North Country Mom

by Lois Richer

  “Oh.” His blue eyes searched hers with an intensity she couldn’t stand.

  Alicia rushed to remove the other boxes from the mesh bag. Then she walked toward him, holding it out. “Thanks for lending me this.”

  “You’re welcome.” He took the bag from her. “I know it’s none of my business and this probably isn’t the time, but I’ve been wondering how you first came to Churchill.”

  “I came here looking for someone,” she said after a moment of quick thought. She could hardly tell him she’d been following a lead Nancy’s private investigator had found regarding her child. It didn’t matter anyway. “I didn’t find them.”

  “But you stayed anyway?” he said, one eyebrow raised.

  “After some persuasion.” She needed to frame her words carefully so she didn’t give too much away. “Do you know Lucy Clow?”

  “Small woman, white-haired? She and her husband were missionaries to the Inuit?” he muttered, his forehead pleated. “I think she helps Laurel’s cook at Lives sometimes.”

  “Lucy helps everyone, whether they want it or not,” Alicia said with a grin. “Anyway, an older couple owned this store, but they wanted to take a trip to see their son in Australia. Lucy was their bookkeeper. She suggested I help here until they returned. She showed me how things worked and got them to fix up the rooms above for me to live in.”

  Her home. Alicia still savored the small sanctuary she’d found. But she could hardly tell him that.

  “So they didn’t come back?” Jack drawled.

  “Oh, yes. But just long enough to pack. They moved to be near their son. The community didn’t want the store to close because it was such a good tourist stop. Since the owners wanted to leave, they and the community worked out a no-interest loan for me to buy the store.” She fiddled with an arrangement on a side table. “A couple of friends staked me and Lucy helped me fill out government grant forms. And here I am.” She held out her arms. “This is my third year running Tansi.”

  “Good for you.” Jack kept staring at her for a long time. Alicia shifted under that intense stare, relieved when he checked his watch. “Giselle will kill me. I told her I’d be back with the truck to pick up our stuff. That was ages ago. See you.”

  Alicia nodded and held a smile in place until the door closed behind him. Then she let out a sigh and pushed away all tantalizing thoughts of the handsome policeman as she continued unpacking her treasures in between clients.

  When her last customer had left, she went into the back room and started the coffeemaker. She glanced at the wall clock and sent a quiet prayer heavenward for Nancy and Harold Runningbear. They’d taught her to tell time and do basic addition and subtraction. Without them…she wouldn’t think about that. But even Nancy hadn’t been able to teach her to read or write beyond the most basic level. Alicia was sure it was because there was something wrong with her.

  If only…

  Alicia shook off the nagging thoughts. More than anyone, she knew how pointless it was to wish the past had never happened.

  Focusing her mind on her work, she noticed it was almost three o’clock. Eli, a boy from Lives Under Construction who helped out at Tansi after school, would arrive in about twenty minutes. Alicia needed to decide what she wanted on the tags for her new items so he could write them up, which meant she’d have to think of another excuse for not doing it herself. Being illiterate was bad enough, but keeping it a secret was even harder. And she had to keep it under wraps, or else she’d risk becoming the town’s laughingstock or activate worry that she might not be able to repay the community loan.

  She regretted now that she’d let someone else do her homework in school, that she’d allowed herself to believe that quitting school to live on the streets was an option. When Nancy and Harold had taken her in, they’d helped her see she could start over, make something of her life. But Mr. Parcet’s attack had made returning to the special literacy classes impossible. She hadn’t been able to go back there, couldn’t be anywhere near him or any other man without panicking. Then she’d learned she was pregnant.

  How ironic that she still thought of him as Mr., a respect unworthy of him. But to think of him otherwise was to admit he had a personal part in her life. Alicia couldn’t allow that. Nor could she again relive those terror-filled moments.

  She wasn’t that dumb fifteen-year-old girl anymore. Look how far she’d come in ten years. She had her own business to run. She had a life. She was stronger and more determined than ever. She could figure out a way to protect her child, too. Somehow.

  Alicia picked up the picture Lucy Clow had left on her desk. Sweet Lucy did the books for Alicia’s business but she also ran the store whenever Alicia was away. Though Lucy and her husband, Hector, were retired missionaries to the Inuit, they were by no means retired. Lucy acted as part-time church secretary, frequently helped out at Lives Under Construction and stepped in anywhere else in Churchill where she saw a need.

  In Alicia, Lucy obviously saw a need. Though Alicia had never confessed, Lucy seemed to know that Alicia couldn’t read much and she made allowances. One of those allowances was the pictures she left for Alicia, to apprise her of something. This one seemed to be saying that Jim Deerfoot had more antler carvings to sell. That was good because Alicia’s stock was low.

  Lucy’s presence at Tansi yesterday meant that everything in the store had been thoroughly dusted, the sales records updated and the storeroom organized in extreme detail. Tomorrow Lucy would stop by and explain the accounts, what had sold, what was in the bank. It was her assistance that kept Tansi in the black. Lucy was like a revered grandmother in Alicia’s heart. Alicia adored the sprightly woman whose faith in God held strong and firm in the face of hardship.

