"Come on, Paul. We'll never get any blueberries if you don't hurry up."

"Ok, ok!" Paul hurried over to the fire-pit and dumped his armful of dead twigs and branches beside it. "Is that enough for now, Dad?"

"Should be." His father straightened from the remains of the log he had just split neatly in two, lowered his axe, and wiped the sweat from his Irish-green eyes. "Go ahead, join the other kids. They're anxious to get at those berries before the plump little darlings all run away."

"Just be sure you all stick together, and don't go too far." His mother looked up from the fishing rod she was assembling, her dark eyes warm as she smiled at him. "And don't eat all the blueberries. We grownups would like a few, too."

"Don't worry." Paul grinned. "We'll bring back the berries as long you'll promise to make the pudding."

The five children set off in high spirits down the trail that wound through the forest, swinging their tin pails with cheerful abandon.

Shirley Whetung and Mary-Jane Turner had been friends and neighbours on the Mtigwaki First Nations reserve all their lives. When Shirley met Ian Wright, a handsome Irish tourist, at a powwow and claimed him almost on first sight as her own, Mary-Jane was there to give the young man the necessary third-degree and eventually grant him her seal of approval. And when Mary-Jane married Bill Dokis, the chief of a small reserve near Thunder Bay, Shirley stood up as her maid of honour. They continued to keep in close touch, often getting together at powwows or the weddings of friends. It became a summer ritual for the two couples to meet at a small, isolated lake exactly half-way between their two communities and spend a week camping, often accompanied by Shirley's brother Ben and his family.

This year, the three families had selected a new campsite, a wide rocky clearing that overlooked the edge of the lake. At least part of the reason for the choice was the narrow strip of old burn they had spotted close by, where a forest fire had blazed a path of destruction through the thick tangle of spruce woods years ago.

Burns were fertile ground for the delicious low-bush blueberries that grow wild throughout northern Canada. Paul's Mom had the best recipe in the world for a blueberry pudding cooked over the embers of an open fire. Its rich, fruity savour was the closest thing Paul knew to pure heaven. The mere thought of it set his mouth watering as he skipped over the rocky, moss-carpeted ground with his cousin Adam, while his younger cousin Carla and the two Dokis girls came chattering along behind.

The trail faded to a vague meandering before they reached the burn, but they were close enough to see the blackened skeletons of trees starkly standing behind the living forest. They pushed eagerly through the last stretch of willow and tamarack and trotted out onto the clearing.

"Oh, wow." Adam stared around wide-eyed. "Just look at all the berries. I've never seen so many in one place!"

"I'm gonna pick more than anyone else." Carla ran to a nearby patch thickly studded with bright blue orbs, dropped to her knees and began nipping the fruit into her pail. "Auntie Shirley is going to like my berries best."

"No way!" Adam hopped over a fallen tree and ran to another patch. "I'm gonna find the biggest ones. She'll like those best."

Six-year old Amber Dokis didn't say anything, just plopped down by a laden bush and began shoving berries into her mouth, ignoring her sister Susan's attempts to cajole her into putting at least a few into her pail.

Paul moved far enough away from the others to avoid any arguments over territory and settled to steady picking. The berries were wonderful, fat and juicy with the soft bloom of ripeness clouding the indigo shine of their skin. He ate a few as he went, savouring the earthy explosion of sweetness each time he bit down on a handful.

The burned-out clearing was warm and still in the sunlight. It had an eerie feel, with the unnatural silence of a forest that had no living branches left to sigh in the summer breezes. Except for the sound of the other children, the quiet was disturbed only the occasional croak of a raven or crisp machine-gun rattle of a woodpecker drilling out insects from the standing dead trees.

The sun was well in the west when Paul finally finished filling his pail and stood. He stretched out the aches of his long crouching. His cousins had drifted apart as they worked. Carla was still picking with determined industry, but Adam had settled comfortably against a scorched stump and was nibbling at the berries within easy reach. Susan was standing and looking around, her face anxious. Amber was nowhere in sight.

It took half an hour of worried hunting but they found the little girl at last, curled up asleep in the shelter of a sun-warmed rock. By then, the air was cooling and the shadows stretched long and ragged over the low growth of the clearing.

"Come on. We've got to get back." Adam shot a worried look at the sun. "It must be almost supper-time."

Paul gathered up his pail and Amber's, and followed Adam across the burn toward a break in the forest.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Carla looked anxiously around as she scrambled over the rough ground after them. "Everything looks different now. I don't think this is where we came in."

Paul wasn't sure either. But male solidarity demanded that he back up Adam. "Yeah, this is the right way. Look, there's those two trees leaning together. We saw them, remember."

Carla eyed the trees dubiously. "Maybe. But I don't think so."

Adam ignored her and kept walking. Paul followed, his eyes straining for the first glimpse of the trail they had followed from the camp site. They went deeper and deeper into the woods, and still there was no sign of it. They had walked for what seemed hours when they came out abruptly onto a glittering stretch of sodden muskeg.

Adam looked at him, his eyes wide and too bright. "We didn't cross this on the way to the burn. This isn't the right way."

Paul swallowed down the fear rising in his throat. "No. We must have turned too far west. Let's angle back that way."

"I knew this wasn't right!" Carla burst into tears. "And now we're - we're lost! Maybe we'll never see our parents again, we'll just walk and walk until we die out here. And it's all the fault of you stupid boys!"

"Oh, shut up." Adam glowered at her. "We're not lost, just - just a little off the trail. We'll find it, don't you worry. Amber, don't you start bawling, too."

"She's tired." Susan flared up in defence of her small sister. "She's just little, you know. We should stop and let her rest."

"No, we have to keep going. It's going to get dark soon." Paul met Susan's eyes and saw a strained anxiety there to match his own. "Here, I'll piggy-back her and then we can move faster. Come on Amber, hop on."

By the time they had trudged for another hour, there was no longer any doubt. They were hopelessly lost. Their zigzag efforts to find the trail had left them confused, with no idea any longer of what direction they were going or where the family camp was.

"Look, we can't keep walking like this." Paul pushed up beside Adam and caught his arm. "We're probably just getting further from camp. You know what our folks always told us. If we're lost, we should just stay put until someone finds us. Besides, it's getting dark and it won't be safe to keep going much longer. So let's stop, OK?"

"You want to stop?" Adam wheeled on him, his face twisted with tension and fury. "Here in the muskeg where it's wet and cold and the mosquitoes will eat us alive? Is that what you want?"

"No. Not right here." It was an effort to keep his voice level. It would have been a relief to yell at Adam, even throw a few punches, to ease the aching tension that was constricting his chest. But that wasn't going to help them. "Let's look for somewhere we can spend the night. On higher ground, where the bugs won't be so bad."

In the thick spruce woods, with the light fading, it was hard to see very far in any direction. But the ground did seem to be rising to their left. "That way. If we can just find an open spot - "

"Fine, smarty. You know so much, you lead the way. And we end up falling off a cliff or a bear eats us, it's all your fault."

That set Carla crying again. Paul didn't bother to reply. He just settled Amber more comfortably on his back and started walking, steadily seeking out the higher ground, while the others trailed unhappily behind him.

They were dragging with weariness by the time they broke free of the constricting trees and came out onto a rocky ridge. Some distance below, in the dim light, water glimmered darkly. A cool breeze ruffled their hair, providing blessed relief from the torment of the mosquitoes that had descended on them in whining vampire hordes as the sun sank below the trees.

"Here." Paul detached Amber with an effort. The little girl clung to him, her eyes wide and frightened. "Look." He forced a smile. "I've got some matches in my pocket. See? We'll build a fire." He swallowed hard to ease the tension from his voice and gave her a hug. "You like camping, don't you? This'll be real camping, like our ancestors did. They didn't have nylon tents and propane stoves and stuff. We can play like we're a band of warriors out exploring the wilderness. It'll be fun."

Adam shot him a wild look. "Oh yeah. Lotsa fun. Geez, don't you - "

"Oh, shut up." Susan rounded on Adam with fire in her eyes. "Just shut up, OK? Why don't you do something useful, instead of scaring the little kids and leaving all the work to Paul? Go on, get some firewood. There's lots of dead branches over there."

