Northeastern Minnesota - home to what may well be America's most unique national park - the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. Over one million acres of unparalleled, primitive beauty that, to this day, remains unspoiled. A great roadless area where, hundreds of years ago, Native People and French Voyageur alike, navigated over the innumerable lakes and rivers, using the sky-blue waters as their free-spirited highways. It is in this remarkable place where Ray Maki has lived his entire life. For thirty-three years, Ray has been surrounded by old friends, strong family ties, and uncommon natural beauty. Ray feels blessed, and his life is a happy one...until one spring morning when Ray's easy-going existence is jeopardized by a series of unexpected events...events that will eventually test the limits of his character, and possibly bring an end to his rare way of life.
Pike Point
And the Good Lord's EarthBy Greg SuhonenAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2009 Greg Suhonen
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4389-7595-5Chapter One
May 1922
Normally, Paavo was a patient man. He was quiet and soft-spoken, almost to the point of being shy. Most people who first met him, if asked, would say he was polite and respectful. Even so, were he to be caught in a rare, unguarded moment, those around him would be treated to a good-natured glimpse of his razor-sharp wit. Paavo was an easy man to like.
But not this morning. This morning was different. Politeness and respect were the farthest things from Paavo's mind because right now he would like nothing better than to rip the huge map right off the wall and tear it into ten thousand satisfying shreds. A sly grin crept into one corner of his mouth when the image of him standing ankle-deep in the hopelessly torn up piece of paper entered his thoughts. Besides, all of his happy plans were in ruins, so really, he had nothing left to lose by having a frenzied fit.
Feeling as though he'd just been given the go-ahead, an irresistible temptation forced Paavo's hands from his pockets. Very casually, he scanned each end of the courthouse hallway. The few people he saw seemed too preoccupied with their own affairs to pay any notice of him. If he did actually this, he'd have to be quick. No standing around in a pile of scrap paper admiring his dirty work. One big pull, Paavo decided, then he would run. Then he would feel so much better.
Then he hesitated.
And in that split-second pause, the better part of Paavo's quiet nature took over. What in the world had come over him, he wondered. That type of behavior wasn't like him at all. This was foolishness. And think of how humiliating, to be the center of that kind of attention. He had better get a grip and he had better do it now, otherwise the last three years of his life would be for nothing.
Red-faced and scolded by his own thoughts, Paavo slid his hands back into his pockets. But the angry frustration stayed in his head and was reason enough for Paavo allowing himself to stab a nasty glare back at the smug map. That feeble act did little to rid him from the strong urge to yank the drawing down from the wall. So, as a poor substitute, Paavo pinched the brim of his day-old tweed cap and snatched it off the top of his head. He felt much better when the hat slapped sharply against his thigh. With his free hand, Paavo scratched around at his sandy blond hair. That much accomplished, he set the stiff cap back in place only to shift it around every few seconds. He could find no peaceful place for it. He soon gave up the search for a comfortable spot and simply pulled down hard on the brim, wedging the cap tightly to his head.
Paavo had been here for a good while, staring, studying, trying to make some sense of the strange-looking map but there were just too many lines, and too many numbers. They all seemed to run together into a jumbled, nonsensical mess.
Earlier, others had come to gaze upon the map. Business people, he had assumed, with their dark, pin-striped suits and looping watch fobs that made him feel inadequate and out of place. These important people never lingered very long, stopping for only a minute or two as they carefully jotted down the numbers and letters they had deciphered from the perplexing drawing. Everyone seemed to understand what they were doing. Everyone, that is, except him.
But no one had come to read the map for some time and now Paavo regretted he had not asked a few harmless questions. He justified his lack of nerve by telling himself those people probably wouldn't have been able to understand him anyway. Paavo's shy reserve had cost him though, because left on his own he'd had no success in coaxing any secrets from the stubborn map. The long half-hour he had been here was a total waste. To make matters worse, he was running out of time.
A quick glance up at the hard-ticking wall clock prompted Paavo to again slide the hat from his head. He willed his eyes back onto the map and unconsciously twisted the cap into a tight mass, as if wringing it free of any water.
The closely-packed elevation lines of the topographical map had Paavo baffled. He had never seen anything quite like it. Adding to his confusion, this region, this Minnesota Arrowhead, also contained thousands of streams, rivers and lakes. All these extra, random lines were represented on the plat and they snaked and scattered themselves freely across the entire length of the paper. The busy map was also littered with dozens of pins, and to each pin, a white paper flag had been attached. Each flag was lettered and numbered but that meant nothing to Paavo. He could not read English.
He hadn't anticipated anything like this, not the need to gather information from the map, or the necessity to understand the written word. Paavo felt as if he had recklessly jumped into fast-moving water that was way over his head. His hope of buying land was fading away with each passing second. He edged closer to the wall and leaned in, his blue eyes squeezed into a deep squint.
It did not help.
His attention shifted to a large, blank area on the right, a westerly slice of Lake Superior, and the only feature he could correctly identify.
"A little child know dat," he muttered quietly to himself.
Paavo shook his head and backed away from the wall. He looked left, then right, trying to spot someone, anyone, who could help. Too late, the hallway of the Duluth Courthouse was nearly deserted and no help came. Paavo looked up to the clock once more and immediately turned away, avoiding the blunt reality that the county land auction would be starting at any minute. Nevertheless, the undeniable truth of the matter managed to sink in and Paavo let out a tired sigh, releasing the troubled tension that had built up inside of him.
He had run out of time.
In English, Paavo whispered, "It be over."
He donned the distorted hat and jammed his hands deep into his pockets, ready to leave. He stopped short when the fingers of his left hand curled around a tight roll of hard-earned money.
In Finnish, Paavo thought, "Eight hundred dollars. Surely that would have been enough money to get the land I want."
He thought too, about the many hours of back-breaking work that had helped him earn his small fortune. For the past three years, each spring, summer and fall, he had bored, hammered and loaded iron-rich ore from the murky depths of a seasonal underground mine. In each winter of those three years, he had chopped, sawed and froze in the logging camps of northern Minnesota. He had scrimped and saved. He had worked to exhaustion and gone without, just to get to this very day, in this very place; all those countless hours of harsh labor he had endured; all for the chance to bid on some land. And now that he was finally here, he didn't even know where to begin. All he knew was this poorly-planned disaster was over.
"Nothing but a far-fetched dream," he decided sadly.
Paavo gave one final look to the unfeeling map, hoping for a last- second miracle. It offered nothing.
"Time to go," he whispered.
"Excuse me?"
The high pitched voice was unexpected and Paavo nearly jumped out of his new shoes. He spun to his right but saw no one there.
"May I help you?"
This time the voice also came with a tug at his opposite sleeve. He turned toward the tug and looked down to see a very short and very stout woman staring up at him.
"May I help you,...
