But this one was too stupid to make connections. His eyes held all the light of a dead squirrel. His lips were chafed and blistered. His brown, crooked teeth were worn to nubs.
The brute leaned in with his putrid breath.
“Relax,” he whispered.
S’tka struggled against his weight, tried to wriggle her wrists free of his grasp, but her efforts only amused her assailant, along with the rest of the band. When he pressed his face to S’tka, she forced her head to the side to elude his abscessed lips, where she saw U’ku’let, splayed out lifeless at the base of the hillside, a slash of crimson from his head sullying the snow.
The filthy goon redoubled his effort to kiss her, finally succeeding. He tasted of rotting flesh and offal. It took all the strength S’tka could muster not to bite his face. But she knew she must weather this assault without a fight if she hoped to ever see her N’ka again.
Her assailant bore down on her with all his weight, forcing himself inside of her. His breathing was wet and labored. The stink of him was unbearable.
Just as the filthy sloth shunted one final time and emptied himself inside her, her attacker climbed off hastily and scrambled for his spear, as the others, too, abandoned their lounging and scurried for their weapons at the trumpeting of a mammoth from the valley below.
“Giant!” one of them shouted.
“Giant!” they all chanted, as they raced down the hill, leaving S’tka half-naked on the ground.
S’tka clambered to her feet and hurried to U’ku’let, bleeding in the snow. Turning him over on his back, she found him conscious, but dazed.
“Where is N’ka?” he inquired, glassy-eyed, blood congealing around the gash on his forehead.
As if on cue, the infant began to cry in the depths of the cave.
S’tka rushed to the cave and retrieved the infant, shushing and consoling him as she made her way back to U’ku’let. She squatted once more above her partner, brushing his blood-matted hair away from the gash on his head.
The cries of the maulers were distant now, their figures tiny against the ice as they circled the great beast, and taunted him, two hundred feet below, hooting and hollering at their good fortune.
S’tka gathered a handful of snow and began cleaning the wound on U’ku’let’s head, which was three fingers wide and half-a-knuckle deep. Even the snow could not stanch the bleeding. S’tka gathered up a stone and began chipping at the ice at the base of the hillside. When she’d loosed a large chunk, she pressed it to the wound, and held it there, as U’ku’let slipped into unconsciousness.
Of all the perils and pitfalls you’ve foisted upon us, Great Provider, none is equal to the thoughtless cruelty of man. For only man among all the beasts worked so hard to cultivate the worst of his nature.
Salty Sweet
One afternoon, when Bella was stationed beneath the lonesome willow amidst the high grass, Boots, curled beside her, suddenly tilted his head, raised his hackles, and then rose to his feet, arching his back.
Bella sprang upright, clutching her bear spray as Boots circled nervously. When Bella heard the crunch of footsteps behind her, she swung around, expecting to confront an animal. Though relieved, she was equally surprised at what she saw there.
“Uncle Travers?” she said. “You scared me.”
“Shh,” he said, holding a finger to his lips, as he swished toward her through the grass.
“Why are we being quiet?” she whispered.
“We just are,” he explained.
Thrilled to see him, Bella smiled despite her confusion. Boots, meanwhile scurried up the willow, where he watched the scene unfold.
“What are you doing here? Is Bonnie here, too?” Bella said, hopefully. “Where’s Daddy?”
Uncle Travers kneeled and wrapped her up in a bear hug. He was a good hugger, Uncle Travers; he made hugging feel natural. She liked the way he smelled, too, the salty sweet mix of sweat and underarm deodorant.
“I came to take you home,” he said softly, patting her back. “Bonnie and Auntie Kris are excited to see you.”
“But . . .” said Bella, trailing off.
Still kneeling at eye level, Uncle Travers held her shoulders at arm’s length and smiled into her face.
“You’re gonna stay with us, now,” he said. “You’ll have your own room.”
“But what about Daddy?” she said.
