The sky was broken clouds, the morning streaming through in golden bursts, reflecting off the water so that it was almost blinding, golden sheets crowded with the tiny black figures of ducks, brants, and Canada geese, and a line of brown pelicans that flew back and forth, scattering seagulls that cawed raucously as we passed. It was cold, and my hands were chilled even through my heavy gloves.
I spotted the narrow strip of land well before we got there, the boulders of black rock jutting out three or four hundred yards into the bay, huge, bare stones piled into a rocky base at the foot of a cliff that was about sixty feet high and probably not ten yards wide, crowned thickly with spruce and undergrowth of vine maple and salal.
Daniel laid aside his paddle and jumped out when we came close, pulling the canoe onto the rocks. He offered a hand to me, meeting my gaze deliberately as he did so, as if he meant to communicate that he wasn’t angry, which reassured me as I let him help me from the canoe. Perhaps my apology would not be so difficult.
“McKenna said the cabin was about half a mile in,” Junius said, stepping onto the rocks and helping Daniel bring the canoe farther ashore. He stood, his hands on his hips, staring up at the precipitous cliff. “Your father found relics here once, you know. Beads. A few brass bracelets—the ones we sent off to Baird earlier in the year for the exhibit.”
I’d never heard Papa mention that. “He found them here?”
“Along with a few other things.”
“What other things?”
Junius looked thoughtful. “There’s a reason the Indians call this place sacred.”
I didn’t like his thoughtfulness, or the foreboding that struck me at his words. Beads. Brass bracelets. The kinds of things Indians left with their dead.
But I said nothing as we followed Junius to the path that led from the bay. It was narrow and tangled with wild currant and brambles, salmonberry and ferns, and Junius took the hatchet from his belt and hacked our way past the cliff, deeper into the forest. Daniel followed behind, and I forgot Junius’s words in my anxiety to find a moment to apologize when Junius wouldn’t hear. But before I got the opportunity, I heard Daniel’s soft, “Leonie.”
Junius was a short way ahead. I paused, looking over my shoulder as Daniel came up beside me and said, “I wanted to apologize for last night.”
“As do I,” I said quickly, relieved. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I had no right.”
“I meant to be cruel,” he admitted. “I was angry, and I’m not very good at holding my tongue. I never have been. A failing, my mother often said. Regardless, you’ve been very...obliging, and you don’t have to be. I’m not certain I wouldn’t have sent me back into the wilderness. And I’ve repaid your hospitality with insults, which is unforgivable.”
“I think you have plenty of reason to be angry,” I said.
“Perhaps.” Daniel glanced ahead, to where Junius hacked his way through the underbrush. “I don’t agree with you about my father, that’s certain. But that’s no excuse. He’s the one at fault.”
“I knew he had a wife,” I protested.
“But it’s obvious you knew nothing of me. You were a child. I’m sorry I said those things.”
“Leonie! Daniel! Keep up!” Junius called back.
Daniel exhaled and looked at me, waiting.
I said, “Shall we just call it a misunderstanding and leave it at that?”
His smile was small, self-deprecating, but it was a smile, and clearly he was as relieved as I. He nodded, and then glanced ahead. “Did you tell him?”
“It was between you and me,” I said. “There was no reason for him to know.”
Daniel hesitated. “Something else to thank you for, I think. He wouldn’t have liked it.”
“No.” So he did want a relationship with his father after all. It was the first indication I’d seen. It made me feel more charitable—perhaps Junius was wrong about him. “But there’s no harm done. Come, let’s catch up.”
I turned to follow Junius. The way grew steeper, into the hills that ringed the point, and we struggled past cedar and alder and salmonberry until suddenly there was no more need to make a path, because one was already there. We broke through the forest and into a roughly cleared spot—still dotted with stumps and brown and rotting pumpkin and squash vines. The cabin was rough as well, split logs and zinc plates, with stacked wood beneath the eaves, and a splitting stump with an ax planted firmly in the middle of it. Smoke curled from the chimney, catching in the branches of the trees above.
