Purgatory Ridge

43

IT WAS SCOTT, Grace Fitzgerald’s young son, who finally suggested the means for freeing Stevie from the grip of the bars on the fish house window.

John LePere had stood on an empty wooden crate and tried to force the bars apart. Unfortunately, he’d done a good job in choosing the hardware to make the fish house secure, and the bars wouldn’t budge. He took a section of old board-three feet of two-by-four-wedged it above Stevie’s head, and attempted to pry at least one bar loose from the bolts that anchored it to the window frame. He ended up splintering the board. Jo did her best to comfort Stevie, but as time dragged on, her little boy gave in to his terror. He was sobbing uncontrollably when Scott said quietly from behind the huddled adults, “What about this?”

He held out to them a can he’d found on the nearly empty shelves-motor oil for marine engines, one of the few items Bridger hadn’t removed. “Maybe you could slide him through,” he suggested.

Jo took the can and gave Scott a grateful hug. The boy looked away, embarrassed. “Stevie,” she said. “I’m going to take your shirt and pants off, sweetheart, and then I’m going to put something really slippery all over you. It will feel icky, but I think it will help you squeeze out of those bars. Okay?”

Stevie was still sobbing, but he managed to choke out, “‘kay,” so that Jo knew he understood.

“That’s my good boy.”

LePere supported Stevie’s body while Jo unbuttoned and removed her son’s shirt. She unsnapped his jeans and pulled down the zipper. She had to pull off his shoes to get his pants off. At last, she took a shard of glass from the broken mirror and made a slit in the cardboard side of the oil container. She poured the viscous fluid over his back and rubbed it completely along his sides and chest and stomach. Finally, she dripped the last of it down the bars that held her son prisoner.

“Okay, I think we’re ready. Here goes, honey.” She gave LePere a sign and he lifted Stevie so that the boy could turn his shoulders. Gently, LePere eased him forward. Stevie made a hurting sound. LePere glanced at Jo, who nodded for him to continue. LePere’s face was contorted with concern as he worked Stevie through the bars toward freedom. Once his chest was clear, Stevie nearly shot through the window. LePere held tightly to his ankles.

“I’m going to let you down slowly,” he called to Stevie. “As far as I can. Then I’ll let you drop. I’ll tell you before I do that.” He inched forward until his arms were through the bars up to his shoulders. “Okay, Stevie. I’m going to let go. You shouldn’t drop more than a couple of feet. Roll when you hit the ground. It will help.”

Jo heard a small thump as Stevie fell. She shoved up beside LePere on the crate. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Stevie didn’t answer.

“Stevie?” she called. She tried to see below the window. The moon had just begun to rise over Lake Superior and in its light the ground looked silver as if covered in frost. She couldn’t see her son. “Stevie, answer me.” Her voice was cold with a desperate fear.

They all turned suddenly as the door to the fish house rattled. Stevie cried from the other side, “I can’t get it open, Mommy.”

Jo rushed to the door and pressed herself against it. “That’s okay, Stevie,” she said, nearly weeping with relief. “That’s okay.”

“What do I do?” he called in his small, frightened voice.

Run, she wanted to tell him. Run fast and far. But there was another mother and child, and Stevie was their only hope.

“He needs to get into the house,” LePere said to Jo. “If the door’s locked, there’s a key on a nail under the top porch step.”

Jo dropped Stevie’s clothes through the window and as he put them on, she explained very carefully to him what he had to do. She heard the crunch of his little feet on the gravel as he hurried away, then she heard nothing. She hopped onto the crate at the window. From there she could see the whole scene-the dock, the cove, the dark profile of Purgatory Ridge, and the house, all coated with moonlight. In the sky to the west, above the Sawtooth Mountains, Jo saw flashes of light. A minute later, she heard the distant growl of thunder. She couldn’t see Stevie at first. Then he emerged from where the dark of the front porch had swallowed him, and he ran back to the fish house.

“It’s open,” he told them.

“Inside the house,” LePere said, this time addressing Stevie directly through the door, “there’s a kitchen area. As you face the sink, there are drawers on the right side.” He paused and glanced at Jo. “Does he know right and left?”

“He knows.”

“Okay, Stevie. In the top drawer on the right-hand side is a ring of keys. There’s a key for the lock on this door. Bring the ring and I’ll help you find the right key. Okay?”

“Okay,” Stevie said.

Atop the crate at the window, Jo watched her son cross the yard again. The light of the moon gave him his shadow as a companion.

“How much time do we have before Bridger comes back?” Grace asked.

“Not much,” LePere replied. “How’s he doing?”

Jo said, “I can’t tell. I think he’s in the house, but I don’t see a light on.”

LePere slapped the wall angrily. “The switch is in an odd place. Damn, I should have explained that to him.”

“Find it, Stevie,” Jo whispered.

As soon as she said it, she wanted to take it back. For she saw headlights swing toward the cove from far up through the trees near the highway.

“He’s back,” she said. “Bridger is back.”

At that moment, the light in the house came on, making the place like a bright beacon in the dark on Purgatory Cove.