by John Straley
“There’s a barrel of water and a bucket for your toilet. I’m the one who keeps the key and I’m the only one should be coming in and out. Each night you can go out on the crew deck for some air. Only one other person onboard is in on this with me. The others won’t know you. If anyone sees you walking around, don’t talk to them. Just come back here. They’ll think you’re new. Just don’t talk to nobody. You get me?”
The three men nodded. Each carried a duffle bag. Each of them looked warily at the opening to the small storage locker while the oiler sorted through his keys. “It’s going to be tight but there’s a vent. You’ll be all right.”
“We appreciate this,” William Pierce said to the man.
“I’m only doing this because I liked Dave Kept. He shouldn’t have got it like he did.” The oiler unlocked the door and swung it back to show the small space beneath a tangle of pipes.
“He was a good man,” McCauley Conner said as he slid his bag into the tight space. “We won’t screw this up.”
“Will it be a rough trip?” Raymond Cobb asked.
“Not for a while. Puke in the bucket if you have to, but don’t make a big deal of it. Someone hears you in here, they’ll make me open up for sure.”
“How rough?” the little fireplug of a man asked. His face was pale and a prickly sweat dotted his forehead.
“Don’t worry about it,” the oiler said, helping Cobb through the door. “It won’t get bad for a few days.” Then he closed the door, leaving the three men in a crawl space with a barrel, a bucket, and just enough room to lie down.
“How bad?” Raymond Cobb asked the darkness.
George didn’t remember going to sleep until he jerked awake at the sound of a man walking up and down the companionway ringing a chime and telling the passengers that the first seating for luncheon was available in the dining room.
George found the clattering dining hall and sat at a table with a pastor and his wife. After grace they sat in silence and slowly ate the watery soup the waiters brought around in shallow bowls. George waited to see if he was expected to make conversation with his tablemates. When the reverend took out a Bible and began reading silently to himself, George took out an old packet of letters and a telegram from his coat pocket. All of the correspondence was from his sister, and the telegram had just been delivered before he left his house.
George’s sister was named Rebecca. She worked at a mission school in Sitka, Alaska. George had corresponded with her over the years. But in the last twelve months, except for one letter after Benny’s death pleading with George to come and visit, there had been no letters from Alaska. As children, the siblings had played in the brambles together and had made forts within the hedgerow of scotch broom running alongside a neighbor’s yard. When Rebecca was sent away to live with an aunt and attend a Presbyterian school, George became the sole and silent audience for their father’s rambling lectures on the injustices of the world.
He opened the envelope and read her telegram.
George—Have started making plans for you.—Love, Rebecca.
His stomach tightened. He folded the telegram on top of the older packet of letters from her that he had saved over the years. He didn’t know why he had saved them all, each letter having only been read once.
“Why didn’t we just buy a ticket?” Ray Cobb asked the others. “I can already feel myself getting seasick.”
“Will you shut up about being sick,” Pierce said. He laid out a blanket on the greasy steel deck.
“We been through this, Ray. We don’t want to show up on the ship’s manifest or on any customs forms. We’re just going to slip up there and bring her back, and no one’s the wiser.” McCauley Conner dipped out a cup of water from the barrel and handed it to Cobb in the dark.
“How the fuck are we going to find her?” Cobb said before taking a drink.
“We go to Ketchikan and wait. It’s the first big city in Alaska they’ll come to,” Pierce said.
“What if they stay in Canada, or cut inland?” Cobb handed the cup back.
Pierce flopped down on his blanket and crossed his hands behind his head. “They might stay in Canada for a while, and if they do, we just work our way south. They won’t go inland because the country’s too rough and too desolate. Some Canadian cop’s going to notice them and start asking questions for sure. They’re in a boat. They’ll stick to the coast. Bet dollars to doughnuts they’ll go through Ketchikan on their way to Juneau.”
“Why Juneau?” Cobb started laying out his blanket.
