“What time is it?” Garvey asked, his voice hoarse.
Cole realized he hadn’t looked at a clock in nearly a year. “It’s time to go soak in the pond. That’s what time it is,” he said.
“Give us five minutes,” Garvey said.
“I don’t want to go soak in any pond,” Peter mumbled.
“We’ll just go along and watch,” Garvey said.
Cole saw a lantern flicker in the window, and he heard movement inside. Soon Garvey and Peter emerged from the cabin, both wearing their rubber boots and heavy jackets. Immediately Cole set out through the dark heavy mist, walking slowly so Peter could keep up. He heard the distinct shuffle of Peter’s awkward footsteps behind him.
When they reached the pond, Cole realized that he had forgotten to bring a towel, but it didn’t matter. He could use his undershirt. He stripped and entered the frigid water. Peter and Garvey sat down on the bank to watch. It was nearly the beginning of May, but still the icy water pierced Cole’s skin like millions of tiny needles. He waded in, forcing steady breaths until he reached the rock ledge on the far side. Eyes closed, he heard Garvey’s muffled voice speaking to Peter on the other side of the pond, but he couldn’t make out what was said.
Cole soaked until his breaths felt chilled, then he waded back to shore. His body had numbed to the bone, but he didn’t rush. During the last year, he had grown accustomed to the icy water. No longer did it take his breath away as it had when he first came here with Edwin. “Do you guys want to carry the ancestor rock with me?” he asked, as he wiped dry with his undershirt.
“I’ve explained the ancestor rock to Peter,” Garvey said. “We’ll hike along and watch you.”
Cole picked up the large rock and started up the slope. He led the way, never pausing or looking back. By the time he reached the top, his bad arm ached but he still breathed normally. Peter and Garvey both breathed hard, and heavy sweat beaded on their foreheads.
“Now my ancestor rock becomes my anger,” Cole explained, setting the big rock down. He turned to Peter. “You can push it down the hill if you want.”
Peter shook his head.
“I’ll do it then,” Cole said, giving the rock a hard shove. As the rock tumbled down the hill, Cole closed his eyes. “When I hear that sound, I imagine my anger leaving,” he explained. He waited until the crashing rock came to a stop at the bottom, remained motionless for a moment longer, then opened his eyes and started down the slope.
Nobody spoke as they worked their way back downstream.
“Do you need help with anything?” Garvey asked as they arrived back in camp.
“I need to collect more firewood if I’m going to be staying outside much longer.”
“Do you feel like helping us collect firewood?” Garvey asked Peter.
Peter turned and walked to the shore, and stared off at the horizon without answering.
“What’s his problem?” Cole said.
“You,” Garvey replied.
“But I hope he knows we’re collecting this firewood because of him,” Cole whispered.
Garvey answered quickly, “I hope you know that everybody’s up here because of you.”
Cole began collecting wood.
Day after day went by with no change in Peter. He refused to speak, doing whatever Garvey asked of him but no more. He hiked along each morning to the pond but never soaked. When he ate or walked, he moved zombielike, in slow motion. Cole quit trying to make conversation with him.
Nearly two full weeks after Peter’s arrival, they all hiked up the hill one morning with Cole carrying the ancestor rock. When he set the rock down at the top, he paused a moment to rest. Without warning, Peter reached down and gave the rock a hard shove. He stood with his lips bunched, watching until the rock crashed to a stop at the bottom.
“That was a good push,” Cole told him.
The rest of the day Peter remained withdrawn as usual, avoiding Cole.
Three days later, while Cole was cooking lunch in the fire pit, a rock struck the ground only feet away. Cole turned to find Peter beside the shore, pitching stones into the water as if nothing had happened. Cole looked at the stone that had almost hit him and realized his hands were clenched into fists.
He never told Garvey about the stone, but he kept a close eye on Peter. The next incident occurred with Garvey along two days later as they were hiking to the pond. It was early in the morning, and Cole had just jumped from one rock to another in the stream. All of a sudden Peter bumped him hard from behind and sent him sprawling into the water. Soaking wet, Cole picked himself up. He found Peter watching him with a smirk.
