LAKE OF THE SWANS
Book 2 of 3
Chapter 37
The weeks rolled on, and the campground filled with men and women aiming to make good from nature’s bounty in a summer rendezvous. Hunting, fishing, gathering, trading among themselves, transforming raw materials into products, and dancing around their bonfires—making the most of long summer days, working to fill their packs and canoes, that they may be fully loaded before the winds of autumn came to drive them south. Then perhaps the Lake of the Swans would rest in deep winter sleep. Until then, however, the limestone outcrop at the end of the grounds crawled with youngsters, jumping, swimming, and shouting for joy in the summer sun.
Out on the campground’s grassy flats, the breeze from the big lake shooed the bugs and eased the heat, helping to create a perfect environment for an outdoor bazaar. Toolmakers, basket weavers, potters, and net makers displayed their wares on woven mats before their tents. In the shade of their awnings, one could watch the artisans at work. Husbands and wives, sons and daughters, performed skills passed from generation to generation. Moving along the impromptu avenue from shop to shop, one could find fur coats, boots, and even canoes on the high end. And of course there was food—lots of food. Racks of smoked venison jerky and lake trout. Wild plums, blackberries, golden currants, fairy bells, and more. Mouthwatering delights in pretty little baskets. The fruits of summer peddled by the berry pickers, footloose with big-eyed smiles and juice-stained hands. The nut gatherers, meanwhile, presented their goods as if preaching a sermon. Their products were not ‘here today and gone tomorrow’ but lasted for years. And in case one were to overindulge, the medicine makers had the fix—too many elixirs for the average savage to keep track of. Last but not least, all the way down at the far end and somewhat off to itself, a small community of idiosyncratic Kasskatchens displayed unique creations made from drift-wood, ivory, soapstone, and serpentine.
Emma and Jessie strolled along the well-trodden way, stopping occasionally, their eyes drawn to a summer blouse over here, a pair of winter mittens over there. Expensive rolls of cotton and wool from the distant East were relatively new to them.
Most merchants assumed the Emersons to be in possession of substantial wealth. It was an incorrect assumption. The Emersons were land-poor, as they had lost the manpower necessary to make the most of what they possessed. Still, the people understandably thought them rich in light of their excellent camp, majestic horse giant, and Mia’s magic dress, not to mention the famous Emerson name. As a result, wherever Emma and Jessie stopped to show interest, they received special attention.
“Mother, look at this,” picking up a soapstone oil lamp carved in the image of a mallard duck. Made to one-third scale, the hen appeared to be relaxing in the water, her head squat low atop her body with several ducklings incorporated into her sides. Dark green with thin golden veins running throughout, the soapstone had been polished to a deep glassy gloss.
“Beautiful and smart,” Emma remarked observantly, seeing how the ducklings created a broad base and low center of gravity that provided the lamp with excellent stability.
“It comes with this,” said the lamp’s maker, stepping forward with a smile, placing a rectangular box of polished yellow birch in Emma’s hands, “for safekeeping on the trail.”
Jessie turned the lamp this way and that, “I think I’ll get it,” and turning to her mother, “for John and Laureal.”
At last, the Matriarch and her daughter arrived at their destination, the canoe maker’s shop. A family operation consisting of a husband and wife, their two sons, and one daughter.
The canoe maker, whose name was Timmerman, walked by swinging his right leg due to an old battle wound. A famous battle from which he and a handful of others had emerged as heroes. As proof, his knee bore the scar of a battle ax. His eye, the result of being struck in the temple by a war club, seemed much too wide open, as if it might pop out at any moment.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Emerson, Ms. Westergaard,” smiling his famous smile, such was the delight he had found in living.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Timmerman.”
“I trust you ladies received my message?”
“Yes, your daughter Rowena stopped by yesterday evening. We were very pleased to hear it is ready. And we want you to know that we appreciate you bumping us to the front of the line.”
“I originally planned to send my eldest son to let you know, but my wife suggested I send our daughter instead.”
“And we are happy you did,” Emma stated. “It was a delight to have Rowena come and sit for a spell.”
“Thank you, Ms. Emerson. We are quite proud of her.”
