If It Is April

by Edward A. Stabler

Beyond the spot where an abutment was anchored to a rock in the channel, the footbridge’s planks and railings were made of fresh lumber. So most of the span must have washed away, Jake thought, and been replaced in the last two weeks. On Olmsted Island, the footbridge became a newly-built boardwalk that ended after a few paces. Amidst sinkholes and rocks that poked from the ground like mud-stuffed ribs, an assortment of planks, posts, and two-by-fours occupied scattered patches of level ground.

  Three men in long-sleeved undershirts and overalls, obviously workers, were sitting on a stack of planks, smoking cigarettes and talking. Approaching the first man who noticed him, Jake said he had a job for a boy who didn’t mind walking a couple of miles to earn fifty cents. He said he thought there were usually kids like that hanging around the falls, but he hadn’t realized the walkway was washed out. Did the men have any suggestions?

  “You OK with a colored boy?” the man said.

  “If he can look a white man square in the eye and lie to him.”

  “You met one that can’t?” said a man with his back to Jake, and all three exhaled smoke and laughed.

  The first man gestured toward the far side of the island. “Two kids from Tobytown was by here a couple hours ago. Maybe twelve or thirteen years old. I guess they’re still fishing up in one of them eddies. They’d probably go over the falls in a barrel for fifty cents.”

  Jake thanked the men and started picking his way across the island, navigating rock to rock past scrawny trees with flood-stripped roots and around tangles of driftwood and trash. The far side of the island was a jumbled slope of worn granite boulders descending to the river. He stood on the highest ground and scouted. Two boys were sitting on a rock above the first drop of the falls, with an unattended fishing rod lying between them. He made his way down toward the boys. One of them saw him coming and caught the other’s attention.

  “Catch anything yet?”

  “You want to buy a fish, mister?” the taller boy said, smiling at Jake and hoisting the rod. “I’ll get you a big ole catfish, three pounds easy, bring him up to the kitchen for you. Chef Marty gonna fry him up so he melts in your mouth.”

  “You got one I can look at?”

  “Not yet, but he down there,” the boy said, pointing at a deep part of the eddy. “Stole the bait on me a few minutes ago, but I’m a get him now.”

  “He down there alright!” the shorter boy said.

  “How much for a three-pound catfish?” Jake said.

  The first boy mouthed an inaudible word to his friend and smiled again at Jake. “Two dollars,” he said. “If you pay me now, it’s all set. Chef gonna send the waiter, come get you when he’s cooked.” He smacked his lips. “Nothing better than fried catfish!”

  “I’ll give you fifty cents,” Jake said, “and you can keep the fish. You just got to walk a mile up the canal.” The boys looked at each other and started getting to their feet. “C’mon with me and I’ll tell you about it on the towpath. It’s on the way back to Tobytown anyway.”

  ***

  Walking with the boys on his left and the hitched mules on his right, Jake thought about how he could use both boys. He set a leisurely pace because the sun was still above the tree-tops. After he got April back, they’d be better off in the dark.

  “What are your names?” he said.

  “Linus,” the taller boy said. He stayed closest to Jake and clearly meant to earn the fee himself. Linus jerked a thumb toward his friend. “And that’s Floyd. He got a stutter sometimes.”

  “No I ain’t!” Floyd objected. “And nobody calling me ‘Minus’ neither, ‘cause I don’t spend every nickel I got in my p-pocket!”

  Linus gave a fierce kick to a loose pebble on the towpath.

  “Listen, Floyd… Linus. I need both of you both for this job, so you each get fifty cents. Just don’t put it in a pocket with a hole in it. About a half-mile from here, there’s a boat that washed out of the canal in the flood. It’s sitting on the berm near the edge of the woods.”

  “I seen it,” Linus said. “Up at Sandy Landing. Old white man – he almost bald – been living on it. We was gonna take a look but he run us off. Said he shoot us if we come near it.”

  “That’s the one. Don’t worry, he’s not around right now. But there’s another man on board, and I need you to tell him something.”

