Page 60 of The Woodcarver's Model
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Mitch hadn’t seen Rufus in two days. Others had also commented on the dog’s absence. He often wandered off for a day or two by himself, but not without someone spotting him gambolling across a field chasing a butterfly or sleeping under a tree by the side of the road.
Mitch got into his truck and had planned to scour the island looking for him. He knew of a favourite spot of Rufus’, a small pond where, on hot days, the dog would wallow in the water to cool off and torment the frogs. It was just off the road to Admiral’s Peak, about halfway up the mountain.
Mitch turned up the road. He noticed fresh tire tracks of a truck. Most likely it was the mayor. She often went up there to escape the hubbub of the town. Or maybe it was Sheila. She’d been known to come up here to release birds brought to her for healing. Maybe one of them had seen the dog. Best to stick to the road so he didn’t miss them.
He continued up the track and something caught his eye. A pair of turkey vultures circled overhead, one spiralling down to land. On the island, one vulture was nothing to be concerned about. Two vultures meant…
He drove on for a moment, then, on the shoulder of the road, he noticed it—a vulture, picking at something. The second bird he had seen landed by it. The first let out a low, guttural hiss and flapped its wings, annoyed that it had been disturbed. Ignoring it, the second bird moved in to join the feast. It must have been a relatively large animal to attract two birds.
Mitch thought he knew what they were fighting over. He leapt from the truck and ran to the kill site, yelling and waving his arms. The birds were reluctant to give up their meal, but a few well-thrown rocks convinced them to move off.
Mitch slowly approached the dark mass that lay at the side of the road among the brush. Without looking closely, he knew what it was, but his heart prevented him from approaching any closer. He couldn’t afford to lose anything else in his world. First Rob, then the island, then his brother and now…
He found his strength. If it was Rufus, he couldn’t leave him for the vultures. He approached with fear and reverence as if he were a soldier approaching a fallen comrade.
It was Rufus. The dog had been badly picked over. Had he been hit by a car? Rufus had no sense of fear when it came to traffic. He was happy to see people and those came out of cars, didn’t they? Rufus was dead and no matter the cause, Mitch knew what he had to do.
He walked back to the truck and pulled the dog’s old blanket from the back seat. Mitch wrapped him up, carefully picked up his dearest friend and carried him back to the truck, where he laid him down in the cargo bed.
The procession to his final resting place was a slow and simple affair. Mitch drove carefully along the potholed road, up to where it ended. He took the shovel from the box and walked the rough path to below the rocky peak where he knew there was still enough soil to dig a grave. It was within view of Rufus’ pond.
Once the hole was dug, he gathered his friend up in his arms and slowly walked up to the graveside where he lay Rufus to rest. To throw the first shovel of earth took every ounce of strength he had. He wept, and with each shovelful, his sobs grew deeper.
When the grave was filled, he was spent. How would he cope with being alone? He had relied for so long on the strength of others.
He knew one thing—he could not just give up. It would be the greatest insult to the memory of those who had worked to keep him alive when he’d given up on himself. He would have to go to the source of strength that saved him in the first place. He would go up the mountain as he had when he first arrived on the island. He would fast and meditate and, with time, he would have the answer.
Mitch climbed to the Peak and lay down.
Chapter Twenty
Francis waited at the ferry dock on Gabriola. It had been a slow day. The only passenger on his first trip to Marsh that morning was a nurse on her bicycle heading over to tend to Maggie Tupman’s sunburn. The nurse, of course, didn’t offer up that information. She was too professional to breach patient confidentiality, but everyone on the island knew anyway. Maggie had been laughing about it at the island council meeting the other day. She’d had to explain why she wouldn’t sit down. The mayor always sat first. It was tradition. She had insisted that the others take their seats and she’d remain standing. She’d been out sunning herself and, as she said, “My bottom bore the brunt of the burn.” Burned bottom or not, the council upheld tradition and remained standing for the entirety of the meeting.
No one came for the return trip to the mainland, as they referred to Gabriola, so Frances opted to tend to things in town while Francis managed the ferry single-handedly.
Just when it looked like there would be no traffic for the 10:15 a.m. sailing, a truck pulled up to the dock. The truck wasn’t familiar, but the face of the driver was. Francis ambled to the driver’s side.
“Mr Hanson. Didn’t think we’d be seein’ you in these parts again.”
Rob looked uncomfortable. “Francis…I had a hundred things I was planning to tell your wife when I got here but…”
“Well…she ain’t here.”
“No…she isn’t. Look, I know I screwed up, but I swear to you that I never meant any harm, to Mitch or any of you. I didn’t do what Mitch thinks I did. And as far as that developer—I knew nothing about his plans. I was only here to write an article on the island.”
“That so?” Francis muttered.
“Yes. It’s the honest truth. I would never do anything to hurt Mitch, and I have a plan that just might save the island.”
“Hm. You don’t say?”
“If you’ll just let me get over there, I’ll prove it,” Rob declared.
“You know, if my wife were here, she’d drive you and yer truck right off t’other side of this ferry before she’d let you near the island. She protects that boy o’er there like she’d protect her very own son.”
Francis stood there weighing his options.
