Page 80 of God’s Country

Stan gave what looked to me like a helpless shrug. “He’s my brother.”

The moon was still playing hide-and-seek behind patches of cloud. We’d been in darkness for a while, then the cloud passed, and Stan’s face was illuminated. I could see him, hunched in the blanket I’d loaned him, wrestling with his thoughts.

“We’ve always been able to stay ahead of the law,” he finally said. “Our old man, too, until this place brought him down. You talk about the spirit here. Think that might be responsible?”

“I don’t claim to know anything. But it’s probably worth considering.”

“Is it too late, do you think?”

“Too late for what?”

“To stop feeding that wolf of hate.”

“Ask me, you already have.”

He looked beyond me, toward the campfire across the channel. “I don’t think my brother will understand.”

“Seems to me we can only be responsible for what’s in our own hearts.”

“I’m sorry,” Stan said.

“For what?”

“All this.” He closed his eyes. “Maybe for everything in my whole life.”

“Does that include your two boys?”

“No. But I wish I could be sure they won’t feed the wrong wolf.”

I couldn’t help him there.

“So. What now?” he asked.

“I don’t know about you, but I need some sleep. Any chance your brother might try to follow you over here?”

“I took the only life vest. And like I told you, neither of us can swim.”

“I’ll leave you the blanket. You stay with the fire.”

“What about you?”

“I’m taking the canoe.”

“Going where?”

“I think I’ll keep that to myself.”

“I get it. Don’t trust me. Probably for the best. Thanks for the blanket.”

I left him to his own thoughts, which were troubling, I’m sure. He was facing prison, probably for a very long time. How to explain that to the two boys he loved? What do you do when you write off your whole life?

The wind had let up quite a bit. I paddled without great difficulty back to the point where I’d spent the day keeping watch on the two Kennedy brothers. I tied the canoe to the trunk of a birch at the water’s edge and settled myself on the soft bed of needles under the white pine where I’d sat for hours. I could see the campfire across the channel slowly dying. It was like the dreams of the two brothers, dreams of vast wealth. Whatever was in the pack, whatever promise of riches, I figured that in the light of what the next day’s dawn was going to bring, it would all turn to ash.

I’ve always been a light sleeper. When my children were very young and would wake in the night and come to their parents’ bedroom seeking comfort, the soft padding of their feet on the floor woke me well before I heard their voices. In the wild, even after a long day of paddling and portaging, I sleep with one ear cocked for the approach of forest creatures. The break of a twig or a sudden rustling of the underbrush brings me wide awake in an instant.

I heard Stan coming. When I opened my eyes, I saw that the moon was almost directly overhead, illuminating everything with a white light bright enough to cast deep shadows. I didn’t move from where I lay cloaked in the dark. I watched him slowly make his way toward the shoreline and the birch tree where I’d tethered my canoe. He was dressed, so his clothes must have finally dried from the heat of the fire. I couldn’t see anything in his hands, nothing there that he might be thinking of using to knock me cold. He took a few steps, stopped, peered into the trees along the path, then took a few more steps.

He’d almost reached the birch tree when I finally spoke up.