His smile faded, but not altogether. “Honey,” he said. “This is about what’s best for you.”
“Did Daddy say it was all right?”
“This is about you,” he said, like she hadn’t heard him the first time. “This isn’t about Daddy. Bonnie can’t wait to show you her new bike. She says you can have her old one.”
“But all my stuff,” she said.
“We’ll get you new stuff. Better stuff.”
“But I need to tell Daddy,” she said. “He’s fishing down at the river.”
“I left him a note,” he said. “He knows. We need to get going soon, though, before it gets late. Here, hop on,” he said, offering her his shoulders.
“But what about the cats?” she said.
The truth, she knew, was that the cats could take care of themselves, and that they’d come if they wanted to come, or stay if they wanted to stay.
“Daddy will take care of the cats,” he said.
“You’re sure it’s okay with Daddy if I go?”
“It’s all in the note, honey.”
“When are we coming back?” she said.
“C’mon,” he said playfully, as though he hadn’t heard her, and began loping through the tall grass. “We’ll go out to Westside for pizza tonight.”
“Can Nana come?”
“Of course.”
And through the meadow and into the tree line they galloped, while Boots, from his willowy perch, warily watched them go.
Bella began to laugh as Uncle Travers weaved between the hemlocks, jumping over downed trees, yet she sensed something in his brisk pace that was not so playful, after all.
“Uncle Travers? When will we—”
“Ssh,” he said.
A Real Home
Dave returned from the river triumphantly in the afternoon with a string of early Chinook, their silvery skin glimmering in the sunlight. No need of rice, or bullion tonight. No, tonight, they would feast.
“Bella!” he shouted. “Look what I’ve got! C’mon!”
But she neither called back, nor came running.
Dave set the fish aside and ducked into the cave.
“Baby, you in here?” he said.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw the note on the ground near the entrance, pinned beneath a stone. Snatching it up, he studied it furiously, pacing the bluff as he read:
Dave,
As you can see, I came for Bella. It’s for her own good, and if you love her, you’ve got to see that. I suppose there’s a more official way to go about this, but somehow I knew I couldn’t count on you complying, and who knows how long it might take the paper-pushers to figure all this out. You could argue that I have no legal right, but if you want to make this a legal thing, Kris and I like our chances, given the circumstances. Family is family. I’ve already pulled some strings with the school administration. Before you lose your cool, or do anything stupid like come after her, just know that Kris and I have Bella’s best interest in mind. School started last week and she needs to be there. She needs to be living in a real home, with a real bedroom, and have friends. Winter is right around the corner, and this is no place for a little girl in winter. Know that she’ll be safe and taken good care of, and we will in no way try to turn her against you. When you’re ready to come back to town and stay, we’ve got a place for you, too. And once you get back on your feet, and prove you can take care of Bella, we can go from there. I know you’re going to be very angry at me, and I’m okay with that. Eventually, you’ll see the wisdom in it. Whatever you do, Dave, don’t come back for her unless you intend to stick around.
This is all for Bella’s good, and if you can’t see that, well, I guess things are even worse than anybody thought.
Your brother,
Travers
Dave’s first instinct was to head them off at the bottom of the canyon. They couldn’t be more than a couple of hours ahead of him. He’d be wise to catch them before town, knowing there’d surely be a scene. Little Brother had a lot of damn nerve. The fact that Travers had somehow managed to find Bella up here, and catch Dave unawares, led Dave to believe that Travers had been spying on them all along, hatching this plan for weeks. Maybe months. He must have followed them up here at some point. Dave ought to hurry down the mountain and kick Travers’ ass right in front of Bella. So what was he waiting for? Why couldn’t he take that first step?
Because, he reasoned, Travers was right.
He walked to the edge of the bluff, and looked out over the abyss, where somewhere below his daughter was snaking her way out of his life. He wanted to shout out something to Bella, something that would echo down through the steep corridors and reach her, a few words that would acknowledge that Daddy had been wrong, and that he hoped she would not be mad at him. But all he could think of was the obvious.