“As well you should be,” Jessie put in. And with a subtle smile, “I believe your daughter Rowena and my son Cody are the same age.”
“Yes, ma’am. And if I may say so, your son Cody certainly seems a fine young man. He’s been stopping here daily…to check on our progress, of course.”
“It seems only yesterday he was my little boy. And now, every time I turn around, he’s grown up another inch.”
Nodding as if to say he’d witnessed the very same thing, Mr. Timmerman pivoted on his stiff leg while tilting towards his seemingly oversized eye like a counterweight. Thus, making a sweeping gesture as though drawing back a curtain, he refocused their attention on the business at hand: a newly completed canoe. “I tested it on the lake yesterday,” he said with a smile, “and I believe you will be quite pleased with it.”
The craft sat aside from several other canoes currently under construction. The canoe maker’s sons, busy at their work, paused to stand and remove their caps as the ladies came forward.
Nodding and smiling with brief ‘hellos,’ Emma and Jessie set about examining the boat’s ribs and thwarts, its inner and outer gunwales, its front and rear stems, its lashings, and, of course, the birch bark itself. At last, Emma rose from the craft, “Mr. Timmerman, your reputation as a craftsman appears to be well earned. And if I dare say, second only to what I know of your history as a warrior.”
“Thank you, Ms. Emerson, for your kind words. My warrior days are over, but God is good, and now that my youth is gone, this life of peace is a great blessing.”
“Indeed, and you are yet young at heart,” Jessie threw in.
The canoe maker made no reply. His smile was agreement enough.
“Mr. Timmerman,” Emma began, “our families are not well known to one another, but I have it on good word that you and your wife are people of strong convictions. And, well, my daughter and I have been thinking that perhaps we should get together and become better acquainted for the sake of our young man and woman, who seem to have taken a liking to one another. Such matters should never be rushed, of course, as there is much to consider, and yet, time moves quickly these days, the future arrives fast, and God willing, happiness is helped along by those who make the best possible arrangements.”
“I could not agree more, Ms. Emerson. And my wife is of the same mind. I will speak with her on this very important matter...this evening.”
At last, with a slight tilt of his head, which again leaned towards his seemingly oversized eye, Mr. Timmerman gestured to the canoe, “May I instruct my sons to deliver it?”
“Yes, please, when they can break away. And could they make the delivery discreetly, as we previously agreed? It is to be a surprise gift.”
“As agreed,” echoed the canoe maker.
Emma turned towards the Emerson camp while Jessie proceeded towards the family’s market stall where Cody, who had turned fourteen, did a brisk business selling all-natural products made in the family’s backyard factory. Mosquito repellent made from Emma and Jessie’s secret recipe sold so fast, the family struggled to keep it in stock. Congruently, the family sold paints on the wholesale end. And because they had been first to the rendezvous campgrounds and had gotten established before any others, they supplied the potters, the basket weavers, the canoe maker, and others. They also sold paint on the retail end, albeit only in small amounts from which there was no real profit, although, as a strategy, it increased awareness of their family’s product line. Their all-new (and soon-to-be-banned) sparkle body paint, a brainchild of Laureal and Mia, had become a hit with the young crowd that liked to dance around the communal bonfire.
“Mom,” Cody began, “do you think Laureal could come and replace me for a while?”
Laureal is working in our factory, Cody. You know that.”
Visibly beside himself, the boy protested, “Mom, I’m the only kid that’s NOT on the rock right now!”
“I’m not on the rock right now.”
“Mom, that’s not funny.”
“I know it’s not easy, dear. Next summer is sure to be better. We’re just shorthanded this year.”
“Mom, we’ve been ‘shorthanded’ since the day I was born.”
Jessie looked on while Cody gazed longingly towards the rock.
“Come on, Mom,” returning his eyes to her, “most kids swim there for half the day. And here I am, lucky to go at all.”
Looking to the far end of the campground where the top half of the monolith stood visible above the bazaar, Jessie could see figures of kids jumping from rock ledges, bound for the water below. Even with the noise of the market, she could hear their happy shouts. Only then did it come to mind that the canoe maker’s daughter, Rowena, was almost certainly there, and she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it sooner.
