upright when you found it?”
“No,” he said. “It was lying on its starboard side. And angled up.”
“How much?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe thirty degrees.”
“Okay.” April seemed pleased. “The slope of the ridge is close to thirty degrees.”
“Which means what?” asked Max.
“Probably nothing,” she said. “Or maybe that’s where it came to rest.”
“Came to rest?” Lasker was having trouble following the conversation.
“Yes,” said April. “When it sank.”
6
Where lies the final harbour, whence we unmoor no more ?
—Herman Melville, Moby Dick
April had almost changed her mind about flying with Max when he showed her the P-38 he intended to use. Although designed as a single-seat fighter, the Lightning could accommodate a second seat behind the pilot. Many of the aircraft purchased by collectors after the war had been modified in this way. White Lightning was among these.
Now, on the return trip, she was too excited even to think about the plane, and she climbed in without a murmur. Max taxied out onto the runway, talking to Jake Thoraldson, who was Fort Moxie’s airport manager and air traffic controller. Jake worked out of his office.
“Max?” she said.
He turned the plane into the wind. “Yes, April?”
“I’d like to take a look at something. Can we go back over the Lasker farm?”
“Sure.” Max checked with Jake. No flights were in the area. “What did you want to see?”
“I’m not sure,” she said.
When they were in the air, he leveled off at three thousand feet and headed west. The day was beginningto turn gray. He had a strong headwind, and the weather report called for more rain or possibly sleet by late afternoon. Probably rain along the border and snow in the south, if the usual patterns held.
The fields were bleak and withered. They had been given up to the winter, and their owners had retired either to vacation homes in more hospitable latitudes or to whatever other occupations entertained them during the off-season.
It was impossible to know precisely where the Lasker property began. “Everything north of the highway for several miles belongs to him,” Max explained. Usually houses were set more or less in the middle of these vast tracts of land. But when Lasker’s father had rebuilt, he’d opted for a site at the southwestern edge of the property, near the highway, and in the shadow of the ridge in which Tom had found the yacht. The idea had been to gain a degree of protection from the icy winds that roared across the prairie.
Beyond the ridge the land flattened again for several miles and then rose abruptly to form the Pembina Escarpment.
The escarpment consisted of a spine of hills and promontories and peaks. Unlike the surrounding plain, they were only very lightly cultivated. Their tops were dusted with snow, and they ran together to form a single, irregular wall. There were occasional houses along the crests and narrow dirt roads that tied the houses to one another and to Route 32, which paralleled the chain along its eastern foot.
“Ten thousand years ago,” April said, “we’d have been flying over water. Lake Agassiz.”
At her direction, Max banked and followed the chain south. She was looking alternately at the crumpled land and at the valley, which was flat all the way to the horizon.
“Where was the other side?” asked Max. “The eastern shore?”
“Out toward Lake of the Woods,” she said. “A long way.”
Max tried to imagine what the world had been like then. A place of liquid silence, mostly. And Canada geese.
“It only lasted about a thousand years,” she continued, “scarcely an eyeblink as such things go. But it was here. That’s all lake bottom below us. It’s why Tom can raise the best wheat in the world.”
“What happened to it?” asked Max.
“The glaciers that formed it were retreating. They finally reached a point where they unblocked the northern end.” She shrugged. “The water drained
“No,” he said. “It was lying on its starboard side. And angled up.”
“How much?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe thirty degrees.”
“Okay.” April seemed pleased. “The slope of the ridge is close to thirty degrees.”
“Which means what?” asked Max.
“Probably nothing,” she said. “Or maybe that’s where it came to rest.”
“Came to rest?” Lasker was having trouble following the conversation.
“Yes,” said April. “When it sank.”
6
Where lies the final harbour, whence we unmoor no more ?
—Herman Melville, Moby Dick
April had almost changed her mind about flying with Max when he showed her the P-38 he intended to use. Although designed as a single-seat fighter, the Lightning could accommodate a second seat behind the pilot. Many of the aircraft purchased by collectors after the war had been modified in this way. White Lightning was among these.
Now, on the return trip, she was too excited even to think about the plane, and she climbed in without a murmur. Max taxied out onto the runway, talking to Jake Thoraldson, who was Fort Moxie’s airport manager and air traffic controller. Jake worked out of his office.
“Max?” she said.
He turned the plane into the wind. “Yes, April?”
“I’d like to take a look at something. Can we go back over the Lasker farm?”
“Sure.” Max checked with Jake. No flights were in the area. “What did you want to see?”
“I’m not sure,” she said.
When they were in the air, he leveled off at three thousand feet and headed west. The day was beginningto turn gray. He had a strong headwind, and the weather report called for more rain or possibly sleet by late afternoon. Probably rain along the border and snow in the south, if the usual patterns held.
The fields were bleak and withered. They had been given up to the winter, and their owners had retired either to vacation homes in more hospitable latitudes or to whatever other occupations entertained them during the off-season.
It was impossible to know precisely where the Lasker property began. “Everything north of the highway for several miles belongs to him,” Max explained. Usually houses were set more or less in the middle of these vast tracts of land. But when Lasker’s father had rebuilt, he’d opted for a site at the southwestern edge of the property, near the highway, and in the shadow of the ridge in which Tom had found the yacht. The idea had been to gain a degree of protection from the icy winds that roared across the prairie.
Beyond the ridge the land flattened again for several miles and then rose abruptly to form the Pembina Escarpment.
The escarpment consisted of a spine of hills and promontories and peaks. Unlike the surrounding plain, they were only very lightly cultivated. Their tops were dusted with snow, and they ran together to form a single, irregular wall. There were occasional houses along the crests and narrow dirt roads that tied the houses to one another and to Route 32, which paralleled the chain along its eastern foot.
“Ten thousand years ago,” April said, “we’d have been flying over water. Lake Agassiz.”
At her direction, Max banked and followed the chain south. She was looking alternately at the crumpled land and at the valley, which was flat all the way to the horizon.
“Where was the other side?” asked Max. “The eastern shore?”
“Out toward Lake of the Woods,” she said. “A long way.”
Max tried to imagine what the world had been like then. A place of liquid silence, mostly. And Canada geese.
“It only lasted about a thousand years,” she continued, “scarcely an eyeblink as such things go. But it was here. That’s all lake bottom below us. It’s why Tom can raise the best wheat in the world.”
“What happened to it?” asked Max.
“The glaciers that formed it were retreating. They finally reached a point where they unblocked the northern end.” She shrugged. “The water drained
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