LAKE OF THE SWANS
Book 2 of 3
Chapter 61
A mere five days remained before the start of winter. And so it was that, even at midday, the angle of the sun greatly exaggerated every shadow—a fair warning for those that had camped less than three hundred miles from the Arctic Circle. In a manner of speaking, ‘Old Man Winter,’ in one of his monstrous moods, listened to the happy voices of those who dared to encroach on his realm. Thus, brooding like Grendel in his stronghold, he became a blizzard tsunami of wind and snow. Racing across the barren plain, he crashed into the night wood, howling and ravenous, intent on snuffing out the interlopers. Fortunately for the family, their fellowship and shared determination in the knowledge of what was to come would prove greater than winter’s wrath. And so it was that the bold plan Emma had hatched a year earlier now came to fruition—
“Grandmother,” Laureal began, “you and Rutin stand here in the center. That’s good. Mom, you and Harley stand to the right of Grandma and Rutin. Stand at an angle, facing inward. Not quite that much. That’s good.” Then, turning to her cousin, “Mia, you and Anders stand to the left of Grandma and Rutin. Good. Now, turn in at an angle like Mom and Harley. Good…that’s perfect.”
Laureal, with her babe swaddled in one arm, took great pleasure in the arrangement before her. The three wedding couples, all set to tie the knot, stood facing the family. The family stood at a long table laden with fine forest fare. Robert, John, and Onak stood on one side, while Julian, Cody, and Rowena stood on the other side. Noah and Sophie stood on either side and were nearest the wedding party, each holding an evergreen bouquet embellished with tiny red wintergreen berries.
Behind the wedding party, a great fire blazed in a hearth of grey granite, and being that the stones were unhewn, the hearth appeared somewhat ungainly even as it possessed its own kind of rugged beauty. Worthy of note, the fire that blazed within heated the rocks, which, being uneven, had the benefit of more surface area, which in turn radiated more warmth throughout the longhouse.
John and his fellow clanmates looked on as brides and grooms turned to one another and took hands. Standing just aside them, Laureal addressed the couples and witnesses with that ancient wedding verse known to all Kasskatchens,
“Love is patient, love is kind.
Love does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
Love is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered,
it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”
Rutin Elkhart, ‘Protector of the Northern Frontier,’ stood with eyes fixed on Emma Emerson—his countenance that of a man who finds a woman so well fitted to his cause, he rightly or wrongly believes their alliance to be part of a divine plan—
“I, Rutin Elkhart, take you, Emma Emerson,” his tone deep with certainty, “to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forth, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
Emma Emmerson, Matriarch of the Emerson clan, long held as protectors of the western frontier, gazed into Rutin’s eyes and, with a look that shed all doubt, gave her promise to the man that she had run a gauntlet for—
“I, Emma Emerson, take you, Rutin Elkhart, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forth, for better or worse…”
Harley’s expression bore no resemblance to the man-child that, at one time or another, had razzed everyone who knew him. Instead, it was plain to see as he looked upon his first love. The woman he’d never truly gotten over would now, at long last, be his to keep—
“I, Harley Sanders, take you, Jessie Westergaard, to be my lawfully wedded wife…”
Beaming up at Harley, Jesse did not behold a perfect man. Harley may or may not have made as good a father and husband as the one that had been chosen for her, but he had been her choice. He had been the one she lost and cried for. Thus, with a tear of joy perhaps long overdue, she stood in the wake of a terrible storm that had brought a windfall she had never dared to hope for—
“I, Jessie Westergaard, take you, Harley Sanders, to be my lawfully wedded husband…”
Anders Kristiansen, having made a fortune as a soldier-for-hire in a foreign land, had found himself with nothing worth keeping save for a handful of memories, some good, some bad. A few of his fellow mercenaries, some gone forever, others scattered to the four winds, had tried to tell him that he could never go home. But as Anders liked to tell it, he found himself on the road home the moment he put himself in the hands of the One who made him. Now, as he stood with Mia’s hands in his, it was plain to see he believed he’d been given a partner for that road—
“I, Anders Kristiansen, take you, Mia Molay, to my lawfully wedded wife…”
Mia Moley had not forgotten Emma’s words from a year before: “You have two small children in tow, and that could present a problem for finding a husband, as it is a man’s nature to invest in his own blood.” Mia had been fearful of Emma’s plan, and for good reason—her children might freeze to death. And yet, in the crux of the gauntlet, when argument broke out and the family thought to turn back, she had been the one to say, “I have not come through snow and ice to get a ‘reasonably decent’ husband.” Now, as she gazed up at her husband-to-be, it was easy to see she bore no memory of that argument but rather gratitude for all those around her—and above all, gratitude to the One she believed had opened a door and saw her through on a path of snow and ice to a new life—a life with a man of deep faith. A life which, come what may, was like nothing she’d known before—
“I, Mia Molay, take you, Anders Kristiansen, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forth, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
“Gentlemen,” said Laureal, “you may now kiss your brides!”
