Читать книгу The Legend of Safehaven - R. A. Comunale M.D. - Страница 4

“He’s seeing ghosts again.”

He heard them whispering from the kitchen doorway.

You don’t know how right you are, my friends.

He continued to stare, as the procession of wraiths filed past him: Papa, Mama, Leni, Cathy, June, his schoolmate Dave, all his friends—and all gone now.

Galen lay slumped in the big easy chair in the living room overlooking the mountain vista. It was a cool August evening, and the flames licked the inside of the fireplace glass door like undersized tigers, as he stared blankly out the large picture window.

Edison and Nancy had often seen him sitting there, reliving a past only he could perceive. It had been three years since he and the children had moved in with them—three years in which they had tried their best to understand what continued to plunge him into darkness.

Far removed from his longtime home and medical practice in Northern Virginia, Galen now sat perched high and isolated in the hills of north-central Pennsylvania, Everything he had agonized over and sacrificed to achieve during the last forty years—all had symbolically gone up in smoke along with his past dreams of wife, family, and children of his own.

Ashes where once hope and dreams had been.

He sensed his friends watching him, though they went to great lengths not to disturb him or broach the subject of his fitful sadness. They did not realize this was how he had always managed to drag himself out of the past—by embracing it before letting go.

Could he do it now?

The philosophers had it wrong. The only true immortality is in the hearts and minds of those who follow you in life. They carry your memory forward in time and remind the world of who you were, what you were, and why your life really mattered.

He knew Nancy and Edison felt the same way. Both had accomplished so much during their lives. But now, all three of them had found renewed meaning for their existence in children who weren’t remotely or genetically their own. Maybe the kids were meant to be surrogates, tossed up by the Fates to confuse, confound, and perhaps fulfill their remaining years.

For the children, for their future, Galen quickly sold the house that had served as his home and workplace for four decades. He would miss the sounds of the nighttime creaking, so resembling his own joints, and the distinctive groans of the plumbing, which like his own, would need replacement to restore full function.

Most of the furniture, the knickknacks, the framed photos on the walls, the objects of value only to him, the books and magazines, went to new homes. His patient files were either reassigned or incinerated. His part-time secretaries—his lifelines and support system—finally entered retirement, satisfied that their charge was delivered into a life that did not require their constant attention and protection.

What he treasured—those holy relics of his loves and friendships—were the only possessions he carried to his new home in his ancient red Jeep Wagoneer.

Now, all that remained was what he and Cathy had called their secret hideaway.

He had joked many times with his beloved second wife that he really needed a Fortress of Solitude, just like the one Superman used as a refuge whenever he wanted to restore himself. And Cathy, dear Cathy, had taken him at his word.

* * *

“Tony, look, it’s in today’s paper. This could be what you’re looking for.”

She laid the Sunday Real Estate section in front of him and pointed to a small ad:

For sale by owner: Mountaintop acreage

He phoned the seller that very day and drove immediately with Cathy to the outskirts of Front Royal, Virginia, near the northern terminus of Skyline Drive. Nestled in one of the valleys of the Blue Ridge Mountains, watered by the north and south forks of the fabled Shenandoah River, the Civil War town overflowed with history.

The property owner, a retired pharmacist, met them at the local roadhouse/cafe renowned for its sweet apple cider and fresh donuts. Over servings of both he showed them the plat for almost 60 acres he had decided to sell.

They followed his red pickup truck, climbing the winding dirt road, past the apple orchards, to the very top of Blue Mountain. They saw POSTED signs of the Virginia Fish and Wildlife Service, as they approached the crest along a rutted dirt road almost impassible except for trucks and jeeps, and stopped in front of a gigantic oak at least six feet in diameter. They got out and walked toward the owner, who was lovingly patting the big tree.

“See, here it is folks, untouched since the last logging crew came by about twenty years ago. I made sure they didn’t take old Ollie. He’s been here since colonial times according to the tree experts.

“By the way, did you folks know the road we took for the last half mile is part of the Appalachian Trail?”

He walked them through the upper level, the long-unused logging trail winding its way across the slope of the mountain, its ruts filled with bushes and small trees.