“Okay,” turning back to Cody, “I’ll finish up here.”
“You mean I can go?” in disbelief.
“Yes.”
Looking as though he might burst with joy, Cody suddenly paused, and being of that age when boys rarely hug their mothers, he threw his arms around her, “Thanks, Mom!” And like the wind, he was gone.
Back at the Emerson camp, John’s horse giant Ellie had once again proven her great worth, this time by hauling rootballs of cedar from forest to backyard factory where Mia and Laureal worked with a handful of well-disciplined youths, ranging in age from twelve to sixteen in the operation of the Emerson family’s business venture. It was the first and only factory the Lake of the Swans had known. Hot and sweaty it was, but like any good business, the humans worked side by side and called one another by name (the young folks addressed Emma and Jessie as Mrs. Emerson and Mrs. Westergaard).
To mass-produce their bug repellent and paint, the family had put up liquid wealth, including actual liquid product, not only for credit, but also in trade, to acquire equipment, most of which were cast-iron pots. They acquired the pots from men similar to the “Voyageurs” of 18th century Canada, men who transported goods in their eight-man freight canoes, back and forth between the frontier and the populated east. As part of a deal to further expand the family venture, the Matriarch had contracted with the freighters to send three small cases (two of kiln-fired bottles, one of hollowed-out gourds) containing the family’s mosquito repellent to be sold in Grandal. That the repellent should be given space on a freight canoe used in the transport of fine furs and other rarities speaks to the exceptional quality of the product, which Emma had smartly demonstrated by giving the men sample bottles for their personal use while at the lake—a standout product which we shall learn more about later. If successful, the family venture promised to earn them a handsome profit despite Emma’s qualms about doing business with the powerful families of the east.
Presently away in the forest, John stood at the uprooted end of a cedar that had fallen many years before. His steel-bladed shovel raised above his head, he slammed it like a weapon into a cluster of dirt, rocks, and roots. Prying mightily, he forced dirt and stone out of the tangled rootball. Again and again, he stabbed and pried as dirt and rocks fell around his feet—his big arms covered with dirt and sweat. The rootball seemed to fight John’s every effort, stubbornly holding to the earth that had once given it life. Pausing to wipe his brow, John cursed with no one to hear, then resumed stabbing and prying. At last, when the rootball had been freed, John began the business of separating the rootball from the tree trunk, a task for which he took a large stone ax from its scabbard on Ellie’s side.
The giant scarcely flinched as John removed the ax from its scabbard. She had fallen asleep standing on all fours. Naturally capitalizing on her opportunity to rest, her head hung low in sleep, her bottom lip loose from her mouth, dripping a string of drool.
Returning to the fallen cedar, Summerfield swung the big ax with the determination of a driven man. Chunks and chips flew again and again. Pausing for only a moment, John tried to wipe sweat from his eyes but the effort proved futile. Thus getting on with the business at hand, he chopped until trunk and rootball were severed.
If not for Ellie, the very idea of dragging a rootball across a forest floor would have been impossible, what with the tangled nature of the ball predisposing it to continuous snags. Fortunately, John had made a shoulder collar from wood and moose leather to replace Ellie’s breast harness. This greatly increased the giant’s ability to safely pull heavy loads. Thus, with the rootball secured behind Ellie via a pair of chokers, she pulled through one snag after another. John worked to keep her moving, using his hatchet to clear snags on the path ahead. Then, going behind, he chopped and pried any snag too great for the giant to overcome.
“Come on, girl, PULL!” leveraging his shovel, prying with all his might until, with a loud “Crack!” they broke free from a stubborn snag.
Perspiration trickled down the backs of the giant’s legs like leaky faucets. Her copious sweat produced a protein called latherin, a natural cooling agent that turned into foam wherever her riggings rubbed against her coat, making her a sight to see. John, himself no less of a sight to see, appeared every bit as sweaty and a fair piece dirtier.
Back at the family’s backyard factory, Laureal rose from the work fires. Like John, she was a sight to see. Her face and arms were a mix of sweat and smears of charcoal and ochre. Her hair reeked of the natural chemicals carried in the air by clouds of smoke. But at least the smoke and chemicals held the bloodsuckers at bay. Otherwise, mosquitoes and flies swarmed her and the other workers, and although they rarely bit, thanks to the repellent, their persistence could be maddening, unless one could bring themself to accept it.