“Why did you do that?” Cole asked.
“I didn’t mean to bump you,” Peter said innocently.
Garvey said nothing as Cole continued to the pond.
“I’m skipping my soak this morning,” Cole said, “because I don’t have any dry clothes to change into. But I’ll still carry the ancestor rock.” As he turned to pick up the rock, he discovered Peter stripping off his clothes. The thin boy ran stumbling into the shallow water, holding his arms above his head. He waded forward, gasping and grunting loudly.
Peter never made it across to the rocks. When the water reached his chest, he turned and waded back out. His teeth chattered as he dried himself with his undershirt.
That morning, after they returned to camp, Peter seemed more relaxed. He spoke to Cole without being spoken to first. “Don’t you get frozen when you soak in the pond?” he asked.
Cole smiled. “The first time I soaked last year, I thought my head would crack open and my toes would fall off. But you get used to it.”
“I don’t want to get used to it,” Peter muttered. He headed toward the cabin without looking back.
As the days passed, the air grew warmer but the rain came daily. Every morning Cole hung his sleeping bag up in the cabin to dry off. “I’m going to give Edwin a leaky tent for Christmas,” he complained to Garvey.
Peter returned to being sullen, refusing to talk. Garvey went about each day, joking with both boys as usual. He kept delivering warm meals to Cole in the tent. Nearly a month had passed since Peter arrived on the island. Twice Edwin had stopped by to drop off supplies and to check up on them. He never stayed for long.
One day a hard rain fell, and Cole stayed inside the tent. Hour after hour, the steady downpour soaked through the seams, soaking Cole’s sleeping bag and clothes. Midafternoon, Garvey brought out food. He stared at Cole, huddled with his arms wrapped around his knees. “Dang, it’s cold out here, Champ,” he said. “I’m going back inside.”
“Thanks,” Cole muttered. For several more hours, he sat and shivered. Outside, the rain kept falling, and lightning brought angry thunder to the sky. As night fell, a small stream of water trickled across the center of the floor. Everything Cole touched was wet, soggy, and cold.
He prepared himself for a long night. Tonight he wouldn’t sleep much. He hugged his arms to his chest and let his teeth chatter. He hadn’t been this cold since he had nearly drowned trying to escape more than a year ago.
Suddenly he heard footsteps outside the tent.
“It’s warmer in the cabin if you want,” called Peter’s hesitant voice.
CHAPTER 27
COLE NEEDED NO second invitation into the cabin. Fumbling with the zipper, he crawled from the tent and sprinted through the cold rain. When he opened the cabin door and let himself inside, Garvey greeted him with a wink. Peter was seated on the bed and eyed Cole with distrust.
“Thanks, Peter,” Cole said. After drying off and putting on new clothes, he heated water for hot chocolate. “Anybody else want something hot?” he asked.
Garvey shook his head.
“How about you, Peter?” Cole offered.
Peter shrugged.
When the water came to a boil, Cole made up two cups of hot chocolate and handed one to Peter, who took it hesitantly. “Why haven’t we seen the Spirit Bear yet?” Peter said.
Cole
sat down at the table. “We will.” He blew at his steaming drink.
“I don’t think there really is a Spirit Bear,” Peter challenged.
“I didn’t think so either when I first came here,” Cole said. “Even after I saw it, I thought I had just imagined it.” He pulled up his sleeve to show the long scars from the mauling. “But this wasn’t my imagination.”
“That could have been from any bear,” Peter asked.
Garvey stood and stretched. “I’m hitting the sack.” He pointed over by the door. “Cole, you sleep there, and Peter, you sleep in the bed.” He handed Cole a rolled-up piece of foam. “Here—it beats a hard floor. Use one of my blankets tonight. Tomorrow we’ll dry out your sleeping bag.”
“Thanks,” said Cole.
Garvey stretched out his own foam pad and positioned himself between Cole and Peter. “Whoever stokes the fire during the night gets an extra pancake in the morning,” he said.
