Page 9 of God’s Country

“Cell phone service is iffy out there at best. If anything goes wrong, I want to make sure you’re not totally cut off.”

“We’ll be fine,” I assured her.

“This is nonnegotiable.”

“Rainy—”

“Nonnegotiable.”

“All right.” I held up my hands in submission.

Back then, when I needed any extra gear for a trip into the Boundary Waters, I dealt with Cordell Bishop, who’d been a guide for decades, one of the best. We’d grown up together, running with the same bunch on the rez, and we’d stayed pretty close all our lives. We weren’t blood relatives, but when we greeted each other it was always with “Boozhoo, cousin.” When I arrived at Borealis, Cordell’s wife, Babs, greeted me instead. Babs wasn’t a guide herself—she worked the retail side of the business—but she was well versed in all things Boundary Waters. Like me, she was of mixed heritage, in her case Finn and Ojibwe, and she greeted me with “Aaniin, Cork.”

“Aaniin, Babs.”

“Came for your canoe, I bet. It’s around back.”

“Where’s Cordell?”

She shook her head and looked peeved. “Got hired to guide for three city folks.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Didn’t like those three. Soft hands. Knew nothing about roughing it. Didn’t come dressed right. Hired Cordell to take care of all their provisions. He’ll be babysitting them the whole time.”

“He could’ve hooked them up with one of your other guides.”

“They wanted him specific. His reputation, they said.”

“How long a trip?”

“Three days. But I’m sure that for Cordell it’ll seem a hell of a lot longer.”

I thought about what I was planning, taking Mal and Luke, two neophytes, into the Boundary Waters. But everybody had to start somewhere, and it was best they learned from people who knew their way around the demands of that great wilderness. Daniel, Stephen, and I were old hands at this. Except for the uncertain condition of my ticker, I didn’t have any qualms.

I loaded the rented Wenonah on the roof rack of my Expedition and tied it down, then dealt with the satphone Rainy had insisted I rent. Finally, I headed to Sam’s Place to hitch up the trailer and load my two canoes.

By late that afternoon, we were set. The boys were eager and excited. I’d instructed Stephen to pack a couple of my fishing poles and my tackle box. When I was at Borealis, I’d secured fishing licenses for Mal and Luke. The rest of us had lifetime licenses. At supper that evening, Waaboo and Luke chattered away about all the fish they were going to catch. Rainy was noticeably quiet, and several times I caught her gazing at me with a look I couldn’t quite interpret. We played charades that evening and hit the hay early because we were going to get a start at first light in the morning.

“Still worried about me?” I asked Rainy as we climbed into bed.

“I’d still prefer that you cancel this trip until after you’ve seen a cardiologist.”

“And disappoint the boys?”

“You don’t have to go along. Daniel and Stephen can handle the guiding.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Luke and Mal’s first trip into God’s country. I want to be a part of their memory of that experience.”

“I get the sense that if you were a gorilla, you’d be beating your chest. It smacks of machismo to me.”

I laughed. “I suppose that’s part of it. A guy thing, all us adults showing the boys how to be men. Rite of passage, you know.”

“Waaboo and Luke are still boys. This is more about you.”

I sometimes wish Rainy didn’t read me so well. She was right. This insistence on going through with the trip wasn’t just about making sure I didn’t disappoint the boys.

“Golden years,” I said.