by Will Hobbs
Kane was almost to the top. In the murk of approaching darkness, it was difficult to make out the features he was encountering on the cliff. Kane was little more than a shadow now, moving slowly upward. But it appeared he was having to contend with the rock face above him pitching slightly out to sea.
Thirty feet, Nathan guessed. That’s all that remained between Kane and his freedom.
Suddenly Kane was struggling. An arm kept grasping for a hold, and his entire body seemed to be leaning farther and farther away from the cliff. His center of gravity, Nathan realized, had shifted to the gold at the small of his back.
What now? Nathan thought. What’s he going to do now? How can he be strong enough to hold on?
He wasn’t.
One moment Kane was still clinging to the cliff, and the next he was falling backward, face up, plummeting to the rocks below.
Kane never cried out. He had those few seconds left as he was falling, and then he disappeared among the jumble of rocks below the cliff.
Nathan stood up in the canoe, trying to catch a glimpse of Kane’s body. Would he have been killed instantly?
Then he saw him, utterly motionless, heaped on a boulder with his head, arms, and legs askew, like a rag doll twisted limb from limb.
It had ended so quickly. Nathan was unable to believe what he’d just seen. He closed his eyes, steadying himself against the side of the canoe. He knew he shouldn’t feel sorry for Kane. This was a cruel, evil man, without pity or remorse, who would have taken Nathan’s life and George’s too. Yet Nathan hadn’t been ready to see this. He felt exhausted, overwhelmed.
“We can go home now,” Lighthouse George said gently, his hand on Nathan’s arm.
“He almost got away,” Nathan said as he sat back down.
George nodded. “Too much gold.”
21
Everything Passes, Everything Changes
July turned to August. The drying racks all over Neah Bay and across the roofs of the longhouses reflected the Makahs’ great wealth—the teeming abundance of the sea. The village smelled of fish and burning alder smoke from all the smokehouses, and was filled with the sound of screaming seagulls from dawn until dark. The sun had bleached the gigantic skeleton of the gray whale a bright white.
Nathan started going barefoot like the Makahs. His feet grew as tough and calloused as Lighthouse George’s, and his hands as rough. Paddling the canoe was second nature to him now, as familiar as the scent of cedar.
Every day he felt himself getting stronger, and he relished all the fishing with Lighthouse George. He knew it wouldn’t last. Each day was shorter than the one before, each night a little longer and a little colder.
While the sea air was making him grow stronger, it was having the opposite effect on his mother. Summer was almost gone, and his mother’s health still hadn’t improved. To Nathan and his father, she seemed weaker than she had in April, when she’d first moved from Tatoosh to Neah Bay. The Indian agent finally announced the long-postponed visit of the doctor from Port Townsend. In the last week of August he arrived at last to spend a week tending to the people of Neah Bay. Nathan and Lighthouse George paddled out to Tatoosh to bring his father to Neah Bay to hear what the doctor would say about his mother’s health.
Nathan’s mother was examined at the Indian Agency. Nathan and his father were called into the doctor’s temporary office after the examination was completed so they could all hear the results together. The doctor’s expression was solemn. Nathan had the panicky feeling that his mother was mortally sick.
“I regret that I am about to frighten you,” the doctor began, looking over his reading glasses. He was an old man, thin and bald. Nathan’s mother was trying to quell her cough as the doctor spoke, but she couldn’t.
Nathan felt himself being overcome by grief, as if he’d already lost her.
“I am too old and have seen too much to be indirect,” the doctor continued. “Tuberculosis is on the rise again in every little town up and down the coast. Mrs. MacAllister has been sick for some time now, and in her weakened condition, she will contract it soon, in my judgment. With the turn of the weather and the advent of the fall storms—”
“What you are saying, Doctor,” Nathan’s father interrupted, “is that Mrs. MacAllister does not have tuberculosis?”
“That’s correct. But I would say she is highly disposed toward it.”
“Thank God. It was my worst fear. Then she can still get well—she can recover fully?”
“That’s correct,” replied the doctor. “But her illness is serious, make no mistake. She must leave this climate, in my opinion.”
“We will, then,” Captain MacAllister said without hesitation, his large hand reaching for his wife’s shoulder.
The doctor nodded approvingly. “That would be my advice, and soon.”
Nathan’s mother objected, “You can’t give up the sea, Zachary.”
“It’s time,” his father said. “It’s just as well. I’m weary of the confinement that comes with the lighthouse life. It’s like being on a ship that never arrives in port.”