She spun away from the startled boys and walked along the ridge, studying the ground. "We can put the fire here, it's far enough from the trees to be safe. If we make a big one, maybe the grown-ups will see it, and then they'll come find us."

Her voice trembled on the last words. She steadied it with an audible gulp. "It'll keep the bugs away, too. We have lots of berries, that'll make a nice supper. Carla, can you make a circle with these rocks so Paul can build his fire there? Come on, Amber, help me find some Old Man's Beard and dry leaves for kindling."

"Good idea." Paul's shaky courage rebounded under the bracing influence of this solid good sense. "You've got your jackknife, don't you, Adam? We can cut some boughs and make a bed. Maybe even a shelter. Remember how our Mishomis showed us to make a lean-to?"

Adam looked blank. He had never paid much attention to their grandfather's talk of bush wisdom and the skills of the old days. The first kid in the village to get a Nintendo, Adam had been far more interested in collecting magic mushrooms in his virtual world than learning which ones could be safely eaten in real life. But he did have his jackknife with him, which was a relief.

Getting the fire going didn't take long with the help of the dry leaves and tree moss that Susan and Amber collected. With that warm, crackling link to life established, the children's mood lifted. They had heat and light, and the smoke helped drive away the lingering mosquitoes. It was comforting to know that it would help keep away any larger predators, too.

Susan settled Amber by the fire and took her tin pail to the lake below. She came back with it full of water and a bundle of Labrador Tea leaves in her hand. They brewed up the tea, which was bitter but surprisingly heartening, and wolfed down handfuls of the blueberries from their pails. It wasn't enough to totally satisfy their hunger, but having something in their bellies was a boost to morale.

Jackknife in hand, Paul and Adam forayed into the trees to find boughs for a makeshift shelter. While they struggled with its construction, Susan urged the little group into a round of campfire songs that ended in some silly made-up rhymes that set them all to laughing.

Their revived sense of adventure wavered as the night wore on. None of them had jackets, and the air had turned cool. Their lean-to helped to catch some of the heat of the fire, and they huddled tight together on their make-shift bed of boughs with the younger children sandwiched in the middle for warmth. The older three took turns sitting up with the fire, keeping it stoked with the dead wood they could find within the circle of light.

Morning dawned cool and clear and very welcome. While Susan did her best to keep up Amber and Carla's flagging spirits with beetle races on the flat stones of the ridge, Paul piled green branches and wet leaves onto the fire. It sent up a heavy plume of smoke into the chill morning air. He hoped with all his heart that their parents would see it.

It was not more than an hour later that Adam, who was sitting on a rock morosely staring out over the lake, bounded to his feet with a shout. The other children ran to join him. Looking down at the gleaming curve of water, Paul thought he would never see a more beautiful sight in his life. Two boats were heading toward them, each with a frazzled-looking set of adults aboard.

"You children did fine." Back at the campsite, Paul's mother refilled his plate with a third helping of fried pickerel and bannock and reached for the coffee pail simmering over the fire. "I'm proud of you."

"Proud?" Her brother Ben stared at her. "The little fools got themselves lost and scared us all sick. I don't see much cause for pride in that."

"No, Shirley's right." Mr. Dokis stifled a yawn and gratefully accepted a refill of coffee. "Anyone can get lost in the bush. There's no shame in that. It's how a person gets themselves found that shows what they're made of." He gave Paul a warm smile. "From what Susan says, you were the hero this time. That was smart thinking, getting everyone to high ground and lighting a signal fire. Amber says you carried her half the way there, too. Mary-Jane and I sure appreciate the way you took care of our girls."

Paul's face flamed with embarrassment. He didn't dare look across the fire to where Susan was sitting.

"Everyone helped," he protested uncomfortably. "Adam cut branches for the lean-to and brought firewood. And it was Susan who got us organized up on the ridge when everyone else was too tired and scared to think. She's the real hero."

Paul's father chuckled and settled deeper into his chair. "You and Susan have a real mutual admiration society going, the way you're singing each other's praises. At any rate," he continued, ignoring the embarrassed protests of both children, "it's over now, everyone is safe and no harm done. And I imagine you've all learned a lot from this little scare which will do you good in the future."

Paul knew for certain that it was true for him. The harrowing adventure had shown him something about himself that he had never known before. He had struggled all his life with a shyness that made him content to stay in the background and follow where others led. Now he realized how satisfying it was to be the one who knew what to do in times of trouble, who took charge, solved problems, and was respected for it.

He didn't say anything to anyone for fear of being mocked for his big ideas. But he silently resolved that day to do what he could, learn whatever he needed, to become worthy of the praise Mr. Dokis had given him.

By the time he graduated from high school, Paul was an experienced woodsman, a strong swimmer and competent cross-country skier, and had taken the first aid courses which qualified him to become a volunteer with the White River ambulance service. He had also earned his black belt in karate and become a skilled enough shot to drill a hole through a bean can at twenty paces, every time (although he took less pride in those skills than his more peaceable ones). It all gained him respect, and with it a confidence that helped him to overcome his shyness. He had also decided by then on his career.

He and his parents had talked over a number of options, including fireman, nurse and conservation officer. But the day he went with the ambulance to a boating accident and watched police divers search for the missing while other officers took care of the survivors, his uncertainty ended. At the end of summer, he headed south to take his training as a new recruit of the Ontario Provincial Police.

The Ontario Police College was a few miles from the town of Aylmer. It was a sprawling complex of buildings and training grounds surrounded by quiet fields and farmland.

Paul found his new environment deeply unsettling. It was hard getting used to being among a crowd of strangers. He had been away from his close-knit community for only a few brief holidays and school trips, but had never gone alone. After a lifetime spent surrounded by rocks and forest, the open fields of southern Ontario felt barren and alien, too. He was used to nature in the wild. This was nature domesticated and leashed. The few trees that did grow on the edges of the fields were lined up in neat rows. He found them depressing, like seeing a wolf in a cage.

The sense that he was an outsider brought back his shyness in a painful rush. The other recruits seemed to settle into the college life with a confident ease he envied. It wasn't long before he was suffering such a misery of homesickness that he wasn't sure he'd make it through the first month of training.

"Hey, man. Looks like you and I are the only Indians in this bunch. Guess we should stick together, huh?"

Paul blinked at the uniformed recruit who had flung himself down into the chair next to his. A powerfully built young man with dark hair and dark eyes, he looked Paul over with unnerving directness and a wide grin.

"Um -" Paul hesitated.

His companion chuckled and thrust out a hand to shake. "Ahmed Sharma. My folks came over from India, way back before I was born. How about you?"

"White River, Ontario." Paul found himself laughing for the first time since he had arrived at the Academy. "My mother's people have been here pretty much forever. So what do you think of the course so far?"

It was heartening to discover that Ahmed found the rich farmlands of Aylmer unsettling as well, but for the opposite reason from Paul. "Man, this is way too far out in the sticks for me. Give me civilization every time. Fat chance of finding any decent curry around here."

It didn't take them long to become friends, although it would have been hard to name anything they had in common. Born and raised in the heart of Toronto, Ahmed had never been any further north than the city's outer suburbs and had no desire to do so. He was in training for the Toronto city police and intended to spend his whole career with them, preferably specializing in investigations of fraud and other white-collar crime. His family ran their own business, and had been burned more than once by con men and crooks. The heat in his eyes as he told Paul of some of those painful episodes made his motivation for joining the police force clear. Thinking back over some of the stories his mother's family had told him, Paul could sympathize.

A whole-hearted advocate of city life, Ahmed persuaded Paul to spend the Thanksgiving long weekend in Canada's largest city, "just to see what you're missing."

The Sharma family couldn't have been more hospitable and Paul thoroughly enjoyed his weekend at their comfortable home. Still, he left Toronto behind with relief when the holiday was over. He couldn't imagine living in the midst of so many people and so much traffic and concrete, no matter what cosmopolitan pleasures the city had to offer. Without the forest around him, he didn't feel he could breathe.

At the end of his training, he was happy to find himself posted in the northern mining community of Red Lake. He settled in eagerly to learn his new job.

During his three years in Red Lake, he took specialty training in community policing, then was transferred to Kenora. Four years later, the offer came of a post in the Otter County detachment. He jumped at the chance to be closer to home.

