When he finished, he lowered the trumpet and bowed reverently toward Miss Nokomis. His mouth tingled and glowed scarlet in the morning sun.
CHAPTER 14
A PAIR OF STRONG HANDS gripped Haven’s shoulders and jostled him from a deep sleep. He had been dreaming of water, of floating on the lake and staring up at the clouds while seagulls swirled overhead and snapped their sharp beaks at the sky. A voice called to him from the shore and his body rattled back and forth until his head plunged under the surface. Gasping for breath, Haven’s eyes shot open and the dream dissipated like torn smoke. The cabin was so dark he could only see the silhouette of a figure straddling his body. The hands that gripped his bare skin were calloused and clammy, but the voice was unmistakable.
“Wake up!” Marcus shouted in his face. His eyes gleamed as though someone had lit a lantern behind his lashes. There was an urgency to his voice, laced with panic, that set Haven’s heart to a gallop. “Get out of bed. All of you! Wake up!”
Jude was already awake, sitting up in bed and kneading the sleep from his eyes. He was a notoriously light sleeper and Haven guessed that he awoke the minute Marcus crashed into their cabin. Wetherby moaned, though it sounded more like a strangled wheeze, and sat up in his bed, moistening his thick lips with the tip of his tongue.
“What’s going on?” Haven yawned and slid into a sitting position.
“We got to do something!” Marcus shouted.
“What are you talking about?” Jude demanded.
“Some bad shit is happening.” Marcus rummaged around the cabin gathering the clothes scattered on the floor. He tossed shirts and pants and underwear into their bed. “Get dressed. We’ve got to do something!”
“Slow down, brother!” Jude called. He caught a tangled shirt in midair and slipped his arms through the sleeves.
“You mind telling us what the fuss is about?” Wetherby said.
“Out there!” Marcus pointed at the window. The moon and the stars shone so brightly they tinged the glass yellow-gold.
“What?” Jude slipped out of bed and pulled his pants over his hips. “What’s going on out there?”
“Look!”
Haven rolled out of bed and nearly tripped over his pant legs as he struggled into them. He peered out the window and gasped. Every nerve, every drop of bile and blood in his body froze. He had read stories in newspapers about this sort of thing, but he never thought he would see it, and certainly never dreamed it would happen at a place like Camp Nokomis.
The window pane was not glowing from starlight. It glowed from a flaming cross that someone had erected in the centre of the fire pit.
“Fire!” Haven screamed.
“Good Lord!” Wetherby heaved himself from bed and limped toward the window where Jude stood, mesmerized by the flames.
“Come on!” Marcus opened the door. “We’ve got to put it out!”
“Stay here, Pa!” Jude called as the three of them rushed from the cabin.
Haven could barely hear the crackle of flames over the roar of blood in his ears. Sparks shot out in all directions like the fireworks at the Totem Ceremony. A few threatened to ignite the flag that hung flaccid at the side of the pole. The cross stood just over six feet tall. It had been cut from a roughly hewn sapling; the crossbar had been tied on with thick twine used to secure the boats to the moorings. It reeked of kerosene and charred wood. Black smoke billowed from its apogee and melded into the night sky.
Eleanor ran out of the lodge in her nightgown, her long red braids flapping behind her. She clenched her fists to her face and screamed. Her voice pinched the night until Haven thought the sky would pop under the sound. She ran circles round the cross, staring up at it and screaming.
“Water!” she shouted. “Somebody get some water!”
Someone thrust a bucket in Haven’s hands. Marcus and Jude were already scooping water from the lake with their own pails and dousing the cross. Haven ran into the icy water, soaking the cuffs of his pants, and heaved a bucketful at the flames. The water hissed and sizzled and thickened the smoke that surged from its top. He ran back in for a refill, coughing as the wind shifted the smoke in his direction. His eyes burned and he could barely draw in a breath.
The girls had left their cabins and stood gaping at the flaming cross. Several were screaming; others dashed back and forth across the clearing, their white nightgowns rippling behind them like wings, fluttering angels eluding hellfire.
