Free Fox Island by Stephen Bly Page A

about structure
and form. I’m more an idea man myself, better for looking at the
overall project. Price, maybe you two would like to talk about the
details. I think I’ll go print up that chapter I reworked
today.”
    “Oh, sure... but really, Mr. S. What’s your
overall opinion? Tell me the truth; I can take it. Do you feel that
the book is publishable the way it now stands?”
    Tony scratched his forehead, then rubbed his
cheek and chin. He peered into Melody’s expectant eyes. Her head
tilted just like a cocker spaniel puppy’s, the kind you bring home
from the pound and then discover it has distemper.
    “No,” he said.
    Melody bit on her lip and pulled her arms
tight over her head, like Kathy did when Kit chased the calf at the
airport, a universal gesture by the young for warding off evil.
“But... but I’m sure I have some more work to do. Don’t we all? But
the idea... the plot... it’s workable, wouldn’t you say?”
    “Nope. Frankly, Melody, I want to be real
honest. I just don’t think it’s publishable.”
    Tony felt Price’s hand jab at the small of
his back as Melody’s dark brown eyes filled with tears.
     
     
     

Chapter 4
     
     
    As the consequences of the Medicine Creek
Treaty of 1854 became obvious to the various Native American tribes
in the southern Puget Sound region, many protested the injustices.
The discovery of gold In the territory brought hordes of argonauts.
Tension, hostilities, and violence increased between the two
cultures. Trying to keep the peace, governor Isaac T. Stevens
converted Fox Island into a temporary Indian reservation. Within a
few years, however, the tribes were allowed to return to their
homelands in the Nisqually and Puyallup Valleys. Indian artifacts
are still occasionally discovered on the Island.
     
    As, periodically, are native Fox
Islanders.
     
    Tony sat in the big white Oldsmobile and
scanned his notes scribbled on a yellow legal pad. Both windows
rolled down, a cool breeze rolled through the car off the Narrows.
He glanced up and stared at the crystal clear sky.
    Immense Mount Rainier hovered behind the
skyline of Tacoma across the water, like God himself looking down
from the heavens. So huge, so close, everything seemed so small in
comparison. And yet, many days pollution clouded it to remote,
removed. Perhaps a symbol of the Lord. Always near and mighty, but
hidden from a world of blinded people who can’t see.
    He cleared his throat. “Now, what do I know
about good old Harvey Peterson?” He again reviewed each line on the
notepad.
    Born Fox Island, Washington, 1934. Graduated
from high school in Tacoma in 1951. Served two years in Korea.
University of Washington degree in engineering, 1959. Worked for
Boeing, 1960 to 1990. Retired to pursue political causes. Island’s
leading reactionary. He was against building the bridge, or the
acoustic range, and closing the school. Ran for Pierce County
Commissioner four times. Never received more than 269 votes. Wrote
a book in 1992. Never married.
    Tony tugged on his black felt cowboy hat,
rolled up the windows, and took one last look at Mount Rainier.
“Well... here goes.”
    The big poster in Harvey Peterson’s front
window read “Insured by Smith & Wesson: Policy 357.” A crudely
painted sign in the yard boasted “Book Store In Garage.” Tony
glanced in that direction but saw a “Closed” sign in the window. He
hiked up the concrete and rock steps and rang the doorbell.
    Peterson came to the door dressed in faded
camouflage fatigues and worn combat boots. He stood a few inches
shorter than Tony. He was stocky, but with no flab.
    “Come in, Shadowbrook. Been lookin’ forward
to meetin’ ya.”
    The bachelor’s neat and orderly large living
room included a variegated leaf pattern rug that coordinated with
upholstered furniture. Fish decor hung from the walls and adorned
throw pillows.
    “Pull off your hat and sit a spell. Tony, I
got to tell you the scene when Houston was reloadin’