Life as a police officer was never predictable, but it did settle into a routine. In the slow periods, Paul spent time building relationships with the councils and elders of the small communities he dealt with. At least once a year, he went south for a few weeks of specialty and refresher training. He usually took a side trip to Toronto on these occasions for a visit with Ahmed, who had achieved his dream of a job with the city fraud squad. Their talks were always entertaining and often useful. The north was certainly not immune to con men and embezzlers. In return, he gave Ahmed advice on dealing with the urban Aboriginal community which was warmly appreciated.

Stimulating as the trips were, Paul was always glad to get back to the north afterward. There was a quiet thrill that came each time he left the farmlands behind on his drive home. Surrounded once again by dark spruce and shimmering poplar, with glimpses of sparkling lakes nestled in quiet beauty among the trees, he knew he was back where he belonged. It was bred in him right down to his bones.

Late in the summer of 2005, Paul and his partner Shelley were on a routine night patrol when they spotted a car pulled off to the side of the quiet road that led to the Mtigwaki First Nations community. Paul hurried over to investigate. He was concerned to find an older woman slumped behind the steering wheel.



Obviously still very sleepy and disorientated, she was glad to accept their offer of the bed in the police station staff room for what remained of the night.



After Elly Patterson had gone on her way the next morning, Paul couldn't stop thinking about that picture of her daughter. Something about the young woman's smile haunted him. He was intrigued by her mother's description of Liz' long-standing determination to come north to teach, and the enthusiasm with which she was embracing the Aboriginal culture of Mtigwaki. She sounded like the ideal woman for some lucky man ...

"Your problem, Paul, is that you work too hard." Shelley gave his shoulder a pat. "It's about time you got a life. Why don't you take a chance? Go on up to Mtigwaki and meet this woman."

Paul firmly changed the subject. Ever since she had become engaged, Shelley had turned into a fanatical matchmaker. She was determined to help her friends find the same kind of happiness she had with her fiancé. Her suggestion was silly, of course. He cringed at the thought of going up to a total stranger and trying to explain that he had developed an instant crush on her picture.

A few days later, when the cleaning lady found a pair of sunglasses in the staff room, Shelley was on them like a flash. "Perfect! There's your excuse, Paul. These must be Mrs. Patterson's. They're prescription glasses and probably expensive. You have to go to Mtigwaki and give these to her daughter."

That was nonsense too. He had Mrs. Patterson's license plate number. It wouldn't take long to look up her address and mail the sunglasses to her. Still, the thought of the pretty schoolteacher tantalized him. It also unnerved him. Although he had learned to radiate confidence on the job and even be sternly assertive if need be, his chronic shyness still afflicted him painfully when it came to women. His dating had been tentative over the years, and he had never had a steady girlfriend.

Now that Paul had turned 30, his mother was becoming more direct. In her opinion, it was time he found himself a nice girl and settled down to raising a family. He laughed off her teasing, but he did sometimes feel the loneliness of his bachelor life. Perhaps it was time he took a chance and ask out a girl. If only he could rake up the nerve.

Shelley was married in the last week of October. Seeing her smile into her new husband's eyes as they danced, Paul felt suddenly very alone. It was time, he resolved, to stop being such a wimp. The next time he visited his uncle's family in Mtigwaki, he was going to look up the girl in the photograph and give her the sunglasses.

That weekend, before he could change his mind, he headed north.



He had, in the course of his duties, faced down armed gunmen and been first on the scene of several horrific car accidents. None of those times had required as much courage as it did to walk up to the new school teacher at her star-gazing party and introduce himself.

His spirits leapt from relief to elation when Liz - who was even more attractive in person - not only responded to his stammering overtures with friendly interest, but lingered to talk with him after the rest of the crowd left.



Thrilled, he decided to push his luck and asked to see her again. Her smile of acceptance was everything he had dreamed. He drove home at the end of the weekend in a happy daze of wonder and excitement.

It was a little awkward managing a romance with a woman who lived two hours of pot-holed road away, but Paul was determined to make it work. Every time he had a precious few days off, he headed for Mtigwaki. On nights when they couldn't be together, he talked to Liz online. They seemed to have so much in common, it amazed him. Their views on politics, their taste in music and movies - every time they talked, there was another connection. When they were together, the chemistry between them left him breathless and dazzled. He had never experienced such intense feelings before.

With Christmas approaching, Paul decided it was time for Liz to meet his family The two of them had already been for dinner at his Uncle Ben's home in Mtigwaki, and she had met his cousin Adam, who still lived in the village. Uncle Ben had, of course, provided detailed reports on Liz to Paul's parents in White River. Now his mother was eager to meet her. He could tell that his mom was already dreaming of weddings and grandkids. It didn't bother him at all. He was beginning to think that way too.

When Liz started making arrangements for her trip back to Milborough for the holidays, Paul recognized the perfect opportunity. He insisted on driving her to White River, and on leaving early enough to give them time to visit his parents.



Knowing that Liz would be away from him for two weeks made him anxious to solidify things with her. Although he was fairly sure she wasn't dating anyone else, they had never talked about the status of their relationship. It would make the separation easier if he knew she was officially his girlfriend before she left.



It was a serious jolt when she told him about the helicopter pilot who was flying her home from White River. Paul's new confidence vanished in a rush. He should have known that there would be other, more interesting men in her life. He had been crazy to think she would commit to a guy like him.

It gave him some comfort when she clung to him in a lingering farewell, even though the chopper pilot was looking on in obvious chagrin. He could only hope that the love between them would survive the holidays.

His parents were disappointed when he arrived without the girlfriend they were so eager to meet. His mother seemed to accept his explanation of Liz' changed plans with nothing more than regret. His father looked thoughtful.

"Don't get in too deep, will you, son? It sounds like this girl of yours is still keeping her options open. Might be best for you to ease off a little. I'd hate to see you get burned by caring too much, too soon."

Common sense told him it was good advice. But the minute he saw Liz again after the holidays, and held her in his arms, he knew he couldn't follow it. He was just so crazy about his woman, there was nothing he wouldn't do or risk to be with her.



Shelley was following his romance with eager interest and a certain amount of smug told-you-so satisfaction. She readily agreed to re-arrange their duty roster to give him more weekends off. He spent them in Mtigwaki with Liz. The two of them talked online for hours in the evenings. He became more and more certain that this was the one woman in the world for him.

Still, he was mindful of his father's warning. It would be a mistake to rush Liz too much. Despite the intensity of the connection whenever they were together, she still seemed to shy away from the word 'forever'. Sometimes he had the unsettling feeling that she was marking time, waiting for some indefinable event to happen to decide her future.

On the Easter holiday, the chance finally came to introduce her to his parents. It had been worrying him that she might be uncomfortable with the noisy, easy-going, informal ways of his family. Everything he had heard about her parents suggested they were much more restrained and less outgoing than his.

He needn't have worried. Liz settled into the clan with eager enthusiasm and took the inevitable teasing in good humour, giving back as good as she got. The weekend was crowded with activities. On Saturday, they went cross-country skiing through a forest wonderland sparkling with hoar frost, then back to his parent's place for supper before slipping away to his apartment for the night. On Sunday the whole family attended the Easter service before heading out on their snowmobiles to bring in the ice-fishing shacks from the lake and celebrate the end of winter with a bonfire picnic on the shore. After, they went back to his parents' home for a cheerfully competitive game of cards.

It was a wonderful weekend and he glowed with pride. Now and then, though, he noticed his father watching Liz thoughtfully. It dampened his spirits, just a little.

On the drive back to Mtigwaki, Liz talked excitedly about the weekend and his family. It was only because he was tired, he told himself, that he imagined she was just a shade too enthusiastic. It must have been a strain for her, meeting his parents and the rest of his large extended family for the first time, knowing that she was being inspected with avid interest. That was the only reason she sounded different now.

With the coming of Spring, work at the detachment became busier. Break-up, when the lakes melted, was always a dangerous time of year. The roads were pot-holed with frost boils and slick with ice, making for treacherous driving. As well, something about the last frustrating weeks of frigid weather made the winter-weary population a little more volatile and inclined towards trouble. With accidents, alcohol-induced fights and the occasional 'domestic' to deal with, he had little time to think about anything but work.

