In Valhalla's Shadows

by W. D. Valgardson

  “I couldn’t say,” Horst snapped. “I don’t delve into those kind of affairs.”

  “Affairs?”

  “Where people go.”

  “I bought her place. We had an arrangement. I am supposed to take it over the beginning of July.” Horst looked more irritated than ever. He studied Tom like a dog deciding whether to bite. “Has she gone to her sister’s?” Tom asked.

  “Someone said that was where she resides.”

  “Olason was her married name. What was her maiden name?” Tom got out the notepad he always carried and the stub of pencil.

  “I’ve never minded her business. I couldn’t say what she was called when she came here. She came here long before me. If you’re still looking for a place, I’ve got a cottage north of here that’s for sale. If you don’t snap it up right away, it’ll be gone. I’ve already got an offer on it. I could take Jessie’s old place off your hands.” When Tom didn’t reply, Horst jerked the buggy with his oxygen tank around and disappeared into the living quarters.

  Tom went out onto the porch. What, he wondered, was the name of the woman in the blue parka? A gem, diamond, ruby, emerald, pearl... Pearl.

  He went to a nearby house trailer and knocked on the door. As he waited for an answer, he couldn’t help but notice the small house next door that was bright blue with green trim and yellow shutters. There were small trees in the yard, and hanging from the branches were bicycle wheels with two-litre pop bottles tied to them. Even with the slight breeze, the wind spun the wheels, some vertically, some horizontally. Some of the small trees looked like they would rise into the heavens.

  A girl who couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen opened the door. She was holding a baby and a small child was clinging to her leg. Her long face was pale and her brown hair lank.

  He asked where Pearl might live and the young woman said two houses over, the one with the white picket fence. She pointed away from the house that was a riot of colour. Tom thought if Anna had seen her, she would have said, “That girl needs six days of perogies and some kubasa.”

  Pearl remembered him, asked him in, insisted that he have coffee and told him how sorry she was about Jessie’s death, a heart attack, totally unexpected, she was so thin, it wasn’t like she was fat, it was fat people like her who were supposed to have heart attacks. Then she poured the coffee, thick as the mud on the road outside, urged him to top it up with cream, asked him if he’d like a shot of brandy in it, and when he said no, he was driving, she poured a generous shot into her own cup.

  When he brought up the topic of the house, Pearl said, “You bought it fair and square. Jessie told me about it. If I’d known your name, I’d have called you to tell you what happened.” She reminded him of a snowman, made up of three round balls. She had a round, pleasant face with pink cheeks from either brandy or rosacea, and a radiant smile.

  “How did you find me?” she asked. From the way she asked it, Valhalla might have been the size of New York or London.

  “The girl at the trailer,” he replied.

  “That’s Rose,” Pearl said. “She married Haldur in a hurry and now she’s got two. It never stops, does it?”

  Tom thought of the hurried-up way he and Sally had got married and agreed. These things happened if not in a second or even a minute, then so quickly that they might have been nothing and would have no consequences, like eating a hamburger and fries at a drive-in and then thinking no more about it, not even remembering in the next day or two that you had eaten a double cheeseburger. The sin of momentary gratification, his father had called it.

  He explained about Horst and his not knowing Jessie’s whereabouts or her maiden name, and Pearl snorted. “Bloody liar. He’s been after that property for years. He thought he would get it when Oli died. The Godi wanted it, too. That’s the sect that has their property north of town. They all figured she’d go back to where she came from. If she had, Jessie still wouldn’t of let Horst be the agent. No love lost there. She stuck it out, hoping someone would turn up so that none of them would get it. And you did, and then she goes and kicks the bucket. Horst figured he’d get it off Jessie’s sister. He was all set to offer her a deal when she came for the funeral. There was no funeral. She didn’t even come here. She had the body shipped to the city and cremated. I think she’s got Jessie in a vase in her china cabinet. Then she went back to Arizona to finish her holidays.”

