Jumping Rise

by S. W. Hubbard

  Frank smiled.

  He pulled the drowning victim into a sitting position and watched as his chest inflated and deflated on its own. “There you go. You’re going to be all right now.”

  When Frank pulled his hand away from Keith’s shoulder, he noticed a smear of blood on his fingers.

  Keith lifted his head. Looked around to get his bearings. Then he spoke, his voice raspy and raw.

  “My brother tried to kill me.”

  Chapter 10

  When Frank got the canoe back to the dock, he found Chet waiting with Penny.

  “Chet saw the lights and came down to see what was going on,” Penny explained, probably since she knew Chet wouldn’t.

  The handyman extended a hand to help Keith from the canoe. The younger man staggered onto the dock, his legs weak from his ordeal. Chet pursed his lips and clicked his tongue at the mess in the bottom of the canoe and went to get the hose. “I suppose the kayak’s still out there?” Chet grumbled.

  Geez, he’d rescued Hale’s son, and Chet was giving him grief for abandoning the millionaire’s three hundred dollar kayak? “Sorry I didn’t tow it in. I was a little preoccupied,” Frank said.

  Frank turned his back on Chet and found Penny wrapping a blanket around the shivering Keith. The kid was in shock and now, in the light from the boathouse, Frank could see blood caked on the back of young man’s blond head. Frank chose not to ask questions until after they got him inside. But before they headed up the stairs to the house, Frank turned back to Chet. “Where did Desmond and Justin go? I shouted for them, and no one answered.”

  “Went clear across the lake. Once they start racing, they don’t stop.”

  Not even to save their drowning son and brother? Frank and Penny exchanged a glance as they started up the stairs to the house with Keith between them.

  When they reached the grand entrance hall of the house, Keith had to pause to catch his breath before continuing upstairs to his bedroom. “Everything hurts. My head, my chest, my back,” he complained.

  “Your head hurts because a paddle must’ve clipped you right at the crown,” Penny gently touched the bloody gash. “Let me clean it up for you and put on some antiseptic cream.”

  Keith stepped away. “Thanks, but I can take care of it myself.” He rubbed the center of his soaked tee shirt and locked eyes with Frank. “I was totally unconscious, wasn’t I? If you didn’t know CPR, I’d be dead right now.”

  Frank dipped his head in agreement. Keith might be a little melodramatic, but he was right. “What do you remember about hitting your head and falling into the water?”

  The young man placed one foot on the stairs and twisted around to look at Frank and Penny. “I remember Justin swinging his paddle at my head. The next thing I remember after that is being in the canoe with you.”

  FRANK URGED PENNY TO return to their bedroom. “I’m going to wait up for Justin and Desmond.”

  She bit her lip and gave him a quick, hard hug.

  Frank sat down and concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply. The rescue had rattled him, and he needed to clear his mind to think. The brothers’ squabbling at dinner had seemed more appropriate for teenagers than young men in their mid-twenties. Was there truly bad blood between them? It seemed more likely that Justin had clipped his brother accidentally, but surely he had to have heard his brother’s scream and his splash into the water. After all, Frank and Penny had heard it back on the dock.

  At 1:15, Desmond and Justin came careening through the front door laughing and holding each other up. They stopped at the sight of Frank sitting in the big chair next to the staircase.

  “Why are you still up,” Justin asked with a smirk. “I thought you were too tired to race.”

  “I’ve been busy saving your brother from drowning,” Frank explained. “Sometimes it’s hard to wind down after a life-threatening situation.”

  “Drowning?” Desmond wiped the smile from his face.

  “Christ, he’s such a pussy.” Justin flopped into a chair across from Frank. “How can a swimmer drown in six feet of calm water?”

  “You can drown in a puddle if someone knocks you unconscious before you fall in,” Frank said.

  Desmond’s brow furrowed. “We knew Keith had fallen behind. We just assumed he turned back when he realized he couldn’t win the race.”

