He pulled out the knife and turned his attention to the Virginia-side trunk. At an eye-level spot facing the covered hole, he quickly carved a tipping C. Through its lower portion he added three straight slashes that converged to a point. He examined the mark – Charlie should recognize it. He grabbed the shovel and jogged across the clearing and into the woods.
When the path emptied onto the beach, he slowed and walked unhurriedly to the black canoe. Cy had pulled it further ashore and climbed aboard. With a paddle across his knees, he glared at Lee from the stern seat. “What the hell took you so long?”
“Couldn’t hold it anymore,” Lee said, grimacing and rubbing a hand across his abdomen. “Had to do some squatting.”
Cy shook his head in disgust. “If you can’t hold your bowels, keep on your own damn side of the boat. Push us off and get in.”
We’d make it back faster if I were in the stern seat, Lee thought. And there was something unnerving about getting into a canoe with Cy. He slung the shovel onto the floor, lifted the bow, and pulled it into the water, then swung a leg into the boat and pushed off hard from the bank. Cy took sweep strokes on starboard while Lee backstroked on port to spin the boat in the eddy. Don’t want to get into the current on the Virginia side, he thought. “Let’s keep it turning. Stay in the eddy and paddle down to the tail.”
Cy followed Lee’s instructions but said nothing. With two paddlers and no dead weight, the canoe held its course and speed. Sitting in the bow, Lee was more attuned to the water than he had been earlier. As the river rose, the eddy felt as if it was pulsating, almost breathing. The eddy narrowed as they passed the rocky tail of the island, with small whorls and creases forming and disappearing along its dark borders. It seemed to Lee that the main current was faster than it had been on their outward crossing. Less than an hour ago some of the large rocks between the island and the Maryland shore were still arching their backs above the surface. Now the river had covered them all. The sound of flowing water had deepened in pitch and seemed to come from far away and right beside him at the same time. In the reflected moonlight it was hard to tell the color of the river, but Lee knew that it was caramel brown, and that they were traversing the early waters of a flood.
The eddy was tapering to a point and Lee wanted to exit it paddling into the Maryland-side current. They’d have to work hard to keep their ferry angle during the crossing and avoid being swung downstream. With the speed of the current, they might end up a mile downriver – if they didn’t hit something first. Lee jammed his paddle into the water to brake their momentum. “Back it down!” he yelled. “We need to spin inside the eddy!” The boat decelerated, and Lee backstroked while Cy took draws to spin the canoe. When it was facing upstream, Lee glanced sternward; Cy’s swollen face and expressionless mouth reminded him of a toad waiting for a fly.
“What are you looking at?” Cy snapped. “Keep paddling.”
“I’m ready,” Lee said, raising his voice against the sound of the water. “The river’s fast so we got to keep our bow upstream. I’ll paddle starboard, you take port. Be ready to throw a stroke on my side if we need it.”
“I know what I’m doing, you little prick!” Cy barked. Lee turned back toward the bow and held his paddle above the water.
“Then let’s go!” Their paddles hit the water and the canoe drove forward. The bow crossed the eddy line and Lee paddled hard on starboard to keep it from swinging downstream. When the stern crossed into the current, he felt the boat rise and fall with the undulating flow.
He stroked with conviction but could tell right away they were slipping downstream. We’re already below Swains, he thought, so we’ll probably have to paddle half a mile back up. A braid of thin islands along the Maryland shore squeezed the river below Swains. We can paddle up alongside those islands, he thought. The current should be weak enough a few feet from the shore. The boat caught a small wave and surfed forward for a second or two. That’s how you stay upstream while ferrying! The canoe struck a side swell that nudged its bow leftward, and losing their ferry angle stalled their sideways progress. Lee took a flurry of strokes to push the bow around to starboard.
A northwest breeze swept over the canoe and cooled him down. Was Cy even paddling? He could feel the boat respond when his own paddle hit the water, but he didn’t sense any energy coming from the stern. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Cy’s blade in the water, ruddering. Work, you fucker!
He turned toward the bow and stroked on as the canoe surfed another small wave. Lee lifted his focus from the river and saw dim stars in the northern sky. He raised his paddle for a second to rest his shoulders and upper back. As he drove it back toward the water, he heard a grinding noise and felt a jolt from somewhere behind him on the starboard side. Instantly the canoe stopped rising and falling with the pulse of the river. The bow began to pivot downstream around the middle of the canoe.
We’re stuck on a pour-over! Lee swiveled in his seat to assess the canoe. Nothing looked broken. “We’re on a rock!” he yelled.
“Well push us off!” Cy yelled back. He was taking short backstrokes to starboard. Lee stood up in a crouch and stepped one leg over the nearest thwart as the canoe rotated a few degrees further. We’ve got to get off this rock before we flip, he thought. The throbbing current pushed water under the hull and moved the canoe onto the highest point of the submerged rock, where its midpoint again came to rest. We need to keep the boat leaning downstream while I work us off, he thought. He thrust the edge of his paddle blade against the hidden rock. Extending his arms and pushing hard, he felt the boat slide an inch. His paddle slipped and he brought the blade back onto the rock in search of better leverage. Leaning over the gunwale to starboard, he felt his paddle gain purchase as he flexed his arms and shoulders.
His only warning was a split-second impression of a low, whistling sound and something flying toward him. He raised his eyes from the water with no time to duck as the swinging shovel-blade slammed into his neck and jaw below his right ear. His flexed arms crumpled and his knees went slack as warm blood gushed from his jugular vein. The stars spun into view as his head and shoulders tumbled toward the water and the paddle fell out of his hands.
In a stab at retribution that was more a reflex than a conscious thought, he kicked up his heel and locked the muscles of his leg as he fell. His tendon caught the thwart and he felt his leg hold fast as cold water closed over his head. His chest and hips fell in and the current embraced his upper body, intent on bearing it away. The crushing cold expelled his breath and massaged his open vein. When he swung his arms in search of something solid, he found only water. His arms felt heavy and numb but his lower leg held firm, dragging the starboard rail to the water. Stars were following him down into the depths, and he felt his body begin to flicker and disappear. With a last conscious spasm he pulled his heel hard toward his thigh. The canoe capsized and he felt his leg release and follow him. The rock, the overturned boat, and his assailant fell away into another world. He was part of the river now, and all of his hopes and fears were over.
Chapter 26
Paper Spear
Sunday, March 30, 1924
On a hazy spring morning, the young woman walked through greening woods on the trail to Blockhouse Point. Beneath her jacket the top buttons of her floral-print dress were unfastened in the warmth. She absently traced two fingers against the skin below her neck, where her necklace no longer hung. The trail wound up a hillside before crossing a shallow drainage that fell away through the woods to the canal. Across the gully the trail rose again, then leveled and descended an easy grade to the cliffs. She continued along the rocks to a vantage point and looked down and out at the river below.