An hour later, the little pantry yielded up another bottle of wine—a forgotten jug of Chablis that fortunately had a screw top. Who knew how long it had been sitting there, hiding behind jars of herb-laced tomatoes, olives, brownie mixes and boxes of linguini? Charlie dropped a couple of ice cubes into her water glass and filled it with crisp white wine. Her thoughts ran around inside her head like racers on a track, each one jockeying for first position in her life.
Paul found her, sleeping, sometime past three in the morning. Hazily, she remembered his helping her to stand, his strong arm around her as he helped her climb the stairs to the bedroom, his assistance in getting her out of her sweats and into pajamas. She also remembered his deep sigh of exasperation as he finally lay down beside her.
She was half-awake by then, and the racers had stopped running. Before she fell asleep, Charlie knew, with searing clarity, just what she intended to do.
Chapter Eighteen
“You’re almost as healthy as a horse!”
Danny managed a grin at Evan, who had just removed the last of his bandages. His skin was red and raw and there were areas of dark bruising, but, all in all, he was one lucky guy.
“Can’t begin to thank you,” he said for the thousandth time.
Evan shrugged. “No problem. Always wanted to try out my skills on a human. When an animal has a fall like that, you have to shoot them. Too costly to let them lie around healing like you did.”
“By the way,” Danny said, hesitating a bit, “what did you do to get here? Not the type to go around killing people, any more than I am. You’re a healer—”
Evan heaved a sigh. “Yeah. Speaking of irony. I was dedicated to saving lives and easing the suffering of animals. But I’m also a fallible human being. On the night I asked Haley to marry me, we celebrated a little too much and went to bed a little—” he grunted, and continued, “a lot too drunk. About two in the morning I heard a noise in the hospital—”
“Where the animals were?”
“Yeah. Grabbed my gun and ran out there, woozy as I was, and Jesus! There were dogs and cats and birds all over the place, just chaos, you know. I saw two figures running across the lawn, and I went after them, yelling at them to stop, but they didn’t. They got to the road and I let go with both barrels, killed them both.” He paused and rubbed his chin.
Danny nodded. With a grimace of pain he struggled to a sitting position. “Didn’t they cut you any slack because of the break-in and the damage? That wasn’t your fault.”
“They were just kids,” Evan said, his voice a whisper. “Twelve and thirteen, and one of them was a girl. When I saw what I’d done, I almost put a bullet in my own brain—”
“Tough to do with a rifle,” Martin interrupted, in the same tone he might use to say ‘it’s a nice day.’ ” The cabin door swung shut behind him. He crossed the floor to Danny’s cot, trailed by a tall, bronze-skinned young man. He was thin and sinewy with sharp dark eyes, and he wore his jet-black hair in a long braid down his back. Danny felt a jolt of recognition; had he met this young man before, somewhere in the world he had left behind, the real world?
Martin jerked a thumb at their visitor. “This here is Talon. He’s an animal lover, like Evan.”
“Ever been to Connecticut?” Danny asked, not bothering with the preliminaries.
“Nope,” the young man replied. “Spent all my life in Montana, ’til I got here, that is.”
“Talon’s an Indian,” Jake said. “That is, Native American, though why in God’s name we have to be politically correct out here, I don’t know.”
“Heard what you did,” Talon said to Danny. “Gutsy try.”
Evan motioned to Martin. “Give us a hand, Guy. We’ve been getting him up and walking.” Pointing to several hand-made stick chairs in the center of the room, he said, “Let’s sit over there. I have some of that fermented bean stuff that tastes like beer.”
“If you use your imagination,” Martin said. He gripped Danny’s other arm, and he and Evan held him up as he forced his legs to move across the room. Twenty feet had never felt so far.
“You’ll be okay,” Evan said, as they lowered Danny into a chair. “It’s going to take time.”
Talon, following like a shadow—without a sound—slid into one of the other chairs. Evan left the room for a few minutes, then returned with several cups and a large flask made of the same red clay. He pulled out a cork stopper and poured the dark amber liquid into a mug for each of them.