  “Her last name?”

  Pearl ignored his question. She was wound up. She waved her short arms about when she talked. She might have been conducting a choir. “Josie. Josie and Jessie. Twins.”

  “Jessie said her sister was older.”

  “One minute older. Josie was born first. Horst had a sales agreement all made up. He was going to make the offer at the reception afterwards. He had all these reasons why she should sell. Couldn’t say enough good things about Jessie. But when she was alive, it wasn’t that way.”

  Pearl poured a splash more brandy into her cup. “Davis, J. Davis. She rents a condo in Tucson. I think I’ve got her address somewhere. Jessie wrote it down for me. Just in case anything happened to her. That’s when Horst was hard after her for the property. If she went up in smoke one night, she wanted me to know where to call.”

  She jumped up and waddled down the hallway. It wasn’t just the parka that had made her look big. He could tell she liked blue. Her dress was blue with a white collar, she had on blue earrings and the strap of her watchband was blue. It suited her high complexion.

  She returned without the paper. “It’s gone,” she said. “But she owns an apartment in Fort Garry.”

  “I’ll find her,” he said and drained his cup.

  He remembered he had the box of chocolates in his pocket. He took it out and put it on the table. “Thank you for the help,” he said.

  Pearl became flustered at receiving the gift. She picked up the box and rubbed the side of it between her thumb and forefinger and smiled. From the expression on her face, he might have given her a million dollars. She followed him to the door, and when he got into his truck, she stood there, waving goodbye until he was out of sight.

  Dead, he thought, dead and no contract. He’d rather have had a contract than six peanut butter cookies he couldn’t eat. He’d given Jessie’s cookies to the small birds that hung around his backyard. He went back to the house and walked around the outside. It looked shabbier than he remembered it. There were flaws, but if he’d had a contract, they would have been his flaws to correct. He felt that something essential had been ripped away from him.

  The next day, he’d looked up J. Davis in the phone book. There were twenty-six. He called three Davises before he got a message that said she was in Arizona, but if there was urgent business, here was the phone number to call.

  “I’m Tom Parsons,” he said when Josie answered the phone. “Jessie and I had an agreement for me to buy her place. She was going to move in with you.”

  “She told me.”

  “I thought you might be back from Tucson.”

  “I can grieve where it’s warm.”

  “I’ve given my landlord notice.”

  “What are you going to do in Valhalla? I asked Jessie that. Why would anyone with any brains want to move there? Especially a young man.”

  “I’m retired.”

  “That’s not an occupation.”

  “Medical leave,” he explained. “I was in an accident.”

  “You sound fine.”

  “Maybe I’ll go fishing.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it. Jessie’s husband was a fisherman. No fish, big price. Lots of fish, no price. When they don’t make much, they sit around and drink because they’re unhappy, and some seasons they make money, and then they sit around drinking because they’re happy. However, it’s your choice, and the place has to be sold. What price did you agree on?”

 
“Eighty thousand.”

  “At least you’re honest. That’s better than most. Jessie told me that. She said you were honest. However, she said you looked like you needed looking after. You married?”

  “Separated,” he answered. There was silence on the line. He hoped she didn’t have something against people who were separated.

  “The price seems cheap. A house on the water and forty acres.”

  “The house needs a lot of work. Not much done to it since it was built. A part of the property is underwater in the spring.”

  “Have you got the money?” she asked.

  He said no, that Jessie said she would give him a mortgage.

  “I can’t do that. It’s too much trouble. You’ll need to get financing. It’s not a big amount. If Jessie was right and you were chosen by the Lord to own this place, then you’ll find a way. How soon can you move in?”

  “We agreed on July first.”

  “That’s not what I asked. I asked how soon can you move in? I don’t trust those people there. Jessie was always having to chase people off her property. If she was away for a few days, someone would be digging up her yard. With everything that goes on, you never know if someone is going to tear the place apart.”

