Cork swung his gaze to the window. Beyond, the lake was growing pale in the dying light. A few stars were already twinkling in the eastern sky. He thought for a moment about asking Bascombe to take him to the mainland, where he might find what he wanted. But the wind was still blowing strong, and waves galloped across the water like wild horses. And he was dead tired. They were all tired, he could see.
“Why don’t we get a good night’s sleep,” he suggested. “We can tackle all this again in the morning. And maybe we can figure the best way to get the child to where he ought to be.”
He glanced at Jenny, expecting an objection, but all he got from her was a stone-hard stare.
Bascombe said to Kretsch, “You probably want to get back to the mainland, Tom.”
Kretsch must have heard the weariness in the other man’s voice. “If you’ve got an extra bunk, Seth, I’d be fine sleeping here tonight. That way we can get an early start tomorrow.”
“You can have the last cabin,” Bascombe said and sounded relieved. “I’ll get some bedding.”
“If you’ve got a sleeping bag I could throw on the bunk, that’ll do.”
“I have, but it smells of woodsmoke.”
“I’m so beat it could smell of skunk and I wouldn’t care.”
They all laughed and, quiet and tired, rose from the table to get ready for the night.
THIRTY-ONE
Jenny couldn’t sleep. Her body vibrated. From exhaustion, probably, but also from something else, something that felt to her like vigilance. It was much the same feeling she’d had the night before, stranded on that island. But she was safe here, wasn’t she?
She lay in her bunk listening to Anne’s soft, steady breathing from the other side of the small cabin, listening to the great breath of the wind outside. Before lying down that night, she’d drawn aside the curtains over the eastern windows so that the moon would light the room and she could see the baby. He lay in the wicker basket on the floor within easy reach of her hand.
Aaron slept in another cabin with Stephen. It was odd, having him so near but not sharing her bed. Odd but not unpleasant. The moment she’d seen the look of horror on his face at the sight of the child’s cleft lip, something had changed in her. Something, she knew, had died. It wasn’t a whole thing but an essential. As if her love for Aaron had lost its heart. She couldn’t hide it from him. He’d gone to the cabin with Stephen walking like a man to a prison cell.
The baby began to fuss. Jenny had already prepared a bottle, and Bascombe had insisted she take a hot plate and saucepan to her cabin so that she could heat the formula easily in the night. She got up and, in her preparations, woke her sister.
“Go back to sleep. I’m just seeing to the baby.”
“You’re a good mom,” Anne said drowsily, and she rolled over and faced the wall. In only a moment, she was breathing deeply and steadily again.
Jenny took the bottle and the wicker basket with the baby inside and left the cabin. Moonlight silvered the island and the lake, and she had no trouble making her way to the end of the dock, where she sat on the bench. She lifted the baby and gave him the bottle. She gently pressed her finger to the cleft in his lip, and still mostly asleep, he began to feed.
She loved this aloneness with the child, this sense that, for the moment, the whole world was just the two of them, and the only thing that was important was seeing to his safety and his need. How blessedly simple her life could be, she thought.
Except this baby wasn’t hers. Maybe as soon as the next morning, she would have to give him up. She tried to accept the idea, but everything inside her went rigid in protest. She was angry, and her anger was directed mostly at her father, who seemed not to care in the least and whose only concern was how quickly he could get the child off their hands. She couldn’t understand him and didn’t want to. If it were possible, she’d have fled the Lake of the Woods herself and taken the baby with her.
The wind made the night restless. The lake surged and retreated against the dock pilings. The leaves of the poplars along the shoreline shook with a sound like a thousand rattlesnakes. The moon was nearly full and cast the island in a sharp contrast of silver light and black shadows that shifted in the wind.
And among those shadows Jenny saw something move.
At first she thought it was only a trick of the changing patterns of light and dark. Then she realized the motion was independent of the erratic way the wind made the trees sway. It was steady and directed toward the cabin she’d left only a few minutes before. She thought at first it might be Aaron, coming to check on her, and she felt a sad kind of gratitude. But when they came fully into the apron of moonlight in front of the cabin, she realized there were two figures and one of them held a rifle.
As the figure in front neared the cabin door and reached for the handle, Jenny let out a bloodcurdling scream. The figures at the cabin turned and fled toward the woods that backed the cabins and disappeared.
Jenny leaped to her feet. Lights went on in the cabins and in Bascombe’s lodge, and everyone spilled outside into the night.
“Jenny!” Anne called.
“Here!” she cried back.
They ran to the end of the dock and huddled around her and the child, who seemed oblivious to all the activity.
“Christ, Jenny, are you all right?” Aaron asked.
“Yes.”
Her father said, “What happened?”
“The baby was hungry. I came out here to feed him. I saw someone creep out of the woods and go to my cabin. There were two of them, Dad, and one of them had a rifle.”
Bascombe stood at the edge of the gathering. He gripped a rifle in his hands. “Was it you, Seth?”
“Not me. I just grabbed this on my way out.”
“Where’s Tom?” Mal said, because Kretsch wasn’t among them.
“Maybe he’s still sleeping,” Rose offered.
“Through this?” Bascombe said. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ll check his cabin,” Stephen said.
But just as he started away, a figure came from the woods, entered the light in front of the cabins, and walked toward the dock. He carried a rifle, too.
Cork nodded at the Remington in his hand. “What’s with the rifle, Tom?”
“I heard a scream and someone ran past my cabin. I grabbed this and tried to follow them. Whoever it was, they got away.”
From beyond a little wooded point to the north came the sound of powerful boat engines. A moment later, they saw a sleek launch shooting across the channel toward Birch Island. They watched it leap along the tops of the waves and curl to the north, leaving behind it a wake bone white in the moonlight.
“Cigarette boat,” Stephen observed.
Bascombe nodded. “Smalldog.”
“He wasn’t alone,” Cork said. “He had help.”
“They were after the baby,” Jenny said.
“But why?” Bascombe gave a shrug. “If you believe what some folks say about that child’s parentage, Smalldog was probably just coming for his son.”
They looked at the baby, his face aglow in the moonlight, unperturbed by the chaos that had erupted around him. He smiled up at Jenny. The divide of his upper lip parted easily, and the shape of his mouth was like a boat with a little sail.
Cork and Mal sat on the dock bench, facing Jenny’s cabin, their turn on watch. Cork cradled Bascombe’s Marlin on his lap. In the moonlight, the lake had become a great gray luminescence where whitecaps rose and fell.
