“I am now,” Shiloh replied.
The two men exchanged bewildered glances as she broke into great sobs of relief.
26
Wallys Channo reminded Jo of Abe Lincoln. Not because he looked like the Great Emancipator, although in his height and gauntness there was a certain similarity. It was more that Schanno seemed like one of those rails Lincoln had spent so much time splitting in his early years. Thin, dry, tough. Suited to the purpose of being part of a structure that delineated something. In the case of Lincoln’s rails, they were property fences. In Schanno’s case, he was the law in Tamarack County.
When he opened the front door of his home to Jo, he was dressed in a white shirt, dark tie, gray pants held up by gray suspenders. He gripped a coffee cup in his hand and he smelled of Old Spice aftershave.
“I’m sorry to bother you so early, Wally.”
“That’s all right, Jo. Just finishing my morning mud.” He held up his cup. “Come on in.” He stepped aside and put a finger to his lips. “Arletta’s sleeping.”
“How is she?” Jo asked in the foyer.
Schanno took her coat and hung it in the closet. “About the same. I count it as a blessing that she doesn’t seem to be getting much worse. Doc Gunnar says Alzheimer’s is like that sometimes. Plateaus, you know.”
Arletta Schanno was one of the finest, prettiest women Jo had ever seen. She’d been a schoolteacher before the disease hit her. Annie and Jenny had both passed through her classroom, and both still said third grade was the best year they ever spent at Aurora Elementary.
“May’s here now, you know,” Schanno said, speaking of Arletta’s sister. “She’s a big help.”
May stepped in from the kitchen. She was a darkhaired woman in her early fifties. She came from Hibbing and Jo didn’t know her well. She seemed a stern woman, not given to smiling, the way Arletta had always been. But she was obviously capable and willing to help. Goodness came in all kinds of packages.
“Would you like some tea or coffee?” May asked. It was a polite question, but not especially warm.
“Thanks, no, May. I just want to talk to Wally briefly.”
“All right.” She disappeared into the kitchen immediately, as if the room had sucked her back in.
They settled in the living room. Schanno took the big easy chair. Jo sat on the edge of the sofa.
“The men who went into the Boundary Waters with Cork. I think they may not be who they claim to be. You spoke with them. Did you ask them for identification?”
“Sure, I did. But-” A dour look came over his long, raggedy face.
“What is it, Wally?”
“I’m not saying anything for sure, but I have a strange feeling in my gut about this whole thing. Why are you asking?”
Jo told him about her visit from Benedetti and his entourage. Schanno listened quietly through the whole thing. Jo couldn’t recall hearing the man ever swear before, but when she finished, Schanno said, “Jesus.” He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “Like trying to decide which side of the razor blade to grab hold of.”
“There must be a way to check on these men,” Jo said.
Schanno sat back and thought a moment. “I’ll call Arnie Gooden. He’s one of the resident FBI agents in Duluth. He promised help if we needed it. Where can I reach you?”
“I’m in court all morning. You can leave a message for me at the courthouse.” She stood up and went to the closet with Schanno. As he handed over her coat, she said, “You told me last night if you had to, you could get to Cork and the others quickly.”
“Less than an hour.”
Jo felt a measure of relief. “Good.”
Schanno put his huge hand lightly on her shoulder. “If there’s anything strange going on, Jo, we’ll get their butts out of there fast, I give you my word.”
27
The mist lifted, but the heavy gray that overhung the Boundary Waters didn’t. Shiloh followed Roy Evans and Sandy Sebring to their camp, where the Deertail River flowed southeast out of the big lake. They pulled the canoes onto shore and Roy set immediately to stoking the fire with dry wood.
“You know,” Sandy said, tugging on his beard, “you sure look familiar. Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so,” Shiloh said.
She sat on a rock near the fire and watched the smoke begin to rise as Roy bent and blew on the embers. In a moment, a crackling flame popped up. “That long hair,” Sandy said, moving slowly behind her.
Shiloh put up the hood of her rain slicker.
“You alone out here?”
“Quit yammerin’, Sandy. Get me some food so I can fix her something to eat.”
“All right, all right.” Sandy went to a nearby tree-a pine deeply scarred from a lightning strike-undid a rope, and let down a pack that hung from a high branch. “Bears,” he explained to Shiloh. “You like bacon?” He began digging in the pack.
“Bacon would be fine,” she replied.
“And eggs?” Roy asked. “They’re dehydrated, but you scramble ’em up and can’t hardly tell the difference.”
“Whatever,” Shiloh said.
Without the mist, she could see a distance across the lake. The expanse of water suddenly looked huge and impossible. The islands lay on the surface like dark beasts watching. She was surprised she’d come so far so well.
“Me and Roy live down in Milaca,” Sandy said. “Work at the Wright Lumber Company there. Roy talked me into coming. Said we’d have the whole woods to ourselves. Said we’d be catching walleyes big as my thigh.” He handed Roy the food. “Shiloh!” he said suddenly, and his hand, full of bacon, froze in the air.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Roy said.
“Son of a gun.” Sandy broke into a broad smile, his thick lips nested among the wild hairs of beard.
“You’re Shiloh. My wife’s got every album you ever put out. I knew there was something familiar about that hair. Roy, we got us a real celebrity here.”
Roy dropped the bacon on the skillet and it sizzled immediately. “Shiloh? You mean the country singer? She ain’t Shiloh, Sandy. Hell, Shiloh’s-” He looked up from the bacon. “You ain’t Shiloh, are you?”
Shiloh shook her head. “It’s not the first time I’ve been mistaken for her.”
“Yeah?” Sandy moved to her side and looked at her carefully. “Well, if you ain’t Shiloh, who are you, then?”
“Nagamon.” It was the name Wendell had bestowed on her. It meant ‘song.’
“Nagamon? What kind of name is that?”
“ Ojibwe.”
“You Indian?”
“Partly.”
“Yeah?” Sandy eyed her good and snickered. “What part?”
“Sandy, will you just shut up?” Roy said. “Sorry, ma’am. He’s a good camping partner, but he’s got all the tact of a chainsaw.”
“That’s all right,” Shiloh said.
The smell of the bacon was wonderful. The sound, too. Pop and sizzle. It was like music. She couldn’t help smiling, believing that now it would be all right. She wondered if she should ask the men about going back for the things she’d left behind, the important work she’d hidden at the cabin. They could be over and back in a day. She’d