  “Was the heat left on?”

  “I’m not a fool. I know what needs to be done. There’s a man there—Ben. Jessie thought he was reliable. I asked him to look after the place. He’s supposed to check it once a day. I pay him five dollars a day, more if anything needs work.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Men never think a woman has any brains. You’ve met that dreadful man—I think his name is Horst. He tried to scare my sister into selling. When he called me, butter wouldn’t have melted in his mouth. He must have thought my sister never told me what went on. You have to promise that you won’t turn around and sell the property to him. Jessie would spin in her grave.”

  He just about reminded her that she’d had Jessie cremated but then thought better of it.

  “I won’t sell it to him. I have to give notice to my boss. Two weeks. Is that soon enough?”

  “Fine.” She said it exactly as Jessie had said it. “It’s as is where is. Don’t come back after you’ve been there a while, wanting your money back. I’m going to take your money and go on a cruise, more than one. You don’t spend it, you die, just like Jessie, and someone else spends it. Die broke. That’s the way to go.”

  “I’ll need a key.”

  “You ask that Ben for it.”

  “Don’t you want anything from the house?”

  “Jessie had packed up some boxes. They’re in the kitchen. Ben can bring them to me. I’ll probably throw most of it out, but there might be something I’ll want to keep. I’m not a sentimental person. My apartment isn’t very large. There’s another fellow with a truck. I don’t know his name, but don’t send Jessie’s things with him.”

  “She was looking forward to joining you.”

  “She shouldn’t have married that man. I told her so. More than once. He wouldn’t leave that godforsaken place no matter what. Wasted her life working for God and for him. Shiftless men. Never did a lick of work unless he had to. She paid for that house with money she received when our parents died. Plus, I loaned her some. I’ll get in touch with you as soon as I’ve got everything ready. I’m her executor.”

  When he’d given her his phone number and address, she hung up.

  There were corporations, governments, who needed people like her, he thought. She needed to go to Ottawa as prime minister. She’d straighten everybody out and make them fly right. No fooling around.

  Tom had a friend who’d quit the Force and become a mortgage broker. He called him and, with a bit of fudging, his friend arranged the financing for the mortgage. Liar loans. If kids working at McDonald’s could get them, why not him? When he did it, an image rose up before him of his father looking shocked, appalled, dismayed.

  Connections, Tom thought, it was always that way, never straightforward but along a crooked path of who you knew, of favours given and returned. He’d encouraged his former colleague by suggesting that he come out for some fishing. The guy loved fishing. It would be a free holiday. Tom would even pay for his fishing licence.

   Chapter 6

  Bannockburn

  Tom gave two weeks’ notice, and since he didn’t work weekends, it was only twelve days before he could leave. His landlord insisted on thirty days’ notice, but Myrna had an actress friend looking for a place to stay who was happy to pay the rent for two weeks. He thought his daughter would be dismayed at his moving away. Instead, she did a little celebratory dance, not, she said, because he was moving away, but because he’d found something that made him smile again.

  Tom had called ahead, and Ben met him at Jessie’s house with the keys. The house looked neglected, unloved, as if no one had cared about it, but he knew that wasn’t true. This is what old age and not enough money can do to people, he thought. After his accident, he’d given up on money. Concentrating on his losses, he cared only about the past, not the future. The house, he thought, as they stood at the front, looking at the veranda, was going to take money, and his future wasn’t in some great ambition, the shrink had said that, no big ambitions just small ones, plan a meal, ask someone to visit, start looking for a job, any job, it doesn’t matter what it is, deliver the local paper, find something that you want to do, that you have to do, and he hadn’t been able to do that, but now in buying wood and screws to replace the front steps that were crumbling with dry rot he could focus and he could plan what he had to do to get the wood and screws. He could manage that. He looked up under the wide eaves and saw that there was a small wooden sign that said, Bannockburn Cottage.

  “Bannockburn,” he said to Ben.