By no plan of his own, John’s arrival at the family factory was well-timed. They were at a good stopping point, and Mia, being senior among the backyard crew, appeared quite satisfied with their progress. “Let’s call it a day.”
Parking the rootball alongside several others he’d brought in days prior, John set about removing Ellie’s harness and riggings.
Coming before him, Laureal removed her work apron. “What’s so funny?”
“Your face…it has a funny design.” High on endorphins, John felt both relaxed and amused.
Laureal eyed him suspiciously, and He, grinning, used his finger to draw an imaginary line on his face, “You have a big red smear that goes up like this. A small black line goes across like this, and a smudge right here, and…it kinda fits you, in a way.”
He put his arm around her, “You’re weird, and dirty, but cute,” his tone was facetious.
Rolling her eyes, Laureal shot him a look as if to say, “Okay, joker.”
Together, the lovers proceeded to Weya’s den on the far edge of their backyard meadow—a burrow in the shade, surrounded by loose dirt from Weya’s copious digging. The dirt, being dried out, was light in color, except for the burrow that led down into the earth. It was dark and impossible to see into.
“Hey, pretty girl,” Laureal called softly, “your daddy has a treat for you.”
John tossed a dead raccoon, not a big one, but fat and healthy. He had shot it not by hunting but by opportunity. Lacking only its pelt and paws, it landed in the soft dirt with a thud.
No more had Weya appeared in the opening of her lair than John and Laureal heard her pups crying for her to return.
Laureal smiled up at John, “Three of them came out today, and, oh, John, they were so cute!”
“From the sound of it, there must be a bunch in there.”
“That’s for sure.”
Holding Laureal near, John slid his free hand down onto her tummy bump. Laureal laid her head on his shoulder, and the pair exchanged a loving look. Weya, meanwhile, drug the raccoon into the den where a chorus of sweet little cries changed to a chorus of vicious little growls.
With a baker’s dozen to feed, Weya naturally expected her adopted human family to keep her supplied with lots of fresh meat, which they did. She regurgitated the meat for the pups, although, at three and a half weeks of age, they could eat meat on their own, provided their mother tore it up for them. And of course, she also suckled them.
Under Emma’s direction, Laureal had placed mosquito repellent around the burrow, the fear being that mother wolves move their pups when mosquitoes become too much of a problem. All had gone reasonably well except that Weya had refused to be tied. She had allowed Laureal to attach the rope only to then chew through it. Of her own free will, however, she had committed to the backyard, having chosen it as her den site. Still, the fact that she was loose was not a situation the Matriarch could accept.
John and Laureal joined up with Mia, and together with Ellie and the dogs, went to the front yard where Emma and Jessie prepared the evening meal. The workers paused to say they’d be back soon before continuing in the direction of their bathing beach, a stone’s throw down the shoreline.
The lakeshore lay relatively quiet, what with most families gathering for supper. Yike and Nemo were first into the water. The size of the lake frightened Ellie. Fortunately, having been there before and thus being familiar with the beach’s firm footing and gentle incline, Ellie followed John into the water without too much coaxing, even though she didn’t like it.
Laureal swam up beside John, “Give her to me.”
John slung the lead rope over Ellie’s shoulder while Laureal grasped hold of the mare’s mane. Then, looking back as she and Ellie swam away, “Funny that I would learn to swim a horse before I learned to ride one.”
“I’ll teach you.
“Yeah, sure you will.”
“Hey, that is not fair!”
Swimming around John in a wide arc, the giant tried to turn for shore only to have Laural reach under her chin strap, grasp her by the loop of the lead, and redirect her into the lake. Thus retracing their path, the horse and swimmer arched out and around the horseman once again. The dogs, meanwhile, always wanting to be in the midst of things, swam hither and thither to stay clear of the horse.
