Green Center Fiction

Gabriel and his dad used to fish and camp from the island on Macmillan Lake. These days Gabriel’s dad, Raymond Arthur, just goes there to be alone and drink. Raymond will usually bring along two or three quarts of whiskey and he doesn’t come home until the liquor is gone.

Now, Gabriel spends most of his time with his friend Jesse Roush. Jesse is a couple of years older than Gabriel and received his driver’s license at the beginning of the summer. Sometimes Gabriel will be invited along on the “road trips” Jesse and his best friend Clyde take.



Trees whiz by and dust from the dirt road trails behind Jesse’s pickup, making the air yellow and brown. “Why do I always have to sit in the middle?” asks Gabriel. “I need the window seat, you don’t smoke” answers Clyde, blowing hash smoke in his face. Gabriel doesn’t smoke and he doesn’t drink. Clyde and Jesse smoke and drink as much as they can.

“Your dad out getting hammered on Macmillan again?” asks Clyde. Gabriel wants to tell him to mind his own business.

Raymond Arthur had been on the island for three days. He would go there because he wasn’t allowed to drink in the house anymore. After several strong drinks and many beers Raymond would try to go to sleep. Whenever he would close his eyes he would see wolves, large, demonic wolves with red eyes. They were crouched and snarling at him, snapping in hatred.

One night, Raymond lay down on the couch to sleep. He’d been drinking since he closed his hardware store at seven. He may have even snuck a beer or two during the day. Gwen was in the rocking chair with Cassandra and Gabriel had fallen asleep in front of the TV.

Raymond’s eyes opened and his tortured screams filled the room. His eyes were black and his face contorted in pain and fear. His words were indiscernible, but between his howls Gwen and Gabriel were able to make out words like “eyes” and “blood”. Gwen ran upstairs with Cassandra while Gabriel had to watch his father cower on the kitchen floor, scratching at his skin and kicking at the walls.

The next afternoon, after Raymond woke up, Gwen came to their room and told him that he wasn’t to drink in the house ever again.

“Let’s go find your dad” says Clyde. Gabriel ignores him, hoping Jesse hasn’t heard.

“I’m serious. We’ll go get my dad’s boat and go find your old man.”

“Why the fuck do you want to do that?” asks Jesse. Clyde and Gabriel are surprised at this sign of opposition. Clyde just stares at Gabriel then turns his head to flip the remnants of the joint out the window.

“What do you think Gabe?” asks Jesse. “You wanna go see what your dad is up to?”

Jesse is trying to placate Clyde, who can get mean when he’s drinking. Clyde has been drinking since before noon, about three hours. The boys decide to go to Jesse’s house and get his canoe. They make it out to the lake before five o’clock. Clyde has drank and smoked even more.

Gabriel feels sick. He’s not even sure if his dad is alive and he isn’t about to be the first one to find out. Raymond had been gone about this long before, but he appeared sick and very fatigued the last time Gabriel saw him.



Raymond was an alcoholic, but he loved his wife and his family and he always did as she asked him. He would go to the bar after he closed the store. He could sometimes find a friend who would drive him, but he would often stay until closing, requiring Gwen to come out in the middle of the night and pick him up. One night, Raymond passed out in the car and Gwen had to wake Gabriel to help her drag his father into the house. Gwen left Raymond the next day, a week before Christmas.

Northern Ontario winters are long and cold, and even more so when you’re alone. Raymond drank for five days straight, never opening the hardware store. He didn’t eat and he barely slept. He sat in his chair, in front of the television and he sipped whiskey. He would call Gwen at her mother’s, but she wouldn’t speak to him. He would call and demand he talk to his son, but Gabriel wouldn’t speak to him either. Finally, Gwen’s father took the phone off the hook.

The fifth day was Christmas Eve, Raymond was alone, drunk, and the wolves were after him. He was cowering in the corner of his son’s bedroom. He thought he heard the wolves tearing apart the kitchen and he knew they would find him soon and they would kill him. He jumped up and went staggering through the house, knocking pictures off the wall and tipping over lamps and end-tables. His skin crawled and he could barely breathe. After crashing through nearly every room in the house, he found his way into his daughter’s room. He calmed down, the peaceful implications of a toddler’s belongings had somehow affected him. He sat down on her small bed and found her baby book. Gwen had arranged the pages with pictures, locks of hair, and hand and footprints. The pictures of his daughter gradually growing from infanthood to a child silenced his mind. The wolves were gone, and he was merely drunk. He started to cry.

He was sober for three more days before he called Gwen again. She moved back in on New Year’s Eve, but the kids stayed with her parents until Gabriel returned to school.



“I don’t want to go. I’ll wait with the truck.” Gabriel is standing on the beach, staring across the lake at the island where Raymond camped. Clyde starts yelling.

“You’re dad won’t even know who we are. He’s probably fucking dead anyway you said so yourself.”

“Shut up Clyde” shouts Jesse while loading the paddles and cushions into the canoe.

“Hey fuck you Roush! This was your fucking idea”, Clyde is cracking open another beer and leering at Gabriel.

“My dad’s a drunk, but at least he can keep his hands off my mom.” Gabriel half-mutters this, but Clyde hears him.

In an instant, Clyde throws down his beer and grabs Gabriel by his shirt. Clyde throws a punch, but Gabriel moves and takes the blow to his shoulder instead of his face. This doesn’t deter Clyde as he responds by delivering repeated blows to Gabriel’s stomach. Jesse grabs Clyde from behind and throws him on the ground.



Two years ago, Gabriel and Jesse were spending the night at Clyde’s house. In the middle of the night, Clyde’s parents started fighting. The boys could hear Clyde’s mom screaming as his dad hit her and Clyde started crying. Jesse and Gabriel could only sit there and watch him cry. That night, Gabriel told Clyde about Raymond’s drinking and everything that had been going on his house. Gabriel thought they had become closer friends that night and for awhile they were.
All of this runs through Gabriel’s mind as he lies on the ground trying to catch his breath.

Clyde has walked down the beach to cool off and smoke while Jesse sits by the canoe.

“You okay Gabe” asks Jesse.

“Yeah. Fucking asshole can hit.”

“You wanna go home?”

“No, I wanna go see my dad.”


Jesse and Clyde paddle with Gabriel in the middle. Gabriel stares at the water. He won’t look at the approaching island. They reach shore and there is no sign of Raymond Arthur. Gabriel gets out and begins walking towards the east side of the island while Clyde and Jesse stay by the shore to smoke and share the last beer.

Gabriel finds his dad’s boat. “He’s still here” says Gabriel out loud, but heard by no one. He smells campfire. His dad is near. He walks inland for no further than thirty feet when he sees his dad’s orange tent through the dense bush. Raymond is seated by the fire. He is waving his hands and muttering to himself. He isn’t wearing a shirt, only khakis, suspenders, and rubber boots. Gabriel backs slowly away and goes to find Clyde and Jesse.

“He’s here” says Gabriel. “You guys can leave whenever I’m going to stay here tonight and go back with Dad in the morning.”

“Okay” says Jesse. Clyde won’t look at either of them. Gabriel makes his way back to his dad’s campsite. He decides to approach from the west so as not to come up from behind. Raymond looks up and smiles once he notices his son.

“How’d you get here Gabe”, Raymond looks pale, gaunt. Gabriel sees no evidence of food.
“Some friends brought me.”

“The fire keeps the bugs away”, says Raymond, absently. A half filled-whiskey bottle is propped beside Raymond’s foot and another empty one lies blackened in the fire.

“We should head home in the morning, mom is worried about you.”

“Your mother…I love her so much.”

“You need to come home dad. The store is busy we need your help.”

“Your mother …”

Raymond begins to moan and rock in his chair. Gabriel is close enough now to smell his father. The odor is a combination of sweat, alcohol, and smoke. His stomach is hurting from Clyde’s beating and hunger.

“Is there anything to eat Dad? I’m starved.”

“Your mother…she’s … I love her.”

“Have you been eating Dad?”

“Sometimes a rain absolves hell…”

“What?” asks Gabriel.

“Hell!” Raymond is standing up and swaying. “Sometimes it rains, even in hell. And the demons they have to hide because they can melt in the rain in hell.”

“Dad, we should go home tonight. I can drive a stick. We’ll get you home.”

“I… am … in … hell!” The fire illuminates Raymond’s face from below. The shadows play on his face emphasizing his high-cheeks and making his eyes appear hollow.

Gabriel is crying, “Please daddy, just come home.”

Raymond sits back down and reaches for his bottle. “Don’t cry Gabriel. My little angel Gabriel…you’ve come to take me to heaven. I just want to go to heaven”, Raymond can’t pick up the bottle and instead he lays down beside the fire.



Rain comes in the morning, waking Raymond up. He is surprised to find his son asleep in the tent. He wakes Gabriel and the two pack the boat and head for shore. The closer they get to Raymond’s truck the harder the rain falls. By the time they reach the truck they are soaked.
Gwen Arthur has been awake all night, on the phone with the police and her parents. She has knocked on the door of each one of his friends she could, finding out from Jesse Roush that Gabriel was with his father. Little is said when Raymond and Gabriel arrive home. Raymond is starting to sober up. He will be sick for several days.

A week later, Gwen leaves Raymond, this time for good. She takes Cassandra and Gabriel and moves to Thunder Bay. She gets a job as a receptionist in a clinic on the north end of town. Gabriel visits his father while on Fall-break from school. Raymond is gaunt, drunk, and nearly oblivious to his presence. The wolves come every night. Raymond knows someday they will kill him, but until then he will try to hide.

© 2008 Craig M. Skinner

Down and Away


“Don’t you know?”

I hear her, but I’m not answering.

“Charlie”, her voice is louder now.

“I heard what you said the first time”, I snap back.

“Then why didn’t you answer me?”

I didn’t answer because her back was to me while asking, just like what she’s doing now, but I’m not going to answer her until she turns around. We’ve been awake since this time yesterday. I got home from work at eight in the morning, and when I walked in he was still putting on his clothes. I yelled, “What the fuck is going on?”

The guy rushed past me and down the stairs. After that, it’s just been me and Rachel, and I’ve been drinking and yelling almost the whole time. I don’t hit women though, so she has nothing to worry about physically. We did leave once to the beer store, and I refrained from yelling while we were in public. We saw Danny and he was already toasted and coming to town for more. He told us to come out to his camp later, but we’ve been here at the apartment the whole time.




“Don’t you know?” This time she’s facing me.

“It’s his.”

“I think it is.”

That’s what it took twenty four hours to find out. She’s having this other guy’s baby. This is probably true as I’ve been working nights at the mill and our sex life together was pretty non-existent. She never wanted to in the morning and she was always gone before I left for work. Sometimes she’d be around during the day and we’d roll around in bed for awhile, but those days were few.

I agree that the baby is probably his, but I’m not telling her that right now. Right now, I’m leaving and I’m going to go drink beer with Danny all day until I pass out on his couch.

I’m taking her Jeep and leaving her my truck. She hates driving a stick. The beer store should be open by now, and then off to Danny’s camp. The road to the camp is gravel and I’m taking it slow because I’m loaded and Rachel might have called the cops when she heard me leave. Danny is on his porch when I pull up. He looks like he hasn’t slept much either. His eyes are bloodshot and he hasn’t shaved. He looks at me and smiles then asks “You wanna go fishing?”

“Sure when?” I’m staggering and reaching into the Jeep’s back door to get my beer.

“Right now man”, says Danny. “I’ve been catching big ones in the morning.”

“Yeah, that’s what you told me yesterday.” I answer back as I’m looking for my shoes in the Jeep. Danny already has the boat ready so all I do is take my bag into his kitchen and then we’re in the water.

The lake is still and the boat cuts a wake right to the middle and then north towards a cove surrounded by cliffs. We scare a family of geese as we turn. Their bodies are dark in the light blue summer sky and they attract the interest of an eagle. Danny stops the boat about twenty-feet from shore, right by the cliffs. We decide we’re going to jig for walleye on the bottom, right by where Danny said he’s been catching them. It’s quiet here. The cliffs block any wind. The lake is a mirror. There are pike jumping close to the cliffs, making ripples, but Danny and I want the walleye. We get our rods around and our lines are in the water. We haven’t said a word since we were on shore. It’s Danny who finally pipes up.

