Cinderella in Overalls - By Carol Grace Page 0,57

to her. Her boat dipped and bobbed while Josh watched nervously. He saw her grab the edge of the balsa as she leaned forward to speak to the fishermen.

“We paddle gently so as not to awaken the sleeping goddess who lives in the reeds,” an old man from the front of her boat said.

Catherine smiled sympathetically, shading her eyes from the rising sun. She could see Josh in the boat ahead of her. With his head and shoulders outlined against the sky, he might have been the sun god himself.

But he wasn’t a god; she knew that. He was a man and he wanted her as much as she wanted him. But he had more restraint than she did. He’d fallen asleep before she’d even finished undressing, while she’d lain awake for hours, thinking about him. She reminded herself of her vow to keep everything on a business basis. It was clear he hadn’t forgotten, and she was grateful for that. Grateful, but also a little disappointed.

In the middle of the lake the men gave her a pole and showed her where to drop her line. In a few minutes she had a trout, and then another and another. By mid-morning they were dragging a bucket of large fish behind the boat. Voices echoed across the lake as the men in her canoe shouted to the men in his canoe. One of the young men in her boat confided that when they got their motorboat they would be able to use gill nets. The cannery would buy all they could catch and they would be rich. She asked what they did with the extra fish they caught now. He told her the women took them to town to barter for salt and flour and supplies.

The boats met for lunch on a small island where the men built a fire and cooked fish. Josh took Catherine aside and they sat on the shore, looking out at the treeless hills that surrounded the lake, eating crisp filets fried over the open fire.

“So far so good,” he said. “The lake seems to be full of trout. I caught six myself. But I didn’t see much else. I hear the trout did away with the smaller fish that were here originally.”

She nodded. There was something about that that disturbed her.

“They really know what they’re doing,” he continued enthusiastically. “And I agree that riding in a balsa boat is like riding a bucking bronco. I thought you were going to fall overboard at first.” He watched the wind blow her hair into a tangle of curls and felt the same stab of fear again as he had when he thought her boat was capsizing.

“I thought so, too. But now I’m kind of used to it.”

“The motorboats will be faster and they’ll have better control,” he said, noticing the way the wind whipped the color into her cheeks.

An uneasy feeling nagged at the corner of her mind. “What about the sleeping goddess?” she asked. “How will she feel when the motorboats come ripping through here?”

He studied her face, counting the freckles the sun had dusted across her nose. “Who?” he asked at last.

“She lives in the reeds at the bottom of the lake. That’s why we paddled gently.”

The full intensity of her liquid dark eyes caught him, and he felt his mind reeling. “Are you making this up?”

“No, you can ask the old man in my boat.” Frowning slightly, she laid her hand on his. “I like these people. I want them to get their boats and their gill nets, but... but...”

“But you think the sleeping goddess or the sun god might object?”

She shook her head. “I’m serious. I’ve heard stories of what happened in Alaska to the salmon. The canneries came in and subsidized the fishermen. They abandoned their trawlers and went for floating factories. When the waters were fished out, the Department of Fish and Game had to shorten the season. One year it was twenty-four hours. Can you imagine how that would affect their lives?”

“Catherine,” he said, leaning forward. “This is Lake Cordillera. Those were salmon. These are fresh-water trout.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “But look how balanced their lives are, these people. They have a surplus of fish, yes, but they trade them for what they need. They live in harmony with nature, like we do in Palomar. They have plenty to eat, like we do in the village. But their men don’t go off for weeks at a time like the