Текст книги "Swains Lock"

Автор книги: Edward A. Stabler

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

“I closed my eyes ‘cause I was too afraid to look anymore. Then I was too afraid not to look, so I opened my eyes again. And she was still walking fast through the trees, but she had turned back downhill. Moving upstream but back down into the woods and away from us. I watched as she became a bright line again, then the line disappeared and there was just a glow. And then the glow faded below the rim of the hillside and it was dark again.

“I kept driving that night, on up to Six Locks, where we switched teams and I come on board. My daddy sent one of the older hands out to drive the next trick. I never mentioned it to him or the other hands and they never said anything about it to me. My daddy was steering and they was sleeping when it happened, and I don’t think anyone else saw it. To this day I don’t know what it was, or whether I imagined the girl. But when she smiled I heard her whisper she would come again to kill me, and I knowed that night that I was done with the canal.”

Cy opened his eyes, looked at Zimmerman, and yawned. The heroin was warming his chest, legs, and bones, and Zimmerman’s story was part of a mosaic unfolding around him. “How much for the rest?”

Zimmerman peered into the vial. “It’s half an ounce,” he said softly. “Twenty.”

Cy pulled out his roll of bills and counted. He peeled off two singles and handed Zimmerman the rest of the roll. Zimmerman passed him the vial and he put it in his pocket. They pushed themselves up from the straw tick and started for the stairs. There would be a reckoning of sorts with the Emorys, Cy figured, but that was for tomorrow. What was left of tonight was free of worry, pain, and fear. He followed Zimmerman up the cellar stairs.

Chapter 22

Swains Lock

Saturday, March 29, 1924

It was after 8:30 on Saturday morning when Cy’s feet found the floor. Habit guided him to the simple wooden dresser in his lockhouse bedroom at Swains, where he was relieved to see his stash of bills. He must have remembered to bring it upstairs from the kitchen jar last night after returning from Great Falls. With Pete and Katie around, valuable things needed to be kept out of sight. Leafing through, he counted fifty-six dollars. He hobbled over to the chair where he’d thrown last night’s clothes and withdrew the contents of his coat pockets. Only an empty tasting flask, two more dollars, and the remainder of Zimmerman’s vial, which he held up to the light to measure with his eyes. He opened a dresser drawer and hid the vial inside his pair of clean socks.

Standing in his underwear, he looked out the room’s lone window and considered the events of the previous night. Shit. He’d sold seven pints and then been up in the poker game for most of the evening – up over ten dollars at one point. His winnings had evaporated as the game wound down. And in the ensuing session with Zimmerman, the rest of his money had purchased an ephemeral reprieve from his pain. So now he had fifty-eight dollars and owed the Emorys seventy-five. They were half-assed boaters, and if they’d reached Widewater from Georgetown yesterday, it would still take them two hours to get through the locks at Great Falls and cover the distance to Swains. So he still had a little time.

He looked out the window at the driveway and the canoe rack beyond it. Pete was playing in the driveway, spinning the pedals of an upside-down bicycle with his hands. If Cy was lucky, he thought, he might be able to sell a few pints of whiskey this morning at Great Falls, but that wouldn’t come close to yielding the seventeen dollars he needed. It would be a bad idea to stiff the Emorys on the first run of the season. If he did, his business with them was finished and there might be more serious consequences to follow. There were one or two people in the area who might lend him some money, but none he could tap on such short notice.

It was a weekend, so the Inn at Great Falls Tavern would be busy. And within the next hour or so, tourists in cars would start arriving to visit the Falls. If only he had something he could sell. What about Katie? Was there a bracelet or necklace she wouldn’t miss right away? He doubted that she’d brought anything nice with her from Williamsport. That leaf-pendant with the strange symbol was a possibility, but she never seemed to take it off. He noticed that Pete had turned the bicycle right-side up and was trying to mount it, but his legs weren’t long enough. Cy snapped out of his musing when he realized he was staring at the solution. Pete didn’t own a bicycle and neither did anyone else at Swains. The bicycle was obviously built for an adult. Where had it come from? That didn’t matter. He dressed hurriedly and limped downstairs.

Peering into the kitchen, Cy saw Katie clearing the table. She and Pete usually ate breakfast before he came downstairs. He put the thought of food aside and slipped out the front door, headed for the driveway. Pete was kneeling next to the upside-down bicycle and spinning the front wheel by its spokes. He looked up when he saw Cy approach.