Paul found it difficult to get away to Mtigwaki to see Liz. She was busy, too, with the school year winding down and report cards to prepare. In the evenings, when they talked online, she often seemed preoccupied and unusually quiet. Sometimes she didn't log into the chat window until so late that they had only a few minutes to talk before bedtime. Their conversations felt superficial, leaving him restless and dissatisfied.

It was a relief when he managed to get four days off in a stretch toward the end of May. He had seen Liz for only one weekend since their visit to his parents, and she would soon be leaving to go south for the summer. He was hungry for some time with her.

They had a lot to discuss. Liz had been offered a renewal of her teaching contract in Mtigwaki. They had expected it, but the offer still came as a relief. Knowing that she was going to be in the village another year, Paul had started pressing harder for his transfer to Spruce Narrows. Once they were closer, able to see each other more often, the vague sense of strain he was feeling would surely vanish. He was eager to regain the wonderful intensity that had left him dizzy and thrilled in the first months of their relationship.

As soon as he stepped into her apartment, Liz sat him down and told him that she would be leaving Mtigwaki for good at the end of June. She was going back south.



It stunned him that she could have made such a decision without discussing it with him. He had thought they were a couple, with everything that implied.



They argued a long time, but for all her insistence that she loved him and wanted to be with him, Liz refused to budge an inch. Not only was she determined to leave, but she had accepted a summer job teaching in Mississauga. It didn't take much reading between the lines to see that she was hoping it would turn into a permanent position.

The unpalatable truth sank in. If they were to stay together, Paul would have to follow her south.



Shelley was almost as dismayed as he was when he told her the news. It wasn't hard to persuade her to cover for him, late in June, so that he could drive Elizabeth back to her parents' home.

"If you're going to go with Liz, then the sooner you connect with her network of family and friends, the better. You're such a part of the community around here, I can't imagine you being happy without those kinds of roots elsewhere. It's a good start, meeting her parents." Shelley smiled, but her eyes were troubled. "I hope it works for you, Paul."

The drive to Milborough seemed endless. The closer they got to the cities and farmlands of southern Ontario, the more Liz' spirits rose and the further his sank. She tried to hide it from him, but it was obvious that Liz was elated to be going home. Paul understood, or tried to. His own roots drew him eagerly back to the north after every trip out. It was only reasonable for Liz to be just as deeply attached to her home and family.

Still, it was hard not to be pessimistic. Until now, the two of them had found so much in common, were almost magically in sync. This was the first time a serious rift had opened between them. It was a big one. He only hoped they could bridge it somehow.



The Pattersons greeted them enthusiastically when they arrived in Milborough. Paul appreciated the warmth of their welcome, but found it a little overwhelming. He had the uneasy feeling that Liz' family was trying too hard to like him. It made him feel even more of a stranger. His old demon shyness kicked in. He couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to say in response to their flood of cheerful questions.

He left the next morning with mixed feelings. Liz' goodbye was warm and lingering, but it was obvious she was anxious to start settling back in to where she felt she belonged.

He did some heavy thinking on the long road back to Otter County. As soon as he arrived back in his apartment, he picked up the phone.

"A job in Toronto?" Ahmed sounded dumbfounded. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No. I've put in for a transfer south to the Central Dvision of the O.P.P. But I might as well apply to the Toronto Police as well. If you could put in a good word for me -"

"Why? You hate the city. I mean, yeah, we have great visits when you come. But you're always out of here in a cloud of dust afterward, your tongue practically hanging out in eagerness to get back to your beloved sticks."

Paul didn't feel up to the argument. "Yeah, sure. So will you give me a reference or not?"

"Of course I will. You're a damn good cop. But not until you tell me who's holding the gun to your head. Because I'm not about to believe you're doing this without some serious duress."

Paul couldn't help laughing in spite of himself. "Serious incentive, maybe, not duress. The best kind of incentive there is." Briefly, he explained the situation with Liz.

"Hmm."

"What hmm? We want to be together. She's put in her time in the north. Now it's only fair that I move south to be with her. Pretty simple, right?"

"When it comes to women, nothing is simple." There was a thoughtful silence before Ahmed said slowly, "You didn't ask for my advice, Paul, but I'm going to give you some anyway. Wait a while, OK? Don't go rushing into transferring to Toronto or anywhere else. Just sit tight and wait."

"Wait? For what?"

"Beats me. But in my experience, when a woman says she's confused and doesn't know what she wants, it's best to back off and let her figure it out for herself. Worst thing you can do is put on any pressure. Besides," Ahmed added more lightly, "this job of hers in Mississauga is just for the summer, right? You'll feel like a dope if you bust a gut getting a posting in Toronto, and then she goes off in the fall to teach in Ottawa or something."

"That's true." Paul felt a surge of relief. He wondered why he hadn't thought of that point himself. "You're right. It would be smarter to wait until Liz has a more permanent job before I transfer."

"Especially since you just asked for a transfer to Spruce Narrows. The OPP could get cranky if you keep asking for new postings every few months. Makes you look flighty."

Shelley agreed, once she had wrung every last detail of the trip to Milborough out of him. "After all, the grass is always greener, right? Once Liz spends a few months south, she may realize she really does prefer life up north. I mean, who wouldn't? Wait and see. She could be back in Mtigwaki by Christmas."

One way and another, he decided, it made sense to wait out the summer and see what happened in September.

It helped take his mind off his loneliness to keep busy. Shelley and her new husband wanted an extended summer holiday for their delayed honeymoon, and Paul was happy to take the extra shifts to make it possible. It was only fair, considering that his partner had covered for him so often in the spring. As well, he decided to learn more about traditional Aboriginal healing circles and how these could be melded into the detachment's community policing strategies. The research kept him well occupied that summer, visiting the villages and talking to the elders and healers.

Sometimes, when he was in Mtigwaki, he stopped in to see his old childhood friend Susan Dokis. It had been one of those happy "small world" moments when he discovered, back in May, that she was the new teacher who would be replacing Liz.



He hadn't seen Susan since she had given up Jingle Dancing at powwows, back when they were teenagers, to take on a summer job as counsellor at a kids' camp. The family camp-outs had petered out a year two earlier. She had been only fourteen the last time he saw her, a skinny kid who was graceful and vibrant when dancing but awkward and almost rude when he tried to talk to her. It amazed him to see how well she'd matured.

They slipped back into their old friendship with hardly a ripple. Susan still had a quiet way with her, but it came with a mature confidence now, and an intelligent, slightly barbed sense of humour that made talking with her a constant pleasure. He was intrigued to find that she knew a great deal about healing circles, which her father had re-introduced into their own community as an alternate means for settling disputes. Her input was a big help as he worked out his recommendations for the detachment.

One way and another, July went by more easily than he had expected. Most evenings, he and Liz chatted online. Once a week, he phoned her. He missed her desperately at times, and she obviously longed for him too. But he heard a new enthusiasm in her voice as she talked of her students, her family and all the small doings in her life. He still hoped that Shelley was right, that Liz would change her mind and return north, but there wasn't a lot in their conversations to encourage those hopes.

His optimism revived with a bound when Liz called to say she was coming to White River to stay with him for a few days over the August long weekend. His partner was almost as thrilled as he was.

"Ha! I knew Liz couldn't stay away from the north - or from you." Shelley smirked. "She hasn't taken a job yet for the next school year, has she? There are still teaching positions open around here, I know. Ten bucks says Liz is back up here this fall."



The long weekend went by far too quickly. Liz seemed so happy to be with him, and to be back in the north country again, that he couldn't help thinking Shelley might be right. When Liz cheerfully evaded his questions as to where she was applying for teaching positions, he became even more certain. The only reason she could have for not telling him, surely, was because she was saving the good news until she could give him a wonderful surprise.

It was misery when she left. He could hardly stand to walk into his empty apartment. There was nothing to do but wait and hope that wherever Liz ended up teaching, it would be close enough to White River that they could see each other regularly again.

It was the last week in August when he came home from a rough day on highway patrol and found an e-mail from Liz waiting for him headed "New JOB! Woo-hoo!"

