A Quiet and Peaceful Place Page 3

  The way he asked the question suggested that it was obvious that there was nothing more that could be wanted, but there was an irony in his voice too, suggesting that there was a joke to be found at the end of this universal truth.

  “Well, have a good one,” the driver said, having run out of things to say.

  “You too.”

  When morning came Freddie woke on the couch with his sleeping bag draped over him. He went out onto the decking of the cabin and saw that the day was starting just as the two before had, clear and cold. He walked around to the side of the cabin that was still enveloped in frost and shade and looked at the mound of rocks among the daffodils. Some of the flowers were preparing to open for the first time and it made him happy.

  The skis were leaning on the rail where he left them and he strapped them together and hung them in the shed where they would stay for the summer. He then remembered his fishing rod that he had thrown aside when he saw Mattie fall and he went and got it. When these two tasks were completed he went back inside and sat by the fire, thinking of what to do next, but nothing came.

  Soon cars were coming up the newly plowed road and families came along, opening up their cabins. He could hear his neighbors talking, looking over what may have been damaged through the winter. The children went down to the stream, fishing poles in hand along with cans of worms, hoping to manage dinner, like good scouts.

  Freddie went out onto the deck and sat in the sun, waving to his neighbors as they worked. They waved back and called a greeting, the kind that was friendly and vague, and just low enough in amplitude that it could not be clearly understood. He knew they thought he was a crazy old man, and while they wanted to remain on good terms with him, they wanted to keep a well established distance between them. He didn’t blame them for thinking that, they were probably right, and he respected their wishes by not overstepping the boundary they had established.

  The fishermen were having success and he watched as several of the trout he had caught and released many times go to their doom. He reminded himself that the thinning of the herd was not something to be regretted in this case. He didn’t have it in him to do it himself, and the health of the river would be the better for it in the long run.

  When they came up the hill to show off their catch, he went down to the river and walked along the bank going downstream. He went past where Mattie had gone in, past where he had dove after her, past where he pulled her out, to where he could neither see nor hear the cabins above. There was a rock that he could step onto that protruded into the current where the water cascaded noisily over the fall. He sat down and turned his face toward the warming sun and listened. They were all there, just as they were before, and he listened again to the pleasant conversation that was carried on between the pattering of the waves. It was distant and hard to make out at first, but soon he was sure he heard the sound of a distinctive and insistent bark, calling for him to come and play. He smiled and nodded his head with his eyes closed, and promised her that he would.

  The End

  Thank you for reading. I can be contacted at:

  a.michaelbronston@yahoo.com