Page 81 of God’s Country

“Trouble sleeping?”

He turned, his face pale in the moonlight, his surprise obvious in the way his eyes were wide and round like two white poker chips.

“I… I… was… just looking… for the toilet,” he stammered. “I have to piss.”

“You took the wrong path,” I said.

“I can see that now.” He stood still for a few moments, deer in the headlights, if you don’t mind a cliché. Then he said, “Well, I’ll just go back to the campsite. I’ll, uh, see you in the morning.”

“In the morning,” I said.

I watched him walk back the way he’d come. When he was out of sight, I went down, untied my canoe, stepped in, and shoved off from the shore. When I was several yards out, I dropped the anchor, then eased myself onto the bottom of my old Wenonah. It wasn’t comfortable, but if Stan came calling again, this time more silently and with something in his hand, he’d have to splash his way out to me. I stared up at the man in the moon. His face reminded me a little of the smiling face of Ernie, the cookie jar on my kitchen counter.

“What do you think?” I asked.

But like Ernie, he made no reply.

CHAPTER 45

I woke with the sun just climbing above the trees along the eastern shoreline of the lake. The day was calm, the water a mirror of the blue sky. I hurt everywhere, except for that unreliable heart of mine. That part of me felt pretty good. This was the day help would arrive, the day the Kennedy brothers would be taken into custody, the day I would return to my family. It would still be a long wait. Lou and Johanna wouldn’t get out of the Boundary Waters until midafternoon at the earliest. Give Search and Rescue an hour or so to put a plane into the air and reach Lost Man Lake. I’d be home in time for supper.

I rose slowly, carefully from the bottom of the canoe. I paddled back to shore and tethered my Wenonah to the birch tree. Then I stretched, working out the kinks. I needed coffee. There was some instant in the BearVault the Kennedy brothers had taken from the dead man and I’d taken from them. I decided to leave the canoe on the point and walk back to the campsite. Before abandoning that spot, I spent a few minutes simply enjoying the beauty of the morning. Which is a blessing I always look forward to in the Boundary Waters.

I watched a bald eagle that must have had a nest somewhere high in a tree on the island soar gracefully over the water, searching, I was sure, for its morning meal of fresh fish. Which made me hungry. Two loons, probably mates, swam and dived together in the channel between the island and the far shore. A whole chorus of birds sang in the woods at my back. God’s country, this. No doubt about it.

I walked the path to the campsite. I still had the hatchet I’d used the night before to keep Stan at bay, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t need it for that purpose today. Although he had tried to steal the canoe, I understood. His freedom was at stake, and so was that of his brother. In his place, I might have done the same.

But I believed I’d seen a transformation in the man. As I recalled our time together over the past days, I could see that the change had been coming. By the fire the night before, with him wrapped naked and vulnerable in his blanket, sharing deeply with me what was in his heart, I’d witnessed that change. I’m no priest, but it felt like I was hearing his confession, and I thought he had a good shot at atonement.

Unfortunately, life often delivers to us something other than what we’d hoped or planned for. When I reached the campsite, Stan was nowhere to be seen. I thought at first he might have made his way to the toilet. But then I realized that the life vest and the food canister were gone. The blanket was still there, and the binoculars. I hurried back to the point where I’d spent the night, where I could get a good look at their campsite. I put the binoculars to my eyes.

There he was, sitting by the fire with his brother, wrapped in a blanket, his wet clothes laid out to dry.

I’d forgiven him for trying to steal the canoe. But now anger, like hot lava, flowed into my heart. I stood there full of rage. At Stan, at myself, at all the unholy circumstances of the past days. I’d seen cruelty on an unbelievable scale, witnessed senseless death, seen the devil in men’s hearts. But I’d thought for a brief moment that there was the possibility of salvation. At least for Stan. How could I be so stupid? How could I be so blind? How could my own heart be so wrong?

And then that gullible heart of mine began to gallop.

I fell to my knees, cupped my hands, and threw cold lake water onto my face. I sat back and told myself, Breathe. Just breathe. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about the bastards across the channel but focus instead on the calming spirit of this wilderness, the beauty it offered, even in the midst of great challenge. Gradually, after many minutes, I felt my heart begin to beat more slowly, more rhythmically. At last I opened my eyes.

The sun was ablaze above the distant tree line, and its reflection turned the lake surface to liquid gold. A cooling breeze filled with the pungent scent of evergreen played across my face. The two loons in the channel still did what loons had done for generations, untroubled by the presence of the Kennedy brothers or me. We meant nothing to them, nothing to anything here. My anger, my disappointment, whatever was in my heart was so small in comparison to the vast Eternal that ruled in this place, this sanctuary.

I rose up and once more used my binoculars to study the Kennedy brothers. This time, I saw Stan looking my way. He must have seen me because he stood, still wrapped in the blanket, and he gave me a gesture I couldn’t quite decipher. He spread his arms wide, his hands open and empty, in the way of clergy who, at the end of a service offer a benediction before departing.

I walked back to the campsite and discovered that Stan had left me a packet of oatmeal, a box of raisins, and a jar of instant coffee.

After breakfast, I returned to the point. Smoke rose up from the brothers’ fire pit. I figured Stan must have been responsible. I didn’t remember Ollie ever taking an interest. They were probably cooking themselves something from the BearVault. I wondered what they were thinking, talking about, planning now that they were stuck and knew their freedom was about to come to an end. Ollie, I suspected, was in denial, probably still believing that he’d find a way to bluster himself out of this jam. Stan, the more thoughtful of the two, may have been preparing himself for the inevitable. Whatever the case, I was happy not to be in their shoes.

Me, I had only one concern, and that was to keep any unwary canoeists from straying too near the brothers.

The wind shifted and the smoke from their fire drifted toward me across the channel. In the Boundary Waters, smells can carry a good distance. I picked up the aroma of bacon. Probably there were rehydrated powdered eggs to go along with the meat. I’d had oatmeal, which was okay. But I admit, the smell of that frying bacon made my mouth water. Despite the fact that the food had come from the canister of a man Ollie had shot dead, and despite the fact that Stan had stolen the canister from me, I decided not to begrudge these men what would probably be their final meal before they were put behind bars.

Through the binoculars, I watched Stan dish up plates for them both. But before either of them began to eat, Stan stood very still, and after a moment, turned to the west. Ollie looked there, too. Then I heard it. The sound of a plane approaching.

From where I sat on the point, I couldn’t see the plane yet. I was amazed that word had reached the Tamarack County Sheriff’s people so soon. I hadn’t expected that Lou and Johanna would exit the wilderness so quickly.

The plane came flying low over the lake. I was surprised to see that it wasn’t a de Havilland Beaver, which was the usual floatplane used by the U.S. Forest Service for its operations in the Boundary Waters. It was a yellow Piper Super Cub. The only pilot I knew with a Super Cub was Adam Beyer, who operated a fly-in service out of Iron Lake, usually transporting fishermen to remote areas north of the border. He was a good guy, and it made sense that Adam would have volunteered to help with the search.

He flew into the smoke from the Kennedy brothers’ fire. When I looked across the channel, I saw Stan on the shoreline, jumping up and down and waving his arms like crazy. Ollie was nowhere in sight. Adam dipped his wings in a sign that he’d spotted Stan. He flew down the channel quickly, and I watched him circle over the broad body of the open lake to come around again.