Half an hour later, chugging along nicely on the still crystal clear waters of Eagle Lake, following the shoreline down stream, Steven Hawke was sitting at the steering wheel, listening to String and St John bickering over how to bait a line properly and Connie opening and closing cupboard doors and drawers as she put away their supplies and rattling crockery and cutlery down in the galley as she made ready for their meal later.
"You must be a mind reader," Steven smiled at Connie as she appeared through the hatch from the galley with a cup of freshly brewed coffee for him.
She looked radiant in cut off jeans and a thin white blouse, the tails of which she had knotted together just under her bosom, revealing a tiny expanse of tan flat belly and had slipped her sun glasses on top of her head. Her long chestnut hair was tied up in a pony tail and she wore no make up. She didn't look a day older than when he had first met her, Steven Hawke found himself marvelling as he took the coffee cup from her, in fact, she looked more like a teenybopper than a woman who had just turned forty, about the same age as that girl St John had been admiring so much lately, and he knew that he loved her more than ever.
He was a damn lucky guy.
Blessed in many ways.
A beautiful, loving wife, two good looking and extremely likeable sons and one precious friend he would entrust his life to, and had many times over in the past.
Connie took a moment to savour the spectacular view, arching her spine carefully now to stretch the aching muscles in the small of her back, after hauling the ice chest and then spending all that time bending down there in the cramped galley, a soft smile of contentment spreading across her lips.
She loved their mountain retreat, and it did not bother her at all that they were so remote and isolated from the rest of civilisation here.
"Pity Dom couldn't make it," she echoed the thoughts she could see running through her husband's mind as he took a sip of the scalding coffee now.
Dominic Santini was Steven's oldest and their closest friend.
A big jovial and ebullient man, a larger than life character, he was a pretty big part of the family and would usually have been included in this little outing, however he had had to work today. A damned fine pilot, owning his own small air service, Dom had landed himself a job working a stunt for one of the big studios in Hollywood and had regretfully had to decline the invitation.
"I hope it goes ok …. He was tying himself in knots just thinking about it …."
"He'll be fine."
"He won't be sorry to have missed that …." Steven Hawke absently waved his coffee cup in the direction of his bickering sons, their slightly raised voices echoing off the mountains and lake.
"They wouldn't be doing that if he were here," Connie sighed softly, and Steven Hawke threw her a look that told her that he knew that she was right.
Good ole' Uncle Dom had both Hawke boys falling at his feet to lap up his over exaggerated and embellished war stories, and somehow always seemed to know exactly what to say to make them both laugh, or to diffuse awkward situations.
They adored him and were always on their best behaviour when Dom was around, trying to impress him, or coax him to teach them some new skill.
Steven Hawke had to admit that he had learned a lot about parenting from just watching the natural and easy way Dominic Santini related to the boys.
"What is it with those two?" Steven asked with genuine concern now as Connie came to stand beside him, leaning up against his side and resting her arm on his shoulder as she watched the boys, sitting up front with the legs of their jeans rolled up to their knees, socks off and their bare feet dangling only inches from the water, St John suddenly grabbing the bait box from String and threatening to shove a handful of the wriggling horrors down his throat if he didn't just shut the hell up!
Connie winced.
Where did they hear such language?
"Easy, sailor …." She gave Steven's shoulder a gentle squeeze when she felt him stiffen in response to his elder son's blasphemy, watching as both boys scrambled to their feet and squared off, twin chiselled jaws thrust out in defiance, shoulders thrust back and chests puffed out like a couple of farm yard roosters defending their territory, and suddenly it was hard not to smile at their antics.
At least they weren't swinging at each other, which was something to be thankful for, she thought to herself wryly.
The last time that had happened, when St John had gotten himself so worked up over something, he had inadvertently called String 'a big girl', her youngest chick had swiftly retaliated by throwing a terrific right hook, giving his brother a beautiful black eye, which his mother couldn't help thinking that he deserved ….
Just a little.
Connie had never gotten involved in solving their squabbles, knowing that they needed to be able to resolve things themselves, in whatever way it took. They had to be tough when it was called for, and to be able to defend themselves too, if necessary, so she had let them have their fistfights and shoving contests, not wanting String to be afraid of his older brother, or intimidated by him, encouraging him to stand his ground and fight back if he thought that it was what was needed, and also not wanting St John to think that he could get away with bullying the little guy because he was older and bigger, and then, when they were done and came to her to be patched up, she would sit them down and explain that having to resort to violence wasn't always the way to solve things, but, that she understood that sometimes, talking and reasoning just didn't get the job done either. However, that said, they should always try talking first!
