by Jean Barrett
He wasn’t worried. She couldn’t leave the estate. He had sneaked the gate opener out of her van last night, and if she had managed before leaving the house to locate the master opener in the service passage, the gates would have already opened. But he could just make them out far below on this side of the bridge, and they were tightly closed.
Peaches waited at the window to be certain. There was a fog developing in the valley. One of those infamous fogs that cursed this region in the fall. It was drifting like smoke over the stream, threatening to obscure his view of the gates in the slowly strengthening daylight.
There! He could see the lights of the van again as it emerged from around the wooded corner of the last switchback. As it neared the approach to the bridge, the gates swung slowly inward. Peaches swore savagely. The bitch had managed to find another opener.
The fog closed in around the van, swallowing it completely as it crossed the bridge to the turning. He leaped for the telephone beside his bed, stabbing in the numbers for the Big Mountain Motel.
Lew’s voice was groggy and irritable when he answered seconds later. Peaches rapidly explained the situation. “If you hurry, maybe you can still catch her where Settlement Road joins the main road into Rosebay. She was headed that way, but this fog has got to slow her down.”
“I’m on to it,” Lew promised, fully alert now.
LESS THAN twenty minutes later, unshaven and looking more unkempt than usual in clothes he had flung on in haste, Lew arrived at the intersection. He had driven with reckless speed through the fog in order to intercept the van. He was too late. She had beat him to the crossroads. He could see the back end of her vehicle receding into the fog on a main road that swung off to the right.
Lew didn’t hesitate. Racing through the turn at a dangerous angle, he chased the van up the highway. There was no other traffic at this early hour, but his pursuit was hopeless. The fog was thicker than ever, a choking wall of eerie gray. He lost her taillights almost immediately, and though he continued to search the highway, he failed to overtake her. She could have turned off on any of a half dozen side roads.
Cursing in frustration, he pulled off on the shoulder. He found a cigar and lit it, smoking in tense puffs as he examined the situation. The bitch had to be on her way to Rhyder. But why, at this ungodly hour? He sensed it was something major this time, something he needed to prevent. But how? He could wander these roads all morning and never find her.
Then he remembered the painting that Peaches had given him in the bar last night. It was still on the back seat where he had tossed it when he’d returned to his motel. If he could find one of the locals able to identify the setting in that picture…
The nearest possibility was a dilapidated general store back at the intersection on the edge of Rosebay. He had passed it many times. He’d begin there.
Stubbing out the cigar, Lew turned the sedan and traveled toward Rosebay. He was in luck when he reached the crossroads. As early as it was, there were lights at the rear of the sagging building. He figured whoever operated the store must live on the premises. He didn’t hesitate to march around to the back where he found another entrance.
The woman who answered his knock had a seamed face and a sour expression that told him she wasn’t happy to have a visitor hours before her store opened. He displayed his identification, explained he was in the area on police business, and showed her the watercolor.
“Any chance, ma’am, that you recognize where this might have been painted?”
She scarcely glanced at the picture before informing him flatly, “I ought to. It’s one of the rental properties I handle.”
Lew couldn’t have been more pleased. A break at last! “Could you give me directions to the place?”
She hesitated, poking at wisps of her untidy silver hair. “I don’t know about that. There are renters there. I wouldn’t like them disturbed.”
“This is an official investigation, ma’am.”
“Meaning I don’t have a choice about it, huh?”
The elderly storekeeper reluctantly provided him with directions to the cabin. After closing the door on him, she was uneasy about what she’d done. She watched from a window as he departed in the blue sedan. Badge or not, she hadn’t liked him. A cop from St. Louis. That’s what his identification had claimed. What was a St. Louis cop doing this far from home? Maybe it was something she shouldn’t ignore. Maybe his visit to her should be reported.
Turning away from the window, she went to the phone on the wall and dialed the Rosebay police.
THERE HAD BEEN an anxious moment, just after they passed through the intersection where the general store was located, when Ellie feared she was being tailed again. She’d glimpsed headlights in her rearview mirror. But when she took the next turning, they vanished somewhere behind her in the fog.
Convinced it couldn’t have been Lew Ferguson after all, she concentrated on her driving. The fog was a relentless hazard, so heavy in places that the headlights were barely able to penetrate it. She had to crawl along the highway, losing precious time.
It was hard to tell in the fog, but she figured it must be full daylight by now. The household would be stirring back at the castle. Maybe they had already discovered that she and Joel were missing. But she couldn’t worry about that. She had to keep her mind on getting Joel to his father.
They were climbing the high, wooded ridge now that separated the valley from the deep cove that sheltered the cabin beside the Cherokee River. The fog was less dense up here but still thick enough that it made the narrow, twisting lane difficult to negotiate. The hemlocks seemed to close in on them, their wet, drooping boughs slapping like ghostly hands at the sides of the van.
Joel had been silent through most of the drive as he held Hobo on his lap, but she could feel his mounting anticipation. He was excited about joining his father. Their arrival at the cabin would bring a new beginning for him.
