Their glasses chinked and the music stopped. The sound of the woods at night crept into the tavern. Angie wiped down the bar sink while letting the faucet run.

“It gets quiet in the woods,” Sanders whispered. “So quiet you can even hear the animals creepin’ around. So quiet you can hear your soul shifting around as you walk.”

John stared at Sanders, stunned. He had no idea he was capable of such sentiment, and his comments had hit home. Ron had noticed it too. In the deep woods, it was almost as if he could hear his inner workings, that removing noise and chaos revealed other parts of him, better parts of him.

Ron nodded. “I was up at the leaning post the other morning, and watching the valley. I actually saw the wind coming down from the Hurons in my binocs. I could see the big pines on the ridges swaying, pushing the wind my way. When the wind hit me it smelled of hemlock and red pine, sweet and pure, the best air a man has ever held in his lungs, and ever will.”

“You aint shittin’ eh?” Sanders said, finishing the last of his water. “Angie, I could use another, eh?”

“Sorry Bob, we’re closing up,” she said, wiping the wooden bar with a damp towel. “Maybe next time.”

Sanders grimaced. “Angie, Angie, you can’t say I never tried.”

Angie rolled her eyes, and John groaned.

“Jesus, Sanders you’re out of your mind,” Ron said.

“An empty glass is a terrible thing to waste,” Sanders said.

Angie dimmed the lights at the back of the bar and Huron Bay slowly appeared in the picture window. Moonlight glimmered like a pale highway across the ripples.

The view stirred John’s pleasantly buzzed mind. “Angie,” he said. “Before we go, you mind if I ask you a question about this place?”

“Shoot,” she said, busying herself with a set of dirty glasses.

“Who built it?”

“Long story,” she said. “My great-grandfather got the logs himself during the lumber craze. Took the timbers from the Hurons. He willed it to my grandfather, who willed it to my mother. She’s retired and now I pretty much run the place. It’s in my blood, everything about it. You guys ever get that feeling ’bout a place?”

John nodded. “The Black River and the orchard,” he said. He looked around the room. “Does it do okay?”

Angie whirled and wiped her hands on her thighs. “You don’t need much to live up here, and the place is paid for, so I’m doing alright.”

“Nice,” John said.

Sanders squirmed on his stool and pointed at the bear. “Hey, hey did you fookers know that bear ain’t from around here?”

“They got it from up on Julip,” Ron said, hiding his grin with his beer.

John watched Sanders, expecting him to rage.