The weight of water - Anita Shreve [52]
“I don’t know,” he says, speculating out loud about the storm.
“It isn’t clear how bad it will be, or even if it will definitely be here by tonight.”
I shift Billie on my lap. I look over toward Smuttynose. Rich must see the hesitation on my face.
“You need to go over to the island again,” he says.
“I should.”
“I’ll take you.”
“I can take myself,” I say quickly. “I did it last night.”
This surprises him.
“After everyone was asleep. I wanted night shots.”
Rich studies me over the rim of his coffee. “You should have woken me,” he says. “It isn’t safe to go off like that by yourself. At night, especially.”
“Was it scary, Mommy?”
“No. Actually, it was very beautiful. The moon was out and was so bright I could see my way without a flashlight.”
Rich is silent. I pick up my own mug from the deck. The coffee is cold. Billie sits up suddenly, jogging my arm. The coffee spills onto the sleeve of my white robe.
“Mommy, can I go over with you tonight? To the island when it’s dark? Maybe there will be ghosts there.”
“Not tonight,” says Rich. “No one’s going over there tonight. We may be having a storm later. It wouldn’t be safe.”
“Oh,” she says, dropping her shoulders in disappointment.
“I’ve got landscape shots from the water,” I say, tallying up my meager inventory. “And night shots, and I’ve done Maren’s Rock. But I need shots from the island itself, looking out to Appledore and Star, and to the east, out to sea. And also some detail shots.”
“Like what?”
“Scrub pine. Rose hips. A window of the Haley house, the footprint of the Hontvedt house. I should have done this yesterday when I had the chance. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” he says. “We have time.”
“Me too!” says Billie excitedly.
Rich shakes his head. “You stay here with your dad and Adaline.” He reaches over and pulls my daughter from my lap. He whirls her around and tickles her at her waist. She begins to laugh with that unique helplessness that borders on hysteria. She tries to wriggle away from his grasp and screams to me to help her. “Mommy, save me! Save me!” But when Rich suddenly stops, she turns to him with an appreciative sigh and folds herself into his lap.
“Whew,” she says. “That was a good tickle.”
George E. Ingerbretson, a Norwegian immigrant who lived at Hog Island Point on Appledore Island, was called to the stand. He, like many who were summoned, spoke in a halting and imperfect English that was not always easy to transcribe. He was asked by the county attorney what he observed between seven and eight o’clock on the morning of March 6, 1873. He replied that he had two small boys and that they had come into his house and said, “They are halooing over to Smutty Nose.” He was then asked what he saw when he got to the island.
“I saw one bloody axe; it was lying on a stone in front of the door, John Hontvet’s kitchen door. The handle was broken. I went around the house. I saw a piece knocked off the window. Then I stopped. I saw John was coming. I did not look into the window. I only saw the bloody axe and blood around.”
After John Hontvedt arrived, along with several other men, Ingerbretson went inside the house.
“Evan Christensen went just ahead of me; he opened the door. Evan is the husband of Anethe.”
“Who else went with you at that time?” Yeaton asked.
“John Hontvet and Louis Nelson and James Lee, no one else. John’s brother, Matthew, was with us. I do not know whether he went into the house or not.”
“State what you saw.”
“It was Anethe, lying on her back, head to the door. It looked to me as though she was hauled into the house by the feet. I saw the marks.”
“Of what?”
“From the south-east corner of the house into the door.”
“Traces of what?”
“Of blood.”
“Was there any other body there?