by Laura Kemp
Iris laughed. “Mallard’s not much for reading. I try not to take offense.”
I shut the cover, saw her name printed under the title A Brief History of Presque Isle County and felt my heart warm.
“You wrote this,” I said, my voice belying the awe I felt.
She shrugged. “It was on my Bucket List. Look at the chapter on Back Forty Farm.”
Thumbing to the section, I was surprised to find several photographs.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ebersole were the only owners. Wasn’t a lovelier bit of acreage west of the Big Lake when they bought it. Such a shame they had to die the way they did and the place had to get so run down. I suppose no one wanted to live there after all the terrible things that happened.”
I didn’t answer because staring back at me from the pages was a picture of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
I shouldn’t have been surprised by the black hair plaited into a heavy mass her slender neck was hard pressed to support. Clear eyes complimented a smooth face. Lips slightly parted, she seemed every bit the Victorian housewife right down to the cameo that secured her collar.
The same cameo I’d seen her lover unclasp in my vision.
Turning the page, I found a picture of Mr. Ebersole.
Not nearly as attractive as his wife, I could understand why she’d found comfort in the arms of another. Sunken cheekbones and a weak chin were his most prominent features, followed closely by a comb-over that seemed to stretch his sparse hair to the limit.
“No one understood the pairing.”
I nodded without looking up.
“Abraham was a lumber baron, so it must have been the money.”
I traced the lines of Esther’s face, trying to imagine my own father selling me into a loveless marriage, then skipped to the next page.
“That’s Odessa Cook,” Iris pointed to a group of homesteaders poised in their work. “Had one boy by the name of Calvert. Folks just called him Cal.”
I leaned closer, followed the line of her finger as it settled on a kneeling woman in a worn gingham dress and sunbonnet. Standing to her left, no higher than her shoulder was the boy named Cal.
I squinted, trying to make out her features when my eyes focused on the person standing behind her, his hand cupping her elbow. Smooth, dark skin and prominent cheekbones set him apart from the other homesteaders, as did his long hair.
Iris followed my gaze. “Odessa and the Indian were very close.”
“Indian?”
“Went by Butler. No one knew his Ojibwa name.”
My eyes flew to Iris’ as she sat her drink aside. “Butler was the last in a long line of Shamans. Legend was he gave his medicine—his magic—to Odessa as a special gift.”
“Medicine?” I repeated.
“A bag filled with totems from the Elk, Turtle, Wolf, and Raven. Each gave special powers and Butler wanted to make sure Odessa and Cal were always protected. He left this medicine bag in their care and word got around soon after.” She took another drink, shook her head. “Small towns.”
“I don’t understand. How could a bag full of totems protect Odessa and Cal?” But I did understand because Mallard had told me she had the Sight. Maybe this was why.
“Shamans believe in more than what you or I can see. They believe that each animal carries a special medicine that can enter the body of a human.”
I laughed, not meaning to. “Like Spiderman or something?”
Iris looked at me over the top of her drink. “Or something.”
I quickly collected myself. “What does this have to do with Back Forty Farm and the Ebersoles?”
“I think you already know.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, setting the book aside.
“No one understood the pairing,” she repeated. “But Jonas Younts was young and strong and full of potential. Not rich like Abraham, but Esther loved him.”
“Esther loved him?” I echoed, thinking of the man without a face, the man I’d seen standing in the darkness outside my bedroom window and felt my muscles tighten.
Was this man Jonas Younts? Hanged because my grandmother had a vision and the lynch mob needed a body?
“Why did Odessa accuse Jonas Younts?”
For an instant, my unflappable friend seemed surprised. “She saw it in a vision.”
“But if he loved Esther Ebersole why would he kill her?”
Iris looked at me closely, perhaps wondering what I knew and why I felt so strongly about a man who had died over a hundred years before. “There’s no telling what someone would do if pushed to their limits.”
I didn’t know if her words held some secret meaning for me, so I looked away and glanced at the clock. It was already half past one. One more hour until I returned to the lake house, where Dylan would be waiting. I imagined his arms closing around me, imagined sleeping in the strong nest they provided and would have kicked her out right then and there had her story not intrigued me.
Elk, Wolf, Raven, and Turtle.
Maybe the medicine had been passed down to her descendants through Calvert, who could have been related to my father. I thought back on our eleven years spent together, trying to piece together a family history he’d never shared—a legacy he’d hidden for reasons known only to him.
Or maybe I’d wake up the next morning with tail feathers, antlers, and dry, scaly skin. Then I could kiss my little romance with the hottest guy in Presque Isle goodbye.
A commotion on the porch caught my attention. I was just getting ready to heed Mallard’s advice and lock the door when three burly men stomped in. One was short and wore a John Deere trucker’s hat, the other two were big and ugly and wore gray shirts stained with a strange substance that looked like a mixture of grease, chewing tobacco, and sweat.
The biggest one took a seat on the corner stool and ordered a beer. The other two waited until he’d gotten it before ordering their own, making it clear who wore the pants in their dysfunctional family.
“You the new barmaid?” the big one asked while spreading his hands on the bar and I was shocked to see eight full fingers and two stumps.