“I’ll do it,” Cole said. He didn’t mind if he had to stoke the fire for the next month. It felt so good just to be warm and dry again. As Garvey blew out the lantern, Cole pulled the blanket over himself and lay back on the foam mattress. This sure beat a leaky tent. He glanced over into the dark toward Peter. “Thanks for letting me sleep inside,” he said.
“It doesn’t mean we’re friends,” Peter grunted.
In the days that followed, whenever Garvey left the cabin or walked to the stream alone, Peter took the opportunity to get back at Cole in some way. Twice he walked in his muddy boots across Cole’s sleeping bag. Every time he passed by the hooks where they hung jackets to dry, he knocked Cole’s jacket to the floor. At night, when he went out to go to the bathroom, he left the door standing wide open. Returning, he did the same. Cole slept the closest to the icy air and had to get up to close the door to keep from freezing.
The final straw came when Cole returned from a walk alone around the bay. He found the bear carving on his totem destroyed. Someone had taken the hatchet and hacked the carving completely away. A familiar rage burned inside Cole. He confronted Peter in the cabin. “Why did you wreck my bear carving?” He tried to keep his voice calm.
Peter shrugged. “You never really saw a Spirit Bear. Besides, what are you going to do to me? Beat me up again?”
“No, I’m not going to beat you up. But can’t you leave me alone?”
“I suppose you’ve never done anything to me,” Peter said bluntly.
Garvey listened quietly.
Cole had a sudden idea. “I know where there’s another big log around the point that would make a good totem. If you want, we can drag it here for you to make your own totem.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“When you carve, it gives you time to think.”
“I don’t need to think—I need you out of my face. And besides, what would I carve?” Peter asked.
“Anything you want. If you see a whale, carve a whale. If you see a Spirit Bear, you can carve a bear. I’ve learned from every animal I’ve carved.”
“There is no Spirit Bear,” Peter challenged again. “It was just a regular black bear that hurt you. Probably an ugly one!”
Cole ignored the comment. “I’ll help you drag in a carving log if you want.”
Peter shrugged indifferently, but after lunch he followed Cole and Garvey down the shore to see the log. Cole carried a rope. With the three of them working, they floated the log back along the shoreline. By dark, they had maneuvered it up beside the cabin next to Cole’s totem.
“So what should I carve first?” asked Peter.
“Whatever you want. What was the last animal you saw?” asked Cole.
“I saw a mouse in the cabin this morning.”
Cole smiled. “Then tonight we’ll dance the mouse dance, and tomorrow you can carve a mouse.”
“I’m not going to dance a dumb ‘mouse dance,’” Peter said, his voice thick with sarcasm.
“Every animal has something to teach us,” Cole said. When Peter didn’t answer, Cole motioned toward the trees. “Let’s collect firewood for the dance.”
“You collect wood,” Peter said, heading for the cabin. “It was your idea.”
“I’ll help you,” Garvey said.
Cole nodded. “I’ll start the fire now so we have good coals for cooking supper.”
Peter disappeared inside the cabin, refusing to come out until supper was ready. Then he sat out away from the fire as he sipped soup and ate one of the baked potatoes that Cole had wrapped in aluminum foil and cooked in the embers.
After eating, Cole added more wood to the fire. He waited until flames licked high into the night air, then stood and approached the fire. “I’ll dance first,” he announced. Slowly he moved around the fire, pretending to sniff about like a mouse. Suddenly he scampered away from the fire as if frightened, then came back again, sniffing. Finally, he pretended to eat a full meal. When he finished, he sat down. “My mouse dance taught me that a mouse is persistent and bold,” he said. “Mice are survivors that make the best of wherever they are or whatever they have.”
Garvey nodded. “That’s a good lesson. Now it’s my turn.” He stood and moved around the fire. Garvey’s dance seemed to mesmerize Peter, who watched closely, following every movement. After Garvey finally sat down and finished explaining that mice are often not noticed and see things others don’t, Peter stood and began dancing. His moves were jerky and unsure, and he kept glancing self-consciously over his shoulder, but he continued to move. When he finished, he remained standing beside the fire without speaking.
“So what did you learn from your dance?” asked Garvey.
