“Fuck.” Realizing that his fall was triggered by a baseless anxiety made him feel embarrassed and angry. He snatched sullenly at the crosses lying at his feet. All were dirt-stained now and the shaft of the “soon” cross had snapped in half. Its broken base was tinged with earth and blood at the point. He gathered the pieces in his hands and marched defiantly up the slope, then jogged along its crest past the tail of the pond. When the drainage bore away, he continued straight along thinly-wooded level ground. Ahead he saw a row of boulders. Beyond them were larger rocks ascending to a rounded ridge and beyond the ridge was open sky. Still holding the crosses, he climbed from rock to rock, up to the base of the ridge. A blue blaze stared at him from the trail. He reached the crown and the sky opened up, with Mather Gorge and the river below and the views along the ridge unbroken. He advanced to the edge of the cliff, selected a cross, and gripped its base.

“Then!” he yelled, casting it into the chasm and watching it fall end over end into the sweeping current below.

“For you, Miles!” He threw the second cross.

“Soon, motherfucker!” He threw the two pieces of the broken final cross. “Soon.”

Chapter 13

Fever

Sunday, March 24, 1996

Nicky sliced a lime on the kitchen counter, then peered out the window into the side yard as her mind wandered away from the ingredients for lemongrass soup. She hoped it wasn’t mycobacterium abscessus, since that could take weeks of antibiotics to treat. But that possibility was why the doctor had taken a culture from Vin’s hip yesterday. His wound had all the symptoms of infection: redness, swelling, tenderness, pus. Still, the incubation period should have been longer than five days. More like a month. So maybe it was something less serious. But how then to explain the fever and lightheadedness he had woken up with this morning?

She turned back toward her ingredients, which ringed a cutting board in the mid-afternoon light from the window. She rinsed the stalks of lemongrass in the sink, removed their rough outer leaves, and began dicing them into small disks. Vin had never been sick around her before, so she wasn’t sure how long his fever would last. She shook her head in silent reproach. Thirty-five years old and running around chasing phantoms in the woods. On a Tuesday morning when there must have been some work to do. Hadn’t he said that Rottweiler had given him feedback on his proposal for phase two? Or maybe he was still waiting for that… she couldn’t remember. At least he could have done background reading this week, if he hadn’t injured himself.

Now he’s lying in bed with a fever on a warm, clear Sunday. Poor guy. He’s honest and he tries hard, but he sometimes acts like he’s still a teenager. This mystery from 1924, for example. She wasn’t even sure what he’d been looking for in the woods, but she knew it was tied up with that treasure-hunt somehow. If he hadn’t found the photo and the note behind the wall, would he be pursuing some other enigma? She looked up and squinted as a passing cloud dimmed the late-afternoon light and a clutch of sparrows darted past the window.

She started mincing the lemongrass disks into smaller pieces. Maybe he was bored, she thought. Bored because he didn’t know many people in D.C. yet. Bored because he worked at home. His Rottweiler project would wrap up this fall, and after the wedding he could get a full-time job. That would be the best way to start feeling connected. And he’d mentioned rock-climbing. Maybe they could take lessons later this spring and meet some people that way. She finished the lemongrass and turned to the cilantro.

***

When Vin opened his eyes, Nicky was clearing space on his bedside table for a tray she’d brought in. He smiled feebly as she set it down. “Soup,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Thanks, honey… the steam looks great.” He swung a second pillow against the headboard and raised himself. He was wearing a cotton turtleneck and a sweater under his blankets but still felt chilled. He pulled his fleece hat down over his ears.

“Do you think you can you eat something?” Nicky said. “You must be hungry, since you skipped breakfast. How about toast? And lemongrass soup for your congestion.”

Vin nodded weakly. He rolled onto his good hip and leaned toward the bowl to hold his face over the rising steam, closing his eyes. “It already tastes good.”

“After you eat, let’s change your bandage and take a look at your hip.”

He rolled carefully into a sitting position and picked up the spoon. The first mouthful was hot and tangy and pushed rays of warmth into his chest. When he’d finished, Nicky removed the bandage and applied a topical antibiotic to the wound. There was no new pus, and at least it didn’t seem to be getting worse. After she replaced the bandage, he felt another chill arise, so he dove back under the covers as she took the tray away. He was asleep within minutes.

When he woke up again he was still dreaming. He was alone in the room and he could see through a window on the narrow far wall that it was dark outside. Not completely dark, so the moon must have been up. He looked at his surroundings and didn’t recognize them. It was a small room and the ceiling slanted down toward the windowless wall on his right, as if the room were in an attic. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. It was windy outside and he heard the moaning and clattering of branches bending and colliding. It sounded as if a branch was scraping against the house near the window on the far wall. He opened his eyes and propped himself up as a shock raced through him. A young woman was staring at him through the window! She had wavy hair and shadowed eyes, and a leaf-shaped pendant hung from her neck against the pale skin below her throat. Her hand was making a sweeping motion against the glass. She turned from the window and disappeared into the night. The skin around his scalp tightened. He was on the second floor!

He thrust back the blankets and planted his sock-clad feet on the floorboards. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took deep breaths and felt his breathing come easier. He stood up and steadied himself. His books and papers were stacked on a desk along the windowless wall. Not his desk, but another. He lit the desk lamp and leafed through papers until he found the photo of Lee Fisher and K. Elgin at Great Falls. An old jar held pens, scissors, a letter opener, and a magnifying glass. He bent over the glass to study the photo in the lamplight. It was her, the girl at the window – the same hair, mouth, eyes. The same necklace, which the glass suggested was etched with a symbol too small to read.

The flood! He remembered now that the flood was coming, and Nicky was down at Swains! She didn’t know! He had to save her! He found a pair of sweatpants in the dresser and pulled them on, then laced up his running shoes. The floorboards groaned as he hurried to the door, which flew open when he turned the knob. A light breeze was blowing up the stairway and he could see that the front door was swinging in the wind. He hurried down the worn, wooden steps of the unlit staircase and slipped into the warm and windy night.

The view in front of him wasn’t what he expected. He was on the towpath and the dark water of the canal before him was alive with wind-driven ripples reflecting light from the moon. He turned back toward the door flapping in the wind and saw the old Pennyfield lockhouse. It was dark except for a light in the bedroom upstairs, but its whitewashed stones glowed softly in the moonlight. He took a long stride down the towpath and broke into a run. A low shape hurtled toward him from the dirt yard, and he instinctively twisted to dodge it. The shape jerked to a stop and let loose a ferocious vocal assault. All he could see at first were gleaming white teeth. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a powerfully-built black dog on a long tether. A Rottweiler. He turned back to the towpath and ran toward Swains Lock.