“Yep,” I tried to sound confident, cheery even, and failed in that regard.
“I’ve heard about you, Tootsie.” Following my stare, he said, “Pulled ‘em off in an oil drill.” Then, his gaze sweeping to Iris. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”
She only smiled. “What I do in bed is none of your business.”
I grimaced, but John Deere just laughed, adjusting his hat as he did so. “That so, Grandma?”
Iris smiled again, her face a mask of complacency. “That’s so.”
He shrugged, perhaps impressed with her pluck, and ordered another beer. I jumped up and immediately honored his request, all the while searching Iris’ eyes for some sort of assurance that I’d end my shift in one piece, but she wouldn’t meet my gaze.
I thought about calling Mallard. These three certainly fit the bill where “assholes” were concerned, but I wasn’t sure how to get away without attracting attention. And they wanted lots of it.
Their first round gone, the trio seemed in no hurry to leave. They lit up, ordered Pabst Blue Ribbon like it was going out of style and told dirty jokes that featured a bevy of dumb blondes. As the second-hand inched past two, I began to feel the first stab of fear.
“Last call, guys,” I said while eyeing the clock.
“Give me a fuckin’ break,” Stumpy grumbled while getting up to saunter towards the jukebox. Once there he made his selection and shuffled back via Gordon Lightfoot. “I know you’ve got that clock set to bar time.”
“Name one place that doesn’t?” I scowled, wondering where I had gotten the courage, remembering where my anger had taken me that afternoon.
“You’ve got quite a mouth on ya, Tootsie,” Stumpy smiled, his teeth just as bad as his shirt. “I’d like to see it wrapped around my—”
“Last call,” I blurted, blood pounding in my ears, the sweatshirt making
me hot. “Give me your order or get the hell out.”
Stumpy just grinned, his eyes darting between me and Iris while the latter sat with her hands folded as though waiting out bingo calls at the grange hall.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down to the big lake they call Gitchee Gumee.
I heard the song, knew it by heart as one of Dad’s favorites and felt in some strange way that it would become a part of what was going to happen.
It was now quarter past two. I should have been closed up, counting down the till, and heading for Dylan’s house.
“All right, boys,” Iris said while straightening on her stool. “Time to wrap it up.”
“What for?” Stumpy belched. “Tootsie got a hot date?”
I didn’t answer, but the blood continued to pump in my ears, making it hard to hear and harder to concentrate. The room felt hot, stuffy, and I yanked on the collar of Dylan’s sweatshirt in an effort to cool myself. Meanwhile, Iris’ eyes sought mine and held them until I thought I’d go mad.
My cell phone rang. I knew Dylan must be wondering where I was for the second night in a row and I wanted to answer and tell him I’d charged my phone and locked my front door but I sure as hell didn’t want him mixed up in what I felt sure was about to happen.
“Why didn’t you answer it?” John Deere asked.
“Shut up,” I whispered, pulling on my collar again.
“Think we hit a nerve,” No Name said. “Answer the call and maybe we can have us a party. See what makes Tootsie twitch.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that,” I spat, so angry I could hardly see, feeling the soft pulp of Jamie’s neck between my fingers. Wanting that feeling again.
Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours…
“And you’re gonna get an ass-kickin’, you know that?” Stumpy spoke up.
“Boys,” Iris began, but in an instant Stumpy reached across the bar, one meaty hand going for my wrist.
Shit! My brain screamed as my body went into automatic overdrive. Leaping across the bar in a single bound, I hit him square in the jaw before he had time to get off his stool. He howled in pain, stumbled towards the door only to hit the screen and ricochet out onto the porch. I heard him hit the wooden floor and roll away like the proverbial sack of potatoes.
No Name was looking for his chance before I’d finished. Coming from behind, he got a grip on my neck that felt impossible to break. Stars danced before my eyes as I thought about Dylan, waiting at the lake house for a girl who had picked a bar fight.
Frenzied heat rushed through my body, followed by a surge of adrenaline I felt powerless over. Reaching behind me, I took hold of No Name’s throat and dug my thumbs into the soft spot on either side of his windpipe.
He immediately began to gag, then sputter, but his grip loosened and I was able to slip from beneath his hold. Slumping to the ground, he began to crawl for the door when I turned to Iris.
Fearing she might already be injured, I berated myself for not tackling John Deere first when I saw her against the wall, his elbow pinning her just beneath the shoulder blades. Still, she didn’t seem alarmed as she looked at me and said, “Take him.”
Rushing from behind, I grabbed beneath the armpits and pulled him off of her. Spinning, he took a swing at my face that I was able to duck under. Instinct told me to act fast before he struck again and so I pulled back, slamming my fist into his belly with all the strength I couldn’t believe I possessed.
John Deere gurgled, fell to his knees and hit the floor face first. Rolling over onto his back, I saw his eyes wide with terror as he scooted towards the door.
“Get out,” I growled, feeling more powerful than I ever had in my life.
John Deere nodded, his mouth full of blood, then rolled over and scurried out the front door on all fours.
I stood still, suspended in a cocoon of static, my hands balled into fists at my sides, my hair a matted mess of sweat that was plastered against my neck and forehead.