“I learned that I look like a stupid dork!” Peter said sharply. He turned and ran into the cabin.
Cole and Garvey remained by the fire. “He’s never going to forgive me,” Cole said.
Garvey shrugged. “Think how much your arm and hip still hurt. Wounds of the spirit heal even slower.”
Cole thought about Garvey’s words long after they went to bed. The next morning, he went out and began carving a mouse into his log instead of going to the pond. He didn’t have the heart to carve another bear where Peter had destroyed the first one. The bear carving had taken nearly a week to finish.
Reluctantly, Peter came out and began carving at his own log. By late afternoon, both boys had carved mice into their logs. Cole couldn’t believe how real Peter’s carving looked. “That’s unbelievable,” he said. “Where did you learn to carve?”
“I think my mouse looks better than yours,” said Peter.
“It does,” said Cole. “But carving a totem isn’t competition. Saying your carving is better is like saying your feelings are better.”
Peter smirked. “Mine are.” He turned to Cole. “Did you really see a Spirit Bear?”
Cole nodded and told how he had pulled a handful of white hair from the bear that mauled him and then thrown it away. “The only reason I always had to prove things was because I knew I was a liar,” he said. “I threw the white hair away because I decided I was tired of lying.”
Peter studied Cole as they went to the cabin for lunch. He sat quietly through the whole meal. After lunch he returned to his log to keep carving. “I want to be by myself,” he told Cole.
Cole and Garvey looked at each other but agreed to take a long hike outside the bay to look for whales. It was nearly dark by the time they returned. Hiking back around the bay in the gathering dusk, Cole could see Peter still carving, but not on his own log.
“That jerk!” Cole said. “He’s messing with my totem again. Hey!” he screamed, breaking into a run. “What are you doing?”
Peter stepped back from the log as Cole came running up.
Cole stared down, dumbfounded. In the same spot where the bear carving had been destroyed, Peter had almost completed another bear. The new carving was so real, the bear looked as if it were stepping out of the log. “That’s incredible,” Cole exclaimed.
“Hope you didn’t mind,”
Peter said.
“Could you teach me how to carve like that?” Cole asked.
Peter shrugged. “Depends on if you want to learn.” He turned away and headed into the cabin.
CHAPTER 28
AS SUMMER CAME to the North Country, group visits to the pond had become a daily event, until the day Peter announced, “This morning, just Cole and I should go.”
Garvey had already pulled on his pants. “Are you sure?” he asked.
Peter nodded.
Garvey turned to Cole. “What do you think?”
Cole eyed Peter and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
Again Garvey asked, “Are you guys sure you’re ready for this?”
“Yes,” Peter said, his voice firm.
Cole nodded, but found himself a little scared.
“Okay, have a good soak,” Garvey said.
Cole packed their towels in his backpack. He paused, then slipped in the at.óow. He and Peter let themselves out the door into the breaking dawn and worked their way along the shore. Neither of them spoke as they reached the river and started wading upstream toward the pond. Peter stumbled along angrily, his fists clenched. An awkward and thick silence hung between them.
When they finally reached the pond, Cole couldn’t stand the silence anymore. “I’m glad we came alone,” he said. “It’s time we were friends.” He held out his hand to Peter, but Peter knocked his hand away.
“I’ll never be friends with you.”
“Look, Peter, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Peter shoved Cole, knocking him off balance. “You beat me up and smashed my head on the sidewalk until I was bleeding. They had to pull you off me. What do you mean, you didn’t mean to hurt me?” His eyes were wild.
Cole had regained his balance. “What I mean is, I didn’t mean to get so angry. I didn’t decide all of a sudden to get mad and hurt you.”
“And so now everything is supposed to be all right?” Peter shoved Cole again with both hands.
“No, it’s just that—”
“Everything will be better when my headaches go away, when I sleep at night, and my bad dreams quit.” Peter’s eyes welled up with tears. “I can’t walk anymore without stumbling. Sometimes I can’t think straight, and my words don’t come out right.” He shook a fist in Cole’s face. “You don’t really care about me. You just want to get off this island. That’s all you want.”