But for Ellie it would mean an ending, a separation so wrenching that it already filled her with a profound despair. Once she had delivered Joel, she had no choice but to let both father and son go. She and Noah had never discussed the possibility, but she knew he would never permit her to sacrifice her life in St. Louis, to join them in their harrowing fugitive existence. They would leave without her, disappear from North Carolina, and she would forever lose the man she loved.
Battling the anguish that threatened to overwhelm her, Ellie brought the van to the crest of the ridge. They began the long descent to the floor of the cove, following the zigzags that carried them toward the river in easy stages. The fog was much lighter on this side of the mountain. She was able to catch glimpses of the cabin below through gaps in the trees. Joel saw the structure, too.
“Is that where Daddy is waiting, Ellie?” His voice was breathless with longing.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
Noah must have heard the sound of their engine. By the time they arrived in the clearing he was out of the cabin and moving toward them as swiftly as his injured ankle would permit. He wasn’t using the crutch today, but he was limping, which could be a problem in their flight from the cove.
Ellie had scarcely brought the van to a halt before Joel was out the door and tearing toward his father. She remained at the wheel, not wanting to intrude on their reunion. They met under the sourwood tree, Noah sweeping up his son in a fierce embrace.
Any small, lingering doubt she might have felt for stealing Joel from his guardian was obliterated as she watched father and son in their emotional bonding. Tears threatened her when Noah’s gaze sought hers over Joel’s head, his eyes expressing a loving gratitude to her for bringing him his son.
Climbing from the van, Ellie joined them under the sourwood tree. There was a wonderful joy on Noah’s lean face when he caught one of her hands and raised it to his lips, tenderly kissing her fingers.
“You’ve given me back my son. There aren’t enough thank-yous in the world for that. But how did you—”
“I managed. I had to,” she said with a catch in her voice. “Joel had to be where I knew he’d be safe.”
“Trouble?” Noah’s smile melted away. “Come on inside and tell me everything.” His hand still clasping hers, he started to draw her toward the cabin.
Ellie pulled away. “No, there isn’t time.”
While they went on standing under the tree, she rapidly filled him in on all that had happened since she’d left him yesterday. Joel added his own bits and pieces.
“Noah, you and Joel have to leave now,” she urged him. “They must already be out searching, and if they find this place—”
Noah held up a hand, silencing her. “I think maybe they already have,” he said grimly. “Listen.”
She heard it then, too. The sound of a car engine high on the ridge above them. Turning, she searched the distant woods where the fog still trailed in long bands above the treetops. Seconds later, she caught a glimpse of dark blue through the drifting layers of mist.
“It’s Lew Ferguson’s car! That must have been him behind me at the crossroads! Noah, you can’t confront him! He’ll be armed, and maybe he’s not alone!”
“I don’t intend to risk Joel with any encounters, not if I can help it. We’re getting out of here before Ferguson arrives.”
“How? The road dead-ends here. There is no other route. Oh, you can’t be thinking of running for it on foot! Not with your ankle!”
“Give me credit, Ellie. There are all kinds of books and maps inside the cabin, and I’ve spent two days studying them. The river is going to take us out of here.”
The raft! He meant to escape down the Cherokee on the raft! “But there are rapids!”
“Nothing I can’t handle. I’ve been practicing. We’re wasting time. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Taking Joel by the hand, he hurried them in the direction of the river. He had been inactive long enough. This time he was taking control of the situation, making the decisions, and she was happy to let him.
She spared a frantic glance behind her. No sign of the blue sedan yet arriving in the clearing, but she could hear its approach along the zigzags. Grasping both her purse and the puppet she’d brought with her from the van, she turned and ran.
By the time Ellie reached the riverbank, Noah had Joel already settled in the raft and was buckling him into a life jacket. The inflated raft was plastic-coated nylon, supported by a steel frame and equipped with a pair of aluminum oars. There was adequate room between its cross tubes for two adults and a child.
“Where do you want me to sit?” she asked.
“You’re not coming with us, Ellie. There’s still a chance for you to avoid any charges. It’s all I’ve got to give you, and I want you to have it. You can tell them I broke into the castle and took you hostage when you caught me snatching Joel. You can say I forced you to drive us here. Ferguson might know otherwise, but this way, by letting you go now, he’ll never be able to prove it.”
“You’re not leaving me behind. Think of Joel. How can you possibly manage the raft in white water and at the same time make sure he’s not swept overboard?”
It was a plea for which he had no argument.
“I can still say I was a hostage, that you chose to release me after the raft landed.”
The moment was too urgent for any further delay. The blue sedan had already emerged from the woods less than a mile away.
“Get in,” he commanded her tautly.
Ellie wasted no time scrambling into the raft. Slipping into a life jacket, she settled into the stern compartment where she held the small figure of Joel between her legs.
“I’ll hang on to you,” she instructed him, handing him the puppet, “but it’s your job to hang on to Hobo.”
Joel nodded, clutching the puppet on his lap as Noah shoved the raft from the bank, hopped aboard when it was afloat, and seized the oars with confidence.
