upstream, traveling beneath a canopy of branches and sun-struck leaves. The river ran dark and slow as molasses, shining a ruddy gold whenever sunlight managed to glance through. From the bow of the second boat Marcus could hear the pair up ahead talking softly. Marcus remained content to float in soft silence within this green cathedral. The young man remained silent save for once, when the older pair up ahead almost shouted their laughter. Oathell humphed his disdain and muttered, “Yes sir, Mister Charlie, yes
sir.
” Speaking low yet loud, meaning for Marcus to hear and be forewarned.
They followed Deacon into a narrow inlet that Marcus would have taken for merely another crack between oily black roots. Only this one meandered through water-clad groves and veils of Spanish moss before opening into a hidden cove a hundred feet wide and ringed by gray pillars of long-dead trees. Far overhead nesting hawks cried their displeasure at the boats’ arrival. Otherwise the cove was close, fetid, still, and very beautiful.
“They might as well put up a sign,” Charlie said quietly over the water to Marcus. “Bass welcome here.”
“Wasn’t sure what we’d find after the floods. But it seems like all it did was perk the bass up a little.” Deacon ran out his pole. “Ain’t more than five, six people know about this place. So few it ain’t even got a name.”
“Them who know don’t talk about it,” Charlie agreed, grinning and pointing across the water. “Lookit your nephew there. Like he’s done died and gone to bass heaven.”
The pastor glanced over but did not smile. “Mind you don’t tell nobody ’bout this.”
“No sir, Deacon.” Subdued now. Respectful.
The pastor asked Marcus, “You aim on fly-fishing?”
“It’s been a while. But I’d like to try.”
“Run on over to that big cypress there to the other side. There’s fish been playing between them roots I can’t get to with my cane pole.”
Their boat flitted through the circle of sun and heat, then returned to the cool shade on the pool’s far side. Occasionally whoops erupted from the other boat. Marcus remained content with his own boat’s silence. He had more than enough to concentrate on just then, relearning the art of casting.
After he hooked and landed his second fish and Oathell his fourth, the young man said, “Uncle says you want to ask about Gloria.”
“You knew her?”
“Guess I did. We had us a thing going till she left for D.C.”
“What was she like?”
Oathell was using a spinning rod and a top-water plug. He flicked it expertly between cypress roots. Instantly the water erupted furiously. He pulled, hooked, reeled. Marcus plied the net, then raised the dripping prize over his head for the other boat to offer soft accolades.The bass hung over both sides of the net. “Must weigh over six pounds.”
“This is my reward,” Oathell said, accepting the net and fish, drawling the last word so it came out,
ree
-ward. “Been after Deacon to show me his secret place ever since I could walk.” A dark gaze flitted his way. “Uncle says, I talk to you, he’d bring me along. Wouldn’t tell me why he was letting you in on this.”
Marcus said mildly, “I expect it’s a bribe. He thinks I should accept the Halls’ case.”
The young man stared openly now, then turned back to the lake and the fish with a quiet “Huh.” A few more casts, then, “Gloria had a wild streak in her. She’d hide it good, then something’d set her off. Man, it was like night and day. You ever met her daddy?”
“Last Sunday.”
“What’d you think of him?”
Marcus was abruptly caught by something his grandmother used to say. “He struck me as a man uncomfortable with his own hide.”
Oathell laughed once, a quick bark, but it rang through the quiet air long after the sound was gone. To Marcus it felt like an unexpected compliment. “That’s Austin Hall, all right. But he loved that girl of his. Loved her like a
sir.
” Speaking low yet loud, meaning for Marcus to hear and be forewarned.
They followed Deacon into a narrow inlet that Marcus would have taken for merely another crack between oily black roots. Only this one meandered through water-clad groves and veils of Spanish moss before opening into a hidden cove a hundred feet wide and ringed by gray pillars of long-dead trees. Far overhead nesting hawks cried their displeasure at the boats’ arrival. Otherwise the cove was close, fetid, still, and very beautiful.
“They might as well put up a sign,” Charlie said quietly over the water to Marcus. “Bass welcome here.”
“Wasn’t sure what we’d find after the floods. But it seems like all it did was perk the bass up a little.” Deacon ran out his pole. “Ain’t more than five, six people know about this place. So few it ain’t even got a name.”
“Them who know don’t talk about it,” Charlie agreed, grinning and pointing across the water. “Lookit your nephew there. Like he’s done died and gone to bass heaven.”
The pastor glanced over but did not smile. “Mind you don’t tell nobody ’bout this.”
“No sir, Deacon.” Subdued now. Respectful.
The pastor asked Marcus, “You aim on fly-fishing?”
“It’s been a while. But I’d like to try.”
“Run on over to that big cypress there to the other side. There’s fish been playing between them roots I can’t get to with my cane pole.”
Their boat flitted through the circle of sun and heat, then returned to the cool shade on the pool’s far side. Occasionally whoops erupted from the other boat. Marcus remained content with his own boat’s silence. He had more than enough to concentrate on just then, relearning the art of casting.
After he hooked and landed his second fish and Oathell his fourth, the young man said, “Uncle says you want to ask about Gloria.”
“You knew her?”
“Guess I did. We had us a thing going till she left for D.C.”
“What was she like?”
Oathell was using a spinning rod and a top-water plug. He flicked it expertly between cypress roots. Instantly the water erupted furiously. He pulled, hooked, reeled. Marcus plied the net, then raised the dripping prize over his head for the other boat to offer soft accolades.The bass hung over both sides of the net. “Must weigh over six pounds.”
“This is my reward,” Oathell said, accepting the net and fish, drawling the last word so it came out,
ree
-ward. “Been after Deacon to show me his secret place ever since I could walk.” A dark gaze flitted his way. “Uncle says, I talk to you, he’d bring me along. Wouldn’t tell me why he was letting you in on this.”
Marcus said mildly, “I expect it’s a bribe. He thinks I should accept the Halls’ case.”
The young man stared openly now, then turned back to the lake and the fish with a quiet “Huh.” A few more casts, then, “Gloria had a wild streak in her. She’d hide it good, then something’d set her off. Man, it was like night and day. You ever met her daddy?”
“Last Sunday.”
“What’d you think of him?”
Marcus was abruptly caught by something his grandmother used to say. “He struck me as a man uncomfortable with his own hide.”
Oathell laughed once, a quick bark, but it rang through the quiet air long after the sound was gone. To Marcus it felt like an unexpected compliment. “That’s Austin Hall, all right. But he loved that girl of his. Loved her like a
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