Feather for Hoonah Joe

by Marianne Schlegelmilch

  He tucked the papers inside the breast pocket of his jacket and zipped it shut. Then he tiptoed into his and Mara’s room taking Thor out of his crate as quietly as he could.

  “Where you been, Doug?” Mara said sleepily.

  “Just downstairs for a beer,” he answered. “Thor wants out. I’m going to take him for a walk and be back in about a half hour.”

  “Okay. Be careful. Turn your phone on,” Mara said, rolling over. “Turn mine on, too, before you leave, okay? Just in case . . .”

  Doug did as his wife asked and walked with Thor to the door.

  “See you in a bit.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Saturday

  Morning came too soon for a guy who had spent the past few weeks traveling and had been awake most of the last two nights.

  Doug Williams had skillfully avoided the routine questioning of his wife, who wondered if anything was wrong and just why he hadn’t been able to sleep last night.

  By 9 a.m. he and Joe had helped the church custodians set up tables and chairs in the church hall, rope off a section for the auction, and prepare two tables near the entry where tickets would be sold and flyers for the event handed out.

  Sylvia LaMonte had been smart in suggesting that visitors be provided with both printed invitations and donation envelopes for the event, as well as with a separate flyer that gave the highlights of Monsignor St. Jean’s years at St. Aloysius.

  As he watched Sal and Mara work to set up the entry tables, Doug couldn’t help but make new comparisons between the two women. If there was any physical resemblance, he couldn’t see it. Sylvia LaMonte was a full head shorter than Mara and lacked her lithe gracefulness.

  Maybe there had been some mistake and Sal had given birth to another daughter with the same name as Mara’s parents, who had been born on the same day as his wife. Could the use of the name Jane, which had first appeared on the original birth certificate, also be mere coincidence?

  As the two women worked silently side by side, he couldn’t help but notice that there was something different in how they interacted. He had first seen it when Mara had snapped at Sal back at Beachmopper’s one afternoon after Sal’s identity as Sylvia LaMonte had been revealed.

  Since then, things had been congenial enough, but still there was a reserve between them that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps it was an issue of trust—a suspicion about a woman who had claimed to be someone totally different in name, actions, and demeanor from everything she had seemed to be.

  Whatever the case, there seemed to be a cooling of the lighthearted banter that usually marked conversations between the two, but no cooling of their affection for each other. Both had made that abundantly clear.

  As he continued to work around the church hall, he watched the two women work side by side, wondering how long it would be before they would work things out. He didn’t have to wait long.

  Two of Rhinebeck’s finest socialites were standing outside the restroom door, where he was working when he overheard them making snide inferences about Sal. Suddenly Mara walked past them into the restroom, apparently also overhearing some of their conversation—at least, she scowled and hesitated slightly before continuing inside.

  Before he could even process it all, Mara came back out and calmly stopped to chat with the two women as if they were long-lost friends.

  “Sylvia LaMonte is a doer, isn’t she?” he heard Mara say. “For someone of her caliber to return to this place that has done so much to detract from the happiness of her life—she truly has pulled off a remarkable feat in organizing this fundraiser for the parish priest who served this community under the same oppressive elitism that Ms. LaMonte was raised in. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Mara paused, smiled, and made direct eye contact with both women, who looked at each other in obvious discomfort at the inferences.

  Then, not missing a beat, Mara said, “Sunday New York Times social page—well, so many times that I can’t recall all of them. You did follow her story, didn’t you?”

  Casting knowing looks between themselves, the two women didn’t respond. “I thought so,” Mara said, before walking away.

  “Why are you so red in the face, Jane?” Sal said, out of earshot of the others once Mara returned to their table.

  “Nothing, Sal. How about if we put the brochures here and set up a collection box for donations for those who prefer to make a contribution that way?”

  Sylvia LaMonte let the matter drop. Her eighty-some years on earth had taught her that sometimes it was best to just leave well enough alone.

  Maybe later she’d talk to Doug about the distance and the coolness she had been noticing. She’d think about it some more.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Sunday Brunch

  Doug tossed and turned most of Saturday night, finally falling into a deep sleep around four. Mara woke him at nine so he could shower and get ready to meet Joe and Sal in Rhinebeck for brunch. If anyone noticed, no one mentioned the deep circles that had formed under his eyes, or the sallow color of fatigue that his skin had taken on.

  Sal and Joe had just been to mass at St. Aloysius when they met at a small, popular breakfast spot near the church.

  “I don’t know what you said to those two old crones who would trip on their own broomsticks if they ever had a kind word to say,” Sylvia whispered to Mara as they were seated, “but they both came up to me this morning and invited me to lunch before I leave town, and said that they personally wanted to thank me for my generosity and leadership in spearheading the memorial drive for Monsignor St. Jean.”

  Mara glanced at Doug, patted Sal on the hand, and simply smiled.

  “I’m really thinking pancakes,” she said.

  “Pancakes for starters,” Joe laughed.

  Doug was the only one who didn’t order a full country breakfast, opting instead for black coffee, toast, and oatmeal.