  “When I was standing on the dock I heard a crack, a scream, and a splash,” Frank said. “I took a canoe out and found your son unconscious in the water. I administered CPR out in the boat. When I got him to shore, I saw he had a bleeding wound on the back of his head.”

  Desmond looked down at the colorful rug. “He must’ve hit his head on a low-hanging branch.”

  “You can’t hit the back of your head on a branch when your boat’s moving forward, Desmond.” Frank turned toward Justin. “He says you hit him with your paddle.”

  Justin shrugged. “The only way to win a kayak race is to put your head down and get into a rhythm with your paddle. He should’ve known to stay clear of my paddle.”

  “Let me clarify,” Frank said. “He claims you tried to kill him.”

  Justin blew air through his lips and gazed up at the beamed ceiling. “He’s been doing that since we were kids. He once accused me of pushing him out of a tree in our backyard when I was at soccer practice ten miles away at the time. He probably jumped into the water after I hit his head just to be melodramatic.”

  “Emotions are running a little high tonight,” Desmond said. “My sons have always been highly competitive. Every competition has a winner and a loser, and they’ve both been known to invent some fantastical tales to explain their losses.”

  “Oh, please. Don’t bring up the Harvard story again,” Justin sulked.

  Frank rose and gestured Desmond into the living room. The man began speaking before Frank could form a question. “Look, Frank—this was just an accident. I’m deeply...deeply... grateful to you for rescuing Keith. But the boys and I have always played hard, and played to win.”

  “They’d knock each other unconscious to win a silly kayak race?” Frank asked.

  Desmond seemed irritated that Frank didn’t immediately accept his explanation. He spoke slowly, patiently, as if explaining significant tribal customs to a tourist. “Kayak racing is all about form. All three of us were hyper-focused on our form. Keith didn’t realize he was too close to Justin. Justin didn’t see his brother right beside him.”

  “It could have ended tragically,” Frank said.

  Desmond smiled. “But it didn’t.” He clapped Frank on the back. “Goodnight, my friend. See you at breakfast.”

  Silently, Frank followed Desmond upstairs and entered the bedroom where Penny slept. He peeled off his clothes and slid under the covers. Although he was exhausted and the big bed was comfortable, sleep eluded him. Was the incident with the kayak an accident or intentional? Was Keith posturing for attention because he was embarrassed he’d lost the race? Did Justin have a reason to want to get rid of his brother? What kind of father wasn’t horrified that his own competitiveness had nearly cost his child his life? Frank tossed from his back to his stomach. Why had Desmond even invited him to join the race if they were taking it so seriously? Frank had never claimed to be anything other than a casual paddler, more interested in scenery than speed. Had the whole episode been set up for him?

  But Keith was definitely unconscious when Frank had pulled him from the water. If Frank hadn’t been quick and effective, he would have lost the kid. He rolled over again and stared at the beamed ceiling, barely visible in the dark. He couldn’t prove a crime. He hadn’t seen the paddle strike. He couldn’t arrest Justin without probable cause.

  Frank shut his eyes and forced himself to match his breathing to Penny’s, willing sleep to come. Gradually he relaxed and felt himself slipping toward oblivion.

  “What was that?”

  “Huh?” Frank pulled himself awake to find Penny sitting bolt upright in bed.

  “Listen,” s
he said.

  The only sound was the rustling of tree branches outside their window.

  “I heard two people arguing, a man and a woman,” Penny said.

  “Well, they seem to have stopped,” Frank said groggily. “Maybe it was Chet and his wife.”

  “No. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the woman sounded young and very upset.”

  Frank and Penny lay still and listened. Somewhere in the depths of the huge house, they could hear footsteps but no discernible voices.

  “When did another woman show up here?” Penny insisted. “Why wasn’t she at dinner? Do they have her hidden away like Mrs. Rochester in the attic?”

  Frank stroked his wife’s arm. “Maybe one of the boys brought his girlfriend, and she didn’t want to join us for dinner. Can’t say that I blame her.”

  “Weird,” Penny said.

  Chapter 11

  “I can hardly wait to get out of here.” Penny stuffed clothes into their duffel bag the next morning. “Let’s go find Chet and have him take us back to the Verona dock right now.”

