Lake of Tears (2 page)

As she watched the fire settle down to embers, she couldn’t help but think what a nice burial it would be: wrapped in a cloth, laid in the bottom of a vessel, and set out onto the water in a shroud of flames.

As Sheriff Talbert drove away from the Burning Boat spectacle, he felt like something was stuck in his throat. Maybe he had inhaled too much smoke. But for a few weeks now he hadn’t been feeling that good—out of breath, nauseated, achy. He figured it was something that was going around. He had to watch that he didn’t complain too much to Ella, or she would get on him to go to the doctor.

He hated doctors. They poked him like he was a bloated cow and told him he should lose half the weight he was carrying. Fat chance. Not with the way Ella fed him—pie and cookies and bars. She had been raised to cook for the field hands and, even though he wasn’t a farmer, she fed him as if he were one.

He wondered if any of those coconut-chocolate pecan bars were left. His mouth watered just thinking about them.

Ella had ragged on him not to go tonight. “Why do you always feel like you have to be there? The deputies can handle it without you.”

He didn’t dare tell her how much he still enjoyed standing in the middle of the road, telling the cars where to go and talking to everyone, his community in the best of moods, joking and laughing and having a good time. He wouldn’t miss it for anything.

No moon tonight and it was dark as the bottom of a well, driving up the coulees toward the top of the bluff. He had the windows open, as it was just the right temperature to put your hand out the window and let it drift on the breeze.

Just as he was turning at Pleasant Corners, he felt something stab him in the chest—a ripping feeling, as if an implement had been thrust into his insides and turned.

He let go of the wheel and slapped his hands on his sternum to make the tearing stop, but the pain got worse and rose up into his mouth like a wave of bile. The car didn’t make the turn and plowed into a cornfield, the stalks ticking on the underside of the carriage and scraping the doors.

The car came to a stop deep in the corn.

He could hardly breathe, and the ripping pain made him feel faint. He tried to get out of the car, to get to the road, but he couldn’t move his arms. He couldn’t even turn off the car. The lights shone through the corn and he felt like he was looking at soldiers marching toward him, the lines going on and on.

The sound of the birds chirping outside her window woke Emily Jorgenson. The first thought that flew into her mind was,
I hope my pot’s okay.
She couldn’t wait to see how it had turned out. Just so long as it hadn’t broken. Mrs. Adams, her fourth-grade teacher, had warned them all that the pots might break in the heat or get smashed by the wood of the boat collapsing on top of them.

She slipped off her nightgown and scrambled into her jeans and T-shirt. The sun was up already. She had to go to church later, but she could run down to the park before then and find her pot.

After eating a bowl of cereal at her mom’s insistence, she was finally allowed to go down to the beach. “Be careful of that fire, Emmie. Use a stick to stir around in it. It might still be hot.”

She promised to be careful and skipped part of the way down the hill, then ran until she reached the highway. Since she had turned ten, Mom let her go anyplace in town she wanted to. But she had to promise to look both ways at the highway. “Those cars and those darn motorcycles come whipping through town too fast for their own good,” her mom said.

A couple of motor homes were in the park, but she didn’t see anyone outside. She loved having the park to herself, and was glad when summer was really over and all the campers went away. Then she could run around without feeling like she was disturbing anyone. Her mom said that the campers made money for the town and that was good, but Emily still wished they wouldn’t take over the park every summer, especially during the very nicest days.

Emily could see the dark burned spot on the small island where the longship had been. Technically, the spit of land wasn’t an island but a peninsula, because it was sort of attached to the shore. She had learned that in geography.

She wouldn’t waste any time this morning looking for arrowheads or agates, two of her favorite things to do. Once she had found a lovely pink piece of stone that had been worked all along one edge, and her dad told her that it was a part of a spear, because it was so large. Emily put it in her treasure box. But one of her biggest wishes was to find a real, complete arrowhead.

She walked down the beach until she reached the path that went out onto the peninsula. A faint fishy smell wafted over her. She didn’t mind it. The lake smell was a mixture of all sorts of stinks—weeds, water, and even a sun scent.

As Emily walked up to the burned spot, she held her breath—both because it was still smoky and because she was nervous about what she would find. She remembered exactly where she had put her pot—right under the dragon head on the longship—so she would be able to find it easily. She watched her step, walking just beside the scorched grass where rubble and charred bits of wood were strewn on the ground. There sure wasn’t much left of the ship.

She pulled a willow branch off the ground and ripped the leaves off. It would be good for poking around in the ashes.

Her pot was a small round bowl made out of tan clay, about the size of her fist. She jabbed at the area where she thought she had placed it. After using the willow branch like a rake, she uncovered what at first looked like a clod of dirt. She stepped nearer, watching where she put her feet. Squatting down, she looked at the dark object more closely.