“Hey there!” Junius called out. “Sanderson!”
The door opened, revealing a short, barrel-chested man with a thick beard and a bald head. He peered at us curiously as we approached, hooking his thumb in his suspenders.
“Junius Russell,” Junius said, taking two long strides to reach him, holding out his hand. “This is my wife, Leonie, and my son, Daniel. We live just south of here. On the Mouse.”
“Evan Sanderson,” said the man, shaking Junius’s hand, and then Daniel’s, acknowledging me with a polite nod. He motioned us inside. “Good to meet you, neighbor. What brings you out here?”
The cabin was small, a bed built into the far wall and covered with furs, a table built into the side, a fireplace with a poor draft, over which hung a kettle. The table was littered with traps. There was a loft above, a ladder to reach it, and walls studded with hooks from which dangled leather straps and long links of traps and tools I didn’t know. The room smelled of a gamy kind of oil and smoke.
Junius said, “I spoke with Robert McKenna yesterday at Oysterville. He mentioned you were out here. I was surprised. Hadn’t heard of anyone settling near the point.”
“Been here eight months or so,” Sanderson said. Junius sat at the table. Daniel and I sat on the bed. Sanderson pulled up the rocking chair that had been before the hearth. “Can I offer you something? Coffee?”
Junius shook his head. “No, thank you.”
“McKenna’s a good man. Met him out of Astoria last year. Liked the drink a little too much, I recall.”
“Still a fault.” Junius leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “But he said something that intrigued me. That you’d seen a cave with Indian remains.”
Sanderson regarded my husband thoughtfully. “You one of those bone collectors?”
“An ethnologist,” Junius corrected.
Sanderson shrugged. “Yeah, I saw a cave like that a few seasons back. I was trapping near Toke’s Point, back in the woods there along the river about...oh, maybe half a mile in, past these big rocks on shore. You know where I mean?”
Junius nodded. “I know the rocks.”
“It started to rain and I was tired of being wet. Just stumbled upon it. Looked like nothing but moss-covered rocks from the outside, but there was an opening and I crawled inside. Wasn’t until morning that I saw I’d been sleeping with skeletons.” He shuddered. “Surprised I didn’t have nightmares.”
“What else was there? Besides skeletons? Anything?”
“Old pots, things like that. I didn’t look too closely. But I did get this.” He rose from the old rocker and came over to the bed, and Daniel and I moved aside so he could reach the trunk he’d stored beneath it. He dragged it out—like the one that held the mummy, it was a large Chinese camphor trunk that had once been a ubiquitous trade item among the Indians, this one painted bright red, studded with brass nails. He opened it, pushing aside blankets and clothing to pull something out.
A small basket woven of reeds in black and white.
The world dissolved around me. My basket. Tumbling down a hill, flashing in the sun, leaving behind a pool of berries red as blood, and someone watching, waiting. That terrible, hovering fear—a wave of nausea swept me. I pressed my hand to my mouth.
“Leonie? Lea, are you all right?”
Daniel’s words seemed to come from far away. I blinked at him; he was frowning.
Junius was on his feet. “Lea, look at the pattern.”
I tried to find myself. I focused on his hand, the press of his fingers, until the world righted. It was all I could do to whisper, “I’m fine.”
I saw he didn’t believe me, but he pulled away. I felt cold, sick, and sad. Not myself at all.
“The basket’s not even the best part,” Sanderson was saying. He reached into it, taking out a stone knife bound to a cedar shank. He gave it to Junius before he sat again in the rocker.
Junius turned the knife in his hands. “You found this in the cave?”
“Most everything else was broken,” Sanderson said. “Every pot had a hole in it.”
“They do it on purpose,” Junius said. “So no one will steal them.”
“Well, they forgot to ruin that.” Sanderson nodded toward the knife.
