The Firehandler by Jason Lee Willis

Author:Jason Lee Willis [Willis, Jason Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lura Publications, LLC
Published: 2023-10-16T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Choosers of the Slain

Lake Manitou

December 1897

M ARTIN NIELSON SAT upon the frozen lake with a whiskey bottle in his hands. Hearing the approach of a horse upon the ice, he looked down at the bottle and swallowed the last bit of whiskey. With the hoofbeats getting louder, he quickly held the empty bottle over the hole in the ice and dropped it, knocking his cork aside as it bobbed in the hole. With the top of his boot, he pushed it below the surface of the water, allowing it to fill and sink to the bottom of the lake.

Please, no more condolences. I’ll throw up all over the ice if someone tries to be nice again.

Even in the darkness, the stars illuminated the frozen lake, with the patches free of snow acting like mirrors to the sky. The approaching horse was large, and it came from the east, meaning only one thing: Gustaf Forsberg.

The door of the old outhouse faced south, toward the southern shore, preventing Martin from seeing how many younger Forsbergs had come with the elder Swede. The hooves of the massive plow horse crunched loudly on the trek across the frozen lake, and as it neared, Martin could hear humming.

He also brought the girls.

Sure enough, when the horse neared, he could hear the girls singing “Children of the Heavenly Father” along with their father.

When Martin first met Gustaf at the Van Slyke Creamery, he cowered when the big Swede barked about cutting in line during morning deliveries, but since that day, he allowed the man the honor of first delivery at the creamery and learned that despite his solemn ways, the man had a tender heart. And now, there is no line.

At first, the whiskey helped deaden the trauma of seeing Van Slyke’s death and the strange mist he’d seen. Then, whiskey helped deaden even worse pain. Now, it was all gone but the pain still grew.

The heavy hooves halted, the singing ended, and soon Martin heard the passel of children exploring the ice as their father opened up holes.

Gustaf’s shack stood about fifty yards northwest of Martin’s repurposed outhouse. Lantern light suddenly illuminated the outhouse, coming in through the gaps in the boards. In the middle of the winter, a day lasted only until five o’clock.

Martin heard the crunch of footsteps approaching his fish shack. Living on a farm just a few hundred yards away along the southern shore, Martin walked down with only what he could carry, but thanks to the Forsberg lantern, he could clearly see beyond his cork in the hole.

It was Signe who tentatively approached.

And then she saw it.

“Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness! Britta, Bjorn! Come here. You have to see this.”

Martin smiled at how Signe reacted to the Northern Pike he had tossed upon the ice an hour earlier.

“It’s a monster!” Bjorn declared nearby. “Father! You have to see this. It is bigger than Signe.”

“Look at its teeth!”

Martin secured his short fishing pole, stood up, and opened the flimsy door to the outhouse.

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