“So what’s gong on with you and Rachel?” Danny’s cracking open a can of beer.

“I caught her and Stephan Dupont in bed together. He was putting his pants on when I came in from work.” I can’t look at Danny as I speak. I kind of don’t want to talk about it, but he asked and it’s his boat.


We don’t say anything else for a few minutes. The first hit is just a light bump, but then my rod nearly bends in half and my drag is grinding.

“Holy fuck!” yells Danny. “First fish of the day.”

“Oh it’s a nice one”, I’m not yelling, but I’m pretty wound up. The fish feels like one of the big ones Danny was talking about. I fight it for awhile. It wants to go under the boat, but I finally get it close enough so Danny can get it in the net. It’s a big fish with a big yellow belly. I’m thinking probably six pounds. Danny’s yelling and I’m just smiling. After getting the fish in the bag I wash my hands off in the lake and have Danny give me a beer. Danny lights a cigarette and he’s still laughing.

“I still love her you know.” I’m smiling as I say this, but Danny stops laughing. He doesn’t say anything so I speak up again.

“That’s what I can’t get around. She can hurt me like this, but I still love her. If she leaves me I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.” I take a big sip of beer then light a cigarette. It’s quiet again. The loons are calling near the middle of the lake, and the cliffs amplify their voices. There’s a breeze up in the trees, on top of the cliffs. Down here on the lake, it’s still.



Danny looks at his watch and says “We’ve only been here ten minutes and we’ve got a big goddam fish.” It’s not ten seconds after Danny says this that he catches one. He looks at me like he just sat on a tack.

“Holy fuck!” he yells. His rod is bent just as far as mine was on the first one. “We’re sitting right on top of them or something.” He’s yelling and reeling in at the same time. I grab the net and watch the water for the fish. After about forty-five seconds I get a glimpse of the fish as it turns its belly to the surface. I get the net in the water and Danny leads it right in. It’s another walleye, at least six pounds. We keep catching fish like this for at least an hour. Danny and I both wind up with three nice walleye. We’re almost ready to head into town for more beer, but we decide against it when we get back to the cabin.

We clean our fish and drink at least two more beers each and Danny is telling stories about working out west, in the oil sands. She’s all I can think about. Danny’s voice may as well be the engine of a car, just a hum in the background. I should probably quit drinking for the day and try to get some sleep, but I don’t know if I can. And when I wake up, then what?

“Fuck I’m starving”, says Danny. “We should cook these up eh? We should cook these and try and catch some more later.”

“I’m done fishing for today”, I tell him. “Is it cool if I crash on your couch?”

“Hey make yourself to home there”, says Danny motioning to the couch. “Just don’t worry about that shit right now okay?”

As he’s talking we both hear a truck pulling up. It’s Rachel. She comes in the cabin without knocking, like she always does. I don’t say anything. I don’t want to see her now, but I do want to. I want to fall asleep beside her and wake up realizing what happened but not care. My stomach is twisting. I sit down on the couch and stare into my beer can like it’s a book or something. Nobody says anything at first so Rachel finally speaks up.

“I had to drive your piece of shit truck Charlie”, she’s almost laughing while she’s talking. “You guys eat yet?”

“We’re gonna eat what we just caught”, answers Danny.

I can’t look up. I want to run out the door and dive into the lake and keep swimming until I reach the other side. I want to climb up on the shore and find a place to lie down and go to sleep. Instead, I just sit here and stare into my beer can. Rachel is looking right at me while she’s talking.

“You guys are drunk. Let me cook.”

Danny just nods approval and sits down in the chair next to me, turning on the television. He turns the channel to the race and the announcer’s voice is just like when Danny was telling stories earlier, just a hum in the background. I don’t know why she’s here. Does she have something to tell me? While she’s cooking she’s talking to Danny about her brother who Danny used to work with. They’re talking about the time her brother and Danny wound up driving to Marathon and wrecking her brother’s truck because they were drinking and getting high. Rachel is laughing and looking right at me like nothing at all has happened. It’s like everything is normal, we’re just hanging out with Danny, drinking beer, cooking fish. I feel sick to my stomach.

I can’t be in the same room as her. I’ll freak out or something, I swear. I go outside and walk down to the lake. I’m sitting down on the beach and notice I don’t feel well. Nausea. I stand up and start to vomit and since all I’ve been consuming since yesterday morning is beer that’s all that comes out. I keep throwing up until all that comes out is the bitter, yellow bile from the bottom of my gut, but even then I can’t stop the heaving in my stomach. Between each heave I’m coughing and my lungs ache with each cough and then I’m heaving again, but nothing is coming out. My stomach keeps seizing and I’m coughing. I’m on my knees and my eyes are filled with water and I almost forget where I am. I’m lightheaded.

After this, I’m staggering back up to the cabin and I make it to the porch and lay down in Danny’s hammock. I close my eyes and just wish she would go away, but I know she’s still in there talking to Danny about her brother and how fucked up they all used to get together and I want to go in there and scream and cry and let her know, but I don’t. I just lay here.

“Do you want me to leave?”

She’s standing over me as she speaks. I’m not sure what time it is. I think I was sleeping.

-“I want you to stay.”

-“I mean do you want me to leave here.”

-“I don’t know.”

-“I’m going to leave.”

-“Are you going to see him tonight?”

-“I don’t know.”

-“Do you love him?”

-“Jesus Charlie. You’re drunk.”

-“You’re here for some reason.”

-“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

-“I love you Rachel.”

-“Come in and eat.”

-“Where’s Danny?”

-“Asleep on the couch.”

-“Stay here tonight.”

-“I’m leaving. The fish is on the table.”

-“I love you Rachel.”

-“Bye Charlie.”



I must have been sleeping a few hours out here on the porch. My watch says 6:45. Danny is still asleep inside the cabin. It’s hot out. The thermometer on the porch says 85 Fahrenheit. I’m feeling fairly sober. I need a swim, but I want to do it from the boat, out in the lake.

I’m out in the middle of the lake and there is no wind. It’s so quiet. I take off my shirt and shoes and dive in. I stay underwater with my eyes closed until I have to come up for air. I go back under. As I’m swimming I see her face and I see him in our room and I see them together, fucking, holding each other, laughing. I stay under and swim deeper, trying to erase what I see. I go deeper and see myself and I’m looking for her. I’m walking down a dirt road and it’s the middle of the night and I wonder where she is, and I don’t seem to understand that she’s nowhere to be found on this road, in the middle of the night, and I swim deeper and my lungs start to ache, but I stay under and the road stretches out before me in the dark and the moon is the only light, and it’s huge and orange and menacing and again I see her face and she’s laughing and I want to kiss her, but she’s looking at him and they’re together and she’s in his arms and it’s morning and they’re waking up together and a baby is crying, and she’s happy, but I’m still here, underwater. I’m almost out of air. I head for the top, kicking with my legs, pushing with my arms. Her voice is in my ear, calling my name. I can see her old car, the one she owned when we were first dating. It’ pulling up in my parent’s driveway and I’m in the front yard talking to mom and Rachel gets out of the car and she’s smiling and she’s so beautiful. Everything goes black, but I still hear her voice and I’m swimming faster. I need air.

I come to the surface and the lake is so still and the air too, but there is a sound. It’s the sound of twigs being snapped and brush being pushed aside. Something huge is coming out of the woods. It’s a moose, a cow. She’s heading straight for the water. Her head is down and she doesn’t seem to notice me or the boat. She crashes through the brush to the shore of the lake, smashing the small trees that have somehow managed to come to life in the sand of the small beach. As she lumbers into the lake a cloud of blackflies and mosquitoes flies off of her back, back into the trees. We’re about fifty feet from each other. I’m looking at her. She finally looks at me. The ripples she makes finally reach me. The only sound is the light wind in the treetops and the occasional stirring of a bird. I go back under and swim around some more then come back up for air. She’s still in the lake and up to her head by now. It’s quiet again.

I go back under a couple more times, being careful not to swim too close to her. She just wants to be where it’s cool, just like me. I’m back in the boat after a few more dives and as I start the engine she heads back to shore. The water trails off of her fur and as I pull away I see her backside disappearing into the bush. I’m heading back to camp to try and get some more sleep. I’m thinking Danny’s hammock is about the best place to sleep tonight if I don’t want to keep waking up. The heat makes it hard for me to sleep.

Danny’s waking me up. I slept all night. It’s cooler now, in the morning. It must have rained, but I didn’t hear it. Everything is wet. There’s a mist on the lake, and Danny has made some eggs.

“Let’s go fishing”, says Danny. “Those fuckers are probably hungry.”

“Yeah, fucking right”, I answer back.

After breakfast, we’re back in the boat. We cut a nice wake over to our spot by the cliffs. That’s where the big ones are.


*****


Dirt Roads and Demons Of The Night



The first time I met Francis Beacon she was laying in a ditch, half-naked, and pretty beat up. Those boys had really done a number on her those three days they held her in the woods, out at the cabin. They deserved to have their heads caved in for what they did to that poor girl. When I saw her in that ditch I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to cry or kill. I tried not to frighten her, but I wanted to get her up off the ground and into the truck.

“Hey young lady”, I said to her. “I’m here to help you, get up off that ground and get in the truck.”

“My name’s Francis Beacon”, she said. I told her that I knew who she was, that her name and picture were on the news and in the paper. She looked so scared.

“My name’s Mel. I’ll get you to town and to a hospital.”

She just shook her head signifying “yes” or “okay”. She was trembling. “They had a red car” she said. “They’re still there at the cabin.”
“Let’s just get you to town” I answered. She started crying as she stared out the passenger window of my log truck. “You can lay down in my cab…” I don’t think she heard me or she ignored me. I understood that this was probably the wrong thing to offer her.

I took her to the hospital and the staff asked me a bunch of questions while I was there, but Francis kept telling them that I helped her and that they should leave me alone because all I was doing was getting her to where she was safe. I remember the one head nurse. She was pretty young to be in charge, I thought. I knew her, she was Gary Simpson’s daughter, Rachel. Her dad used to sell me diesel before he retired. Rachel had inherited his blond hair and his arrogance. She thought her job included detective or something.

“You’re a single man aren’t you Mr. Thomas?” she asked.

My ex-wife, Renee, had left me years ago for my old business partner. I deserved it. They live in North Bay now. I didn’t answer Rachel, Francis yelled at her instead. “Leave him alone, they would have found me if he hadn’t come along!” Rachel just turned up her nose and left the room.
The doctor didn’t treat me much better. I left the room while he examined Francis and when he came back out he started in to interrogating me again.

“Hey doctor, how is she doing?”

“You said you found her in a ditch, how did you see her all the way up in your truck.” He hadn’t answered my question.

“I can show you where I found her” I was getting nervous for some reason. It had been a long day already and I still had to get my logs to the mill and now this doctor thought he was a cop. When the police finally showed up it was all straightened out. I was in the room when she told them the names of the boys who had kidnapped and raped her.

Jesse Roush and Clyde Johnson were known in town for drugs, drinking, and being worthless. Their parents were loaded. Jesse’s dad, Steve, was a contractor, a good guy, but his son never seemed interested in work. Clyde’s parents, Mary and Allen, were both bankers. Clyde had a fast car, a red Camaro. He and Jesse would drive around town all day, wasting gas and brain cells. Sometimes they would head out of town on the log roads, drinking and smoking, that’s where they found Francis.

Francis was from Sudbury originally, but she’d moved to Toronto where she was getting ready to graduate from the university and enter law school. She was out of school for the summer and was headed to the lakes to find a friend’s cabin. Francis had never been this far north before. She’d taken the wrong dirt road and before she had even figured that out the moose walked out in front of her. Her car was totaled and she had no idea where she was. That’s when Jesse and Clyde came over the hill in the Camaro.