The old man made a sudden motion to keep quiet then pointed to his right. Galen and Cathy saw two deer peacefully drinking from the free-flowing spring that bubbled up between two glacier-strewn boulders. No doubt, like the rest of the area, the mountain was honeycombed with limestone caverns that served as subterranean rain cisterns, until the water found an escape route.

She took his hand and whispered “a buck and a doe,” and he understood.

He immediately fell in love with the place, and when he looked at Cathy he knew she had instantly read his mind in that way of all women.

“Yes, Tony.”

That was all she needed to say.

In short order they signed the papers, paid the deposit, and arranged for the bank loan. It was all theirs now.

“Cathy, I don’t think we should build anything on it. Let’s leave the animals to their home. We can always come to visit, maybe even camp out or stay at a local motel. I don’t want to spoil the beauty of this place.

“Besides, Mr. and Mrs. Deer were here first.”

Once more she answered him, as he knew she would.

“Yes, Tony.”

Then came that fateful dinner and his nervous question: “What’s the matter, honey?”

An MRI followed, sketching his beloved wife’s fate in glowing electrons on the monitor screen: metastasized pancreatic cancer. Like Leni before her, and like nearly everything else that had mattered in his life, Cathy was soon taken from him.

Afterward he had made the pilgrimage to their special place every chance he could, walking the trails, pretending that Cathy and Leni were by his side, rushing to be the first to name the plants and animals each had spotted. He felt thankful for the isolation. Not that it mattered, but anyone watching him as he talked to himself surely would have considered him crazy and fled down the mountain. Yet alone, he said what he wanted—his heart exposing its deepest feelings—and even talked to the animals. They didn’t mind.

* * *

He hadn’t returned to the hideaway for quite a while. His relentless workload had acted as a diversion. Truth be told, as the years passed, he had built up a reluctance to go. The relief and exhilaration he originally felt had been replaced by creeping sadness. And now the children had become the focal point in his life.

Maybe it was time.

Alone in his room he sat at his desk and mapped out the logistics of the trip in his mind before approaching the others.

“How would you all like to take a quick trip to my Fortress of Solitude?”

Edison and Nancy responded with looks of puzzlement. This was the most energetic their friend had sounded since he had moved in.

Even Galen realized the incongruity, so he tried to lighten the mood.

“I figure we might have to hide out there if the government ever decides to avenge their man Thornton, after we dissed him so badly. I still can’t believe we got away with becoming guardians of the kids.”

They immediately relaxed.

“It needed to be done,” Nancy replied. “People shouldn’t just be pawns for the powerful to play with. I still think if Thornton hadn’t been convicted on federal charges the children would have been sent back to Cuba.”

Edison quipped, “Yeah, imagine, a federal official lying. Who would have thought it possible?”

The three burst into spontaneous laughter.

“Besides,” Edison continued, “they wouldn’t blame us, they’d blame Judge Todwell. She’s the one who went to bat for us and made it easy for us to adopt the kids.”

Galen interjected, “Mirabile dictu, an honest public figure. Amazing!”

Edison paused.

“I wonder if she and that lawyer … what’s his name … Comer are still … uh … friendly.”

Nancy shot him a quick conspiratorial look, and he blushed. Then she turned to Galen.

“When would you want to go?”

“How about tomorrow?” Edison piped up.

Now Galen paused.

“Hmm, that way, if the black helicopters come for us, we’ll be gone.”

That did it. Once more the three shared a burst of laughter.

The children, who had witnessed the exchange, studied their guardians, and then nine-year-old Freddie turned to his sister.

“Que loco!”

Carmelita, who had just celebrated her tenth birthday, promptly smacked the top of his head and told him to stop being so disrespectful.

“Si, mamacita Carmelita!” he replied, mocking her.

She smacked him again.

Eight-year-old Antonio kept his mouth shut.

Edison drove them in his “kidmobile,” as he now called his minivan, down Interstate 81 through Harrisburg. There they picked up U.S. Route 15 and followed it south to Frederick, Maryland, where it joined I-270 into the Washington, D.C., area. Edison surprised Galen by veering from the plan and taking Route 340 west for a few miles before resuming on Route 15.