Steven, on the other hand, was fond of lecturing them about self control, about keeping a lid on their tempers and not acting on their impulse to beat the stuffing out of each other, especially St John because he was the eldest and should be setting his little brother a good example.
As she watched her sons posturing and posing, she found herself wondering if this was how it was going to be from now on.
She hoped not.
Then she realised it was just a different variation of how things had always been. Jockeying for position, establishing just how far each could push the other. Redefining the rules of engagement.
They had always been such good friends.
She hoped that they would continue to be.
She felt a stab of real pain in her heart at the thought that perhaps as they grew older they would also grow apart, then told her self that she was being ridiculous.
Sometimes they might not actually like each other, but, she was certain that they loved each other.
St John would crawl through fire to help String, and String would suffer any indignity, humiliation or embarrassment if it meant that St John would spend time with him, and was proud of him.
"If they don't quit that, I'm going up there to bang their silly heads together …." Steven muttered through clenched teeth. "Or throw them both overboard …."
"That would certainly cool them down," she rolled her eyes heavenward briefly. "Drink your coffee love," Connie smiled lovingly up at her husband now. "It's quite normal. It's called growing up …." She told him softly.
"It's called overdosing on testosterone more like …."
"Well honey, you'd know more about that than I …." She chuckled softly at the sour expression on his dear face now. "Sinjin is almost a man, Steve. He's seventeen. You can't tell me you don't remember what that was like?"
"Sure do," he winced and again she chuckled.
"And String so desperately wants to be like him, to be him, to be a man, but the trouble is he's still got the physique of a child, and …."
She deliberately lowered her voice now so that there was no chance that the boys would overhear her motherly indiscretion.
"He still sounds like a girl in comparison to Sinj, now that his voice has broken. I caught him trying to shave …." She confided with a wicked grin on her face, their elder son's first attempts to remove the whiskers sprouting from his jaw having been cause for much mirth between them, if only in secret, a few months back, and now it seemed that Stringfellow was trying to emulate him in that too.
"Fortunately there was no actual blade in the razor. If there had been he would have been missing his nose right now …."
"String's only twelve, he shouldn't be worrying about anything except his next pimple! Why are they both in such a rush to grow up …." Steven lamented.
"And we weren't?" She arched an eyebrow at him, reminding him again that he too had been that age once, and that he too had wanted to grab the world by the throat, and he nodded gently.
"There is a big wide world out there waiting for them, all shiny and new, and full of adventures and things to see and do …. And it belongs to them."
"Remember when they used to be such good buddies?" Steven Hawke slipped his arm around his wife's slender waist now and drew her closer, tucking her in tight against his side, echoing the thoughts she had had only a few minutes before.
"They still are. It's just that they're growing up and their relationship is evolving. I remember when they used to suck their thumbs and played with their rubber ducks in the bathtub, but those days are long gone, Steve …. They're good. Just you wait and see," she assured him gently.
"I just hate the thought that as they get older, they might just grow to hate each other," he let out a deep sigh.
He knew that it wasn't unheard of for brothers and sisters to fall out over something seemingly insignificant, but which, in the long term resulted in them never seeing or speaking to each other.
"Never happen," she assured him. "It's just a phase," she promised. "They're good kids, Steven. We've been lucky, not a minute's real trouble from either of them," she reminded him gently, and Steven Hawke knew that she was talking about all the temptations out there in the world today and the times they were living in.
He was always reading in the newspapers about kids going off the rails, getting into trouble with the police, indulging in booze and drugs, and his worst nightmare had been that his beautiful sons would be exposed to those things, and not be able to resist that temptation.
The only thing he feared more was that one day one, or maybe even both of his glorious boys might have to answer the call to arms, as he had done, twice already, and that their lives might be ended prematurely by war.
He was familiar enough with both of their characters to know that neither of them would flinch from doing their duty, but he prayed that neither would ever have to face the prospect of going to fight in a war, after all, it was why he had flown combat in the Pacific and then again in Korea, so that young men like St John and Stringfellow would never have to.
He and Connie had tried to teach them right from wrong, had tried to guide them in the right direction, but they couldn't wrap them up in cotton wool for the rest of their lives, and ultimately, there were some decisions only they could make, according to their individual consciences.
