After the skiff had been pulled under, Newton had climbed the spokes of the slowly turning wheel, desperate to stay above water, until the boat had caught on one of the pilings; with a groan and a shudder the wheel came to a stop. Now he sat atop the pitted and bird-beshitted piling, his terror gone but replaced by despair.
He had failed his endangered father and failed Mrs. Marie, who was probably dead by now. He had imagined himself a storybook hero and instead was nothing but a fool. He would jump into the river if it wasn’t for his fear.
As Newton called out, he alternated between hope and further despair. People would be out doing their morning business by now; when he woke up in the morning, he usually had to run for the woods. Surely someone would hear him. But then he thought of the distance to the houses and doubted.
Then from the bank, hardly more than fifty yards downstream, a canoe emerged, skimming toward him. Where had it been? He hadn’t seen anyone walk through the fields. It was as if the canoe had sprung from the bank itself, from his heart’s own wish.
The boat slid close, and kneeling in the stern was Dathan. They peered at each other for a moment.
“Well, climb on down,” Dathan said. “Easy now.”
Newton worked his way down the spokes of the water wheel and gently lowered himself into the canoe. As Dathan paddled upstream to the landing, relief at escaping from what felt like certain death came over him, and he suddenly began to shiver.
“Took your daddy’s boat out for a little play time, and now you’ve got some trouble ahead,” Dathan said with a note of sympathy in his voice.
“Oh, Mr. Dathan!” Newton cried out. “That ain’t it at all! My daddy sent me over to fetch Mama. He’s at Mr. Flynn’s, and Mr. Flynn is holding a shotgun on him, and he’s hurt Mrs. Marie but let me come over to get Mama to tend her but won’t let daddy out of his house!” He stopped his babble and covered his face with his hands to hide the threatening tears.
Dathan’s tone changed. “How she hurt?”
“Mr. Flynn hit her in the head is what Josephine said. She’s knocked out.”
Dathan didn’t speak but dug the paddle in deeper as he pushed against the current. Newton gripped the sides of the canoe, which was framed in maple, with canvas stretched over the framing and coated with thick layers of pitch so that it was a dull black, inside and out. It felt limber but solid. “What kind of boat is this?” he asked.
“Built it myself, years ago,” Dathan said. “Took a long time, but it don’t leak a drop. Times of trouble, like these, I go out and sleep in it. Ain’t nobody find you and you can slip away, no trace.”
“I never saw it before.”
“Ain’t nobody ever saw it. There’s a bank overhang I keep it under, can’t see it from above nor across.” He chuckled. “Me and the muskrats gotta share the spot, but the muskrats don’t seem to mind.”
Before the canoe reached the landing, Dathan stepped out and lifted Newton onto the bank. “Enough chitchat,” Dathan said. “Let’s find your mama.”
They raced through the village, and soon Newton was repeating his story to his mother, who stood frowning in front of the house with an apron full of grain for the chickens. She scattered the grain with a quick flip of her apron and turned toward the house, where Adam was standing in the doorway with his finger in his mouth.
“You,” she said to him, with the ask-no-questions look that both boys recognized. “Make the beds and sweep the floor, and then wait for me at the Wickmans’. I shouldn’t be long.”
Adam disappeared inside.
Charlotte strode toward the crossing, her brow furrowed as they passed the other houses in the village. “So Flynn sent you to find me,” she murmured.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So he’s not unreasoning. And the girl? Where is she?”
“Sitting in the corner.”
“Has she been harmed?”
“No, ma’am.”
As they passed the last house, Charlotte stopped and looked back at the village. “No,” she said to herself after a moment. “Word would spread, and the last thing we need is a crowd around that house right now.” She turned to Dathan. “All right, let’s cross over. And how do you come into this?”
“Just out in the morning and seen the boy, ma’am,” he said.
“I see,” she said.
“And the sheriff and Charley Pettibone are over there, too!” Newton rushed in. “I run right into them.”
“Ran,” Charlotte said.
Gingerly, they climbed into the canoe, Charlotte kneeling near the bow, Newton crouching in the middle, and with the current behind them they crossed the river in a dozen hard strokes of Dathan’s paddle. As they reached the eastern bank, he stepped out quietly and guided the boat the last few feet. “Pardon,” he muttered, then lifted Charlotte to the shore. He did the same for Newton, gripping him under the armpits with his large hands and putting him ashore with an almost playful toss.
“I’ll wait for you here,” he said. “Or close by. May tuck under some bushes.”
Charlotte took a small fistful of Dathan’s shirt. “Please,” she said. “Come with us. I have the feeling that I will need you up ahead.”
Dathan looked into the distance, as he always did when a conversation veered into troubling territory. “Ain’t disagreeing,” he said. “But it seems I draw as much trouble as remedy it these days.”
She pulled him closer. “I will need you,” she repeated. “And anyone who tries to harm you will have to harm me first. You have my word on that, and I am sorry that’s all I have to give you. But that you have.”
Dathan sighed. “All right, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll lag behind some, if you don’t mind.”
She nodded briefly and took Newton’s shoulder. “Let’s go, then.”
Newton forgot his resolve to act the man, and reached up to take her hand. And hand in hand they walked down the lane to Michael Flynn’s house.