“Cause they’ve got a messy mine strike happening up in Juneau. She’ll have Party members there, and plenty of buyers if she wants to stand on a soapbox. It’s made for Ellie Hobbes.”
“Why don’t we just fucking kill her and be done with it,” Cobb said. He rubbed the knot growing out of his scalp and swallowed hard just to keep the contents of his stomach in place.
Annabelle was sleeping on a pad on the floor of the forward compartment. It was the space where the curved walls of the hull met at the bow. Her head was two feet from the tip of the hull, and beyond that the anchor chain ran from the winch down through six fathoms of 43-degree water to the anchor buried in the muddy bottom. She could smell the pine tar and hemp calking in the planks as she lay in her new bed. The boat was a menagerie of sounds: the ticking of the galley clock and the flame in the oil stove rumbling through the darkness on leathery wings. At times a gust of wind shrieked through the rigging while the anchor popped in the bow roller and the boat swung to face into the wind.
As sleep came on she felt herself melting into the floor of the boat. But something clawing against the outside of the hull drew her up. She felt warm and light with worry now, imagining something clawing against the hull of the boat, trying to lift itself out of the icy water. She stumbled up the stairs and found herself on the deck looking out over the dark anchorage.
A cold wind needled through her jacket and nightgown. Her bare feet ached on the sticky decking. She hunched her shoulders and found thin pockets of warmth under her clothes. It was a night for seeing ghosts. But Annabelle was a serious girl and did not believe in ghosts. Even when she wished them to come.
The anchor light on top of the mast cast a pale glow over the water. She could see that down close to the hull there was a mat of seaweed with sticks laced through the rubbery fronds. As the boat swung on the anchor chain the mat pushed against the hull, and the pieces of wood, which were as varied in size as human bones, rattled against the hull.
“What you doing out here, girl?” Johnny asked from behind her.
She jumped and spun around. The rigging cut tangled shadows across his body but he was smiling and he had his hands out to her as if he were coming to take her someplace safe.
“I thought I heard something,” she said.
“I did, too,” Johnny said. He took her hand to take her back inside. “I heard you out here. Do me a favor, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want you coming out here by yourself.”
“No. I won’t,” she said. She padded down the stairs to her bed on the floor of the forward compartment. Slip and Ellie were breathing deep and steady breaths. Dead to the world.
ELEVEN
No one else was awake when Johnny started the engine and the anchor chain began to rattle in the locker next to the crew quarters. Annabelle scrambled up the steep steps to see what was going on. Slip and Ellie were slow to roll over in their bunks. The sunlight was just slanting in over the anchorage. The Pacific Pride was cupped in the crescent of a cobbled beach that was flaring gray and green as the thin new daylight washed across it. Annabelle padded up silently behind Johnny on deck at the anchor winch.
“Whatcha doing?” she asked.
“Criminy!” The skipper flinched and turned to her. “You scared me there.” Then he looked over the moving anchor chain to the beach and spoke over his shoulder. “You go back inside. When the hook comes off the bottom the boat might turn
toward the beach with the current. Just nudge her into gear and turn us off the beach. You remember the gear lever?”
“The one on the left … port … with the black knob?”
“That’s the one. No need to give her any fuel. I’ll get the chain up and the hook secure, and then we’ll work our way out of the cove.”
The deck was damp from the evening’s dew. The little girl walked back, placing her bare feet in her just-made prints on the deck. She made it into the wheelhouse just as Slip was coming up from below.
“Where we headed?” Slip asked the little girl in her nightshirt.
“I can’t talk right now. When the hook comes up, the boat might swing into the beach.” Annabelle hopped back on her box in front of the wheel, and slid her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her index finger.
The anchor came up and Ellie came from the forward berth to give Annabelle a kiss on the cheek. The little girl barely noticed her aunt as she turned the big boat away from the beach. Johnny secured the anchor in place and then took the wheel. Annabelle uncovered Buddy and the yellow bird began to chatter and preen his feathers.
