“His job was to watch the canoes.”
“You can let her go.” Cork nodded at the young woman. “She had nothing to do with this man’s death.”
“She had everything to do with this man’s death.”
“Who are you?” Lindsay said. “What do you want?”
“You talk too much,” the man said. “It would be best if you said nothing.”
“Are you going to kill us?” she asked.
“Only if necessary.”
“What would make that necessary?” Cork said.
“You’ll know when it happens.”
The others returned with packs, which they set in the canoes. From one of the packs the woman took a satellite phone and held it toward the tall man.
“You make the call,” she said. “I’ll hold the rifle.”
The tall man took the sat phone but handed the rifle to the kid. Then he walked away from the others and stood near the lakeshore and made the call.
“Well?” the woman said, when he returned.
“Nothing. Must be the clouds. We’ll try again at the next lake. Load up.”
The tall man directed Cork to the bow of the canoe that held the dead man.
“I don’t want him in the same canoe with Flynn.” The woman spat the words, full of venom.
“All right.” The tall man nodded toward the bow of the second canoe and told Cork to get in. He cut Lindsay’s hands free and put her in the middle of that same canoe with the gear, and he took the stern. When the kid and the woman had taken their places in the canoe that held the dead man, they shoved off.
The morning was windless, the water like glass. They glided easily across the lake, heading toward the place where John Harris’s canoe had been found empty and adrift and where the day before Cork had sat in his own canoe, trying to heed Meloux’s advice, waiting for something to come to him. And it had. In spades.
CHAPTER 12
“When I was a girl,” Rainy said, “my mother would read me the letters that came from Aunt Leah, from exotic-sounding places, talking about the work she and Uncle Lucius were doing, the battles he fought for souls and the ones she fought against disease. In a way, I became a nurse because of her and those letters. I haven’t seen her in over a decade. Her husband, Uncle Lucius—did you ever meet him, Uncle Henry?”
The old man was putting on his mackinaw. “No,” he said.
“He died a few months ago. I’d heard she might be coming back to Wisconsin, to Lac Courte Oreilles. I figured she might be feeling alone and wanting to connect with home and family. I sure didn’t expect her here. Why does she hate you so, Uncle Henry? Why does she believe you ruined her life?”
Rainy and her great-uncle were alone in the cabin. Everyone had gone, left quickly after the arrival of Leah Duling, fleeing, Rainy was certain, from the angry energy Leah had brought with her. She hadn’t really explained her presence on Crow Point or her obvious vitriol toward Henry. Daniel had insisted on seeing her back to her car. Rainy was pretty sure he wanted an opportunity to question her about her intentions regarding the wedding.
Henry said, “She once thought she would be my wife.”
“Aunt Leah? But you’re thirty years older than she is.”
“Fifty years ago, Niece, this skin was not spotted, this face was not cracked leather. And she was not the only woman who wanted to share my bed.”
Rainy hadn’t thought of her great-uncle in this way, a younger, virile man. He was her mentor, her teacher. There was such wisdom in him. He’d always been for her someone who’d somehow transcended the seductions of the flesh.
“What happened?”
“That is a story, Niece, I will save for another time.” He pulled on his gloves. “Right now, we have work to do.”
“What work?”
“If what we have been told about the vision of this young Harris is true, I believe there is a connection of spirit between him and Stephen O’Connor. We will prepare a sweat for them. Maybe this will help us all understand that connection.”
“Stephen will be fine with this, Uncle Henry. But I don’t know about Trevor Harris.”
“Then you will find him and help him to see what he must do.”
“He doesn’t know me.”
The old man ignored her objection. “After we ready the sweat lodge, you will bring him here.”
She knew better than to argue with her great-uncle. She put on her coat, an old flannel-lined jean jacket, and gloves, and followed him outside.
Henry went ahead. Rainy filled a wheelbarrow with firewood from the great stand laid up against her cabin, then she followed. The sweat lodge stood in a tiny clearing in the middle of a grove of birch trees at the very tip of Crow Point. The frame was constructed of aspen boughs, bent and tied together with rawhide prayer strips, and was covered with tarps and blankets. There was one opening, small enough that it required entry on hands and knees. Not far away lay the char from the fires that were built to heat the mishoomisag, or Grandfathers, the rocks that would be used in the sweat. Henry was inside the lodge, and Rainy began to unload the wood.
“Aunt Rainy!”
She turned and saw Daniel crossing the meadow.
“Did you escort Aunt Leah back to civilization?” she asked when he’d reached her.
“I took her as far as her car. The whole way she insisted she didn’t need my help. Which was probably true. She’s one very self-sufficient woman.”
“Did you get any more from her about why she’s here?”
“She insisted she has no intention of interfering with the wedding. She’s fine with that. More, I think, she’s intent on making Uncle Henry’s life miserable. The wedding is just an excuse to be here. Did Uncle Henry tell you anything about her?”
Before Rainy could answer, her great-uncle crawled out of the lodge.