The couples made a fine picture, embracing in the light of the hearth and oil lamps. The grooms then shook hands. The brides embraced. The witnesses came forward. Anders hoisted the twins up, one in each arm. John put an arm around Laureal, their child swaddled in her arms.
“May I hold him for you?” asked Rowena, coming along-side Laureal.
“Thank you, Rowe,” and handing her babe to the girl, Laureal turned to embrace her mother, grandmother, and cousin. Happy words and well wishes went round and round again and again, trending towards the ridiculous until at last, Elkhart lifted his voice, “Let us not forget the feast that awaits!” Standing tall, his countenance festive, he gestured to the long table.
Coming together around the table, the family held hands while Rutin, standing at the head, spoke words of thanks. Then, with everyone seated, the Patriarch produced a clay-fired vessel in the shape of a wine flask, its neck sealed with a cork and wax.
“What’s that?” Julian asked.
“Something I’ve been saving,” removing the cork, shooting a smile at his bride, “I may not be a man of the world, but I know who makes the best wine on the frontier.”
Rutin poured a portion of wine into a small wooden cup, and Emma passed it down the way, whereupon he filled another. “I would suggest not drinking this until you’ve put some food in your stomachs,” filling more cups, passing them along, metering out a golden glogg made from fermented honey and sap of silver birch, plus other natural ingredients of which there was just enough for each adult to have one cup.
In confusion, Sophie turned to her mother, “Mommy,’ she whispered, “I thought grooms and brides were forbidden from drinking on their wedding night.”
“That’s only on their first marriage, dear.”
Having taken Little Bear to the sleeping platforms, Rowena changed the infant's diaper—a comfy rabbit skin lined with a mix of crushed lichens and ultra-soft hair from caribou underbellies. Then, having swaddled the child, Rowe returned the babe to his mother, “I think he’s hungry,” handing him over.
Thank you, Rowe, for changing him.”
Rowe smiled, “He waited until I took him so that you could hug your mom and grandma.”
“You think so?” smiling.
Replying with a happy shrug, Rowe took her seat beside Cody.
“Little Bear has really taken off this past week,” said Jessie, referring to the child’s recent growth spurt. Then, turning to the Seeker, “Have you noticed, John?”
“Yes, I’ve noticed,” knowing full well she was teasing him.
Laureal shot John a smile as she unwrapped their child and tucked him under her poncho. She knew how hard John had been working. They had all worked like mad. They had beaten Winter to the punch.
Harley picked up a platter of trout fillets, fresh-caught, basted and garnished with forest herbs. “Before you know it,” lifting his eyes from the platter, “we’ll be making a bow for Little Bear, and some tiny arrows to shoot.”
“He’ll grow to be a hunter like his father,” Onak put in with a smile, passing a basket of cakes made from stores of wild wheat flour, honey, and pine seeds which, along with a bit of lard, made for a smooth sweet flavor with a hint of nuttiness similar to cashews but softer.
