And belief, Ellie, if it’s strong enough, is a very powerful thing. And back then, in those olden times, the Caughnawega believed in a lot of things that might sound strange to us now, but to them, weren’t very strange at all. “You see, Ellie, a few hundred years ago, a long way back, before there were cars and airplanes and electricity, back when there weren’t so many people, only Native Americans called the Caughnawega, there was Lake Ochabee. As she rowed, she went over Grandpa’s story again in her mind. In fact, if all went well, she would be back before she created too much of a fuss. She hoped Grandpa wouldn’t wake up any time soon and notice her missing. She watched the back porch light of her home recede as she rowed further and further from shore.

But tonight, Ellie was hoping for something bigger. In State-sponsored tournaments, Lake Ochabee had logged records for both bass and pike. Besides being a summer recreational spot, Lake Ochabee was known for its sport fishing.

Labor Day had come and gone, leaving only those who lived on the lake year-round. Without wasting any more time, she picked up the oars and began to row. Her fingers finally loosened the damp knot and she climbed down into the small boat. Daddy will be all right… Daddy will be all right… Oaky will fix it… Oaky will make it better… As her small hands worked to untie the knotted rope, Ellie’s lips moved silently, repeating a chant she had begun fifteen minutes earlier after the phone call came informing her grandpa that there was still no change in her father’s condition. Alongside it, like a child close to its parent’s side, rested the small skiff Ellie’s father let her paddle around in. To her left, moored to the dock’s side, her father’s motorboat sat.

If there was a God, she hoped he lay at the bottom of all that cold, dark water. When she reached the end of the dock, she hesitated. What was more important was what she had to do.ĭressed in a light windbreaker, jeans and sneakers, she tiptoed down the back porch steps and hurried along the gravel path that led to the long wooden dock that pointed like a finger toward the center of the lake. Her dad - well, she didn’t want to think about her dad right now. She didn’t want to wake her grandfather, who was babysitting her for the night but had fallen asleep in his favorite chair. She was careful not to let the screen door slam shut. Eight-year-old Ellie Fortier exited the back door of her lakeside home into a clear moonlit night.

The Wishnik by Kurt Newton