South of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 2) (19 page)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

    
 
J
anuary brought a brisk wind, but no snow covered Fawn Lake. It looked like a glossy black button on the white landscape. Mark slowed the horses, brought the wagon to a full stop and surveyed the conditions thoughtfully.

      “The lake’s all cleared off,” he mentioned between bites at the dinner table. “Looks perfect for some good fishing. I didn’t see a single hole out there this year.”

      Timothy tasted his food thoughtfully. “Roland was saying he took the dog out there a couple of weeks back and he could see the walleye through the ice, but it was snowed over too much. Maybe we ought to get out there in the morning.”

      Rebecca smiled at the men. They would leave in the dark of night and return frozen through, but if they caught anything they would be excited and satisfied for months. She could not understand the thrill they obviously found with the sport, but they enjoyed it so enormously she could not bring up her objections.

      “I want to fish too,” Louisa pouted.

      “That’s for the men,” Rebecca reminded. “I thought we were going to Cousin Emma’s tomorrow to plan our garden for spring.” Rebecca was entering the last few months of her term and although she had slowed her pace considerably, she was active and fit.

      “Oh, yes, Mama,” Louisa remembered. “I want to grow melons this time!”

      “I’ll ride out to Vancouver’s after supper and see if he’s got any of those new bobbers we were talking about last month. Maybe he’d like to come.” The young man shoveled a forkful of roasted carrots into his mouth.

      Timothy remarked, “He’d probably enjoy it more than ever. I bet he hasn’t been out on the ice since before the accident.”

      “That’s right,” Mark considered. “I’ll ask him.”

      Mark slid from the mare’s back as Émigré bounded from the back door of the house, wagging his tail excitedly. The young man squatted down and rubbed his furry coat affectionately and looked up to greet Roland standing in the doorway.

      “What brings you out this way?” Roland welcomed him inside. The house was warm, the scent of fresh baking bread filling the air.

      “Evening,” he smiled to Emma and slid into the kitchen chair as the woman put a thick slice of warm bread and a large open jar of canned jelly down in from of him.

      “Pa and I are going out to Fawn Lake in the morning for some ice fishing. The snow’s all blown off and she’s crystal clear.”

      “I was out there a couple of weeks back. The fish are looking tempting this year.” Roland waited expectantly for a similar slice of the warm bread.

      Emma smiled and obliged and then left the two to their masculine designs.

      “Did you get those bobbers you were talking about?”

      Roland stomped out to the shed briefly and returned with a handful of bright floats.

      “These are a lot bigger than the ones we have.” Mark inspected then thoughtfully.

      “For the huge fish we’re going to catch,” Roland laughed and bit into the bread.

      Mark nodded in agreement and wolfed down his slice. He called out a goodbye up the staircase to Emma and shook Roland’s hand before riding home.

      “Should I go to Elgerson’s with you in the morning?” Emma finished her knitting and set her needle aside, holding up a tiny bootie and examining it from all angles.

      “It’ll still be dark,” he responded distractedly, putting the bobbers on the mantle.

      “I was going to take the wagon and pick up Rebecca and Loo tomorrow. We are planning our seed order tomorrow.”

      “Yeah, I know. Tim and Mark will pick me up.” He picked up one of the bobbers and held it thoughtfully.

      “What is that?” she asked, puzzled.

      “It ties to the fishing line and floats on the top of the water. When the fish bites, it bobs in the water. Thus, bobber!”

      “Oh.” He dropped one in her hand and she turned it over curiously. “I didn’t know you fished.”

      “I did once,” he put the piece back with the others. “I haven’t been out since I hurt my leg.”

      “Did you enjoy it?”

      “I loved fishing.” He walked to the fire and watched the flames lapping and flickering against the logs.

      “Then I’m glad you’re going,” she smiled and set down the bootie.

      “What is that?” he looked up and touched her tiny creation.

      “It’s for the baby,” she lifted up the sock and placed it in his palm.

      “I have never seen a brand new baby,” he thought aloud. “This is very small.”