Danny raised it to his lips and, feeling the chill surface of the mug, took a sip. It tasted like the best beer he had ever had, ice cold and fragrantly bitter as it filled his mouth. He savored the taste before he swallowed.
“My God, Evan! Where’ve you been hiding this? And how do you keep it cold?”
Evan chuckled. “Thought you might like it. Have to be careful, though, unless we all want to get roaring drunk. It doesn’t take much of this.”
“We dug a deep pit and lined it with rocks,” Jake said, answering Danny’s question. “Away from the sun, the damp earth and clay jars keep it cold.”
”The river runs under the Village at some points,” Evan continued. “The water is frigid down there, and we dug the cooling pit above it.”
“It’s not bad,” Martin conceded. He sloshed the dark liquid around in the cup and stared down into it. “They make vodka out of potatoes, and wine from almost anything that grows.” He raised the cup to Evan. “Great bean juice! Here’s to you.”
Danny turned his attention back to Talon. “What tribe are you from?”
“Cree, from Canada.”
“How did you end up in Montana?”
Talon put his mug on the makeshift coffee table. “During the seventies a lot of Cree kids were adopted by families in the States. My mom was one of them. She was adopted by a white family, but she was light-skinned and they named her Abigail, so she fit right in.”
“As opposed to naming her Drinking Fawn,” Martin cracked.
Talon flicked him a glance. “When I was born, I was a shock to everyone. Dark skin, mess of black hair. They said I was a throw-back to the tribe.”
Sitting with the other men, Danny—in spite of his unremitting pain—was enjoying the afternoon more than he had enjoyed anything on Death Island. It was almost like old times with old friends as they talked and drank Evan’s excellent brew.
Finally, Martin stood up and stretched. “Well, Gentlemen, I have reservations at Chateau Français for dinner, so I’ll take my leave now.”
“Stay and eat with us,” Jake said.
“Thanks, but no,” Martin replied. “I need to check on what the Tribe is doing. Last time I skulked around there, they were getting all painted and liquored up.”
“Should that concern us?” Danny wanted to know.
“It might.” Martin shrugged. “Maybe not. But if they’re headed cross-island toward us, we’d sure as hell better know about it.”
He turned and called back to Talon, “Hey, Wide Frozen River, tell Danny about your boat-building skills. Maybe he’ll want to try that next.”
Danny’s ears perked up and he threw Talon a questioning look. Again, the surge of recognition. But, where? When?
Evan interrupted. “Danny’s still got a lot of healing to do before he makes another escape attempt.
Jake nodded. “Why don’t we set Danny up outside? You guys can chew the fat and get a little drunker while we see about dinner.”
Jake and Evan dragged two of the rustic chairs into the sun, a short distance from the cabin. The wooden wall that encircled the Village ran across their vision to the right.
On the left, the forest encroached, hiding all traces of the wall.
Danny couldn’t believe how great the sun felt on his bare arms and legs. They looked so pale! The deep tan he had acquired in his first few weeks on the island had faded.
He leaned back in the clumsy chair, aware of every aching muscle. How long, he wondered, would it take before he would
be strong enough to make another attempt?
He squinted his eyes and looked at Talon. “About the boat?” he asked.
“Canoes,” Talon replied, not shifting his gaze from a copse of trees in the distance. “I custom-made them as a sideline.”
“Really!” Danny said, impressed. “Why haven’t you made one and got out of here?”
“Tried it twice. I’m still here.” Talon’s eyes slid left, and his head moved ever so slightly as he seemed to follow something’s invisible progress just beyond the tree line.
“What’s out there?” Danny asked, switching his gaze to follow Talon’s.
“Don’t know,” Talon replied, “but there’s trouble brewing. I can smell it in the air.”
“The Tribe, you think?”
“Or Javonne. Something’s cooking, and it ain’t just dinner.”
“Javonne? He can’t fight the whole Village.”