“I really hate the Beltway,” he grumped, but Nancy understood. They knew that even a brief approach to Galen’s old home would sink their friend’s mood, and though they had dealt with him patiently since he had moved to the mountaintop, both were becoming a little weary of it all. And they knew the visit to his former refuge would be emotional enough.

As it turned out, the detour provided some scenic benefit, meandering as it did through some gorgeous countryside before widening through the now-sprawling outskirts of Leesburg, Virginia, then shooting straight down to join I-66 west near Manassas.

Nancy took in the gigantic outlet malls and sea of townhouse clusters lining both sides of the wide highway. She wondered what the many men who had fought and died in this area in the Civil War nearly 150 years ago would think of it all.

The interstate began a detectable rise, as the surroundings gradually changed to horse and dairy farms, and they could see the first row of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance, their tops appearing volcanic in the heavy mist. They were part of the vast Appalachians, which run more than a thousand miles from Georgia to Maine and are among the oldest ranges on Earth.

They rode through a cleft in the hills near Delaplane then descended into a valley outside the small community of Linden.

“Here’s our exit,” Galen called out.

They pulled off the highway and stopped at the roadhouse where he and Cathy had closed the deal so many years ago. It had changed a bit, not quite as rural or folksy, but it still featured cider and donuts.

“Okay, guys and gals, pit stop and eats,” Edison called out. He knew Galen needed the break as badly as he did.

Ah, the pleasures of senior-citizen bladders!

Newly relieved, they reconvened at one of the tables that reminded the three adults of the old diners populating every rural roadside after World War II: chrome-trimmed, Formica counters and the long soda bar with red vinyl, mushroom-pedestal seats that stretched the length of the room.

After wolfing down donuts with apple juice—an act for which Edison’s dyspepsia would punish him later—they wandered through the adjoining crafts shop, which was loaded with hand-made quilts, wooden lawn ornaments and signs, and stuffed animals. The kids were fascinated by all the toys made of wood. Edison, ever the master carpenter, made mental notes on how he would duplicate them in his shop.

Nancy and Carmelita browsed the dry goods and quilts, while the boys pulled at the two men, pleading for the specialty of the house: raccoon-tail fur hats.

Edison grabbed a hat and put it on.

Galen did likewise.

“Fess Parker,” he said.

“Buddy Ebsen,” Edison replied, grinning.

A beat, and then suddenly as if on cue the two sang, in unison, “Davey, Davey Crockett, king of the wild frontier!”

Those younger than sixty just stared in confusion.

Galen bought hats for each of the boys and offered to get one for Edison and Carmelita as well. Edison was tempted but noticed Nancy’s disapproving look and declined.

Carmelita also declined but did ask for something else: a framed needlepoint. It was in the style of an 1830s-vintage sampler, done by young girls in the distant past to demonstrate their home skills. She didn’t know that, of course. She only knew it somehow attracted her, its border of birds and good-luck signs double-framing its message, which she read in her now-flawless English:

“Bless the children of this house and those who love them so.”

Edison, faster than Galen at pulling out his wallet, took the framed art to the counter.

“How about one last bathroom break?” Galen asked. He and Edison took the boys, and Nancy took Carmelita. Apple cider makes a very effective diuretic.

They headed briefly along state route 55 then turned at the old general store. The former dirt road, now paved, twisted and turned up Blue Mountain.

Not just the pavement had changed. The apple orchards had fallen victim to the lure of developers’ money. Where once row after row of carefully pruned trees blossomed in the spring and appeared laden with Christmas-ornament-colored apple globes in the fall, new houses were sprouting.

The three adults sighed wordlessly, as older people often do when confronted by the inevitability of change.

As they climbed higher, Galen saw the reason why the old gravel road had been replaced by asphalt: two giant microwave-relay towers at the mountain crest, joined by an even more recent cell phone tower. He missed the rumble-bumps of the old road—but his kidneys didn’t.

“Look at that,” Edison said almost giddily. “I helped design those beasties!”

Sometimes, change is not so hard to take.

Nancy looked admiringly at her husband. She knew all the great things he had accomplished in his long career, for many of which others had claimed credit. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

They reached a crossroads at the top, and the pavement ran out.