“So, do you cook?” Johnny turned to Ellie.
The woman looked hard at the skipper, her fists resting on the points of her hips.
“It’s not what I’m best at.”
“Well, rummage around. There’s plenty of food and I promise no one on this boat gives any guff to the cook.”
Ellie and Slip walked down into the galley and went to work making a big pot of mush and frying up some eggs that could be eaten on slices of buttered bread. Coffee boiled and slopped out on top of the iron stove.
Johnny steered around the submerged rocks at the entrance to the cove where they had anchored. Once out of the cove he gradually gave the single engine more throttle and the boat churned west.
“I’ve been thinking,” Johnny said, with some trepidation. “I mean … I’ve made a decision of what I think is best.”
Everyone turned to face him. Slip was drinking coffee and Annabelle was crunching up a sugar cube with a spoon in her bowl of mush. Ellie handed Johnny a fresh mug of coffee.
“We’re going into Canada. I’m going to need to clear customs. I’m assuming that you don’t have all your papers and that you probably don’t want to stand up to a bunch of questions by the Canadian authorities. Is that right?”
“You have to clear customs?” Slip asked, chewing his toast.
“Yeah … well … they patrol this coast. Not all that often. Not all that regular. But if I’m going to deliver this wood up to the cannery, eventually I’m going to run into some government agents. What do I tell them? I got no reason not to clear customs.” He was stammering a bit and clearly uncomfortable.
“I understand,” Slip said, rubbing his hands across his sore chest.
Johnny cleared his throat nervously. “What I was thinking was that I’ll take you up to the beginning of the Gulf Islands. Then I’ll duck back and clear customs. You can just keep moving north and I’ll catch up with you in a couple of days.”
Slip handed Johnny a slice of buttered bread with a fried egg folded into it. “You think we’ll run into any customs agents?” he asked.
“Just don’t go into any of the villages. Stay to the back bays and try to keep to yourself. If someone sees you, they’ll think you’re local. Just don’t talk to too many people.”
“That sounds all right to me. A couple of days, you say?” Ellie stood with her hands on Annabelle’s shoulders.
“A couple of days for sure. I’ll show you on a chart where to start looking for me.”
“We’ve got food and water in our little boat?” Slip looked at Ellie.
“Enough for a couple of days, I think.” She looked at Slip and then at Johnny, working over this new plan in her mind. “We could manage,” she said.
Annabelle was looking out the side window to where the waves were scrolling past. Just the thought of getting back in the little boat made her hunch her shoulders and shudder.
“I’ve got another idea.” Johnny cleared his throat nervously. “I was thinking that Annabelle and Buddy can stay with me on the Pride. If customs asks any questions, I’ll tell them she’s my niece and that she’s coming along for the trip to help me steer. That last part is the truth and I think they’ll be happy with that.”
Annabelle turned her head to Johnny. “That sounds all right with me,” she said, and her spoon flipped out of her bowl, sending mush catapulting onto the deck.
“Jeepers, I don’t know …” Ellie said slowly, as she bent over to clean up the mush.
“It doesn’t matter to me,” the girl shrugged, when in fact the excitement at the prospect was building in her voice.
“It’s really the best plan,” Johnny said with his mouth full of bread and egg.
“I don’t know …” Ellie repeated. Her hands were gripping more tightly onto the girl’s shoulders than she realized.
“Just a couple of days.” Annabelle winced and moved away from her grip. She looked at Ellie and slid her glasses up her nose.
“I suppose,” Ellie said finally.
“All right then,” Johnny said, and he turned the boat toward the north.
The Pacific Pride wound a course up through the San Juan Islands. Past Shaw and Yellow Islands, Jones Island, and then Johnny set a course to the south side of Flattop and to the north of Johns Island to the south of Waldron. A few clouds gathered but the wind was mild and carried a slight chop. The high mountains to the east seemed to have crept closer and the others to the south and west had stepped back behind the close hills. The sides of the smaller islands were steep and they showed smooth granite faces. A swell was running from the northwest, and the waves crawled slowly up the smooth rock faces to break back on themselves in garlands of white. Just as they fetched up abeam of Flattop Island, a seal popped his head up ten yards from the boat and Johnny pointed it out to the girl. She stood up on her tiptoes and barely got a glimpse of the animal before it ducked straight down without a trace.