“I found a bicycle!” His face lit up.

“So I see,” Cy said solemnly. “Where was it?”

Pete pointed to the canoe rack. “Over there,” he said. “Leaning against the rack.”

Cy observed with satisfaction that the bicycle looked almost new. “Pete, that belongs to a grown-up,” he said. “It ain’t suitable for a kid.”

Pete’s face fell. “I know,” he said softly. “But I can almost ride it. When I’m bigger…”

“Pete, that bicycle needs to be returned to its rightful owner. And I know who that is. A friend of mine. I’m sure he’ll be very happy you found it for him.”

“But then why did he leave it here?”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to leave it here,” Cy said, putting a hand on the wheel to stop it from spinning. “It must have been a mistake.” He lifted Pete to his feet and smiled. “When I take it back to my friend, I bet he might even offer a reward to the person that found it.”

Pete looked up at Cy but his smile collapsed.

“So I’m going to tell my friend that you’re the one who found his bicycle,” Cy said. He righted it and put his hands on the handlebars. “I’m going to take it to him right now, so he don’t have to worry about his missing bicycle.” He started wheeling it across the driveway with Pete following reluctantly. Cy stopped and bent to address his brother. “Now Pete, I need you to help Katie keep an eye on the lock. Tell her I’ll be back in an hour or two, and if anyone comes looking for me, have her tell ‘em to wait here until I get back. I won’t be long. OK?”

Pete tried to look his brother in the eyes but his gaze drifted down to rest on the bicycle instead. “OK,” he mumbled.

Cy wheeled the bike to the lock gates and carried it across to the towpath, where he mounted it tentatively and began pedaling toward Great Falls.

***

After hearing the front door close, Katie looked out the kitchen window and saw Cy circling around to the driveway. A bit earlier she’d seen Pete excitedly pull the bicycle out from behind the canoe rack and upend it. She dried the dishes and swept the kitchen floor. When she was finished she stepped outside and saw Pete wandering back toward the old green canoe that was tied-up on the berm. The morning air was still cool and sharp, but clear skies promised another mild spring day. Cy was nowhere to be seen and the bicycle had vanished along with him. The morning was progressing as she expected.

At 9:30 she peered down the canal at an approaching scow. As it drew closer she could see it wasn’t the Emorys. It was a repair scow headed upstream, the third of the morning. When the scow reached Swains, she and Pete helped the crew lock through. Katie asked them where they were heading and they said they were going up to Seneca to do maintenance work on Dam 2. They said the repairs were mostly done around Great Falls, and all the snow and ice had melted up to Cumberland during last week’s thaw. So the canal was still supposed to open on April first. That was Tuesday. Katie asked the scow’s captain if there were more repair crews following them and he said they were the last one. He tipped his cap in thanks as his mules pulled the boat out of the lock. When the scow receded upstream, Katie asked Pete to help her reset the lock for another light boat.

“But they said they was the last boat,” Pete said.

“They said they was the last repair boat,” Katie said. “I think there might be a private boat coming up from Great Falls sometime soon.” Pete enjoyed turning the lock-keys and pushing the swing beams, so he didn’t question Katie further and they reset the lock.

As Pete wandered back over to his moored canoe, Katie stood on the lock wall and peered hard down the stretch of canal that was visible from Swains before the waterway bent out of sight on its way to Great Falls. She couldn’t see a boat but reason told her it wouldn’t be long before the Emory’s scow emerged in the distance. She went inside and found an empty canvas bag in the closet. From the wallet in her purse, she culled a dollar and two dimes. She headed back out to the driveway and called Pete over.

“Pete, I need you to run an important errand for me and Cy,” she said, handing him the canvas bag, the dollar, and the dimes. “We need some more bread for tomorrow and Monday, and you and Cy will want a loaf when you start boating on Tuesday.” Pete was staring at the money in his hand. He was often given coins, but he wasn’t used to receiving a whole dollar bill. “I need you to head up to the Crossroads Store at River and Falls,” Katie continued, “and buy us two loaves of fresh bread. Do you know where that is?”

Pete nodded and she smiled. “Good.” Getting to the store only required turning right at the end of the long Swains driveway and following River Road, but the Falls Road intersection was over two miles away. And Katie knew he would have to wait for the day’s second batch of loaves once he arrived, so the errand would keep him busy until mid-afternoon.

