LAKE OF THE SWANS
Book 2 of 3
Chapter 38
In the wake of well wishes, hugs, and words of thanks, the family waved from the lakeshore as husband and wife paddled away in their new canoe—their image seemingly growing smaller and smaller until only a dot in the distance.
With a sigh of relief, Jessie turned to her mother, “Thank you, Mom, for coming up with a happy way to get them out of here.”
“They’ve earned it.”
“Yes, they have. And this way, we don’t have to feel bad.”
“No, we don’t,” Emma assured. “We had to do something. They were going from camp to camp nearly every evening, sitting around campfires with him speaking riddles about a lost treasure beyond the forest. And now here we are; the whole camp is talking.”
“Dare I say, some folks think him a madman.”
“And more still want to know the location of the treasure.”
The stern of a canoe took second only to the back of a horse for John Summerfield, as every Seeker had to be a master of both. Laureal paddled easy at the bow, herself being no stranger to a canoe.
Before them, the lake appeared a sea of glass in the early morning calm, perfectly reflecting the blue sky where white cloud puffs seemed to hang suspended. Nearby, in the midst of this heavenly spectacle, a pair of fishermen floated in a dugout canoe. The newlyweds waved as they paddled past.
Paddling for several hours more, the lovers continued until they had the lake to themselves. Laureal undid her large braid and shook out her hair. She had a lot of it, and glancing over her shoulder, she shot John a look straight from the heart of the wild.
Her ploy was not lost on him, and no more had he felt its effect than she shot him another smile even better than the first—
“Sweetheart.”
“Yes,” turning to look at him.
“If you like, we can rearrange things so you can turn around and lie back and relax.”
“But then you would have to do all the paddling.”
“Ain’t no problem for me, not in this water. Besides, we’ve all the time in the world and nowhere to be.”
“I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yes, it is. So turn around and let me look at you.”
With some rearranging of gear, including a bag that held their bedding, Laureal built a nest and made herself comfortable. Visibly satisfied, John scarcely took his eyes off her, even as he paddled, slowly but steadily along on their way to neither one cared.
Flirting and laughing, the lovers did not notice a flock of pelicans floating on the lake some distance ahead until, drawing nearer, John perked up.
Seeing him perk, Laureal rolled up on her side to look ahead.
“They’re so skittish,” John whispered, paddling as quietly as possible. “They’ll fly away any moment now.”
“I know how to make them stay,” and softly, Laureal set to singing a lullaby that, thanks perhaps to a blend of beauty and utility, had endured the centuries:
“Baby is dozing, cozy and fair
Mother sits near in her rocking chair
Forward and back, the cradle she swings
And though baby sleeps, he hears what she sings…”
What exactly soothed the pelicans cannot be known. Perhaps Laureal’s soft rhythm and tone fostered specific chemical reactions in the neural pathways of their bird brains. Perhaps there was more to it than that. Maybe some unseen magic, out in the great wide open—some beautiful thing that could not be packaged, jarred, or boxed, even as it touched the soul. Whatever the case, John paddled slowly and quietly, drawing closer until, to his great astonishment, he could see into their eyes. And they were looking straight into his eyes, turning their heads as he passed only yards away.
Paddling on in disbelief, John looked back and forth between Laureal and the birds.
“My mother taught me that,” proudly.
If for only a moment, John gazed serenely at Laureal. Then, turning to the birds, he yelled, “HAW! HAW!” and, waving his paddle in the air, sent the entire flock into a winged panic.
“JOHN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
“I want to see them fly,” turning back to her.
“They were resting!”
“They had all night to rest,” as if it were no big thing.
“Oh!” tossing her head. “Sometimes, I just cannot understand you!”
Forty feet above the water, the flock banked in a wide arch until, coming nearly full circle, they began to climb skyward the way pelicans do, in a spiral pattern.
No longer paddling, John watched as the flock corkscrewed skyward, the eye of their circle directly above the canoe.
Laureal crossed her arms, her face a picture of disdain, “You scared them just so you could dream of flying, didn’t you?”
“What’s wrong with dreaming?” And setting his paddle down, he crawled toward her.
“John? What are you doing?”
“I thought we could watch them fly into the sky together.”
“Go back to the stern,” she pointed her finger.
“Why?”
“Because…you shouldn’t have scared them.”
“Oh, come on.”
“No,” shaking her head, “you’ve ruined everything.”
“Please.”
“Uh-uh,” pursing her lips tight.
“I apologize. Now can we please watch them?”
“I told you…your ‘I apologize’ tactic no longer works on me.”
“I apologize for my ‘I apologize’ tactic.”
Except to narrow her eyes, Laureal gave no reply.
“Please,” groveling, “I’ll do anything you ask.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Go jump in the lake.”
John leaped from the boat like a frog, clothes and all.
“John!” sitting up and looking about, for he had disappeared under the mirrory surface. “John?”
John surfaced on the opposite side of the boat, “Hello there.”
“Hello you,” smiling even as she shook her head.
“Now, may I hold you?”
“Well,” and with a reluctant sigh, “maybe…but you have to dry off first.”
To balance their craft, Laureal leaned to one side while John climbed the opposite gunwale. Fortunately, the big canoe had a wide girth that gave it stability, and also, just enough room for them to lie side by side, provided they held one another close.
Because the morning sun already felt warm, John stripped to a leather loincloth like that worn by the most storied hero of the Techno Age, of whom the lovers knew not, Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle.
“Are you comfortable?” holding Laureal in his arms.
“Yes. Are you?”
“Yes,” laying his head back, “I can’t imagine anything better than this…unless we could fly like those birds, except then we’d have to flap our wings, and, if we tried to lay back and take it in like this, we’d fall to our deaths.”
Laughing lowly, Laureal laid her head on John’s shoulder and, falling silent, turned her eyes to the pelicans.
As the flock spiraled upward, the birds banked their bodies in unison, at one moment exposing their white markings and in the next moment exposing their black markings. As a result, the flock flashed like silver waves that catch the sun—a hypnotic dance, naturally synchronized and choreographed, it filled the lovers with a sense of wonder.
Shifting her eyes to John’s, Laureal saw he was mesmerized. She wanted to ask him a question, but he seemed so content—she dared not disturb him. Then again, she could not help herself, “Darling, what are you thinking?”
“I’m not thinking. I’m just…feeling good.”
“You’re not thinking about your magic place, and flying?”
“No. I’m just happy,” John replied, pushing a lock of hair from Laureal's face. “Right now, there’s no place I’d rather be than sharing this here with you.”
“Really?” as though it were her greatest hope.
“Yes, really,” kissing her brows and cheeks, tenderly working his way to her lips.
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