“Behold the Fortress of Solitude,” Galen announced.

The kids had no idea what he was talking about, but they perked up and looked out the windows, as Edison drove onto the tree-haloed, narrow dirt road, still posted with the wildlife-service signs, that ended at the giant oak. Old Ollie still cast its mighty shadow over the entrance.

As the children unfastened their seatbelts, Nancy took charge.

“Now listen carefully, kids. You stay here with us. Don’t go running off to play yet, understand?”

All three nodded.

Nancy knew the boys wanted to race around like the wind, but until everyone got their bearings on this mountain, she didn’t want to take any chances. Sure enough, Tonio and Freddie quickly disappeared. She looked around nervously, until she saw Freddie tagging along with Edison and Tonio heading after Galen.

Well, as long as the men don’t get lost, the boys won’t, either.

Galen walked slowly down the logging path. He wanted to visit the spring once more. He heard footsteps running up behind him and turned to see Tonio. Though he had relished the thought of being alone for a while, he realized it would be good to share this with the boy. So he put on a smile.

“Come, Tonio, let’s go to a very special place, a place where the animals come to drink. You and I will be the first to see it, okay? Then we can bring your brother and sister with Tia Nancy and Tio Edison.”

He walked even more slowly now that Tonio was with him. Yes, it was better to have company, to share observations, to give of one’s self by teaching another.

“Look, Tonio, see that? It’s a pileated woodpecker. And over there, Trifolium plants.”

Each new site brought forth burbles of delight from the boy.

As they neared the spring, Galen gestured to Tonio to keep very, very quiet. They moved as silently as a young boy and an old man could. Luck was with them. They saw two raccoons drinking from the pool that the dam of glacial rock had formed below the spring. Tonio tugged on his coonskin hat, as he watched the animals wash their faces in the clear-flowing water.

Suddenly Galen heard Edison shouting.

“Freddie, Freddie! Where are you? Come on now, get back here!”

Galen motioned for Tonio to follow, and they headed as fast as they could up the mountainside. They found Edison, Nancy, and Carmelita in a panic.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. Freddie and I were walking over that crest. I sat down to tie my shoelaces, and when I stood up he was gone! Nancy and Carmelita didn’t see him, either.”

Galen’s mind raced. Little boys do foolish things. He spoke quietly to conceal his own nervousness.

“First, everybody should stay together. We’ll all go back to the place where Freddie disappeared. Then we’ll plan our search.”

The five moved slowly toward the crest, turning their heads left and right, trying to catch a glimpse of the missing boy. As they mounted the hillside, Nancy spotted something.

“Look, his cap! He must have come this way!”

They moved toward the fur hat caught on one of the ever-present, wild-raspberry canes.

“Slow down.” Galen spoke quietly. “And pipe down. Watch the ground for any sign of his tracks, and listen for him.”

As they proceeded, Nancy noticed a depression in the moss and forest-plant ground cover. Then they all saw it: a hole, who knows how deep, but just wide enough to swallow a young and maybe overly curious boy. Was it an animal burrow or a surface communication to the vast, underlying limestone honeycombs in the mountain? The three adults silently prayed for the shallow-burrow alternative.

They moved ahead slowly and carefully, not wanting to disturb any dirt by their vibrations. Edison gently squatted down next to the hole and tried to peer inside, but the cover was too dense to reveal anything.

“Freddie, Freddie,” he called. “It’s Tio Eddie. Can you hear me?”

All five strained their ears and waited.

He tried again. “Freddie, it’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong. We just want to help you.”

Then they all heard the soft whimpering. From the sound of it, Freddie hadn’t dropped in very far. Nancy spread apart the cover and stuck her face in the opening.

“It’s okay, Freddie, we’re all here—me, Carmie, Tonio, your tios. We want to get you out. Queremos ayudarle. Tio Eddie will get some rope and a flashlight from the car.”

At that, Edison took off through the forest.

“Escuche cuidadosamente. Listen carefully, Freddie. We know you’re a big boy. When Tio Eddie returns, he’s going to lower the flashlight with the rope. When you get it, I want you to shine the light to where you hear us and tug on the rope. Okay? ¿Usted entiende?”

She heard him snuffle then say “yes.”

