William Krueger - Northwest Angle

“Part of it,” Rainy said, continuing the discussion they’d begun earlier that day, “is that he’s clearly sick, and he can’t figure out what’s at the heart of his illness. I’ve never seen him so tense, so anxious.”

“Is it possible he’s afraid of dying?”

“Uncle Henry’s the last person I would suspect of being afraid to make the passage and walk the Path of Souls.” She handed Jenny a bar of soap. “But maybe.”

Waaboo squealed with delight at the feel of the warm water and Jenny’s gentle, slippery palms. His little arms flailed, and water splashed, and the air above the tub was filled with droplets that sparkled in the sun.

“You told me you have children,” Jenny said.

“Three, all grown. My oldest, Alex, died in Iraq two years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Kari is a first-grade teacher in Eau Claire. She has a wonderful voice and sings with a couple of bands. She’d love to make her living that way. My youngest, Peter, is struggling. Issues with substance abuse. He’s clean at the moment and working as a mechanic in Rice Lake.”

“You’re not married?”

“My husband died a few months after Peter was born. A brain aneurysm.”

“You never remarried?”

“Too busy raising my children and supporting us all. And, I suppose, I never met a man I really thought I could live with.” She laughed. “Or maybe the issue was a man who thought he could live with me.”

Jenny finished with the child, and Rainy handed her the towel she’d brought from the cabin. “You’re very good with Waaboo. You’ve clearly had experience with babies.”

Jenny told her about working in the day care and nursery in Iowa City. And then, because she felt a deep comfort in her connection with the other woman, she told Rainy about her pregnancy at eighteen and her miscarriage and the feeling of emptiness that had sometimes overwhelmed her since.

“Have you ever talked with Aaron about how you feel?”

“Not really. He’s a good man in a lot of ways, but this isn’t something he would understand.”

Walleye, who’d been lying quietly in the soft bed of the wild grass, raised his head suddenly and looked toward the woods that edged the meadow. He lifted his nose and sniffed the wind. He stood quickly, and a low growl crept from his throat. He held rigid, watching the shadows among the trees.

Rainy shielded her eyes against the sun and peered toward the trees that had captured the dog’s interest.

Jenny had wrapped little Waaboo in the towel, and she held him to her breast. “What is it?” she asked, trying to decide if she should be concerned.

“A bear, maybe, or a wolf. We get them sometimes. They never bother us, but why don’t we take the baby inside, just to be safe.”

They gathered their things and walked to the cabin. Walleye hesitated, still focused on the woods, then finally relaxed and followed. Inside, he turned back, and just before Rainy closed the door against the view of the bright meadow and the dark woods beyond, he gave a low woof that wasn’t friendly in the least.

FORTY-SIX

Nearly an hour had passed since Kretsch and Bascombe had headed to the Angle. Cork sat watching Smalldog for any sign that the man was regaining consciousness, but the Shinnob lay completely still. Cork was beginning to be more than a little concerned that Bascombe had done serious damage. In a chair near a front window, Mal leafed through an old National Geographic . Bascombe’s rifle lay propped against the wall next to him. Rose and Anne sat at the dining table, sharing coffee with Sarah and listening as the woman continued to piece together life with the Church of the Seven Trumpets.

“Lily,” Sarah said, sounding immeasurably sad. “She was such a lonely girl. She had her mama mostly, and when Vivian was gone, she didn’t have nobody. I wanted to help her, honest, but if I did anything to give myself away, Lord only knows what they’d’ve done to me. I heard some talk about her getting visits in the night from Indian men. Joshua, he seemed real interested in that.”

Cork glanced her way and saw that the woman was staring down into her coffee and seemed disinclined to look Rose or Anne in the eye. She was quiet for a long while.

“I think he might’ve started using her,” Sarah finally said. “For sex, I mean. The great lust Satan had put in us early on he still had. Part of why I played crazy was so he wouldn’t be bothering me that way. I didn’t want nothing to do with that coward anymore.”

“Did Abigail or Gabriel know about him and Lily?”

“I can’t imagine they didn’t. They must have just decided to look the other way.”

“Does Joshua believe all the religious dogma?”

“I think the truth is that he’s afraid of Abigail, and he’d never say anything contrary to her. But deep down, I think he doesn’t believe it any more than I do. It’s just the way his life’s played out. The church is all he knows.”

“So when Joshua couldn’t use you, he used Lily instead?” Rose asked gently.

Sarah lifted her face, as if seeking understanding. “I feel real bad about it, but what could I do? If I tried anything, I’d’ve probably got us both killed. Then she was gone, just up and gone. Truth is I figured she threw herself in that lake out there. God knows I been tempted myself.” She let out a deep, exhausted sigh. “Now I find out she went away and hid somewhere and had herself a baby. Lord, but it’s a strange world.”

“It gets stranger, girl.”

The voice was Bascombe’s, and it came from the kitchen doorway. When Cork looked there, he saw Kretsch in front of the big man, the deputy’s hands bound with silver duct tape. A strip of duct tape sealed his mouth as well.

Bascombe shoved Kretsch into the room with the others. He held Kretsch’s rifle and slowly arced the room with the barrel, so that at one point or another it was aimed at them all.

“Let’s get this straight. Anyone tries anything, they’re dead. Mal, stand up real slow and move away from that rifle next to you.”

Mal did as he was told and joined the women at the table.

Kretsch mumbled something behind the duct tape over his mouth. Keeping a wary eye on Bascombe, Rose reached out and pulled the tape away.

“Sorry,” Kretsch said to the others. “He jumped me. I just didn’t expect . . .” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. None of them had expected this from Bascombe.

Cork said, “What’s going on, Seth?”

The big man eased his way around the dining area until his back was to the front windows and he stood between everyone else and the second rifle. “I tried to get Smalldog away from you the easy way, but you wouldn’t have it. So now we got to do it the hard way.” He spoke as if he was disappointed and they were the reason.

“And the hard way would be?”

“We wait. The Seven Trumpets folks should be along shortly.”

Cork said, “You and them.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of understanding. “Then what?”

“That’s up to Seven Trumpets.”

“I don’t get it,” Kretsch said.

Things were falling into place quickly, details Cork should have noted but, in the chaos of all that had occurred, did not.

“I think I do,” he said. “The Seven Trumpets folks needed armaments. A former ATF agent would be someone who knows how to get them. They pay you pretty well, Seth?”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve got a lot more money in the bank than I’d have if I worked a hundred years for the damn government.”

To Cork, Bascombe sounded like a man trying to convince himself that the responsibility for all the wrong that had been done was not on his shoulders.