“They’ve seen deer,” Miss Pauline said. “They’ve seen every animal there is. You’ve seen to that.”

“Only what hangs around near the farms. That’s nothing. Pauline, you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve never been out there. You’ve never seen a flock of ducks so thick they made the sky dark. You’ve never seen a herd of deer covering a valley like a brown carpet. You’ve never dropped a hook in fishing water so good that the trout’d bite on a piece of white shirt.”

“Is all that so important?” she asked evenly.

“It is to me. And I think it’s important to my kids.”

She opened her mouth, and for an instant I knew what she wanted to say—that Tim wasn’t his real son. My father knew too, and he stared her down. She closed her mouth without saying it.

Instead she picked up her knitting again and said softly, “When do you want to go?”

“Next week,” he said. “If I have your say-so, that is. You know I wouldn’t go against your wishes, Pauline.”

She waited a long time before answering. When she did, there was something in her voice that I didn’t recognize at the time. Today I would know it instantly as anguish. “Michael, what choice do I have? I know how important this is to you. How could I deny you when this goes so close to the bone? But I’m afraid. I’m always afraid when you go into the woods with a client, so you must know how much more afraid I’ll be when it is with my…my children. So much can happen.”

“Nothing will happen, Pauline,” he said, hugging her, happy that he’d gotten his way so easily.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Week, say ten days.”

“They’ll miss school.”

“Let them.”

“You’ll take care?”

“You know I will.”

“And you won’t take chances?”

“Pauline,” he said carefully, “I never take chances. Ask anybody. I never had a client so much as sprain his ankle.”

“I know,” she said. She reached out and touched his cheek. “I realize how important this is to you, Michael. I only wish it were that important to me.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “We’ve all got different things we have to do.”

He turned to Tim. “What shape is the canoe in?”

“Good,” said Tim.

“Need any pitch?” The canoe was made of canvas, and the seams were sealed with pine pitch.

“Maybe a spot here and there.”

“Better take care of it. I don’t want any leaks.”

“Father,” I said, “am I going?”

He turned to me. “Do you want to go, Lizzy?”

“Yes.”

“It’s going to be a hard trip. We’ll have only what we can take in the canoe. The bugs will be biting.”

“I don’t care,” I said. “If Tim’s going, I want to too.”

“Do you want to go, Tim?” he asked.

Tim didn’t have to answer. He was jumping up and down.