After the Fire (9 page)

Melissa sat in the bow of the canoe, Cody in the middle and Sharlene in the stern. Cody had refused to wear a life jacket unless Melissa did too. Melissa's jacket was too small and bumped her chin. It didn't improve her mood.

They paddled into a small deep cove partway up the lake and let themselves drift. Sharlene had brought a fishing rod along, which she had fiddled with after supper, unscrambling the line, attaching something she called a sinker, which she found in a tackle box in the shed. Melissa had pretended to be uninterested but inside she was impressed. Her mother acted like she knew what she was doing.

Sharlene baited the hook with a shrimp, dropped the line over the side of the canoe and handed the rod to Cody. Cody stared at the water, his mouth open. “If you feel something jiggle, let me know,” said Sharlene. Melissa stretched her legs out and closed her eyes. There was no sound here, not even a bird call. She thought of the apartment, where you could always hear someone's tv or people arguing in the hallways or the backfire of a truck.

Cody had three false alarms. The first two times Sharlene pulled in the line there was nothing on the hook except the shriveled-up pale pink shrimp. The third time there was a mass of gnarled green weed that looked like a nest.

“We're drifting too close to shore,” said Sharlene. “How about we paddle and let Cody troll the line behind us?”

Melissa studied the shore as they paddled up the lake. Mostly it was dense forest, with tall dark trees that grew right up to the edge of the water, but in a few places there were grassy clearings sprinkled with purple and yellow wild flowers.

After a while, Cody announced that he didn't want to fish anymore. Sharlene reeled in the line and laid the fishing rod carefully in the bottom of the canoe. “We'll try worms tomorrow.”

“I want to go back,” said Cody.

“Not yet,” said Sharlene. “It can't be much farther to the end of the lake. Pretend you're an explorer.”

Cody hunched over and jammed his thumb in his mouth. Melissa was glad that for once Sharlene hadn't given in to her brother's demands. Now that they were out here, she had to admit she was enjoying herself. It was satisfying to feel the canoe surge forward each time she pulled the paddle through the still water.

“You're good in a canoe, Mel,” said Sharlene suddenly. “You make very even strokes. I think we make a great team. When your Aunty Eleanor and I used to take our grandpa's canoe out, we argued steadily about who was paddling the hardest.” Sharlene chuckled. “Once we got in a down-and-out fight and tipped the canoe right over!”

Melissa couldn't help grinning. She found it impossible to imagine Sharlene and her sister Eleanor as kids, canoeing on some lake that might have been a bit like this. Melissa didn't know her aunt very well, and the few times they got together, she always had the feeling that Aunty Eleanor disapproved of Sharlene.

She examined the compliment her mother had given her and imagined casually telling the kids at school that she had spent the summer canoeing.

“Oh my,” said Sharlene suddenly in a low voice. “Keep quiet and look over to the right.”

A sleek black and white bird drifted on the smooth water. It opened its bill and gave a long quavering cry.

“A loon,” whispered Sharlene. “It's calling its mate.”

Melissa scanned the lake and spotted another loon. “There it is!” she said, pointing. “Way over there.”

The loons called back and forth. Goose bumps prickled Melissa's back. The sound was beautiful and sad at the same time.

For a long time they let the canoe drift while they watched the loons. Finally the birds dove and reappeared far in the distance. Melissa and Sharlene picked up their paddles. The canoe glided around a point of land that jutted into the water. “Look, Cody,” said Sharlene. “Somebody lives here.”

Cody looked up long enough to decide that it wasn't at all interesting and began to whine, “I want to go back. I want to go back.”

“This must be the Hopes' ranch,” said Sharlene.

Melissa's heart gave a jump. Rippling green fields stretched back from the lake. A tractor was parked in the middle of one field and a swath of mowed grass stretched like a ribbon behind it. The field next to it had been cut and was dotted with huge round bales of hay. A log house, the fading sunlight glinting off the dark windows, faced the lake, and a barn and several outbuildings were scattered behind. A long dock in front of the house was bare except for the blue canoe and an aluminum boat tied to the end.

