Prophecy (8 page)

The so-called secret lagoon was a sacred place to the Masaquoddy; by tradition, the private sanctuary of the oldest man in the tribe. It was said that everything grew large there, larger than life. But Hawks remembered sneaking in as a child and being pro-60

foundly disappointed to find that it was just another pond in the forest.

The myth of the secret lagoon had once reached the ears of some flower children from New York, and they had gone there planting marijuana seeds in the hope that they would grow to gargantuan size. They were chased off by the Indians; the sheriff’s deputies had plowed up the ground with picks and shovels to make sure the seeds didn’t blossom. Hawks wondered if a few of the seeds might have survived. If the old man was chewing cannabis while he meditated at the pond, that could well explain his visions of Katahdin.

As they now came closer to the old man’s encampment, Hawks paused and gazed in through the trees. It was just as he had left it: in the midst of this troubled forest, an oasis of peace and beauty. Three huge, conical tents made from animal hides stood in a circle, a large fire pit, rimmed with stones, in the center. A line strung between two poles held drying animal skins and strips of jerky; an elegant, handmade archer’s bow leaned against a tree. It was a bow that Hawks himself had used when, as a child, he was tutored in archery by M’rai.

The smell of animal fat hung in the air; another reminder of Hawk’s youth. As he stood there, he felt transported in time.

“Noa’hgna’aught N’hak’tah,” one of the men behind him said. He was warning Hawks that no one was allowed in the old man’s encampment without invitation. The language of Hawks’s childhood was still familiar to him; he had some command of it and could make himself understood.

“D’hana’ht Yo’ahtha,” Hawks replied as he pointed in the direction of the road. The men moved off, leaving him alone. Since he had arrived back in the forest, Hawks had refrained from asking anyone about Romona. He could not pass by without knowing if she was there.

Stepping forward into the compound, Hawks called her name.

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“A’hanspanitah Oliana… ?” After a moment, one of the tent flaps pulled back, and she appeared. She was more beautiful now than he remembered her. Her dark hair had the sheen of a forest animal’s; it draped gently against her shoulders with the contour of a graceful waterfall. Her body was lean and agile and stood straight as only an Indian woman’s could. But her eyes were vulnerable and filled with hurt.

She stood in silence, overwhelmed to see him. “Thank God,” she whispered.

“I’m back to stay.”

“I’ll fight with you now, John,” she whispered. “I’ll fight beside you. We’re dying in here.”

“Come with me now.”

“Where?”

“The first battle is today.”

Without hesitation she followed, watching Hawks move in front of her through the forest as though he belonged there. He was all Indian now; she could see it in the way his feet touched the forest floor. There was much she wanted to tell him. About the stillbirths and the sickness. But he was filled with single-minded purpose now. She would wait until he was ready.

As the small twin-engined Cessna dipped beneath the cloud cover, Rob and Maggie looked out its small window, catching their first glimpse of the forest below. Maggie’s cello was propped upright in an empty seat behind her, Rob’s doctor’s kit beside it. The symbols of the two personalities that had kept them apart for so long were riding separately behind them.

Hours earlier, in a hurried call to the symphony conductor, Maggie had promised to continue practicing the Schumann on her two-week vacation if they would substitute for her until she returned. The conductor complained, but Maggie was firm; the assertive-62

ness of the moment had acted on her like a shot of vitamins. She felt confident and proud of herself for taking a step toward solving her dilemma.

For his part Rob, too, was grateful that she had come. In the limbo of sky-transit they were more at ease with each other than they had been in months. They had held hands all the way, recounting fond and funny memories, both reveling in their closeness. They were swept with a feeling of well-being, a sense that everything between them was going to be all right.

“Isn’t it beautiful …” Maggie whispered as she gazed down at the lakes and trees below.

Rob nodded, awed by it. “I forgot the world could look like this.”

“Maybe that’s our trouble, huh? Can’t see the forest for the trees?”

He smiled appreciatively.

“Really,” she mused, “I think we get so caught up in details that we forget what life is all about.”

“What is life all about?” he asked. He was half joking, but sincerely wanted to hear her answer.

“Us. What’s inside of us. If that’s empty, then there’s nothing.”