  “Scots. He made a lot of money in something. Maybe coal. He named it when he was just coming here for the fishing and the duck hunting.”

  The aura of neglect was partly because of the debris lying around the yard, plus the irregular patches of dead grass among the towering spruce.

  They went inside and Ben walked him through the rooms, just so they both could testify that nothing had been removed. The menagerie was still in the living room, the birds looking a little more dusty and the wolf more disintegrated.

  “She said I could have that,” Ben said, indicating a maple rocking chair. “I didn’t want to take it without you agreeing. I don’t want nobody saying I stole nothing. If I took it before you came, people would be slipping over here telling you I was a thief.”

  Tom told him to take it. It was sturdy enough but could have used a touch of sandpaper and a coat of shellac.

  Ben looked pleased and, wanting to show he appreciated the gift, said, “On days I’m not making a run, I haul garbage for people. Not smelly stuff but old barrels, wrecked furniture, dry stuff. There’s a dump five miles out of here. No tipping fees.”

  Tom thought about everything lying around in the yard and what might be in the garage and shed. “I’m okay for taking stuff to the dump,” Tom said, “but I’d like to hire you to bring what’s left in my apartment. It’s boxed and ready to go. No furniture. I’ve got lots to do here. I don’t need a trip to the city.”

  After being shut up, Jessie’s house—his house, he reminded himself—smelled musty. Ben took Jessie’s three boxes. When Josie returned to Winnipeg, she’d get in touch and he’d take them in to her.

  “Not much been done to keep up this place,” Ben said. He was studying where plaster had come off the kitchen ceiling.

  They went back out into the yard. There was still snow in the deeper shade. There were a wooden picnic table, worn silver by the weather; some flower gardens; and a vegetable garden surrounded by wooden boxes that had come apart at the joints. There were no plants up yet, but Ben said, “Jessie wasn’t able to ke
ep things up in the last few years. There’s tools in the shed. They might need a little fixing.”

  Tom doubted he’d have time for gardening. His mother had a pot in the kitchen window with some chives and parsley and a single geranium. She always claimed that Icelanders had black thumbs instead of green ones. In Iceland, they lived on fish, lamb, milk and potatoes. Even when she was a girl, Icelanders still referred to salad greens as “grass” and refused to eat them. Grass was starvation food, but it wasn’t grass they were eating; it was a special lichen. They might not want a bowl of lettuce with cucumber and radishes in Canada, but in Iceland, during times of starvation, they and their cows and sheep went to the seashore and survived on seaweed.

  Anna, however, gardened on the roof of the apartment building. She got Tom to carry sacks of soil, fertilizer, trays of plants up the stairs. Tom thought at times that he was being used as a pawn in a struggle between Icelandic and Ukrainian values. Anna’s garden was a hodgepodge of containers: old metal tubs, abandoned plastic planters in various colours, wooden boxes, a baby’s bathtub, all of which she’d scavenged from the local back lanes. She had runner beans on poles and squash vines winding around chimneys and stacks. She’d gotten him and her daughter, Tanya, to help with planting and watering, and when vegetables were ripe or flowers bloomed, she’d sent some with him for his mother.

  “You got yourself a lot of work,” Ben said. “Nothing is ever what it looks to be. This place was well built, but you start looking and there’s always things wrong. There’s a weasel likes to have her kits under your house. You don’t bother her; she won’t bother you. She keeps the mice down. I’ll haul your stuff back when I’ve got a load for the city. Cheaper that way. I only have to charge you for one direction.”

   Chapter 7

  Picture Perfect

  Tom had woken up early and lay in bed thinking over the previous day. The constable who had taken his statement had gone over it three times. She’d talked to Albert, then came back to question him again, after Albert told her that he thought he’d seen Angel move and that it looked like she and Tom might even have been fighting, that he’d been leaning over her. Tom explained again about turning Angel over because she was lying face down in the water and added that Albert suffered from an excitable imagination.