I finally left the hospital after dark. By then some reporters were in the parking lot. The cops weren’t letting any of them in the hospital or anywhere near Francis. I didn’t want to talk to any of them so I just kept my head down and walked towards my truck. It was still parked on the other side of the ambulance bay with my load of logs that was supposed to be at the mill four hours ago. It had been hot and sunny all day, but since we’d been inside a rainstorm had kicked up. The rain stopped as I walked to my truck and the pavement crackled as the water drained. I got in the cab and turned off the radio. I drove back to the shop, parked my truck and had Kimi, my best driver, come in to work. He hauled the logs that night. I sat in my office and drank half of a bottle of rye whiskey. I didn’t feel a thing. I went home and tried to go to sleep.

Clyde Johnson’s parents bailed him out of jail the next day. Jesse’s dad left him in there until the trial started. Clyde committed suicide right after the New Year. His parents were in the Bahamas and he was out at their cabin, where he and Jesse had taken Francis. Word around town was that he’d been on a week long coke-binge. He walked out on the ice and shot himself with his Dad’s 12-gauge.

Jesse had a son with this girl from town. They were on-again off-again for years and they never did get married. In jail, Jesse lost his freedom and also access to his Dad’s wallet. That’s how he’d help pay for the kid for the last four years. His friends in town decided they wanted to help out. They held a giant party outside of town and charged for beer and food. The party was held one year to the day that Clyde and Jesse got their hands on Francis. Jesse’s friends would raise over 1200 dollars.

The next time I would see Francis is when she came back to town for Jesse’s trial, just over a year later. I was sitting in the reception area of the prosecutor’s office. I was there to give a deposition and in walked Francis. She’d cut her hair short. She was wearing a grey skirt and dark blouse. She looked like just another lawyer or clerk moving around in the halls of the municipal building, but I recognized her right away and she smiled when she saw me.
“Mel, I never had the chance to thank you for helping me.” She cup my right hand her hands and my heart sped up. “You’re welcome” that was all I could say. Her parents followed her into the room and Francis introduced us. Her Dad looked just like her, a round face with huge, friendly eyes. Her mom was taller than both of them, but Francis had her dark hair. They thanked me again and I just smiled and shook their hands.

“Wow, it looks like everyone is on time but me today.” It was the prosecutor, Mr. Primeau. He was from down south too, but he’d been in the area for the better part of ten years. “Mel, good to see you”, Donald Primeau was married to my ex’s sister, Jennifer.

“You too Don, how’s Jen, the kids?” I was shaking his hand while talking.

“Everyone’s great, how’s your mum?”

“She’s good, she misses Dad. We all do, but she’s around a lot of friends where she lives”, I noticed Francis smiling at Don and I. I’d seen that smile in her pictures that ran in the papers for those three or four days, but this was the first time I’d seen it for real. I was beginning to regret wearing a tie that day. I felt like I was slowly being choked.

“I’ll get to you soon Mel, but I need to speak to Francis first. Sorry if I’m keeping you too long.”

I told Don that I had the day off and to take as long as he needed. He was in his office with Francis and her parents for over an hour. My deposition lasted just an hour, and we were done before lunch. I thought about going back to work, maybe running a load in the evening, but instead I went fishing. The day was cloudy, but I knew walleye were biting in the river. I had caught my limit in an hour so I went out on the lake and tried for pike. The sun had come out and I caught two Northerns on a silver spoon within a half-hour. I was pulling up to shore around dusk when I noticed someone walking along the dock. It was Francis.

I put the fish in my cooler and was ready to put my boat on the trailer. She was sitting at the end of the dock staring out across the lake. She hadn’t noticed me. I wasn’t sure if I should approach her or not. I put my rods and tackle in the truck and when I turned around she was gone from the dock. She was coming up behind me.

“Hi Mel, did you catch any fish?” She was wearing jeans and a black top, sandals too.

“Oh yeah, they’re biting tonight. Do you fish?” My stomach was in my throat.

“No, but my Dad likes to think he can.” We both laughed, nervously.

“Well, as long as you’re all in town let him know that I’ll take him out anytime in the evening. I’m usually working during the day.” She smiled and looked at the ground, kicking a small rock against my tire.

“They’re both leaving tomorrow. They’ll be back when the trial starts. I’m staying out at Mrs. Primeau’s cabin.”

She meant Don’s mother. I knew right where the cabin was. When I was married to Renee I’d helped Don build a dock out there. It took all day, but Mrs. Primeau fed us well. Don’s mom had died the year before, and he hadn’t sold the cabin. I guess he was going to let Francis and her parents stay there during the trial.

All I told Francis was, “Yeah, it’s nice out there.” She looked puzzled, but then nodded. We both stood there for a few seconds, in silence, so I just asked her. “Hey, I haven’t loaded the boat yet, you want to go for a ride across the lake?”

“Sure, let me call Dad first, he’s probably wondering where I am.”

As she was on the phone I pulled the boat up to shore. She sat in the middle. We went across the bay and past the old mill. Francis looked straight ahead, the wind blowing her hair back. A couple of times, she turned around to smile at me. She pointed to a couple of loons flying next to the boat and laughed when I turned the bow into our wake, bouncing the boat across the waves.

Renee and I would fish in the evenings. When we were first married, I would come home and Renee would already have the gear packed with a cooler of beer ready to go. We would fish until dusk and eat our catch for dinner the next night. Renee was working for the bank and I was driving all day. I met Olivia two-years after I got married. She had moved to town to work in the mill. Her husband had left her and she had two kids, but I thought she was sexy. Renee found out about our affair through my business partner, Ed McKinnon. I don’t blame him for telling her. They were friends before we were married and I guess he would only lie to her for so long.

Renee and I separated after just 30 months of marriage. I had told her that I ended it with Olivia, but one night she saw my pick-up outside Olivia’s apartment. She left me for good the next day. A year later, Renee and Ed were living together. Ed and I remained business partners through the divorce, but once it was final they married pretty fast. He sold me his half of the business and used the money to buy him and Renee a house in North Bay. Last I heard Ed was selling Ski-Doos and playing a lot of golf. They have a son named Wesley.

I made a couple of trips to the center of the lake. Within a half-hour I had Francis and the boat back to shore.

“Thanks Mel, I’ll probably see you around” she was walking towards her rental car and waving goodbye. I got home that night, drank three beers and fell asleep in front of the TV, woke up and went to work the next day.

I wouldn’t have to testify and neither would Francis. Adding together her deposition and the physical evidence, Jesse didn’t stand a chance. He plead guilty on the first day of jury selection, four days after Francis had come to town. Don called me on my cell phone and told me what had happened. I was on the road, halfway home from a morning run to the pulp mill. I wouldn’t see Francis again for two years.

The prosecutor’s office dropped the kidnapping charge in exchange for the plea agreement so Jesse Roush was sent to jail for ten years. The conviction was aggravated sexual assault. The next summer, Jesse’s friends held the party again, on that same day. That year, they made tee-shirts to sell, along with the beer and food. The next year they had a band and it was so big they had to rent port-o-johns. All the kids in town were out there. They raised more money than ever. The party even had a name – “Cabin Fever” – that’s what it said on the shirts.

I kept driving everyday, except Sundays. That winter seemed colder and longer than any I had remembered. There was a train wreck that January, cutting the town in half for a couple of days. The mills shut down on account of striking workers. My mother died in February. She’d had a stroke and was gone within three days. A week after mom died, Kimi wrecked a truck on his way home from Terrace Bay and nearly killed himself. In March, the apartment building where Olivia used to live burned down. I sat in the parking lot with Gary Simpson and watched the flames while drinking coffee. Sometimes I’d have dreams about finding Francis in that ditch, but other times I’d dream about riding with her in the boat. Most of the time, I didn’t remember my dreams.


Two years later, I was out fishing with Gary. Rachel was getting married the next day. The groom, Stephan Dupont, worked for me. She was pregnant, and had left her live-in boyfriend not a month before. Gary wanted to get out of the house while his wife and her sisters were around. I’d taken the day off and we were catching a lot of walleye up in the river, by the dam. We fished until 7:00 and when we got close to town our cell phones found their signal again. They both beeped, indicating messages. I didn’t check mine until we’d loaded the boat. The first few were the usual, trucks were late, drivers were late, gas was running low. It was the last message that nearly stopped my heart.

“Hi Mel, this is Francis Beacon. I hope you don’t mind but I got your cell number from the lady at your shop. I just wanted to let you know that I was in town and I’d like to see you. Give me a call”, and she left her number. I went home and showered and drank a beer. I checked the message again to make sure I was hearing things right. So I called her. She sounded happy to hear from me and wanted to meet for a drink. I was out the door as soon as we hung up.

The tavern was nearly empty. The Blue Jays were playing on TV, and a couple of truckers were sitting at the bar drinking red-eyes. Francis was already sitting at a table when I arrived. She was alone, as best as I could tell. She smiled and waved as I walked over and sat down.

“Can I get you a beer?” she asked.

“Yeah, a Canadian, with a glass” I told her.

She’d grown her hair out again. She was wearing camouflage shorts and a white tee-shirt with sandals. She smelled nice. The small talk took awhile, parents, weather, the drive up. She was visiting her friend’s cabin for a bridal shower the next day. After another beer she started to loosen up, me too

“I just wanted to tell you Mel that I dreaded coming up here for this, but it’s nice to see you. I’ll never forget what you did for me that day. And I still remember the boat ride.”

“Yeah, I was just out fishing today. We caught a few. If you get the time we should go out…on the lake”, she smiled at my nervousness.

“Yeah, that’d be cool”, she was picking at the label on her beer bottle.

We drank one more each and then we left. She said she would give me a call about that boat ride and I turned my back to my car as she pulled out of the parking lot. I went home and didn’t sleep until the sun came up. The next day I almost drove my truck into the ditch, I was so tired. I didn’t hear from her again for six months when she sent me an invitation to her wedding in Toronto. I wrote her back and told her I couldn’t make it, what with work and all, but I sent her and her groom some stoneware as a present.

The next summer Jesse’s friends threw the party again. The location had changed this year, it was on McNeil Lake, the same lake that Don Primeau’s cabin sits on, his mother’s old cabin. Don needed help mending the dock and he invited me over, promising dinner that night. Jennifer acted glad to see me. After dinner Don and I sat on the newly mended-dock and fished. We weren’t catching much, but the beer was disappearing fast. We could hear the kids across the lake, the music, the drunken howls. We could see the bonfire and the shadows dancing around it to the throbbing rhythm of the DJ’s system. After midnight someone lit off fireworks on the beach. We could still hear the music and voices when we went to bed. I slept in Don’s spare room and headed back to town the next morning. That Monday as I was running errands I noticed kids around town with their new “Cabin Fever” t-shirts. Jesse Roush was paroled that winter.



© 2008 Craig M. Skinner

Birds and rain filled the sky. It was normal for the birds to hide when it rained, but not on this day. They were leaving, just as I was. The food was gone and I had to find more. I was lucky. I had no family and no real duty to the village where I lived. The others had families, reasons to stay. I followed the birds.

By the first day the rain had stopped. The birds were still going west, as was I. I had snared a small rabbit in the night and with the rainless morning I was able to cook it over a fire. I filled my stomach with rabbit and rainwater. A new day had begun.

The famine had started three months before. The elders said the land was cursed. The crops failed because the village had fallen out of favor with the Great Spirit. The moose and grouse had gone away, sensing the curse upon the land. The villagers had lived as if food and plenty was not a blessing but instead an expectation. It was taken for granted that moose meat would fill tables and corn would bolster stews. No longer did the villagers tell the great stories of the bear, the lynx, and divine creation. The children grew up never knowing how to dance and chant in thanks for the many blessings placed upon the village.

