Chapter Twenty

Sunset

Friday, March 28, 1924

Lee Fisher pedaled hard and jerked the handlebars up as the front wheel reached the descending pitch of towpath below Pennyfield Lock. For a split second the bicycle felt airborne. When the wheel reconnected with the dirt, he spread his feet from the pedals and let the bike coast as the towpath flattened again. As it lost momentum, he squeezed the brake-lever until it stopped. He stepped off, spun it around, and admired it again.

Charlie Pennyfield’s bicycle was a black Mead Ranger with diamond-shaped white accents. Mounted between the parallel top tubes was a narrow tool compartment also painted black and white. That compartment was a nice feature, Lee thought, since it could hold the old leg-irons that he used to lock the bike. And earlier today when he’d pedaled up to the crossroads market to shop for tonight’s dinner with Katie, he’d been able to stuff the sausages and potato salad in the compartment, then somehow make it back to Pennyfield balancing the cherry pie on the handlebars!

He felt the blood rush to his face as he envisioned meeting Katie again tonight. The interminable five-day wait was almost over. His hand drifted into his pocket to touch the note that he’d found pinned to the lockhouse door at Pennyfield when he returned from the store. He read it again for reassurance. “Lee, I’ll see you tonight at 6. Katie.” It still confirmed what he’d hoped for -- Katie had returned from her trip to Alexandria and would visit tonight.

If she had forsaken their date, he wasn’t sure when he would have seen her again. The Emorys should be starting their run back upstream today, and slow as his cousins were, even they would reach Pennyfield by noon tomorrow. Lee was boating with them up to Harpers Ferry, so once they got here he’d be gone. From Harpers Ferry he would have to find his own way up to Hancock to join Ben Myers because the season would be starting soon. The repair crews that Lee had locked through this week said that the canal should be running on all levels down from Cumberland by April 1. That was Tuesday, only four days away. Spring sunshine was finally reaching the Appalachian mountains of the upper Potomac Valley and bearing down on the winter’s sullen layers of snow and ice.

But Lee was looking forward to a mild March night far downstream, a night just hours away and full of promise. Tomorrow morning would leave time for short-term goodbyes, and for plans to reconvene with Katie along the canal during the weeks ahead.

In the kitchen of the lockhouse at Swains, Cy arrayed four pint-flasks of whiskey on the scarred wooden table next to his untapped five-gallon cask. He’d sold fourteen pints on Wednesday, seventeen on Thursday, and five so far today at the lock, all at a dollar seventy-five. He grabbed a ceramic jar from the counter, fished out his roll of bills, and rifled through it. Sixty-eight dollars. He pocketed a handful of coins, peeled off a dozen dollar bills, and stashed the rest back in the jar.

The flasks on the table had drained the first five-gallon cask, but the second cask was full, so he had forty-four pints of whiskey left. Selling another eight tonight would give him enough to pay the Emorys when they came through tomorrow, plus a little to spare. Hell, he could probably even sell a few pints Saturday morning before the Emorys arrived. But selling whiskey tonight was critical. With the repair crews around and a few weekend sightseers, there should be enough potential customers at the Great Falls Tavern. “Tavern,” he muttered derisively. “A tavern that don’t sell nothing to drink.” Bad for the patrons, but an opportunity for Cy. A sudden stab of pain in his left hip overrode the usual dull ache. He grimaced and an image of Zimmerman intruded on his thoughts.

To banish it and fend off the pain, he pulled out his personal flask for a quick shot. He caught his breath and limped over to the crate in the corner to study the rows of empty, cork-topped bottles inside. Forty-eight, and I’ll need almost that many to empty the second cask, he thought. He withdrew four flasks, filled them with fast-running whiskey, then corked them on the table alongside the first four. Eight was all he wanted to carry to the Tavern tonight. His pocket watch read quarter to five -- might as well head over. He distributed the pints into the pockets of his wool jacket and overcoat. There was no place for his personal flask, so he left it on the table. He snatched his hat from a hook and walked outside. Katie was sitting on the bench in front of the lockhouse.

“Cyrus, aren’t you feeling well? You’re bundled up like you’re going to the North Pole!”

“Never mind that,” he grumbled. “You know which way the crow flies. I’m headed down to Great Falls, so count me out for dinner.” He adjusted the contours of his hat and put it on. “You feed the mules?”

Katie nodded. “Take Jewel. I saddled her for you.”

He limped around to the small corral near the backyard, then led Jewel back toward the lock, where Katie took the reins to guide her across. Jewel was a good one, Cy thought, a veteran canal mule. The walkway didn’t scare her. He shuffled across, put a hand on the pommel, and bit his lip as he mounted the mule.

“Keep an eye on the lock,” he said, turning Jewel down the towpath. “And don’t wait up for me. I’ll be late.”

