Midnight Sun Part 2

Camping

We entered the tiny harbor of Port Renfrew on the southwest coast of Vancouver Island well before the first light of dawn. Carlisle paid Robert the agreed–upon sum while I hauled our duffle out of his boat. After giving us a friendly farewell and a card with his cell phone number on it, Robert pulled away from the dock and motored off with no fanfare.

We hurried to clear the town and take cover in the rugged forests that spread outward and upward from the coast. I still hadn’t heard James’ thoughts, so I knew he wasn’t close enough to see us. Nevertheless, we needed to maintain the fiction of Bella’s presence. It was lucky that Robert planned to spend the day fishing. He would not be on the dock to answer any questions James might put to him regarding outsiders in the area. Or to be eaten for lunch, for that matter.

Edward, what did you make of the old man’s outburst about Billy Black? Carlisle’s question broke into my thoughts.

“His mind was unnaturally silent,” I told him. “I couldn’t tell whether it was truly empty or if it was blocked to me, something like Bella’s. Perhaps he had some dementia.”

Did his comment about Billy’s “other son” mean anything to you?

“Nothing absolute, but he seemed to be impugning Billy’s moral character. I also got the word ‘grandson.’ One might infer a familial relationship between Billy Black and Albert’s progeny.”

Carlisle looked thoughtful. There are numerous connections between the Washington coastal tribes, particularly the Quileutes and Makahs. They share some traditions, legends of origin, and have intermarried often over the centuries.

“And perhaps didn’t marry, as well,” I said wryly.

We were running now, but not fast as we had no desire to gain ground on Emmett. We just needed to find a campsite with good visibility of the surrounding area and remote enough to be private. As we went along, I used Bella’s clothing to mark the occasional tree with her scent. James would not get a continuous trail of scent, but he would assume we were carrying her.

I spied a steep ridge about 100 yards ahead and suggested we look at it. After running a short while longer, we leaped to the top of the ridge and found a well–sheltered area with good lookout posts. We erected the tent and settled in to wait for Emmett.

***

“He’s here,” I told Carlisle, a couple of hours later.

Emmett?

I nodded. He had just arrived on Vancouver Island where he would follow the shoreline until he found our scent trail. It wouldn’t take him long to catch up to us.

Less than ten minutes later, Emmett appeared through the trees about thirty yards from the bottom of the ridge. Carlisle stood and called to him. With two giant leaps, Emmett landed next to us, soaking wet, a bright gleam in his eye.

“James?” Carlisle queried.

“He’s trailing,” Emmett replied. “He came into Neah Bay about an hour ago, walked along the pier, then turned back into the forest the way he came. When I was sure he was gone, I ran out of the woods and took to the water.”

“I wonder why he’s going back,” Carlisle mused.

I told him my theory.

“My guess is that he’s keeping track of where we are, but is trying to hide his thoughts from me. I haven’t heard him since we left. From what Emmett said, it appears he is making forays into my mind–reading range, then moving out of it. I just have not been listening for him at those precise moments.”