Laureal peered under her poncho, “He eats like a horse.”
“The smell of these ribs is making me hungry as a horse,” said Anders, carving ribs from a slab on a platter—the meat of woodland buffalo, slow-cooked on a rotisserie, regularly basted in birch syrup, golden mahogany in color, it appeared ready to fall off the bone.
Craning, Jessie looked down the way, “Cody, I want you to eat some of that.”
Cody paused, a wooden bowl in his hands. He’d only intended on passing it on, “I’m good, Mom.”
“I didn’t ask how you were.”
Cody dropped his eyes into the bowl. The contents of caribou stomach did not appear stringy like chewed-up grass and twigs but, being partially digested, had a texture like cottage cheese, a little lumpy, and yellowish-green in color.
“If you want to go with us across the plain,” said Cody’s stepfather, “then you’ll have to get used to eating that.”
“Why?”
“It will keep us from getting sick,” said his mother, turning her eyes to Onak.
“It’s considered a delicacy among my people,” the Inuk put in.
Cody appealed to his grandmother, who, in years past, had on rare occasions fixed the dish from the contents of rabbit stomachs, “Grandma, I’ve always loved your cooking, but stomach goo has never really been my thing.”
“Mr. Onak has shown me a new way to prepare it, dear.”
The Inuk turned to the boy, “Out on the barren lands, we will not have any green foods to eat…and if we only ate meat, then after a few months, we would become sickly. There are scrub grasses and lichens out there, but they are toxic to us. If we ate them, then after a few months, we would become sunken-eyed and sickly. Either way, we would falter and succumb to the elements. But Kasack knows this because he made all of this. And that’s why when he was making the caribou, and he was busy putting some of his magic in the caribou’s fur to keep us warm and dry, he also put a little in its stomach to remove the poison from the grasses. In this way, Kasack made the caribou to provide everything we need.”
Picking up his spoon, Cody scooped out a dab of the goo. All eyes upon him, he slowly lifted the concoction to his lips. “Hey,” a look of surprise spreading over his face, “this isn’t half bad.”
“It’s earthy, and mildly sweet.”
“You put honey in it, didn’t you, Grandma?”
“Nope, no honey. No sweetener of any kind.”
“Then why’s it taste kind of sweet?”
“It’s all in the way one prepares it.” And turning to Onak, “I guess I’m not too old to learn something new.”
“Life just keeps getting sweeter,” Rutin threw in, smiling from the head of the table.
As platters, bowls, and baskets were passed around the table, John helped Laureal fill her plate to her liking, arranging it so she could eat with one hand while nursing their child with the other.
Elkhart, having polished off his first rib, turned to Fischer, “Robert, how you mastered the art of smoking in such short order is beyond me, but I’m happy that you did.”
“Any credit goes to my teachers,” his eyes going to Emma, Jessie, and Mia.
“The credit,” Emma began, “goes to your capability, sir, and your willingness to employ it wherever needed.”
Elkhart gestured with his cup, “It is a quality we all share, and it has taken us far.”
Happy with the fruits of their labor, the travelers continued exchanging compliments until, a little sooner than later, they fell into the mostly quiet business of filling their stomachs. Little Bear, having filled his stomach, was brought out from under his mother’s poncho.
Leaning in, John used his index finger to caress his son’s chubby little arm, “Hey there, little buddy.”
Smiling broadly, Little Bear grabbed hold of his dad’s finger and, for a precious moment, father and son gazed into one another’s eyes. Then, as the boy was only an infant of five weeks, he let go, his large eyes rolled out over the table and, cooing, he reached into midair.
Holding him to her chest so that he faced the table, his mother craned round and baby-talked while he cooed, “You’ve discovered your mouth…it can make noises!”
Chuckles went round.
“Grandma wants to hold him,” said Jessie, her arms extended as if to say, “Give me.”
Smiling, Rutin said, “It would appear our little man has the girls wrapped around his finger.”