Talon finally looked at Danny, then flicked his eyes away. “Javonne’s been after me. I’ve had a couple of run-ins with him. He’s bigger and stronger, but I’m quicker and faster.”
“And smarter,” Danny added. “Jeez! As if there weren’t enough to worry about here without—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Talon interrupted. “I don’t like to think about that. I’ll kill him if I ever get the chance.”
Danny nodded. “Can’t blame you. Back to my question. Why haven’t you split this place?”
Talon lifted a shoulder. “I built one canoe. It was almost finished—a beauty, too. I had dried and stored enough food and water for several weeks. When we flew over I’d noticed other small islands not too far from us. Figured I could make it to one in a month or so, maybe.”
“But—?” Danny asked, hunching forward.
“Came out one morning and the thing was gone. In the night someone had come and stolen it.”
Danny grunted in commiseration. “Rotten luck. You made another?”
“Yeah. Only that time I made it inside my cabin. Didn’t tell anyone, didn’t show anyone. But it was too lightweight. I took it out for a trial, and the waves smashed it up against the rocks before I could clear them.”
“I know how that feels,” Danny quipped.
Talon went on, as though talking to himself. “I need to make one heavy and strong for those rough waters out there. It’s not just a river with a few rapids. It would need two men at least.”
“Well, here I am!”
“So I see,” was Talon’s non-committal reply.
“Seriously, I mean it,” Danny persisted. “I’ll help you build it. But isn’t there another problem—access? Rocks and sharks? How did you get yours into the water?”
Talon permitted himself the beginnings of a grin. “I found access,” he said. “Evan told you part of the river flows under the Village. If we can get the canoe down there through a cave I found, there is access to the river, and it leads to the ocean in one narrow place.”
Danny’s felt a surge of hope at Talon’s use of we. He sensed, however, that this quiet young man would not be pushed into a decision. “I’m ready when you are,” was all he permitted himself to say, and was gratified when Talon nodded, his eyes already back to watching the woods.
“I wonder where the cameras are here,” Danny said after a few moments of silence. “Martin can always spot them, but I can’t.”
“I wouldn’t dignify them by looking,” Talon remarked, getting to his feet. “I’m going to take my chair in, and take my leave. Jake or Evan will come out to help you back in.” He picked up the chair easily and left without a glance at Danny.
Disappointed, Danny held himself back from calling after Talon. Obviously this young man would not be pushed or prodded into anything he didn’t want to do. Danny would just have to wait for Talon to come to him. Well, he had time—plenty of that—and not much else.
He looked around. “Charlie?” he asked into the late afternoon air. “Are you there?” A green and yellow bird—some kind of parrot, he assumed—fluttered onto a branch just above him and let out a congenial squawk.
“Is your name Charlie?” Danny knew it was stupid to feel annoyed with the bird, but unreasonable or not, he felt as though the bird was offering itself as poor compensation for everything he had lost. He longed for his former life, for Katie, for the smell of new wood, the feel of the hammer in his hand, for the kids he and Katie had sponsored at the church youth group, and most of all—because somewhere in this world she was alive, and beautiful and real—he missed Charlie.
“Well, I’m alive, Charlie,” he said, as if she were sitting next to him. “And I’m going to try again. I know you know that I didn’t kill Katie. Somehow I’m going to get off this island, get home and prove my innocence. Don’t give up on me!”
“Talking to the TV morons?” Jake asked, coming up behind him. “It’s only a couple months till they vote someone off for this year. You hoping for that?”
Danny flinched. “Just saying ‘hi’ to someone. They’re not all morons.”
“Oh? Someone special back there?”
Danny read his unasked question. “Not a girlfriend, Jake, no. I was never unfaithful to Katie. But she is a friend, someone special. I hope she can help me on her end. Her husband has some influence.”
“Don’t count on it,” Jake warned. “There are guys here who had a lot of influence back home.” He paused, as he helped Danny stand, and they started walking slowly back toward the cabin. “As a matter of fact, I was one of them. I went to high school with the governor of my state, who is buddies with the CEO of Sikorsky. They forget they ever knew you once you get sent here.”