      “Most babies are about 7 pounds, I guess.” She cast on a dozen stitches with the finely spun wool as Émigré plopped down at her feet.

      “Small.” He ran his hands through his hair thoughtfully. He had the thought that it would not be long before Tim and Rebecca’s baby would be born and he was thinking he’d be thankful to see theirs first and be a bit more prepared.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

    
 
T
he wind blew soft across the lake in the pre-dawn hours, the light barely perceptible across the icy surface. The morning sky held the promise of a clear day, soft colors building behind the line of dark pines. The men pulled their supplies behind them on small wooden sleds, the flaps of their fur hats pulled down over their ears.

      “That big enough you think?” Tim peered down into the hole he had been working on in the ice and the other men bent to look inside.

      “Nope.” Roland returned to winding his line.

      “That’s a pretty big hole,” Mark examined it again.

      “Nope,” Roland said it again. “We won’t get a fish through it. You boys have forgotten that I haven’t been out here in a couple of years. Those fish are going to be pretty big today. It has to be bigger.”

      “If we cut it any bigger we’re likely to fall right in,” Timothy scowled.

      “Cut it bigger,” Roland stated.

      Several minutes later Timothy Elgerson asked again. “Is that big enough?”

      Mark checked the hole and nodded his head in verification.

      Roland walked over and stood with his hands folded across his chest. “I don’t know,” he considered. “Has to be big enough to get a pretty big fish through, you know.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and furrowed his brow.

      “It’s plenty big!” Timothy bellowed loudly. “Geez, Roland. Do you think there’s a whale in this lake?”

      “Could be,” Roland replied as if considering the possibility.

      “Ach!” Timothy strode over to his packs and began to pull out his tackle.

       Roland winked to the boy and Mark laughed out loud. He had forgotten how much fun they had once had on their hunting and fishing excursions. Roland was the only man he had ever seen tease his father so blatantly, although he knew Rebecca could do it easily, too. He shook his head and smiled.

            Mark pulled up his empty line and frowned as he stepped aside, while Roland baited his hook. “Watch, you don’t let your line lay on the ice there, Mark. You’ll never get it back once it’s frozen in.”     

      “What’s that you’re using?” Tim looked up at the unusual bait the man was threading into his hook.

      “Chicken liver,” Roland replied and dropped his line into the big hole in the ice.

      Peering into the jar beside him, Mark inspected the contents. It was a gooey mess of several bits of meats and blood and the boy shook his head.

      “The hole is too big I’m telling you, Roland,” Timothy continued. “They’re afraid we’re going to jump in after them.”

      Mark watched the bobber bounce on the surface of the water, causing a slight overflow around the hole. All three men stopped talking and grew silent.

      The bobber bounced again and they looked up at one another. Then, suddenly the bobber disappeared under the water briefly and popped up as quickly.

     
      “He’s a big one!” Mark exclaimed and Roland began to pull in the line gently. At first he wound in his line quickly, wrapping it around his fingers, but as he felt more resistance he began to pull it in hand over hand, letting it lay on the ice. This was a big fish, he thought, and he had plenty of line. He could afford to lose some to the ice.

      He pulled more and more, the fish tugging harder and harder, until the line began to cut into the man’s frozen fingers.

      “I can see him!” Timothy bent over the hole and peered inside. “He’s a big one, a real big one!”

      Roland stayed focused and pulled in more line.

      “I just saw him!” Mark called out. “He’s huge!”

      “Pull him in, Roland,” Timothy rubbed his big hands together in anticipation.

      Beads of sweat formed on Roland’s face and the fish began to thrash near the opening of the hole.

      “Wait until his head is at the hole,” Timothy coached. “That’s it, that’s it!”

      Roland wound the line around his fingers preparing to grab the fish.

      “Oh! He was almost there!” Mark gasped as the fish turned away from the hole again.”

      “Don’t lose him, go easy,” Timothy urged nervously.

      Roland gave the line a short jerk and the fish’s head poked out of the hole. Roland plunged his hand into the icy water and grabbed the gills firmly.