Emily could tell it was her bowl by the edging. She had pinched the edge just like her mom made pie crust. The pot had turned almost black, with a crack snaking down one side, but it was still whole. She gingerly touched it, but it wasn’t too hot. After hooking the willow branch into the middle of it to scoop it up, she carried it to the water and rinsed it off. Some of the darkness washed off but much of it stayed on the pot, making it look like the pattern on a cowhide. Her teacher had called this kind of pot making
raku,
and said it was a Japanese word.

She wondered how the other kids’ pots had turned out. Holding her bowl carefully, she walked back to the burned spot. As she stood to one side and the sun shone on the ashes, she saw a weird pattern of white sticks in the charred remains of the fire.

Emily put her pot down in the sand, took her willow wand, and poked at the white sticks. As she rubbed away the flakes, her stomach turned.

A finger was pointing at the lake. The white sticks were bones. Something clicked in her mind and Emily knew she was looking at a whole skeleton, stretched out in the ash.

“They’re taking me to Mayo,” Sheriff Talbert told Claire as she sat close to his bed. He had a private room in the hospital in Durand, which was right up the hill from the county offices. He was whispering and seemed to have aged ten years since she’d last seen him two days ago. “Quadruple bypass surgery.” He held up a hand with four fingers pointing skyward.

“Can’t do stents?” Claire asked.

“Too far gone. They need the big guns for me.” He gave a throaty chuckle that turned into a cough.

“How long will you be out?”

“They can’t say. I pushed ’em, but they want me to do therapy and all that crap. I hate to think what this will cost.” His big meaty hand fell on Claire’s and he grabbed her hand tight. “But I want you to be in charge of the department. I’m appointing you sheriff in my absence.”

Sheriff. She had thought she might like that title in front of her name someday, and she wasn’t getting any younger. She could retire in four years if she wanted to, and she had even considered it. “What about Stewy?”

“He don’t want to be sheriff. Hell, he just wants to retire next year and buy a motor home. That’s all he talks about these days. I can’t ask him to take this on.”

“Well, I don’t mind stepping in for you, but it won’t be for long, will it?”

“Who knows. Maybe they’ll tell me I need less stress in my life. Ella has been saying that to me for years.”

Ella had stepped out for some coffee a few minutes after Claire had arrived. Claire was pretty sure she just wanted to give them time to talk alone. She probably knew what her husband was going to ask Claire.

“She wants to go to the Grand Canyon. She’s always wanted to, but somehow it didn’t happen when the kids were young, and then the job got in the way, and I don’t know where the time went.” He rubbed his stubbly face. “I think it’s time we went to the Grand Canyon. I’m kinda afraid of heights, but she hasn’t asked that much of me over the years. I figure I can do this for her.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“So you can be in charge?” he asked her.

“Until you get back on your feet.” Claire wanted to reach out and pat his leg, but he was not a touchy kind of guy. “Just so long as you don’t fall into the canyon.”

“Who knows how this is going to turn out,” he said, patting his chest gently.

“It will turn out fine. You’re going to the best place. They really know what they’re doing at the Mayo.”

“Yeah, but they’re going to have to cut open my chest. I’ve never been cut open before. Gives me the willies.”

“You’ll be better than ever.”

“I guess.” His voice dropped.

Ella stepped back into the room. “I think that’s enough talking for now. He’s got to rest up for his trip. They’re taking him by ambulance this afternoon.”

“You’ll keep us posted?” Claire asked.

“I’ve talked to Shirley at the department three times today already. She’ll come and find me if I don’t call.”

“When’s the surgery?” Claire asked.

“Next week. Sooner the better, I say. Get it over with.”

The sheriff had fallen asleep. Claire and Ella looked down at him. Ella’s face was tight. “I just want him to be okay.”

Amy hated to leave her bed on Sunday morning, one of the few times John didn’t have to get up before her. His lips barely moved when she kissed him goodbye, then he rolled over and started to snore. It was everything she could do not to climb back in bed with him.

She started her shift at eight a.m. and rolled through Durand, checking things out, then circled back to the department for another cup of bad coffee. The big news this morning had been about the sheriff. She still couldn’t believe it. Shirley said it was lucky he was alive. If his lights wouldn’t have still been on, who knows when they would have found his car, buried deep in the corn.

Two teenagers had seen the lights and called it in. At the moment the car was sitting out front in the parking lot. Looked fine. But she heard the sheriff wasn’t doing so good. She wondered briefly who would be in charge while the sheriff recovered. One thing she knew for sure was it wouldn’t be her.

Shirley hollered back to her. “Got something you better check out in Fort St. Antoine. Some kid found some bones.”

Bones, that sounded good. Something to do. It had been awful quiet lately. School had started; less time for kids to get in trouble.

“Where in Fort?” Amy walked up to the front desk.