West of Here by Jonathan Evison Read Free Book Online

big body beside her.
    “Nothing has become of him, if you must know. He purports to be in the process of becoming as we speak.”
    “Becoming what?”
    “That I cannot answer. But I trust he has the will to become something.”
    “Never underestimate the will,” said Mather.
    Just before the fork in the path, a young Indian woman overtook them and proceeded down the path toward the beach.
    “Thomas!” she shouted.
“Can qeyen ceq!”
    Eva and Mather cut off to the right, soon arriving at Eva’s doorstep, where Mather offered her an elbow up the steps.
    AFTER MATHER LEFT Eva at her doorstep on the eve of his departure, he found himself adrift in the night, in no hurry to return to the Olympic, where he knew sleep would not have him. Instead, he wandered down the path, his thoughts focused inward toward some uncharted awareness.
    How do we measure our lives, Mr. Mather?
    That depends upon who we are, Miss Lambert.
    And who are you, Mr. Mather?
    It struck Mather, as he drifted further down the path, that despite all of his discoveries, despite his ceaseless charge at the unknown, all of his endless plotting and mapping and naming, he was willfully lost in himself. What was all of this exploration, this restlesstrek onward, if not cowardice dressed up in snow shoes? Fear with a hundred-pound bundle on its back. What was the purpose of his exploration, if not escape?
    FROM HER PLACE at the window, Eva watched Mather’s retreat, wondering what it was that so compelled her about this man. God forbid, it was those same qualities that repulsed her: his hulking sturdiness, his feral beard, his appetites. Was it that he charged at the unknown like a billy goat? That he was so unconcerned with the delicacies of convention, that he spoke frankly at all times? Or was it as rudimentary as the confidence in his stride and the bedrock of his convictions?
    Eva scolded herself for this line of thinking and turned her thoughts obediently toward Ethan, who already might well have frozen to death or drowned for all she knew. Yet she could not bring herself to worry about him, for Ethan Thornburgh was nothing if not resilient. Landslides may rumble in his wake, rivers may flood behind him, but Ethan would emerge unscathed. The thought of him brought a smile to her face. Was Ethan not blessed with his own rugged brand of optimism? Was it not his good intentions more than any weakness of character that accounted for his follies? Was there not a great deal of sincerity beneath his toe-wiggling, mustachioed charm? And was he not eager to forge a path for his son, to build himself into an example? Wasn’t he throwing himself fearlessly into the unknown, just as sure as James Mather?
    Turning from the darkened window, Eva lit a candle and replaced it on the mantel, then perched on the edge of the divan and draped her shawl about her shoulders, resting her hands on the warmth of her belly.
    BENEATH THE BOAT SHED , Mather leaned on a scaffold and loaded his pipe. A hundred yards in front of him, the bonfire still cast a dancing yellow glow on the Pioneer. The night rang with laughter, and sing song, and the conspiratorial tones of a community with big plans. But Mather did not wonder at their conversation, nor long for the fellowship of any man. Had he been standing on the wayward side of the Olympics,he could not have felt more remote. Nor could he have felt less compelled toward his own future.
    And who are you, Mr. Mather? What spirit drives you?
----
    FOR ALMOST TWO DAYS , Hoko did not see Thomas, but this was not unheard of, even in winter. She could not prevent his wanderings. Once, when Thomas was barely six, Hoko had followed the boy up-creek for the better part of two miles. He moved like a nimble shadow through the forest. She often lost sight of him. She thought she had lost him for good where the creek met the river in a bubbly confluence, only to discover him standing twenty feet behind her. The journey home had been a dance, with