“If there’s a little money left over,” she said, “you can buy yourself an ice cream.” Pete’s expression brightened at the notion: ice cream before it was even summer! His hand closed carefully around the bill and coins. “Take your time and don’t hurry,” Katie said. “Make sure the bread is still warm from the oven.”

Pete slung the bag over his shoulder. She watched him disappear around a driveway bend before going back inside. In the kitchen she cut and removed four pieces of cornbread from a pan, then sliced them into top and bottom halves. She pulled down a jar of strawberry preserves from a nearby shelf. Staring at her arm holding the jar, she felt a wave of dissolution break over her, and the arm was no longer her own. Her sense of who and where she was withdrew, advanced, and ebbed.

She left the kitchen and climbed the stairs to Cy’s bedroom. The tiny closet was empty except for his canvas bag. She turned to the dresser and pressed her thumbs into the bundled socks she found in the top drawer. When she unrolled them, the glass vial slid from the innermost sock into her hands. She eyed the white powder inside, nodding in recognition.

The lone window in the bedroom provided a view of the canal downstream. Holding the vial in her fist, she crossed to it and gazed down the waterway. No boat was approaching yet, but the course that had been charted was beyond her power to change. Its first steps led back downstairs to the kitchen.

***

“Lockee, lockee, lo!” Kevin sang out from the towpath when he and the mule team were within shouting distance of Swains. “We got somewheres to go,” he added, just for himself and the mules. He pulled the tin horn from his coat pocket and bleated four notes toward the lockhouse. Drawing near he saw the lock was set for a light boat, but there was no evidence of a locktender or anyone else nearby. The lockhouse door was closed. He blew four more baleful notes on his horn. Still no sign of life. He dropped back behind the mules to get a clear line of sight to the scow. “I guess they’re hiding from us, Tommy!” he called out to his brother at the helm. “Think our friend Cy don’t want to pay up?”

Tom shook his head grimly and spat into the canal.

“Maybe he’s sleeping off a drunk,” Kevin said. “Let’s see if we can smoke him out.” He guided the mule team up the incline toward the lock. The mules stopped just past it of their own accord and Kevin jogged back to grab the snub-line. Tom steered the slowing scow into the lock and Kevin snubbed it to a stop.

“Like a ballet dance,” Kevin said. “Makes you wonder why locktenders get paid.”

“Damn, they should pay us instead,” Tom said, standing up from the tiller and edging around the cabin on the race plank. “For all the gate-slinging we been doing.”

Kevin eyed the next level of the canal but saw no one. He pulled out his pocketwatch, which read almost 11:00. He aimed his horn at the lockhouse and blew more blasts. “Shit, it ain’t like he didn’t know we was coming,” he said after catching his breath. “Think we got a swindler on our hands?”

“Maybe,” Tom said. He had crossed to the center of the deck and was using his knife to sever a hangnail. “If so,” he continued, “we’ll have a score to settle next time we run into him. Once the season gets going, a boat captain got nowhere to hide on the canal.”

Standing on the lock-wall, Kevin looked across and saw a rope ladder hanging from the opposite wall. Locktenders sometimes used these ladders to perform maintenance or retrieve objects that fell into the lock, so he thought little of it. Next to the ladder was a plate that held four small cornbread sandwiches. A piece of notepaper was pinned beneath the plate.

“Look at that, Tommy. Maybe he’s trying to buy us off with bread!” he said with a snicker. “Maybe old Cyrus plans to bake his way out of debt!”

“Well that ain’t no seventy-five dollars worth. That ain’t even seventy-five cents.”

Kevin jumped down onto the deck. Since the boat was unburdened by cargo, the deck was almost four feet above the waterline. He walked across it toward the plate. “Food and a ladder to reach it. Guess he’s trying to make us real comfortable while he steals our whiskey and makes us work the lock ourselves!” The top of the lock wall was at the level of his ribs, so he ignored the ladder and took the plate of cornbread and the note beneath it. He handed Tom the plate and read the note out loud.

Boatmen –

The lock-keys at Swains were taken last night by vandals. Cy Elgin has gone to Great Falls to get replacements. Please pull into the lock and wait. Help yourself to cornbread. Cy will be back soon. Our apologies.

K. Elgin

When he was finished, he glanced at the upper and lower gates and saw eight naked stems protruding through the swing beams. He cocked his head and whistled. “Ever heard of that, Tommy? Vandals taking lock-keys?”