Soon Edison charged back carrying a coil of heavy tacking rope, flashlight, car shovel, and a bag of chocolate candies—as usual, he traveled prepared. He lay flat on the ground next to the hole, while Galen tied one end of the rope around a nearby tree. Edison tied a smaller string to the rope, attached the flashlight to it, and then spoke as calmly as he could.

“Freddie. I’m going to lower the flashlight to you. It will be on, so you should see the light. When you get it, hold onto it very tightly. Shine the light back up, so we can see where you are.”

Nancy piped in.

“¿Todo a la derecha? All right? ¿Usted entendía? Do you understand?”

She had made it a habit to mix English and Spanish when speaking to the children.

“Yes,” was the sheepish reply.

Edison lowered the rope slowly. About six feet played out before he felt a tug on it.

Good! He’s not too deep.

He stuck his head as far in as he could and saw the light beam.

“Good boy, Freddie!” Edison said. “Now turn the flashlight around toward you so I can see where you are.”

“Brille la linterna en se,” Nancy added.

The light moved and Freddie’s face appeared. Edison saw the frightened boy sitting in a small, natural, cave-like formation with his knees drawn up to his chin.

“Freddie, remember when you and Tonio and I played cowboys, and I made a lasso out of the big electrical cable, and we practiced making loops with it?”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

“Make the same loop with the rope then put the lasso under your arms.”

“¿Usted entendía?” Nancy asked again.

Edison called down, “Did you do that, Freddie?”

“Yes.”

“Shine the light on yourself again, so I can see what a good job you’ve done.”

The light moved erratically then outlined the boy. He had done it right, just like when they were playing.

“Freddie, I want you to raise your arms up high and grab the rope. It’s going to feel very tight across your chest. Tio Galen and I will pull you up, so hang on.”

He felt the rope moving. Galen stood behind him, wrapping the cord around his powerful forearm for traction.

“Edison, keep lying there to help guide the rope, while Nancy and I do the pulling. Keep your flashlight trained on it to make sure nothing sharp is in the way.”

Edison nodded. Galen and Nancy began a slow, steady, backward motion. They felt the weight increase, as they pulled the boy toward the opening.

Edison held the light in his teeth, while he used both hands to prevent the rope from rubbing the sidewall of the tunnel. The other two children stood wide-eyed, watching the determination of the three adults to save their brother.

Little hands clutching the rope appeared first, and then Freddie’s head, torso, rump, and legs slid through the opening.

Galen experienced a strange thought: Good Lord! The forest just gave birth to Edison’s new son!

Nancy removed the “umbilical cord” from Freddie, who was blinking at the sudden burst of leaf-dappled sunlight hitting his dark-acclimated eyes.

Carmelita and Tonio moved toward him with the bag of candy, and Tonio put the coonskin cap back on his brother’s head. He examined Freddie, dirt-streaked all over, and made the remark that broke the tension-filled moment.

“Freddie, you smell like dog poo!”

Galen’s face creased in a rare smile.

“Congratulations, Edison, you have a bouncing new son!”

Nancy cleaned up Freddie as best she could and wrapped him in one of the car blankets. Edison carried him at the head of a triumphant procession back to the vehicle. By the time they reached it, Freddie had scarfed down most of the candy and was falling asleep in Edison’s arms.

“It must have been a fox den at one time,” Nancy guessed.

“Most likely, since Freddie got covered in their refuse,” Galen replied.

“I think we need to get him washed up at a gas station,” Edison chimed in. “Otherwise this car will be uninhabitable.”

Galen couldn’t resist. “Better learn how to change diapers, little brother.”

As they headed back down the mountain, they once again passed the wildlife-service signs, and then and there Galen decided his mountain refuge would forever remain a safe haven for its animal inhabitants. He would donate the land to the Commonwealth of Virginia, and it would become part of the preserve.

Cathy would like that, he mused, and the wind blowing through the open car window seemed to whisper, “Yes, Tony.”

The water-hose-improvised shower at the gas station sufficiently deodorized Freddie to allow the rest of the passengers to breathe through their noses again.

As they drove away, Galen noticed that Edison was exhibiting signs of post-traumatic anxiety letdown, which he had seen so often in new parents.

