wake-up call in half an hour, after I feed the dogs. Meanwhile, let the coffee perk and the dough rise.”
After he’d gone she lay back on the couch for a few minutes more, wishing love wasn’t quite so painful.
JACK’S FIRST MORNING of guiding went well. After breakfast he took out a party of two, with Charlie taking the second boatload of clients and the remaining fishermen donning their waders and plying their lines in the pools above and below the lodge. Charlie might have put the dyed-in-the-wool fly fishermen off with his undeniable youth, but none of them, with all their worldly experience in all the highest-class resorts in the world, could hold a candle to his uncanny knowledge of the river and the fish they sought to catch. Predictably, when the two boats converged at the dock for lunch, Charlie’s clients were euphoric about their morning’s experiences. Not to say that his own weren’t, but to see the transformation of doubting Thomases to believers gave him a satisfying kick in the gut. “Good job, Charlie. I’m proud of you,” he said to the boy as they trailed their clients up the ramp.
“They talk a lot,” Charlie said, “but they can’t fish too good.”
Jack clasped the boy’s shoulder. “That’s why they have you along.”
Senna and Goody had prepared a veritable feast which everyone set to with great enthusiasm. Charlie and Jack ate in the kitchen, where Jack could watch Senna as she worked, breathing the scent of her hair when she passed near him and wondering what she’d do if he suddenly jumped off his stool, took her in his arms and kissed her silly. Slap him, probably. Might be worth it, though. Might make her realize what she’d be missing if she left here. Might make her realize that money wasn’t everything.
Though undoubtedly it helped. He had no idea how they were going to pay the hired help as well as the bank note and the vendors.
Senna came in from the dining room for the fourth time carrying an empty chafing dish. “Ida Snell is asking to see you,” she said. “She spent the morning bird-watching but was wondering if she could join a fishing party this afternoon for an hour or two, since Bert will be napping.”
“Sure. Not a problem. I’ll get the boat ready. Oh, before I forget again, there were two messages on the lake house phone yesterday. One was from your dear friend, Tim. He wants you to call. The other was from Granville. He’s found an important letter and he’s keeping it for you in his office, and the papers you need to sign have come. Just in case I should happen to drown this afternoon, I wanted you to know.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Glad to be of service,” he said, walking out the door.
Twenty minutes later he was starting the small but reliable four-stroke Honda and pointing the skiff downriver, with Ida on board and nobody else, because as it turned out most of the others were napping, too, after Senna and Goody’s huge lunch. Ida was wearing a nifty felt hat over her white head of hair and her ever-present binoculars were dangling around her neck. She was euphoric to have him all to herself. “I appreciate this, more than you’ll ever know, young man. This is my dream of a lifetime, and you’re making it come true. When my husband made the reservation, he told Admiral McCallum that he’d just had open heart surgery and we were both in our early seventies, and the admiral told him that all who wished to fish this special river were welcome to fish it, regardless of their gender, age, color or religious persuasions.”
Jack let the boat drift downstream with the current. “The admiral died a short while ago.”
“Yes, I was sorry to learn of that, but obviously his dream lives on in you and his granddaughter. This place of yours is a priceless treasure. Now let’s find some Atlantic salmon to catch and set free. Let’s shine a little light on this blue and green planet, so God can find it in the dark chaos of these troubled times.”
In the next hour Jack listened as Ida told him about the job she’d held prior to her retirement. “It was awful timing, really,” she said as he tied a black bear green butt to her line, having had no luck with the streamer. “I was two months short of retirement when it happened. I worked for a big life insurance company in New York City, and after September 11, I had to deal with a great many close relatives of the victims over the phone, trying to sort out the awful paperwork. They told me stories about their loved ones and some of them cried. Emotionally, that tipped me right over the edge.
“I went into a terrible depression and every night the nightmares would come back. Then one day my dear husband said to me, ‘Ida, you’ve always wanted to go on a fishing trip in a really wild place, and I think I’ve found the perfect spot.’ It’s amazing how planning for this trip has changed my life. So here we are, Mr. Hanson, and I can’t thank you enough for making my dream come true.”
Ida had no luck with the second fly, either, but not because she couldn’t fly-cast. She was really quite skilled, but every time she saw a bird she would fumble for her binoculars and hand the fly rod to Jack. Clearly, she was torn between two loves. Then, as the little Honda powered them slowly around a curve in the river, she spied the mouth of a tributary on the far bank. “Let’s try over there, Mr. Hanson,” she said. “What’s the name of that stream?”
“Black Duck Brook.” Jack steered a new course to take her to the mouth of the brook, and she alternately fly-cast and bird-watched happily for another half hour before deciding that he should really go up the stream a little ways.
“I bet there’s a big brook trout waiting up there with my name on it,” she said.
“The water’s deep right here, but she’ll shallow up fairly quickly,” Jack pointed out.