Melissa thought of the clutter of lawn chairs, beach towels and Cody's toys that had spread across the grass and onto the dock in front of their cabin. Sharlene must have been thinking the same thing for she said, “It looks kind of lonely here.”

Sharlene and Melissa rested their paddles and the canoe drifted toward the house. “Maybe we better go back,” said Melissa quickly. Her heart raced in her chest. She was terrified that Alice would think she was spying on her.

At that moment a tall thin boy walked through a door onto the front porch of the house. He was wearing baggy blue jeans and a gray T-shirt with the arms cut off. His black hair was long and fell over one side of his face. He stopped and stared out at them, and Melissa's face flushed. “Come on,” she urged. “It looks like we're being nosy.”

“Nonsense,” said Sharlene. She waved at the boy. “Hello!” she called out.

The boy stared a moment longer but made no sign that he had heard Sharlene. Then he wheeled around and disappeared back inside the house, slamming the door.

“See!” said Melissa, mortified. Was Alice watching them too, from one of the windows? She dug her paddle into the water and swung the canoe around.

Sharlene seemed bemused rather than upset by what had happened. “He certainly wasn't very neighborly,” she said. “Although your friend Alice sounds like a nice girl. I'll ask Marge more about the family next time I'm at the store.”

“It's none of our business,” said Melissa firmly. The magic had gone out of the evening. It was harder to paddle back; a small breeze had kicked up and the water had roughened and was pushing against the bow of the canoe. Melissa thought about the boy on the porch. It must have been Austin. Alice made Austin sound like so much fun, but he didn't look like a boy who would have popcorn fights and take his sister on picnics. He looked like a boy who wanted to be left alone.

Twelve

T
he next day, Cody still refused to go any deeper in the lake than his waist. He hugged his chest and watched Melissa walk on her hands in the shallow water, her legs floating behind her. “I'm a crocodile,” said Melissa. She bumped her head against Cody's legs and he scrambled back onto dry ground and stuck his thumb in his mouth.

“There's something on your leg,” said Melissa, staring at a dark blob stuck to Cody's ankle. “It's a weird kind of worm.”

Cody stared at the thing that stretched across his ankle. It looked like a long thin smear of black mud. He screamed.

Melissa stood up, water streaming from her shoulders and hair, and waded out of the lake. She brushed the worm thing with her fingers but it was stuck tight to Cody's skin.

Cody screamed harder.

“Whatever is the matter?” said Sharlene from the porch. She had been sitting in the shade, reading a battered paperback copy of
Hamlet
.

“There's some kind of worm thing on his leg,” said Melissa.

“Let me see,” said Sharlene, and Cody raced to her. He hopped up and down, hysterical. “It's a leech, not a worm,” said Sharlene calmly.

“Oh, yuck,” said Melissa. Cody burst into tears.

Sharlene disappeared inside the cabin and came back with a box of salt. She sprinkled salt on the leech and then peeled it off Cody's leg and flung it into the bushes. “It's no big deal. We had them all the time at Grandpa's cabin. Salt is the best way to get them off.”

Cody's sobs had turned into hiccups. Sharlene wrapped him in a big striped beach towel and cuddled him on her lap. For once he didn't pull away but snuggled deeper into her chest. Sharlene kissed the top of his rumpled blond hair and then leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

Melissa studied her mother's face for a moment. Campstoves, J strokes, fishing rods and now leeches. What else did Sharlene know? If Melissa were drawing a picture of her mother, the lines wouldn't be clear anymore. They would be smudged, like when she shaded the logs on the log cabin.

Sharlene made bannock for lunch. She had found an old wilderness cookbook in the back of a cupboard and had announced with enthusiasm that they had all the necessary ingredients.

Melissa helped. She had never heard of bannock, but according to Sharlene it was kind of like a wilderness fried bread that First Nations people made.

“Two and a half cups of flour,” read Sharlene. “We don't have a measuring cup but we can use a mug. We'll estimate.”

Melissa measured the flour into a bowl and then stirred in four teaspoons of baking powder. “What's lard?” she said, peering at the recipe.