“Boozhoo, Nephew,” the old man greeted Daniel. “Leah did not pounce on you and eat your heart?”
“She didn’t attack me, Uncle Henry, but she had nothing good to say about you.”
“When I knew her a lifetime ago, she was a woman of great passion and little control.”
“What did you do that makes her hate you so much?”
“He didn’t ask her to marry him,” Rainy said.
“Whoa, Uncle Henry. She was in love with you?”
“Do not sound so surprised, Nephew. Even a turtle may be beautiful to another turtle.”
“She’s no turtle. More like a badger.”
“While you stand here and offer only insults about one of your elders,” the old man said gruffly, “the work remains undone.”
When the lodge had been readied, Rainy asked Daniel’s help in finding and fetching Trevor Harris. He agreed.
“Wish us luck,” she said as they left.
“If I believed you needed luck,” Henry replied, “I would not have sent you.”
There were two paths to the cabins on Crow Point. One led through the forest north and was the way usually taken by Cork and his family or anyone else coming from Aurora. The other led east and was the main route for anyone coming from the Iron Lake Reservation. Rainy and Daniel followed this path a mile and a half to a gravel road where Rainy parked her Jeep and where Daniel had parked his truck. They took the truck. As they drove into Aurora, they talked about the wedding.
“Nervous?” Rainy asked.
“Eager,” Daniel said. “Any last-minute advice?”
“Talk to her honestly.”
“Do you and Cork do that?”
“He’s not one to talk much about his feelings.”
“Then Jenny must take after her mom,” Daniel said and smiled.
Rainy had known him from birth. Had watched him grow and stumble and find his way. She studied him, considered the man he’d grown into, the fine Ojibwe features of his face,
his proud bearing, his deep intelligence, his good heart, and it was so easy for her to see why Jenny would fall for him.
“Mind if I ask you a personal question?” he said.
“Go ahead.”
“You and Cork, do you think you’ll ever get married?”
“I’m not sure it’s in him. When he lost his wife, it left a greater wound than he’s willing to admit. I think he still needs to heal.”
“You’re Mide. You could help him.”
“Only when he’s ready to ask for my help.”
“If he proposed, would you say yes?”
She thought about that one. It wasn’t the first time she’d pondered the question.
“I don’t know. I’ve been on my own so long. Raised my children as a single mother. I certainly didn’t come to Crow Point looking for a relationship. I’m fine with the way things stand at the moment.”
This was not untrue. But there was more to it. She didn’t tell Daniel, didn’t tell anyone, not even Henry, about all the fear she fought against, about all the demons from her past. If Cork asked her to marry him, would she have the courage to tell him the whole, awful truth? And if she did, would he still love her?
* * *
They drove to the Four Seasons, which was where Cork had said the Harrises were staying. Rainy asked for Trevor Harris at the front desk, and they rang his room. He didn’t answer.
The desk clerk, a young woman with a tag that told them her name was Nadia and she was from Romania, said with a surprisingly light accent, “You might try the casino. He’s there a lot. And he’s very lucky.”
“Common knowledge?” Daniel asked.
“He tips well. And he likes to talk.”
They headed to the Chippewa Grand Casino, which was on the lakeshore south of Aurora. It had begun nearly twenty years ago as a single, great building, all white stone, glass, and glinting copper. In the years since, an eighteen-hole golf course had been added, along with a 150-room hotel, a large restaurant with a fine wood-fired grill, and an auditorium that could seat a thousand.
Although it was a Monday morning and long past the tourist season, the parking lot was surprisingly full. They walked into the cacophony of bells that rang out false promise and into a world without clocks because time was not an encouraged consideration in a casino. Nor was restraint. Casino profits had brought marvelous things for the Iron Lake Reservation: a good water and sewer system, paved roads, a new community and government center, a health clinic, and a number of economic initiatives. But Rainy was a healer. She was dismayed that these good things sometimes came from preying on those who battled a gambling addiction, or those who should be using their money instead to pay rent or buy food and medications.
“What’s he look like?” Daniel asked.
“Oh, crap,” Rainy said. Because it wasn’t something she’d thought of. She’d figured Trevor Harris would just come down to meet them at the Four Seasons, and the difficult part would be convincing him to do the sweat. She had no idea who to look for inside a lively casino.
She was saved by fate, although she knew that Henry might have said it was something else.
“Hey, Rainy. Hello, Daniel.”
Ernie Champoux approached them. He was a relative, one of Meloux’s great-nephews. He worked at the casino in some capacity that Rainy never quite understood. Something technical.
“Never figured you for a gambler, Rainy.”
“I’m not here to lose money, Ernie. I’m looking for someone.”
“Anybody I know?”
“A man named Trevor Harris.”
Champoux was square-built and square-faced with black hair that he wore in a crew cut. “Harris? Sure. Follow me.” He started down one of the aisles between two rows of slot machines. “How’re the wedding plans going, Daniel?”
“Good.”
“You’ve hooked a good woman in Jenny. I’ve known Cork and that family my whole life. Fine people. And little Waaboo? Icing on the cake.”
