The old man sensed his growing uneasiness but
that resilient pride checked any apparition of modesty.

"Put the fare on my uncle's account. I'll return the boat tomorrow
morning."

Little lights some ten miles distant were fingering the early darkness.
Something near the water's edge bobbed cork-like in the growing dusk.
Always the worst time of day, the old man pondered, a process of
diminishing returns. Not quite dark, sure as hell not light--an in
between shudder world, a limbo of gray.

"When will the girl and her baby be along?", the old man queried.

"I'll see to that. You never mind. Go back inside, pop, where it's
warm. You'll feel better. Entering the number and registration just
about does it. I'll keep you posted," he laughed a growing laugh that
tore soft wind from his mouth. He spat again, returned to his car and
was soon out of sight.

The old man looked wearily at the ground. He was recalling more and
more of that early story his dad passed down from his dad concerning
the overcrowded boat up Adolphustown way so many years ago. If God
allowed decent churchgoers to be snuffed from sight in the act of
attending His worship, think of what must await young fools who defy
His natural laws. To be drowned outright was bad enough. To meet death
on a fool's errand with a woman and child in tow for some vaguely evil
purpose was scant courtesy to their lives. He recalled seeing the
plaque near the church outside Adolphustown and wondering as a child
why, how, they could have met death that Sunday morning when crossing
the bay in so devout a fashion. He had never tried to anticipate God's
will or ponder events anymore than passing suggestion might receive.
The little white pioneer church near a knoll on a rising hill framed
the growing memory in his mind. A dirt road snaked up to its door with
the bay clearly visible from every pew completed the stucco walls that
dotted the heavy distance. A pretty enough place, especially in mid
summer with the smell of sweet hay in the nostrils or a full breakfast
under the belt with a pleasant drive out to smell the country air. Yes,
that little church made a lasting impression on any who might see it.
Certainly more for its serene presence than any link with that dark
episode in its past. At least this was the way he was thinking. Yet he
always wondered where the graves of those seven drowned might be. They
were pioneer graves, a mite shy of 200 years but they must exist. A