A Northern Light(81)

"If you show, I won't tell," it said. "Meet me at the far cottage after breakfast."

We arrived at the fern parch sweating and panting. It was only ten o'clock or so, but it was already hot and muggy.

"Where'd you put the rope?" I asked, looking at the ground around us.

"Right here," Ada said, pulling it out from under a stand of spruce trees.

"Where can we tie it?"

"Around that pine?"

"Its trunk is too bare. He'll see it."

Ada bit her lip, looking all around.

"How about that balsam over there? Its branches go down nearly to the ground."

We tied the rope around the tree, but then discovered it was too short. It needed to snake along the ground from the balsam tree past the front of the fern patch and into the bushy stand of spruce trees where we planned to hide ourselves, but it didn't quite reach.

"What are we going to do, Mattie? They're going to be here soon," Ada fretted, looking back toward the hotel.

"We'll have to tie it to the pine after all and just hope he doesn't see it," I said. "Come on, we've got to hurry."

I quickly unknotted the rope and retied it tightly around the trunk of the pine tree, about six inches up from the ground. Then I walked back to the stand of spruces, letting the rope play out along the ground. Ada followed me, carefully covering it with pine needles, leaves, and dirt.

"Cripes, but it stinks. Won't he know?"

"He'll be too intent on other things. Here ... look, Ada, we made it. With plenty left to spare."

Ada glanced at me and I showed her that we had about an extra yard of rope to hold on to in the spruces.

"Good," she said. "Help me with the covering, will you?"

We buried the rope completely, then stepped back to survey our work. It wasn't perfect, but we decided that if you weren't looking for it—and table six wouldn't be—you'd never see it. The only problem was the pine tree. The loop and knot at the end of the rope showed too starkly against its bark.

"Here I am! This way!" a voice trilled from the distance.

It was Fran.

"Jeezum, Matt, they're coming!" Ada squeaked. "What are we going to do?"

I looked around wildly. My eyes lighted on the fern patch. I ran to it and broke off a few fronds. I scratched a small hole in the dirt in front of the pine tree with my fingers, stuck the stems in, then tamped the dirt back around them. They looked like a young fern plant and covered the rope completely.

We heard Fran giggle. She was much closer.

"Come on! Quick!" Ada hissed. She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the spruce trees. The branches bobbed and shook. We frantically tried to still them.

"This way! Over here! Aren't you coming?" Fran sang.

Ada crouched and peered through the branches. I knelt down on the ground and wound the end of the rope around my hand.

"He's coming. Get ready, Matt." It was Ada's job to say when and my job to pull. "He's about ten yards away now."

I peered through the branches, wincing as a needle poked me in the eye. I had a good view of the fern patch to my right but could see nothing to my left.

"I can't find you!" a man's voice shouted. It was table six. My insides shriveled like bacon in a pan. Our plan had seemed so simple, but now I didn't see how it could work and wished to god we hadn't allowed our anger to make us so bold. Fran had to be in just the right place, and table six did, too, and the rope ... had we buried it too close to the ferns? Or not close enough?

"I'm right here! Come on!" Fran called. She giggled fetchingly, I saw a blur of black fabric and white skin as she skirted around the fern patch and then she was behind it.

"Where?" he called out.

"Right over here!"

"Five yards," Ada said, in a whisper so small, I barely heard it.

Fran broke off a feathery frond and held it in front of her face, then she flicked it away and blew a kiss. She waved her pretty hand and toyed with buttons on her swimming costume. She was a revelation. Nonpareils my word of the day. It means peerless, and that's what she was. Neither Lillie Langtry, nor the great Sarah Bernhardt herself, could have done as well. Her gestures were bold and coy all at once, and they had the same effect on table six that a red rag has on a bull. I still couldn't see him, but I could hear him. He took a running start and came barreling straight at the fern patch.

"Now, Mattie!" Ada hissed.

I pulled on the rope just as hard as I could, but nothing happened. We've put it in the wrong place, I thought. We've messed the whole thing up. Oh Lord. Oh no. He'll get hold of Fran and then...

...And then there was a hard twang on the rope that I both felt and heard, and the force of it jerked me forward, just as if I'd caught a big fish, and I gasped out loud as the coils bit into my hand and then there was another sound ... the sound of table six hollering at the top of his lungs in surprise, and then shock, and then horror, as he tripped and tumbled headfirst through the air, and landed with a thick, wet thud in a heaping pile of dog shit.

A cloud of black flies swarmed up over the ferns, upset at being disturbed. Fran stood stock-still. Her mouth was hanging open. Mine was, too. I stumbled out from my hiding place and quickly uncoiled the rope from my hand. Ada came out after me. None of us made a sound. All we could hear was the angry buzzing of the flies and the high-pitched "Oh! Oh!" of a man in great distress.