Just an Old Legend Ch. 03

As she got the outboard started, she thought about her waiting decision. It didn't seem like such a big deal now she decided, and untied the lines front and back, getting in and clunking into reverse. The boat pulled away from the dock, and once in the clear, she swiveled it and pulled into forward. As the boat swung slowly around, she looked up at the ridge above. It took a second, but there he was watching. She smiled and waved before feeding in some throttle, smirking to herself and feeling a little silly.

He watched impassively from the bushes at the top. There was a part of him that agonized a little and wondered if she'd come back, but mostly he knew fairly well that she would. Hers was not what one might call a frenzied and terrified exit. He'd know if it was, he told himself. He'd seen a few. Besides, he had work to do. He headed for the small barn.

Down on the beach, he looked around. There were several deadfalls that she hadn't cleared. Wolves can't move timber very well, but he wasn't concerned since he wasn't one. Within a few seconds, he wasn't a man either, but he got down to business all the same. A quick tug to see how anchored a trunk was in the sand, and he began to knock boughs off with swipes of his claws. Up to a certain size, they snapped at the first impact. A few needed to be told twice, and the largest required him to wrap his arms around them and pull. Only a very few required the old bow saw that he'd brought from the barn. He worked quickly, stopping often to clear away and pile it near where Helen had piled the driftwood.

He turned to the largest deadfall. This one hadn't blown over in a storm or collapsed under the weight of a heavy winter's snow load. There had been a plot of soil near the edge of the rim and this one had grown there, he remembered. The soil had been eroded by wind and rain over many years and that had caused it to fall. It had fallen alive and died here on the beach, the lack of soil the cause of that too. He walked closer for a better look, though he was fairly certain of what he'd find, and one look at the bark gave him his answer.

Ironwood. This type of hornbeam had been murder on the saw blades and axes of so many settlers trying to clear a patch of ground to feed themselves. Finding that one's land had a good stand of these caused many to just leave them be, hunting and tearing out any young ones. Finding that one's land was covered in them had caused more than a few to walk away altogether. He had a strong sense that she'd cleared the driftwood away for her own reasons. He didn't mind helping if that's what she wanted. He remembered what she'd said with a low grunt. He stopped for a moment in thought. He liked seeing her happy when she saw him. That was a very new feeling.

It took some digging, but he was able to finally get the hold on it that he wanted. The last pull was a strain, but he didn't much care by then. It felt good to use what he'd been given - even if he hadn't exactly asked for this. All of his activity here had attracted the attention of several deerflies. They were on his shoulders and one was on his nose now as he strained. He stopped for a second to brush his snout under an arm to dislodge the little bastard. But he was on a roll now, having called up his strength, and he didn't do much more than that to impede them. Their bites irked him, but a little pain here and there was nothing, and it even goaded him on.

With a groan and several cracks, the largest portion of the tree gave up at last and came free of the sand. He'd allowed himself one quiet roar with the exertion of the pull and the heft of it up high, but now stood with the old ironwood trunk over his head. He turned slowly, taking small shuffling steps, and got to where he wanted to be with it. Another dull groan from him, and it was airborne, sailing quietly for a second to land with a wet crash at the entrance of the inlet. He walked farther and began to wade in with a satisfied and furry smirk as he swung out his massive arms to get some fresh blood flowing through them. As an adjective, the word 'superhuman' might have applied to his strength, but it was a bit on the impotent side.

He reached the trunk and looked carefully out into the channel beyond. The sudden cool weather was keeping most of the humans inside today so there were no water skiers out, but he still peered carefully along the shore to either side. You never knew when one of them would come along close in to shore with one of those silent motors as they fished. Satisfied, he heaved and tugged to get the old wood where he wanted it. Now the inlet was blocked, but the lake water could still get past it without restriction to keep the water in the tiny cove fresh.

He walked back out and the water that clung to his coat ran streaming to the sand as he changed to the form that had no fur as he searched for and found a light bough with a few leafed branches on it. With that, he swept the beach of his tracks before picking up the saw and turning to go. He wasn't finished yet.

He stopped at the top of the ridge for a moment and thought about how she had stood here. He looked at the wild flowers, trying hard to remember the ones that she'd smiled at or leaned down to smell. Setting the saw down again, he picked a handful, leaving the stems long where he could. Finally, he carried them back along with the saw.

