What are you trying to do?”
“Make the cherry pie. I’m just having a little trouble with the crust.”
Rose smiled. The smile turned to a giggle, the giggle to a full-blown laugh that Rose couldn’t stop. She shook like a sack full of puppies. She laughed hard and crossed her legs. “I think I’m going to pee.”
“What’s so damn funny?”
Rose went to the refrigerator and, from somewhere near the back, pulled out a package that she held out to Jo. The package contained two round—perfectly round—and flat—perfectly flat—premade pie crusts.
“I haven’t made my own crust in years, Jo. Pillsbury does it for me. And so much better than I ever did.”
15
T HE DIRT AND GRAVEL ROAD cut alongside a wide meadow full of marsh grass and cattails. The grass was yellow in the late afternoon sun and redwing blackbirds perched on the swaying cattails. Cork took stock of the sky. Long wisps of feathery clouds trailed across the blue. High cirrus clouds. Ice crystals.
“Much farther?” Willie Raye asked.
“Couple of miles.”
“You’re sure this is the way Shiloh went in?”
“Louis is.” Cork swerved to miss a turtle. “You ever been in the Boundary Waters?”
“Never.”
“It runs all the way to the border. Continues on the other side, but the Canadians call it the Quetico there. More than two million acres of tall trees, blue lakes, and fast rivers.”
A white RV came toward them. Cork waved as they edged past one another on the narrow road.
“It’s funny,” he went on. “Spring, you battle ticks. Summer, it’s the mosquitoes and no-see-ums. Then come the black flies. Acid rain is killing the fish and trees. But people still line up for permits like this was Disneyland. There’s something about this country that’s like nowhere else on earth.”
“Do you go into the Boundary Waters often?”
He used to. With the kids and Jo. They’d all loved it.
“Not much anymore,” he replied.
Booker T. Harris was already in the parking area at the terminus of the road, along with Agents Sloane and Grimes. The two agents were dressed in jeans and long-sleeved wool shirts. Harris had on a tasteful blue sweater and Dockers and didn’t look at all ready for a trip into the wilderness. Stormy Two Knives and Louis were there with Sarah, all keeping to themselves. As Cork pulled up, Sheriff Wally Schanno got out of a Land Cruiser with the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department seal on the door. He sauntered to where Cork parked the Bronco and he leaned in at the window.
“Harris is staying behind,” he told Cork. “Sloane and Grimes’ll be going in with you. They’ve already got the canoes in the water and loaded up.”
Cork turned to his passenger. “Willie, why don’t you head on over. I’ll be right there.”
Arkansas Willie Raye took his big Duluth pack from the backseat of the Bronco and walked toward the others.
Schanno studied him, then said, “Isn’t that—”
“Yeah.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“He’s the woman’s father.”
“How’d he get wind of all this?”
“Long story. Bottom line is he’s going in, too.”
Schanno didn’t look happy with Cork’s cursory explanation. Cork thought he was probably wondering what else had been kept from him, but Wally didn’t push it. “Heard how those agents buffaloed Two Knives. Any wonder the Ojibwe have a healthy suspicion of lawmen?” Wally Schanno glanced at the sky. “You heard the latest weather forecast? Rain tomorrow. Maybe turning to snow by nightfall.”
On the far side of the graveled lot, Harris stepped toward Stormy and Louis and Sarah Two Knives. The three formed a tight group when they faced him. Cork was moved by the way they held together, had held together despite all the circumstances that might have torn them apart. How had they managed it? How did anyone, white or Ojibwe?
Schanno kicked at the gravel. “I sure don’t like the feel of this whole thing. Taking a boy like Louis on something
“Make the cherry pie. I’m just having a little trouble with the crust.”
Rose smiled. The smile turned to a giggle, the giggle to a full-blown laugh that Rose couldn’t stop. She shook like a sack full of puppies. She laughed hard and crossed her legs. “I think I’m going to pee.”
“What’s so damn funny?”
Rose went to the refrigerator and, from somewhere near the back, pulled out a package that she held out to Jo. The package contained two round—perfectly round—and flat—perfectly flat—premade pie crusts.
“I haven’t made my own crust in years, Jo. Pillsbury does it for me. And so much better than I ever did.”
15
T HE DIRT AND GRAVEL ROAD cut alongside a wide meadow full of marsh grass and cattails. The grass was yellow in the late afternoon sun and redwing blackbirds perched on the swaying cattails. Cork took stock of the sky. Long wisps of feathery clouds trailed across the blue. High cirrus clouds. Ice crystals.
“Much farther?” Willie Raye asked.
“Couple of miles.”
“You’re sure this is the way Shiloh went in?”
“Louis is.” Cork swerved to miss a turtle. “You ever been in the Boundary Waters?”
“Never.”
“It runs all the way to the border. Continues on the other side, but the Canadians call it the Quetico there. More than two million acres of tall trees, blue lakes, and fast rivers.”
A white RV came toward them. Cork waved as they edged past one another on the narrow road.
“It’s funny,” he went on. “Spring, you battle ticks. Summer, it’s the mosquitoes and no-see-ums. Then come the black flies. Acid rain is killing the fish and trees. But people still line up for permits like this was Disneyland. There’s something about this country that’s like nowhere else on earth.”
“Do you go into the Boundary Waters often?”
He used to. With the kids and Jo. They’d all loved it.
“Not much anymore,” he replied.
Booker T. Harris was already in the parking area at the terminus of the road, along with Agents Sloane and Grimes. The two agents were dressed in jeans and long-sleeved wool shirts. Harris had on a tasteful blue sweater and Dockers and didn’t look at all ready for a trip into the wilderness. Stormy Two Knives and Louis were there with Sarah, all keeping to themselves. As Cork pulled up, Sheriff Wally Schanno got out of a Land Cruiser with the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department seal on the door. He sauntered to where Cork parked the Bronco and he leaned in at the window.
“Harris is staying behind,” he told Cork. “Sloane and Grimes’ll be going in with you. They’ve already got the canoes in the water and loaded up.”
Cork turned to his passenger. “Willie, why don’t you head on over. I’ll be right there.”
Arkansas Willie Raye took his big Duluth pack from the backseat of the Bronco and walked toward the others.
Schanno studied him, then said, “Isn’t that—”
“Yeah.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“He’s the woman’s father.”
“How’d he get wind of all this?”
“Long story. Bottom line is he’s going in, too.”
Schanno didn’t look happy with Cork’s cursory explanation. Cork thought he was probably wondering what else had been kept from him, but Wally didn’t push it. “Heard how those agents buffaloed Two Knives. Any wonder the Ojibwe have a healthy suspicion of lawmen?” Wally Schanno glanced at the sky. “You heard the latest weather forecast? Rain tomorrow. Maybe turning to snow by nightfall.”
On the far side of the graveled lot, Harris stepped toward Stormy and Louis and Sarah Two Knives. The three formed a tight group when they faced him. Cork was moved by the way they held together, had held together despite all the circumstances that might have torn them apart. How had they managed it? How did anyone, white or Ojibwe?
Schanno kicked at the gravel. “I sure don’t like the feel of this whole thing. Taking a boy like Louis on something
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