“It looked like a doll’s head,” she said, “except it looked like it was thinking.”
They spent most of the day moving toward the northeast. There was one section of water where big swells rolled under the Pacific Pride. At the top of the waves Annabelle could see the hazy line of the far horizon and moments later she was looking up the hill of the glittering green wave. Something in her chest rose up as she felt the big boat break across the top of the wave.
For most of the afternoon the Pacific Pride rolled gently as it quartered across the easy seas. The little dory skittered like a water bug behind the big boat, rising and falling at the end of its line almost like the tail of a kite. Annabelle stood by the wheel and talked with Johnny, and Ellie and Slip did the dishes, ate the last of the loaf of bread, and lay down in their bunks. The boat crossed over into Canadian waters.
Early in the afternoon Johnny eased back on the throttle, and Ellie and Slip came up from their bunks. Slip pulled the little dory alongside the big boat and stepped inside to bail her out. He undid the clasps on the trunk in the dory and took out the leather case with the roll of charts, which he handed up to Johnny on the back deck.
Ellie was putting on her warm coat and Slip stood looking down at the dory as if he’d rather take another beating than get back into the little boat. Johnny began to explain the points on the chart to Slip, who wasn’t paying any attention.
“See that island there?” Johnny said. He pointed to a steep-sided wooded island about three miles to the northwest. “That’s Saturna Island there. Look here on the chart.”
Ellie swung the big man’s shoulders around so she could see the charts clearly. “I’ll navigate. Slip’s still a little rocky,” she said.
Johnny looked over at Slip with a frown. “Okay, then. Here on the chart is Saturna. The one after that is Mayne and then Galiano. Just stay on this side of those islands. See? It’s like a channel. I’ll catch up with you before you g
et up here … Dodd Narrows,” and he pointed to a narrow passage on the chart. “Beyond that is Nanaimo. Don’t go through the narrows. There’ll be lots of boats waiting to go through Dodd at slack tide. If I don’t catch up with you before, I’ll wait on this side of the narrows.”
“Okay,” Ellie said, looking out at the expanse of sea to the distant island.
“There’s plenty of coves and places to tuck in. Just make sure you don’t pick a place that’s too busy. You’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” Ellie said again. “You take good care of her,” she said, with just the tinge of a threat. Then she turned, wrapped the girl in her arms for five seconds, and clambered over the side of the wooden boat into the dory.
Slip was the last to get in and he looked around as if he were lost.
“Two days?” he asked no one in particular.
“Two … three days at most. Just don’t go through Dodd Narrows. I’ll catch up,” Johnny said, and he threw the bow line into the dory.
Annabelle waved as if she were on the deck of an ocean liner leaving New York.
Ellie looked at the far shore of Saturna Island, and Slip gave the girl a quick nod and a smile and then fixed the oars in the oarlocks.
“Safe journey,” Johnny said. He put a big hand on Annabelle’s shoulder and led her into the wheelhouse.
Johnny swung the boat toward the southeast. Annabelle stood on the skipper’s short bunk and looked over the stern. Buddy was preening and pecking at his bell. She had given the bird two teaspoons of seeds that she had brought with her from the small boat. She stored the seeds in a green tonic bottle that she sometimes left in the bottom of the cage. She would buy some more seeds in Canada with some of the money she had kept in her shoe.
Buddy preened and worried his food while the little dory with the two adults grew smaller to the stern. Annabelle saw the long oars dipping slowly in and out of the water. They looked liked skinny little bug’s legs, she thought. Then she remembered Slip’s sore hands and thought she might buy him a pair of gloves when she got into Canada.