      “Yeah! Yeah!” Mark nearly bounced beside him.

      “Hang onto him,” Timothy yelled. “Pull him up!”

      Roland pulled the length of the fish from the water and scooted on his backside along the ice.

      “Wowee!” Mark whooped.

      “That’s the biggest damn walleye I have ever seen!” Timothy exclaimed.

      Roland looked up and smiled slowly. “He’s a whale, boys,” he said calmly. “He’s a damned whale.”

      Mark threaded a bit of the liver onto his line and lowered it into the freezing hole. All three peered into the hole again and held their breath.

      The bobber hopped once, then twice and the boy began to pull in another.

      “I told you they were going to be big ones this time!” Roland yelled out, as he slapped his knee watching the boy excitedly.

      Mark tried to stay focused on the task. Not too fast, not too slow, he thought. Be patient. When he saw the golden scales of the fish flash in the morning sunlight he took a deep breath and pulled in a few more inches.

      “Bring him in,” Timothy squatted down across from him and peered in intently.

      The scales of the fish flashed gold again as it swam just beneath the surface of the ice.

      It popped its head up the hole suddenly and Mark plunged in his hand and grabbed the gill.

      He drew the huge fish from the hole and whistled slowly.

      “Give me some of that!” Timothy grabbed a sliver of the slick brown meat and threaded his own hook.

      “Who told you to use liver?” Mark held up his fish with both hands in awe.

      “Emma. She said they use it in England. I just butchered a chicken yesterday so I figured I’d give it a try.”

      “It’s probably the bobbers,” Timothy remarked, his line in the hole.

      The bobber plunked and bounced and Timothy had hooked another.

      Roland laughed as he watched the big man pull in the biggest fish of them all.

      “Easy twenty pounds!” Timothy held the fish into the air and bellowed. “Twenty pounds I tell you!” His voice echoed back through the valley and the pines and the other men laughed.

      As the sun rose over the tree line the three packed up their gear and strung their catch. Together they had caught over ten fish, Timothy’s first being the largest. But all of the fish were close in size and each over 14 pounds.

      They whooped and cheered along the road on their way home and pulled into Vancouver’s laughing and patting one another on the back.

      “Wait,” Tim pulled back Roland. “Let’s take in the whole lot at once. They’re probably sitting around the table in there.”

      Roland laughed, “I can’t even carry them all at once!”

      Mark snickered at the grown men behaving like young boys and dragged his bundle of fish from the back of the buckboard. He struggled with the weight of even a third of the total catch and followed the men into the Vancouver’s back door.

      “Good grief!” Rebecca exclaimed as she turned and saw the men enter.

      “Liver worked!” Roland roared over the yipping of the dog and the gasping of the women.

      “Did you empty out the whole lake?” Emma exclaimed as she pulled sheets of brown paper from a roll in the pantry.

      “Na,” Roland slapped his bundle down onto the paper. “We just pulled out the best ones.”

      Émigré paced around the men, licking drops from the floor excitedly.

      Louisa pushed a chair up to the counter and examined the fish curiously. She poked a tiny finger into one of the eyes and Rebecca nearly screamed.

     “Heavens child,” she cried. “Oh Tim, take them outside!”

      Timothy laughed and helped the men wrap the fish up tightly in the paper then took them out into the cold to clean.

      “This was a fine catch, boys!” he exclaimed as he gutted the largest fish. “This one here is nearly as big as a hog!”

      Emma and Rebecca folded up their sketches of gardens and lists of seed orders and wiped up the drips from the floor and water from the counter.

      Rebecca gasped slightly and put her hand against her belly.

      “You okay?” Emma watched her nervously.

      “Just a good kick.” Rebecca moved over the chair and sat down carefully. “Oh, there he goes again!”

      Louisa walked over and gently put her tiny hand on her mother’s belly. Rebecca moved her hand to where the baby had kicked earlier and the unborn infant pushed again.

      “There he is!” Louisa declared. “Getting ready to come out and see everybody.”