  Jake described Cole for the boys and said Linus should sneak past the scow, then turn around and approach it by running down the towpath. “Keep calling out something like, ‘Mister Cole – come quick!’ until he comes out on deck.” Then Linus should tell Cole that Jess Swain sent him because a man was leading Cole’s mules up Swains Lock Road. The man wouldn’t answer questions about where he was taking the mules, or say if he knew who owned them.

  “That man stealing the mules!” Linus said in an accusative voice.

  “That’s right!” Jake said. “You got it.”

  He instructed Linus to run with Cole up to Swains Lock, but then veer onto the apron and into the woods as Cole headed for his truck to pursue the mule thief. On his way to the truck, Cole would spot his mules in the corral behind the lockhouse.

  “He’ll be relieved for a second, and then he’ll think about being lied to and want to skin someone. But he won’t have time to come after you. He’ll be coming back to the boat. Maybe riding, if he has a saddle.”

  When they were within sight of the scow, Jake stopped the mules and gave Floyd his assignment. “You know how to hoot like an owl?”

  Floyd issued a credible hoot.

  “Like that, but much louder. Like a signal.”

  Linus jumped in with a piercing rendition, and Floyd echoed him with matching volume.

  “Good. Floyd, you give Linus and Cole a head start, then run to that the first bend and wait. Stand where you can see up and down the towpath. If Cole starts coming back your way, slide into the woods and hoot as loud as you can. Start doing it as soon as you see him coming, and keep going for a minute or two after he goes by.”

  Jake turned to Linus. “If Cole changes his mind and turns around before you get to Swains, keep your distance following him back. But start hooting so Floyd knows he’s coming.”

  When the boys were able to recite their instructions, Jake pulled two quarters out of his pocket and gave one to each boy. “That’s half your money. Floyd, when you see me come off the scow, run down to meet me and I’ll give you the rest.”

  “What if that man be coming back down the path and we hooting like owls,” Floyd said. “How we getting another fifty cents if that happen?”

  “In that case, you follow him to the scow. Watch it, but stay out of sight. He won’t be onboard long. When he leaves, he might go either direction. Come out onto the towpath after he’s gone, and I’ll be there in a minute or two to pay you.”

  “What you gonna be doing on the boat?” Floyd said.

  “Just getting back something he took from me.”

  “Cole got money on that boat?” Linus asked with a hopeful lift of his eyebrows.

  “No,” Jake said. “Nothing like that.”

  He moved the mules over to the tree-line on the apron and sent Linus forward. When he saw the boy reverse course in the distance and start trotting back in their direction, he heard the far-off sound of a raised voice. He guided Floyd to the fringe of grass beside the mules. Even from this far away Cole might spot them, if they stood idle in the middle of the towpath.

  Linus must have sounded convincing, because a tall figure in dark clothes passed in front of the scow and descended the berm. The man loped across the floor of the canal and was beside Linus in seconds. Without coming to a halt, he turned up the towpath and kept going at the pace of a long-distance runner. Cole wasn’t the kind of man you wanted chasing you, Jake thought. He slapped Floyd lightly between the shoulder blades.

  “Go!”

  Jake mounted Bertie and pulled Gladys into alignment. He prodded the mules into a steady trot and was able to keep pace with Floyd. When he drew ev
en with the scow, he cajoled the mules down onto the dried mud of the prism and up onto the berm, tying them in the woods beyond the scow. From the lip of the berm, he could see Floyd positioned in the middle of the bend, scouting the towpath upstream. So far, so good. He turned to examine the scow.

  Its starboard side had fetched up against two mature trees, and someone had cut a foothold wedge in the sycamore closer to the bow. He used it to spring up onto the deck. Walking quietly back along the rail toward the entrance to the cabin, he felt his heart beat faster. Zimmerman hadn’t returned while Jake was down at Great Falls, had he? The odds of that were small, but Jake still found himself wishing he had a weapon.

  Empty-handed, he stepped quickly down the stairs and opened the door. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw the cabin was empty. The bunks built into the port-side wall held only mussed-up blankets and pillows. On the near wall, in the corner opposite the door, was a coal stove still radiating warmth. To his left, a table that folded down from the aft wall. Along the forward wall a cupboard and shelf. There was no place a person could hide or be confined. Feeling a momentary dread, he headed back up to the deck. Had Cole already taken April somewhere else? Or gotten rid of her completely?