Nancy also seemed a little disconcerted, sitting in the back with the three kids, who by now were sufficiently sugar-loaded that they bounced between buzz and somnolence.

“Why don’t we salvage the day, Edison,” Galen said softly. “I know a campground and portage site along the river not too far from here. We brought the kids’ swimsuits, and you and Nancy could do a bit of canoeing—just like in the old days, eh?”

He nudged his friend gently, and Edison laughed.

“What about you? You can’t just sit in the car and pretend you’re Buddha.”

“No problem,” Galen replied. “There’s a bunch of trails along the Shenandoah. I’ll commune with nature while the rest of you get wet.”

Twenty minutes later they pulled into the campground.

“Bob, why don’t you and Galen go rent the canoe?” Nancy said, as she guided Carmelita, Freddie, and Tonio toward the bathhouse.

The two men headed to the rental desk, and Edison picked out what he called a “nice shell.” When Galen paid for the rental, Edison seemed surprised by the gesture.

“Hey, this was my idea,” Galen quipped.

They turned back toward the bathhouse and saw Nancy emerging with only two of the children in swimsuits. Tonio stood apart, still in his day clothes, looking pouty.

“He doesn’t want to go in the canoe,” Nancy said in exasperation.

Galen walked over to the boy.

“What’s wrong, Tonio?”

He lowered his eyes then looked up at Galen.

“No tengo gusto del agua.”

Galen’s Spanish was minimal, but he understood.

Strange, he understands and speaks English fluently now but reverts to his early childhood tongue when upset.

“That’s okay, Tonio. You can walk with me through the woods instead.”

He turned to Edison, who had been watching the exchange.

“Why don’t you and Nancy show the kids some of your old-style canoeing? I’ll rent a second shell. Nancy and Carmelita can go in one, and you and Freddie can take the other. You could make it a race between the guys and the gals.”

Edison opened his mouth, but before he could speak Galen had taken out his wallet and turned toward the desk, where he rented another canoe. When he rejoined his friend, he said with a feinted grumble: “This better not lead to any canoodling later on, you old goat!”

Edison grinned and winked.

Galen turned to Nancy and the children.

“Tonio and I will follow the trail along the river up to the bend that looks over the abandoned Civil War railroad crossing. We’ll act as judges to see which team gets there first. Okay?”

The quartet nodded.

Galen and Tonio headed for the trail, while Nancy and Edison slid the canoes to the edge of the river. They made sure Carmelita and Freddie’s life jackets were secured, helped the children into their respective shells, and then carefully climbed aboard.

“Nancy, let’s use that large Jackson Oak tree on the bank as the starting point. Freddie, I want you to watch how I hold the paddle and how I bring it down into the water to get the most force behind it. Carmelita, watch how your tia does the paddling. After a while, we’ll let you join in.”

Whatever trepidation the children might have felt about being on the water quickly dissipated. This was a calm, shallow stream, not a vast, raging ocean, and the pleasantness of the day captivated them all.

Memory inevitably slipped Edison and Nancy back to the first day they met—only now they sat in separate canoes. Under their controlled paddling, they moved the boats to the middle of the river and held their position.

“We’ll start on the count of three,” Nancy said.

The children shouted, in unison, “ONE, TWO, THREE!” and Nancy and Edison began energetically stroking, as the canoes shot forward, one and all laughing loudly.

“Tio Galen, are you angry that I didn’t want to go in the water?”

“No, Tonio. I know you must have a very good reason. Do you want to talk about it?”

Tonio meekly shook his head, so Galen continued walking but moving slowly enough for him to keep up.

Then Tonio stopped, and Galen stopped as well, turning to him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Tio, do you love me as much as you love Freddie and Carm?”

He saw that the boy was serious.

“Of course, Tonio! Why do you ask?”

“Would you have saved me like Tio Eddie saved Freddie today?”

Galen squatted down to look him in the eye.

“Yes, Tonio. Tio Eddie, Tia Nancy, and I would have worked just as hard, maybe even harder, to save you if you had been in trouble.”

