Chapter 1
Pickerel Lake

I would normally just take a nap on a long drive like that, but who can sleep when they know they’re about to go fishing. In wintertime Mark keeps the windows rolled up as we drive, he says it helps to keep out the cold. I don’t know if he can tell or not, but that old truck of his lost its battle with the cold many years ago. I like the summers better, because he keeps the windows down the whole drive, so I can stick my head out and feel the wind on my face. Somehow that always makes the drive more bearable, which is why I like summers better. But in South Dakota we spend most of the year in winter, so you better get to liking something about it, or you’ll end up being miserable most of the time.

Did I mention it was a long drive? A long, boring ride up and down small little hills that makes it almost impossible to know how far you have left to go. I suppose we could just keep track of the time on the road, but I never learned how to read a clock. Looking out the windows, all you see are these vast rolling fields covered in pure white snow. With no clouds in the sky, the sun’s reflection on the snow makes it doubly bright outside, almost too bright to see anything. Which makes looking out the window just about as miserable as not looking out the window. I guess it’s a trade-off of sorts, you get the sun’s warm rays but you have to deal with the brightness as well.

I can always smell when we’re getting close to the lake, because the air turns into a pleasant mix of wet seaweed and dead fish. I sit up and watch with anticipation as we roll over the top of that last hill, that’s when you can finally look out and see the lake in all its glory. Mark gets excited too, when he sees the lake, but he’s better at holding back his emotions than I am. I get so excited when we get to that hill, it’s a good thing he keeps the door closed, otherwise I’m likely to jump out and run the rest of the way.

It’s from here on that I’m actually glad it’s wintertime. In summer we would have to turn left or right and follow the road around the lake to get to our favorite spot, which sits on the opposite side. But in winter it’s so cold outside that the lake freezes over, and you can drive right across it. This saves us a bunch of time getting to our spot, plus it feels better being on top of the lake than driving around it. Mark will always reach over and roll down the window for me when we reach the lake, it’s still cold outside, but neither of us seem to care. I stick my head out the window and keep a lookout for fishermen, hoping to see any signs that the fish are biting. 

We travel past several fish shacks as we make our way to our favorite fishing spot, but most of the shacks were empty that day. Mark says people were still at work and likely wouldn’t come out until the weekend, which is just fine if you ask me. I’m not a fan of weekends out here, there’s just so many people, how does anyone expect to catch any fish with all that noise. Once we pass the campground, the fish shacks mostly disappear, as not many people like to fish at the south end of the lake - even in summer. Again, that’s just fine if you ask me, I prefer having the lake to ourselves. With the campgrounds behind us, it’s only a short drive to the spot. 

“Go check the perimeter, Mac!” Mark said as we arrived, reaching over to open my door. 

Mark likes to call me Mac when we’re alone, I guess it’s a nickname or something. He still calls me Mrs. Henry when he’s talking about me to other people - but when it’s just the two of us, he always calls me Mac. I kind of like the name Mac, it feels more like a best friend’s name. Of course, I don’t mind being called Mrs. Henry either, but it does make me sound like a schoolteacher or something. I’m actually not a big fan of when Mark’s dad calls me Mrs. Henry. I don’t know why it is, but the way he says it makes it sound like an insult. Most of the time he just calls me ‘dumb mutt’, which somehow feels less offensive, if you can believe that.

When we arrive at our favorite fishing spot my job is simple, I run around and check the perimeter. I check the fishing holes first, to see if anyone has been messing with our spot. I’m not sure if it’s against the law to fish in someone else’s spot, but I think it should be. After that I check the surrounding area, looking out for anything that might disturb our day out fishing. 

Mark gets to work unloading the gear from the truck, while I continue to work. Sometimes, if I finish before he does, I like to run around in circles really fast on the ice. It’s not a part of my perimeter check or anything, but it sure is a lot of fun. It’s especially helpful in winter, because it gets my blood pumping which helps to warm me up some. Sometimes Mark will even chase after me when he finished unloading. I think he believes he can catch me somehow, but there’s no chance that’s going to happen. Well, at least he’s never caught me yet, so I must be pretty good at it.  