“Are you coming to the reception, Ernie?” Daniel asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Ernie stopped abruptly. “There. That’s him.”
He pointed toward a blackjack table, where a slender young man sat with an impressive stack of chips before him.
“Looks like he’s winning,” Daniel said.
“Seems to happen a lot for him,” Ernie replied. “One lucky son of a gun. Gotta get back to work. I’ll see you both at the wedding reception.”
Rainy and Daniel headed to the blackjack table, where the young man sat hunched over his cards and chips.
“Trevor Harris?”
He turned his head and looked at them. His eyes were blue and a little unfocused. At his elbow sat a glass with the last of what looked like it had been a Bloody Mary. “Yes?”
“Could we talk to you?”
“I’m in the middle of something here.”
“It’s about your vision.”
“I can see fine.”
“The vision you had about Stephen O’Connor.”
He stared at them. “Who are you?”
“My name is Rainy Bisonette. This is my nephew Daniel English. We’re friends of the O’Connor family.”
“Oh, sure.”
“Could we talk somewhere else?” Rainy said.
“Of course. Hang on a minute.”
He finished the hand, slid a blue chip across the table as a tip to the woman who’d been dealing, and gathered his winnings.
“How about the bar?” he suggested.
“That would be fine,” Rainy said.
It was still early and the Boundary Waters Lounge was quiet. They sat at a table. A waitress came and took their orders: iced tea for Rainy, a Coke for Daniel, a Bloody Mary for Harris. Although Rainy knew that it would have been better for the young man not to be drinking alcohol if he was going to agree to the sweat, she said nothing.
When their drinks had been delivered, Harris took a long sip, folded his hands on the table, and smiled at them. “All right.”
“Cork told us about the vision you had,” Rainy said. “I wonder if you’d mind sharing it with us.”
“Why?”
Rainy said, “Do you know anything about the Grand Medicine Society?”
“Never heard of it. Is it like the AMA?”
“Not exactly, but they’re healers. Ojibwe healers.”
“Okay. So?”
“I’m a member of the Grand Medicine Society. A Mide. My great-uncle, a man named Henry Meloux, is also Mide. Cork told us about your vision. But we’d like to hear it from you firsthand.”
“Because?”
“In the hope of understanding it better and maybe helping you to understand it better.”
“I understand it fine.”
“There’s something else, Trevor, something you don’t know.”
He waited.
“In your vision, as I understand it, Stephen O’Connor spoke to you.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Stephen is on his way here now. He’s had a kind of dark premonition. He gets them sometimes. We’ve learned to pay attention.”
“Premonition about what?”
“We believe it’s about Cork.”
She saw him tense. “He and my sister are in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness right now.”
“Yes, we know.”
“Hang on,” he said. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cell phone, and made a call. He waited, finally shook his head, and put the phone away. “Lindsay’s not answering. Did you try Cork?”
“Yes, but cell phone service is nonexistent in the Boundary Waters.”
“So . . .” He seemed lost a moment. “What exactly do you want from me? What do we do?”
“We’d like you to come with us. We’d li
ke you to talk to my great-uncle and take part in a sweat. Do you know what that is?”
“I think so. But why?”
“A sweat can be a way of opening yourself to an awareness that’s locked inside you. It might help you understand your vision better. Stephen will also take part in the sweat. We’re hoping this might help us understand why he was a part of your vision and maybe what his premonition is all about.”
“I don’t know. You’re Indian, so this is probably normal stuff to you.”
“I understand. But consider this. If Cork’s in danger, your sister might be, too.”
“Yeah.” His face looked colorless, his features pinched with concern. “Yeah,” he said again, this time to himself. He thought it over some more, then said, “Okay. Why not? What have we got to lose, right?”
“Thank you.”
“So, when do we leave?”
“Right now, if you’re ready.”
“I need to go back to my hotel first. Can you pick me up there? The Four Seasons?”
“Of course.”
He looked at his watch. “Would two o’clock be okay?”
“Two o’clock would be fine.”
“All right then. Let me cash out and I’m off.”
He walked away, and Daniel said, “That wasn’t so hard.”
Rainy stared where the young man had disappeared amid the maze of machines that sang like sirens to the desperate, the hopeful, the greedy, the lost.
“I’m not sure why exactly,” she said, “but I get the feeling that was the easy part.”
CHAPTER 13
They canoed the western side of the horseshoe lake until they reached the place where a small stream fed through a line of rushes into the great boggy area filled with tamaracks that they’d seen the day before. In the lead, the tall man threaded his canoe through the reeds and onto the stream. The water was clear and the bottom visible just inches below them. During the search for John Harris, someone had tried to navigate the stream, but it was so shallow and narrow and meandered so pointlessly through the bog that the effort had been quickly abandoned. The slender, handmade birch-bark crafts, however, skimmed along the thread of water without any problem. The way was barely wide enough for their passage. If Cork hadn’t been careful, he might have tangled his paddle in the dead reeds that formed a wall on either side.
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