Chapter 3
N athan and Icarus tied the boat to the motorized canoe with a rope so we could move faster.
In addition to more ropes, there was a box under a bench seat.
There, Nathan kept his emergency reserves: water, crackers, and a few dollars so that he never returned to the bayous without basic needs.
He had built the boat years ago and found the motorboat abandoned with a broken motor and repaired it.
The boats had been in their hiding place for over a year now since Isaac had ordered Nathan back to Coldville.
He didn’t tell me why or how long he had been here before, but I knew that he had buried his sister in the bayous.
And the bayous had always been Isaac and Nathan’s destination when they left Coldville.
That could mean that he had lived here for a long time, which would explain why he knew his way around so well.
We spent the early morning moving at a reduced speed along the Atchafalaya, following the great river toward the Gulf of Mexico.
Around midday, we turned into a tributary and passed through forests that resembled the one we saw this morning.
They seemed to float on the water. Nathan called them floating forests.
I loved their mysterious magic. Here, wisps of mist drifted over the dark green water like silvery smoke, the soft aerial roots of the hanging moss brushing against us.
From smaller islands, we could hear the croaking of millions of frogs.
Unfortunately, there was also an army of mosquitoes, swimming poisonous snakes, and two-hundred-pound alligator snapping turtles.
“These giants live at the bottom of the swamp and can amputate your toe with a single bite,” Nathan said admonishingly.
“Ouch!” I grimaced and was glad that at least the atmosphere was relatively relaxed. Except for the hostility between Sparta and Troy, the men seemed more relaxed than on the Agamemnon.
“How long are the others going to stay?” I asked Nathan as the bald cypresses in the middle opened up a narrow channel that no longer required poking around, allowing for rowing.
Nathan was anchoring the oars in their device. “We still have to discuss that,” he answered curtly. “But without you.”
His real obsession with the plan stung me again. “And what about Sparta? He needs a doctor,” I stated softly, glancing at the rear boat that we had been towing for the last few hours to conserve fuel.
“Stan knew from the beginning what he was getting into. He knew the plan might take longer if necessary.”
“Can’t he just go back to Coldville? To his family?”
“I don’t know if he would make it. Besides, if he left now and your father sent his men over…they’d put him under pressure and he wouldn’t survive that.”
I perked up. “What do you mean put him under pressure?”
Nathan looked past me. “I think your father would stop at nothing to get you back.”
The words left a dark feeling in my mind especially since Dad was afraid to turn himself in. Guilty or not, I would have allowed myself to be locked up in any prison in the world for him—and his life.
Nathan casually swatted a mosquito on his arm before turning back to me. “Don’t worry about Stan for now. I’ll get him some medicine. There are wise Cajuns in the swamps who know about herbal medicine. They have painkillers that could checkmate an elephant.”
“Cajuns?”
“The Cajuns are French settlers who were driven out of the Canadian provinces after the British victory and settled in Louisiana as refugees. Don’t you know that?”
“Certainly I know something about French settlers and that some went to Louisiana. I just didn’t know they were called Cajuns.”
“You don’t know that much about the southern states, do you?” Nathan didn’t sound mocking, more surprised.
“Rosewood Manor was a kind of gilded cage, and besides, I haven’t been there since I was eleven.”
Nathan smiled. “The Cajuns now live as a minority in the swamps, but their knowledge has mixed with the natives and the Creoles. Believe me,” he said as I frowned skeptically, “the stuff I’m going to get Stanton works.”
We traveled all day, and subsequently, I spotted smaller alligators sunning themselves on floating driftwood, egrets soaring low over the treetops, abandoned houses on stilts, and rotting canoes lying abandoned on the banks.
In the distance, I occasionally saw the inhabitants of this strange place, houseboats with elderly black-haired women sitting on the veranda in the sun and docks where their husbands fished in rubber boots.
Presumably, they were these Cajuns, hermits, or even criminals who had fled here to a place that America had forgotten.
Toward evening, the wind picked up, blowing the tufts of silvery moss.
It looked spooky, a bit like the trees were waving goodbye with a thousand handkerchiefs.