  There was still the stable in the bow. He followed the rail past the cabin and strode toward its entrance. A short ramp led down to double doors that were closed and latched. There was no lock, but a metal rake had been propped against the doors with its thickest tine dropped through the latch ring. Jake extracted the tine and held the rake like a spear as he unlatched and opened the doors.

  Late afternoon light poured into the windowless stable, and Jake saw April slumped in a corner of the straw-covered floor, blindfolded, bound, and gagged. A flash of heat rose from his chest into his throat and temples and eyes. She’d been beaten. Her cardigan was stretched at the shoulder and a purple bruise stained her cheekbone below the blindfold. Her disheveled hair was littered with bits of straw. Maybe Cole had thrown her around the stable like a ragdoll. She raised her head and tried to shrink further into the corner.

  Jake rushed toward her, slinging the rake aside as he dropped to a knee. “April! It’s Jake!” He tried to sound more encouraging than angry. “Let’s get out of here!”

  She murmured something unintelligible through the gag. How badly was she hurt?

  “I’m going to untie your blindfold. Nod if you understand me and that’s OK!” She managed a nod that resembled a wince. He untied the blindfold and lifted it carefully away. The bruise extended up and around her right eye, and her eyelid was swollen half-shut. But her eyes met his with an expression that looked more like defiance than fear. He untied and removed her gag, then let her present her bound wrists.

  “Did Cole do this to you?”

  “I think so,” she said in a slurred voice. When her wrists came free she raised a hand gently to her mouth, and Jake saw that her upper lip was swollen as well. “He shoved me in here and tied me up. When he came back later he didn’t talk.”

  Jake helped her slowly to her feet. “And you thought he didn’t look like a beekeeper.”

  “I know,” April said. She cracked a grim smile and winced again. “But it sure feels like I got stung.”

  Chapter 18

  Up and Out

  Sunday, April 13, 1924

  Jake helped April to her feet and was relieved to see her recover after a few unbalanced steps. “We don’t have much time,” he said. “When Cole gets to Swains, he’ll turn around and fly back here like an angry hornet.” He hopped down from the deck and pressed his palms to her sides to swing her alongside him. When she yelped as he let go, he realized she’d been struck at least once on the ribs. “That bastard,” he muttered. “Did he… violate you?”

  April shook her head, bracing herself against the sycamore beside the boat. “Maybe he was saving that for later.”

  Jake guided her past the scow and into the woods where he’d tethered the mules. Telling her to wait, he ran back across the canal bed and climbed to the towpath. Floyd was already trotting down from the bend to meet him.

  “I ain’t seen him coming back!” Floyd said, planting his pudgy hands on his hips and breathing hard. “No hooting neither!”

  “That doesn’t mean he won’t. It’s been ten minutes, so they must have made it to Swains by now.” He fished a dollar bill out of his pocket and held it just beyond the boy’s reach. “If I give you a whole dollar, will you split it with Linus?”

  Looking mesmerized, Floyd kept his hands on his hips and nodded solemnly.

  “Here’s why you’re getting extra: I might have another job for you and Linus sometime. If that happens, I want you to say yes, because you know I’ll treat you fair. What do you say?”

  Floyd reached for the bill and Jake let him take it. “Me and Linus, we always ready to help, long as you got a dollar.”

  “OK. What’s your last name, in case I need to ask for you in Tobytown.”

  “Meeker,” Floyd said, pocketing the dollar. “Everybody know Floyd Meeker, everybody know Linus Jones. Ain’t but ten families in Tobytown.”

  “Good. My name’s Jake.” Glancing over Floyd’s shoulder, he scanned the towpath to the bend. Still no sign of Cole. “Keep to yourself on the way home. If you see him coming this way, don’t look at him. Head down toward the river until he goes by.”

  “OK, Mr. Jake,” Floyd said.

  “And if anyone asks about me, I’m just a man who was looking to buy a catfish. You never saw me around the boat.”