“Get back!” Eleanor commanded. “Stay in your cabins!”
Charlotte and Margaret were at Haven’s side, hefting their own buckets of water at the flames. Charlotte ran back to the lake but stumbled over a rock and fell splashing into the inky water. A wave tumbled over her head and she let go of her pail. It floated away into the darkness like a ship released from its mooring. Haven plunged in after her, the cool water soothing his burning skin. He groped through the murky waves until he found her arms flailing with panic. Gripping her wrist, he hauled her from the lake. They staggered back to shore, coughing up cold water and leaning into one another. Charlotte’s legs buckled beneath her and Haven caught her before she fell back into the lake. They collapsed to their knees on the rocky shore and stared up at the cross like a pair of contrite parishioners begging absolution.
The fire was nearly out. A few pockets of flames flickered near the top. Eleanor, Margaret and Marcus stood panting beside it, their faces black with soot. Several of the younger girls were crying. No one spoke.
A maniacal scream punctured the night. Jude rushed down the path from the woodshed, brandishing an axe over his head like a mace. He swung the axe at the cross, shooting streams of sparks in all directions, and the girls screamed again. Jude swung again and again, hacking at the charred shaft until it teetered and fell over in a bed of mud. Even when it thudded to the ground, Jude kept whacking at the cross until black splinters cracked from its shaft.
“Not here!” he screamed like a lunatic with each blow. “Not here! Not here! Not here!”
“What are you doing?” Eleanor shouted. “Stop that! The fire’s out! Leave it alone!”
“This ain’t supposed to happen here!” Jude swung around and waved the axe over his head. Eleanor jerked back to avoid any blows that might come her way.
“What’s gotten into you?” she shouted.
“This ain’t supposed to happen here!” Jude stalked in a circle round the clearing, holding the axe as though he would cleave anyone who dared approach. His eyes were black luminous moons, shining with fevered delirium. “This ain’t Detroit! This is our sanctuary! This is our asylum!”
Jude coughed on the tears that erupted from his eyes. Charlotte, still on her knees, inched toward him, her hand extended. Haven tried to pull her back but she brushed his hand away.
“Jude,” she said. “Calm down. It’s all right. Everyone is safe. You’re going to be all right.”
“You the only one who understands us, Miss Charlotte!” Jude wailed.
He grabbed Charlotte by the wrist and yanked her toward him before Haven could snatch her back. Charlotte yelped when Jude wrapped his strong sinewy arm around her neck and clenched her against his chest. He backed away from the clearing, swinging the axe over his head.
“You stay away from us!” Jude warned, his eyes darting from the weeping girls to Eleanor and Marcus and then to Haven. Haven had never seen Jude in such a state before; it scared him to think he would be capable of such behaviour.
Jude dragged Charlotte into the darkness, her legs kicking and flailing from under her wet nightgown like the limbs of a broken marionette.
It took several blows before Haven and Marcus could break down the door of Jude and Wetherby’s cabin. At first Marcus tried to reason with him, banging his fist and calling through the small spaces between the slats. Jude didn’t reply, but Wetherby’s voice wheezed soothingly: “It’s all right . . . it gonna be all right . . . ”
They didn’t know if he was speaking to Jude or to Charlotte, but th
ey knew they had to do something. They heaved their shoulders against door, cracking the wood around the hinges. Eleanor stood behind them, clutching the lapels of her dressing gown and imploring them to be careful. The barred door gave just enough to loosen at the lock. Haven and Marcus leaned back, and at the count of three, kicked at the door until it sprung open amid a shower of splinters.
Jude sat on the edge of his father’s bed, clutching his axe in one hand and pressing Charlotte against his shoulder with the other. Wetherby sat up in bed, the blankets bundled under his chin, his black eyes shining with madness.
“Let her go!” Eleanor demanded.
“You stay away from us!” Jude brandished the axe over his head and skulked further back into the bed.
“Have you lost your mind?” Haven shouted. There was a roar in his ears that rivalled the roar of the fire on the cross. It seemed as though his head hadn’t stopped ringing since he awoke.