I shivered. The labyrinth of intertwined waterways became increasingly confusing.
I asked Nathan several times where he was going and he replied that the place had no name and had been long abandoned.
“You can call it Secret Hide if that’s okay with you,” he said when I got on his nerves again.
On a point of land, I saw a raccoon scurry away. “I could call it One-Year Prison ,” I suggested disapprovingly.
Troy grinned. “How about Princess Paradise ?”
“We’ll see,” I said, glad to be able to decide at least one thing.
It was dusk when we reached the place Nathan had spoken about.
It was a small island between a floating forest and a gigantic basin of the Atchafalaya.
On the horizon, far in the distance, lay another island, over which the evening sun melted in gold and purple.
It seemed mysterious and mystical as if the water was ablaze.
Goose bumps crawled down my back. I barely noticed Nathan and Pan docking, getting out, and tying the boats to a weathered jetty.
It was only when I turned that I spotted the huts, neglected one-story wooden buildings on stilts like the ones I had seen several times along the banks today.
One was leaning so far to the right that its corrugated iron roof almost dipped into the water, but this was obviously not our accommodations.
The stilt house that Nathan was now heading for had a direct connection to the jetty, so I could get there without sturdy shoes. I quickly climbed out of the boat and hurried after the men.
“These wooden huts have been uninhabited for a long time,” Nathan explained, the gray wood of the jetty groaning under the weight of the many heavy steps. “After Katrina passed through, the residents left their homes out of fear of another hurricane.”
I examined the dilapidated wooden house, which was the largest here. To protect it from flooding, it stood on stilts that reached further into the air than Pan’s head—a first-floor hut, so to speak, a kind of penthouse that seemed to wink at me ironically from its sightless windows.
Nathan climbed the wide steps and here too the rotten wood creaked as if wanting to snap under each footfall.
I looked up. The house had a porch overlooking the water; the back was built on solid ground—land that was interspersed with ancient cypress trees, lush green shrubs, grass, and woodland.
I spotted a few loose rotting boards, rusted tools, paddles, and even an old car tire, carelessly discarded like flotsam. There was also a tiny shed.
And I was supposed to stay here for a year? That was unthinkable. There was nothing here! Nothing! “Wait!” I called to Nathan before he could enter the shack. He stopped and looked at me questioningly as I squeezed by the others. I looked at him pleadingly, but suddenly, I couldn’t speak.
“It’ll be okay,” Nathan said as if he had read the silent question in me.
I just shook my head, but that had nothing to do with what he said. There was something about this place and it had grabbed me quite suddenly. It left me restless with a longing to search for something I didn’t even know I’d lost.
“Come on now, Will!” Nathan opened the door decisively and the rusty hinges creaked darkly, a mournful sound like an ancient sigh.
Pan muttered something that sounded like a prayer for protection.
I entered before him and thought I saw a crawling, many-legged thing scurrying into the darkness.
“Yuck!” I flinched, but Troy pushed me on.
“Home sweet home, happiness alone!” he mocked. “I really hope I don’t have to waste a year here.”
I ignored him and looked around, still affected by the strange feeling inside me.
This hut had no partitions inside even though it seemed to consist of three rooms. From the west, the sunset fell through the windows facing the porch, painting golden squares of light across the wooden floor; a soft light like flames that turned the cobwebs between the furniture and the roof into glowing webs.
I walked a few yards further, worried that a giant spider or a poisonous snake would suddenly shoot out from a dark corner.
“Don’t worry,” Nathan said, who guessed my fear. “The coral snake doesn’t normally seek refuge in higher huts. And it only reacts aggressively when it feels threatened.”
I nodded gratefully and inspected the tiny porch where only a few dusty cushions lay around a piece of driftwood, evidently the former living room.
“Luxurious, my accommodations,” I commented briefly.
Icarus and Troy laughed, Pan wandered around, and Sparta immediately lay down on a mattress in the back.
After looking out the window at the expansive basin, I went back. The middle of the hut was supposed to be some kind of kitchen. I ran my fingertips over the rotary switches of the gas stove. “I wonder if it still works?”