The first signs of trouble came before the spring. No moose had been seen since the first winter’s snow. Many of the villagers had saved salted meat, but this soon ran out. The village hunters had managed to provide enough grouse until the spring, but once the snow had melted and the ground had thawed these birds were gone as well. One night, as the hunters sat around a fire in on the outskirts of the village, an elder named Wakiza approached and told them of his vision. Wakiza said he had seen the grouse and moose following a giant cat towards the Great Spirit. He said the Spirit was calling them away from the village and they were never to return. A hunter named Hassun called the old man a fool. Hassun said Wakiza’s superstition was scaring the villagers and he needed to find a way to provide the village with food rather than spouting fables and nonsense.

By mid-summer it was obvious that the crops had failed. A drought had dried up the rivers and the lake had shrunk to half its size. What few fish that remained were soon eaten. It was obvious that the village would be next to disappear. Forget surviving the winter, my people would not make it through autumn’s first frost.

One late summer night, the elders called a village meeting. Wakiza spoke first and told the other villagers that the Great Spirit had abandoned the land. He said that by not acknowledging the presence of this power the villagers had allowed its protection to vanish. Again, the hunter named Hassun told the elders that their primitive beliefs could not help the village. Hassun said that the elders were blaming the village’s suffering on the people themselves. Another hunter named Tate spoke up and said that the elders did not understand how difficult it was to farm and hunt. Tate said all the elders did was chant and dance and asked what good had this done. Finally, the village Chieftain spoke up. He said the famine could not be the fault of the villagers. The Chieftain banished the elders for inciting fear and promoting superstition. The next day, the elders were gone.

That afternoon, I was in the forest searching for berries, roots, anything to eat. A small child named Wapi approached and told me a story. Wapi had been woken up by a voice during the night. He thought he heard his sister calling him outside to play. She had died the week before. Once the boy was outside he noticed Wakiza and the elders following a giant cat out of the village, under the midnight moon. I told the child to not repeat this story. The hunters held great influence over the Chieftain and they would surely banish anyone who spread such fantastic stories.

Two weeks later, the rain started. It rained until what little crops were growing washed away. It rained and filled the river, but the fish did not return. The lake filled with the rain but not so much as a beaver was seen upon its shores. Children began to die in greater numbers. Husbands were leaving their families in search of food. Women prayed and cried in the streets. Still the rain continued. The river flooded the fields. The lake bore only mosquitoes. Our village was truly cursed.

The hunters demanded patience. Their long journeys bore no food, but still they explored the forest surrounding the village. Two weeks after the rain began the hunters returned and one man was missing. Hassun told his wife he had drowned in the river. That night all of the hunter’s families enjoyed a little bit of stew with meat. I was a farmer with no family. The hunters would not hesitate to make me their next meal. I woke up the next morning and noticed the birds flying west. I followed the birds out of the village.


I was only one day out of the village when I snared that rabbit. Why had the hunters not found any meat? Had they not journeyed far enough? Had their hunger blinded them to an obvious catch? After my morning meal of rabbit I kept walking, following the birds. Soon I found wild berries and mushrooms to eat. I found a small pond filled with perch, jumping at dragonflies and mosquitoes. Within moments I had caught three fish with my bare hands. After lunch, the rain cleared and with the sunlight came the sounds of partridge. I made a sling from my shirt and hunted grouse until dusk. Dinner that evening was roasted bird with fish and mushroom stew. I drank from a spring and snacked on berries under the moonlight. I was not two days out of the village. I wondered if I should go home and tell the villagers of this place. Then I heard the voice. It sounded like my mother, but younger than I remember her sounding. Her voice was lilting like a bedtime melody.

I followed the voice past the pond and into the forest. After following for several moments I came upon a clearing illuminated by the moon. In the middle sat a giant lynx. She was the size of a moose. I should have been terrified, but I remembered the story Wapi had told me. The cat turned and headed west, into the forest. I followed her all night. I followed her through the sunrise and into the dawn of morning. I followed her into the heat of noon, but I was neither hot nor hungry. Just before sunset we came to a valley and on the other side lay the most beautiful range of mountains I have ever seen.

Just as I was gazing into the valley the cat turned around to face me. As her eyes met mine she disappeared, evaporating slowly like a puddle in the summer sun. I was alone but not afraid. I walked into the valley and soon found berries and water. That evening I feasted on plump rabbit stew. I sensed this valley was a place for me to wait.

I lived in this valley for three days. The first day I had a breakfast of berries and wild rice. Lunch was brook trout and mushrooms. I made a spear from stones and a pine branch and for dinner I was able to kill a white-tail deer. This kill was too much for me to eat, but I hoped whoever I was waiting for would come along to help me eat it. For the next two days I ate and hunted, each time thanking the Great Spirit for the bounty of the valley, but I was missing my home and my people. Why should I live in a land of plenty while women and children were starving?

The third night in the valley I saw a glorious sunset. My stomach was full of rice with venison gravy. After dinner I had sassafras tea sweetened with berry juice. I tried to sleep, it had been so long it seemed. The voices and darkness of sleep had just begun to swirl in my head when I awoke to a clap of thunder. I had not anticipated rain and had built no shelter. Luckily, the storm was not close. It was in the mountains, but the thunder echoed through the valley, making the storm seem right upon me.

I heard movement in the brush behind me. The giant cat had returned. She came up beside me and right away I understood that she wanted me to follow her. It was dawn by the time we reached the base of the mountains. The cat rested and I offered her some deer meat I had carried for the trip, but she refused. Once again she vanished into the air, an apparition.

I understood that I must climb the mountain on my own. I had quick lunch of deer and wild raspberries that I found along a mountain stream. I filled my water pouch and began my ascension. I reached the middle of my climb by sunset. I was contemplating setting up camp, but something seemed to be pulling me towards the top of this mountain. The moon and stars were my only companions as I reached the summit. There was no view except the heavens and a dark expanse below that I understood to be the valley. I wasn’t cold, but the air was thinner. It seemed like years since I had seen the village, it had been four days.

Just as I expected the cat appeared again. She sat and waited for me to approach her. I stroked her chin and she returned a deep purr in response. She sat up and headed away from me. I followed her down a path the opposite to where I had reached the summit. After walking for what seemed like only a few moments we came to the mouth of a cave. The cat sat at the entrance and I knew I was to enter alone. It was so dark but I went forward. All I could hear was my breath and heart. Darkness and breath and steadily cooling air, this was how my journey was to end?

I couldn’t see the cave’s mouth anymore and I knew the cat would not come in after me. I didn’t even know which way I was going. It didn’t matter. Fate had brought me this far. It was then that I saw a dim light ahead. The further I walked the brighter it became. It was not the flickering light of a fire, but the steady glow of the sky, as if the sun itself was here in this mountain cave. It was then that I realized that the cave’s trail had brought me outside the mountain to a terrace filled with trees and shallow grass. The sun was coming up and it was there that I heard the voice of the Great Spirit. The air was so still, neither a bird nor leaf stirred. It was there in the otherworldly-still of that morning light that the Great Spirit spoke to me and only me. The voice was neither inside me nor outside. It surrounded everything and vibrated through the very ground, through the trees and its breath flowed with the wind.

“Ishago, you are a humble yet strong and worthy man. You have come so far in so short a time. You have understood that fate brought you to this place. You trusted in me as I have in you.

Long ago, before your father’s fathers lived, I blessed your people with grace, wisdom, and plenty. All I asked for in return was acknowledgement. Instead your people have forgotten this blessing. The hunters in your village began to think that their prey was a result of their skill. They forgot that I provide the animals, the fish, the fruits of the land. Their only duty was to harvest what they needed and to give thanks through dance and song. Instead they mocked those who attempted to fulfill this small price.

I have not cursed your village. Your people have. But you are here. You understand the importance of fate and reverence to the power of creation. I cannot bring back the moose and grouse. I cannot heal the damaged land. The famine is the result of man, not me. By forgetting about me your people have turned their back on the land that feeds them. As I do not exist, neither does my creation.

Go find your friend the cat. She will show you the way home. Your people need you.”

Though it seemed the Great Spirit only spoke for a few moments it was sunset by the time the voice became silent. From out of the mouth of the cave came the cat and she was followed by my village elders. They began to dance and sing. Their song told of the Great Spirit and the creation of the universe. The song told of the darkness and how the Great Spirit’s light would always shine through. They sang for the trees and roots. They sang for the moose and grouse. They sang for the wind and rain. They sang for the unity of creation. And just as they had appeared, they vanished, their song resonating through the mountain peaks and valley below.

The cat brought me down the mountain to a lake and the mouth of a river. The cat had brought me to a large grove of birch trees and I began to collect their bark for tea and fire. Further back from the river stood tall-pine, untouched by any men. It was there on the shore of that rushing river that the Great Spirit seemed to speak to me again, not with words, but with visions. I saw a round-bottomed raft made of bark with a man at each end. I was very tired and I wasn’t sure what to make of this vision.

After a meal of wild rice and mushrooms I began to build the raft I had envisioned. It was as if my hands didn’t belong to me. It was as if the Great Spirit itself was tying the bark together with roots and sealing the raft with pine resin. The shape in my head began to take form. The raft was pointed at both ends and round on the bottom. It took me two days to build the boat and another half-day to fashion a log into the shape of an oar.

I rested on the fourth day and loaded the raft with food for my journey home. The night before I left I dreamt of a beautiful woman. Her shadow darkened my doorway on a sunny day. I offered her tea and tobacco. Her eyes were the same as the cat that had brought me so far from home. I loved her in an instant and in an instant she was gone. I was awake. A mosquito had broken the dream’s spell by piercing my cheek. Couldn’t the Great Spirit have rested on the day that mosquitoes were created?




The blood-sucker on my cheek wasn’t the only reminder that I was awake. The gnawing hunger in my stomach reminded me of where I was. I was home, in the village. I was in my tiny shack, in my bed. I had never left home. The food, the giant lynx, the Great Spirit, even the boat, it had all been a dream. I was so hungry I could barely stand, but I managed to get out of bed. It was then that I realized that my dream was in fact a vision. That morning I boiled the last of my moccasins for breakfast and headed over to the birch grove. I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon in great hunger, but I was able to muster the strength to gather large pieces of bark. I yanked saplings from the ground and collected their roots.

All of this activity had made me weak so I built a small fire and boiled some water and bark for soup. As I sat among the birch, eating my small lunch, Wapi and his father, Elan, approached. They were also looking for bark to boil. Wapi was emaciated, but somehow able to walk. Elan was a fellow farmer. We had known each other our entire lives.

“Hey there, Igasho. Are you going to eat all that bark? How about sharing?” Elan was gazing hungrily at my pile of bark as he spoke.
“Hey yourself, Elan. Take all the bark you want, but leave me the big pieces. I’m building a boat.”

Elan looked puzzled, but Wapi seemed to understand right away. The child started gathering roots as I began to arrange the larger pieces. After Elan and Wapi ate their bark they asked me how they could help. I showed them how to arrange and shape the bark, using the memories of my dream to guide our work. By sundown we had assembled many pieces of bark and a flat version of our boat was beginning to take shape. As Elan prepared a dinner of bark soup, Wapi helped me hide the boat under some leaves so any unwelcome visitors would not disturb it. We all decided to camp in the birch grove that night and continue our work in the morning.

By the next afternoon our patching and sewing was complete and we were ready to seal and shape the boat with sap. Wapi and I gathered sap as Elan prepared a lunch of bark soup and dried willows to smoke. The soup was keeping us alive, but the willows were helping our stomachs forget how empty they were. By the time the sun dropped behind the forest, our boat was complete and we were all so tired that we couldn’t speak. Wapi was so much weaker than when he and his father came upon me. Elan and I decided that we should make sure our boat floats and leave under the moonlight. If we did not find food soon, the boy would not live past morning.

Elan made a final meal of bark soup and smoked some more willow. We needed paddles. As Elan cooked I went into the village and stole two spears from a hunter’s shack. After dinner Elan and I tied several large pieces of sealed bark to the spears. These would have to do. We loaded Wapi into our boat and headed west. We paddled until dawn and through the next day. We lived on what was left of our strength. The Great Spirit was truly guiding us and keeping us alive as we had no food to explain for our strength. We paddled for another day. We realized that Wapi was nearly dead. The current was taking us and we decided to rest and let our boat take us where it may.