Danny choked back a sharp retort. “Charlie won’t forget,” he said softly, and with all his heart he believed it.
Chapter Nineteen
The church parlor was crowded. Charlie, peering from in back of the deep green curtains that were drawn across the stage, estimated the crowd to be about two hundred, mostly women. They were not all members of the congregation, and a few men, too, were scattered here and there. People talked among themselves, but not loudly. A hint of anticipation filled the air.
She knew Paul would be furious. She hadn’t told him that she’d written the letter, and she hadn’t asked permission to use the church parlor for a meeting. Paul was at a two-day retreat in Bennington, Vermont, and she had carefully timed the letter to arrive the day he left. He had asked the congregation not to contact him while he was on retreat, referring them to the new young minister in Plainville, the next town over. Good! She certainly didn’t want him walking in on her meeting. The congregation would assume that she had the approval of one committee or another to call a meeting in the parlor. After all, she was the minister’s wife!
Charlie pulled down the jacket of her pale blue suit and adjusted the bow of the Liz blouse underneath. Her feet already hurt, and she wished again she were the type who could wear high heels comfortably and walk in them confidently; she never had managed that little trick. She fluffed her hair, glanced at her watch. It was time. She turned away from the curtain, walked down the steps at the side of stage, and entered the parlor by way of the side door.
The crowd hushed as she entered the room and walked to the center in front of the stage. One of the custodians, hearing that the parlor would be used for a meeting, had set up the hand mike and left it on a small table. Charlie picked it up, looked out into the audience and smiled. Voices faded away as they waited for her to speak.
“Thank you for coming,” she began. “As most of you know, I’m Charlie—short for Charlotte—Adjavon. I wrote the letter you received and called this meeting on my own. Paul knows nothing about it, and I’m sure I’m going to hear about it later!”
There were a few giggles and the crowd moved restlessly.
“Okay, I’ll get right to it. Danny Manning was a friend of mine, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is innocent. I’m asking you all to join me in a campaign to get him pardoned and freed, and bring him home.”
<
br /> The crowd was quiet, as if absorbing what she had said. Charlie looked around. Norma Harris sat at the end of the first row, her face showing nothing as she worked on her knitting. Mindy, Heather and Sarah—her best friends—were nowhere to be found, but there was Diana Wilmot, smiling at her from the center.
Charlie took a deep breath and plunged in again. “I have a list of things we could do, starting tonight, if anyone is willing. I have printed out a form letter that we can send to our senators and representative and the state attorney general asking that the case be reopened.”
She inspected the crowd again. A few heads nodded and some faces were grimly noncommittal. A few people, like Norma, seemed fixated on private activities of their own.
“But I think our best chance of freeing Danny,” she continued, “would be to focus on the TV reality show, Death Island, and inundating the host, Pierre LeGrande, with letters, emails and phone calls.”
“He’ll never take phone calls from us,” a young blond woman in a black jumper and white blouse objected.
“No,” Charlie said, and smiled at her. “I don’t expect him to. But we can call anyway and leave messages.”
“Email is the best idea,” Patrice Jennings, who served on the Worship Committee, interjected. “We can all do that, every day, several times, in fact. Do you have Pierre’s email address, Charlie?”
“I do,” she said, and taking an index card from her pocket, she read it off. Then, noticing the easel chalkboard at the side of the stage, she picked up a piece of chalk and wrote it in large letters on the green surface.
“Excuse me, Charlie,” a man’s voice interrupted. Charlie knew him only by sight, as he rarely attended church. “I came tonight because my wife showed me your letter, but I have to say I’m surprised you’re mixed up in this. Why are you so sure Danny Manning is innocent? They caught him standing over his dead wife with his axe in his hand. Sounds like guilty to me.”
There were some murmurs of assent. Diana Wilmot jumped to her feet. “I worked with Katie Manning,” she said, addressing herself to the man who had spoken.
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