there.”
“You walk?”
“My Jeep’s parked on a logging road a couple of miles from here. Henry, if he could, would walk the whole way into town and back. He’s done it all his life. Until now.”
“He has to be well over ninety,” Jenny said. “Isn’t it about time he slowed down?”
“Try telling that to Uncle Henry.”
The baby pulled away from Jenny and began to fuss in a way that she had learned was all about his empty stomach. Rainy handed her the bottle. Jenny tested the warmth of the formula with a few drops against her wrist. Satisfied, she offered it to Waaboo, who took it immediately. Jenny gently sealed the cleft in his lip with her index finger. She looked up and saw Rainy watching, her almond eyes warm with what Jenny read as approval.
“You told me last night we’d talk more about Henry this morning,” she said. “What’s going on with him?”
“I don’t know,” Rainy said. “And for all his wisdom in the art of healing, he doesn’t either. He believes it has nothing to do with his age, and he may well be right. I’ve known Anishinaabe men and women who’ve lived a good life and worked hard well past a hundred. There’s no reason that Uncle Henry, who’s taken good care of himself all his life, shouldn’t be among them. But something’s threatening him, it’s clear. What that threat is, we just don’t know, either of us.”
“The hand trembling, could it be Parkinson’s?”
“It could be, but with Parkinson’s I’d expect to see more symptoms—the tremors spreading beyond his hands, a shuffling gait, a stoop, compulsive behavior, orthostatic hypotension—which I don’t. It could be a dozen other diseases, although the symptoms don’t really fit very well with any diagnosis I’ve tried on my own so far.”
“He won’t see a doctor?”
Rainy shook her head. “And I’ll respect his wish.”
“Though it may kill him?”
“There are so many things in life we have no control over. Dying ought to be one that we do. If it’s what Uncle Henry wants, that’s the way it will be.”
Jenny said, “This can’t be easy for you.”
The first bit of dawn sun finally inched above the treetops, a sliver of fire that made Iron Lake burn. Rainy stared out across the still, brilliant water and breathed deeply the clean morning air.
“I love this place. I came thinking I could help Uncle Henry. I’ve found that being here has helped me as well.” She smiled at Jenny. “My children are grown and gone. For a long time, I haven’t had a clear direction in my life. Being here, though it’s not always easy, has been a blessing. The one demand I made was that we get a new woodstove so I could cook decently,” she said with a pleasant laugh.
“Stephen said you want to become a member of the Grand Medicine Society.”
“Uncle Henry has been teaching me. If I become a Mide as a result, that would be good. But it’s his knowledge, his wisdom I’m after.” She laughed. “In this, there are no diplomas.”
Waaboo finished his bottle. Jenny laid him against her shoulder and patted him until he’d burped. Then both women stood and turned toward the cabin.
“For helping Henry. And for helping me.”
Rainy hugged her and said, “Love is the only river I know whose current flows both ways.”
FORTY-TWO
Standing the last watch alone, Cork saw the sun rise over Lake of the Woods. Only the third dawn since the storm, but it seemed to Cork that in that brief period there’d been a whole lifetime of occurrence. The day came bathed in the color of blood, and he thought of the old rhyme: “Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.” He didn’t need the sky to make him vigilant. He’d been tingling all night, as if some radar in his nature was on high alert.
He stood at the end of Bascombe’s dock and heard the door of the lodge slap shut. He turned and saw Rose approaching, a mug of steaming coffee in her hand.
“Thought maybe you could use this.”
“God bless you,” he said.
She studied his face. “Did you sleep at all?”
“No.” He could smell bacon on her clothing. “Working on breakfast?”
“That was the bargain, wasn’t it? You men stand guard, and Annie and I feed you. She’s scrambling eggs even as we speak. Everything should be ready in a few minutes. So what kept you awake? General worry?”
“That,” Cork said.
“And?”
He was tempted to shrug off her question, reluctant to confess. But he needed to unburden himself to someone, and he knew that, if Jo were still alive and with him, he would have told her the truth.
He said, “I blew it, Rose.”
“Blew what?”
“This.” He opened his arms to the lake. “All I wanted was for us to be happy. And what did I do? Brought us to a place so far from everything even God’s forgotten it’s here. And when Jenny needs me most, what do I do? I turn my back on her.”
“You didn’t turn your back, Cork.”
“I didn’t exactly open my arms to her either.”
“You mean to the child.”
“I’m afraid she’s going be hurt again.”
“And if she’s hurt, you’ll be hurt again, too.”
Which was the truth at the bottom of it all, he had to admit.
“She’s strong, Cork. She’ll survive. And so will you.”
She looked nothing like her sister, but in Rose’s advice, Cork heard Jo speaking. He nodded, and then he leaned to her and kissed her cheek in gratitude.
“I’m going to do my best to make sure we all survive,” he said.
The morning was still and warm. Even so, Rose hugged herself as if she were chilled. “So what do we do now?”
“I think today we flush out a snake or two.”
“Noah Smalldog?”
“And maybe some of his cohorts.”
“The Church of the Seven Trumpets?” She shook her head in a deeply troubled way. “If they’re involved in this, what a sad thing for Christian folks.”
“Anyone can call themselves Christian, Rose. Doesn’t make it so. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Probably every religion has its crazies.”
“To invoke God’s name in such cruelty,” she said. “It’s enough to break your heart.”
“Or make you really pissed.” Cork glanced down at Bascombe’s Marlin gripped in his left hand.
Rose saw his look. “Answering violence with violence, Cork? You told me a couple of years ago that you’d never lift a firearm against another human being again.”
“Any person who’d do what was done to Lily Smalldog or condone that kind of cruelty isn’t, in my book, a human being, Rose. Any person who might do that to a child of mine, I would kill without remorse. I’m funny that way.”
She reached out, and her hand was cool against his cheek. “I’m praying it won’t come to that.”
From the lodge door, Anne called out, “Come and get it.”
“So,” Bascombe said with a bit of egg caught in his beard, “we make an assault on Stump Island today?” He
