Chapter Three

It was in the water that one learned to swim.

Ribbons of sunlight danced across the plank floor in Season's bedroom. After rising from bed, she padded barefoot to the window and looked down on the splendor. The apple trees were in full bloom, and the roses her mother planted years ago draped the ornate, iron trellis in a profusion of fuchsia, ballet pink and white.

Mourning doves, chickadees and thrushes trilled, competing with the martins and wood-warblers that had taken up summer residence in Duna's home-made houses. Turning her head toward the garden shed and the copse of giant oaks shading it, she hoped to spy the Barn Owls with their new owlets.

She saw her parents' handiwork everywhere—the vegetable garden her mother put in, the old John Deere tractor and utility trailer her father tinkered with, and the brass Eagle he hung with pride between the double garage doors. She'd lived here since the day they brought her home from the hospital and they'd have to carry her out feet-first if they wanted her to leave. The land was more than a connection to her parents, more than memories. Every blade of grass, every natural berm and half-buried rock, had become part of her soul.

With a soundless sigh, she turned from the window and headed for the shower. Duna would be calling up the stairs for breakfast soon, and her first class of the morning started in one hour.

When she bounded down the steps a short time later, the delicious aroma of bacon and eggs beckoned her toward the kitchen.

"Morning, ghel." Duna plopped two soft eggs and several slices of bacon onto a plate and set it down before her. "'Bout to head upstairs and yank you from bed."

"I was in the shower. Besides, I thought we agreed you'd stand at the bottom and holler…or knock on the panels if need be."

"Something like that."

"No, we agreed you'd only navigate that creaky, narrow stairway as a last resort."

Holding his plate, he paused at the chair opposite her. "Is it safe to sit, eat my breakfast yet?"

Guilt washed over her. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to scold."

"No harm done." He eased into his chair and took a sip of coffee. "You probably didn't get enough sleep."

She looked up.

"Saw your light still on at midnight when I went to bed."

"Yeah, took me longer than I thought to check out prices on a new camera and get the scoop on that land development company."

"Maybe you should give some thought to selling, Season."

Her fork hit the table with a clang. "Are you kidding? No," she said with a fierce shake of her head. "Hell, no."

"Bet they'd give you a pretty penny for all this acreage."

"What is wrong with you? I wouldn't sell out to those land-grabbers, wouldn't sell Mom and Dad's property for a million dollars."

"It's your land now, and they wouldn't blame you if you did. I bet they'd be happy to see you taken care of for the rest of your life."

Pushing her plate away, she shoved her chair back and stood. "I can't believe we're even having this conversation. This is your home; this is my home."

He placed a hand over his heart. "Home is here, child."

"What about the wildlife, huh? Do you know what would happen to them if some mucky-muck landowner leveled the woods and built blocks of town homes? That's what Terra-Care Development does, Duna. They buy land from nobodies like you and me and build luxury town homes, condominiums and resorts. They'd want to build on the bay here. That means every creature on land or water would be pushed out."

"All right, all right, settle down. I just want to make sure you're not hanging on to something for my sake."

Tears brimmed in her eyes. "I'm hanging on for us, and for every loon that lives in our marsh, every nuthatch that sings from the trees, and for every bull frog that croaks me to sleep every night." She swiped a tear from her cheek. "What about the mounds?"

"That's what they are, ghel, mounds, nothing more."

Her arms came out at her sides. "What if they're not natural rises? What if they really are burial mounds?"

"Don't go down that road again. The state has been here, accompanied by local tribal leaders and scholars." Sympathy resided in the depth of his eyes, and in the downward turn of his mouth. "There is no proof unless they dig up the earth and the tribe won't allow that."

"My point is well taken. If they thought there wasn't a chance in hell their ancestors were buried in the woods—facing the lake, I remind you—they'd authorize a dig." Her voice softened. "Duna, you saw the abstract with your own eyes. A hundred years ago, the Sioux chief's grandson and his family lived on our property. They didn't bury their people in cemeteries; they gave them back to the land."

"I'm on your side, ghel, always have been, always will be." The roadmap of bird tracks and crevices on his face seemed more pronounced when somber. "I'm not against you on this, but I want you to be sure your reasons for fighting are the right reasons."

Anger rode the crest of her emotions. "There won't be a fight. Nothing they say or do will make me sell out."

Duna came to his feet, stepped around the table and embraced her. "I don't want you going off like this. Remember, live as if—"

"—this day is your last."

Setting her back, he cupped her face. "If it is, does any of this matter?"

"No," she said with resignation. "But even you said it might not be the wind we hear howling at night."

"So I did, so I did. Makes life interesting to think we might be sharing our space with haints."

She kissed his cheek. "Or wild gypsies."

"Run along now, and pay attention to the road. I'm putting up crabapple jam today. I s'pect I'll still be in the kitchen when you return."

She turned from him and called out over her shoulder, "Love ya."

"Love ya more."