His heart leapt. He opened the e-mail, fumbling over the keys in his hurry.

"Great news! I've got a full-time teaching position ..."

He read it over and over again, unable to take in the words staring at him from the screen.

" . . at a school that's about 16 miles from where I grew up ... "

It was a full day before he could force himself to answer the message. Even then, he knew his reply was short to the point of being curt. Yes, it was wonderful that she had found a job. It sure would be a cost-savings, being close enough to her parents to be able to live with them for a while. Of course he was happy that she was planning to come visit him during the Christmas school break.

He had to grit his teeth to write that last bit. It was hard to believe that Liz could think it was "great news" that they wouldn't be seeing each other for four months. He just had to accept there was no more hope that she would change her mind and return north. With grim resignation, he put in his application for the Toronto City Police.

Early in October, another stunning piece of news came in on his e-mail. Liz was being called to testify against a man who had sexually assaulted her the summer before.

"She never told you?" Shelley stared at him in disbelief. "Your girlfriend was attacked by some perv and never mentioned the fact?"

"Come on, Shel." Paul put down the file he had been pretending to read. "You know as well as I do that a lot of women are reluctant to talk about being assaulted."

"Liz must have talked to a few people, since she pressed charges. And you're a cop. You'd think she'd be glad to discuss it with someone who could help her through the process."

"She hasn't asked for my help." Seeing Shelley's eyebrows lift, he shrugged. "Her family is being very supportive, they'll stay close by her through the trial. The guy who yanked the perp off her is testifying too, and she says he's been wonderful. He's an old school friend. They spent most of the afternoon together after she gave her deposition. I guess it was a big help, having the distraction."

"Oh?" Shelley looked like she was about to comment further, but apparently thought better of it. "Um. That was nice of him. Helping to take her mind off the trial, I mean."

"Real nice." Paul shoved back his chair and reached for his hat. "You know what? This paperwork can wait. I'm going to drive over to the Stop 'n Shop and check out that new security system they installed after the last break-in."

He felt her eyes follow him as he left.

The next day, he persuaded Liz to try out an internet phone software. It allowed them to talk for hours without long distance charges. Sometimes they didn't talk much at all, just left the line open and their microphones and speakers turned on while they went about their evening routines. He could hear Liz arguing with her sister April over the weird things sisters argued about, or humming along with her MP3 songs as she marked papers at her desk. It was achingly intimate, but at the same time it emphasized the distance between them and made his loneliness worse.

When the trial began in late November, Paul made a point of talking to Liz every night, offering her what advice and support he could. Testifying could be incredibly traumatic for victims of sexual assault. It was surprising that she seemed to be handling it so well. He wondered if she really was. She had, after all, kept her homesickness in Mtigwaki bottled up until it became too much to bear and she bolted back home to her family without warning. If she was repressing her feelings now ... He began seriously considering driving down to Milborough to be with her.

To his surprise, Shelley was uncooperative about giving him the extra time off.

"I'm sorry, Paul. I just don't think it's a good idea. You can't be spared now, anyway. There's too much going on."

They hadn't worked together for three years without learning how each other ticked. There was something fishy about the way Shelley refused to meet his eyes. Paul set about finding out what it was. He had the distinct feeling his partner was trying to protect him. He wanted to know why.

"Darn it, Wright, you're a pest!" Shelley sighed. "OK. Remember when I went out to that special training on Domestic Violence last year? There was a cop there from the Milborough detachment. Brad Luggsworth. Tough guy, but decent. We worked together on some role playing stuff for the course. Anyway, I just happened to be talking to him again last week."

She didn't meet his eyes as she said that, either. Paul had the strong suspicion that her chat with Constable Luggsworth hadn't "just happened". He also had the sinking feeling he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear.

"The Bunt assault isn't Brad's case," Shelly went on, " but he's been following the trial closely. Seems he went to school with Liz' brother, knows the family pretty well. He had a long talk with her brother just a couple days ago during one of the recesses."

She looked up at him. "Paul, there's no easy way to say this. Liz is spending a lot of time with this Anthony guy who came to the rescue when she was assaulted. Brad says that it's pretty obvious from watching them that Anthony is crazy about her. And she's not exactly fighting him off." She hesitated, her face strained with unhappiness. "According to the brother, her family is really hoping they'll get together again."

Paul let the pain hit, waited for it to ease off enough that he could answer. Shelley watched him, sympathy practically pouring off her skin. "You knew?"

"Yeah. Sort of." He swallowed hard to steady his voice. "Liz doesn't have much of a filter when we talk. She's mentioned her old school friend a lot, what a comfort he is to her through this trial. It wasn't rocket science to read between the lines."

Anger flared and he welcomed it, let it blaze until it drove down the hurt. "Her parents - yeah, she let that slip too, how much they like the guy. Always have, apparently. No wonder they couldn't wait to get her out of the north and away from me. Damn it, Shelley," he exploded, "they never gave me a chance. Liz and I were good together. We had so much -"

The phone shrilled. He clamped his teeth shut, stalked away to the window to glower out at the snow-shrouded trees. Shelley mumbled into the receiver, her voice sharpening as she spoke. "When? Where? OK, give me what you know."

Paul turned, recognizing the sound of serious trouble. The rougher it was, the happier he was going to be, considering the mood he was in. Having half a dozen drunks to subdue would be pure pleasure.

"Lost kid. Mtigwaki." Shelley cradled the receiver with a sharp click. "Twelve years old, been in trouble lately and upset about it. They're a little worried that his disappearance might not be accidental. The detachment in Spruce Narrows is up to their eyeballs in that murder and arson case and is asking us to send someone to organize the search. Can you take it? I've got a hearing in an hour and I really can't miss it."

"I'm on it." Paul grabbed his uniform parka off its hook, his anger evaporating. There was no room for it now. Lost kid cases were agonizing to deal with. When the possibility of suicide was mixed in, they could tear his heart out. Twelve was young, though. Not unheard of, but unusual. It was more often teenagers who dropped into the black hole of depression and could see only one escape from their misery.

He spun the service vehicle out of the parking lot in a flurry of snow and onto the road to Mtigwaki.

He arrived to find the village almost empty, with every able-bodied resident out combing the woods. Surrounded by forest as it was, the village had had its share of experience with lost children. Everyone knew the importance of finding the strays fast, especially in winter weather like this. Exposure was a much faster killer than starvation or thirst.

"It wouldn't be so bad if he'd grown up here." The elder who had remained behind to brief Paul looked drawn with worry. "But Andy's mom left the village when she was just a girl. She only moved back this summer with her son." He shook his head. "He's been raised in the city. Doesn't know this area, or much about surviving in the bush."

"Who saw him last?"

'Two of the other boys in his class. They say he picked a fight with them, then stomped away mad after they laid a licking on him. They didn't pay any attention to where he went. That was yesterday morning."

"The search only started today?" Paul frowned in anxiety. The overnight temperatures had been well below freezing.

"No one knew he was missing until today. His mother works at the truck stop on the highway, she didn't get home until late. She thought he was sleeping over at his grandparents." He kicked at a lump of snow, his face tightening. "We checked their house. They were away yesterday morning, but the house wasn't locked. His grandpa's .22 rifle is missing."

The cold edge of fear slid into Paul. He shook it off. "Can you tell me the details of the search so far? What's being done?"

An hour later, he stood by the lakeshore and mentally reviewed the arrangements once again. The searchers had been called back and reorganized into a more systematic sweep of the ground a mile around the village, and a chopper was beating its way slowly along the ice-covered lakeshore with two binocular-wielding searchers aboard. A tracker dog was on its way from the detachment at Spruce Narrows. He was debating his next move when Susan Dokis strode up to him, her expression worried and intent.

"Paul, I've got an idea where Andy might be. It's just a hunch, but I'd like to follow up on it. I didn't want to head out without letting you know, though. The last thing you need is to be distracted by someone else going missing."

"If you have any ideas, I'd like to hear them." Paul eyed the serviceable parka she was wearing, the knapsack on her back, and the cross-country skis under her arm. "But you can't go out alone. Everyone searches in pairs. That's the rule."

