Caribou Island

When they were kids, their parents took them camping on the far shores. Steep pebble beaches backed by forest and mountain. She and Mark hiked a rocky headland, with views of bays on both sides, and looked for wolverines. A nearly mythical creature. She didn’t know a single person who had seen one, and so as children, they were constantly hunting the wolverine, and they scared each other with tales of what would happen when they’d find it. The wolverine would sometimes play dead, or offer up its neck, but if a bear went for that, the wolverine would attach to the bear’s underside, bite its neck and rip its razor claws all along the bear’s belly. This was what she imagined as a kid, reaching down for a dead wolverine and having it rise up and rip out her stomach. She wasn’t scared of bears, because she had seen those, and she loved animals, but she had never seen a wolverine.

Remember the wolverine stories? she yelled to Mark over the engine.

What?

She repeated.

Oh yeah, Mark smiled. You used to scare the crap out of me with those.

Rhoda smiled too, then looked ahead again at the islands approaching. White now with snow, and she couldn’t remember how many years it had been since she’d last visited.

Calmer on the back side of the islands as they curved around Frying Pan. Flat water, no spray. Small waves again around the other side, and several cabins tucked into the trees. She had expected to see her parents’ boat by now.

The chop a little rougher, and Mark slowed. The island steeper, rising to a hill. No boat along the shore. Rhoda couldn’t find her parents.

Slow down, she yelled to Mark. They have to be somewhere in here. She was searching the trees, starting to panic. There was no boat. So they could have left for the upper campground already. But they also could have gone down in the storm, drowned, or their boat washed away and they were stranded and maybe something had happened. It was nothing out here. No other people, no help.

In there, Mark yelled and slowed.

Where? Rhoda asked. What is it?

I see the cabin, he said, and then Rhoda saw it too. Like ruins, some cabin from a hundred years ago, burned out, its roof missing. A big hole for the front window. Rough logs covered in snow. Thin logs, like sticks. It didn’t look at all like she had imagined. So small. But that had to be it. A blue tent and another tent, brown, hidden mostly by the low brush.

They must have gone in today, Mark said.

Yeah, we should have gone to the upper campground.

It’s not the end of the world. We’ll go there next. But we should take a look around. I’m curious.

Their boat could have been taken away in the storm, Rhoda said. They may be here. I hate this. I hate not knowing what the fuck is happening to them. They could be dead for all we know.

No need to shit yourself. I’m sure they’re fine. Mark raised the engine partway out of the water, turned it off. They drifted in slowly, and then he was using a paddle.

We have to be quick, Mark said. This sucks for parking. And I’d better stay with the boat, actually.

Rhoda looking down at the water, trying to guess how deep. She didn’t have waders. But she had to check whether her mom was here. So she stepped in, sank past her knees, the water a shock how cold it was. The stones were slippery, but she worked her way ashore carefully, over rocky beach and up through grass and snow.

Mom, she yelled. Dad. Past undergrowth and alders, she came to a woodpile with fresh sawdust, so they’d been working after it stopped snowing. Their boot prints visible. Mom, she yelled again. Are you here?

The cabin lopsided and rough, small, unbelievable they could want to live in that. It looked abandoned from a much older time, open now to the sky, but had fresh plywood for its floor. An open space in the back. They’d be putting a door there. The growth beaten down all around here. A Coleman stove with a pot on it. The two tents, and now Rhoda really was afraid. She didn’t want to unzip a tent, for what she’d find inside.

Mom, she said again, quieter this time. Stood in front of the larger tent and could feel her heart racing. Unzipped it quick and saw their sleeping bags, clothing, food. No one inside. No body. Nothing wrong. So she stepped to the other tent quick and unzipped it, and no one there, either. Thank god, she said. And she closed her eyes a moment, let her breathing calm down, let her heart slow.

They up there? Mark yelled from the boat, his voice faint. This cabin was tucked back a ways.

No, she yelled. No one here. They must have left this morning.

Supplies in the second tent. Tools. She couldn’t believe they had lived out here in the storm. And it looked like they were doing it, really building this cabin, intending to stay through the winter. Rhoda kneeled on the path, closed her eyes and just took a moment. She was so afraid. When the lake began to freeze over, there’d be a time when no boat could make it out here and the ice wouldn’t be solid enough to walk across. They’d be isolated, no way to reach them if something was wrong.