Anderson and Kenneth stood on deck, watching the rain strike the water. The wind was loud and the sound of thunder almost constant, and when Anderson spoke he used a voice so hushed and small that his father had to lean towards him to hear it.
“We couldn’t have known,” Anderson said. “How could we have known?”
Anderson looked at his father, who looked out at the storm. Then they looked at each other. For a moment the thunder stopped, the wind died down, and the only sound they could hear was Stewart banging on the hatch.
“How many people do you think would fit on this boat?” Kenneth asked.
“Quite a few, I bet.”
No verbal or physical cue followed, but a decision was made and passed between them. Anderson unlocked the hatch, Kenneth opened it, and Stewart charged up the steps, his hands in fists. But when he reached the deck, he was brought to a halt by the view around him. Lowering his arms, he turned in a circle. In every direction, all the way to the horizon, there was nothing but water.
“We want to use your boat to help.”
“Help who?” Stewart said, gesturing at the water that surrounded them.
“Well, Winnipeg’s pretty close, right?”
Stewart looked up at the small Canadian flag attached to the top of the mast. He watched it flap in the steadily increasing wind. For the first time in years, and certainly since he’d taken employment at the Prairie Embassy Hotel, Stewart felt a sense of purpose. Finally, there was something he must—not just could—accomplish. He began moving quickly, his motions decisive, giving him an unquestionable authority.
“You, the thin one,” Stewart said.
“Anderson.”
“Anderson, take the rudder and keep us pointed into the wind. And you …”
“Kenneth.”
“Remove the halyard … unfasten that thing,” Stewart said, pointing.
All three men began working quickly and collectively. The halyard was attached to the headboard. The mainsail was allowed to run free. But as Stewart was raising the sail hand over hand, he suddenly stopped and looked around. He looked over the bow and the stern and the starboard side, but there was no point of reference. They had no map. No compass. No way to determine what direction to sail in.
“Which way?” Stewart asked.
Just then, a blinding blue light flashed in the distance.
None of the men knew that the blue light had anything to do with Margaret, or that it was above the roof of the Prairie Embassy Hotel, which was now completely underwater. Nor did they know that sailing directly towards it would set them on a straight-line course to Winnipeg. But all three felt that the blue light’s sudden and timely appearance was unlikely to be a coincidence.
“I presume we’re going that way?” Anderson asked.
“Definitely,” Stewart replied. “And you, Kenneth, get down in the cabin, start bailing and keep at it.”