“Don’t make much sense. They ain’t good for nothing but turning a paddle.”

“Our apologies, K. Elgin,” Kevin said mockingly. He crumpled up the note and dropped it into the water. “I guess Cy’s little sister feels bad for us. Well I’m scandalized that they didn’t leave us cups of tea to drink with our cornbread and jam!”

“Hell with that,” Tom said. “We still got whiskey.” He laid the sandwich plate down near the windowless forward wall of the cabin and ducked down the stairs. He returned carrying the whiskey jug and two tin cups, which he set beside the plate. Then he sat down near the starboard rail, back against the cabin wall and legs stretched toward the bow.

Kevin sat alongside him with the plate and jug between them. He pulled off his black fedora and brushed it while Tom poured two fingers of whiskey into each of the cups. He handed one to Kevin, who swirled its contents absently while tapping his hat back into place. Both men plucked a strawberry-cornbread sandwich from the plate and took a wolfish bite.

“I’m guessing,” Kevin said, chewing the viscous offering, “that if little sister wrote that note for old Cy…”. He swallowed and took a sip of whiskey to clear his vocal cords. “Then she might also be our cornbread baker.”

“The fixings ain’t too bad,” Tom said, taking another bite. He jerked his head toward the lockhouse. “Maybe she’s in there right now baking our main course.”

“Hell, we can skip the main course and go right to dessert. And she can just come out and service that directly.” Kevin called out enthusiastically toward the lockhouse. “We’re getting ready for our dessert, Miss Elgin!”

“Dessert in a skirt!” Tom blurted, laughing with his mouth full and nearly choking. He reached for the whiskey to wash down the rest of his sandwich. “That cornbread’s mighty good,” he said hoarsely, “but the strawberry jam got a bit of a tang to it.” He took one of the two remaining slabs from the plate.

“Yeah. Maybe got some rhubarb or something mixed in.” Kevin finished and snared the last sandwich. “Tommy,” he said, “maybe you should go bang on the door. If she answers, you can say she’s invited for pancakes…” He paused to yawn and scratch his chest. “…at Emory’s establishment of fine dining. The griddle is hot and we’re ready to fabricate!”

Tom finished his cornbread and echoed Kevin’s yawn. “Why don’t you go invite her yourself. I’m too comfortable to get up. Like a possum in a pumpkin patch.”

“Don’t much feel like climbing that ladder myself,” Kevin said, succumbing to another yawn. “Maybe we can serenade her from here.”

“Be my guest. Since you got the musical persuasion in the family.” Tom laughed as he leaned his head back against the cabin wall and lowered his hat brim over his eyes.

“Oh Miss Elgin,” Kevin sang out. He followed Tom’s lead, leaning back against the cabin wall and shading his eyes with his hat. His voice softened as he added a second line. “Our porpoises are swellin’…” The third line was a light snore, sung by both Emory brothers.

***

Ten minutes after the Emorys stopped talking, Katie emerged from the lockhouse carrying a lock-key in one hand and Lee’s leg-irons in the other. The open cuffs were aligned in her palm, her fingers curled around two of the C-arms. She stood on the lock wall and looked down at the scow. The Emorys were slouched side-by-side with their backs against the cabin wall and their legs extended toward the bow. Their hats were pulled down over their eyes, but the rise and fall of their chests convinced her that both men were asleep. Heroin and whiskey, she thought. Two sedatives at work.

She set the leg-irons and lock-key down beside the rope ladder and walked to the end of the swing-beam, then pushed it to swing the gate closed. She crossed over the lock and closed the downstream gate on the towpath side. Now the lock was a sealed chamber.

Neither Emory moved as she descended the rope ladder and stepped onto the deck of the scow. She walked stealthily along the starboard rail past the snoring men and toward the cabin stairwell. From the stern deck she ducked down the steps and through the door.

In the starboard corner in front of her was a coal-burning stove and to its left a freestanding cupboard. Two bunks were built into the left-hand wall. She scanned the upper reaches of the room, lowering her eyes until they reached the floor, where she found what she wanted near her feet. Under the drop-leaf table was the toolbox she’d seen the last time the Emorys had transited Swains Lock. It was heavier than she expected and she had to slide it out from under the table to lift it, but the thick, hinged handle supported the box and its contents easily. She tightened her grip and carried the box up to the stern deck.

