She was quiet a long time, staring into the darkness beyond the window. “But I’ll be beside him every step of the way.”
“Of course you will,” Daniel said. “We’ll both be there.”
Annie wasn’t sleeping either. She lay staring up at the ceiling, thinking about what she’d left behind in Guatemala and what she’d found on her return home. What she’d left was often turmoil, the struggle of common people for something as simple as a decent life. Not wealth or riches, just a roof over their heads, enough food on the table, and days without the worry of gangs or governments shattering the fabric of their families. They wanted a life without the sting of racial prejudice, which was something Maria had known from birth. Yet, what had Annie found in Minnesota but people struggling to protect the safety of their homes and their land, struggling against money and power, struggling to end the lies and fear at the heart of racial prejudice?
Struggle—was that really the fire at the heart of all existence? Was that really what life was about no matter where you came from?
Annie felt Maria lay an arm gently across her. “Trouble sleeping?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You never sleep well anymore.”
“How could anyone?”
“It is a mystery,” Maria said. “Like how do they get those little papers inside fortune cookies.”
Annie smiled. “I couldn’t do this without you.”
“I wouldn’t let you,” Maria said.
They kissed, and Annie felt herself yielding, felt the possibility of peace, and soon felt herself drifting off to sleep in Maria’s arms.
CHAPTER 14
Early the next morning, Daniel stood with Cork, Monte Bonhomme, and LuJean Desjardins near Erno Paavola’s cabin.
“I don’t need ESP to tell me this place is haunted,” LuJean said, eyeing the old structure. “This looks like every damn cabin I’ve ever seen in a horror movie. Next thing you know, some asshole with a chain saw is gonna charge out that front door.”
Monte laughed. “You’ve got your sidearm with you.”
“You ever seen one of those movies, Monte? Hell, bullets don’t mean a thing to a crazy man with a chain saw.”
They’d been there only a few minutes when a familiar ATV came up the overgrown lane. At the wheel was Prophet, and beside him sat Henry Meloux. The old Mide seldom left Crow Point except to walk his beloved woods. When he ventured farther, it was usually in the ATV with Prophet at the wheel.
Prophet parked next to Monte Bonhomme’s tribal police Tahoe and hailed them with “Boozhoo!”
Meloux stepped from the vehicle, and the men greeted him respectfully.
“Thank you for coming, Henry,” Cork said. “Chi miigwech.”
Meloux eyed Paavola’s cabin. “Is that the place with evil spirits?”
“Maji-manidoog, Waaboo told us,” Daniel replied.
Meloux nodded. “Something is wrong here. There is no peace, no harmony. Where is your little rabbit?”
“Jenny’s bringing him. He’ll be here soon.”
“Good,” the old man said.
“Jenny’s not happy about this, Henry,” Daniel said. “Waaboo’s just a child.”
“In the little we really know, who among us is not? Even this old man still has much to learn. Maybe your son has something to teach us. We should listen carefully.”
Jenny’s Forester came up the dirt lane and parked. She got out, along with Waaboo, and they came to where the others stood.
“Boozhoo, Mishomis,” Waaboo said.
“Aaniish naa ezhiyaayin?” the old man said, asking the boy how he was feeling.
Waaboo looked cautiously at the cabin, then said, “Okay, I guess.”
“I’ve brought him,” Jenny said, clearly not happy about it. “But I’m not sure why.”
“To someone who listens, these woods speak.” Meloux knelt and looked into Waaboo’s eyes. “You listen when the woods speak.”
Waaboo nodded.
“You sense it. There is something not right here.”
“Maji-manidoog.” Waaboo pointed at the cabin. “There.”
Meloux said, “Are you afraid?”
Waaboo hesitated, then replied, “Yes.”
“Good.” The old man rose and looked toward the cabin. “There is much to fear in this darkness.”
