In Darkest Depths

Second Incident

To most whites, Blue Water Woman was a Flathead. Her people, however, called themselves the Salish. They lived well to the north of King Valley in a region that boasted the largest body of fresh water between the Mississippi River and the Pacific Ocean. King Lake was not nearly as big as Flathead Lake, as that other lake was known, but to her it was the jewel in their new home.

As a girl, Blue Water Woman had whiled away many an idle hour at Flathead Lake. She and her friends frolicked in the shallows and swam every chance they got. She often went for long swims away from shore, despite repeated warnings from her parents and others.

Not long ago, when Shakespeare told her about Nate King’s plan to move all of them from the foothills to a valley deep in the mountains, she nearly said she was against the idea. Then her husband mentioned that the valley boasted a lake and they would live along its shore. In a heartbeat she changed her mind. “If you want to do it, we will.”

“Ha, ha! Are you honest?” Shakespeare had asked.

“What do you mean?” Blue Water Woman suspected he was quoting old William S, as Shakespeare called his namesake.

“That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.”

“I am always honest and fair with you. If you want to move, then I want to move. You are my husband and my heart, and I would not live without you.”

Blue Water Woman smiled at the memory. Shakespeare had been touched by her declaration of love, and for a few days had treated her with extra tenderness. He had even forgotten to be grumpy, which, given his usual disposition, was a miracle in and of itself. He was not truly happy unless he was complaining about something or other.

Chuckling, Blue Water Woman bent to the task at hand. She was out behind their cabin on the south shore of the lake, squatting at the water’s edge, wringing out towels and a blanket. It was laundry day, which for her meant carrying whatever needed washing to the lake and giving it a good dunking.

The breeze off the lake was cool, although the day was hot. She raised her head and turned her face so the breeze caught her full-on. A sense of peace and contentment came over her and she closed her eyes.

Blue Water Woman was happy with her life. She had a husband who adored her, a man she loved with all her being, a comfortable cabin in which to live, horses and chickens and even several piglets. She was within short walking distance of her dearest friend, Winona King. Her only other neighbors were Winona’s son, Zach, and Zach’s wife, Lou, who had a cabin on the north shore, and the Nansuseqa family to the east of the lake.

A loud splash ended her reverie. She opened her eyes and spied concentric circles spreading across the surface of the lake a stone’s throw out. She assumed that a fish had surfaced and gone back under, and she started to bend to the towels.

Suddenly Blue Water Woman froze.

Something was floating under the water near the concentric circles. She could not quite make out what it was, but it was big, far bigger than any fish she’d ever seen or heard of. She thought it must be a trick of the sunlight, a shadow of some kind, but when she tilted her head, it did not go away. Whatever it was, it was real.

The warnings of her early years returned to fill her with dread. Annoyed at herself for being so silly, she began to rise, but she stopped when she realized the thing was coming toward her.

Blue Water Woman’s heart beat faster. She remembered the stories vividly, accounts of creatures that dwelled in Flathead Lake and others. Creatures that lived in the depths and only came to the surface on rare occasions. Creatures, her people believed, that were bad medicine. That should be avoided. Creatures that ate people.

In her early years, Blue Water Woman had thought the stories silly. Tales her mother told to keep her from swimming alone. She had ignored the warnings and done as she pleased.

Then came the day her opinion had changed. She had seen fourteen winters. It had been early spring, and her people were camped close to Flathead Lake. A warrior had shot a deer with an arrow. Wounded, frantic to escape, the buck had plunged into the lake and swam to a small island not far from shore, and the warrior hurried to a canoe to go after it.

Blue Water Woman had not seen what happened next. She’d heard about it from her father. He, along with dozens of others, had watched the warrior paddle toward the island. The day had been sunny and clear and the water undisturbed, but midway the canoe unexpectedly shook as if caught in a gust of wind. The warrior had gripped the sides and looked about in consternation.

A few of the Salish said they had seen a dark shape rise out of the deep and strike the bottom of the canoe. But others had seen nothing. Some had shouted for the warrior to forget the buck and come back. But the warrior had gone on paddling.

Everyone had witnessed the consequence: something did rise up out of the lake, something bigger than the canoe, striking it with terrible violence and lifting the front end clear out of the water. The warrior had tried to hold on, but he was pitched into the lake. They had seen him flail his arms. They’d heard him cry out. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Women had screamed. Children had run. Men had rushed to canoes to go to the warrior’s aid, but an elder warned them they must not go into the water. The lake creature was angry, the elder had said. They had not offered a sacrifice to it in many moons, and the hunter had paid the price of their folly. That very night they did as they had done in olden times, and a doe was slain and taken out in a canoe and dropped in the water at the spot where the warrior had gone under.

There’d been no more attacks. Winters had gone by. Blue Water Woman had never seen the creature. The memory and the menace had faded from her mind. She grew up, eventually took McNair for her mate, and moved far away.

Then came the move to King Valley.

Now, strange things were beginning to happen. Waves appeared on the lake when there was no wind. The water would roil and churn with no visible cause. They heard loud splashing, but no fish jumped. Nearly all of them glimpsed something out in the water, but none of them could say what it was.

Now this.

Blue Water Woman felt genuine fear as the shape glided slowly toward her. Yet at the same time she was elated that she might at long last see it. Conditions were ideal. It was not raining or misty or foggy, as was often the case when the creature made its presence known.

Then, in a twinkling, the thing was gone. It seemed to sink straight down into the depths and vanish.

Blue Water Woman waited breathlessly for it to reappear. Suddenly a hand fell on her shoulder, and she jumped and spun, her hand dropping to the knife she was never without. “Oh!” she exclaimed in her husband’s tongue. “It is only you.”

Shakespeare McNair grinned. “That is a fine way to greet me. My mistress with a monster is in love,” he quoted. Then he saw her eyes. “What is the matter?”

Blue Water Woman threw her arms around him and held him close. She quaked, although she could not say why. “Oh, Carcajou,” she said, using the name he was known by of old, her special term of endearment for him.

“I repeat,” Shakespeare said, shocked by her reaction. He could count the number of times he had seen his wife like this on one hand and have fingers left over. “What is the matter?”

“I saw it,” Blue Water Woman said.

“Saw what?”

“It.”

Shakespeare gazed out over the placid lake but saw only a few mallards. “The thing?”

Blue Water Woman shuddered again.

“Did you get a good look? What is it?”

“I could not see much,” Blue Water Woman said.

“Yet you are this scared?” Shakespeare had seen his wife stand up to a grizzly without flinching.

“I think it was—” Blue Water Woman caught herself. “No. That is silly. I must be wrong.”

“About what?” Shakespeare prompted.

“I think it knew I was here,” Blue Water Woman said, almost in a whisper. “I think it was looking at me.”

Shakespeare held her and stroked her and glared at the water. He did not like it when the woman he loved was upset. He did not like it at all. “This is a sorry sight,” he quoted.

“I am sorry. I am being childish.”

“It is not you. It is that,” Shakespeare said, with a bob of his snow-colored beard at the blue water. “I am losing my patience with that thing.”

“There is nothing we can do,” Blue Water Woman said.

“One more incident like this, and I will declare war,” Shakespeare vowed.

“No, you will not. My people say we are to have nothing to do with the water devils, as you would call them. To anger them is to court death.”

“I am too old for fairy tales.”

“Carcajou!” Blue Water Woman drew back and regarded him sternly. “I will thank you not to belittle our beliefs. And I want your word that you will not go out after it.”

“Your wish is my command, my dear.” But Shakespeare’s eyes, fixed on the lake, said different.