Tilting toward the cabin wall for balance, she retraced her steps along the rail past the legs of the sleeping men. She quietly set the toolbox down a few inches from Tom’s feet, perpendicular to and flush with the rail. After retrieving the leg-irons from the lock wall, she knelt next to the toolbox, flipped its handle upright, and threaded one of the open cuffs and half the chain through the opening beneath it. Leaning over the box, she held the open cuff above Tom’s right ankle. After a deep breath, she eased the opposing C-arm under his ankle and pushed the arms together until she heard a click. She pulled lightly to test the cuff; it was closed and locked around his ankle. His rhythmic breathing rattled on.

She sidestepped to Kevin’s shoulder and listened for a second. The breaths were slow and deep, so she gingerly gripped his coat with a hand near each shoulder. He didn’t stir. She pivoted and dragged him toward the rail, then gently lowered his head and shoulders to the deck. He was still snoring, with his hat balanced precariously on his forehead. She slid his feet into alignment with Tom’s, soles facing each other across the toolbox. The second cuff was still open and she positioned it above Kevin’s left ankle. Speed was more important than silence now, so she drove the C-arms together with a metallic snap. She pulled to confirm the cuff was locked and backed away to survey her work.

Both Emorys were still asleep, though Kevin was twitching and starting to move his hands. Tom was still slouched against the cabin wall, hat brim concealing his eyes. The leg-irons ran along the rail – from Tom’s right ankle, through the opening under the toolbox handle, to Kevin’s left ankle. The cuffs were wider than either man’s ankle but narrow enough to prevent the shackles from slipping off.

A knowing smile formed on her lips. Making no effort now at stealth, she retrieved the lock-key and carried it back toward the sleeping men. She plucked Kevin’s fedora from his face and he sputtered momentarily, lips and brow twitching. She flipped the hat toward the middle of the deck, then removed Tom’s hat and tossed it alongside. The light made Tom stir and bring his hand to his face.

Katie knelt beside the toolbox and removed the sandstone pendant and its cord from around her neck. She wrapped the cord around the toolbox handle, tying off the loose end to hold the pendant against it. Then she pulled the box halfway out across the rail. The chain grew taut as the toolbox teetered over the water four feet below. The box began to tip and the cuffs pulled against the ankles of the men.

She stood up and held the lock-key like a sword, then swung its socket against the sole of Kevin’s shoe. He swiveled his foot and began to grumble. She swung the key back and tapped Tom’s shoe. He waggled his head and brought an arm to rest on his extended leg. She swung the key more forcefully, again striking the soles of both men’s shoes. The third time she struck, the snoring had stopped. Kevin was trying to sit up and Tom was rubbing his eyes with both hands. She struck a fourth time and heard Kevin issue a guttural protest.

“God dammit. Stop hitting my foot!” She looked back at him and smiled. He was sitting now, hands against the deck, trying to understand his position. His eyes settled on the cuff around his ankle and followed the chain through the toolbox to the cuff on his brother’s leg. Tom’s eyes were open as he gripped his shackled leg and tried to bend his knee. His effort swung the toolbox away from the rail and left it dangling more precariously over the water.

“The money!” Kevin cried as the scene in front of him began to register. He thrust toward the toolbox, but the slack in the chain created by his lunge allowed the box to tumble free, and the falling box pulled his foot off the rail. The cuffs bit more deeply into their ankles. Tom tried to retract his leg but pain from the strangling cuff dissuaded him. He swore and jerked his head, then noticed Katie for the first time, standing just beyond reach. “Get these things off of us!” he yelled at her.

She glanced at him, then turned back toward Kevin. He was poised on one knee now, left leg stretched out over the water by the leg-irons, eyes focused solely on the toolbox. It hovered three feet above the water in the lock, but the chain was tantalizingly close. If he could just snare it with his left hand… He took a deep breath and stretched for the chain just as Tom made a parallel gesture, which sent the toolbox dipping toward the water. To Kevin’s horror, the chain fell away from his outstretched fingers and he felt his center of gravity follow it past the rail. Tom tried to roll toward the centerline, but his effort was overpowered. Both Emorys tumbled into the lock.

Katie walked to the rail and looked down. Part of a hip and a shoulder broke the surface. The lock held almost five feet of water and she knew the toolbox would find the dirt-covered stone floor at its base, pulling the men into an upright position. The water was cold despite the warming weather, and the chill should jar them to their senses.