All that running usually makes me tired, so Mark will throw an old wool blanket down on the ice for me to rest when I’m done. The blanket smells a bit of diesel fuel and mold, but I don’t mind, it’s the smell of fishing as far as I’m concerned. The sun does a good job of keeping me warm, but Mark always brings an extra blanket just in case the winds pick up. He will place his chair next to me on the ice and sit and read his book while I take a nap. He has bells on his fishing rod to alert him to a fish, so he doesn’t need to keep his focus on the fishing. Some days we go all day out here and never catch a single fish, but Mark and I don’t care - a day out fishing beats just about any other day doing any other thing - even if you do go home empty handed.

This end of the lake is always quieter than the north side, which is just how we like it. The only other person we ever see out here is old man Erikson. Mr. Erikson lives just past the fish hatchery, down some from our favorite fishing spot. His cabin sits up along a freshwater spring that feeds the lake, the same spring the fishery uses in summertime. The ice never fully freezes over where the spring pours into the lake, there’s always a small pool of open water. We keep our distance from that pool, as Mark says the ice is too thin and we’ll fall right through. 

In summer I like to drink straight from the creek, the spring water is some of the most delicious water you can find. But Mark always tells me to stay away from old man Erikson’s cabin, he says we don’t want to go disturbing him or anything. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken with Mr. Erikson, at least not as far as I can remember. We’ve seen him many times, that I do know, I just cannot remember ever stopping to say hello. Mark says Mr. Erikson doesn’t like to be disturbed, so he must know something I don’t. For whatever reason, Mark wants me to stay away from the creek. I’ve been known to sneak in and get myself a drink from time to time, but only in the summer when we’re already on shore and it’s easier to get lost in the trees. Winter makes it difficult to sneak away, not that I haven’t tried mind you.

Mark says old man Erikson has lived in that cabin for years, just about as long as anyone can remember. We see him sometimes when we’re out there, I think he likes to fish as much as we do. Mark calls him a ‘seasoned fisherman’, which I think just means he’s better at it than we are. It never takes Mr. Erikson very long to catch a fish, certainly not as long as it takes us. In fact, I can’t remember ever seeing Mr. Erikson go home empty-handed, I guess that’s how good he is. 

Mr. Erikson wasn’t out when we arrived that day, but he did make an appearance sometime later. Like us he doesn’t mess around with those silly ice shacks, he just drills himself a hole and fishes right out in the open. Mark always drills a couple of holes when ice fishing season begins, then he just uses the same one each time. That way he only has to remove a small layer of ice, instead of drilling a brand-new hole each time we come out. I think Mr. Erikson must do the same thing, because it doesn’t take him long before he’s got his line in the water.

Mark and I always stop what we’re doing and take notice when Mr. Erikson starts fishing, mostly because we know it won’t take him long to catch one. I used to think Mark was watching Mr. Erikson so he could get some pointers on how to be a seasoned fisherman, but then I realized all fishermen watch when someone else has a fish on the line. I don’t know if they all wish it was them who was catching the fish, or if they’re just interested in seeing how big it is. What I can tell you is that when they do see someone pull up a small fish, they’re all quite disappointed, that’s for sure. 

That day was no exception; Mr. Erikson had a fish on the line just about as soon as he dropped his line. 

“He’s got a nice one today, Mac,” Mark said as he sat up in his chair to get a better look. 

Mr. Erikson’s fishing rod was bent like a horseshoe as he struggled to bring in his fish, which I guess means it was a big one. Mark’s excitement continued to grow as Mr. Erikson fought with his fish, as if Mark was the one trying to reel it in. I’ve never actually caught a fish myself, but as I understand it, the bigger they are, the longer it takes to bring them up through the ice. Mark says the size of the fish is proportionally related to the length of the struggle, which might make this fish the largest one we’ve ever seen. Mr. Erikson was still struggling to pull it in after several minutes, and Mark was getting so excited I thought he was about to run over and help.

It happened very suddenly, Mr. Erikson’s line broke, which sent him flying backwards. He hit the ice so hard we not only heard it, but we could feel it as well – it was like the whole lake shook. Mark wasted no time - he was up and running before I even realized what was happening. I wasted no time in following my best friend, and was right on his heels in a matter of seconds. When we reached Mr. Erikson, he was lying motionless on the ice, a pool of blood growing around his head. 