By the time Lew Ferguson trotted around the comer of the cabin, Noah’s powerful rowing had carried them out into the middle of the Cherokee’s yellow-green depths. Immediately spotting the raft bearing the man who was once again eluding him, the detective raced down to the riverbank.
Reaching the shore, he shouted something after them. Ellie didn’t understand what it was, because by then they were rounding the first bend. The clearing, together with the cabin and Ferguson, were suddenly, mercifully lost to view. There was only the river now and the steep wilderness areas that bordered it on both sides, where wisps of fog steamed through the dark evergreens. Their thick ranks were broken here and there by rioting maples that scattered their leaves on the drifting river.
Noah drove them steadily downstream. Ellie huddled there in the bottom of the raft, wondering what threats Ferguson had been shouting at them from the riverbank and whether there was any possible way that he could still pursue them. But she had no chance to worry about that in earnest. There was a much more immediate concern. The first cataract was just ahead of them.
Ellie, hearing the thunder of the boiling waters where the river narrowed and dropped on a treacherous, rock-studded bed, gripped Joel with her hands and legs and prayed that Noah knew what he was doing.
“Don’t worry,” he called out to her, sensing her alarm, “we’ll be fine.”
He didn’t speak again after that, needing to concentrate on his maneuvers. As they neared the rapids, he pivoted the raft with a skillful stroke of a single oar. Now he was facing downstream and rowing against the current, slowing the craft in order to choose a safe passage through the savage waters.
Twisting her head around, Ellie watched him search the constricted river for the channel he needed. Seconds later, he directed them toward a dark tongue of water between a pair of massive boulders, where only slight riffles disturbed the surface.
As they neared the chute, he corrected their position with a slight feathering of the oars. Then he calmly rested on the oars while Ellie caught her breath and braced herself. The raft seemed to hang suspended for a moment, like a roller-coaster car hesitating on the pinnacle. Then the current grabbed it, rushed it forward, and hurled it into the funnel.
They came charging down into a churning chaos of rock and water. The hydraulics on all sides were spectacular. Torrents that leaped and surged and spumed, beating at the raft, soaking its occupants. Ellie, clutching the grab line with one hand and Joel with the other, heard both herself and the child yelling above the tumult as they caromed from boulder to boulder.
Noah was kept busy as he fought to keep the raft from broaching and overturning in the jumbled crosscurrents. At the same time, with the craft weaving and bobbing from one side of the stream to the other, he continued to find safe passages for them through the obstacles.
At long last they tumbled through the last chute and came to rest in a quiet pool. The turbulence was behind them, the raft swaying on a gentle current.
“Everybody okay?” Noah asked, releasing the oars in their locks.
“Still here,” Ellie assured him, amazed that they hadn’t swamped in what had seemed like a deluge. But there was a good reason for that. The raft was a self-bailer, allowing any collected water to flow back into the river through a series of grommet holes.
“Are there gonna be more rapids, Daddy?”
“A few of them,” he answered carelessly, taking up the oars again.
“Please tell me,” Ellie pleaded, “that we have just passed through the worst of them.”
His only reply was a diabolical grin. She and Joel exchanged startled looks.
“Daddy is just having fun with us, sweetheart.”
She was to regret her casual assurance a half mile later when they heard the ominous roar of the Cherokee’s next cataract Before she could object, Noah launched them through another chute into a seething cauldron of spewing foam and enormous standing waves that punished the careening raft from every side.
The channel was worse here, not just because it was clogged with rocks but because it occurred on a
bend in the river. The current was so furious in its velocity that it swept them to the outside of the bend. It was a dangerous place to be since there were obstructions in the form of fallen trees.
Before Noah could avoid it, they were slammed against a massive trunk with wicked snags. Ellie heard a sickening crunch, and then they were free and racing on toward the next funnel.
She thought no more about the collision until a moment later when, after slicing through the last drop, they were suddenly pinned behind a huge slab of submerged gneiss. She heard Noah curse as he struggled to stabilize the spinning raft.
“What is it?” she called above the violent swells.
“Backroller,” he shouted. “A spot where the current piles up on itself and actually runs back upstream. Or tries to.”
“Is that bad?”
“It’s like a whirlpool. It can trap you for hours.”
It was Joel who informed them that the situation was even more hazardous than that “Daddy, the raft is leaking air.”
He was right, Ellie realized. The raft was beginning to shrink slowly on its steel frame.
“One of the snags on that tree must have punctured it,” she said.
“Looks like we have just minutes to break out of here, and not hours,” Noah said grimly. “Ellie, do you see the air pump down there? Can you keep us afloat long enough for me to try to get us safely to shore?”
The air pump, with its hose already attached to the nozzle, was a bellows variety that was worked with the foot. Ellie pumped it vigorously while Noah battled to release the raft from the backroller.
By shifting their body weights as he commanded, and with his intense exertions at the oars, they finally escaped the suction. The battered raft was settling in the water, threatening to sink in spite of her efforts with the pump, as he ferried them across the current at a forty-five-degree angle.
The cataclysm at last behind them, they reached the riverbank. The raft was rapidly shriveling on its frame when they crawled ashore, wet but safe.