“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.