  Frank arched his eyebrows. “Don’t you want to thank your host?”

  “For forcing you to do a water rescue in the dark after he loaded you up with wine? For forcing me to watch a ridiculous display of machismo that nearly ended in death? I’m not waiting around for those three madmen to wake up. I’ll write Desmond a note.”

  “What about the donation?”

  “I don’t care about the money for the library.” Penny zipped the duffel with a jerk. “If Desmond wants to give it, fine. If not, we’ll live without it.”

  “Fine by me,” Frank said, pulling her into a hug. “Hell hath no fury like a ticked off librarian.”

  Once they were downstairs, Frank smelled coffee. “We could have a cup before we leave, no?”

  They followed their noses into the dining room, where they found a thermal carafe of coffee, a basket of muffins, and a bowl of fruit on the server. None of it had been touched, so clearly they were the only ones awake. They had a light breakfast, then headed down to the dock.

  They found Chet puttering among the boats. The yellow kayak was back in its rack.

  “We’re ready to leave,” Penny said. “Can you take us to the dock in Verona now, please?”

  Chet paused and stared at her as if she’d spoken in Swahili.

  Penny pointed to the motorized skiff. “In the boat. Now.”

  Chet shook his head. “Can’t take you until Mr. Hale gives the order.”

  “It’s already nearly ten, and no one is awake yet.” Frank pointed to the sky. “The clouds are rolling in. We need to get back before the weather changes.”

  Chet shook his head like the old mule Frank’s father used to keep on their farm. “Mr. Hale’s the boss.”

  Frank felt a wave of fury rising within him. Nothing upset him more than feeling powerless and unable to control his own movements. With no phone service and no transportation, they were well and truly stuck. But Frank had no intention of pleading with this old fool. He simply needed a moment to come up with plan B.

  Frank grabbed Penny’s elbow and guided her off the dock out of Chet’s earshot. “Are you a strong enough paddler to canoe with me—”

  “All the way back to Verona?” Penny’s voice rose in agitation. “It must be ten miles!”

  “No, we’d never make it that far. But what about paddling to the house with the big dock we passed on the way in? The one where the people were having drinks and all waved to us.”

  Penny brightened. “They seemed friendly enough to help. Will Chet let us take a canoe?”

  “Desmond said we could use anything to amuse ourselves. I have a feeling Chet obeys the letter of the law.”

  Frank dug his binoculars out of the duffel and strung them around his neck. “Watch this.”

  He and Penny returned to the dock. “Since no one’s awake, Penny and I thought we’d take a little paddle along the shore and look for wildlife,” Frank said to Chet. “Sit in the front of this canoe, honey,” he added to his wife.

  Chet said nothing as they pushed off. If he wondered why they had their duffel with them, he didn’t comment. Soon, Penny and Frank were gliding away from The Balsams.

  “This is kind of fun,” Penny called out from the front of the canoe. “I feel like Sacajawea. And look, there are some turtles on that log, so we’re not even lying.”

  “We can leave the canoe at the other house, and Chet can come and reclaim it with one of Desmond’s sons. It’ll keep them busy,” Frank said with a grin.

  But after a solid half hour of paddling, their elation at escaping began to wear off. “Switch sides, Penny,” Frank directed when he saw Penny’s strokes becoming erratic. But even after the switch, Frank could see his wife was tiring. “Rest your paddle across your knees. I’ll paddle alone for a while.”

  Frank kept paddling in the rear, switching sides periodically to keep the canoe parallel to the shore. He squinted ahead, hoping to see a glimpse of the dock they were heading for. Surely, it should be right around the next bend in the shoreline. But when they passed that mark, still no dock. Had he misjudged the distance?

  It seemed they’d caught glimpses of The Balsams pretty soon after passing that other dock, but the skiff had been motoring along briskly. Frank had no idea of the speed it had been traveling, so it was impossible to calculate the distance.