That evening back in the cottage, Nathan’s parents talked of the warm valley of California, where his mother had been raised, and they talked of a farm, and orchards, and cattle. His father thought they had enough savings to buy a very small farm, and if they were successful after some years, it would become a ranch. He could see his mother’s habitual determination being rekindled as they spoke.
Nathan listened carefully. He willed himself to picture the farm and the fruit trees and maybe a horse for him.
It was a good picture, but it lacked the sea. Salt water was in his veins. His heart was full of the surging Pacific and the screaming gulls and the fragrance of cedars. He would even miss the power of the winter storms. But he would miss Lighthouse George most of all.
He said none of these things. He thought about the vision of the farm. They would have their own land; they would make it productive. His mother had spoken occasionally over the years of the beauty and fertility of the great valley of California, watered by mountain rivers on their way to the ocean. In the heat of California, his mother could grow all the flowers and vegetables she ever wanted. In the heat of the valley, she would regain her health.
His parents paused, waiting for his reaction. He knew his mind. More than anything, it was important that he pull his share. “I want to help build that farm,” he said decisively.
“You make me proud,” his father said.
“When will we go?”
“We’ll not wait for the Lighthouse Service to replace me. That will take until spring, unless they are forced to act by my absence. I’ll let them know immediately that I’m leaving. Then they’ll find another head keeper in a month. Perhaps one of the assistants might even be suitable.”
“The valley of California…,” Nathan’s mother repeated. Spoken from her lips, it was a hopeful and magical phrase.
She turned to her only child and studied his face. “Are you just being brave about leaving, Nathan? What do you really feel? You’ll miss the sea, I know. We all will. You’ll miss Neah Bay. And I fear you will miss Lighthouse George terribly.”
He knew how hard it was going to be for him to leave. But he found his answer in something his mother had once told him, a saying he now repeated back to her: “Everything passes, everything changes.”
And it was true. His time at Neah Bay seemed to have passed like fog blowing out to sea. It hadn’t become his home, yet the people and the place had become a part of him, a part that he would keep with him wherever he went.
Perhaps he’d return, one day. Return and visit Lighthouse George.
Two more weeks were all that remained, the first two weeks of September. Two weeks of fishing with George during the last salmon run of the season. The silvers were running in abundance; the drying racks and the smokehouses were once again full. During this interval Captain Bim returned to reopen the trading post, surprising no one more than hi
mself by how much he had missed Neah Bay. He was happy simply to be back, happier still when he discovered the place where Kane had hidden the remainder of his twenty-dollar gold pieces.
Young Carver finished the new whaling canoe, and Nathan helped to launch it and paddle it out into the bay and around Waadah Island.
On the day before they were to leave on the Anna Rose, Nathan’s mother baked a birthday cake for his father. His father’s fifty-second birthday was still a week away, but they would be on a steamer heading south then, and among strangers. His mother invited Lighthouse George and Rebecca to be their guests for their last evening in Neah Bay.
George brought several fresh silver salmon, which Rebecca roasted the Makah way, upright on small frames of cedar sticks, by a small campfire outside the cottage. Nathan’s father and mother told George and Rebecca that they’d never tasted such delicious salmon, which brought a smile to Rebecca’s face. After supper, as the sun was setting, Nathan went inside to bring out the cake, which his mother had hidden in the cupboard.
Nathan disregarded the birthday candles his mother had set out. He had a surprise for his father, the sort of birthday gesture that would strike his fancy. Earlier in the day, Nathan had gone to the longhouse for half a dozen dried eulachon. He’d been wanting to perform this experiment for weeks and had never gotten the chance. His father’s birthday provided the perfect opportunity.
He stuck the small smeltlike fish into the cake, heads first. Then he lit the tails of “the fish that burns,” and was delighted with the outcome. Every tail was burning brightly as he stepped outside and presented the cake to his father.
His father, for a certainty, had never seen such a sight. Barely able to contain his laughter, he managed to blow out the burning tails.
The evening held another surprise, this one from Lighthouse George. After they finished eating their cake, George reached under a piece of cloth in Rebecca’s basket and brought out something wrapped in an embroidered piece of linen. Nathan guessed it was a loaf of bread, a gift for his father. Instead, George handed it to Nathan, who wasn’t prepared for its improbable weight. A bar of solid gold fell to the ground.
One of the ingots that had been on Kane’s body, Nathan realized immediately.
“It’s for the new farm,” George said proudly. “Lotsa land.”
Nathan’s father was speechless.
“The Makahs only have three bars,” his mother said to Nathan.