  Mara glanced at him more than once. Something was wrong. What could it possibly be? She knew better than to press him too hard. He would tell her when he was ready; otherwise, if she pushed him too hard, he would just clam up all the more.

  Doug barely touched his oatmeal, and finally, after about fifteen minutes got up, excused himself, and said he had forgotten to walk Thor before coming to the restaurant, and would be right back.

  When he returned about thirty minutes later, Joe was getting ready to pay the bill, and Mara had gone up to purchase some pastries for later. He told himself that now was just as good as later.

  “Sal, I wonder if you’d mind going for a walk with Thor and me? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Sure,” Sylvia LaMonte answered.

  “I’ll see if Joe will take Mara back to the motel for now and I’ll be right back,” he said.

  Joe would have no part of leaving the two of them possibly stranded in Rhinebeck. With their motel a good ten miles away, he told Doug that he wanted to show Mara some of the things he had discovered about Rhinebeck.

  “And I’ve been looking for a minute to talk to Mara alone for quite some time,” he added. “About the feather, you know, if the opportunity comes up.”

  “Sure, Joe. Perfect,” Doug replied.

  While Doug and Sal stayed behind, Joe proceeded to escort Mara out of the restaurant. He was straightforward with his message, pulling the feather from his pocket and placing it into her open hand, before gently closing her fingers around it.

  “I understand now,” he said, “Why the feather came back to me.”

  Mara nodded.

  “I’m not saying I understand everything, or that there won’t be any surprises ahead for me, although at my age, you’d think I’d seen just about everything by now,” he chuckled.

  Mara opened her hand and stared at the feather that had been a part of her life since before she had even set foot on Alaska soil.

  “It’s like we can never be free—really free,” she told Joe Michael.

  “But you’re wr
ong, Mara,” Joe answered. “The feather is just a symbol of your own inner strength, like it somehow makes you feel you are protected, when all the while you are becoming stronger and more able to protect yourself.”

  “Is that how you see it?” she asked the old man, who had looked after her ever since her own father died.

  “It’s the way I’ve always seen it,” Joe said. “Even when I didn’t know what I was seeing.”

  Mara laughed a hollow laugh.

  “Now, what kind of sense does that make?” she said, squeezing his arm.

  “Just as much sense as life itself,” Joe answered. “Now you keep this feather. You’re young, with your life still meant to be long, while I’m old and realizing that I grow closer to my end time on this earth every day.”

  Mara tensed. “Is something wrong? Are you sick?”

  “No, Mara,” Joe Michael said. “Nothing like that. I’m just old, that’s all. And none of us is meant to live forever, not me, not you—no one. It’s just that I’m farther along in the process than you are, that’s all I’m saying. Just farther down the trail.”

  “Before, when you gave me the feather, things happened to me,” Mara said, treading cautiously into areas she wasn’t sure she really wanted to visit.

  “Yes,” Joe nodded.

  “Do you think—are you saying—or feeling, like something is going to happen to me, that for some reason I’m going to need the feather?” Mara asked.

  “No. Don’t get paranoid,” Joe said.

  “But—”

  “Look, Mara, it’s just time, that’s all. Sure, stuff’s going to happen to you, you wouldn’t be living a normal life if it didn’t, but I’m not sensing anything or feeling some vibe if that’s what you mean, unless loving you like a daughter is causing my sensors to go askew. Come to think of it, after all we’ve been through, it’s a wonder that either of us can claim anything normal about our senses, you know.”

  Suddenly Mara hugged the old man. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him with everything she had. Slowly, he lifted his arms and hugged her, too.

  “I’ll be here for you as long as I walk this earth,” he told her, “but one day when you least expect it, I’ll be called home to be with the Lord and when that day comes, I want to die knowing that you have a piece of me with you here on earth—to take care of you, like I promised your father I would do. You keep this feather safe. Now c’mon, I want to show you those violet houses that Sal showed me.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Blast at the Past

  Sylvia LaMonte watched as Doug Williams took the maitre’d aside and pointed to a secluded booth near a large bay window in the corner of the restaurant. When he returned, he leaned over and took her coat from the place she had laid it on the seat.

  “I know I mentioned going for a walk, Sal,” he said, “but if you don’t mind, could we move to the booth in the corner? We can talk there, over coffee.”

  “Sure, Doug,” Sal answered in a manner that was unusually docile for the old woman.

  She followed as he worked his way between the tables to the booth. There he waited to seat her, gave them a moment to order coffee, and began.

  “I don’t know how to bring this up. I don’t even know if it’s my place or my business to bring this up,” he began.

  Doug paused to wipe his brow. Why did it feel so hot in here?

  “What’s troubling you, Doug?” Sylvia LaMonte asked him. “I could see that you weren’t yourself during brunch. Is everything okay between you and Mara?”

  “Yes. Everything’s fine. Look—Sal—Sylvia—”

  Doug stopped to sip his coffee. Why was this so hard? Suddenly he unzipped his breast pocket, removed a fold of papers from it, and handed them to Sal.

  She said nothing as she read, sifting slowly through them without even the hint of expression on her face. Doug sipped his coffee and signaled for the server to bring more.