We all three fell into a deep sleep. I dreamt again of the woman. She was smiling and offering me her hand. When I awoke I knew I was no longer in a dream. The pain in my stomach let me know this. Elan was already awake and holding Wapi in his arms. Wapi had not lived through the night. We pulled the boat ashore and as Elan performed the ceremonial rights of our tribe, I dug a shallow grave with my hands and a flat rock. Elan never cried, but was silent the rest of the day. Once again we fell asleep in the boat, under the stars, our hunger bringing us closer to where Wapi had gone.

“Hey Igasho, where are we, how long have we been drifting?” Elan was awake.

“I’ve never been this far down the river before Elan”, I said. “I hope there’s food around here somewhere or this boat will be our grave.” I glanced apologetically at Elan, realizing what I had just said, but his eyes were peering into the distance.

“Smoke”, said Elan.

He was right. There was smoke rising beyond a bend in the river. We paddled harder. I was so weak, but the thought of what that smoke meant seemed to numb the hunger pains and make my heart beat faster.

Around the bend was a village. The women were gathered around the riverside with their babies. They were washing clothes and their children. I don’t know how far we had traveled in the night, but the current must have been stronger than Elan and I had noticed. I had walked down the river’s shore many times in my life and had never noticed any sign of another village being near. As we pulled our boat up on the shore one of the women ran to the village and returned with several men.

As Elan and I pulled on to the shore and climbed from the boat, I felt myself begin to die. I collapsed right there on the bank of the river. When I awoke I was under a tree and a beautiful woman was offering me sassafras tea with honey. It was the woman in my dream.

“Am I dreaming again or am I dead?” I asked.

“You should be dead” answered the woman. “Both you and Elan should be dancing with the Great Spirit. Now, drink this tea and we’ll try to get some food into you.”

“You know of the Great Spirit?” I asked, gazing into her eyes.

“Of course I do”, she answered. “Just as I know of the wind, rain, sun and snow.”

“What is your name?”, I asked.

“I am Meda. The Chieftain is my father.”

“Hello Meda, I am Igasho.”

“I know”, she said. “I heard your name in my dreams.”

That night a feast was held in our honor. Elan and I told the village Chieftain, a man named Maska, of the famine in our land. We told him of our hardship and of Wapi’s death. The Chieftain listened to our words and then he spoke.

“Ishago and Elan, what you have told me about your village and your people is a story shrouded in a great darkness. This is the kind of darkness that invades a man’s soul on that loneliest of nights, when his mind betrays him and it seems as if the sun shall never shine again. My daughter has seen this darkness as well. She has told me of her dream in which she is crawling through a tunnel, searching for the Great Spirit, only to find a deep cavern where breath and sound can never escape.

The death of a child is the death of a village. If we cannot keep our children alive then what point is there for us to live? Elan, you have lost two children to hunger, but you have saved yourself. For some reason you and Ishago are here. The Great Spirit has brought you to our shore and by doing so has saved your lives. Honor him tonight as we dance and sing.

When Meda’s mother died I felt as if the Creator had cursed me, but I learned to understand that life is a gift that we must enjoy and not expect. Your village has come to expect food and plenty and by doing so it has lost its soul.

Ishago and Elan, you have begun the process of restoring the soul of your village. Instead of going insane with hunger you have worked to create something that can help. This boat you have built, it is like nothing I have ever seen. My village is strong and healthy, but soon we will outgrow ourselves. We need new hunting grounds, new rivers to fish, or we will find our soul lost, just as your village has.

We will give you as much food as you can pack in to that boat, but in return you must do something for us. You must tell your people of your journey, and you must build more boats. We will trade you all of the moose and corn you like for these boats. Our villages will finally be connected through the river.

Rest tonight. In the morning, you shall return home and tell your people what you have seen and how you can help them. I ask the Great Spirit for mercy and that there is someone left to hear your tale.”

Elan and I had loaded the boat with food and paddled home. We paddled for two days and reached the village on the morning of the third. We beached the craft before reaching the village, not knowing what we would find. Everything was so quiet. We smelled smoke from a fire and followed the scent. A young woman named Aponi was boiling water for her crying child to drink. As I approached she recognized me, she knew the stride of a man not dying of hunger.

“Ishago”, Aponi cried. “Where have you been?” Instead of saying anything I reached into my pouch and pulled out the dried meat I had brought with me. Her eyes widened and she instinctively held her hands out. Elan had brought along some corn meal and began to prepare some mash for the crying baby.

The village smelled of death. No children were playing outside. No women were washing their babies in the river. According to Aponi, the hunters had left a week before, never to be seen again. The Chieftain had disappeared in the night, leaving his family behind. This was a village that was waiting to die.

Elan and I brought our boat to the shores of the village and unloaded the food. Aponi went to each of the households and told people that there would be food to eat today, that Elan and I had enough to feed everyone. This was true, of the nearly 500 people who once lived in this village barely 100 were left. Everyone else had either died or disappeared.

With the help of Aponi, Elan and I prepared a great feast. We ate until sunset and then I spoke to the villagers. I told of my vision, of our boat and our journey down the river. We told them of Maska’s village, the food, and how Maska wanted more boats from us. The remaining men quickly decided that they would help Elan and I build more boats, that our village would fulfill Maska’s offer.

The next day the building of the boats began. Once the first few were built my guidance was no longer needed. Within three days the men had built twenty boats. But a strange thing was occurring. As the days went by, as we continued to build we began to notice changes. The clouds that had so long obscured the sun began to disappear. The grasses in the fields surrounding the village began to change back to green. The birds began to return.

Once the men had built twenty boats, Elan and I tethered them together and set out for Maska’s village. He was elated to see so many boats and he let us keep two in order to fill them with food and return home. Within two moons our village had traded enough boats with Maska that we were able to store food for the coming winter. But this was not the only way we fed ourselves. Our journeys down the river had helped us find new hunting grounds, new berry patches, and new ponds and lakes to fish from.

As for me, I discovered a friendship between myself and Maska’s daughter, Meda. This friendship slowly became one of love, just after the next year’s harvest we married. I had assumed the position of Chieftain in my village. Meda was my wife, and she would be the mother of my children. My village was saved through Meda’s vision. My village was saved through Elan’s strength and patience.

Now, my people perform the dances and sing the songs, but we have a new dance, a new song. We have a dance and song that tells the tale of a great cat and a village haunted by death. The dance tells of a great journey that never was and a vision that brought back the sun and birds. The dance and song tells the tale of how our people began to build and trade boats for food and how we saved ourselves by acknowledging the guidance of the Great Spirit. The song and dance is called Canoe, and that is what we call this boat. “Canoe”, we all sing. We sing in thanks and in praise.



© 2008 Craig Skinner

This is a story about a Bear who lived in a forest not far from here. This Bear is our ancestor because he drank from the same lakes and rivers that we drink from. He hunted for food among the same trees. For these reasons he is our ancestor. This Bear is dead now, but he dances every night among the stars. Sometimes he dances close enough to us that we can see his menacing form. Often he dances in the distant reaches of the galaxy and we do not see his dance.

The Bear was powerful and all of the animals in the forest fled when he came near. The Bear was also fast and he would often catch moose and lynx and cook them on his campfire. The forest was his and he slept and ate wherever he pleased. While the Bear was fierce he was also respected. Once he had eaten he would often share his kill with a pack of wolves or fox,and the Bear would gladly share his winter den with any weary traveler, but they had to remember to wake up before the Bear!

There came a point when the Bear had grown very old. He knew he would soon die. He only had one son who lived in another forest. Bears do not spend time with their children after they leave to start their own family. While we all enjoy spending time with our family we should remember that Bears are not men. They need to be alone. But even bears get lonely and that’s why the Bear wanted to see his son. He knew he would die soon and he did not want to die lonely. He may have been fierce and powerful, but the mere thought of death brought fear into his heart. This beast that had brought death to so many animals was scared to die! He began to see death lurking behind every tree and under ever leaf. He couldn’t sleep because he was afraid he would never wake up. Here was this once mighty bear that used to be able to hibernate from the first October snows until the green grass returned in May, and now he couldn’t sleep! He knew he must find his only son. He knew that if he found his son he would not die alone. He would be able to fall asleep once he found his son, and he needed to sleep.

The Bear’s journey would prove to be quite perilous. A mighty demon was determined to possess the soul of the Bear. This demon knew that if the Bear’s soul ascended to the heavens the other animals would no longer fear death. The other animals would see this powerful bear living and dancing among the stars. The demon conjured a snowstorm to prevent the Bear from finding his son. The Bear was already very tired and hungry, and the storm was too much for him. He fell into a snow bank and he felt himself begin to die. He knew that if he died here alone he would die in fear. The fear would weaken his soul and soon the demon would be able to possess it. He would live forever as a slave of this evil spirit.

But this powerful Bear was not dead yet. He may have been old, but his nose had the strength of twenty dogs! As he lay there in the snow bank this Bear noticed the smell of cooking meat! This was long before the days of man and the Bear knew that only another bear would be cooking with fire. The Bear brought himself to his feet and began to stagger through the storm. The fury of the demon blew a wrathful wind straight into the Bear’s face, but still he moved forward. Deep through the blowing snow his old eyes focused on a form hunched beside a fire. It was another bear, it was his son. His son invited the Bear to sit by his fire to eat and smoke a little tobacco. The Bear told his son that he only wanted to rest and he curled up for a nap beside the fire. There by the fire that powerful Bear died, but he did not die alone, he did not die in fear. The demon stayed far away. When the Bear died by the fire his soul ascended to heaven and he began his infinite dance among the stars. Tonight, we can see this dance of the Bear. When we see this dance we should remember not to fear death.

This is the story of a man named Joe who found himself in a predicament one Sunday morning. Joe had spent the night with some new found friends on a First Nation reservation in Northern Ontario. For those readers unaccustomed to life in Ontario, the First Nation is an association of Native tribes in Canada. When Joe woke up in the morning, he had no shoes. His new found friends had not taken them, at least he couldn’t prove they had. These were not just friends in the traditional sense, but rather ladies with whom he had spent the night, let’s be up front about this from the get go.


Joe is from central Michigan. Since the age of twelve he had been a member in good standing with his local chapter of the Future Farmers of America. When Joe entered high-school he was finally able to join the rest of his fellow Future Farmers on their annual summer trip to the town of Green Lake, Ontario. After his first trip north Joe was determined to return to this area as often as he could. He had fallen in love with Northern Ontario. He loved the feeling of truly being “nowhere”, and knowing that where he stood was somewhere to only a few. He even loved the smell of the fish cleaning tent.

If you drive straight north from central Michigan, just go straight on the the freeway, you will eventually come to the Mackinaw Bridge. This is where Lake Michigan meets Huron. You’d think you were crossing an ocean, but the sight of both of these lakes conjoining barely rivals the first views of Lake Superior. From the city of Sault Ste. Marie on you are driving uphill, and this feeling is not a subtle sensation. Up you go, and beside you for at three hours of this journey is the great body of water. The view from some of the higher highway climbs is at least fourteen miles, that’s when the earth curves.

So it’s a great sight, and it’s a great trip driving up to Green Lake. Joe loved the trip as much as he loved being there. Joe had spent the last six days in and around the Green Lake area when he happened upon his new found lady friends at a celebration in Joe’s honor. The party wasn’t just for Joe, it was also for his friend Rock whom he had traveled to Green Lake with. Rock was a farmer all his life, just like Joe. His real name was Allen, but he had earned the name Rock early in his life. He didn’t say much, but when he did, people listened. Joe and Rock had been best friends since fourth grade, and their annual trips to Green Lake were something they promised they would always do together as long as both of them were able. In the process of these fishing trips they managed to make a few local friends. There was the man who sold them gasoline and fishing licenses, he knew them whenever they came in his store, as they had been coming there since they were both in high-school. The man had a son named Patrick who lived in Toledo. Pat was about the same age as Joe and Rock. Pat’s dad had suggested that Pat befriend his clients from Michigan, as they seemed like basically nice guys with maybe a penchant for mischief. Pat would drive up to Green Lake and go camping with Joe and Rock. They wouldn’t camp in the Green Lake, but instead they would drive some boats up to the Ogoki River, about 2 hours from Pat’s father’s store. From there was another three hour boat-ride to a small lake where the guys would camp for three-to-four days. Now this isn’t some overnight stay in a Provincial Park with the portable toilets and patrolling park rangers. The only access to this particular lake is by boat.