After Cy and Jewel disappeared down the towpath, Katie headed for the berm above the entrance to the lock. Pete was kneeling in a floating green canoe that was tied to a tree and served as a platform from which he could launch a parade of broken sticks into the lazy current. They drifted toward the mouth of the flume, crossed the threshold, and accelerated down the ramp toward the next level of the canal.

“Pete! Doesn’t that canoe have a leak in it?”

Pete looked up from his stick-launching position. “It’s OK. The hole is way above the water. Even when Cy and me was both in it, it didn’t leak.”

Katie looked at the rack of canoes nearby. “Still, can’t you use one of the good canoes?”

“Nope,” Pete said. “Cause of the cable. They’s all locked to the rack.” He selected more sticks from his collection and leaned back over the gunwale.

“Pete,” Katie said. “I’m going to set out soup and cornbread for you in the kitchen. After that, I need to visit a friend for a few hours. Cy wants you to stay near the house while I’m gone, in case any boats need help locking through. Five more minutes, then it’s dinnertime.”

She headed for the lockhouse kitchen. After heating up Pete’s dinner, she assessed the cask on the table. When she pushed lightly against the rim, it felt almost full. Good. She counted Cy’s empty pint flasks in the crate. Forty-four was the kind of number he would remember -- better not take one. His personal flask was lying on the table. She could return it before he missed it. She unscrewed the cap and as she filled the flask her eyes fell on the name inscribed on the holster. “C. F. Elgin.” The leather was worn smooth from years of encounters with his hands.

She slipped it into the pocket of her coat on the rack and retreated to the bathroom, where she examined herself in the mirror. She straightened the collar on her dress, smiled at herself, and ran both hands through her wavy hair, letting it fall against her neck. Her smile drained into an expression of resolve and her eyes sought out the eyes in the mirror for reassurance. She was being guided now by something inapprehensible in those hazel eyes, and whatever it was left no room for uncertainty or fear. Her fingers idly stroked the pendant necklace before falling to smooth the wrinkles on her dress.

Remembering the photo, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom and retrieved a stiff paper folder. She opened it and looked at the image inside. They both looked so solemn! It was a beautiful picture, framed by rocks and water on all sides, but it couldn’t capture the essence of Great Falls. The motion, the power, the endlessness -- all were missing. She carried the folder downstairs. By now it was past 5:00 so she took her coat and left the lockhouse.

“Pete!”, she called toward the green canoe, “get out and go in for dinner! Now!”

“OK, OK!”, Pete said, scowling at his sister’s intransigence as he climbed out.

Folder and photograph in hand, Katie set off for Pennyfield.

Cy tied Jewel to a tree near Lock 20. The sun hadn’t set but the outdoor lights of the Tavern were lit. Near the entrance, half a dozen cars were parked in the dirt lot at the end of the driveway. Two Fords, a Packard, and three he couldn’t identify. He crossed over the lock.

Three round tables were set up on the bricks under the portico, two empty and the third occupied by men he didn’t recognize. He passed the tables and rounded the corner to the tall facade of the T-shaped building. Standing near the entrance was skinny Billy Walters, whom Cy had seen in the same position the past two nights. His jacket was buttoned almost to his collar, revealing only the knot of his necktie.

“Good evenin’, Mr. Cy.”

“Evenin’, Billy.” Cy buried his hands in his overcoat and jerked his head toward the nearby cars at the end of the driveway. “How’s business tonight?”

“Oh, passable… passable for a Friday.” Billy looked out at the cars and pushed his hands into his own pockets as if the cooling air were slowly penetrating his bones. “Should be a few more parties coming in through the evening. Getting warmer now in the city, some of them folks want to motor out to the Falls and take the night air.”

“That’s good,” Cy said. “Anyone here you think I should meet?”

Billy’s brow furrowed before a smile flashed across his face. “Could be,” he said. “There was two English gents staying at the Inn. They left a while ago but said they would be back for dinner. They was in a new Chandler Six.”

Cy pulled two quarters from his pocket and handed them to Billy. “I’ll be at my table,” he said. “Send them over if they sound interested. Anyone else looks thirsty, you can do the same.”

“Happy to do it, Mr. Cy.” Billy nodded and shifted his weight from foot to foot, hands again stuffed in his pockets.

Cy turned back toward the patio. Standing still after riding had tightened the ligaments of his hip, and the cords awoke with a jarring throb. He clenched his teeth as he limped back around the corner. The two far tables were still empty and he opted for most distant. It was past six now, so the walkway out to the Falls was closed. Twilight meant that sightseers on the towpath would find their way back to the Tavern. And some of the crew from the repair scows should be milling around as well. He sat down in a chair that gave him a view back up along the patio and across Lock 20 to the towpath. Suddenly tired, he rubbed the gray-blond stubble on his cheeks while stifling a yawn. It would be a long night. He placed his index fingers against the bridge of his nose and slowly pulled them apart, tightening the sagging skin beneath his eyes.

