Her refusal cost her any goodwill she might have earned for bringing them and their boat in off the lake. By the time they were settled in the shelter at Little Todd Harbor with her assurance that she would return with a Homelite pump in the morning, they’d grown almost surly.

Leaving them to deal with their damaged egos, Anna made her escape. Nine-fifteen p.m.: hers would be a late supper. She’d forgotten she was hungry. So far north, the sun was only just setting. It wouldn’t be full dark for another thirty minutes-later, had there been no overcast. In June the days seemed to go on forever.

“Three-zero-two en route to Amygdaloid from Todd Harbor,” Anna put in the blind call. The dispatcher in Rock Harbor went off duty at seven, but the call would be taped and, should she go down, at least they’d know where to start diving for the body.

Involuntarily, she shuddered. A body wouldn’t be alone down there. There were plenty of ships lying on Superior ’s bottom. Nearly a dozen provided scuba-diving attractions in the park: the America , Monarch, Emperor, Algoma, Cox, Congdon, Chisholm, Glenlyon, Cumberland , the Kamloops. Off her port bow a buoy bobbed, marking the deepest of the wrecks: the Kamloops. Her stern rested at one hundred and seventy-five feet, her bow at two hundred and sixty. Divers were discouraged: too deep, too cold, too dangerous.

Five sailors still stood guard in the engine room. Anna had seen an underwater photograph of them. Deep, cold, protected from currents, no creatures to eat them, they swam like ghosts in the old ship. For fifty years they’d drifted alone in the dark. Then in 1977 divers found the wreck. Years of submersion had robbed the bodies of most of their corporeal selves and they were translucent as wraiths.