  Floyd patted his pocket and turned up the towpath. Jake watched him trot away, then dashed back across the canal to the scow.

  ***

  Cole slowed as he approached the plank bridge over the lock. Days of clear weather had improved the footing on the towpath, and the air had cooled with the fading afternoon, but his lungs were still burning. It must have been years since he’d run a mile at that pace. The nigger boy had fallen behind a few minutes ago and was nowhere in sight now.

  He crossed the bridge and loped around the side of the lockhouse toward the small dirt lot where he’d left his truck. Next to it was the corral, and standing inside the fence, flicking their tails, were his two mules. He stopped and stared at them, then took off his hat to let the steam rise from his head.

  “Lying sack of shit!” he muttered through clenched teeth. Ten paces from his truck, he stood and thought for a few seconds. This had to be about the Elgin girl. Someone was springing her. Who knew she was on the scow? Zimmerman knew, but it wasn’t him.

  Cole didn’t think Jess Swain had seen him escort Katie down the towpath, but he couldn’t be sure. That goose-turd farmer might have been watching out the window. If Jess had sent the nigger kid down to the scow, Cole would settle that score soon enough. Whoever arranged it had to know about Cole’s mules, and that pointed back to Jess, but could the old man organize a heist? Maybe he jabbered about the mules to someone else.

  The Elgin girl was probably gone by now, and whoever sprung her had wanted Cole to run to Swains. So they must be headed the other way, and it would take Katie longer to walk to Great Falls than it had taken him to run here. She was probably too beat up to run. Even if they had a car waiting, he might catch them driving up the hill from the Tavern. He ran to his truck and started the engine, then sped up Swains Lock Road.

  ***

  Jake leapt onboard the scow and rattled down the stairs to the cabin, where he pulled two blankets and a pillow from the bunks. If April had taken the bedding from Edwards Ferry, then it was in Cole’s possession now, so stripping these bunks seemed fitting. He hurried back up to the deck and off the boat, carrying the bundle into the woods to rejoin April and the mules.

  “How did you know?” she said.

  “I didn’t. Lucky guess. You left your clothes in the lockhouse.” He untied Bertie and Gladys. “Can you ride side-saddle?”

  He helped her up onto Bertie’s saddle and handed her the reins, then draped the bedding over Gladys
like a blanket and led the albino mule forward by the halter. “Cole must be on his way back by now, so we need to keep moving.” Jake guided Gladys at an easy pace through the trees along the base of the hillside, looking back to make sure Bertie was following and April wasn’t wincing in pain. “Those boys I was with – you didn’t see them – said there’s a trail along the creek that goes up through the woods, runs into the end of Sandy Landing Road. It should be somewhere just ahead.”

  “So do you believe me now?” April said.

  He looked back to check her expression: an enigmatic tight-lipped smile. “What makes you think I didn’t before?”

  “You learned not to trust people. Because you went to jail.”

  Jake overcame the urge to refute her comment, and a moment’s reflection helped him recognize it might be true. “Well, I believe you now. No con artist would have done what you did.”

  “I’m not a con artist. I’m something else. I just don’t know what.”

  “Cole says you’re Katie Elgin. He said he was going to take you home, but he was lying.” Jake peered through the screen of trees. The sun had fallen toward the horizon and the canal passed in and out of view as an umber trench, the towpath a brighter ribbon beyond it. There was still no sign of Cole as they approached the bend.

  “I talked to Jess Swain at his lock. He said Cole was badgering him… asking how the men on the scow drowned in the flood, and then ripping up the lockhouse looking for a toolbox that went missing. Cole went back to Swains a few hours ago to pole-fish the lock. That must have been when he left you alone in the stable.”

  They reached the trail and the creek it followed, so Jake turned Gladys uphill and stopped to let the mules and April rest. “What did Cole want from you,” he said. “Did it have something to with that?”

  She nodded. “He kept saying I must know how the Emory brothers – I think that was their name – got drowned. He said I stole their toolbox along with a brother of mine named Cy. We were staying in the lockhouse at Swains, and my brother died in the flood, so I must have the toolbox.”