“I’m slipping off!”, Katie screeched, her laughter extending the last syllable into vibrato.

“I got you,” Lee said earnestly. He stood on the pedals and supported her back with his shoulder while gripping the handles and pedaling hard to maintain momentum. She braced against his shoulder while trying to balance her thighs diagonally across the bars. The wheels crossed a fallen stick on the towpath that set the bike wobbling, and his foot slipped off the pedal when Katie’s weight shifted. It was no use. He squeezed the brake and brought the bike to a stop, planted a leg on the towpath, and lowered the frame until her feet reached the ground.

She straightened her coat and dress. “Is that the end of my ride?”, she asked with unconvincing indignation. “We barely made a quarter mile!”

Lee shook his head apologetically and smiled. “I guess I need more practice before I join the circus.”

“I’d say so,” Katie admonished. “I think circus riders can cross a tightrope on a bicycle.”

“But they don’t have a pretty girl distracting them,” he said, heart pounding both from exertion and the exposure of its intent.

Katie looked away. “I think they have a balance pole. You might try one of those.”

Lee conjured this circus image to avoid parsing her response. “How could they hold the pole and the handlebars at the same time? Maybe you meant a unicycle.”

She looked at the empty stretch of towpath ahead. “So what about your plan to watch the sunset?”

“The spot’s only a mile away. We can walk.” He leaned the bike against a young tree, then opened the tool compartment and pulled out the leg-irons he used as a lock.

“Who are you planning to arrest with those? They look like they fell off a chain gang.”

“I found ‘em at the war surplus store in Georgetown,” he said. “They work OK as a lock.” Both cuffs were open, so he clamped one around the top tube and the other around the tree. They fit with an inch or two to spare. He tugged the chain to make sure both cuffs were locked and propped the bike against the far side of the tree. “It’s Charlie’s bike, so I need to make sure some towpath drifter don’t ride off with it. I reckon we’ll be back before anyone decides to cut down that tree. You ready to walk?”

“The sunset won’t wait.”

He thought about offering Katie his hand but decided to wait. It was better to build up to that. They walked side by side through the slanting rays of early evening. He asked about her visit to the Glen Echo amusement park with Pete and her friend. The season was just starting and the roller coaster wasn’t open yet, but they rode the Carousel and tried the bumper cars on the new Skooter ride. And Pete had loved the Hall of Mirrors.

Alexandria was nice, Katie said, but not as interesting as Georgetown. One of the things she’d liked best was crossing the river from Georgetown to Rosslyn on the new Key Bridge. It seemed like the roadway was a hundred feet above the water, and you could see the Washington Monument and the Capitol presiding over the D.C. skyline to the east. Looking west you saw the tiny Three Sisters islands poking up from the middle of the river, and beyond them the tree-lined banks and the broad Potomac receding into the distance upstream.

When she occasionally boated with her father growing up, she said she always looked forward to the days they spent unloading in Georgetown. After visiting the paymaster’s office, her father would give Katie and her brother George two dollars each as payment for the run from Cumberland to Georgetown. Then Katie and George would go up to M Street, to the Candy Kitchen. Mostly they bought caramels and black licorice, but when it was really hot they bought ice cream and banana splits. That was when she was ten. After that Katie stopped boating so she wouldn’t miss school in the spring and fall. Cy and George quit school after eighth grade and worked on the canal during the season and around Williamsport during the winters.

Shortly after the towpath began to curve, Lee pointed to a narrow seam that carried a small spring down to the canal from the steepening berm. Past the drainage, the berm rose into wooded cliffs that looked out over the canal, the towpath, and river to their left through the trees.

“That little creek comes down the hill from Blockhouse Point,” he said. “So the 21-mile marker should be just ahead.” When they reached it, the apron of woods between the towpath and the river was only thirty feet wide. Lee helped Katie down onto the path to a cove-like eddy fringed by a sandy beach and thick sycamores leaning out over the water. The sun had fallen below the horizon and pale pink and orange streaks were emerging in the sky.

Shallow whitewater twisted through a field of low rocks in the center of the river. Lee pointed upstream past the rocks and a narrow island. “If you listen hard,” he said, “you can hear the rapids above that island. That’s Seneca Falls, though it ain’t really much of a falls. Just fast, shallow water. Above Seneca Falls is Dam 2, where the feeder comes in at Violettes Lock. And Seneca Creek, where I growed up, is less than a mile past Violettes.”

“I remember seeing rowboats and kids swimming when our boat crossed over Seneca Creek on the aqueduct,” Katie said. She sat down on a fallen trunk at the near end of the cove, facing the sunset with her feet on the sand. She gestured for Lee to join her and a little surge of pride rippled through his chest as he walked over.