The basket seemed to waver when I looked at it, its edges fading, blurring, as if it couldn’t quite keep to its lines, or didn’t want to stay. My voice sounded curiously hoarse as I said, “Could I...could I hold it?”
Sanderson handed it to me, and the moment I took it, my dream swept back. Hot, dry grass beneath my bare feet, the smell of sun-warmed dirt. Berries spilling. Rolling and rolling—
Violently I shoved the basket at Daniel.
He caught it clumsily, saying in a low voice, “Are you certain you’re all right? You look ready to swoon.”
Junius said to Sanderson, “Do you think you can remember where that cave is well enough to draw a map?”
“Certain of it. God knows I won’t forget it. Creepy place.”
Junius pulled the leather-bound notebook he carried from his pocket, handing it to Sanderson, who opened it and began scrawling out a map. “From Toke’s Point here, and then about half a mile due north. There’s no path but for the one I made, which is probably gone by now.” A few more quick lines, and then he handed it to Junius. “I’m warning you, it ain’t a pleasant place.”
Junius nodded and shoved the notebook and pencil back into his pocket. “Thank you. I appreciate it. Come on Lea, Daniel. We’ll let our neighbor get back to things.”
Sanderson reached to take the basket from Daniel, and suddenly I knew I had to have it. I didn’t understand how it had come to be here, or why it had been in my dreams, but I knew it meant something. It had something to tell me. Something important.
“We’ll give you three dollars for the knife and the basket,” I told Sanderson.
“Three dollars?” he asked. He looked uncertain. “I don’t know as I want to sell them.”
I controlled my own desire with every ounce of strength I had. Trade was my talent, how to win from someone something they had no wish to relinquish, but I knew I wanted this too much, and I was afraid of making a mistake. The dream hovered, that basket called me like a siren. I wheedled, “What would you do with such things, Mr. Sanderson? Keep them in that trunk? My guess is that you could use a...a new pair of boots, maybe. Or a cooking pot. Three dollars will buy at least another trap.”
He hesitated. It was all I could do not to give away how much I wanted it. I ignored Daniel’s quiet watching, Junius’s tension. I said, “How long have you had those things?”
“A few months.”
“Have you had any reason to think them unlucky? Any bad dreams?” I was casting about, hoping to land on something, but I didn’t expect it to stick. He’d spent the night in a cave with skeletons and felt no tomawanos. So I was surprised when he hesitated.
“A few,” he said reluctantly.
I struggled to hide my relief and the triumph I knew was mine. Just like fishing with a Chinook salmon hook the way Lord Tom had taught me. All it took was patience. You waited in the shallows, unmoving, until the salmon came by, and then, one quick twist, and it was flopping and dying on the shore. “I see. You know, the Indians would say that the spirits want those things back. They’d say you’ll have bad luck until you get rid of them.”
“Then why do you want them?” he asked.
“For the museum. They ask me to get them relics, and that’s what I do. I wouldn’t keep them in the house if it were me.”
He had taken back the knife from Junius, and now he stared at it. “You wouldn’t?”
“A rational man doesn’t believe in bad luck or spirits, but bad dreams...well, that’s something else. Better safe than sorry, that’s all I’m saying.”
Sanderson frowned.
I rose, touching Daniel’s shoulder so he did the same. “Well, you do as you wish. It’s not my head the memelose are playing in.” I did not intend to walk out of here without that basket, but I had to at least be ready to do it. People sensed uncertainty and reluctance. “We’ve kept you long enough, I think.”
Junius rose as well. We’d played this game too often; he knew the moves as well as I.
“Thank you,” he said. “And thank you again for the map.”
Sanderson nodded, but his frown grew bigger, and he was staring at the knife in his hand, the basket. I was so close. One more step. Give him enough time to think of what he’s refusing. Walk to the door. In moments, it would be mine.