Stan Beamish sat looking across the diner booth table at Helen. They'd run into each other on the street, and she'd suggested that she buy lunch. She reminded him of one of his young granddaughters, but all grown up. He found himself wishing that she might indeed grow up to be much like this remarkable young woman in front of him. He found his admiration for her growing, but along with that came his concern for her.

"I must say that I'm pleased that you've taken to the island so well, Helen, but your interest to purchase it leaves me a bit baffled to say the least. Did you discover gold or something?"

Helen smiled and shook her head, telling him that she just loved the place, and that it was perfect for her needs. Beamish pointed out that it wouldn't be quite so lovable in winter, but she said that she was willing to learn to adapt as necessary if she had to.

"Why not just continue to rent from me then?" he asked.

Helen shrugged, "I wouldn't mind that, Mr. Beamish, and it might come to that if I cannot arrange the necessary financing, but the reason that I wish to purchase it stems from my feeling that I've found my place there. I was thinking about that and remembered that you told me that you had trouble renting it, and thought that maybe we could come to an agreement if you were willing to sell."

"I did admit to you that I had difficulty renting it to the locals, Helen, but this is a tourist area - summer and winter. I have rented it to vacationers quite often. At a good price, I might add."

Helen allowed her face to show just a hint of a smile, "Perhaps quite often, Stan, but not lately. I inquired at both of the marinas in town, and neither of them could remember it being rented for longer than a week within the past decade. There was never much turnover, and absolutely none of the renters who made purchases at the marinas ever returned. They were just one-time deals. But I was told a few hair-raising tales when I asked. That's a lot of up-keeping expense, the way that I see it, with not much return. So I thought of other possible uses for the place. The outfitters and the tackle shop told me that no one will hunt there since there is always a shortage of game on the island. Moose and deer have even been introduced in the past, but there are never any to be found by Spring, every single time that it has been attempted."

She leaned forward, "Look, Stan. I'm pretty sure that I want it, but I'm not about to pay blood for it. You're just trying to jack me on the price, so that I don't fall over when you tell me at the meeting. I don't blame you for trying to make a buck, that's your business. But if you try to highball me, I'll just walk. I'll likely stay the summer then and leave with fond memories if your opening price leaves a sour taste in my mouth. If you're reasonable and I can't afford it or move you, I might rent over the winter. But don't turn an opportunity to be rid of it away for the sake of squeezing me on this. I have a load of artsy friends who may also want to move here. If we can meet on the price, guess whose realty office I'll be pimping like crazy."

Beamish sat back. "Listen, I need to know this. Have you seen or heard anything unusual there? I know it's only been a week or so. Was there anything?"

Helen shook her head. It was as close to lying as she wanted to come. "I was born in the city, Stan. But I spent a few summers on fire watch, I've done geology surveys way the hell away from civilisation, and we had a cottage in the woods when I was a girl growing up. I don't jump out of my skin very easily. I've heard the noises that trees make when they rub together in the wind, and I've seen my friends freak out over the sounds of a huge beast as it came crashing though the woods. I don't know what it's called but there is a bird with rather large feet that kicks up a lot of dead leaves in the woods looking for bugs. No Stan, the most that I'll admit to on the island is sign of bears. And so far they've left me alone."

Stan was feeling a bit better, but felt that he had to go the one extra step. "Do you, or have you ever hunted, Helen?"

She shrugged, "I have, though it's not my kettle of fish. My ex-husband is a hunting fanatic, and he's very responsible about it. I don't mind the meat at all, but once you've shot something, the real work starts. I'd rather just buy my roasts at the market when I feel like one. It happens rarely, and I see no need to kill something just because I want to eat some kind of blade roast."

"But you're no stranger to firearms, then?" Beamish asked.

She shook her head.

"Alright, Helen," he said, "I'll level with you. I'm pretty certain that you and I can come to terms when we meet on Wednesday. I've got to hand it to you, that's a great head you've got on your shoulders, and I find myself admiring you more and more. But... well look, I have some concerns for your safety, and don't look so shocked. You'll be out there alone." He looked around and saw that no one paid them any attention. "If we're done here, I'd like you to come to my office. As far as I'm concerned, in a very short time, you'll own yourself an island, but there are more things involved than just the deed to the place."

