CHAPTER FIVE

      LUKE HELD TIMMY’S hand as they stood with Annie on the dock of Redbeard’s Marina, talking to Redmond Wilkerson Taylor Jr., most commonly referred to around town as Captain Redbeard. Well over six-feet six inches tall, Red was a huge man with a barrel chest and hard-as-a-rock barrel belly. He’d tied a leather strip around his full head of flowing red hair—streaked with natural gray “highlights,” now that he’d crossed the sixty-five-year marker—to keep it from flying in his face as he sped around Indian Lake in one of the many fiberglass ski boats he rented to tourists and residents by the day or week.

      “You sure you don’t want to try your hand at waterskiing?” Red asked Luke, squinting his China-blue eyes nearly shut. Red had a craggy face, made rugged from long days in the sun and smiling a great deal. His teeth were even, and as white as the brilliant, puffy clouds above.

      “No, thanks, Red,” Luke replied. “The kids are a bit young for skis. Besides, skiing is an expensive sport. They just wanted to be on the lake today.”

      “Purdy day for it.” Red laughed as he often did, with an unmistakable explosion of good-heartedness bursting from his mouth.

      Annie smiled widely. “That’s what I said to Dad. The whole summer will be over before we know it.”

      Red laughed again. “Well, little missy, since school isn’t even out yet, you have plenty of time left.”

      “I don’t want to miss a single second,” she replied with a wistful sigh. “I just love the water.”

      Luke touched the top of Annie’s head lovingly. “Yes, you do, don’t you?”

      “I wish I could be here every day,” Annie gushed as she clasped her hands together then dropped them in front of her, striking a rapturous pose.

      “You can.”

      “Excuse me?” Luke cocked his head as he peered at Red.

      “I run a summer camp for the kids in town. Five days a week, and the city underwrites most of the cost. I’ve been doing it for years now. The working parents love it. The kids are outside most of the day. They learn swimming, lifesaving, boating, sailing, knot tying, even flag signals. And some things I learned in the rivers in ’Nam.”

      “Marines?”

      “Navy. I was a chief petty officer.”

      “Not a captain, then?”

      Red shook his head. “That’s just a nickname. One of my buddies called me that and it stuck.”

      “I like the sound of this camp. Being a former navy man myself, I want the kids to not just like the water, but to respect it and know how to navigate it.”

      Timmy was listening intently to the conversation between the grown-ups. He looked up at his father and asked, “You mean we don’t have to go to the Lollipop Day Care Center this summer?”

      Luke shot a pleading glance at Red. “You got room for two more?”

      “Happens I do.” Red chuckled.

      Annie nearly jumped out of her pink flip-flops. “Yes!”

      Luke stuck out his hand to shake Red’s. “Then we have a deal.”

      “We do. And for today,” Red said, bending over and picking up two oars. “I’ll give you Number Six. It’s the blue rowboat at the end of the dock.”

      “How much do I owe you?” Luke said, reaching for his wallet.

      Red looked at the sun and then back at Luke. “A dollar.”

      “What?”

      “Dollar. Looks like high noon. All rowboats rent for a dollar an hour after noontime.”

      Luke shook his head and took out a single bill. He saw Red glance at his wallet. Not that there was much there to look at.

      “Nice doin’ bidness with ya.” Red saluted Luke.

      “Where are the life jackets?” Luke asked.

      “In the boat. I had Willie put in two children’s and one adult. No alcohol on the lake,” Red warned.

      “We just brought juice boxes,” Timmy said.

      “Best you stay around the shoreline so you’re out of the way of the ski boats. Their wakes will knock you out of the boat. Some of the drivers are plumb crazy and don’t know their safety rules.”

      “Gotcha,” Luke said.

      Red looked down at Timmy. “Have a good time out there, young man. Ask your dad to tell you the Legend of Indian Lake while you’re on the water. That’s always fun.”

      “What legend?” Luke asked.

      “Of Indian Lake,” Red replied, looking at Luke as if he was nuts.

      “I don’t know that one,” Luke said.

      Red squinted his eyes again. “You’re not from around here, are ya?”

      “No. We moved here from Chicago just after Timmy was born. My wife didn’t want to raise kids in the city. We came here near Halloween that year, and she fell in love with the town. She passed away two years ago.”

      Red nodded solemnly. “Sorry for your loss.”

      Timmy pulled on Red’s khaki shorts. “What about the legend?”

      “Well, son, a long time ago when all this—” he swept his arm over the lake, pine trees and shore “—was Pottawatomi Indian land, the Jesuit priests came from France to convert the Indians. One winter there was an outbreak of influenza or measles or smallpox—one of those deadly diseases. Anyway, the Indian medicine man had done all he could, and still, the villagers were dying by the dozens. Then Father Pierre, who had just arrived at the fur trader’s outpost about two miles from here, heard about the Indians dying. He walked in a blizzard across the frozen lake to get to their village.” Red pointed to the far side of the lake to a grove of trees and the dozen log cabins that comprised Tall Pines Lodges of Indian Lake.

      “Well, sir, it seems Father Pierre went to the village and prayed over those folks somethin’ fierce. They say he fasted and abstained for three days and three nights. He carried with him a special cross that had been in his family for a hundred years. They say he touched each of those sick Indians on the forehead with his cross and prayed over them. On the fourth day, they were miraculously cured. When he was walking back across the lake, the ice broke and swallowed him up, cross and all.”

      “Yeah?” Timmy asked with wide, captivated eyes.

      “Some folks say Father Pierre’s sacrifice has blessed Indian Lake. From then on, during the worst storms and the most unimaginable disasters, people swear they have seen the image of Father Pierre and his cross. And then, everything gets better.”

      “What do you think?” Annie asked.

      Red laughed. “It’s all hooey to me. There’s no magic in that lake. Probably never was a Father Pierre, neither. It’s just a great story to tell around a campfire.”

      “What does the cross look like?” Timmy asked quickly, not to be thrown off track.

      “Some said it was just wooden. Others said they saw a gold cross studded with jewels. I say it’s just make-believe, anyway.”