“You say you understand us, but you don’t!” Jude’s face was slicked with tears and sweat.
“Don’t do this, brother,” Marcus said. He extended his hand and inched closer. “I know you’re mad. I’m mad too. But you can’t do this. Somebody’s going to get hurt.” “You’re just like all of them!” Jude wailed. “You say you my friend but you lie! All of you, you lie! No one understands us, ain’t that right Miss Charlotte?”
“That’s right.” Charlotte nodded quickly.
“You’re scaring the shit out of us, man!” Marcus said. “Let her go! She ain’t done nothing to you.”
“She be my only friend!” Jude collapsed into a tide of tears. The axe fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. Haven grabbed it and held it at the ready, just in case Jude decided to do something more insane.
“Judy!” Wetherby leaned as far as his paunch would allow. He squeezed Jude’s shoulder. He flinched but offered no other resistance. “You gonna be all right, boy. Just take it easy. You say Miss Charlotte be your only friend, but you scaring the poor little gal to death. Look at her, Judy. She ain’t done nothing to you. Let her go.”
“Oh, Pa!” Jude sobbed.
He uncoiled his arm from around Charlotte’s neck. She slipped out of his grasp. Eleanor caught Charlotte in her arms, wrapping her in a blanket and holding Charlotte against her.
“I’m sorry, Miss Charlotte!” Jude cried. “I didn’t mean to scare you none! I’m so sorry!”
Charlotte glanced over her shoulder; nodding, she said, “I understand more than you think I do. But you need to calm down. Nothing good can come from acting like this.”
Eleanor hustled Charlotte out the door.
Jude leaned into his father, burying his face in the collar of his nightshirt.
“You boys go on back to bed,” Wetherby said, patting Jude’s back. “I can take care of my boy. He just a might upset. He be all right.”
“Are you sure?” Haven lowered the axe and exchanged a wary glance with Marcus.
“I’m sure.” Wetherby nodded. “He gonna be all right. You boys go on now.”
The roar in Haven’s head didn’t die out until he stepped from the cabin and surveyed the clearing by the lake. Some of the chunks Jude had hacked from the cross still smouldered on the ground, but there was no danger of them reigniting. The girls had been sent back to their cabins though no one slept. The lights in their windows glowed like the eyes of cats keeping watch over the camp. Empty buckets lay scattered around the fire pit like discarded eggshells. Even the crickets and frogs had ceased their croaking, as though paying reverence to the events of the night.
Haven had never seen the camp so quiet. He took the axe back to the woodshed where he embedded the head on the frayed surface of the chopping block.
Haven and Marcus sat in the lodge, staring at one another from across the table. Marcus’s face was dusted with soot and streaked in places where sweat had trickled down from his brow. Haven guessed that he didn’t look much better. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and it came away black. His hair felt dry and sticky; soot snowed down in front of his eyes whenever he combed his fingers through it.
Eleanor strode tiredly into the lodge. Her braids were powdered with soot; for a fleeting second, Haven thought she didn’t need to wear her wig to become Miss Nokomis, all she needed was to coat her head with the residue of a burning cross. The idea almost made Haven want to cackle like a lunatic. She passed their table as though they weren’t even there and headed into the kitchen. She returned with three glasses and a brown bottle of whiskey. She placed the glasses on the table and poured a generous dollop into each one before taking her seat.
“Cheers,” she mumbled and raised her glass.
The liquor seared its way down Haven’s gullet. It left a bitter patch at the back of his tongue before it slowly spread its warmth down to the core of his belly. He immediately wanted another.
“Now somebody mind telling me what the hell happened here tonight?” Eleanor demanded.
Marcus lowered his eyes and peered into the depths of his empty glass. He tipped the glass back and forth as though playing a game with the last amber drop that swished at the bottom.
“You knew about this,” Haven said.
“I heard them talking about it,” Marcus admitted.
“Who?” Eleanor asked.
