by Katie Munnik
I didn’t tell Rika any of this. Didn’t think it would make her my friend.
7
I DECIDED NOT TO MIND WHEN CAROLE WENT OUT walking alone the next day. I would focus my energy elsewhere. I wouldn’t even think about it. Marie wanted help starting a rag rug and Rika said we could use the farmhouse floor. She helped us push the furniture against the wall and set up the frame Hans had made. Then she found a basket of fabric scraps somewhere upstairs and Marie and I tipped them out on the floor. Gold and red like a Rothko and a hundred forest greens.
‘Perfect,’ Marie said. ‘It’s Christmas morning.’
‘I didn’t know what I was saving those for,’ said Rika. ‘But if you can use them, they’re yours.’
Marie had an old potato sack she’d cut open and in the centre, she’d traced her own handprint and Hans’s, too, in thick black marker, the palms spiralled with lines and stars and all around, she drew trees, hearts and flowers, swirls and circles within circles.
‘I think it will make a nice pattern, non?’ Marie said. ‘Very lively.’
I helped her hold the sacking taut as she tacked it down to the frame, and then she showed me how to cut the scraps into strips to hook along the line she’d sketched.
‘My grandmother makes these rugs. My mother when she has time. She made one for each of us, with the letter of our name hooked in the middle. We set them all out beside our bed – four girls all in one bed, so four little rugs lined up all pretty. We took turns getting out of bed in the morning, each hopping right onto our letter and no one else’s. Very important.’
She chose a felted blue sweater and, with swift scissors, sliced it through top to bottom, the fabric falling away in long strips.
‘These will be nice along here, I think,’ she said, pointing to a line along the edge. ‘Just like a lake.’
Eleta opened the door and Soleil came in like a cannonball, throwing himself towards Marie.
‘Hey, you hooligan,’ Eleta called, pulling him back. ‘Cool it. Give Marie some space.’ Soleil looked glumly up at his mum and Marie laughed.
‘It’s fine. The boy needs a hug. Anyone can see that.’
‘He’s been talking about you all morning. You have a fan.’
James came through the door behind her and Rika put the kettle on the stove.
‘None for me, thanks,’ James said. ‘I thought I’d head over to the new cabin to give Hans and Bas a little help.’
‘They’re peeling the logs again today,’ Marie said. ‘The foundation still needs time to cure.’
‘Won’t take long, I shouldn’t think. You’ll be out of your tent and arranging furniture in no time.’ He was dressed for work, wearing dirty jeans and a clean, white undershirt. The hollow of his belly button was marked by a small slack circle. My own belly button stuck out under my shirt like a cork.
‘What else can I do to help?’ I asked Marie. ‘More strips?’
‘Sure, that would be nice. Not too wide.’ She laughed as Soleil scrambled onto her knee to get a closer look.
‘Careful, p’tit chou, I have a baby in here.’ But it didn’t look like Soleil believed her. He pulled more scraps from the basket, searching. ‘Not in there, silly. In here.’ She leaned back and rubbed her belly, grinning. ‘It is a funny idea, non?’
‘Marie, if you want that monkey to leave you be, you just need to say.’
‘No, he’s wonderful,’ Marie said. ‘He makes me feel at home.’
‘You used to little ones?’ Eleta said.
‘Yes, I guess. My family … lots of little ones.’
‘Careful, Soleil. You be gentle with Marie.’
‘He’s fine. If he gets tangled in my hair, I’ll gobble him up.’
‘I’m not a donut!’ he cackled, tossing back his tangled head, and Eleta laughed, too.
‘It’s wonderful to have someone new to amuse him,’ she said. ‘So much of the time, we’re mucking about with the cabin and he plays on his own. This place needs more children, I think.’
‘I think we’re working on that one,’ Rika said, smiling at me.
‘And me. And then I will have another and another and we will all stay,’ Marie said.
‘It would be nice if Carole stayed, too,’ Rika said. ‘I’d like to get to know her twins.’