“Baby, I love you!” he shouted, eyes burning as the words echoed through the canyon.
II
The Book of Doubt
Cave Dave had no wife,
Cave Dave had no life,
Cave Dave had a daughter,
Cave Dave never taught her,
Cave Dave thought he was boss,
Cave Dave ate crazy sauce.”
—Second-graders, Nelson Elementary,
Vigilante Falls, WA
Sean Halligan; Bartender, Doc’s
“Oh, I knew who he was, all right, but really only from a distance. He was like Bigfoot, sort of a legend around here. The day he took that little girl up there to live was the day he became almost like a myth. Mostly what I knew about Cave Dave is what I heard from other people, and that comprised a lot of opinions, and a lot of stories, some of which were a stretch if you ask me. Max from down at the tackle shop swears that Cave Dave broke into his hunting cabin up by Dead Man’s Falls two winters ago. Stole his ghillie suit and his rain gear, canned food and batteries, then dropped a deuce in Max’s skillet just to add insult to injury. But it’s well known in this bar that Max is a talker after two or three Wild Turkeys, so take that for what it’s worth.
“Seems like nobody could ever quite agree on Cave Dave. But they never got tired of talking about him. For everyone in this town who treated him like he was some kind of ghoul, seems like there was always two folks ready to call him a hero.
“Dave Cartwright was not much of a drinker, so far as I know. He was only in here once on my shift. The time I saw him must’ve been shortly before he took to living up there, maybe a month after his wife went over the falls. It was the middle of the afternoon when he came in. The place was dead. Only a few hardcores I won’t mention by name. But one of them is on the city council.
“Anyways, Cartwright sat right down there by himself at the end of the bar under the antlers. Ordered bitters and soda, no ice. Didn’t take two sips of it the whole time he was here. Just sat there like he was made of stone, gripping the glass real tight, not making eye contact with anyone, and staring mostly at the bar top in front of him. I tried my hand at small talk, but he wasn’t having it, and I know better than to push. My impression of the guy wasn’t crazy, and it wasn’t heroic, either. He just seemed like a blank slate to me. Like he wanted to be left alone.”
A Real Home
Bella was hardly ever cold, that was one thing she appreciated about living at Auntie Kris and Uncle Travers’ house. And the refrigerator was always full. Here, she was surrounded by comforts: thick carpet and fluffy pillows, a kitchen that was always clean, and a dining room that was never cluttered. The house was only four years old, a big house, but not huge, not like the houses Uncle Travers had been developing up on Raven Ridge, houses he called “McMansions.” Uncle Travers always wore cowboy boots with slacks, and a shiny buckle, and a big leather cowboy hat that didn’t look like anything a real cowboy would wear.
“These people have no taste,” he complained almost nightly at the dinner table. “They want all those corny flourishes that they think make them look rich—wrought iron gates, and circular driveways, and goddang pergolas and bird baths in the garden. And for godsakes, swimming pools—here! They won’t use them but three weeks a year. It’s like pouring money down the drain.”
“Then why encourage them?” said Auntie Kris.
“Because that’s the market. They can afford it, and that’s what they want. But they’re gonna ruin this town, you wait and see.”
“You brought them here,” said Auntie Kris. “The Ridge was your idea.”
“And it was a good one, obviously,” he said. “We’re already at seventy percent capacity, and half the houses aren’t even framed yet.”
“Well,” said Auntie Kris. “You can’t have it both ways, Trav.”
“What am I supposed to do? They want to buy here. Somebody’s gonna build those homes. We’ve already tripled our investment in less than two years. I don’t hear you complaining.”
“I wasn’t complaining before the Ridge, either.”
“But what’s so great about this place, anyway, Kris? What is it we’re preserving here? You’re not even from here. It’s about time this little backwater town saw some progress. We’ve been living in a bubble for forty years. Damnit, if I—”
“Honey,” interrupted Auntie Kris with a flick of her eyes to indicate Bella and Bonnie.