Then he reached over, swept the boy up on his shoulders, and resumed the tour of the trail. In minutes he was pointing out and naming the birds, small animals, and plants they encountered, and Tonio grew giddy at the new experiences.

Galen’s eyes misted, as he realized how much the boy’s moods were like his own, and he wondered if having a son would have been like this.

The two canoes swept forward, bows neck and neck, as they rounded one river bend then another. The water grew a little darker now, almost channel depth. Soon the old railroad crossing trestle appeared in the distance, as well as something else among the glacier-strewn boulders.

Just then Freddie yelled, “What’s that?”

Nancy and Edison saw the problem immediately: An overturned canoe abutted one of the large stones, a young girl clinging to the side.

Both adults paddled toward the trouble spot, with Edison’s canoe getting there first. He caught water to bring the boat to a stop, reached over carefully to avoid tipping, and with Freddie’s help lifted the girl aboard.

“Nancy, I’m going to take this child to the rendezvous point with Galen. She doesn’t appear hurt, just in shock. Will you show Carmelita how to salvage an overturned canoe and follow us to the bridge crossing?”

“Sure,” she replied. “We’ll be right behind you.”

The girl was conscious but moaning softly.

“My sister, where is she?”

Edison bent toward her.

“Was someone else in the canoe with you?”

She started to cry.

“We got into an argument, and somehow the boat tipped over.”

“There she is!” Freddie yelled and pointed toward a second rock farther on.

Edison paddled hard toward the other girl, who appeared unconscious. Suddenly Freddie leaped out of the boat. Before Edison could stop him, he swam toward her. He reached her quickly and instinctively threw his arms around her to raise her up. Edison arrived a few moments later, positioned the canoe, and slowly lifted the child into it.

Then Freddie spotted his brother and Galen, but before he could call out, Edison had reached over and wrenched him into the canoe by his shorts.

“Freddie, I could…” He paused as he thought better of his words then quickly paddled to the river bank, where Galen and Tonio were standing. Nancy and Carmelita were not far behind, with the girls’ canoe in tow. All the boats ran up the sloping bank together.

Galen reached out and pulled both canoes farther onto the sandy soil then scanned the two new occupants of Edison’s canoe. The older girl, about twelve, was still crying. The younger one was breathing but not moving. He gently picked her up, placed her on the riverbank, and examined her for injuries.

“Tio Galen, will she live?” Freddie whispered.

“Oh yes,” Galen said, smiling, as the girl opened her eyes and saw the wet boy standing next to the big man.

At nine years old going on sixteen, Freddie couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her hazel eyes seemed to penetrate his water-soaked skin. Wet, blonde hair closely framed her baby-round face.

“What happened?” he asked.

The older sister answered first.

“We were visiting Grandpa Alex and Grandma Debbie here in Front Royal. Our daddy is with the Air Force—Colonel Luke Daumier. He’s being transferred to a post in Pennsylvania next week, so we thought we’d do one last canoe trip. But then she started to act like a brat, and the canoe overturned.”

Freddie moved closer to the younger girl. He had never seen anyone so pretty.

She looked up at him.

“Did you save me?”

Freddie didn’t know what to say, so Edison said it for him.

“Yes, my dear, he did.”

“What’s your name?”

“Freddie Hidalgo,” he stammered. “Wha … what’s yours?”

“Lilly Daumier.”

Before he could jump back, she sprang from the ground and threw her arms around him.

“Okay, let’s get the girls back to their folks and the boats back to rental,” Nancy said. She and Carmelita helped the two girls along the path, accompanied by Freddie, who wanted “to keep them safe.” Galen and Tonio brought up the rear, while Edison alone powered the armada of rope-linked canoes back up the river.

“Tia Nancy, why did Freddie do that … I mean … jump into the river?”

“Because he’s a boy, Carm. Because he’s impulsive, impetuous, and…”

She thought back to the day that a certain scrawny, cross-eyed young man had climbed into her canoe despite her protests. She sighed.

“Tio Galen, why did Freddie turn all red when the girl hugged him?”

“There are several answers to that, Tonio. The scientific one has to do with dilated blood vessels just under the skin. The human one has to do with feelings. Unfortunately, we can’t control either one. Let’s head back now.”

Bear and cub moved in unison along the trail.