Being the only babe in the clan, it was true that the child enjoyed a certain level of stardom.
Laural passed her infant son to her mother. Then, turning to her husband, she whispered, “Darling, are you going to make a toast to the newlyweds?”
“I’m waiting for my chance,” he whispered back.
“Well, don’t wait too long.”
Glancing up and down the way, John stood and lifted his cup, “A toast to the newlyweds.”
All stood and raised their cups.
John cleared his throat, “When I was told that I would be making the wedding toast, I pondered what to say. I wondered, how can a man impart wisdom to those older than himself? I came to the conclusion that he cannot, lest he risk making a fool of himself. Therefore, I have no advice to offer. Rather, I have only this to say. It is a great honor to be here at your wedding, to give this toast, and to count myself among you. And I would like you to know that just because you are now married, I shan’t expect any change from you regarding the fine examples you have set, save that you become even better.”
“Hear, hear!’
“Hear, hear!”
“Hear, hear!”
Encouraged, the horseman bellowed, “To your health and happiness!”
“Hear, hear!”
“Hear, hear!”
Enjoying both fine fare and company, the family fell into different conversations until Elkhart suddenly stood and raised his cup, “Another toast!”
All stood, whereupon the Patriarch continued, “May the trout forever run in swift streams, the buffalo and the deer, through woodlands deep. May the snow always fall in blankets of white, the trees grow to towering heights, the lakes glimmer in summer sun, the glades of spring always be green, with wildflowers too numerous to count.” And meeting every eye, “To our good health and happiness, by way of gratitude, and above all else, by trusting in the One that gathered us to this endeavor…once strangers, now banded together in fellowship!”
Harley extended his cup with such enthusiasm, he spilled half its contents. “Hear, hear!”
“Hear, hear!” lifting their cups high.
“Hear, hear!”
“Hear, hear!”
Fueled by the feast and only a little off-center from the wine, their merriment, like the fire in the hearth, burned bright. Love and loyalty, forged on the road behind them, readied them for the road ahead. And still, with all this being understood, perhaps this is a good place to pause and remember that even by the Art of Living, and even as they saw all that surrounded them as perfect, they could not make themselves perfect but, in fact, were far from it.
His stomach full, Cody looked up and down the way. A spell seemed to have come over the family. Their voices had mellowed. Satisfaction shown in their eyes. Their gestures were easygoing. He turned to his cousin, “Mrs. Kristensen.”
“Yes.”
“If by chance you are in the mood, might I request a Roderick tale?”
No more had Cody inquired than he noticed his mother beaming at him, “What is it, Mom?”
“Son, you’re growing up.”
Mia addressed Cody with playful pretense, “Which story would you like to hear, Mr. Westergaard?”
“Roderick and the Weeping Willow.”
Mia hesitated, then shook her head, “No, not that one.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a ghost story, and a profound one at that.”
“So?”
“It would give the children nightmares.”
“It would give me nightmares,” Laureal seconded.
John broke in, “We are yet to hear of Anders and Julian’s account of their run through the Black Widow rapids,” and turning from one to the other, “that is, if you are of a mind to tell, and…it is not too much for the women and children.”
“I’ve been hoping to tell it,” said Julian, looking up and down the way.
“I’ve been hoping to hear it,” stated Elkhart.
The family had had precious little time for storytelling since leaving the Lake of the Swans and, at present, all looked to Julian, hoping for a special treat. Julian, in turn, looked to his mentor, and Anders gave him a nod.
“I suppose I should begin at the start,” Julian began. “We were camped at the portage beneath the falls. It was early morning. We had eaten breakfast. Our canoe was loaded and ready. From our camp, we could see the river lying calm for about three hundred yards. We could only see the start of the rapids, like rolling white-tops down the river…they continued around a mild leftward bend where they vanished under a low cliff. Meanwhile, the right side of the river looked like the smart choice. The water there appeared calm, swift, and smooth, an easy path for a canoe, except it was not what it appeared. Or so we had been warned.”