So Joe and Rock are out in the North woods for five days and all they do is fish, drink beer, and sleep on the ground. They see another boat of fishermen every now and then, but other than that they are alone on an island in a lake filled to the brim with walleye. Pat’s job in all of this is to head to the lake after Joe and the boys have been up there for three days or so and make sure they are still alive.

Pat was single and knew a thing or two about living in Ontario. He also knew how to cook and camp. Pat would have to travel up to this tiny island on the tiny lake and extract Joe and Rock from the wild. When you camp you use a lot more water to cook over an open fire. For all their camping with the FFA Joe and Rock had managed to ignore this and many other basic rules of the camp. The first thing Pat and would have to do is cook food for the fellas, as they had only eaten fish and beef jerky for three days. Don’t forget the canned beer.

So Pat would get the boys into good enough shape so they could get in their boats and head back to the Ogoki landing. Joe and Rock had rented a cabin for their night back in town right across the street from the store belonging to Pat’s father. The building used to be duplex apartments, and the cabin came with a shower, stove, and of course television. This was a welcome respite from the island and the blackflies. Green Lake lies beside a First Nation reservation.. The area belonging to First Nation is much bigger than Green Lake, but sparsely populated. There is a small area resembling a village with dirt roads, a general store, some houses and a school. There is also a Catholic Church on the First Nation land, built sometime in the 1920s. No one dares set foot in the building as the floor boards are rotten, and hordes of Spruce Bugs and hornets have taken over the tabernacle. The grounds of the church are only used for pow-wows and a boat launch. Provincial statistics indicate that this particular reserve receives the most calls to the Ontario Provincial Police than any other reservation in Ontario. Unemployment is high, and alcoholism and drug abuse plague the community.

The chief of police for the reservations was a man by the name of Waboose. One night, years before he knew Joe and Rock, Pat was driving outside of town on the main highway, and he hit and killed a bear. Pat’s car was totaled, but he was okay. Pat caught a ride to the Green Lake O.P.P. office to report the accident (still pretty shook up mind you), and in walks Waboose. “I hear you murdered my grandfather” said Waboose. “What?” said Pat, astounded by what he’d just heard. Waboose just laughed and walked away. Pat had never heard the stories about the Bears and the Ojibwae. This tribe believed that after death their spirits traveled into the bears. Waboose was making a joke, and Pat didn’t get it.

But back to Joe.

Joe and Rock had been camping for the better part of a week. They came back to Green Lake to get ready for the long drive back home to Michigan, and maybe visit some of the local watering holes in the process. Pat came to pick the guys up at the cabin and they headed for the local pizzaria. The basement of the restaurant was a bar, and they went down there, ordered a pizza and some pitchers of beer and began to rehash the week’s fishing action. Everybody was glad to be out of the woods, but they also knew that they couldn’t wait to get back to Green Lake next year. After the pizza Pat’s friend Denny came into the bar and more pitchers were bought. After another hour or so Denny suggested that everybody proceed to his house for more drinks, and when Denny said everybody he meant everybody. Denny had invited most of the bar crowd back to his house for many hours of drinking, loud music, and some low-key mayhem. At one point Denny was seen dancing and singing along to “Brown Eyed Girl” with two ladies from the reserve.

In the morning everybody was tired, cranky, and most of all hungry. Rock had slept on Denny’s floor. Pat had cut out early, right around the time Denny began to sing, and he came back in the morning to make sure the guys got around and on their way. When Pat got there it was already pretty apparent that Joe was nowhere to be found. The guys sat around for awhile and talked about where Joe could possibly be. He obviously hadn’t made it back to the cabin as that is where Pat had just come from. He wasn’t sleeping in the backyard, entirely possible, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t asleep on the spare couches in the garage.

He wasn’t even asleep in the truck.

Where was Joe? The question of the hour. They left the house and headed over to the store and asked Pat’s dad if he had seen anything of their wayward companion. Joe hadn’t been to the store. So they headed out in two trucks, and drove around town looking for the missing man. Pat’s dad even called the O.P.P. to see if they had picked up anybody fitting Joe’s description, no dice. It only takes about 15 minutes to drive down every street in Green Lake, so the guys were all back at the store within an hour. They had no sooner pulled up in the gravel driveway when low and behold, here came Joe walking by from the back of the property. Behind the store lies railroad tracks, and just beyond the rails is the lake. If you walk straight east on the rails you will travel right by the reserve. It didn’t take long for the guys to notice that Joe had no shoes and his feet were the color of black coal, the sort of coal used on railways. Joe had walked nearly a mile, in his bare feet, on railroad tracks.

He had left the party with two young ladies in hopes of further adventure in the great North Woods. His beer fueled imagination led him to believe that he was headed off to an evening of native love secrets in beds covered with real furs. He wanted to learn trapping secrets from the village elders, and maybe even learn some genuine legends and lore. He was really drunk.
When he woke up that Sunday morning he was laying in a ditch behind the general store. His shirt was in tatters, and his shoes were nowhere to be found. He soon realized in his inevitable sobriety that the First Nation reservation was no place for him on a Sunday morning. As he walked back to town he tried to remember how he had gotten on the other side of lake without his shoes. He began to remember the ladies and the spontaneous displays of affection they had all shared. He tried not to remember the countless drinks he had bought. It’s bad enough to nurse a rye whiskey/lager hangover, but to do so while walking barefoot on railroad tracks, in the summer sun is probably the worst thing Joe had ever experienced in all his years of visiting Green Lake, worse than the fish hook he stepped on and had to have removed with pliers by Mr. Wilhelm in the bow of the FFA fishing boat, worse than the year he got food poisoning from the old can of ravioli causing him to spend the whole trip either in his tent or on his hands and knees in the brush. The closer he got to town the more he hated it.

Pat and Rock didn’t do much to heal Pat’s wounded soul. Pat quickly understood the meaning of Joe’s bare feet and the coal stains covering his toes. It was bad enough to be humiliated in front of Rock and Pat, but there was a crowd of tourists at the store buying their licenses, junk food, and bait. Joe was ready to go home.

Before they left Pat took the guys over to the only department store in town, and Rock bought Joe a cheap pair of running shoes and a pair of aviator glasses. Pat treated the guys to a meal of poutine and sweet corn, and by the time they were done eating Joe was starting to see the underlying humor of the situation. It was over lunch that Pat gave him his new nickname, Shoeless Joe Track-Walker. Ten hours later Joe and Rock crossed back over the Mackinaw Bridge, downhill all the way from there, down in to the August heat of Central Michigan, down into the fireflies and crickets, down to the cornfields and flat expanse. They drove all night, arriving home just before dawn.

It was common knowledge in the town that Mr. Hue, stepfather to the four young children, was a cruel man. Seldom a day went by, when one of the children would not show up for school, or church, and the others would report that the absent child lay sick in bed. The next day the missing child would routinely be seen with a new bruise on his or her face, or arm, or neck.

The four children, two boys, and two girls belonged to Melanie Hue, formerly Melanie Aaorons. Mrs. Hue had taken ill after her second year of marriage to Mr. Hue, and after a two- month stay in the hospital, returned home only to be sequestered in the top floor bedroom of her three- story house. Mr. Aarons, father of the four children, died inexplicably, in his sleep, only six months after the birth of his youngest daughter, Millie. A darling girl of only five, Millie truly loved her mother with all her heart. With the same rigor in which she loved her mother, Millie truly hated her stepfather. Perhaps, due to her age and size, she bore the least of his punishments, but she still suffered by his hand. The brunt of Mr. Hue’s rage fell upon the two oldest children. The oldest was Mark at thirteen, a tall and lanky boy with his father’s smooth face and dark eyes. Mark took it upon himself to defend his siblings and his own frame from the many lashings, and assaults brought upon them by Mr. Hue.

The town doctor, Felix Mann, had seen firsthand the handy work of Mr. Hue. He was summoned to the house one evening at the request of the second oldest child, Rochelle. Upon entering the home Dr. Mann was brought into the parlor by Rochelle. On the chesterfield, just inside the door lay the crumpled body of Mark Aarons.

“ Turn on the light, would you Rochelle?” asked the doctor only to be taken aback by what the light of the lamp revealed. The right side of the boys face was swollen and bleeding, and his eyes were swollen shut, their color that of plums. He had been hit so hard that his cheekbone had cut through the skin on his face.
The boy lie conscious, thankfully.

“What has happened to you Mark? Who did this to you?” Gasped the doctor, his eyes misty and his face flushed with rage.

“It was either me or her”, answered Mark.

After tending to the boy’s wounds Dr. Mann pressed Rochelle for information. “Who or what has done this to your brother? What has happened here?”

Rochelle grew ashen, and stepped back in fear. “I, I found him this way doctor. I think he got in a fight.”

“Where is your fath….stepfather?” Asked Dr. Mann.
“He’s not here Doctor. I think he’s at his club tonight.” The girl avoided his gaze and looked only at the floor.
“How old are you Rochelle?”
“I am eleven Doctor.” Still averting his eyes.
“Is your mother home?” His voice softening in volume.
“Yes, but she is….not well as you know. She stays in her room all day.” Rochelle’s eyes finally met the doctor's.
With some resignation Dr. Mann told Rochelle to watch over her brother, and not to let him sleep until midnight. “Have Mr. Hue call me and give your mother my best” said the doctor as he left Rochelle standing in the front doorway.
*

Earlier that evening Rochelle had been late coming home from school. Instead of going home she decided to go with two of her friends to a Bible study meeting at the church. She wasn’t so interested in The Bible as she was more wanting to spend time outside of the house, but she did quite enjoy the stories that were told at the meeting. After leaving the church Rochelle was met by her younger brother Stephen who had come bounding down the street. Stephen looked pale and frightened as he ran to meet her at the steps of the church.

“Please Rochelle! You have to come home! Mr. Hue, he’s all upset and and he told me to find you and tell you to come home and and he’s awful mad and I’m scared.” Stephen was gasping for breath as he spoke. Without saying a word Rochelle took Stephen by the hand and quickly walked to the house, to Mr. Hue.

Mr. Hue met her just inside the front door. Closing the door behind her, Hue gripped Rochelle by both shoulders and shoved her hard against a cloakroom door.“You little bitch! Where the fuck have you been? When I tell you to come home after school you better goddamn come home after school!” His mouth, only an inch from her small face reeked of gin. She felt her head being slammed against the cloakroom door behind her as he screamed. In the next moment, Mark burst in the front door and pushed his way between Hue and Rochelle.

“Get off her Hue! You no good coward!” shouted Mark grabbing at Hue’s arms. After squirming away from the front hall Rochelle ran upstairs leaving her brother behind with Mr. Hue.

*

Dr. Mann returned to the house the next morning with the Chief of Police Mr. Kilroy. Rochelle met them at the front door. Her red hair had been freshly curled. She wore an apron over her plaid skirt and white sweater. As she opened the door Dr. Mann was taken aback by how much the child had begun to resemble her mother, the same round fleshy face and small nose peppered with light freckles.

“Good morning Rochelle, is Mr. Hue Home?” Asked Chief Kilroy.