  Finally, after studying the papers for what seemed like a full fifteen minutes, Sylvia LaMonte spoke.

  “It’s true, Doug.”

  He couldn’t believe his ears. After thirty-eight years of carrying this secret around and at least the last five in the company of her own natural daughter, Sylvia LaMonte sat there with all the aplomb of a national-level stateswoman.

  Doug was lost for words. How unbelievable was this life going to get? How many more surprises did it have in store for him and Mara? He wanted to get up and walk out, but somehow managed to stay.

  “Sal,” he said. “You mean to tell me you’re just going to sit there and tell me it’s true—like this bombshell that’s been dropped on me is just a pebble in the big blue sea of your life?”

  “I’ve known for a while, Doug,” she said.

  Doug stood and paced around the area near their table.

  “Is everything alright, sir?” the server asked.

  “Yes. Fine. Check, please,” Doug told him.

  “I’ll meet you outside,” he told Sylvia.

  For once the old woman said nothing. She sat and watched Doug as he made his way to the cash register, not waiting for the server to bring the bill. Then she gathered up her coat, purse, and the umbrella she had brought because of the threat of rain, folded the papers Doug had presented her with into a neat bundle, and made her way outside.

  Together, they walked silently along the river, while Thor bounded ahead off-leash.

  Despite angry looks from a couple of passers-by, he didn’t call the dog back to him. Thor knew how to behave and would stay away from people. Just for show, though, Doug let Thor’s folded leash dangle from one hand.

  “I figured it was only a matter of time,” Sylvia LaMonte said, “before this would all come out.”

  “I don’t get you, Sal,” Doug said, stopping suddenly to face her. “You could have just lived out your life with no one the wiser, but for some reason, for some reason that I just cannot fathom right now, you decided to come into the life of a young woman—a woman that you abandoned at birth, and who has suffered so many losses over the course of her life—and complicate it all the more.”

  Sylvia LaMonte stared at the ground. It was obvious that Doug’s anger was affecting her, and why shouldn’t it? Everything he was saying was true.

  “I can’t deny any of it,” she began.

  “Deny what?” Doug interrupted her. “Deny that Mara is your daughter? Deny that you’ve known it for years and never tried to let her know? Deny that you could have left her alone to protect her instead of coming into her life like some kind of ghost from the past?”

  Shoulders squared, jaws clenched, and feet planted firmly on the ground, Doug again faced Sylvia LaMonte—standing only inches away. Without the false bravado of her Sal persona, the old woman looked small and frail.

  “And what about Joe? Is he in on this, too?”

  “No!” Sylvia said with a sob. “He doesn’t know. No one knows but you.”

  Doug walked ahead, called Thor to his side, and snapped the leash onto the dog’s collar before turning back.

  “I don’t think I can talk to you anymore right now,” he told her.

  When he looked up, Joe and Mara were driving slowly in their direction.

  “Get in the car before it rains,” he said, his voice softening only slightly. “I’ll catch up with everyone later.”

  “But what should I tell them about you and Thor?”

  “Tell them whatever you want to,” Doug said. “You’ll think of something. You’re good at lying.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Last Piece of the Puzzle?

  One of the custodians from St. Aloysius saw Doug and Thor walking alongside the road and offered them a ride. Even though he said he was only going three miles, Doug gratefully accepted. The short drive didn’t leave much time for conversation, so after exchanging pleasantries, the two sat in silence, while the radio played the local news.

  “Sorry I can’t take you any further,” he told Doug when he dropped
him off at the interchange with the secondary road that led to his home, but my wife’s got plans for the afternoon, otherwise, I’d—”

  “Don’t worry at all,” Doug said, “I appreciate the lift, and the walk will do me good.”

  “Well, it’s a nice enough day for sure, and there’s a quick stop about a mile up if you need a drink for you and the dog,” the custodian said.

  “Sure. Great idea,” Doug answered. “Thanks again.”

  The custodian began pulling away, but stopped and rolled down his window for one last word.

  “Look, we’ve all done it,” he said.

  When Doug raised his eyebrows, the custodian added, “You know, walked off our anger, or stress, or whatever ya wanna call it. Just take it safe, okay?”

  “Sure enough. Thanks,” Doug answered.

  How had the custodian picked up on his angst anyway? He wasn’t that transparent, was he?

  The quick stop was only a short walk along his route, so once there, Doug tied Thor up outside and went in, returning with a couple of bottled waters, a plastic drink cup for Thor, and two hamburgers—one with the works for himself, and a plain one with no garnishes for Thor.

  Just before resuming the trek back to the motel, he switched his smartphone on again. Mara had called. He winced as her voice gave him pangs of guilt for making her worry. He tried to call her back, but only got her voicemail.

  “I’m fine. I just had to wrap up a few loose ends in Rhinebeck. Don’t worry; I’ve got a way back. See you this evening. Love you,” his message to her said.

  There was another call from Della saying that Elzianne LaMonte, along with her complete entourage, had checked out of the hotel two weeks early. She said that this had left management scrambling to fill the rooms and that she had overheard talk of charging the party for the sudden cancellation, and of possibly even hiring a lawyer to pursue recovery of their loss.