I shifted on the floor, my hip joints uncomfortable and maybe my heart a little as well. I watched Rika set the teapot on the table and take the mugs from the shelf. She sighed, smiled, pausing with her fingers hooked through the mug handles. ‘But that’s not her plan. And I’ll find a family for her babies.’
‘The offer stands,’ Eleta said, softly.
‘Oh, my dear.’ She set the mugs down and stepped through our piles of scraps to wrap herself around Eleta. Rika was all elbows and knees, and her hair was a curtain around them both. ‘I thought you and James still needed to discuss it.’
‘We have. And we’re ready. And if another baby comes our way, well, aren’t we just in the perfect place to deal with that?’
‘You are a blessing.’
‘And you sound like Annie.’
‘We’ll need to talk it all through with Carole. And give her lots of time to make up her mind. She doesn’t take well to anything like instruction. Even keeping her from rambling about has been almost impossible.’
‘She up the hill again this morning?’
‘Likely. I wish she wouldn’t.’
‘It’s lovely up there,’ I said. ‘Such a great view and the firepit and everything.’
Rika looked at me strangely. ‘She’s one for secrets,’ she said. ‘Can’t get a straight story out of her. But this restlessness is to be expected. We just need to keep our eyes open to be there when she needs us.’
‘But not telling her family? Not even her mother?’ Eleta shook her head. ‘I cannot understand. My mother needs to know. How can she pray for me if she doesn’t?’
‘Does it help?’ I asked. Marie glanced at me, her eyes darting to hide their surprise.
‘Yes. Of course,’ Eleta said. ‘For me, it does. My mother’s prayers are power in me. It is like …’ She needed to look for the words, then she smiled. ‘It is like God put a homesickness inside me. It calls out at night and knowing my mother is praying is like another voice calling back.’
‘Yes,’ said Marie. ‘I think it can be like that.’
Over lunch, there was talk of the summer. Annie said students on campus were asking if they could come and pitch tents somewhere on the property. They wanted to be part of the community – help with the gardens, or with building cabins, too. Bas thought it was a fine idea, but Rika wasn’t convinced. She was all for hospitality – that had always been part of the vision – but she wasn’t sure of the wisdom of letting tourists in.
‘It might be exciting,’ Bas said. ‘A new development, right? Change can be beautiful. We have to keep our eyes open.’
‘Which reminds me,’ Hans said. ‘I’d like to head into Ottawa to buy a television.’
‘What do we need a television for?’ Rika asked. ‘You running out of things to look at?’
‘The moon landing, my girl,’ said Hans. ‘Not till next month, but I thought if we got one sooner, we’d have time to sort out the signals well in advance. Besides, it might be hard to find a set closer to the time. Everyone’s going to want one.’
‘It is amazing to think about,’ said Eleta. ‘Man on the moon. I’d like Soleil to see that.’
James wondered if they’d be able to pick up the signal, but Hans was fairly confident that it would work. Especially given the lead time. There’d be time to practise.
‘No sweat,’ Carole said. ‘The radio signal comes through clear enough.’
Hans wasn’t sure it worked like that, but said it was worth a shot.
‘Can I come too?’ I asked. ‘I’d like to see Ottawa.’ It sounded almost as far away as Aberlady or New York. Or the moon. My dad once told me that the distance to the moon was the same as the length of all the c
oastlines in the world. I wondered how the astronauts got their heads around distance. I bet their wives were buying television sets. I wondered if my parents would.
‘Me too,’ Marie said. ‘I’ve never been to Ottawa.’
‘You don’t want to be trailing around the city. In your condition, I mean.’ Hans wrapped his arm around Marie and kissed the top of her head.
‘These girls aren’t sick,’ Rika said. ‘Just growing people. A bit of new scenery isn’t a problem. Mind, it’s getting a bit close for you, Carole, but Felicity and Marie would be fine. Do the two of you good to see something new. Big city and all that. Take a walk along the canal. Or see the gallery, if you like.’
‘That would be nice. I’ve never been to a gallery before, either.’
‘Is that so?’ said Hans. ‘Goodness, I had no idea.’