If I’d just stepped to the door, he would have sold it to us. He would have been outside, following us, calling us back, before we’d gone three strides. Three dollars was a lot of money for a couple of mementos. But the moment I walked past that basket, my dream flashed back, and the urge to have it swept me like a storm, overwhelming. I did not even get another step before I said, “I’ll give you five dollars for them, Mr. Sanderson. But that’s my last offer.”
I was horrified the moment I said it. I’d made the mistake I’d been afraid of. I’d revealed how much I wanted it. I’d given it worth. I saw the glint of knowledge in his eyes and the calculations in his head, his realization that I was playing him, that the relics were worth more than I’d led him to believe. He didn’t trust me now. There was no offer I could make that he would accept. And bone collectors, as he called us, were not so hard to find. He could sell the things to someone else.
Sanderson smiled. “I think I’ll just hold on to them, if you don’t mind.”
It was gone, just like that. I was struck with horror and despair. I felt tears start at my eyes, and I hurried out so quickly I did not say good-bye. I was so angry and miserable that I was halfway down the path before I realized I’d left Junius and Daniel far behind me.
I leaned back against the rough bark of a cedar and waited for them to catch up, dashing the tears from my eyes, trying to regain my sanity. It was just a basket. It was like the one in my dream, but it couldn’t possibly be the same one. I was an idiot, and damn, how could I have let it just slip away? How could I have been so stupid?
Junius came around the bend first, and when he saw me, he said, “Calmed down yet?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, struggling for composure. “I ruined it.”
“I was certain he would deal,” Daniel said casually, but I saw the way he looked at me, his burning curiosity. He’d seen too much, I realized. My near swoon and how I’d wanted it. I felt vulnerable and off-balance.
“It’s not often you play a hand so badly,” Junius said. “What happened?”
I tried to laugh it off. “I...I can’t explain it. I was fine and then I...then I wanted that basket so I couldn’t think. It was so like hers.”
“I was surprised to see that design,” Junius admitted. “But the basket isn’t what’s important. It’s where it came from that matters. If there are answers to the mummy to be found, it’s the cave that will hold them. We’ll find something there, Lea. Something better than a basket.”
“I had him, too,” I said, unable to let it go. “He was going to sell.”
“It was one mistake. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and come on. There’s something else I want to do before it gets too late.”
He started back down the path, plunging
into underbrush. Daniel gave me a look I couldn’t interpret, and then he turned to follow, and I went after, still feeling shaken at how I’d let it slip away.
I didn’t notice how far we’d gone until we were back at Stony Point. Junius stood at the bottom of the cliff, looking up at it the same way he had when we’d come in, and I remembered what was undoubtedly up there, what I believed Junius meant to do.
There was a path that led from the beach, curving around, leading up to the promontory, and Junius followed it, motioning for Daniel and me to come as well. The path stopped after only a few yards, overgrown with brambles and wild currant. Junius seemed possessed by some excitement, a kind that filled me with dread, and I forgot about the basket when we reached the top and I saw the canoes—old and covered with moss, rotting on the ground, tangled with vines, fallen from the posts they’d once been mortised to—or removed from them. The Chinook put their dead in raised canoes, along with their possessions, for a year, after which they took down the bones and buried them. This had been an Indian graveyard like the tenas memelose illahee island between here and Bruceport, though I’d never known of it.
Junius stopped, breathing hard. “So your father was right. I’m surprised no one else has seen this.”
My dread grew. “Perhaps they have,” I said tightly. “And they decided to leave it be.”
He moved awkwardly through the undergrowth to the nearest canoe. He grabbed hold of the side, which came away in his hands, the wood rotted through. He tossed it aside and put his boot against the rest, pushing a little as if he meant to test the strength of it. It crumbled as easily as an old fallen nurse log in a wet forest.
Junius cursed beneath his breath, leaning over, rifling over the ground. “More likely they did the same thing Teddy did and took whatever was worth taking. Only canoes here now, and they’re too rotted to be much use.”
Bone River Page 11
