in the empty house. Convinced the guy was out there waiting to make his move, I scanned the outdoors continuously, but in the downpour the flood lights acted more like a curtain than a window. Still, I vowed I wouldn’t go crawling for male protection.
And I was almost winning, when the storm did me in.
For several tense minutes, the cottage throbbed with strobe lightning and rumbling thunder. Waves of rain hammered against the windows. The pines moaned in wind-whipped fury. And then, with a final eye-searing flash and ear-splitting crack, the storm ended. But it wasn’t completely over. With an agonized screech, a giant pine snapped and crashed to the ground. It landed with a resounding thud, which shook the house from top to bottom, leaving in its wake an empty eerie silence and blinding darkness. The power had gone off. Terrified, I stumbled through the pitch black for my keys, my coat and the dog and fled to my truck.
Next I knew, I was hammering at Eric’s door, and he was standing in front of me, calm and secure, wrapping a blanket around my trembling body. He sat me in front of the hot crackling fire where I collapsed from nervous exhaustion and remained for the rest of the night, cloaked in a cocoon of warmth with Sergei curled on the floor beside me.
In the morning, feeling very foolish for having given in to such a silly fear and very embarrassed for intruding so rudely, I attempted to leave without waking either him or, as I’d discovered much to my consternation, his female companion. But Eric stopped me before I reached the door, insisting that his friend didn’t mind, and he didn’t want me to leave without my breakfast.
She was rather nice about it all and kept saying between mouthfuls of Eric’s delicious pancakes, that it was so nice to have such a strong brave man like Eric for protection and hinted that maybe I should find my own. In response, Eric winked at me and served me another pancake, which went a long way towards making me feel less like a third wheel.
Angered by the break-in, Eric phoned the provincial police to ensure they gave it their full attention and Police Chief Decontie to have him pursue it from the reserve end. Then Eric insisted on coming to double check that everything was safe at Three Deer Point. I didn’t try to dissuade him, even though his lady friend looked none too pleased.
Feeling considerably rejuvenated, I set out for home with Sergei, who’d been equally well fed with some leftover steak. With his chainsaw lying securely strapped down in the back of my truck, Eric followed on his motorbike. As for his lady friend, she departed back to Ottawa without saying goodbye, which raised my spirits even further. Maybe that was the end of her.
At home, everything looked as I’d left it. No one lurked in the shadows, nor was there evidence of the intruder’s return. While the mess from the break-in looked worse in the daylight, I could clean it up later. The fallen pine was another matter. It needed Eric and his chainsaw.
“You were very lucky,” Eric said as the two of us stood before the once mighty tree. “Kije manido must have been watching over you when the lightning struck.”
I could only nod in stunned agreement. The massive trunk, which had cut a swath through the surrounding trees, had missed my home by what seemed inches. Another few feet, and it would have destroyed the entire back end of the hundred year old building. The only damage had come from the branches. One monster limb had carved a deep gouge in the timber wall, and another had shattered a kitchen window. I said a silent prayer to Eric’s kije manido and thought for one brief second that it was too bad the guy in yellow hadn’t been under it.
Eric sparked his chainsaw into life and began slicing through the thick branches. As I watched the dismemberment, I couldn’t help but feel sad. I’d grown up with this tree. In fact, Aunt Aggie would’ve grown up with this tree. Even Great-grandpa Joe. Now it was gone. Felled by an arbitrary strike of nature. But at least man didn’t cause its death, which would be the fate of the pines on Whispers Island if we didn’t stop CanacGold.
However, I didn’t want to worry about the gold mine just then. I just wanted to enjoy the crisp fall day and Eric’s company. I breathed deeply the invigorating smell of freshly cut pine and watched Eric. He expertly severed one branch after another from the trunk. His body flowed with the rhythm like a fencer’s as he jabbed and thrust the whirring blade through the wood. In a single fluid motion, he cut the long branches into short manageable lengths. I felt tempted to reach out and touch him.
As if sensing my staring, he glanced up at me through his goggles. “This ain’t no side-show, gal. Grab a branch and start hauling.”
Embarrassed, I bent down to pick up one of the cut lengths and started dragging it towards the clearing behind the woodshed. “Get a hold of yourself,” I muttered under my breath. He was just helping out to be nice. Besides it appeared he was already taken.
Behind me, Eric chuckled and said, as if reading my mind, “Don’t pay any attention to Josée. She likes to think she still owns me, but she doesn’t.”
Yeah sure, I thought to myself. I’d heard that one before. I threw the branch to the ground and stomped back for another. Stupid. What was I getting upset for?
Soon we had a good working rhythm established, and before I knew it, half the branches were removed. My back also knew it, and my arms and my legs. They screamed for a break. Eric, however, looked as if he could keep at it all day. I was debating whether I should admit the need for a rest when the ringing of my phone saved me. Hoping it might be François with more news about the island, I ran inside only to discover the call was for Eric.
While Eric talked with his caller, I started up the wood stove to heat up some soup for lunch, then headed outside to Aunt Aggie’s rocker.
“Boy, it sure feels good to sit down,” he said, flopping into the wicker chair beside me.
I remained non-committal but smiled inwardly.
“That was Decontie,” he continued. “He said Marie has been sighted.”
I received the news with dread. “Have they arrested her?” I asked.
“Nope, this was a few days ago. Hasn’t been seen since.”
“Where was she?”
“Somewhere near Somerset.”
“But I thought she was hiding on Whispers Island.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“Tommy’s actions.”
He gave me a dismissive look, then told me that one of Hélène’s customers, a passing hunter, mentioned to her that he’d seen an Indian woman about fifty or so hitch-hiking early one morning on the highway near Somerset. Further questioning had convinced Hélène it was Marie. Unfortunately, by the time the police arrived, the man had gone, saying he didn’t want to get involved. The police, armed with an arrest warrant, were now searching the Somerset area and beyond.
“It doesn’t make sense,” I replied. “Marie hasn’t left this area for over thirty years. Why would she leave the only place where she would expect to find help?”
“I know, but Decontie is fairly certain that the description matches Marie. Tommy has even gone to Somerset to look for her.”
Unconvinced, I persisted. “Are you sure Tommy isn’t going there just to keep the police from searching this area?”
“Forget it, Meg. Tommy isn’t hiding Marie. Besides, I’d be against such