"I know they could both try the patience of a saint sometimes, but …. Most kids do you know."
She reached up now to run her finger lovingly along his familiar chiselled jaw, another of his characteristics that both boys had inherited, strong and determined, and she had always seen it as part of their make up too, all the Hawke men, facing life with their heads back and jaws thrust out in defiance, taking the world on the chin.
"They're brothers, Steven, and that is a bond that can never be broken, no matter what. They may have different ideas about life, and where they are going, differences in opinions, but they have common roots and blood ties, and more importantly, they have friendship too. They're strong, Steven, and no matter what might come between them, they will always resolve it. We've raised them to always watch each other's backs, to stand up for themselves and each other, and I for one have no doubts that they will always be there for each other."
Up front, the boys continued to square off, glaring at each other, but their mother could tell from their body language that they were both getting bored, and she knew from past experience that pretty soon one of them would say something to make the other grin, and then they would be back to being the best of friends ….
At least that was how it had been in the old days ….
Before her man child had taken to posturing and strutting like a peacock!
And just to prove her point, instead of trying to punch his younger brother, St John suddenly reached out and began to tickle Stringfellow under the armpits.
"Hey!" Steven Hawke reacted to the suddenly explosion of sound, almost dropping his coffee all over himself, until he realised that it wasn't another wrestling match but a tickling fight and that they weren't screams of pain, but peels of laughter.
He turned to his lovely wife and gave her a pained, if slightly amused look, which she interpreted correctly as his exasperation at the abrupt change in mood.
Why was he so surprised?
They were just like him! Connie thought as she returned his smile. As changeable as mountain weather, all three of them!
Connie watched as both boys wriggled and squirmed trying to avoid sharp fingers digging into each others ribs, then fell on to the deck laughing like drains, St John grabbing String by the neck to get him in a headlock so he could ruffle his hair.
Men!
"Will you look at that …." Steven said out of the corner of his mouth, lifting his coffee cup to his lips once more.
"Make the most of it, honey …."
There was a hint of sadness in her voice, briefly, as she wondered just how many more happy days like this the Hawke family would spend together.
St John would be graduating High School soon, and then he would be off into the big wide world, college first, and then who knew ….
She didn't relish the prospect of letting her eldest chick leave the nest, but she also knew that she had no choice.
One consolation, she still had a few precious years before she had to think about relinquishing Stringfellow to the big wide world.
Peace restored, Connie ducked back down into the galley to finish getting things ready for lunch and a short time later, found herself grinning from ear to ear as suddenly from up top she heard the sound of her three men singing tunelessly, Row, Row, Row Your Boat at the top of their lungs.
She couldn't help thinking that she was one damned lucky woman.
And if they carried on like that they were going to make it rain!
Standing at the counter, Connie sipped her own coffee which had grown tepid while she was on deck and listened to the racket from above for a few minutes, then sighing wistfully she set about making lunch.
She reached into the ice chest to retrieve the freshly caught trout that Steven had brought home just after dawn and had scaled, gutted, boned and washed already for the pan, then placed a heavy skillet on the stove, twisting the knob to release the gas as she reached out for the box of matches she had laid in readiness beside the stove earlier.
"Drat …." She mumbled when she heard the gas escaping, a soft hissing sound, getting slower and slower, indicating that the bottle was almost empty. "I thought he said he changed it …." She complained. "Steven, will you come down here a minute! I need your muscles!"
"Better go see what your mother wants …."
Steven Hawke smiled lovingly at both of his sons, allowing a wave of tenderness toward his offspring to wash over him, dispelling all the pent up stress and anxiety about the future that he had found him self unable to shake off lately, knowing that Connie was right. They were good kids, fine young men, and they had so much to be proud of in each of them.
He loved them all so much, his wonderful family, and he knew that he was the luckiest man alive, to have been blessed with such magnificent sons.
And such a patient, wise and tolerant wife.
Steven Hawke was grinning broadly now as he brushed past St John on his way down to the galley and then paused briefly in the door way to watch as both boys scrambled back to the bow of the boat, String with that wonderfully bashful smile on his face as he gazed adoring at his big brother, and St John with that set to his shoulders that said he was only here under sufferance, as they scrambled over the deck furniture, lying down to gaze at the endless unblemished blue sky over head, as the plaintive cry of an eagle suddenly broke the peaceful tranquillity of the morning.