“You feel empty inside?”

She kept a straight face. “No.”

“Me, neither. Not right now, anyway.”

They glanced at each other, and he kissed her cheek.

“Can this be true?” she asked. “Have I done something right lately?”

He laughed and cradled her head against his shoulder, his eyes drifting to the window.

“You know,” he mused, “yesterday I walked the streets of a city where six thousand people live in a single block, stacked up on top of each other and side by side, asking only for enough space to lie down at night and stand up in the morning.”

Maggie glanced up at him. His eyes were on the forest.

“Today I’m flying over three hundred square miles of wilderness that a handful of people are claiming is

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all their own.” He shook his head, unable to fathom it. “Children die of malnutrition while farmers pour surplus supplies of milk down the drain

…”

“Why do they do that?”

“To drive the prices up.”

“How awful.”

“That’s what it’s all about. Profit. The tenements … the trees … starvation …”

His voice trailed off, his eyes etched with despair.

“Can I tell you something?” Maggie asked softly.

“Mmmm.”

“It’s wonderful that you worry about those things. It’s something I don’t seem capable of doing.” She paused, wanting to make her thoughts clear. “But the part that worries me is that you sound as if you feel personally responsible.”

“I guess I do.”

“There’s only so much you can do, Rob. The world is too big.”

He nodded and glanced at her with appreciation.

“Ever read Small Is Beautiful?” she asked.

“What’s that?”

“It’s like it sounds. It’s a book.”

He looked at the unopened book in his lap. “Bet it can’t compare to Hydroponics and Industrial Hazards,” he joked. “Now, that’s an exciting book.”

“Don’t tell me the ending,” she quipped.

He smiled sadly to himself and shook his head. “I fear what the ending is. I really do.”

The plane swooped low and the Androscoggin airport came into view. It was no more than a dollop of cement surrounded by wilderness; on the gravel road leading to it, Rob saw two yellow cars kicking up a cloud of dust as they headed fast toward the landing strip.

Within minutes the plane was on the ground, Rob and Maggie stepping out into the bracing wind. It was like a tonic to them; they pointed their noses directly into it, closing their eyes as it washed over them.

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“Smell it!” Maggie groaned in ecstasy.

“Pine.”

“Mmmmmm. I’d like to bottle it and take it home.”

“There’s plenty out there. Look at those mountains.”

Near them on the runway, a man and woman were tying down their private plane while their two children, a boy and girl of about ten and twelve, squealed with delight as they picked through their belongings. The boy caught Rob’s eye and called over to him:

“You going camping?”

“Well, sort of,” Rob answered. “We’re going to be in a cabin.”

“We’re going to be outside! On a mountain right beside a waterfall! It’s gonna take three days just to walk there!”

“Sounds hard,” Maggie responded.

“That’s the fun!” the boy exuberantly shouted back. Beside him, his sister was shielding her eyes as she gazed into the sky.

“What the heck is that?” she exclaimed.

Rob and Maggie looked skyward, amazed at what they saw. Dangling on the end of a rope suspended from the bottom of an approaching helicopter was a huge dog. A bloodhound, its four legs pumping anas though it were swimming instead of flying, its tail rotating as if, by instinct, trying to function as a propeller.

“It’s a dog!” laughed the boy. “A flying dog!”

Maggie laughed, too, and turned to Rob. “What do you suppose they’re doing?”

“Damnedest thing I ever saw,” Rob mumbled.

He looked around the airstrip to see that others were as amazed as he, everyone squinting upward into the brightly overcast sky.

Then Rob spotted the two yellow cars he’d seen from the air. They bore the emblem of the Pitney Paper Mill and swerved directly onto the landing strip beside them.

“Mr. Vern?”

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The man who spoke from the driver’s window of the first car was round-faced and rosy-cheeked, prematurely bald, with a bright, engaging smile. He stepped out, revealing he was soft around the middle, and walked with a duck-footed gait, his hand extended as he approached them.

“Bethel Isely,” he said. “Pitney Paper Mill. Have a nice flight?”

Rob knew that he was to be met at the airport, but didn’t know it would be by representatives of the paper company.