“Then we’ll just turn around when it does. Thank you for this adventure, Mr. Hanson. I don’t care if I catch a fish or not, being here is enough all by itself. Just wonderful.”
Jack steered the nose of the skiff up Black Duck Brook. Thirty feet across at the mouth, the brook soon narrowed to half that width and the current had strengthened significantly. Ida threw her line out every once in a while but seemed content just to peer ahead and call out the details of the journey. “Oh, did you see that beautiful bird? A northern three-toed woodpecker!” she said. “I’ve never seen one before, but then again I’ve never been this far north.” Then, a little farther along, she said, “Listen, I think I hear rapids!” and sure enough, another turn brought them face to face with an impressive fifteen-foot-high waterfall tumbling into a deep pool at its base. Ida pointed with her fly rod. “Right at the base of those falls is where my big brookie awaits. I can feel it in my old bones.”
Jack motored as close as he dared to the base of the falls and Ida cast out her fly. The cast was a pretty one, and by God, she hooked a fish right off, and not just an ordinary fish. By the flex of her fly rod, Ida had caught a monster of a brook trout. “I think it’s a big one, Mr. Hanson! I can hardly hold the tip of the rod up!” The fish leapt out of the water, thrashing madly, and Jack backed the boat as it made a run toward them.
“Better take in some line,” he advised.
Ida’s reel hummed as she cranked as fast as she could.
“Keep the tip of your rod up.”
She jerked it higher with great effort.
“The fish is making
a run. Give it some line….”
She gave it some line, her expression fierce with concentration beneath the brim of her felt hat.
“Watch it, he’s coming at you, take in any slack now and keep the tip up…. By damn, Mrs. Snell, I do believe you’ve hooked yourself a trophy fish.”
She looked back at him, eyes sparkling with excitement. “My very first arctic fish, at that,” she said. When the time came to net the trout, Ida admired it briefly then gave him a pleading look. “Please release it quickly, Mr. Hanson. Such a beautiful wild thing belongs in this beautiful wild place. I hope I haven’t hurt it.”
“You tired it out a little, that’s all, Mrs. Snell.”
“Then we’re even. I’m played out, too. How much do you think it weighs?”
“A brookie that long and that fat would go about ten pounds. That really is a trophy fish. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen finer.”
Jack carefully handled the trout in the water beside the skiff as he slipped the hook from its jaw. He held it cradled in his palms just beneath the surface of the water for a few moments until it regained its vitality and with one swift surge disappeared in the cold dark water. He glanced up and was deeply moved to see Ida’s cheeks wet with tears. She gave him a trembling smile as the sunshine splintered through the black spruce and spangled her face. “This has been such a wonderful day, Mr. Hanson. I can’t thank you enough.”
Had Jack been paying closer attention he would have noticed that the aluminum boat had drifted out of the calm eddy and into the swift current, but the vision of Ida Snell’s emotional reaction to catching the trout, and then begging him to let it go unharmed, riveted him. Most clients would have killed a fish that size and had it mounted to hang on their den wall back home. Ida’s compassionate generosity was a rare thing. She was a beautiful woman, and he knew that Senna would be as beautiful as Ida when she reached her older years, still full of zest and a love of life, still seeking and appreciating the healing power of the wild places. He felt a painful thump in his chest when he realized that he wanted very much to be there as Senna matured and grew old, and knew he wouldn’t be.
Almost at the same moment he felt another painful thump that knocked him against the gunnel as the boat ran up hard against a large boulder and spun sideways as the current swept them downstream.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JACK INSTANTLY GUNNED the throttle to straighten the boat out and steered into calmer water. “Are you all right?” he said to Ida, who had dropped her fly rod to grip both sides of the boat when they hit the rock.
“I’m fine, Mr. Hanson,” she said. “Are we sinking? My feet are getting wet.”
“We seem to have sprung a little leak. I’ll get you ashore and then bail her out.”
He made for the nearest landing spot and Ida was able to scramble ashore before the water had risen to ankle depth in the bottom of the boat. By the time Jack had secured the Lund and joined Ida on the bank, the water level had risen to mid-shin. The impact of the hull against the boulder had cracked a bottom seam, and that crack, from what Jack could see, was a good twelve inches long. He stood on the bank beside Ida and stared down into the boat.
“Well,” Ida said matter-of-factly. “I hope you brought some duct tape along.”
“Never travel without the stuff,” Jack said with a laugh. “I’ll make a fire and put the billy can on. You can have a cup of tea while I fix the boat.”
Ida sighed. “Tea sounds wonderful. What an adventure this is turning out to be! Do you think the boat will get us back to the lodge or will we have to walk? I love to walk, you know. Doesn’t bother me a bit, though it’ll take us a good deal longer. I can’t wait to tell Bert about that beautiful brook trout and the three-toed woodpecker.”
“Not to worry, Mrs. Snell. This boat’ll get us home in jig time. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.” After he’d kindled a little fire, made Mrs. Snell comfortable under some mosquito netting and put the billy can on, Jack withdrew the tarp he packed to use as a lean-to on foul days and a spool of parachute cord. The tarp measured fifteen by twenty feet and was barely large enough to do the job.