“Yes sir, he’s upstairs” answered Rochelle sheepishly.
“Oh I see, could you get him please?” Continued the Chief.
“I’ll get him for you” chirped Millie who had appeared behind Rochelle.
“Okay Millie” answered Kilroy and watched the little girl dart up the stairs. “How is Mark?” Asked Dr. Mann, peering quizzically into the house.
“Mark’s awake, but I don’t think he’s going to school today.” said Rochelle.
“That’s fine Rochelle. He’s lucky he didn’t need stitches for that cut of his. Can you take me to see him please?” As the doctor spoke Mr. Hue came down the stairs wearing only a undershirt and khakis with no socks. His eyes were bloodshot and he had not shaved. Millie instinctively stepped aside as he approached the front door, his frame towering over her and their company.

“Hullo Mr. Hue.” started the Chief. “ The doctor here tells me he saw Mark last night and he was pretty well beat up. You happen to know what went on?”
“ The boy got into a fight. Won’t say with who. Whoever it was they got the best of him though.” Replied Hue, a defiant smirk on his face.
“ Come on doctor” chimed Rochelle. “ I’ll take you to Mark.”
As Rochelle led Mann by the hand he couldn’t help but notice how she cowered in the presence of her stepfather.
“Mr. Hue, can I speak to you out front?” Asked Chief Kilroy sternly. “Yeah, but make it quick Chief, I’ve gotta be somewhere this mornin” And the two men made their way to the front porch.
“What’s on your mind Chief?”
“Well Mr. Hue, we seem to have a problem.”
“Problem?” squawked Hue, feigning ignorance.
“Dr. Mann believes that you may have something to do with that boy being hurt last night and……”
“Chief you’ve got a lot of nerve!” Interrupted Hue
. “You got any proof?”
“Now, Mr. Hue.”
“Don’t Mr. Hue me! I worked for you for years. You can call me by my first name. This ain’t no interrogation!”
“Look Hue, we’ve got a real problem here. Your kids, they seem to get hurt an awful lot. Just last week Stephen had a black eye, his third this year according to his teacher. And I’ve heard the oldest girl, Rochelle is it? I heard she’s showed up for school with a fat lip or two, and she tries to hide bruises on her arms and neck from people.”
“Where you hearin this?”
“It’s a small town. People talk and I can’t help but hear things.”
“Well until you’ve got some proof as to what you say…” started Hue. “Look Chief, these kids they’re a real handful. And since their mama’s been sick I’m the only one here that can take care of them. Thankfully, I married into money so I don’t have to work no more, and I can be here most of the time. But I can’t be here all the time Chief ! A man has to get out now and then right? And it ain’t unheard of for these kids to rough each other up a little while I’m gone.”
“Mr. Hue, from what the doctor told me that boy nearly had his head bashed in last night! Now when I hear about children being beaten like that I have to respond.”
“Oh.” Said Hue, drably.
“Now you’re right, I don’t have any proof concerning what happened to that boy. But I think everyone involved would feel better if you would hand your guns over to me until this is all straightened out. You can either hand your guns over to me or I can get a court order. I believe you may be a threat to these children, and frankly Mr. Hue, a threat to the whole neighborhood. ” Chief Kilroy leaned back on his heels and pushed his hands into his front pockets.
“Well Chief I’d like to help ya, but I sold all my guns last fall.” Snorted Hue.
“Sold ‘em? To who?”
“Oh, I can’t say I recall the mans name. He wasn’t local. Just passing through town on business if I remember right. Met him one night at the club. He paid me cash, so there’s no bill of sale. Took ‘em all, even my old service pistol.”
“Well Hue, would you mind if I had a look around?” Just for my own benefit.”
“Only if you have a warrant Chief. “Do you have a warrant?”
“No.”

*

Dr. Mann sat on the edge of the boy’s bed, and gently examined the injuries, which had befallen the teenager. He assured Mark that the swelling would go down, and he would soon be able to open his eyes again. He instructed the boy to apply the antibiotic to the cut on his cheek, and showed him how to change the bandage.

“Do you have a headache Mark?”
“No sir, but my cheek and eyes sure hurt.”
“I’m sure they do. Take these pills for the pain, but no more than four a day. You will need to stay home from school the rest of the week.”
“Yes sir” Replied Mark quietly.
“Please Mark, call me Dr. Mann, or just Doctor. Now get some rest.”

After leaving the room Dr. Mann met Rochelle and her brother Stephen on their way downstairs. Rochelle had taken off the apron, and both she and Stephen carried their schoolbooks under their right arms. The boy wore a red white striped tee-shirt, and a dark blue pair of jeans. He had dark brown hair, like his brother, and was looking at the floor as he walked toward the stairwell.

“Hello Stephen.” Called Dr. Mann. “Off to school I see.”
“Yes sir” mumbled Stephen, brushing quickly past the doctor and scurrying downstairs.
Rochelle stopped and asked the doctor “Is Mark sleeping?”
“No, but I told him to stay home the rest of the week.”
“Is there someone who can be here for him?”
“Mr. Hue will be here.” murmured Rochelle
.“Oh I see. Rochelle, I think you and I both know what happened here last night. Mr. Hue shouldn’t be taking care of your brother, I believe him to be a danger to you and your brothers and sisters.”
“Mark got in a fight with some boys.” Said Rochelle, her words and body trembling.
Dr. Mann said in a kindly tone, “Rochelle, you can tell me the truth. Who did your brother fight with yesterday?”
“Rochelle!” Screamed the voice of Mr. Hue from downstairs. “Your brother is waiting for you, get down here and get to school!”
“I have to go Dr. Mann. Maybe Mrs. Kurdley next door will check on Mark today, until I get out of school. I’ll ask her right now. Goodbye Dr. Mann. “ Rochelle scampered downstairs and out the door.

That afternoon, as Rochelle and Stephen returned from school, the street in front of the house lay clogged with police cars, their lights spinning and flashing. After seeing this Rochelle ran towards their yard, leaving Stephen behind, where she was met by the neighbor Mrs. Kurdley, a kind widow who reminded Rochelle of the Queen of England.

“Where is Mr. Hue? Is Mark okay?” Cried Rochelle while grasping Mrs. Kurdleys outstretched hands. “Everyone is fine child.” Cooed Mrs. Kurdley. “Millie just got home from preschool, and is inside with your brother and father.”
“He’s not my father.” Chided Rochelle hotly. “Why are all these police here?”
At that moment, Police Chief Kilroy approached, a look of concern about his face.“Hello Rochelle” Began the Chief, patting her gently on the head. “We’ve come to look for your fathers guns, you see, and he’s sort of …well…he doesn’t want to let us in.”
“He doesn’t have any guns, he sold them.” Pleaded Rochelle. “You’re going to make him angry!”
“I know you’re upset Rochelle.” Said Kilroy softly. “But we’re doing this for your own safety. For you and your brothers, and little sister.”

Rochelle was distracted by her little brother, who had come up behind her and grabbed her arm. In exactly the next moment several policemen approached the front door, and began to ram against it with their shoulders. Before Rochelle could call out the men violently crushed inside the doorway all at once amid a wash of howls, and a muffled squeal, nearly concealed in the uproar. After the men broke the door down a continuous file of police ran through the busted entrance, guns drawn and held high in the air amidst a wave of shouting and profanity.

Rochelle ran through the front gate and up the walk to the remains of her front door. Underneath the huge wooden door lay her little sister Millie. She could hear the men running through the halls and rooms, upstairs and downstairs, shouting commands to each other in an increasingly chaotic manner. The Chief of Police, and Mrs. Kurdley were right behind Rochelle. Mrs. Kurdley gasped at the sight of the child beneath the doorway. When the Chief finally lifted the door from the body of the child it was quite evident she had been gravely hurt. Millie lay on her back. She wore her new dress that she and Rochelle had picked out together the week before from the children’s store uptown. A little yellow duck was sown above her heart on a blue and white checkered pattern, lace was sown on the sleeves and hem matching the lace around her tiny stocking feet still inside her black buckled- shoes. Underneath the girls blonde curls seeped a growing pool of dark, red blood. Rochelle quickly turned away, and crushed her face into the waiting frame of Mrs. Kurdley.

The police were there for several hours, searching each room corner to corner and had even, quietly searched Mrs. Hues’ bedroom, but spent considerably less time there then in the others. After searching until well after dark the police had still found no guns, and in all the commotion, Mr. Hue had managed to flee through the kitchen and out the back door. Mr. Hue would never be seen in the house or the town ever again.

After the coroner had come to take the body of young Millie away it was decided that the children would be put in the temporary custody of the Chief of Police. Since the Chief had a teenage son of his own, and little room for three more children in he his home, the Chief decided to move in the with the children and their mother, until more reasonable accommodations could be arranged.

A glaze of shock and disbelief lay over the children for several days. The funeral for Millie was a sparsely attended and acknowledged affair. In their state of shock the children didn’t even seem to notice the lack of the traditional, post-burial dinner.

A week after the death of their younger sister all three children returned to school. The oldest boys’ face had healed, for the most part, all but the scar on his cheek, a reminder to himself, and his siblings, of Mr. Hue. During the week they remained home, the children dutifully mourned their sister. Mrs. Kurdley would cook all their meals, and tend to their mothers’ needs. Once they returned to school, and Chief Kilroy had moved into the house, Mrs. Kurdley would only come to help Rochelle tend to her mother.

After the children’s first day back to school they met Chief Kilroy at the front door. He brought them all into the parlor, and had them all sit on the chesterfield, he told them he needed to speak to them about something very important. Chief Kilroy graciouslyoffered the children chocolates from a yellow box, and reacted with marked indifference when they all turned him down. The house was strangely quiet. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway plainly heard by everyone in the parlor. Outside the parlor window the street brimmed with sounds of children playing and greeting their fathers as they returned home from work. Before speaking, Chief Kilroy studied the three children with a degree of apprehension in his face. Unable to look them any of the three directly in the eye he began to speak.

“As you know I am a very busy and important man. I have taken it as a burden upon myself, and my family to see to your care until we can find a proper guardian for you all. Stephen spoke up and said that he didn’t know what guardian meant, and that he wanted his mother to take care of him.
“Well you see Stephen, a guardian is an adult whose job it is to take care of little boys and girls when their mothers and fathers can’t. Now I can assure all of you that everyone here in town hopes your mother gets her health back real soon, and be able to raise you all herself and take care of this house as well. But, until then there are some decisions to make concerning your care, and your house. Fortunately, your mother is a woman of privilege, and wealth. This will make it much easier for everybody involved to see to it that you are all properly cared for, and any decisions concerning money will be made by me, for your benefit of course.”

That evening the children all went upstairs to their separate rooms immediately after eating and cleaning up after supper. Chief Kilroy had set up a chore system, which had Rochelle taking care of meals and laundry, with some help for Mrs. Kurdley. The boys were responsible for yard work, and any household repairs. All three chldren were to tend to the day to day cleaning of the house.

After changing into her white nightgown Rochelle quietly walked down the hall to Marks’ room. She gently knocked on the door, and knocked louder again after getting no response. After the second knock the door creaked open and her brothers’ sleepy face appeared from the darkness. Rochelle asked timidly if she could come in, and without saying a word, Mark motioned her inside his room and turned on the reading lamp beside his bed. They both sat on his bed and faced each other in the dim light of the room.

“How long do you think mister, I mean Chief Kilroy will stay here with us?” Whispered Rochelle.
“Don’t know. I guess until mom gets better.”
“What if she never gets better?”
“I can get a job soon, and I’ll quit school if I have to.”
“That could take years Mark.”
“What else do you want Rochelle, for Mr. Hue to come back?”
“No! But I don’t much like a stranger telling us what to do.”
“Keep your voice down Rochelle. Just pray for what you dream. That’s all any of us can do.”

Rochelle nodded, and without saying another word pecked her brother on the cheek and softly returned to her own room and bed. She lay awake long into the night, and thought she heard the morning sounds of birds as she finally drifted off to sleep.