"Come with me then. Do you have your skis with you?" She glanced at the sky. "It'll be snowing soon. If we're going to find him, we need to hurry."

As Paul hastily assembled his own pack of emergency supplies from the equipment in his vehicle, Susan explained. "Everyone seems to have leapt to the same conclusion about why Andy took that rifle. I think they're all wrong. He's had a rough time adjusting to life here, but he's a fighter, not a quitter. "

"Then why the gun?" Paul yanked out his skis and strapped them on.

"I think he had something to prove, and he's set out to do it." Susan led the way toward the thick scrub west of the village. "I've heard some of the bullies at school hassling him, calling him a city slicker. Among other things." She gave a swift glance at Paul that had a hint of constraint in it. "His father was white."

"Oh." She didn't have to explain her point any further. Children of mixed blood didn't always have it easy, either in the First Nations villages or in the predominantly white towns. Especially if they were outsiders in other ways, as was the case with Andy. Paul himself had suffered occasionally from this form of double-edged prejudice from people outside his own warm and accepting family. He knew how much it could hurt.

"I had a talk with the two boys who fought with Andy yesterday." Susan stroked easily along beside him. "They left a few things out of the original story they told. It seems the fight started because they were talking about going ptarmigan hunting with their fathers this weekend, and Andy asked to go too. He made the mistake of telling them that he has never gone hunting and wanted to try it. They mocked him for being a city wimp, and followed that up with taunts about not having a dad who could teach him the skills." She shook her head. "Kids can be so cruel."

"So you think he's gone off hunting on his own, to prove himself?" Paul considered this. "Then he could be anywhere."

"Unless he planned to stay out overnight. Then he would go where he knew he could find shelter. His grandfather has a small cabin a couple of miles out of town on a creek where he ran his trap line in the old days. I know Andy is aware of it, he mentioned it in an essay he wrote. My guess is, he's gone there."

"Or tried to go there." Paul eyed the sky, which was darkening ominously. It wouldn't be long before the snow began. Any hope of finding the boy's tracks would be gone by morning. "I hope you're right."

They covered the next mile in silence, moving as quickly as the thick woods would permit. When they came out onto the frozen creek, Susan sped up the pace. Paul couldn't help admiring her determination as he sweated trying to keep up with her long, athletic strides.

They rounded a bend and Susan stopped short with an exclamation, pointing with her pole. Up on a small rise overlooking the creek squatted a log cabin, its walls grey and sagging with age. Out of the rusting tin chimney flowed a thin stream of smoke.

"Wait." Paul caught Susan's arm as she started eagerly forward. "He's got a gun, remember. Stay here. I'll go ahead."

"Paul -"

"I said, wait. Don't argue. After a night alone, the kid could be scared enough to do something stupid if he's startled. I don't want you to get hurt."

"And you think I'll be happy if you do?" Susan's eyes blazed into his. "Speaking of stupid!"

For a stunned moment he stared at her. She flushed and dropped her eyes, her mouth set tight. With an effort, he thrust his surprise aside. Later, he'd think about what that unguarded flare of emotion meant. Right now he had an angry and probably frightened kid with a rifle to deal with.

Paul kicked off his skis and started up the slope, moving slowly, his body relaxed and his hands open and a little away from his sides. If the boy was watching from the cabin's single grimy window, he didn't want to look in any way threatening.

There wasn't a sound from the cabin. The hair began to prickle on Paul's neck with the feeling of being watched. He stopped. "Andy? Andy!" He raised his voice. "Andy, are you in there? Are you OK? Your mom's worried about you. I'm going to come in, alright?"

The cabin door slammed open and rebounded, quivering off the greying logs.

"Get out of here! Just go away and leave me alone. This is my cabin now." The rifle wavered in the boy's grip, and his eyes were huge and wild in the dirty lines of his face. "You're not coming in."

"Andy!" To Paul's shock, Susan ran by him. With a soft cry, she threw her arms around the boy and hugged him tight, rifle and all. "Oh thank God, we've found you. And you're OK! I'm glad, so glad. Everyone's been worried about you."

With his heart in his throat and a stream of silent curses racing through his head, Paul leapt. He had hold of the gun and whipped it out of Andy's slackened grip before the boy could recover from his astonishment.

Andy hardly seemed to notice. He was staring with wide-eyed wonder into Susan's face.

"What do you mean, everyone?" The boy jerked away from her hold and stood braced, flushed and glowering. "Nobody in that hole of a village could care less if I was dead."

The rifle wasn't loaded. Paul sagged with relief. He slipped the bolt out anyway and dropped it into his pocket.

"Considering that nine-tenths of the people in 'that hole' are out searching for you right now and the rest are in church praying for your safe return," he pointed out with some acidity, "I'd say that isn't true. You've stirred up a great deal of trouble for a whole lot of people, young man."

"Seriously? Wow." Andy looked pleased. "You mean they've really got search parties out looking for me?"

"Oh yeah. Search parties, helicopters and police dogs. The whole works."

"Oh." Andy's smile wavered. "I guess that means I'm in big trouble."

"You bet. The biggest." Paul let that sink in before let the boy off the hook with a smile. "But we're still glad you're OK. And I know everyone else will feel that way, too."

"Come on, Andy." Susan draped an arm over the boy's shoulders. "With this snowstorm coming in, I guess we're going to have to impose on your hospitality for the night. Why don't you show me around your cabin, and then I'll see about getting something ready for supper. I brought some food with me. Are you hungry?"

"Oh, yeah." All the boy's toughness vanished as he looked up her, his eyes intense and vulnerable. "All I could find to bring from home was some hot dogs and a can of peaches. But there's no can opener in the cabin and I ate all the hot dogs last night. You say you've got food in there?" He eyed the backpack with keen interest.

"You bet. And a can opener too. Let's do this, pal."

The snow was already thick in the air by the time Paul finished radioing in to call off the search and reassure Andy's mother of her son's safety. He set to work collecting firewood. With all the drafts and chinks in the cabin, they were going to need plenty of it to get through the night in any degree of comfort. Andy trailed behind him, looking wary, but followed his orders willingly and carried a fair share of the wood. By the time a satisfying pile was stacked outside the door, Susan had a couple of cans of stew bubbling at the edge of the fire and bannock baking over it on peeled willow sticks.

After supper, they drank tea and talked. For the most part, Paul sat quietly on the ancient bench by the fire and listened as Susan drew Andy out, letting the boy vent his misery and challenging his assumptions as she gently guided him to a better understanding of Mtigwaki, a place that was his by birthright. Paul was impressed with her perceptiveness, and her patience in dealing with a difficult kid. Still, the youngster remained tormented by self-doubt.

"I didn't shoot anything. In two days, I never shot anything." Andy clenched his fists and beat them on his knees. "Those guys told me I was a wimp, that I couldn't be a hunter 'cause I didn't have the guts. They were right."

"You're being too hard on yourself." Paul leaned forward, his tea cup cradled in his hands. "Even the most experienced hunters don't find game every time they go out."

"But I did! It was right in my sights and just standing there. I could have had a pelt, a good one. That would have shown those jerks. But I couldn't - couldn't pull the trigger." Andy looked to be on the brink of tears.

"What was? You mean you saw an animal?"

"Yeah. A - I don't know what it was. Kinda like the pet ferret my friend Jason had, but bigger. It was brown, really shiny, with bright black eyes. It's nose kept twitching, like it was sniffing all the time."

"A marten." Susan stiffened, staring at him. "You saw a marten? Up close?"

"Oh yeah. It came right up to me. I was lying in the snow, keeping super still and watching a trail I found. I thought a rabbit might come up it. And then I turned and there was this - marten - standing there looking at me." He gulped hard. "But I couldn't - couldn't shoot it."

"Andy!" Susan dropped to her knees in front of him and caught at his shoulders, her eyes shining. "That's incredible. Wow."

As the boy stared at her blankly, she laughed. "Don't you see? You're Marten Clan."

"I am?"

"Yes. Your grandfather, your mother, you. You're all Marten Clan. And a marten came out of the woods to meet you. As though he was welcoming you. That's wonderful."

"Martens are wild creatures, very swift and elusive." Paul explained. "It's rare to get more than a glimpse of one in the woods. For one to come close enough to look you in the eye, that's unheard of."