“Something margarine-like,” said Sharlene. She dolloped three spoonfuls of soft margarine into the bowl. “Mix it in with your fingers until it's kind of crumbly.”

“Did you do this at your grandpa's cabin?” said Melissa as she sifted her fingers through the mixture.

“Nope. First time,” said Sharlene.

Melissa added water to make dough. Soon, round mounds of the dough were frying to a golden brown in a black cast-iron pan on the campstove.

“Some people cook bannock on a stick over a campfire,” said Sharlene. “They kind of wrap it around like a snake. I don't know how I know that but I do. If the campfire ban lifts, we could try it.”

Melissa pondered that information, wondering how you would keep the stick from burning up. They ate the bannock with margarine, which melted into little rivers, and raspberry jam.

“Can we have this for supper too?” said Cody, jam dripping on his chin.

“We can have it every day,” said Sharlene comfortably.

“I thought you weren't coming.” Alice's voice was flat and her gray eyes cold.

Melissa scrambled off the top of the ladder into the tree fort. She didn't want to explain that after they had cleaned up from the bannock, she and Sharlene had played six games of Boggle while Cody slept, belly full, jam-smeared and sun-tired, on the couch. “Sorry. I had to look after Cody longer than usual.”

She wondered apprehensively if Alice was going to mention seeing them paddle past her house the night before. She couldn't get the picture out of her head of the tall dark boy with the angry face. “What's Austin doing today?” she said, trying to make her voice sound casual.

Alice frowned. Her sharp eyes studied Melissa for a moment. Then she said, “They're still haying. He's very busy, but he says he's coming to Dar Wynd as soon as he has time. He's very interested in what we're doing here and he wants to read my story.”

Alice picked up a few sheets of paper covered in handwriting and said, “I've been working on this all morning. It's ready for you to read.”

Melissa leaned back against the wall of the fort. She cast her mind over what had happened in the first part of the story—Elfrida's little brother, Tristan, had been stolen and a changeling left in his place, and Elfrida had vowed to get him back. She started to read, conscious of Alice's eyes watching her intently.

“Take him away! I cannot bear to look at him,” wailed
Elfrida's mother, Amarantha. “And make him stop
crying. Oh, my poor baby, Tristan! Where are you?”

The maid carried the changeling from the room.
The sick-looking boy stared at Elfrida as they left, and
she shivered at the strange knowing look in his eyes.

There was a knock at the chamber door and
Amarantha called out, “Come in.”

It was Warwick, Elfrida's eighteen-year-old brother.
He was walking with crutches, and one leg was bound
tightly to a wooden splint. Two days ago he had been
thrown from a young colt while he was training it and
had broken his leg.

Warwick's face was pale. “Mama, I fear this may be
all my fault.”

Elfrida stared at him. “What do you mean?” said
Amarantha.

“Three days ago I stopped at the Roaring Boar with
some friends. There were some strangers in the tavern.
A very rowdy group of little men with peculiar clothes
and rough manners. They kept their hoods on and
stayed out of the light.” Warwick sighed. “I believe now
that they were not men at all but spriggans!”

Elfrida gasped and Amarantha gave a little cry.
Elfrida had heard stories of spriggans, the name
given to the dark and dangerous fairies who lived in
the ancient ruins of castles. They did terrible things to
people who offended them, including sending storms
to ruin their crops and stealing their children and
leaving one of their own in its place.

“The leader of the group challenged anyone in the
tavern to an arm wrestle, and I took up the challenge
for a lark,” said Warwick. “I beat him easily. He was no
match at all! I flipped him right over onto the floor and
caused everyone in the tavern to roar with laughter.”

Amarantha was staring at Warwick in horror.

“It was foolish, Mama,” admitted Warwick. “If I had
known they were spriggans, I'd have left them alone.”

“And then what happened?” interrupted Elfrida.

“He vowed revenge,” whispered Warwick. “Then he
and his companions left the tavern. Little did I know
what they were plotting! They have taken Tristan!
I would go after them but I cannot do a thing while I am
a cripple on crutches!” His voice was bitter.