  In the front of the boat, Penny straightened her shoulders and dipped her paddle back in the lake. They moved a little faster, but the sky grew darker and darker in the West. A drop of water landed on Frank’s face—a splash from the lake or a raindrop from above?

  A low rumble sounded in the distance.

  “Frank, was that thunder?”

  “No. Keep paddling.” The wind kicked up, and choppy waves made the canoe harder to paddle. Surely the dock had to be around this tree hanging over the lake up ahead. Frank was determined to get back to Verona.

  An unmistakable boom of thunder reverberated across the lake, and the dark sky lit up.

  Frank stopped paddling. “We have to go back. We can’t be on the water in a lightning storm.” Frank turned the canoe and hugged the shoreline even more closely. They paddled steadily with no more thunder or lightning, but when the next crack came, a jagged bolt hit the center of the lake.

  Penny screamed.

  “We have to beach the canoe. Up ahead there, where there’s a little open stretch of dirt.”

  Frank pulled the canoe ashore as the lake grew even choppier and the rain pelted down. “We’re safer walking through these low trees,” Frank told Penny. “The lightning is most likely to hit the water, or the tallest point on land.”

  Soon they found a small path, and they trudged silently back to The Balsams.

  They would remain guests of Desmond Hale until the storm passed.

  Chapter 12

  Back in their room, Penny stripped off her soaked shirt and pants.

  “The clothes in our duffel are damp, too,” Frank reported.

  “There’s a hairdryer in the bathroom. I’ll see what I can do with that.”

  Frank lay on the bed in his boxers. “I’d stay holed up here in our room until the rain stops if I wasn’t so damn hungry.”

  Penny curled up beside him after drying two shirts. “I’m sorry I got us into this mess, Frank.”

  He laughed and pulled her close. “It’ll make a good story to tell next time Edwin and Lucy invite us to dinner.”

  A boom of thunder sent vibrations through the log and beam house. Frank grabbed his dampish pants. “Shall we go downstairs and see what’s happening for lunch?”

  Frank and Penny descended the stairs, passed through the huge empty dining room where the table was set for five, and entered the kitchen. They found Chet’s wife stirring a pot on the stove.

  “That smells good,” Frank said hopefully.

  “Split pea soup. It will be ready in ten minutes, provided the power stays on.”

  “
You lose power here a lot?” Frank asked.

  “Trees are always bringing the lines down. We’re the last to be restored since we’re the only house on this line.”

  Great. How much worse could this day get?

  “We have a small, gas-powered generator to keep the fridge going. Apart from that, it’s candles and flashlights to see and the outdoor fireplace to cook.”

  “Sounds like you have a lot of experience.” Frank hoped if he jollied her along, she might offer him a pre-lunch snack.

  “I worked here as a teenager. That’s how I met my husband.” After confiding this detail, she turned her back on Frank and Penny. “You can have a seat in the dining room now.” Grabbing a mallet by the back door, she went out onto the porch.

  A moment later, the gong reverberated through the house.

  “Guess you can hear that no matter where you are on the property,” Penny murmured as she nudged Frank out of the kitchen. They sat in the same places they had occupied at dinner. Mrs. Chet stood in the corner with an inscrutable look on her face.

  Soon, Desmond appeared and took his place at the head of the table. “You can serve the meal,” he said to the cook. “The boys won’t be joining us.”

  “Is Keith feeling all right?” Penny asked.

  “He’s fine.” Desmond immediately changed the subject to the comparative prospects of the Yankees and the Red Sox, a topic that held very little interest for any of them and thus filled the mealtime safely.

  The rain continued to pour down. Usually, Adirondack summer rainstorms passed in an hour or two. This one showed no sign of letting up. After lunch, Frank and Penny headed out to the porch to read, and Desmond turned to go upstairs. But Frank grabbed his arm. “Be sure to tell Chet he’s authorized to return us to Verona. We’ll want to leave as soon as the storm lets up.”

  “He’s aware.”

  Frank expected Penny to chime in with thanks for the Hales’ hospitality, but his wife stayed silent as they watched Desmond climb the stairs.