"You mean it was, like, a spirit marten or something?" The boy's look of misery vanished in his excitement. "I saw, like, a vision?"

"Whether this one was a vision or real, the important thing is that the marten is the head of your clan." Susan gave his shoulders a hard squeeze. "Having one come to you, that's a privilege few people have ever experienced."

"The Anishinabe people historically were made up of seven clans, each with its own responsibilities and strengths," Paul added. "The Marten Clan were the hunters. The warriors. Their duty was to protect their people and provide food. It's an honourable clan to belong to, one that is important and respected. So it was a good thing you didn't shoot the messenger." He grinned. "It would have been seriously bad manners."

The boy laughed. "No kidding. Wow. That's - wow. I never knew that. I mean, I heard some of the kids arguing over whether it was better to be Crane Clan than Turtle Clan, but I didn't know what they meant. So what other kinds are there? What do they do?"

They sat a long time talking, while the fire danced shadow pictures on the wall and the snow-laden wind hissed in gusty whispers around the old cabin. Paul and Susan took turns telling the stories they knew, the history of the Anishinabe and everything they could remember of Marten Clan lore.

Susan was amazing, Paul thought, as he watched the firelight warm and accent the strong, sensitive lines of her face. Tough and gentle, steeped in tradition yet uncompromisingly modern, straightforward as daylight but with surprising complexities. He felt like he was seeing her for the very first time.

Andy listened with avid interest, even when his eyelids began to droop.

"Time for bed, I think." Susan finished her story and smiled at the boy, who was half-lying on the bench with his head propped on his hands. "You can take the foam mattress I brought, Andy. Paul will sleep on the bed of boughs, since he made it. I call dibs on the lumpy mattress and whatever little friends might be living in it."

Andy yawned over to his bed and was sound asleep within minutes.

The two adults lingered by the fire, listening to the wind. At last Susan looked up and smiled at Paul, her eyes warm in the firelight.

"Do you have a sense of deja vu?"

"That time when we were lost and spent the night in the woods?" He nodded. "I was thinking of that, too. Although I don't remember Clara and Amber snoring nearly as loudly as Andy does."

"He is out cold, isn't he? I guess it's one of the perks of childhood, that amazing ability to sleep just about anywhere."

"Maybe. Although my guess is that he's exhausted. I'll bet he didn't sleep a wink last night. Being all alone in a creaky old cabin in the forest had to be terrifying for a kid used to streetlights and city sounds. He looked half crazed when we arrived." Paul stifled a yawn. "It's lucky you figured out where he was in time to spare the poor kid a second night out here alone. I don't know why he didn't have enough sense to haul his sorry butt home again when he had the chance." "He couldn't," she said softly, her eyes on the fire. "Not until he had proven himself. You should understand that."

It took a second before he got it, and then he could only stare at her. Twenty years had passed since he had made his silent resolution to prove that he could be a leader and earn real respect. He was certain he had never told anyone about it.

"How did you know?"

"I just did." She smiled, slow and a little sadly. "That night in the woods - I first fell in love with you then. It makes a person extra perceptive, you know. I doubt if there was much you thought or felt that I wasn't aware of in those days."

The shock of that calm declaration took his breath away.

"But - you were only nine that summer. Just a kid."

"So? Do you really believe that children can't love?"

"Well, no. I mean, sure they can. It's just - ." He thought back rapidly through the years. "You must have gotten over it. Heck, you wouldn't even talk to me the last time we met at a powwow. You just gave me a weird look and went off muttering."

"I was fourteen and homely as a skinned squirrel. You were sixteen and the most handsome guy there. What did you expect?"

That took the wind right out of him. "You were not homely," he protested with a gulp. "I was disappointed when you brushed me off. I'd been looking forward to seeing you again." He realized suddenly where this was going, and gave himself a hard mental shake. "Listen, Susan. I can't - . I mean, I'm not -"

"I know. Don't worry. I'm not asking anything of you. I just wanted to be honest. We always were, as children. It's a hard habit to break." She rose and stretched, yawning.

For a moment, she stood gazing down at him, her eyes fathomless in the shadows. A slow smile curved, warm and a little wicked. "Well, maybe there is one thing I'm asking. Just this once." She bent, captured his face in her hands, and kissed him.

It was no more than a light brush of her lips against his, demanding nothing and promising nothing. Still, it left him shaken and speechless. With the faintest of smiles, she walked away to her lumpy mattress.

Paul thought about Susan the whole long, solitary drive back to Otter County the next day.

It had been a relief and a surprise to find that there was no constraint between them. The next morning, as they breakfasted, tidied the cabin and laid in a stock of firewood for the next chance visitor, they talked easily. There was no awkwardness on the trek back to Mtigwaki. Susan seemed just as she had always been, friendly, competent and a good companion.

Later, as they eased Andy's return to the village, Paul became once more acutely aware of the intuitive understanding between them.

Without a word said, both slowed their pace as they neared Mtigwaki. They let the boy go ahead of them to prevent anyone thinking he was being dragged back in shame. Without prior discussion, they smoothly tag-teamed their explanation of where and how he had been found, making it clear to everyone, including his classmates, that he had managed his brief wilderness adventure with courage and good sense, however unwise it might have been to head out alone in the first place.

Paul had a quiet talk with Gary, the school principal, and a couple of village elders before he left. He knew that Susan would sit down with Andy's mother and grandparents (once they were past the first extremes of relief and annoyance) to talk things over with them. The boy had good stuff in him. With a little of the right kind of encouragement and support, he would settle into the community just fine.

It had been a worrying case with a happy ending. Or it would have been, if he could just stop thinking about Susan. She had been so lovely there by the fire, with a beauty that wasn't simple prettiness of features, but deep-rooted strength, intelligence and innate kindness. And she was in love with him, and not the least ashamed of it ...

As soon as he arrived back at his apartment, Paul hurried to his computer and fired it up. There was a long message waiting for him from Liz. She told him about her frustration with the long process of the trial and the time it was taking from her teaching, detailed the family's worries over her grandfather's health, and half-jokingly moaned about the constant friction with her little sister over bathroom time and personal space. She missed him. She was looking forward eagerly to seeing him over the Christmas holidays. She was his, love, Liz.

He read every word of it with intent concentration, then sat back in his chair and stared at the screen.

He felt - he didn't know how he felt. Confusion, and an odd lightness as though a weight had slipped away, leaving him hollow inside.

He shoved back the chair and paced the room. He must be insane. Two days ago, he had been in agony, wanting this girl and aching with love for her. Now - the e-mail could have been from a casual friend. Someone he had known long ago and was only mildly interested in. Even the paragraph about how she had shared lunch with Anthony and his little daughter couldn't rouse any feeling but indifference.

He rammed his hand through his hair in bewilderment and headed for the shower and a quick change of clothes before going to the detachment office.

Shelley listened with wide-eyed interest. When he finally wound down, she eased out a long sigh and shook her head. "I think you'd better sleep on this a couple of days. I mean, this was pretty intense, with the lost kid and all. Give yourself some time to get your head straight. Talk to Liz like always, but don't say anything about this. Then go back to Mtigwaki and see Susan." She smiled. "Then you'll know."

He jumped at the idea of having a plan, something to anchor him in a world that had suddenly tilted 90 degrees. He threw himself into his work for the rest of the week. Each evening, he and Liz chatted online. He kept up his end as best he could, but the conversations seemed empty, without any real meaning. On Thursday evening, he gathered up his courage and phoned her. She was delighted to hear from him. They talked for almost an hour. Mostly it was about her life and her worries. He sympathized and soothed, made the right noises at the right times. It amazed him that Liz didn't seem to pick up any vibes from the uncertainty that was tearing him apart.

It occurred to him, listening to her with a new objectivity, that perhaps Liz' perceptions were dulled by some uncertainties of her own. Anthony popped up more than once in the conversation. Liz seemed to mention his name almost deliberately, as though she was trying to force a reaction, or hinting at something she couldn't quite say.

He couldn't help but think of Susan's calm admission that she had loved him for years. The two women could hardly be more different. Liz had spent months talking and fretting about her feelings and her needs, but still didn't seem clear in her own mind what she wanted. Susan, on the other hand, knew exactly how she felt, said little about it, but was straightforward and unwavering when she did. When he hung up at the end of the call, he was more confused than ever.