“Some of the older boys at Camp Hiawatha,” Marcus explained and lifted his gaze toward Eleanor. “I was in back of the barn brushing down one of the horses. I heard them say they wanted to have a little fun because one of the girls at the dance told them that there were two nig . . . I mean two coloured folks and a Jew here.”
“Why didn’t you try to stop them?” Haven demanded.
“I tried,” Marcus said. “I confronted them and asked them what sort of fun they had in mind. They told me to go shovel shit and mind my own goddamn business. I warned them I’d tell Mr. Brandish and they told me go ahead, they don’t give a damn. He wouldn’t believe me anyway, since I’m nothing but a bum and a stable boy.”
“Did you tell Ted?”
“Sure did.” Marcus nodded. “He told me the same thing. Go back to doing my chores and don’t mind what the boys say. He said if I don’t keep my nose in my own business, he’d fire me and have me run out of town on the next train.”
“That doesn’t sound like Ted,” Eleanor replied. She poured more whiskey into the glasses. They greedily guzzled it down.
“They told me to go saddle up some horses for them,” Marcus continued. “I asked them why they’d want to go riding at night and they told me to shut my mouth if I knew what was good for me and to go to my room and stay there. When I saw them putting the cross together I knew something serious was going to happen.”
“Why didn’t you stop them?” The whiskey made Haven raise his voice louder than was necessary.
“What could I do? There were four or five of them and just one of me. I thought if could row across the lake and get here before they did, they’d change their minds and go away if they saw me and you and Jude and Miss Nokomis here ready to fend them off. But I guess I was too late. The cross was already burning by the time I got here. I could see it spark to life from the middle of the lake.” Marcus pinched his eyes shut and squeezed his hand around his glass. “I’m sorry. I tried to get here in time. I really tried.”
“You did the best you could,” Eleanor said. “Don’t feel bad. This wasn’t your fault. But I’m certainly going to have a word with Ted. I can’t believe he would condone such a thing. This doesn’t sound like him at all.”
Haven held his glass out for a refill. Eleanor eyed him charily, but poured them all another round. Without her wig, she looked even more familiar, like a picture he had seen once but had long since been forgotten in the backwash of everyday life and his preoccupation with jazz.
CHAPTER 15
ELEANOR CRADLED THE TEACUP IN her palms and allowed the warmth to seep through the porcelain and into her fingers. A lemon slice floated in the tawny fluid like a lily pad. She felt
chilled, though it was a bright sunny morning; beams of sunlight shot through the opened window and encased her in womb-like warmth. She raised the cup to her lips and inhaled deeply of the scented steam. It soothed her rattled nerves and assuaged the headache that burgeoned in both temples, the residue from the whiskey she had drunk the night before.
Ted Brandish’s office resembled hers in almost every way. Creamy skulls of small animals adorned a row of shelves behind the desk. Arrowheads and other artefacts studded the walls like jewels; a long peace pipe hung in a place of honour above the door. The voices of young boys laughing and splashing in the lake carried into the small room and made her miss the comfort of Camp Nokomis. She wondered what her girls were doing, if they had left their cabins to get some breakfast or if they were still huddled like frightened rabbits under their quilts, afraid to even peep outside.
Ted entered the office and closed the door softly behind him.
“I’m so sorry about this, Eleanor,” he said, taking his seat behind the desk. He tented his thick fingers on the frayed green blotter and looked at her for a response. Eleanor refused to meet his gaze until she drained her cup. The lemon slice slid around the bottom, stained brown by the tea.
“I’ve spoken to the boys, the older ones of course,” Ted continued. “The Puk-wudgies knew nothing of this. They weren’t even at the dance.”
“So the older boys did this?” Eleanor asked.
“It was just a harmless prank,” Ted replied. His thinning hair shone under a coat of cream and made it look almost white in the light of the sunbeam. His thick lips curved into a small smile.
“You call that a harmless prank?” Eleanor gasped and slammed the cup onto the desk so hard it cracked. “My God, Ted, we’re dealing with children here! Some of them are as young as ten. How could you have let this happen?”
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