“Okay, Ida, here’s what I’m going to do,” he narrated, unfolding the tarp in the water at the stern of the boat. “I’m going to work this tarp under the boat and draw it up around both sides, stem and stern, and lash it through the grommets to secure it.”
“Wrap the boat up like a present, sort of,” Ida observed from her seat near the fire.
“That should seal off the leak by creating a temporary outer hull. How’s our tea coming?”
“Just fine. It’ll be ready when you are, young man.”
Jack waded into the icy water and began the painstaking process of trying to slide the tarp under the grounded boat. The boat was resting on a sandy strand, which helped enormously. The last thing he wanted to do was rip a hole in the tarp. He did the side farthest away from the bank first, lashing the tarp and fastening the lengths of cord to the thwarts, then working first at the bow, then at the stern, rocking the boat as little as possible as he gradually slid the bulk of the tarp beneath the hull, using the slack at the bow and stern to lever the remainder of the tarp into place. He had to lift the flooded stern with all his strength to shift it enough to get the tarp all the way under the boat, and then do the same in the bow. By the time he pulled the tarp up the near side of the boat and lashed it taut with the lengths of parachute cord, he was wet to the waist and shaking with cold and fatigue.
Jack climbed back into the boat and began to bail, slinging the water as fast as he could over the gunnels. After five minutes of steady bailing, he felt the boat lift off the stream bottom. In another five minutes the water was only ankle deep. “That’s got her, I think,” Jack said as he bailed down to the hull. “I’m ready for that cup of tea now, Mrs. Snell, and then we’ll head for the lodge.”
Ida poured him a cup from the billy can and he warmed himself by the fire while he drank the strong, dark, rejuvenating tea. “Well, young man,” she said. “I must say, I envy your lifestyle. You and your lovely wife certainly work hard, but it’s a good kind of work, far away from the madding crowds.”
Jack felt a jolt to the soles of his feet. Wife. He’d sworn never to walk that path again, but when Ida referred to Senna as his wife it had sounded…good.
“Senna’s not my wife, Mrs. Snell. She’s my business partner.”
Ida gave him a look he couldn’t quite fathom across the smoke of the little fire. “Well, you couldn’t have picked a better one. She’s a dear, and she knows more about birds than I do. More about plants, as well, and I always thought of myself as quite an expert on both.”
“She’s a wildlife biologist.”
Ida nodded. “That doesn’t surprise me a bit. She certainly loves it here, and you’re lucky to have her.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Jack said. “I only wish she felt the same.”
“Oh?” Ida’s eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”
“She came to Labrador to settle her grandfather’s estate and is only staying a few weeks. She plans to sell her half of the business in the fall, and nothing I’ve said has changed her mind. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
Ida studied him over the rim of her cup. “Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard,” she said. “Sometimes letting go of someone you love is the only way to keep them.”
Love? Ida’s words startled Jack yet again. He stared into the embers of the fire and rubbed his jaw.
Was he in love with Senna McCallum?
SENNA WAS DETERMINED not to worry just because Jack was a little late getting back with Ida. No doubt if they went very far downriver, the trip back up against the swift current would take quite a bit longer. But by suppertime, when they hadn’t arrived, she sent Charlie out in the second boat. The guests were on dessert when she heard both boats motoring toward the dock. She felt a strong rush of relief as she cleared the table, served dessert wine to those who wanted it, refilled co
ffee cups, shared in the easy banter, smiling, always smiling, until one of the guests, watching out the window as the boats approached, said, “What the hell? That’s gotta be one of the strangest sights I’ve ever seen.”
Everyone, Bert included, got up and tramped out onto the porch, where they stood for a moment speculating amongst themselves before descending the ramp to find out what had happened. By the time Senna reached the dock, Ida had been assisted out of the boat by a multitude of helping hands and everyone was examining the Lund with its makeshift outer hull. Senna could only imagine the story behind that.
“You’re a little late for supper, Ida,” Bert said, concerned. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Our boat sprung a little leak, but we had a fine time, didn’t we, Mr. Hanson?”
“The best of times,” Jack nodded.
“Mr. Hanson let me use his secret dry fly,” Ida said. “Bert, you should have seen the size of the brook trout I caught! It was twenty inches long and Mr. Hanson said it would probably weigh close to ten pounds! It was simply beautiful, and the spots on its side were so vivid and bright.”
“Why didn’t you keep it?” someone asked.
“Keep it? Why on earth? It belongs in the water. That’s where I caught it and that’s where I left it. I’ll keep the memory of catching it, and maybe someone else will have that same thrill some day.”
“What was the fly you used, Jack?” one of the guests asked.
“Top secret. If I told you that, I’d have to kill you,” Jack replied.
“You must be hungry, Ida,” Senna said. “Let’s go up to the lodge.”
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