Half an hour later, Stan Beamish opened his personal safe. "I was out there one fall, years ago to close the house up for the winter. Now I told you about the murder there and the legend, but this isn't one of those campfire moments. I was reaching behind the sink to shut off the water valves and I found something. A false panel in the wall. The murder occurred very long ago, and all of the investigating parties have long gone to their final rewards. I stared at what I'd found, and just couldn't see the good of getting the law all upset all over again. It's bad enough for business as it is. I sure didn't want the local paper getting wind of this - I'd never be able to rent the place again."

He walked to the door and locked it, before opening the box on his desk a little bit. He took out a sheaf of old papers. "These are the letters that the original owner's wife had sent him. I once took them to be translated, and you'll find the translations in each letter's envelope as well. She was very much in love with him, and I'm sure it was mutual. There is one letter to her from him that I'd guess he'd never mailed."

He pulled out a black nylon shoulder bag, and handed it over to her, "I bought this bag to carry the thing in. Unless you and I have major issues Wednesday, I think you ought to have this. It's a cut-down, side-by-side 10-guage. I tried it, and I can tell you that it's quite a cannon, but it does still work. I think you ought to have it. Personally, besides breaking a lot of laws, I am afraid that you might need it one day. I've cleaned and cared for it over the years, but now I want it gone. If you don't want it, I'll just lose it overboard one day, but I think it would be wise to hang onto it. You'll find a small cleaning kit inside as well with swabs and everything."

Helen unzipped the bag and pulled the thing half-way out. It was old, there was no doubt of it, but she could see that it had been well cared-for. She shrugged, "Maybe I'll lose it too, or just call the law and tell them I found it around the old place."

He shook his head, "I don't recommend that. At the very least, you'll then have all of the local twits re-telling the tale and half the teenagers in town trying to bring their dates there after dark, but soon it will likely be your business what you do. But I think it belongs there, and I'd feel better knowing that you have it, just in case. If we fall through in the deal, I'll take it back."

She opened the box wide and stared. She was looking at the butt ends of shotgun shells. There were originally twenty in the box, and perhaps half of them had a dab of red paint on the ends. Three were missing. She looked at Stan with raised eyebrows.

He shrugged, "Some are buckshot, some are slugs. They were all hand-loaded. The ones with the paint?" He took a deep breath. "The red ones are slugs too - but the slugs are a type of solid silver. That's why I believe that this is the murder weapon. The slug kicked the crap out of the tree I pointed it at and that's when I noticed that the slug was a hardened silver alloy."

Helen thought for a moment before shoving it back into the bag and zipping it closed. The wooden box went into her large bag. She looked at Stan for a few seconds, "You really believe that I'll need this?"

He shrugged, "Better to have it and not need it, I think. Bears can get nasty at certain times of the year, if you take my meaning."

Helen looked at the realtor dubiously, "Hardened silver slugs," she said, "For bears?"

The old man shrugged, "I don't see why they wouldn't work on a bear just as well..."

She had a strange feeling, but didn't want to sound like a nutbar anymore than he did. "Just as well as two of them did on a woman once? Or maybe you're thinking of something else? Have YOU seen anything there, Stan?"

He nodded, "Once only, and only for a split-second, so I was never sure what it was that I caught a glimpse of. I spent the day there fishing after I found that. A few beers with my sandwich lunch, and I fell asleep on the couch. It was getting dark when I woke up, and I ran my fat ass off getting down to the dock to get home. I thought I heard something behind me, but didn't dare stop to look. I started walking fairly quickly, but in the end I was just running as fast as I could. As I pulled my boat out of there, I'm sure that I saw something huge and dark silhouetted there on the rocks above. A glimpse was all I got of it, but Helen, what I saw there was no man, and it sure as hell wasn't a wolf either."

He sat back in his chair, "I'm a fat old man now, but I've tramped all over this area all of my life and seen about everything there is to see around here. Never saw anything like that before or since. That's why I want you to hang onto this, alright? Just do an old man who wishes you the best a favour and carry this with you when you're out, that's all."

Helen looked at him for a second and believed that he saw something. What it was, whether real, imaginary, or just a trick of the light, she had no idea. She shouldered the bag with a nod and walked to the door, "I'll see you Wednesday morning, Stan."

She walked to her car and out the bag into the trunk. She had some grocery shopping to do.