“Are you okay, Mr. Erikson?” Mark asked as he slid in next to him.

Mr. Erikson was not moving, but you could still hear him breathing, so we knew he was alive. There was so much blood on the ice, I wasn’t sure if Mr. Erikson could have any left inside him.

“Mr. Erikson, can you hear me?” Mark called out, his voice a little raised this time.

“I hear you just fine, boy,” Mr. Erikson replied sharply, still not opening his eyes.

“That was some fall you took, Mr. Erikson,” Mark continued, “and you’ve lost a lot of blood. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“I don’t need no stinking hospital, boy,” Mr. Erikson complained. “It’s just a scratch.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Erikson, there sure is a lot of blood.” Mark replied.

Mr. Erikson reached his hand up and felt the back of his head, pulling it out to see his blood-soaked fingers. “Just let me lie here a while, the ice will help stop the bleeding.”

“Are you sure I can’t go and get some help at least, Mr. Erikson?” Mark asked.  

“I don’t need no one’s help, boy, I’ll be just fine,” Mr. Erikson argued, as he rolled himself over and began to stand.

Mark stood close by and watched as Mr. Erikson tried to stand himself up. When he was almost to his feet, he started swaying like he was about to fall down again. That’s when Mark ducked his head under Mr. Erikson’s arm and caught him around the waist. Mark held him tight as Mr. Erikson worked to regain his balance. 

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, Mr. Erikson, I think you should continue to lie down for a while, just until the bleeding stops,” Mark said.

“I’m not lying back down, boy, I’m going up to my cabin,” Mr. Erikson replied.

“Well, at least let me help you get up there,” Mark continued. “Someone needs to make sure you don’t fall again.”

Mr. Erikson didn’t say anything, he just grunted some as Mark walked him slowly across the ice. Mr. Erikson was a little bit shorter than Mark, which is why Mark had to bend his knees as he walked. The ice and snow weren’t helping any, Mark was having trouble keeping his feet as he took most of the load of Mr. Erikson. They carefully made their way up to the cabin, with me following close behind, in case Mark needed me to jump in or something. It took some time, but we finally reached the door and we all went inside. They walked over to the fireplace, where Mark helped Mr. Erikson into his chair. 

I quickly checked the perimeter, just to make sure no one else was there. The cabin was not very large, but there sure were a lot of books. There were shelves on almost every wall, stuffed to the edges with books. But those shelves did not appear to be enough, as there were books stacked on the floor as well. The cabin had a small kitchen in one corner, with a table and a single chair where Mr. Erikson probably took his meals. There was what looked like a bedroom in the other corner, but the door was mostly closed, so I didn’t bother looking in. The rest of the cabin was mostly just shelves and the fireplace; Mr. Erikson didn’t even have a television.

“Do you have some bandages, Mr. Erikson?” Mark asked as he walked over to the kitchen. “We should get that wound dressed right away.”

“Don’t bother, son,” Mr. Erikson grumbled, “that won’t be necessary.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Erikson,” Mark said as he returned with a wet towel, which he handed to Mr. Erikson, “there sure is a lot of blood.”

“I told you not to worry about it, boy,” Mr. Erikson snapped back, grabbing the towel from Mark and placing it on the back of his head. “Just go over and grab that cup off the shelf over there, fill it with water from the sink.”

Mr. Erikson was pointing to a shelf next to the fireplace, and Mark and I walked over to check it out. The fireplace was quite warm, so I decided to stop and warm myself a bit. Mark continued on and pulled the cup down from the shelf. “This cup, Mr. Erikson?”

“How many cups do you see up there, boy?” Mr. Erikson shot back, his mood not improving any. “Now, go fill it up and bring it to me.”

Mark walked over to the kitchen sink and filled the cup with water, returning to place the cup in Mr. Erikson’s hand. His eyes were still closed as he took a drink from the cup, you could see he was still in pain. As soon as Mr. Erikson took a drink from the cup, he leaned back in his chair and let out a soft sigh, as if he had just released all of his pain into the air. He had the cup in one hand, while the other kept the towel pressed to the back of his head. 

