“Time to weigh anchor?” Angela’s voice rose from below.
“Almost,” Marvin said.
The boat creaked and rocked as Angela ascended the spiral pilothouse steps. The khaki pants and dark gray woolen sweater she wore matched Marvin’s. Angela carried her floppy, wide-brimmed hat in one hand. Marvin reached for her and gently pulled her down to sit with him. They held hands in silence. Through thinning skin, his pulse throbbed against hers.
Marvin tapped his feet to the rhythm of waves lapping softly against the hull. From the tree-lined shore, a raven’s clucking recalled the striking of a wooden block. The raucous cries of seagulls mimicked blaring trumpets.
Marvin let go of Angela and stepped behind Sarabande’s wheel. Then, like a conductor waving a baton to cue an orchestra, he turned the key. A high-pitched buzzer sang out. Sarabande’s diesel sprang to life with a pulsing bass tone and rhythmic tenor overtones. Angela tamped her hat down onto her head. She opened the pilothouse door and stepped out onto the deck, walking slowly toward the bow. Once there, she turned back. Marvin flashed her a thumbs-up. Angela stepped on the large, black rubber footswitch. The winch whined. The main engine groaned under the load. Metal clinked and scraped against metal as the winch pulled the anchor chain in.
Sarabande glided forward as the chain rose. Then, with a clunk, the chain stopped. The winch whined louder. Marvin stuck his head out of the pilothouse window. Angela cupped her hands and called to him.
“I guess we set the anchor really well.”
“It’s mostly a mud bottom,” Marvin said. “I’ll drive over the anchor and see if I can break it free.” He eased the gearshift and the throttle forward. Sarabande moved ahead. “Try it now,” Marvin called out.
Angela stepped on the footswitch, and the chain jerked up a few feet before stopping again. With the chain pulled tight, the boat began to swing in a circle. “Maybe we ’ve snagged an old logging cable,” she said.
“Damn,” Marvin said. “Some way to start our cruise. Look, I’ll try rocking the boat back and forth.”
He threw the gearshift forward, powered the boat ahead until the anchor chain grew taut, then reversed gears and moved backward. Between each forward and reverse movement, Marvin waved to Angela and she tried the winch, but it only moved the chain slightly. Angela shook her head.
“Stop,” Marvin said. “We ’ll burn out the winch motor.” He sighed, and then let the boat idle in neutral. He pushed open the pilothouse door and stepped out, grabbing a red and white float. “We’ll have to unhook the chain from the boat and attach a float to it so we can retrieve it later. We ’ll throw the chain overboard. Then we’ll go back to port and hire a diver to come out and see what we ’ve snagged.”
“That’s too bad,” Angela said. “It means we won’t get going to Alaska for several days.”
“We’ll lose three hundred feet of chain and an anchor if we don’t come back for it,” Marvin said. “Then we’ll have to buy a new anchor and new chain.”
“Okay,” Angela said. “Give me the float. I’ll tie it on while you unhook the chain.”
Marvin walked back toward the pilothouse. He ’d just reached the door when he heard the winch motor whir and Angela cry out. When he turned back, he saw her reeling in anchor chain.
“The motor’s working,” Angela said. “A little.” She held her thumb to her index finger. “It pulls in about a foot of chain and then stops. It might take time, but let’s see if I can pull the anchor up this way before you unhook it.”
Marvin nodded. “Maybe we broke free. I’ll go back inside and stand by the controls.”
The engine rumbled beneath Marvin as he watched Angela step on the switch, then wait. Step, then wait. The chain moved slowly, link after link winding up and over the bow roller, before dropping into the anchor well. Angela moved slowly too, bent over the railing, directing spray from a nozzle to wash down the muddy chain. A twinge of pain stabbed Marvin each time Angela stiffened and rubbed her hip. Perhaps the problem lay not with the anchor but with the winch motor, like the two of them, old and losing strength.
Suddenly, Angela screamed. She staggered backward from the bow, then crumpled to the deck. Marvin rushed from the pilothouse. “Not now,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, please. Not now. One more trip north together. Please, just one more trip.”
Marvin knelt beside Angela, picked up her hand. She breathed in short, sharp puffs, which released small steam plumes into the cold morning air. A tortured look enveloped her face. Her eyes registered fear. She opened her mouth but no words came at first. Her arm flopped out, finger pointed toward the bow.
“There,” she said, her voice hoarse, raspy. “Marvin, it’s Amy. . . . She ’s there.”
Marvin needed to get Angela medical attention. He also needed to finish pulling in the anchor so they didn’t drift into the rocks. He walked to the bow, looking over and down at the muddy anchor emerging from the dark green waters. A clump of seaweed snaked around the shank.
Marvin gasped.
Beneath the seaweed, the sharp point of an anchor fluke stuck into the pallid flesh of a young woman’s lifeless body.