Free of heavy steel shoes, Ellie’s dish-sized hooves worked like oars. A fast-moving freighter, smooth and fun she was, but also tired and unhappy about being in the lake. Understanding as much, Laureal set Ellie free, then watched as the giant cut a beeline for shore. Noah and Sophie, although not in any real danger, set out running and splashing through the shallows while play-screaming like they might get run over by the giant.
Back on dry land, Ellie shook like a dog, sending a great spray of water all around. She then set to grazing, unwittingly refreshed and freed from the day’s dirt.
As Laureal turned back to John, she splashed him—a direct hit in his eyes.
“Hey!”
She splashed him again, “When are you going to teach me to ride, John?”
“Maybe never if you don’t stop it!”
John hadn’t had time to teach Laureal to ride on account of his workload, which, like the other family members, had been heavy. Outside that, he’d spent his evenings going from campfire to campfire, gathering information for his mission. Thus feeling agitated, he began towards her, his look one of ornery intent.
“John…don’t you dare dunk me! I’m with child!”
Having stolen the initiative, Laureal came forward and wrapped her arms around him. Then, with a softened voice, “I’m pregnant, and tired,” eye-to-eye, “would you tread for me…please.”
“I’ll teach you to ride,” treading. “I promise, this evening after supper, you’ll have your first lesson.”
“Darling, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Grandma said I shouldn’t ride now that I’ve started to show.”
“Then what was that all about?” bewildered.
“I don’t know,” shrugging.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
Before Laureal could attempt to explain frustrations that she did not altogether understand, an all-too-familiar voice came out of the sun’s glare on the water—
“Sometimes we miss our chance. But then, it comes around again.”
“Grandmother!”
Seemingly from nowhere, Emma and Jessie appeared in a canoe. The Matriarch, at the bow with a paddle in hand, sat so near, she could easily have swatted them both, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but…I heard my name.”
Jessie then chimed in from the stern, “We only meant to surprise you, but voices have a way of traveling over calm water.”
Laureal looked on in great surprise, “Where’d you get the canoe?”
“From the canoe maker, of course.”
“What, is he letting you use it?”
“No, it’s ours. We bought it.”
Admiring the excellent craftsmanship, John ran his hand along the outer gunwale, “So, did you just like see it and had to have it?”
“No,” replied Emma, “we had it made to order. And we’ll probably have another one made. Then come fall, when everyone is leaving for home and in need of canoes to haul their hauls, we’ll sell them ours for more than we paid.”
Laureal gazed up at her mom, “I didn’t know anything about this.”
“That’s because we kept it a secret, dear. Your grandmother, Mia, Cody, and I wanted to surprise you and John.”
“Why?”
“Because you never got to take a real honeymoon. And now, you can.”
“Do you mean, like now?” Laureal asked, visibly confused.
Jessie smiled, “Well, you probably won’t want to go until tomorrow. That is, if that works for you.”
“Mom…what about work?”
“You and John and Mia have been killing it. And because you have, we’re well stocked. We can manage without you for a while. We might even take a little time off! And don’t worry about Ellie. Cody can take care of her. And Weya’s pups are yet in the den, so you won’t miss anything there.”
“Mom,” in disbelief, her voice that of a little girl.
“Hey, everyone!” Cody called just then, coming along the beach, hand in hand with Rowena. “I jumped from the highest perch on the cliff today!”
“You did?” Jessie uttered lowly. “I’m not sure I needed to know that.”
Close to tears, Laureal turned to John, who, holding to the gunwale, wrapped his free arm around her.
Sensing they were missing out on something special, Noah and Sophie petitioned loudly from the shallows. They had not been told about the boat for fear they would spill the beans.
“Would you kiddos like to go for a ride?”
“Oh yes! Please, Emmy!” they shouted in unison.
With a few paddle strokes, Emma and Jessie continued to the shallows along the shore. Mia put the twins in the middle of the boat. She then traded places with Emma. The Matriarch then continued back towards the family fire pit where she and her daughter had left a trio of pots simmering.
“This will have to be a short ride,” said Jessie, knowing a special supper waited at camp, and they were running out of daylight.
So it was that Jessie and Mia paddled a short distance out onto the lake while our lovers, having retreated to chest-deep water, stood arm in arm, looking on as the sound of little children carried across the water like the very essence of joy itself.
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