He drove to Mtigwaki on Friday evening, mentally rehearsing what he would say to Susan for the whole drive. In the end, it didn't matter. When Susan opened the door of her apartment and saw him standing there, she simply smiled and walked into his arms.

He couldn't find a single thing wrong with that arrangement.

He walked into the detachment office on Monday morning after a swift drive down from Mtigwaki, still feeling a little shell-shocked. Shelley swept a look over him and lifted an eyebrow. "Hmm. Looks like you've made your decision. Have you told Liz?"

"I - well, no, not yet." He ran a hand through his hair and tried to collect his wits. "I have to, well, think about how to do it. I mean, it's not the best time, when she's in the middle of that trial and stressed enough already. I have to think about her feelings, too."

"Uh-huh." Shelley got up and walked to his desk. "Well, don't think about it too long, partner." She lifted a document from the pile of mail and waggled it at him. "Your transfer has come through. You're out of here in January. Just in time for you to be closer to your girlfriend, just like you planned."

As he stared at the envelope in her hand with stunned dismay, she chuckled. "Oh yeah, guess I forgot to mention the important part. It isn't your application to Toronto that came through. It's the transfer to Spruce Narrows. Which puts you right up close and handy to Susan. Nice, huh?"

"Have you told Elizabeth yet?" It was the weekend after. Susan glanced across from her desk where she was preparing end-of-year exams.

Paul kept his gaze fixed on the TV, where the Leafs and Habs were battling it out in overtime. "No. Um, every time I try to talk to her, I just can't seem to - ."

"Oh?" Susan said it so blandly, he flicked a wary look at her. But she had gone back to her work, her face unreadable.

"Susan Dokis? Mary-Jane's girl?" His mother beamed at him across the blueberry pies she was making for Christmas. "Why, that's wonderful. I've always liked Susan."

She wielded her rolling pin with new enthusiasm. "But when did you break up with Liz? You didn't tell us about that." As he hesitated, she looked up sharply, her eyes narrowing. "You did break up with her, didn't you?"

Paul swiped a few half-thawed blueberries from the mixing bowl and popped them into his mouth, carefully avoiding her gaze. "Not yet. I will. I meant to tell her as soon as holidays started, when the rush of her school work was over. But then her brother and his family had a fire in their apartment and had to move back in with her parents too. It's been incredibly traumatic for the whole family. It just didn't seem to be the right time to add any more stress to her life."

"Very considerate." His mother's voice was as dry as August. "Although perhaps not so considerate to Susan, do you think?"

"I know," Paul squirmed under her gaze. "But it's probably better to break it off in person, anyway. Then Liz and I can talk it out, and I can explain things better. She knows Susan, I think she'll understand -"

"Paul Ian Wright!" His mother stared at him in disbelief. "Do you mean to tell me that girl is still coming up here to see you after Christmas, thinking that things are just fine and dandy between you? You're going to make her come all this way and then tell her that you're dumping her?"

"I - um - I mean, I'm not really dumping her. She left me to go south, after all. And she's seeing this other guy quite a bit, it isn't like -"

"My son, the cop." She shook her head at him. "Who would have thought such a big, tough man could be a complete coward."

That stung. But he could hardly argue. The thought had occurred to him, too. He slunk out of the kitchen to the safer male environment of the garage, where his father and cousin were talking snowmobiles and not at all likely to inquire about his love life.

At least things would be straightened out soon. Susan would be back from her parents' on the 27th and he was driving her up to Mtigwaki. They would have a couple of days together before he had to go to Spruce Narrows to pick up Liz from the bus. He had already taken possession of his new apartment. He and Liz could talk in private there, take whatever time was needed to end their relationship gently and with the minimum of hard feelings.

He couldn't help hoping that Liz would be more relieved than upset at his decision. It seemed likely, considering the latest update that Shelley had received from Brad Luggsworth. The Milborough constable had seen Liz and Anthony hugging in the courtroom hallway, and heard Anthony tell her parents that he thought she was wonderful. He doubted it would be very long before her old boyfriend was officially back in the picture once Paul was out of her life.

Liz had been very teasing and affectionate, though, when Paul had phoned her a few days before Christmas. That had been less than a week after Brad had seen her with Anthony. It was an unnerving development. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Anthony was just a friend. Maybe everything was wrong.

It was good to see Susan again when she stepped off the bus in White River. On his mother's orders, he took her to his parents' place to visit before they set off for Mtigwaki. She slipped into the gathering as easily as if she had always been part of it. It was with some reluctance that they dragged themselves away after supper to drive to Mtigwaki.

They spent the next day visiting with his relatives in Mtigwaki, another boisterous gathering with Adam's two young sons in full sugar-overdose hyperactivity. It was a pleasure the next day to spend a few hours in the quiet of the winter wilderness, cross-country skiing along the lakeshore. They had only been back at Susan's apartment for a few minutes when a knock came at the door.

Paul almost swallowed his tongue when he heard Liz' voice, asking for him. She wasn't due until the next day, when he was to pick her up in Spruce Narrows. He had spent weeks planning his approach, the reasonable, caring way he would gently end their relationship. Now every word of it vanished completely from his head.

Susan didn't deny he was with her, nor did she make any excuses for it. It was humiliating to realize she was so much more courageous than he was. He hurried to the door, feeling like a jerk for putting her in such an awkward situation. If he'd only had the guts to break off with Liz weeks ago ...



He would have gone after Liz when she stormed off crying, but Susan caught him back.

"There's no point, Paul. There's nothing you can say now that will do any good. Gary and Vivian will take care of her. They might even convince her to see your side a little. Liz is upset, but she is a reasonable person at heart."

"I hope so." He slumped into a chair, feeling half an inch tall. "I didn't realize she would take it so badly. She cared for me more than I thought."

It startled him when Susan snorted. "She cared a great deal for the fantasy, Paul. Just like you did. Neither of you ever really knew beans about the other."

"What?" Paul stared, bewildered. "That's unfair. Liz and I were close."

"The only reason your relationship lasted so long was because you were miles apart, geographically and in every other sense." Susan settled cross-legged onto the couch and looked at him coolly. "Tell me this. When did you first decide you were in love with Liz?" Before he could answer, she said with a snap, "When you saw her picture, right? You fell in love with a photograph and built your fantasy woman around it. "

He tried to protest, but she brushed it aside. "It took about ten minutes after I met Liz to know that she was desperately homesick. It was in her voice, in her eyes, in the way she kept talking about 'home', meaning Milborough, not here. Gary knew it, too. He never expected her to sign her new contract. That's why he asked me to apply for the job long before Liz made up her mind to leave. If it was so obvious to us, how could you have missed it if you really knew her at all?"

There was no answering that. He shifted to safer ground. "OK, maybe. But there was no picture for Liz to fantasize over. She must have loved the real me."

"She never knew the real you. I've heard about the night you met at her star-gazing party. The night, the stars, the silence of the wilderness - blah, blah, blah. No wonder she was ready to fall head over heels for any good-looking guy with a dash of northern mystique. And along you came, positively panting with eagerness to fill the slot. All because of a stupid picture."

The bitterness in her voice warned him that they were onto dangerous ground. He might be chronically clueless when it came to women, but he had a healthy sense of self-preservation. He kept his mouth shut. Susan glowered at him, then relented with a grimace.

"All right, I'm being unfair to Liz. It just makes me so mad that she tried to bully you into moving to Toronto. If you need any proof that she never really understood you, there it is. Everyone in Mtigwaki knew that you'd be miserable living in the city. She should have, too."

It was hard to argue when he knew Susan was right. Or almost right. He still believed there had been a real and warm connection between Liz and himself. It just hadn't run deep or true enough to sustain a lasting relationship, one that could overcome the first real challenge to arise.

He was deeply sorry to have hurt Liz. There was no doubt that the fault was his. But she would surely realize eventually that this was the best thing for her, too. He belonged in the north, where his roots, his heart and his career were. Her roots were firmly in the south, in the security and comfortable rhythms of town life.

He hoped she would soon find the true happiness that she deserved.