The Lake it is said never gives up her dead when the skies of November turn gloomy…
All was silent, too silent—as I sat listening to the song and the sound of my breath, my heartbeat stilling—the anger that had propelled me dissipating like Mallard’s cigarette smoke.
I touched my throat, felt the ache where No Name had put his hands and groaned.
“That was beautiful,” Iris took a step closer, her eyes shining, “Better than I ever expected.”
I put my head in my hands and sat down on the nearest stool, my knuckles blazing as though I’d dragged them across sandpaper.
“Expected?”
“You’ve got it, my dear. And in spades.”
“What have I got?” I whispered, my voice hurting. “Tell me because I feel like I’m going crazy.”
She chuckled and sat down beside me. “You’re not crazy, you’re a Cook.”
I couldn’t look at her. Pam must have told her and now she was dragging me into the middle of this stupid Medicine Man meets Single Pioneer Mom story, believing I had some sort of superpowers when obviously…
Well…I couldn’t argue that point at the moment.
“Was it the Elk that gave Odessa strength? Or the wolf? Sure wasn’t the damn turtle.”
“So, you think you’ve inherited the medicine from your ancestors, eh?”
“I don’t know, Iris,” I said, careful to control my emotions. “I don’t know who I am or why I just did what I did but I know it doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does to me,” she said, one hand reaching up to clap me on the shoulder. “You’re Odessa’s all right—a few generations removed but it’s only made the medicine stronger.”
I looked over, put my hand on top of hers and knew she knew everything.
“What about Adam?”
“He has his own gifts.”
I didn’t understand at first, but soon realized there was a reason Dad had said we were stronger together.
“Are you saying the powers are divided between us?”
She smiled.
And nodded.
Chapter Fourteen
I called Dylan soon after. He seemed relieved that I’d ended my shift in one piece, but also angry that Mallard had left me alone with the Presque Isle Mafia on the loose.
“Presque Isle Mafia?” I asked.
“Last weekend of every month they raise hell when the oil rigs shut down. Butt-head Brauski should’ve warned you.”
“He didn’t.”
I heard him chuckle and knew he was faking it for my sake. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack, you know that? Dead at twenty-four because of some barmaid I didn’t know three weeks ago. I was jumping in the truck to come down there.”
I smiled into my phone even as I made my way to the Jeep. “I’m sorry…again.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said softly. “Just be here.”
He was waiting when I pulled up outside the lake house, his delectable silhouette blocking the light just behind the front door. I felt the warmth and love and safety swirl in an intoxicating mix, making the space between us vibrant.
Parking next to the truck, I jumped out and almost tripped in my haste to get to him. He had me in his arms before I reached the doorstep, squeezing tightly while his mouth sought my own.
“Can we talk?”
I nodded.
“Upstairs?”
I knew what he wanted and nodded again.
Now was the time. Before I killed someone and went to jail forever.
He took my hand, led me up the staircase and into his room where I saw a small lamp burning on his bedside table, a book opened beneath it. I wanted to see the cover, hoping it was something terribly intellectual like Quantum Physics for Dummies, but he gave me no chance, his arms encircling me once again in an attempt to get the sweatshirt over my head.
“Dylan,” I tried to speak as the sweatshirt finally gave way. A moment later he had my shorts dow
n around my ankles and I stood in my bra and panties before him.
“Justine,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”
I wanted to argue, as I always had in my mind whenever a man complimented me.
He must have noticed my embarrassment because he took my face in his hands and kissed me as though he had nothing better to do for the next twelve hours than explore my mouth with his own.
I felt my knees beginning to give way, but he grasped me around the waist, letting his hands slide down to caress the small of my back while his mouth moved to my throat. I winced as he moved over the spot No Name had gotten his hands on, then tried to cover it with a seductive moan.
“What’s wrong?” He took my hand in his and brought it to his lips, his tongue lingering over each knuckle until I thought I’d go insane.
A moment later he was examining it under the low light of the bedside lamp.
“Hey,” I tried to pull away, uncomfortable with the turn our interlude had taken.
“Why are your knuckles raw?”
I looked down, wanting to prove him wrong but knowing I couldn’t because smashing Stumpy in the face was going to leave a mark no matter what Butler had stuffed into his little bag.
And so I laughed, so nervous I thought I might shatter. “I told you I had a hard time getting those guys to leave.”
“So, you punched one of them?” he asked, his face a mixture of anger and apprehension, and all I wanted to do was take him in my arms and tell him not to worry. That I really could take care of myself and probably all of Lantern Creek, too. That I wasn’t like Karen. That I would survive whatever was thrown at me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to upset you,” I tried to explain while sitting down on the bed.
He sat down beside me, let out a sigh that told me more than I wanted to know. “If I can’t trust you then we should end this now.”
He was right—I had no reason to lie aside from the fear that he might call me a psycho and kick me out of his house.
Better to let go.
And so, I spilled the story about Iris and Odessa and how I believed myself to be the latter’s long-lost granddaughter, how just that afternoon I’d thrown Jamie over my shoulder and how the three roughnecks had really never stood a chance.