“Here’s a fresh towel for you, Mr. Erikson.” Mark said as he swapped the cup in Mr. Erikson’s hand for another wet towel. 

Mark placed the cup on the floor then took the blood-soaked towel back to wash it out in the kitchen sink. 

What happened next was beyond my control, so let’s just get that straight from the start. 

I could smell spring water in Mr. Erikson’s cup, so I’m guessing his cabin must get its water directly from the stream. As I said, that spring water is some mighty tasty stuff, so one could hardly blame me for not wanting to see it go to waste. Sure, I could have gone over and got some from the kitchen sink, but Mark was over there washing the blood from the towel, which isn’t exactly appetizing. Mr. Erikson didn’t appear to need any more of the water in his cup, so I just walked over and helped myself to what was left.

What followed was beyond explanation, as I felt a rush flow over me like I just fell into the ice-cold lake. The chill that ran down my spine was enough to make me shiver, so I walked back over to the fireplace to warm myself up a bit. I laid down in front of the fireplace again, hoping to replace the chill in my bones. As I lay there something was happening inside my head. I cannot describe what I was feeling, but I can tell you it was something I had never felt before. It didn’t hurt or anything, in fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt better. 

“Do you have aspirin or anything, Mr. Erikson?” Mark asked as he handed him a clean towel. “Is there anything I can get you besides water?”

“I told you I’ll be just fine,” Mr. Erikson replied. “I thank you for your help, but I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“If you say so, Mr. Erikson,” Mark said. “But they say you’re supposed to watch someone after they hit their head, you might have a concussion or something. Are you sure I can’t at least call someone for you?”

“Listen, son,” Mr. Erikson continued. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

I looked up to see Mark standing next to Mr. Erikson, whose eyes were still closed as he held the towel to the back of his head. Mark looked over at me, as if he wasn’t sure what he should do next, so I figured I’d help him out.

“Take the cup, Mark,” a voice came from out of nowhere, echoing inside my head. “Pick it up and put it in your pocket.”

Mark looked at me with a confused look on his face, as if he heard the voice too. He just stood there for a while, not doing anything.

“Reach down and grab it,” the voice spoke again.

Mark must have heard the voice this time, because he bent down to grab the cup and put it in his pocket. Mr. Erikson was too busy with his pain to notice, which was just fine by me. Mark was just standing there, staring at me like he forgot how to move. 

“Now let’s get out of here,” the voice continued. Then I stood up and began walking toward the door. I could hear Mark following behind me, but for some reason I didn’t want to turn around and look. We got to the door and Mark reached over to open it, when Mr. Erikson’s voice suddenly stopped us in our tracks.

“Son,” he called out as if he forgot something. “Thank you, again…that was very kind of you.”

“It was the least I could do,” Mark replied. “Just please take care of yourself, will ya, Mr. Erikson?”

Mr. Erikson only gave out a small grunt, as Mark closed the door behind us. 

We had made our way back down to the lake and were headed back to our spot before Mark spoke again. “I’ll be honest with ya, Mac, I’m worried for Mr. Erikson - that was a nasty wound on his head. I hope he’s gonna be okay.”

That’s when I heard the voice again, but this time it wasn’t just inside my head it was out in the air as well. In fact, I could even feel the vibration of the sound, as if it was coming out of my throat. “He’s going to be fine, just like he said he would. Don’t you believe him?”

I could tell Mark had stopped again, so I turned around to look up at him. He was just standing there staring at me again, with that same confused look on his face. “Of course I believe him,” he said, “but I’m still worried about him.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” the voice said again - this time it was definitely coming out of my mouth. “Now, we need to pack up and get going.” 

It was the first time I had ever heard my voice, but for some reason, it sounded exactly as I thought it would. I turned and continued walking towards our spot, Mark hesitating for a moment before he followed. When we got back, I grabbed the blanket and dragged it to the truck, as Mark packed up the rest of our things. He opened the door to let me in, then loaded the fishing gear in the back. When he had finished, he jumped in behind the wheel and fired up the truck. 

“I didn’t know you could talk, Mac,” he said as we drove away. 

“That makes two of us,” I replied.

“So, why did I steal this cup from Mr. Erikson?” he asked as he pulled the cup from his pocket.

“It told me to.”