log toward shore. In her mind flashed the horrible image of the naked girl who’d died so brutally less than a quarter of a mile from where she lay. She was dreadfully afraid for the baby. And she felt her own maddening helplessness in the face of all the terrible possibility ahead.
The man let go of the log and slogged ashore. In one hand, he held a long, thin object that Jenny was certain had to be a rifle. He was a good hundred yards from where she lay, and because ofthe distance and the dim light, she couldn’t make out any detail except for the firearm he carried. She waited, barely breathing.
He stood a long moment, as if catching his breath, then began to walk the shoreline in the direction of the cabin.
From below and behind Jenny came the sudden bawling of the baby.
The man stopped and turned.
NINE
A ny fear Jenny had ever felt before was now dwarfed by her panic. She slid from the top of the outcropping and frantically descended. She slipped into the shelter and lifted the baby in her arms. He quieted almost immediately, but Jenny was certain it was too late. Her eyes shot toward all the items she’d brought from the cabin and settled quickly on the hunting knife that lay next to the Coleman stove. She grasped the black hard-rubber handle, brought the blade up, and readied herself. She wished it were a magnum handgun she held, but the five inches of razor-sharp steel would have to do.
She waited a long time. Finally, with a measure of blessed relief, she began to think that maybe he’d changed his mind, though why in God’s name he would do that she couldn’t have said. Just as she was about to let herself relax, she heard the brittle crush of underbrush outside the shelter. Her heart became a hammering fist. She held the baby against her chest, thrust the blade in front of her, and tried to steady her shaking hand. She would do whatever was necessary to protect the child and herself. She knew it without a whisper of doubt. She would kill this man.
Through the mesh of the drooping pine boughs, she saw the tall shape approaching. He came from behind the outcropping, from the darkening of the eastern horizon at dusk. She heardthe squish of his boots still soaked with lake water and the draw of his breath from the effort of climbing through the debris. She caught a glimpse of the long black barrel of the rifle gripped in his right hand. She saw his left hand reach forward and pull aside a low-hanging bough. She crouched half a dozen feet away ready to spring at him.
He bent and entered.
Later, Cork would recount how his daughter had nearly killed him. How, when the bawling child had led him to her, she’d been like a tigress. How the blade of that marvelous Cutco knife was poised to carve out his heart. And how, at the last moment, she’d recognized him and had melted in tears of relief.
The child, however, had screamed bloody murder.
“I thought you were— I don’t know,” Jenny cried when she was finally able to speak. “I thought you had a rifle and were going to kill us.”
“A rifle? You mean this?” He held up the staff in his hand, a thin, sturdy maple limb. “I’ve been using this to shove away debris when I swim. And I’ve been swimming most of the afternoon looking for you.”
He spoke in a rasp that was barely above a whisper, and Jenny asked, “What happened to your voice?”
“I think I strained my vocal cords calling for you all afternoon. I’d’ve yelled when I came ashore here, but I don’t have much voice left.”
“How did you find us?”
“Us?” Cork shook his head in disbelief at the screaming baby clutched to her breast. “How did you become ‘us’?”
“It’s a long story, Dad, and a horrible one.”
Seeing the great weariness in her face, he laid his maple staff on the blanket and said, “Tell me.”
“First let me take care of this little guy.”
Amazed, he watched her prepare a bottle from the astonishing array of supplies in her little
The man let go of the log and slogged ashore. In one hand, he held a long, thin object that Jenny was certain had to be a rifle. He was a good hundred yards from where she lay, and because ofthe distance and the dim light, she couldn’t make out any detail except for the firearm he carried. She waited, barely breathing.
He stood a long moment, as if catching his breath, then began to walk the shoreline in the direction of the cabin.
From below and behind Jenny came the sudden bawling of the baby.
The man stopped and turned.
NINE
A ny fear Jenny had ever felt before was now dwarfed by her panic. She slid from the top of the outcropping and frantically descended. She slipped into the shelter and lifted the baby in her arms. He quieted almost immediately, but Jenny was certain it was too late. Her eyes shot toward all the items she’d brought from the cabin and settled quickly on the hunting knife that lay next to the Coleman stove. She grasped the black hard-rubber handle, brought the blade up, and readied herself. She wished it were a magnum handgun she held, but the five inches of razor-sharp steel would have to do.
She waited a long time. Finally, with a measure of blessed relief, she began to think that maybe he’d changed his mind, though why in God’s name he would do that she couldn’t have said. Just as she was about to let herself relax, she heard the brittle crush of underbrush outside the shelter. Her heart became a hammering fist. She held the baby against her chest, thrust the blade in front of her, and tried to steady her shaking hand. She would do whatever was necessary to protect the child and herself. She knew it without a whisper of doubt. She would kill this man.
Through the mesh of the drooping pine boughs, she saw the tall shape approaching. He came from behind the outcropping, from the darkening of the eastern horizon at dusk. She heardthe squish of his boots still soaked with lake water and the draw of his breath from the effort of climbing through the debris. She caught a glimpse of the long black barrel of the rifle gripped in his right hand. She saw his left hand reach forward and pull aside a low-hanging bough. She crouched half a dozen feet away ready to spring at him.
He bent and entered.
Later, Cork would recount how his daughter had nearly killed him. How, when the bawling child had led him to her, she’d been like a tigress. How the blade of that marvelous Cutco knife was poised to carve out his heart. And how, at the last moment, she’d recognized him and had melted in tears of relief.
The child, however, had screamed bloody murder.
“I thought you were— I don’t know,” Jenny cried when she was finally able to speak. “I thought you had a rifle and were going to kill us.”
“A rifle? You mean this?” He held up the staff in his hand, a thin, sturdy maple limb. “I’ve been using this to shove away debris when I swim. And I’ve been swimming most of the afternoon looking for you.”
He spoke in a rasp that was barely above a whisper, and Jenny asked, “What happened to your voice?”
“I think I strained my vocal cords calling for you all afternoon. I’d’ve yelled when I came ashore here, but I don’t have much voice left.”
“How did you find us?”
“Us?” Cork shook his head in disbelief at the screaming baby clutched to her breast. “How did you become ‘us’?”
“It’s a long story, Dad, and a horrible one.”
Seeing the great weariness in her face, he laid his maple staff on the blanket and said, “Tell me.”
“First let me take care of this little guy.”
Amazed, he watched her prepare a bottle from the astonishing array of supplies in her little
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