The dugout dipped into a trough between waves, giving Shakespeare a momentary respite. Then the next wave seized it and swept it aloft. Once again he braced himself, but this time, with the canoe tipped on the crest, his hand slipped. He felt himself start to fall. Only by exerting his aged sinews to their utmost was he able to avoid disaster.
The rain, the lightning, the thunder, the waves assaulted Shakespeare’s senses. He lost all awareness of time, of his own self, of everything except the din and the upheaval and the rolling motion that tossed his stomach as it did the waves. He was close to being sick.
A monster wave flung the canoe toward the black clouds, and it began to roll. Shakespeare closed his eyes and fought down bitter bile. He prayed as he had not prayed in years, prayed with every fiber of his being that he would live to see Blue Water Woman again. Her face floated at the back of his eyelids. She was smiling, and she was beautiful, and he had never loved her so much as he did at that moment.
Then Shakespeare was tumbling and clawing for a hold that was not there. The shock of hitting the cold water snapped his eyes open. It snapped his mouth open, too, allowing water to gush down his throat. He swallowed and sucked in a desperate breath, but instead of air he sucked in more water.
There was a tremendous splash next to him and a glancing blow to his shoulder. Shakespeare needed to reach the surface, but he could not tell up from down or down from up. Weakly, he stroked, and went nowhere. He fought to stay conscious, but there were limits to how much punishment the human body could endure, and he had exceeded his, and then some.
Shakespeare envisioned Blue Water Woman. He wanted his last thought to be of her. He wanted to say he was sorry, and to thank her for putting up with him all these years.
Then there was nothing, nothing at all.
“You are not going out after him and that is final,” Nate King said, standing in front of the cabin door, arms folded across his broad chest.
“How can you do this?” Blue Water Woman asked, tears brimming in her eyes. She had hurred to the King cabin when she discovered Shakespeare was gone. “You are his best friend.”
Nate glanced at Winona, who was pouring steaming cups of tea. She sadly shook her head. “Listen to it out there,” he said. Thunder conveniently boomed, stressing his point. “Look out the window.” He had done so just a moment ago. “See how bad that storm is.”
“All the more reason I must try to find him,” Blue Water Woman pleaded. She had wanted to go out earlier, but Nate had advised her to wait until the fog broke. Now the storm had swept in, and she was so worried, her insides were twisted into a knot.
Nate gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “A canoe would not last five minutes in this storm. It would be torn to pieces.” He was sorry he said it the instant the words were out of his mouth. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
“Shakespeare is in a canoe.”
“Yes,” Nate said, mad at his stupidity. “But he took the dugout, not the bark canoes. It will not fall apart on him.”
Blue Water Woman bowed her head and her shoulders drooped. “What was he thinking?” she asked softly. “Why did he go out again? Alone?” She was hurt that he had not taken her. Even more hurt that he had not told her he was going.
Nate shrugged. “You know how he is. When he wants to do something, he never lets anything stand in his way. I am the same way.”
“I warned him the water devil is bad medicine, but he would not listen,” Blue Water Woman said.
“Men,” Nate said. “We are all born with rocks between our ears.” He grinned, but she did not grin back.
Winona came over and clasped Blue Water Woman’s hand in hers. She was worried, too, greatly worried, but for her friend’s sake she hid it. “Come. The tea is ready. Have a seat and calm your nerves.”
“If he dies I will not want to go on living.”
Winona and Nate exchanged glances, and Nate took Blue Water Woman’s other hand.
“Enough of talk like that. Shakespeare is not called Carcajou for nothing. Wolverines are the toughest animal around.”
Blue Water Woman let them lead her to a chair. She slumped into it, feeling as if all the life had been drained from her body. “He is not a young man anymore. He pretends he is by ignoring his wrinkles.”
Just then Evelyn came out of her bedroom. She had been listening and wished there was something she could say or do to cheer Blue Water Woman up. A bolt of lightning lit the window, and she nearly jumped. She never had liked lightning. As a little girl, during thunderstorms she would often cower in her bed with the covers over her head. “Is there anything I can do, Ma?”
Winona frowned. “There is nothing any of us can do until this storm lets up.”
“I hope it stops soon.”
So did Nate, but from the sound of things, it would be a while, and every moment Shakespeare spent out on the lake increased the likelihood they might never see him again.
“I am glad Dega is not out there,” Evelyn said without thinking. She had him on her mind a lot of late.
“Why don’t you make us some toast?” Winona suggested, distressed at her daughter’s lapse.
“Sure, Ma.”
Nate was glad no one else had gone with Shakespeare, or whoever did would be in the same dire straits. A thought startled him. What if someone had? He would not put it past his son to tag along, and he had not seen hide nor hair of Zach since the day before. He’d assumed Zach was tending to Louisa, but he never knew with that boy of his. “As soon as the storm ends, I am going out.”
“
“He is my friend.”
“He is my husband.”
“The three of us will go,” Winona interjected.
“I would rather you stayed here,” Nate said casually, so she would not construe it as a command and be insulted.
“Three sets of eyes and ears are better than two,” Winona said, as if that settled the matter.
“Four sets are better yet,” Evelyn piped up.
Nate thought fast. “If all of us are out on the water, who will search the shoreline?” He left unsaid the reason: that McNair, or McNair’s body, might wash up on shore. Pointing at Evelyn, he said, “I want you to ride to the Nansusequa and ask them to help you search the east shore.” She would be glad to be with Dega, and she would be off the lake.
“If you want, Pa.”
Nate turned to his wife. “I would like you to check in on Zach and Lou and make sure she is all right, then search along the north shore.”
“I suppose I should see if Louisa has recovered,” Winona reluctantly conceded.
“Blue Water Woman will search the south shore while I go out in a canoe,” Nate concluded. “That way we cover all there is to cover.” It made sense to him, but would it make sense to Blue Water Woman? Females had an exasperating habit of thinking they knew better than males just because they were females.
“If there is no one else to do it, very well. But if I find no trace of him, I am coming right out in a canoe.”
“We will go out together,” Winona told her.
Nate smothered a grin. “Whatever you two think is best.”
Thunder chose that moment to rattle the dishes in the cupboard. They all gazed at the rain-lashed window.
“Oh, Carcajou.” Blue Water Woman gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles were nearly white.
“He will be all right,” Nate said, reading her expression.
“His heart is my heart. My heart is his.” Blue Water Woman bit her lower lip.
Evelyn felt sorry for her. For some reason, the comment brought Dega to mind. “When I get married, I hope the man I care for cares for me as much as you and Shakespeare care for each other.”
Winona hid her considerable surprise. That was the first time their daughter had ever mentioned marriage in a serious tone. And Evelyn had said ‘when,’ not ‘if.’