The children awoke to the sound of tramping feet, and furniture being moved about downstairs. To their surprise, and dismay Chief Kilroy had begun the process of turning their parlor into his own private office. The children peered down the steps just in time to see the chesterfield being moved into the hallway, which the Chief had decided to use as a waiting area for his visitors. The children were able to overhear a conversation Kilroy was having with a man who appeared to be the boss of the moving crew. He explained to him that the moving company should just send its bill in the mail, and to put it in Mrs. Hues’ name. The children quickly returned to their rooms and changed into their school clothes. After a breakfast of cold cereal and milk a young policeman came into the kitchen and told the three that Chief Kilroy needed to speak to them before they went off to school. After finishing the dishes, Rochelle washing, Mark drying, and Stephen putting away, the children collected their schoolbooks and went into the hall. A stern looking woman with her dark hair in a tight bun met the children in the hallway. She introduced herself as Chief Kilroys’ receptionist and instructed the children to wait on the sofa until the Chief was ready to see them. Only a few minutes later the Chief emerged from the sliding doors of the parlor, still brushing pastry crumbs from his mouth and shirt.

“Good morning Rochelle, Mark, Stephen.” Started the Chief. “I have some very good news for you. First, I must compliment you all on the fine job you have been doing around the house. That is, keeping it clean in your stepfathers’ absence.”

The children all thought to themselves that nothing had really changed since Mr. Hue never did any of the housework, and now under the supervision of the Chief their regiment of chores had only become more organized. The children all knew better than to speak their mind, and instead listened intently to Chief Kilroy.

“Now, the good news is starting this afternoon, my sister in law, Lorraine Kilroy, will be preparing your meals from now on. I’m not sure if you all know this, but Lorraine, or Mrs. Kilroy as you should all address her, runs her own food catering business, and has agreed to help provide meals for you all. For a small fee of course.”

The children all looked at each other, and Mark spoke up.
“Sir.”
“Yes Mark, what is it?”
“We can cook our own meals, and I don’t mind shopping. You don’t need to spend your own money to keep us fed.”
“You don’t understand Mark.” The Chief smirking now. “Your mother is a wealthy woman. Lorraine will be paid by her to cook for you.”
“Oh.” Answered Mark, lowering his eyes. “Well children, you better be getting along to school now. Have a good day.”

Without their noticing a tall, square jawed, ape of an officer had come out from the parlor, and was quickly ushering the children out the front door. He had been so swift in his actions that Stephen had to turn around and return up the front stairs after realizing he had left his schoolbooks in the front hall. Mark and Rochelle waited for him just outside the front gate. Rochelle suddenly remembered running up the steps the day Mr. Hue left. She glanced up at her taller brother.

“Mark?”
“Yeah.”
“Mrs. Kurdley told me there wasn’t anything about Millie, y’know, what happened to her? Well, there wasn’t anything about her in the newspaper. Not even in the funeral announcements.”
“Yeah I know.” Shrugged Mark. “Guess there’s nothing all that important about some fatherless kids.”
“Do you think they’ll ever catch Mr. Hue?”
“They would have to look first.”

Stephen ran down the front steps and met Rochelle and Mark where they stood. The three children walked to school in silence.

Returning home that afternoon, the children found that over half of the Police Departments’ staff had moved into the parlor. What had once been their mothers’ pride, a den of antiquity and elegance, was now home to a bustling office. In the corner where the phonograph had once been sat the dispatch officer in front of a large green radio, and a silver switchboard. All of the family furniture had been moved out. The parlor now held five desks, all with telephones and stacks of paperwork upon them. At a desk outside the parlor sat the receptionist the children had met that morning. The room roared with the voices of the officers sitting at the desks. The children stood in the doorway, their mouths open, eyes wide and round. Chief Kilroy sat up from his desk near the rear of the room and approached them, smiling.

“Hello! How was your day?” The chief stood in front of them, his hands outstretched as if anticipating an embrace. “I’ve had to bring a few vital members of my staff here you see, since I’ll be spending so much time her at the house.”

Phones rang form the desks and the radio squawked with urgency. The room was filled with thick tobacco smoke. Mrs. Hue had never allowed smoking in the house. Rochelle thought to herself, “Even Mr. Hue went outside to smoke.”

“Ah! Mr. Ameri!” Bellowed the Chief, looking past the children. They turned around to see a short, balding, timid looking man standing behind them.

“Mr. Ameri is an accountant, and he has agreed to see to your mothers’ financial affairs. I can assure you Mr. Ameri is quite competent in such matters.”

While the Chief addressed the children Rochelle observed the striking difference between these two strangers in her house. Kilroy stood tall, but a considerable bulge sagged over his belt. Unlike Mr. Ameri, Chief Kilroy had a full head of hair which he kept short in the ever traditional law-enforcement “crew cut”. Kilroys’ uniform lost much of its impressive effect due to its overfilling by the Chiefs’ frame. Mr. Ameri stood short, slouched , and wore a crumpled black suit with a white shirt and solid red tie.

“Now children.” Continued Kilroy. “Mr. Ameri and I have some things to discuss.”

In a single motion Kilroy ushered the children out of the room, and slid the parlor door shut behind them.

*

That evening the three children were fed a meal of baked chicken and carrots in the dining room. For as long as each of them had been alive, all of their meals had been in the kitchen, at the small white metal frame table. The dining room had only been used when company came for supper. Now, in the quiet vastness of the large room the children sat over their dinner in silence listening to the clamor of sounds coming form the parlor, their parlor.Finally, after an unknown man in an apron and white uniform served them a dessert of orange gelatin with pineapple slices, the children decided to meet in Marks’ room at bedtime.

Now was Rochelles’ favorite time of day, after supper. Every night she would go to her mothers’ room on the top floor and help her change into a clean nightgown. Then, Rochelle would comb her mothers’ long, red hair, and on a especially good night they would talk quietly about school work, or clothes, or boys.

As she anxiously climbed the stairs Rochelle was met by a tall, blond woman in the uniform of a nurse.

“Hello Rochelle. I’m Ms. Blair. Mr. Kilroy has hired me to tend to your mothers’ needs. Go on inside and see her, but don’t be too long, she needs her rest.”
“But I was going to help her with her bath tonight.” Cried Rochelle, meekly. “Tonight is her bath night, and I help her with her hair.”
“She’s already bathed.” Replied Ms. Blair, firmly.

Without another word Rochelle rushed past Ms. Blair and burst into her mothers’ room. Her mother lay on her side, facing away from the door, on her tall, soft bed. Rochelle crept to her side, and noticed to her dismay that her mother was already asleep. She gently pulled back her long hair and kissed her on her cheek. After laying beside her mother for a few minutes Rochelle went out of the room, and down the steps to see her brother Mark, where they both sat in silence, waiting for Stephen.

That night, in Marks’ room the children discussed their feelings about Chief Kilroy, and his plans for their family. The children all agreed they were glad Mr. Hue had left, but they wished their little sister was still with them, and they all sort of felt that the police were at fault for her demise. They also talked about how they thought Chief Kilroy was kind of spending their mothers’ money like it was his own, and that he ought to at least ask them before he went off and spent anymore. Stephen had said he liked the Chief, and thought he would listen to what they all had to say, so long as they were polite. Mark and Rochelle both disagreed with Stephen. They were beginning to believe that Chief Kilroy intended to stay for a long time in their house.

The next morning Rochelle and Stephen burst into the kitchen, and began pleading wit Lorraine Kilroy. “Please can we help you cook! We love to help Mrs. Kilroy!” yelped the children in unison. Mrs. Kilroy didn’t notice Mark sneaking out of the kitchen behind his brother and sister who were jumping continuously and bubbling with young joyful noise.The children returned from school to find a truck on the street in front of their house. In bold white letters on both doors of the wrecker the words “BYRONS GARAGE 24 HOUR TOWING SERVICE” stood out against a dark blue background. Behind the tow truck with its two front wheels in the air hung the patrol car belonging to Chief Kilroy.

The next morning in the town newspaper a article appeared on the front page reporting on an incident in which an unknown party had poured a considerable amount of sugar into the gas tank of Chief Kilroys’ car, permanently damaging the engine. Chief Kilroy was quoted as saying that the perpetrator was suspected to be none other than Mr. Hue, who held an obvious grudge against Chief Kilroy and the police department. In the same morning edition the editor printed a letter from none other than Dr. Felix Mann. The letter was printed in the editorial section.

The letter read:

Dear Editor;
I am writing to express my concern with the aggressive and fumbling manner in which the town police department conducted the search of a household. The home they searched was residence to one Mr. Hue, his wife, and their four children, Mr. Hues’ stepchildren. As many members of our community may know Mr. Hue has been suspected of abusing his stepchildren for quite some time, and the police have performed a righteous task in their removal of him from the household. It is my opinion, however, that the search, which led to the departure of Mr. Hue, also resulted in the untimely death of young Millie Aarons. Though her demise was purely of an accidental nature, I believe, this extremely unfortunate accident could have been avoided had the police used common sense, and not so quickly resorted to its aggressive infiltration of the home. I happen to know that the reason the Police were able to enter the home in the first place was the execution of a search warrant. The items the police were searching for were guns belonging to Mr. Hue, and to this day no such guns have been found in the house. As a esteemed member of this community I would like to call on the child welfare department to insist Chief Kilroy move out of the household, in which he has taken up residence without approval from the homeowner. I believe that our police Chief has already proven himself a threat to the safety of the children, and he should move out of their home and help find them a proper guardian.

Sincerely; Dr. Felix Mann; MD

Two days after the letter had been printed half of Dr. Mann’s appointments had called his office to cancel. During a visit to have her rheumatism prescription renewed, Mrs. Kurdley told the doctor that someone had called her three days before her appointment and told her that a rumor was quickly circulating around the town that Dr. Mann had “approached” a male patient with a “indecent offer”.
“My god Ester, who told you that?” Cried Felix in exasperation. “Of course you know that’s just not true. Why I’ve been married for twenty years now and…., and oh god that’s why everyone has been canceling on me. Tell me Ester who was it? Who told you that vicious lie?”
“It was Chief Kilroy.” Answered Mrs. Kurdley.

That evening after closing his office, Dr. Mann got in his car and drove to the Aarons house. He planned on confronting the Chief and being quite stern, but fair. Kilroy had himself been mistaken, he thought. He even wondered if it wasn’t old Mr. Hue who had been calling people, passing himself off as the Chief. Then he remembered the letter he had written to the paper and resigned to understanding he had been a victim just like little Miss Millie, lying under that heavy wooden door.

Upon approaching the house he was startled to see the Coroners’ van, once again sitting in the street, just in front of the gate. After sprinting up the walk he was greeted by a sight that nearly stopped his heart and chased his breath away. There in the front door, in her nightgown, stood Mrs. Hue. Her long red hair hung down her shoulders and over her chest. She smiled as he approached.

“Hello Doctor” she said. “I’m afraid we have had a terrible accident.”

The doctor learned from Mrs. Hue that just after her bath that evening Ms. Blair had tripped on a roller-skate that had been accidentally left on the stairs just outside of the top floor bedroom. In the ensuing commotion the chronic shroud of mysterious illness that had hovered over Mrs. Hue for so long evaporated, and her strength seemed to be returning more and more with each passing moment. Dr. Mann had arrived just in time to examine the body of Ms. Blair before the Coroner hauled it into the waiting van. She had suffered a broken neck, sudden and fatal.

“Where are the children?” Asked Dr. Mann.
“I sent them to bed, they’re all quite upset.”
“Oh yes. I’m sure they are Mrs. Hue. Can I do anything for you? How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling better by the minute Doctor, considering the circumstances. And please, call me Mrs. Aarons.”

The next day Chief Kilroy and his staff moved out of the house, and back to the Police Department building on the town square. Mrs. Aaron relieved Lorraine Kilroy and the accountant, Mr. Ameri of their duties, and without hesitation hired another accountant, a friend of Dr. Mann, to go over her finances in the wake of Chief Kilroys’ handling of them.After the children returned form school Mrs. Kurdley drove them all, along with their mother, to visit the unmarked grave of young Millie. Rochelle placed a small bouquet of daisies on top of the mound. Early that evening she walked from her house to the church where she and her friends got on a bus and rode to the next county to a small roller rink for a night of skating.