“Don’t forget the tonneau,” Anders threw in.
“Oh yeah, we had a tonneau cover, can’t forget that. We didn’t use it all the time because it was a pain to install, and it made getting gear in and out of the boat a hassle. A storm was coming up behind us, and we were pressed for time. We just wanted to get going, but we knew we had to install the cover. We laced it to the gunwales and, by such means, covered the front three-quarters of the canoe like a kayak with an opening for the bowman.
“As we approached the rapids, the roar grew loud. The first set of waves was intense but manageable, the next set worse, yet still manageable. Then, as we rounded the bend, our situation grew beyond what an open canoe could manage. The first of the big waves crashed over the bow with such force that I may as well have been plunged underwater.”
“That wave,” Anders cut in, “did not break upon Julian but continued over him like a wall. It rolled down the length of the boat and nearly knocked me out of my seat.”
“And it was only the first,” Julian continued. “Three more came one after another, and although we fought for all our worth, we were never in control. Fortunately, we gained a calm patch along the shore where we bailed out a large amount of water.
“There was no safe path ahead, but it wasn’t like we had a choice at that point. We had been warned about the last waterfall, about how it took men by surprise.”
“It had been described to me as a series of limestone steps,” Anders added.
“And we wondered if we had just come through the first of the steps,” said Julian. “Anyway, we quickly found ourselves back in the thick of it. The river was wide and tumbling. We entered a sort of water shoot. Directly to my right and so close I could have reached out and touched them, rows of rapid waves curled up higher than my head! The shoot poured down into what looked like a rock crusher. And the roar, one cannot imagine it without having been there. What happened next took but a split-second. We struck a submerged boulder. The canoe shot up and tilted hard as if to flip over, but amazingly, it suddenly stopped…just stopped dead!” Pausing, Julian looked to Anders.
“What happened?” cried Noah.
“I spun around to look, but Anders was gone! The canoe wasn’t moving, not even an inch, and yet, the river rushed and roared around it!”
“What did you do?” cried Sophie.
“I saw a hand…gripping the stern, and when I looked down the side of the boat, I saw Anders’ head in the water behind the boat. I could only see his head!”
“When we struck the boulder,” Anders began, “I leaped from the canoe as we were flipping over. I reached out and caught hold of a boulder, and I caught hold of the gunwale at the bow with my other hand. My arms went taut as the boat tried to flip, but I managed to hold on. At the same time, as I came down into the river, I was surprised when my feet never found the bottom. I went under, but I quickly came back up. That’s when Julian saw me.”
“He was looking at me,” said Julian, “and I was looking at him as if to say, ‘For the love of God, don’t let go!’ I could see he had the boulder with nothing more than his fingers. Four fingers hooked on a ledge just a half-inch wide, like one would find on a wafer of slate, except it was granite, thankfully. With his other hand, he gripped the gunwale. Meanwhile, the river was doing its best to pull the boat away from him. As he pulled back, his resistance lifted him out of the water so that he was stretched between boulder and canoe like a taut piece of rope. I saw the strain in his face and eyes. It seemed he would be torn in two. He did not let go, but in a show of strength the likes of which I do not expect to see again, he drew the boat to the boulder. We then managed to get around behind the boulder and into an eddy.”
“I lost my paddle when I jumped into the river,” said Anders. “The river whisked it away, and I did not expect to see it again. What’s hard to believe is that…when we got around behind the rocks, here came my paddle out of nowhere, floating in a large eddy rimmed by cliffs. I watched in amazement as it followed the arch of the eddy beneath the cliff. It came all the way around and directly to me. I didn’t have to take a single step. I only had to extend my hand. Truly, it was as if God were handing it back and saying, “Here’s your paddle…don’t give up.”
