paddles, mounted like crossed swords above the fireplace; Rob took them down, fearful that the flames might lick upward at them. With his experience as a Public Health inspector, he knew this place could go up like tinder.
“What about dinner?” Maggie called from upstairs.
“Well … we’ve got canned goods, and Mrs. Isely’s cherry pie.”
“I don’t think I feel like eating Mrs. Isely’s cherry pie.”
Rob paused, catching sight of a fishing pole standing in the corner. “How ‘bout fresh trout for dinner?”
84
“Don’t I wish.”
“Want some?”
“You bet. And some baked potatoes.”
“Will you clean them?”
“The baked potatoes?”
“The fish.”
“What fish?”
“The fish I’m going to catch.”
Her face appeared over the loft railing. He held up the fishing pole and disappeared out the front door.
Maggie spent a long moment gazing down into the main room of the cabin. The fire was blazing now, the thick logs hissing and crackling, filling the air with the scent of pine. She went downstairs and unpacked her cello, bringing a chair to the center of the room where she would be warmed by the fire’s glow, While Rob found peace in his way, she would find it in hers. She tightened her bow and tuned the instrument with light finger picks on the uppermost parts of the strings. Then she began to play. The sound filled the small cabin, its gentle mood edging out the tension of the day.
Standing outside on the dock in twilight, Rob could hear her music, and it filled him, too, with a sense of peace. It wafted from the open cabin door and floated out across the lake, seeming to stretch to the very peaks of the distant mountains. He knew he was a fortunate man. Privileged in every way. He wondered why he took so little time to appreciate it.
Far across the lake, along the shallows of the distant shore, the silhouetted figure of a large, four-legged animal moved silently as it grazed. It paused and raised its head, as though listening to the music. Rob could see that it was a moose. There was a calf beside it; it, too, gazed toward the source of the odd, musical sound. Rob wished that Maggie could see it, and was about to call her when suddenly a fish hit the end of his line. It was a small salmon, surging and leaping, quickly tiring as Rob brought it in and raised it to the dock. Hooking a finger beneath its gill, he held it
85
up to examine it, admiring its shiny silhouette against the darkening sky. It was a moment of consummate beauty; Rob wanted to savor it.
He took off his belt and tied the fish to it, then lay down on the dock, gazing up into the sky. The stars were beginning to appear, brighter than he had ever seen them, and the sky had a kind of depth to it that made him feel he was gazing into eternity. But the moment was suddenly shattered. There was a resounding crash in the water, as though a huge boulder had been dropped. Rob sat bolt upright, his head spinning in the direction of the sound. Just twenty feet from him, the water had been disturbed; circles widened outward and melted into calm.
Rob’s eyes traveled to the shoreline, the only possible place from which a boulder could have been thrown. There was nothing there. Just shadows and silence. The water was smooth again. A light breeze drifted across the lake, bringing with it the smell of night in the wilderness. Dark and damp, and mysterious. Rob scanned the water’s surface and detected a tiny dark shadow moving toward him through the mist. It was a small black duck, chortling to itself as it paddled shoreward to bed down for the night. It was apparently unaware of Rob’s presence; it headed directly for the dock. Rob sat stock-still. He could see the glint of its eyes as it moved forward. But suddenly it shrieked. Its wings flapped in a spastic attempt to fly as something dragged it down. In a split second it was gone. The chop in the water that gave evidence of its brief struggle quickly faded to
“What about dinner?” Maggie called from upstairs.
“Well … we’ve got canned goods, and Mrs. Isely’s cherry pie.”
“I don’t think I feel like eating Mrs. Isely’s cherry pie.”
Rob paused, catching sight of a fishing pole standing in the corner. “How ‘bout fresh trout for dinner?”
84
“Don’t I wish.”
“Want some?”
“You bet. And some baked potatoes.”
“Will you clean them?”
“The baked potatoes?”
“The fish.”
“What fish?”
“The fish I’m going to catch.”
Her face appeared over the loft railing. He held up the fishing pole and disappeared out the front door.
Maggie spent a long moment gazing down into the main room of the cabin. The fire was blazing now, the thick logs hissing and crackling, filling the air with the scent of pine. She went downstairs and unpacked her cello, bringing a chair to the center of the room where she would be warmed by the fire’s glow, While Rob found peace in his way, she would find it in hers. She tightened her bow and tuned the instrument with light finger picks on the uppermost parts of the strings. Then she began to play. The sound filled the small cabin, its gentle mood edging out the tension of the day.
Standing outside on the dock in twilight, Rob could hear her music, and it filled him, too, with a sense of peace. It wafted from the open cabin door and floated out across the lake, seeming to stretch to the very peaks of the distant mountains. He knew he was a fortunate man. Privileged in every way. He wondered why he took so little time to appreciate it.
Far across the lake, along the shallows of the distant shore, the silhouetted figure of a large, four-legged animal moved silently as it grazed. It paused and raised its head, as though listening to the music. Rob could see that it was a moose. There was a calf beside it; it, too, gazed toward the source of the odd, musical sound. Rob wished that Maggie could see it, and was about to call her when suddenly a fish hit the end of his line. It was a small salmon, surging and leaping, quickly tiring as Rob brought it in and raised it to the dock. Hooking a finger beneath its gill, he held it
85
up to examine it, admiring its shiny silhouette against the darkening sky. It was a moment of consummate beauty; Rob wanted to savor it.
He took off his belt and tied the fish to it, then lay down on the dock, gazing up into the sky. The stars were beginning to appear, brighter than he had ever seen them, and the sky had a kind of depth to it that made him feel he was gazing into eternity. But the moment was suddenly shattered. There was a resounding crash in the water, as though a huge boulder had been dropped. Rob sat bolt upright, his head spinning in the direction of the sound. Just twenty feet from him, the water had been disturbed; circles widened outward and melted into calm.
Rob’s eyes traveled to the shoreline, the only possible place from which a boulder could have been thrown. There was nothing there. Just shadows and silence. The water was smooth again. A light breeze drifted across the lake, bringing with it the smell of night in the wilderness. Dark and damp, and mysterious. Rob scanned the water’s surface and detected a tiny dark shadow moving toward him through the mist. It was a small black duck, chortling to itself as it paddled shoreward to bed down for the night. It was apparently unaware of Rob’s presence; it headed directly for the dock. Rob sat stock-still. He could see the glint of its eyes as it moved forward. But suddenly it shrieked. Its wings flapped in a spastic attempt to fly as something dragged it down. In a split second it was gone. The chop in the water that gave evidence of its brief struggle quickly faded to
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