“I know,” Nathan replied, looking at his fishing partner. “You want us to have one?”
Both George and Rebecca nodded, and Nathan knew he couldn’t refuse this gift. His parents knew it, too.
“Thank you,” Nathan said.
Lighthouse George shrugged. “We give away the others sometime, too. Big potlatch.”
The next day, Nathan and George paddled out to the Anna Rose. As they neared the steamer, Nathan knew the last of his time in the canoe was running out, his time with George. His family’s household goods and their trunks of clothing, ferried out to the steamer on platforms of cedar planks spanning two canoes, had already been loaded aboard the ship. His parents had gone ahead as well, after saying their good-byes in the village.
It was time for Nathan to climb out of the canoe. At first he couldn’t find words to say to George. All he had was feelings, far too deep for words. Then he said, “Thank you,” and he took his paddle out of the water and rested it inside the canoe, against the thwart. His eyes went misty, and he said, “Good-bye, George.”
“Keep that paddle, Yaw-ka-duke, to remember me. You’re a good puller, good fisherman, good friend.”
“I don’t have anything to leave with you.”
George smiled and tapped his heart.
“I’ll come back one day. I know I will.”
George nodded. “I’ll save a place in the canoe for you.”
Nathan stepped out of the canoe with his paddle. He didn’t look back until after he’d disappeared inside and climbed to the ship’s upper deck, where he joined his parents.
The Anna Rose sounded its horn, reminding Nathan of the great fog trumpet on Tatoosh.
George paddled his graceful canoe safely clear of the ship, and then he spun it around and watched the huge steamer pull out, spouting dense black smoke from its stacks.
Nathan kept his eyes fixed on Lighthouse George and his canoe. Within minutes the man and the canoe were melding together and blurring in the distance. Neah Bay’s longhouses, behind, were blending into the forest. Nathan lifted his paddle high and waved it three times in the air.
He was able to make out a paddle waved three times in reply.
Author’s Note
While Ghost Canoe is a work of fiction, it is grounded in the geography, natural history, and human history of the Northwest. The Cape Flattery Lighthouse on Tatoosh Island had indeed seen a succession of bachelor lighthouse keepers since its light first shone on December 28, 1857. In 1874, the year of my story, plans were in the offing to improve the living quarters in order to attract a keeper with a family. Although the light itself was automated in 1977, the original lighthouse still stands on Tatoosh today.
Mail was delivered from Neah Bay to Tatoosh Island during the 1870s by dugout canoe. Lighthouse Jack was the mailman’s name, and Young Doctor was the name of a prominent canoe carver of the era. I have named my fictional characters Lighthouse George and Young Carver as a tribute to these actual historical figures.
The Chinook trading jargon, drawn from a number of native languages, as well as French and English, was at the height of its usefulness and popularity in the 1870s, spoken by at least a hundred thousand people in the Northwest. Vestiges of the Chinook jargon can still be found in place-names and regionalisms today. A few Chinook words found their way into broader modern English, as in the expression “high-muck-a-muck,” thought to have originally described chiefs with much food to give away at potlatches.
Ghost Canoe was inspired by the canoes themselves. The great canoes are once again being carved from Western red cedar trees by native people, including the contemporary Makah, from Washington State up through British Columbia to southeast Alaska, and paddled on the waters of the Pacific. They are a sight to see.
About the Author
WILL HOBBS is the award-winning author of many previous novels for young readers, including BEARSTONE, KOKOPELLI’S FLUTE, and FAR NORTH. A graduate of Stanford University, Will lives in the mountains near Durango, Colorado, with his wife, Jean. In addition to their river and high country adventures in the Southwest, Will and Jean have been answering the call of the coast in recent years. The more they see of the Northwest, from Washington State to the island-studded Inside Passage of British Columbia and southeast Alaska, the more they find themselves returning. GHOST CANOE, Will’s first mystery novel, is set on the very tip of Washington’s Olympic Peninsula.
To find out more about Will Hobbs, visit his website at www.WillHobbsAuthor.com
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Other Books by
Will Hobbs
BEARDANCE
BEARSTONE
THE BIG WANDER
CHANGES IN LATITUDES
FAR NORTH
JASON’S GOLD
KOKOPELLI’S FLUTE
THE MAZE
Copyright
Images not available for electronic edition.
GHOST CANOE. Copyright © 1997 by Will Hobbs. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
&
nbsp; Adobe Digital Edition July 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-196365-0
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321)
Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900
Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
77-85 Fulham Palace Road
London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
10 East 53rd Street
New York, NY 10022
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com