As she expected, both Emorys brought their heads above water. They used their free legs to tap-dance against the floor of the lock, balancing themselves. With water draining from their heads, they looked first at each other and then up toward the scow, where Katie was already stepping from the rail onto the rope ladder. She climbed to the top of the lock wall.

Kevin tried to hop toward the ladder while Tom prepared to jump for the scow’s rail a few feet overhead. Their efforts nullified each other and both brothers lost their balance and cursed. Katie retracted the ladder, which she bundled up and tossed toward the lockhouse.

“Fuckin’ whore!” Tom swore.

“No use cussin’ her now, Tommy,” Kevin said grimly. He shook his head and spat into the lock, then looked up toward Katie on the lock wall above. “If you help us out, Miss Elgin, we can forget about what your brother owes us,” he said, using his unchained leg to bounce against the floor of the lock. “Maybe better than that… maybe we could provide some financing for him.” He shaded his eyes to see her better. “I mean, for both of you. You and Cyrus.”

Katie looked down at him with no sign of recognition.

“I think using the ladder might be easiest,” Kevin said. “Or if you got a key for these cuffs…”

She walked over to where the ladder had been and picked up the lock-key, then carried it to the upstream gates, stepped onto the walkway, and turned to face the lock. The outermost stem was in front of her and she placed the socket over its squared end. With both hands on the key, she rocked it to make sure it was seated, then swung it ninety degrees at full force. Water flooded through the open wicket and a kicking, haystack-shaped fountain formed instantly at the bottom of the gate.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kevin screamed above the sound of rushing water.

“The bitch is fixing to drown us!” Tom yelled.

Ignoring the men, she jiggled the key and lifted it off the stem. She sidestepped across the walkway, set the key on the second stem, and swung it to open the wicket. The roar of the water intensified as the level in the lock surged higher. She looked up to find the Emorys. The water was rising toward their chins. She twisted the key off the second stem and continued across the walkway toward the stems on the opposite gate.

The wall of the lock offered the Emorys no handholds but the rail of the scow was within reach, if they could thrust their heads high enough above the water. They dog-paddled toward the side of the boat, dragging their cuffed legs and the toolbox between them. Both men slipped underwater, drove hard against the lock floor with their legs, and propelled themselves above the surface. They thrust their arms toward the rail and all four hands were able to grasp it.

“Got to climb back up!” Kevin said, pulling himself toward the rail. Tom was able to elevate his chin to the level of the deck and Kevin reached that level with his eyes. But the weight of their shared anchor prevented them from climbing higher. Their muscles burned and both men slowly extended their arms, lowering their bodies back toward the water. The scow rode almost four feet above the surface, so for as long as their arms held out, the Emorys could keep their heads above water. But as the water rose, their chained legs raised the toolbox from the floor of the lock, its weight borne by both men. Their muscles throbbed and the cold water sapped their energy. The water churned higher, filling the lock at an accelerating rate. Three of the four wickets were opened wide, and the haystacks had broadened and converged into a wall of tumbling whitewater behind the upstream gates.

Katie opened the fourth wicket and left the key in place. She stepped from the plank onto the towpath, where her view of the Emorys was blocked by the hayhouse in the bow. She eased downstream past it. Two faded fedoras, one black and one gray, sat serenely near the center of the deck. She looked down and saw the surging flow was a long foot from the top of the lock wall. So the water in the lock was now over twelve feet deep.

She studied the scow’s starboard rail. Four sets of fingers were lined up along the edge, not far from the forward wall of the cabin. The hands were perfectly spaced, shoulder-width apart, with all of the fingers pointed in her direction. The bent fingers rose into pale and bony knuckles straining toward the sky. Screams from the tiring men pierced the background chorus of bubbling water. She watched the two left-most sets of fingers slip off the rail and disappear. Seconds later the right-most fingers followed. The screaming fell silent and no fingers remained.

She turned away from the scow and walked up the towpath, stepping around the towline that lay flat on the dirt. The Emorys’ mules were grazing unperturbed along the fringe of grass just past the lock. She passed them and continued down to the apron. At Swains this ground was commonly used for campsites, since it was flat and open with grass and scattered trees. Ahead the campground gave way to thicker foliage, and the river and towpath diverged until one was invisible from the other. She found the end of an old path and followed it into the witnessing woods.