“We bailed a lot of water there,” said Julian. “Then, because the shore allowed for it, we decided to line our boat. But first, we crossed the eddy and got around a rapid at the end of the cliff. From there, the shore was rugged but doable. Soon, though, the rapids came smashing against the rocks, and we could go no further. Twice we tried to line past that stretch, and twice we nearly lost our boat. So we had to back up far enough to paddle out and find a way on the river.
“Back out on the river, we found the rapids wild but not as bad as before. It appeared we had gotten through the worst of it. A little further on, and the rapids faded away. Then, for as far as we could see, the river went calm. It was a beautiful sight! A beautiful feeling! We had made it through the falls. The falls were the terrible rapids we had come through, the series of limestone steps we’d been told of. This is what we believed. Only then, as we were congratulating one another did the sound of a roaring waterfall reach our ears. The lay of the river, the way it straightened there and stretched out, gave no opportunity for sound to come back our way, and by the time we realized our terrible mistake, it was too late.”
Pausing, Julian drew a breath. Around the table, every eye remained fixed upon him.
“What did you do?” John asked.
“We had no choice. We charged the fall. We shouted out for God as we went over the edge, and, in the next moment, we came down with such force that our canoe wedged in the rocks halfway down. This was the series of limestone steps we’d been told of. The fall was not vertical but sharply angled…like a broken staircase that spanned the entire width of the river. From the bow of our canoe, the bottom of the fall lay twelve feet below us. From the stern, the top of the fall lay six feet above us. The length of our canoe was over seventeen feet. So all in all, the fall, being on a fifty-degree angle, give or take a few degrees, was thirty-five feet from top to bottom.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Jessie uttered.
“What did you do?”
“Thankfully, our boat was not punctured on the polished boulders. However, we were slightly misaligned to the current, only a tiny bit, and still, the force of the river was most assuredly rolling us over! From the bow, I stabbed my paddle down and wedged it between rock and canoe in an effort to keep us from rolling. I watched as my paddle bowed to the point of snapping in two. I turned back to look at Anders. He had done the same, and seeing his paddle, I expected it to burst into splinters.” Julian paused and, looking to his mentor, “Anders, you should tell the rest.”
Anders looked around the table, “Well…I knew my paddle would not hold, so I stood up. I didn’t stand to pray, but I was praying.” And smiling painfully, he added, “I was shouting for His help. Only then did I catch sight of what the good man had so strongly warned of. The entire right half of the river was one giant roller pin! No man could have escaped it. And while I hadn’t a second to think about it, I knew it was the Black Widow, and so I also knew that however bad our situation was, it could have been worse, much worse. That said, the ten or twenty seconds we spent there seemed an eternity. If we spilled, how many bones would be broken on the way down? All these things were obvious and took no time to ponder. I put my weight on my paddle as I stood up. I then lifted one foot out of the boat and carefully set it on a semi-submerged rock. I slipped and nearly fell. Then, trying again, I got my foot planted firmly on the rock. I then used my wedged paddle and planted foot to lift my full weight out of the boat. As I did, I used my free foot to shift the stern over and bring the canoe in line with the flow. No more had I done so than the boat broke free. I dropped into my seat, and we shot to the bottom of the fall. The bow dove in and submerged completely, but thanks to the tonneau cover and a straight-up entry, the craft rebounded.”
“So you made it okay?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“We called it quits for the day.”
“Really?” laughing.
“Yes.”
“Hell, I’d have done the same!”
“John, don’t curse in front of your son!”
“Sorry.”
“The river lay calm from there on,” Julian put in. “We struck camp at once and hung our wet gear to dry, just there where the portage came back to the river.”
“Some people may not believe this,” Anders began, “but for the rest of that day, we were in a windy patch of sunshine that dried out all our gear while thunderstorms dropped rain all around us.”
Mia turned to Noah and Sophie, sitting close at her side, “Just when it seemed impossible, the Great Spirit handed his paddle back and told him to keep going.”
“Even though the Spirit knew the fall lay ahead, Mommy?”
“Yes…even though.”
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