Bas offered seconds on soup. ‘Soup days in June. You never know around here, do you? But the rain doesn’t seem to be hurting the berries. I’ve never seen so many. Maybe we should start selling them. A stall at the road-end – what do you think?’
‘Let’s tackle the television and the moon first, shall we?’ Rika said. ‘Middle of July, Hans? It’ll be a waxing crescent then. Felicity’s baby might be here.’
‘Too bad it won’t be full,’ said Carole. ‘That would be something, wouldn’t it? A man walking about on a big-ass full moon.’
‘We won’t see anything from here, you know,’ Hans said, reaching for the bread. ‘Just on the television.’
‘Don’t worry, Carole, it’ll be a broadcast to remember. Which is probably half the goal anyway,’ Bas said, wryly. ‘The Russians can’t compete with that.’
8
From Birthwood,
(That’s what we’re calling the camp now.
Fitting, don’t you think?)
June 1969
Dear Mum and Dad,
Thanks for your letter – it was so good to read. You said you had no news, but the birds on the bay were enough. I could see them there, bobbing about like fragments of cloud, just as you said, and then the sound of the geese on the sandbar at night. That’s home.
It’s been clear weather here recently. We had a good view of the full moon last night and I sat outside for a long time with the girls. You would have liked it. It was warm enough for bare legs, even at ten o’clock at night, and the lake was so flat the moon was reflected perfectly. James and Eleta took a canoe out, and they offered to paddle me around, but I didn’t feel I could even climb in. I’m really heavy now, and my joints get achy in the evening. I made a point of going out early today, though. A canoe is a beautiful thing. You are so close to the water, and the boat is thin beneath you, so you feel the lake through the hull just under your knees. Thin like an eggshell, like Dad’s stories about witches in eggshells. Do you remember? You taught me not to break them after I’d scooped everything out, all the soft-set white and runny honeyness of the yolk. You said if I left them whole, then witches could use them to sail out to sea and stir up storms. I wondered how they could possibly steer an eggshell boat because wouldn’t it just go round in circles? I’m always spinning in circles now, and especially in a Canadian canoe. Annie has been showing me the trick of steering. You need to look straight ahead and find a point on the far shore. Then, without shifting your gaze, you pull your paddle straight back through the water, twisting a little each time to compensate, not letting the point shift left or right. I’m getting the knack. Tiny adjustments will do. Isn’t that the way?
I’ve seen the loons up close a few times now. They’ll suddenly surface right in front of the canoe, and they surprise me every time. Their bodies are large and black – silhouettes at noon – and their necks are strung with pearly bands, their eyes strange and red. Beautiful. The pair on our lake have a nest somewhere at the far side. I haven’t found it yet, but I’d like to. Not that they will be returning to it often now, since their chick has hatched. It might have been abandoned altogether. I am curious to see it anyway. Annie says that they are almost not nests at all, just a jumble of sticks as close to the water as possible, but you can sometimes find feathers there, and I’d like that. If I do, I’ll send one over for Dad.
This loon chick is still covered in charcoal fuzz and I got quite a good view the other morning. I came up right behind them and when they heard my paddle, the baby hopped up onto the mother’s back and nestled down into her feathers. She swam away quickly, heading out to the middle of the lake. I say she, but it’s impossible to tell. The two adults look so much alike, and they both take responsibility for the chick, tag-teaming on fishing and diving demonstrations. Annie says they mate for life. I wonder if that’s true.
I should tell you that I haven’t been honest. To you, I mean. I wrote that I had told the baby’s father, but that wasn’t true. I didn’t. And I won’t. We’re not in touch. I don’t know why I told you that; maybe I thought that’s what you’d want to hear and probably I was a bit ashamed, but anyway, that’s how it is. I am on my own with this kid and I’m going to be okay. It’s not like there’s gossip these days. The world’s wider now and anyway, no one minds here. I’ve decided to stay here for the autumn, at least, so I will have community in the early days with the baby and that will help. They need me here, too, actually. Rika says that my nursing will really come in handy, as will the fact that I worked in Montreal. It seems the local doctor is concerned Rika doesn’t have qualified help. He got wind of Carole’s twins and has been awkward about that. She thinks that having a trained nurse on site will help get him on side if she needs to call him in an emergency.