“Did you do all your boating and fishing in the creek, or did you get out onto the river?”

“We’d do both,” he said. “Fish in the creek sometimes, or take canoes out under the aqueduct into the river. Come downstream and explore. We could pick our way through the rapids along the Maryland shore, then paddle home on the canal. There was a rope swing into the river from a tree just down the shore, near where that creek come down from Blockhouse Point. Or sometimes we’d pull our canoes up on this beach and carry ‘em up to the canal. We’d paddle to that gulch, leave the canoes on the berm, and follow the creek uphill into the woods. Climb up to the cliffs and look out at the river.”

He turned to look at Katie. She was staring at the colors of sunset over the water upstream, seemingly lost in thought. He waited for her to say something but she just turned toward him and smiled, which encouraged him to finish his story.

“The Union Army used to scout the river from these cliffs during the Civil War,” he said, looking back at the steep slope of the berm. “They’d try to stop the rebels from fording the river and raiding the canal. If the rebels could split the towpath and drain a level, that would cut the supply lines to Washington. So the Union built a blockhouse camp up there in the woods. Once my friend Raymond and me went exploring up there and found some old foundation walls near the creek. Raymond found a medicine bottle and I found a bayonet blade. I took it home and I still have it.” He turned toward Katie again and exhaled, happy to have shared his reminiscence. She was idly toeing an eyebrow-shaped arc in the sand.

“Did you ever find something as a kid that you kept and still have?”, he asked.

She turned as if pulled back from a distance and her hand floated to the reddish sandstone pendant that hung against her breastbone. “I found this necklace on the riverbank when I was nine,” she said, her hazel eyes focusing intently on Lee for a second before drifting again. “I had never seen anything like it before. I remember thinking that it must be very old.”

“I ain’t seen anything like it either. I don’t know what to make of that symbol.”

“I was boating with my daddy that summer,” she said, “and there was a break in the towpath above Cabin John. It took them all day to repair it and we got stuck behind a line of boats waiting to get down through Seven Locks. We knew we was going to be there for most of the day, so Daddy let me and George go off to play after we finished taking care of the mules.

“We found a trail down to the river from the towpath…they’re not too close together at Seven Locks. So we followed it to a line of huge rocks in the woods near the water’s edge. The boulders were almost as tall as the trees. While George was trying to climb, I walked along the base of the rocks on a bank that got narrower as you went along. Then the rocks met the river, so I had to turn around. Walking back I saw a small, flat stone lying against the roots of a tree on the riverbank. It was tangled up in fishing line and tied to a piece of driftwood. When I picked it up and untangled it, I guessed it was a pendant or part of a necklace. I thought that it must have been made for someone and then lost.”

“Maybe it was made for you. Or maybe it was lost so you could find it.” He took the opportunity to gaze at the pendant resting against her chest, just above the swell of her breasts. “It’s yours now, anyway. I think it looks nice on you.”

Katie smiled again, her lips slightly parted. He thought he saw her eyes mist over but they cleared quickly. She stood up abruptly and stretched her arms overhead, then brought them together over her stomach. “Well now that it’s past sunset, I’m getting hungry! Did you remember to find us some dinner?”

“Let’s go see,” Lee said. They returned to the towpath and swung downstream.

The purple sky was bleeding to black as Tom stopped the mules at Widewater, about a mile below the Great Falls Tavern. Kevin tossed him the lines and he tied the scow to trees near the edge of the towpath. The Canal Company wouldn’t be running coal down to Georgetown for a few more days yet, so they didn’t have to worry about barges trying to get around them during the night. The repair scows were done with this level and were working out of Great Falls to Seneca and beyond. And those crews only worked during the day anyway.

After the mules had been fed and watered, Tom led them a few feet into the Bear Island woods and left them in the small corral where they’d spent the night on the way downstream. A crescent moon hung in the night sky over the dark skin of Widewater as he returned to the scow. He crossed the fall-board and ducked into the cabin, where Kevin had lit the lamp and was stirring a pot of beef stew on the stove.

“You thinking about playing a few hands at the Tavern?”, he said. He sat down on the lower bunk and began tossing his knife and catching it by the handle as it spun. Kevin interrupted his stirring to pour himself a shot of whiskey from the jug.

“Hell, no,” he said. “We got too much money on board to walk away from the boat, even if we lock the cabin. We don’t need no more paper anyway, and we got more whiskey here than you’ll ever find at Great Falls. You and me can play cards here. I’ll even try not to whup you this time.”

Tom flashed a crooked smile and his obsidian eyes glittered. “Keep talking,” he said, ‘cause I been setting you up. You’re about to take a dive.”

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