  Lucy had even made the upstairs apartment glow. The woman loved to clean and organize. She’d done such a good job while Alicia was away that all she needed was a few groceries. She’d just finished making a mental list when Eli sauntered in.

  “Hey,” she greeted. “How are you?”

  “Awesome.” Eli’s attention immediately honed in on the items she’d brought with her. “These rock,” he said, bending to inspect each one. “Like totally sick.”

  “Sick?” Alarmed, Alicia stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Sick, as in great, Alicia,” he said in a droll tone.

  “Oh. Well, I’m glad you like them.” Once he’d stored his backpack, she explained what she wanted him to create for the tags on each item. “Make them special, okay? You’re a genius when it comes to writing these tags,” she praised, “so I know you’ll do a totally sick job.” She giggled when he rolled his eyes. “I have to get groceries. My fridge is empty.”

  “Go ahead. Let this genius get to work.” Eli flexed his fingers, pulled out his label supplies, then stopped. “Did you know there’s a new girl staying at the hotel? She looks like a cover model.”

  “I met her on the train. Her name is Giselle Campbell. She moved here with her father, Jack, who bought the Northern Lights Lodge,” Alicia explained. “Laurel is her aunt.”

  “Think she’ll join our youth choir?” Eli asked in an awestruck voice. “We could use some more girls, especially ones who look like her.”

  “You could always ask her.” She picked up her purse.

  “Alicia?”

  “Yes?” She studied the boy, noting the change of tone in his voice.

  “When’s your next haircutting day? I think it’s time for me to spruce up,” Eli said.

  “Soon.” She hid her smile as she slid the strap of her bag over one shoulder. Clearly Eli wanted to make an impression on the newcomer. She turned around to leave but had to stop suddenly because Jack stood in front of her. “Oh, hello. Again.”

  “Hi.” His gaze moved from her to Eli and back. “You do haircutting?”

  “Only for the boys at Lives, and only if they want me to,” she said, slightly embarrassed by his intense scrutiny. “A friend of mine in Vancouver taught me the basics. She’s
a hairdresser and runs a homeless shelter. She gives haircuts to anyone who wants one. I don’t have my license, but since a hairdresser only comes to Churchill every three or four months, I help out if someone asks. Laurel asked.”

  “I see.” Were those piercing blue eyes more intense?

  “Can I help you?” she asked when the silence stretched out too long.

  “You’re busy.” Jack was acting very odd, as if he had something on his mind but was afraid to say it.

  “Just going for groceries,” Alicia explained. “Oh, this is Eli Long. He works for me. Eli, this is Mr. Campbell, from the lodge. Laurel’s brother and Giselle’s father,” she added.

  “Hi.” Eli waved to Jack, then, as if he too sensed Jack’s tension, got to work.

  “Do you need something?” Alicia asked again.

  “Maybe,” Jack muttered. He shuffled his amazing shoes then looked at her. “Yes, please,” he said in a firm voice. “I need your help.”

  “Sure.” Alicia nodded. “With what?”

  “With whom,” he corrected. His gaze slid to Eli. “Giselle. I, er, did something—”

  “Why don’t we walk while you tell me?” she said, realizing that he didn’t want to speak in front of Eli. She stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind them. As Jack walked beside her down the street, her pulse began to thrum at his closeness. “Well?”

  “How about I treat you to coffee?”

  “If you add a doughnut, I’ll agree,” she teased.

  But Jack didn’t smile. He simply nodded and began walking toward Common Grounds, a coffee shop down the street from Alicia’s store. Sensing he needed a few moments to collect his thoughts, she caught up, saying nothing until they were seated with their coffee and doughnuts in front of them.

  Jack’s silence unsettled her. She needed to get him talking. A quick glance at the clock told her she’d need to hurry him a bit. Today was early closing at the Northern Store because of inventory taking. Grocery shopping and a decent dinner might have to wait till tomorrow.

  Finally, without looking up at her, Jack spoke.

  “Giselle’s run away.”

  Chapter Four

  Jack felt like a fool.

  He’d been a father for eleven years, yet the small, dark-haired beauty who had called him dad until recently still had the ability to tie him in knots. He saw Alicia struggling not to smile and glared at her.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “It kind of is,” she said. “This is Churchill, Jack. There’s no place to run. Unless she got on the train before it left?” Her smile faded as she studied him with concern.

  “No, the train left before our big blowup,” he told her.

  “Then she’s around town somewhere.”

  “She’s on her way to Laurel’s, and she says she’s not coming back.” He raked a hand through his hair, feeling helpless and a bit foolish. “I can’t have her living out there, Alicia. There are six boys there. I don’t care how sweet my sister says they are. My daughter is not staying at Lives with them. Anyway, even if I’d allow it, there’s no room.” He groaned. “This is a nightmare.”

  “Hardly.” Alicia leaned back in her chair and studied him. “What was the argument about?”