“Pardon my language, girls.”
At least the food choices were five million times better than at the cave: grilled chicken with mashed potatoes, and tiny little steamed carrots; tacos you could make yourself, so that you didn’t have to put in stuff you didn’t want, and chicken fingers, which was a really dumb name considering chickens didn’t even have fingers, and even if they did they wouldn’t be so big.
Also, it was nice to use a real bathroom. It’s funny how Bella never thought she’d ever like taking baths, but the bathtub was just about the only place anyone left her alone anymore, even though she wasn’t allowed to lock the door. Lying on her back, head submerged, Bella would gaze up at the ceiling tiles until they disappeared, until the world as she knew it ceased to exist, and she was back out on the ice. Sometimes she stayed in the bath for forty-five minutes before Auntie Kris made her get out.
Second grade at Nelson Elementary wasn’t so bad. Bella liked Miss Martine better than Mrs. Rundgren. Bella had hated first grade. She found Mrs. Rundgren to be just like her name sounded, kind of all ground-up like gravel. Mrs. Rundgren had never seemed excited by anything she was trying to teach. Everything was a paper handout. You never got to decorate anything, or make anything up, or play any learning games. Bella never saw Mrs. Rundgren eat lunch, but she always imagined she must eat something dry, like a cheese sandwich without mayonnaise, or a sleeve of soda crackers. And when Mrs. Rundgren walked with her class down the hallway after the final bell, she always looked tired and hungry, and about a hundred years older than she did first thing in the morning. Her hair had always fallen off to one side, and her jeans looked droopy.
Miss Martine at least tried to have fun with the class. She was extremely patient, especially with the boys. They rarely did handouts, and when they did, you were allowed to decorate them. Miss Martine had a sneaky way of teaching. And at the end of the day, after the final bell, Miss Martine looked proud walking down the hall with her long, blonde, straight hair, all silky and still in place, and her perfect posture, and her skinny but muscular legs, and her chunky high heels swinging fluidly one in front of the other. Miss Martine was glamorous next to Mrs. Rundgren. Uncle Travers usually tried to find some excuse to talk to Miss Martine in a flirty way on the days he picked Bella up, but Miss Martine never indulged him for too long.
Beyond Miss M
artine, Bella had only one ally at Nelson Elementary: Hannah B, whose last name Bella couldn’t remember but it was different from Hannah G, whose last name Bella couldn’t remember, either. Hannah G was pretty in the same way that cousin Bonnie was pretty, in a storybook princess way, so that people must have been telling them how pretty they were all the time, which gave them more confidence. Hannah G always raised her hand in class, whereas Hannah B—who sat at Bella’s table—never once raised her hand. Hannah B was what her dad used to call a contrarian, which meant she was sometimes too clever for her own good.
Almost every day, Hannah B claimed she saw something called the Green Guy, who crawled through her window at night, or walked across her front lawn while she was eating breakfast, or peeked through the window of the classroom and looked right at Hannah. Nobody else ever saw the Green Guy. But Bella believed what Hannah B said about the Green Guy, believed it without reservation, though Bella knew she would never see the Green Guy with her own eyes, any more than Hannah B would ever met S’tka.
They usually sat together at recess, Bella and Hannah B, on rainy days in the darkest corner of the covered play shed, telling stories.
“Why would they attack them?” Hannah B wanted to know. “It doesn’t even make sense.”
“Because they were brutes.”
“What are brutes?”
“Brutes are people who are like animals. They do things just because they can.”
“I think my dad is a brute,” said Hannah B.
“I think a lot of grown-ups are,” Bella said.
“So, did the U’ku’let guy die when they cracked his head?” said Hannah B, nibbling at a cuticle. “Did the brute people come back?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Bella.
“Well, what’s gonna happen?”
“How should I know?”
“It’s your story.”
Legends of the North Cascades Page 12
