To banish it and fend off the pain, he pulled out his personal flask for a quick shot. He caught his breath and limped over to the crate in the corner to study the rows of empty, cork-topped bottles inside. Forty-eight, and I’ll need almost that many to empty the second cask, he thought. He withdrew four flasks, filled them with fast-running whiskey, then corked them on the table alongside the first four. Eight was all he wanted to carry to the Tavern tonight. His pocket watch read quarter to five – might as well head over. He distributed the pints into the pockets of his wool jacket and overcoat. There was no place for his personal flask, so he left it on the table. He snatched his hat from a hook and walked outside. Katie was sitting on the bench in front of the lockhouse.
“Cyrus, aren’t you feeling well? You’re bundled up like you’re going to the North Pole!”
“Never mind that,” he grumbled. “You know which way the crow flies. I’m headed down to Great Falls, so count me out for dinner.” He adjusted the contours of his hat and put it on. “You feed the mules?”
Katie nodded. “Take Jewel. I saddled her for you.”
He limped around to the small corral near the backyard, then led Jewel back toward the lock, where Katie took the reins to guide her across. Jewel was a good one, Cy thought, a veteran canal mule. The walkway didn’t scare her. He shuffled across, put a hand on the pommel, and bit his lip as he mounted the mule.
“Keep an eye on the lock,” he said, turning Jewel down the towpath. “And don’t wait up for me. I’ll be late.”
***
After Cy and Jewel disappeared down the towpath, Katie headed for the berm above the entrance to the lock. Pete was kneeling in a floating green canoe that was tied to a tree and served as a platform from which he could launch a parade of broken sticks into the lazy current. They drifted toward the mouth of the flume, crossed the threshold, and accelerated down the ramp toward the next level of the canal.
“Pete! Doesn’t that canoe have a leak in it?”
Pete looked up from his stick-launching position. “It’s OK. The hole is way above the water. Even when Cy and me was both in it, it didn’t leak.”
Katie looked at the rack of canoes nearby. “Still, can’t you use one of the good canoes?”
“Nope,” Pete said. “Cause of the cable. They’s all locked to the rack.” He selected more sticks from his collection and leaned back over the gunwale.
“Pete,” Katie said. “I’m going to set out soup and cornbread for you in the kitchen. After that, I need to visit a friend for a few hours. Cy wants you to stay near the house while I’m gone, in case any boats need help locking through. Five more minutes, then it’s dinnertime.”
She headed for the lockhouse kitchen. After heating up Pete’s dinner, she assessed the cask on the table. When she pushed lightly against the rim, it felt almost full. Good. She counted Cy’s empty pint flasks in the crate. Forty-four was the kind of number he would remember – better not take one. His personal flask was lying on the table. She could return it before he missed it. She unscrewed the cap and as she filled the flask her eyes fell on the name inscribed on the holster. “C. F. Elgin.” The leather was worn smooth from years of encounters with his hands.
She slipped it into the pocket of her coat on the rack and retreated to the bathroom, where she examined herself in the mirror. She straightened the collar on her dress, smiled at herself, and ran both hands through her wavy hair, letting it fall against her neck. Her smile drained into an expression of resolve and her eyes sought out the eyes in the mirror for reassurance. She was being guided now by something inapprehensible in those hazel eyes, and whatever it was left no room for uncertainty or fear. Her fingers idly stroked the pendant necklace before falling to smooth the wrinkles on her dress.
Remembering the photo, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom and retrieved a stiff paper folder. She opened it and looked at the image inside. They both looked so solemn! It was a beautiful picture, framed by rocks and water on all sides, but it couldn’t capture the essence of Great Falls. The motion, the power, the endlessness – all were missing. She carried the folder downstairs. By now it was past 5:00 so she took her coat and left the lockhouse.
“Pete!” she called toward the green canoe, “get out and go in for dinner! Now!”
“OK, OK!” Pete said, scowling at his sister’s intransigence as he climbed out.
Folder and photograph in hand, Katie set off for Pennyfield.
***
Cy tied Jewel to a tree near Lock 20. The sun hadn’t set but the outdoor lights of the Tavern were lit. Near the entrance, half a dozen cars were parked in the dirt lot at the end of the driveway. Two Fords, a Packard, and three he couldn’t identify. He crossed over the lock.
Three round tables were set up on the bricks under the portico, two empty and the third occupied by men he didn’t recognize. He passed the tables and rounded the corner to the tall facade of the T-shaped building. Standing near the entrance was skinny Billy Walters, whom Cy had seen in the same position the past two nights. His jacket was buttoned almost to his collar, revealing only the knot of his necktie.
“Good evenin’, Mr. Cy.”
“Evenin’, Billy.” Cy buried his hands in his overcoat and jerked his head toward the nearby cars at the end of the driveway. “How’s business tonight?”
“Oh, passable… passable for a Friday.” Billy looked out at the cars and pushed his hands into his own pockets as if the cooling air were slowly penetrating his bones. “Should be a few more parties coming in through the evening. Getting warmer now in the city, some of them folks want to motor out to the Falls and take the night air.”
“That’s good,” Cy said. “Anyone here you think I should meet?”
Billy’s brow furrowed before a smile flashed across his face. “Could be,” he said. “There was two English gents staying at the Inn. They left a while ago but said they would be back for dinner. They was in a new Chandler Six.”
Cy pulled two quarters from his pocket and handed them to Billy. “I’ll be at my table,” he said. “Send them over if they sound interested. Anyone else looks thirsty, you can do the same.”
“Happy to do it, Mr. Cy.” Billy nodded and shifted his weight from foot to foot, hands again stuffed in his pockets.
Cy turned back toward the patio. Standing still after riding had tightened the ligaments of his hip, and the cords awoke with a jarring throb. He clenched his teeth as he limped back around the corner. The two far tables were still empty and he opted for most distant. It was past six now, so the walkway out to the Falls was closed. Twilight meant that sightseers on the towpath would find their way back to the Tavern. And some of the crew from the repair scows should be milling around as well. He sat down in a chair that gave him a view back up along the patio and across Lock 20 to the towpath. Suddenly tired, he rubbed the gray-blond stubble on his cheeks while stifling a yawn. It would be a long night. He placed his index fingers against the bridge of his nose and slowly pulled them apart, tightening the sagging skin beneath his eyes.
***
“I’m slipping off!”, Katie screeched, her laughter extending the last syllable into vibrato.
“I got you,” Lee said earnestly. He stood on the pedals and supported her back with his shoulder while gripping the handles and pedaling hard to maintain momentum. She braced against his shoulder while trying to balance her thighs diagonally across the bars. The wheels crossed a fallen stick on the towpath that set the bike wobbling, and his foot slipped off the pedal when Katie’s weight shifted. It was no use. He squeezed the brake and brought the bike to a stop, planted a leg on the towpath, and lowered the frame until her feet reached the ground.