How was birth for you? I’ve never asked. What did it feel like? How did you manage? Maybe you could write and tell me a little. I know the story about visiting your parents in Edinburgh, how the family doctor stopped by and insisted you stay in town. I’ve often imagined you on the bus on the way to Edinburgh, not knowing just how soon you’d be meeting me. I would love to hear how it all felt, if you remember, and don’t mind sharing. I’m shaped like you, so I suspect we might have similar experiences. I should ask Rika if it works like that. Is that foolish? I don’t know. I can’t think clearly right now and I’m trying hard not to worry, just to be interested in everything I can learn. Rika’s been teaching me good stretches and squats for birthing and I’m trying to rest, but still feeling restless. I keep thinking about Montreal and all the people in the hospital. There have been more bombs this summer. I can’t think why everyone doesn’t just leave, but people don’t. They think that nothing all that terrible will happen to them and chances are it won’t. But I think about them anyway.
Maybe you know something of what I’m feeling, Mum. You were on your own, too. Maybe I should have come home. Well, too late for that now, and I’m just getting sentimental, close to baby time, I guess. I send you both my love, of course. Of course and of course.
Lots of love,
Felicity
9
TO KEEP RIKA HAPPY, WE PROMISED WE’D BE BACK FROM the city before sunset.
‘I’m not jumpy,’ she insisted. ‘Babies just tend to come at night, and I’d rather have the van on hand. So the sooner you lot can be back on site, the happier I’ll feel.’
‘Nothing is going to happen,’ Carole said.
‘Course not. Those babies of yours are going to be eons late. Three months at least. But I want to be cautious.’
‘And you don’t want to miss us too much,’ Bas teased. ‘I get it. The woods get scary without your brother around.’
‘Is it the dark?’ Hans asked, grinning.
‘Oh, you two. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you all tomorrow when you get back.’
On the way back to the bunkhouse, Carole was growly.
‘Do you want anything from Ottawa?’ I asked. ‘I can pick something up for you, if you like.’
Carole snorted out a chuckle and said no.
‘I don’t mind. And you don’t need to worry about money, if that’s a trouble. What would you like?’
‘Nothing. Really. Just leave me alone.’
She bolted down the path and slammed the bunkhouse door behind her. My mum would say she was asking to be followed but actually, I didn’t have much choice. Couldn’t exactly sleep in the woods. Curl up under a tree and use leaves as blankets, the moon above white as a pebble, as breadcrumbs.
Carole had the light off before I was through the door and she didn’t answer when I said goodnight. Well, goodnight, anyway, I thought. May you dream of stepmothers.
The sun was not yet properly over the hills and there was nobody on the road, but still Annie stopped at the traffic light. Looked both ways. Turned right onto the highway. Kept going. Highway was a misnomer. Highways ran flat and straight across America, and were spotted with diners. There were motorbikes, mountains on the horizon. This was just an empty road with scrubby woods on either side. Away to the left, I could see mist shawling along the river below.
Halfway to Ottawa, we stopped to stretch our legs in a gravel car park. Railroad tracks ran between us and the water, and two boys, baseball-capped, burnt-eared and blue-jeaned, were testing their balance. They startled when the van door slammed and ran away down the tracks towards the centre of town. Hans and Marie crossed the road holding hands and came back with a punnet of strawberries and a newspaper.
‘How can you let the world in on a day like this?’ Bas asked. ‘And you should stop buying berries. We’ve got more than enough at the camp.’
‘But they taste like summer,’ Marie said. ‘And I was hungry again. This is the perfect place to live. I can see why you chose it.’
‘Luck of the draw, really,’ Bas said, adjusting his glasses on his nose. ‘A lady at our church said she had land that needed people on it. I needed a new place to be, and Rika, well, she wanted to keep an eye on me, so she came too. Everything else followed after.’