“Uh … yes …” Rob mumbled as the man pumped his hand, “This is my wife, Maggie Vern …”

“Mrs. Vern …”

“Hello.”

“Mighty glad you came along, Mrs. Vern. Be a shame to miss out on a treat like this.”

He spotted the uneasy look in Rob’s eye. “Hope you don’t mind my coming. Some of the locals don’t know exactly how to get where you’re going, and I thought you might need some help.”

Rob was slow to respond. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I feel right about being met by the paper company …”

“Fine, fine. I’ll call you a cab. They don’t usually go into the forest, though.”

“Well, how does one get in there?”

“Private car. That’s the ticket. We’ll rent you a car. I thought I’d save you that trouble by bringing an extra one for you, but that’s fine. I want you to do what you want to do.”

“That’s very nice of you,” Maggie said.

“I didn’t want you to have any trouble,” Isely responded. “I even packed in some supplies so you’d have everything you needed for a few days. My wife insisted on sending some home-cooked food, and I said, ‘No, no, these people are going to think we’re putting pressure on them.’ “

“I’m really sorry to seem ungrateful,” Rob said.

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“I understand completely,” Isely responded. “That a Rogeri?” he asked, pointing to Maggie’s cello.

“Montagna,” she replied with surprise. “You know cellos?”

“I know wood. That’s got a balsam back, a spruce belly, and a maple bridge. Three different types of trees in there.”

“Very impressive,” Maggie replied.

“You know,” Isely continued, “there wouldn’t be near as much music in the world if people didn’t harvest trees.”

Rob had to laugh. “I’m glad you’re not putting any pressure on,” he said.

“Am I comin’ on too strong?” Isely replied with a smile.

“It’s all right,” Rob said. He liked the man in spite of his pushiness.

“Well, I’ll be right up front,” Isely said. “Your trip here is real important to me. I wanted to come here so you wouldn’t think I was your enemy. Us lumber people are human, too. We don’t want to do anything wrong, any more than you want us to.”

“I appreciate your saying that.”

“You want to rent a car, it’s fine with me, but I’d prefer to take you; Just let me have your ear while we drive to the lake, then I’ll let you alone.”

Rob caught Maggie’s expression. She clearly didn’t want the man to feel slighted.

“Okay,” Rob said.

“Fair enough,” declared Isely. Then he turned toward his cars. “Kelso? Take these people’s bags. Johnny, you handle that cello and be mighty careful with it. It’s worth a heap of money.”

Five men climbed out of the second car and began grabbing luggage. They wore plaid shirts that showed long undershirts protruding from the sleeves; their boots were caked with mud. They were obviously lumberjacks.

“Mrs. Vern? You want to sit in front?” Isely asked.

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?Could I ask you a question?” Maggie responded.

“Anything at all.”

She squinted toward the sky, her eyes following the bloodhound, which was now hovering almost directly over them, being lowered slowly toward the ground.

“What’s that dog doing up in the air?”

“Those choppers can’t take a sudden weight shift. They carry the dog underneath so they’ll know he’s staying in one place.”

“Where are they bringing him from?” Maggie asked.

“The mountains.”

“Do they usually fly them out?”

“Well, he was in pretty deep.”

Both Rob and Maggie sensed that Isely was avoiding something.

“Somebody’s pet?” Maggie asked.

“Well … not exactly.”

Rob caught Isely’s eye. “What’s the mystery?”

“Oh, no mystery, really. That bloodhound, he was a part of our Search and Rescue Team. I figure that’s the dog. I don’t think there’s any other bloodhounds in these parts.”

“Someone was lost?” Maggie asked.

Isely nodded. “People from our company, as a matter of fact. Couple of lumberjacks. Went out on a night crew and never came back.”

“Did they find them?”

Isely’s face sobered, his eyes following the bloodhound’s descent. “No, sir.”

“What do you suppose happened to them?”

“Oh, I don’t know-got lost, I guess,” Isely said, dismissing it. “We ready to go here?”

They followed him to the car, Maggie’s eyes still fixed on the bloodhound, who was pawing the air as his feet neared the ground.

“So they’re just giving up? The rescue team’s corning back?”