  “Her room.” He couldn’t look at her, wouldn’t let her see how much Giselle’s rejection of his surprise hurt.

  “Her bedroom?” Alicia’s dark eyebrows lifted. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “According to her, everything.” Jack shrugged helplessly. “I had it professionally decorated as a surprise. I wanted to make it feel like home.” He gave in to defeat. “Giselle hates it. She says I’m treating her like an infant, acts like I deliberately tried to offend her. I was trying to show how much I love her, how much I want her to be happy here.”

  Alicia studied him with that dark impenetrable stare for so long that frustration nipped at him. He should never have listened to Laurel’s suggestion that he ask for Alicia’s help. He accepted that his sister couldn’t rush to his rescue. Besides, he wanted her there to meet Giselle when she arrived. But he suspected this was the first of Laurel’s attempts at matchmaking.

  “Never mind,” he said, pushing his chair back and rising. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’ll figure out something.” Like what? his brain demanded. You can’t even figure out what the issue is with Giselle. Ignoring the inner voice, he turned to leave.

  “I think you have the right idea.” Alicia rose, asked the server for two take-out cups and a paper bag for their doughnuts.

  “What are you doing?” Females. Jack had never felt more at a loss.

  “Going with you to the scene of the crime. Maybe if I see the room, I can understand Giselle’s anger. At the moment I’m at a total loss.” Alicia held the cups and the bag. “Shall we?” she asked.

  “I guess.” Jack took the cups from her and followed her out of the café.

  When they reached his hotel he led her inside, wondering why he held his breath as she studied the lobby where workmen were putting together the finishing touches. Was her approval so important?

  “It’s lovely, Jack. Rustic but not overdone. Very comfortable. Homey. Your guests will enjoy this.” She smiled at him as she slid her fingertips over the rough stone of the fireplace.

  “I used the same interior designer for Giselle’s room,” he complained.

  “Maybe girls’ bedrooms aren’t her forte,” Alicia murmured. “But hotel lobbies certainly are. Which way?”

  “Follow me.” Jack led the way to their private quarters, set their take-out cups down on a hall table, then opened the door to Giselle’s room. When Alicia didn’t immediately comment, he turned to study her.

  His heart sank as Alicia’s mouth formed a perfect O.

  “What?” Jack shifted uncomfortably. All he could see was sweetness and love for his baby girl. What was so terrible about that?

  “Oh, dear.” Alicia set down the bag with the doughnuts, grabbed one of the cups and sank into a puffy pink chair inside the bedroom door. After another moment of looking around she took a long drink and sighed. “Oh, my.”

  “Will you stop saying that and tell me what I did wrong?” Jack bellowed. “Sorry,” he said when he realized the harshness of his tone. “I didn’t mean to bark at you, but what’s wrong with this?”

  “Where to start?” Alicia leaned back in the chair. “It’s so…pink.”

  “Giselle’s a girl,” he said in his own defense. “And she likes pink.”

  “So do I. At least I used to.” Alicia took another drink.

  “Say what you need to,” he growled, knowing he wouldn’t like it.

  “It’s—it’s like a pink fuzzy nest, for a baby chick or a bunny,” she sputtered, then leaned back, as if she was afraid he’d explode.

  And Jack felt like it. All the time he’d wasted, all the work, all the money—none of which mattered a whit if his daughter hated being here.

  He’d failed her. The lump in his throat grew.

  “These stuffed toys.” Alicia flicked a finger over the bunnies and elephants and giraffes.

  “Giselle likes stuffed toys,” he defended.

  “Yes, but the floor, the bedspread, the lamp, the ceiling light—” She cleared her throat. “It’s a room for a very young girl, Jack,” she said quietly. “I doubt it’s the kind of room a girl Giselle’s age dreams of and I’m guessing that’s what you want.”

  “It’s a lot like her room was in Vancouver.” Jack hated being on the defensive. He’d done this because of Giselle’s complaints about having to relocate to a new, unfamiliar room in Churchill. How had he got it so wrong? “You mean she wants something more grown-up?”

  “In my humble opinion, yes.” Alicia looked relieved that he understood. “Did you tell your designer Giselle’s age?”

  “I can’t remember.” He frowned, trying to recall. “There were so many details with the hotel, so many things I never even thought of. I’m clueless about hotel management, but Laurel c
onvinced me I could run this place with Teddy’s instruction.” He closed his eyes, pushed away the irritation and frustration and thought about it. “I think I said I wanted a special room for my little girl.” He glanced around. “I guess that’s what I got.”

  “You did. But Giselle isn’t a little girl anymore.” Alicia’s gentle voice soothed his hurt feelings. “Part of the process of losing her mom has pushed Giselle to grow up. She’s trying to figure out how to become an adult.”

  “And this room can’t help her do that?” Deflated, he scanned the fripperies he’d been so sure Giselle would love.

  “Let’s just say it’s not an almost-teen room.” He could hear how carefully she chose her words and appreciated her gentleness.

  “Okay.” Jack let go of his disappointment. “How do I get it that way? Because my daughter is not going to live at Lives Under Construction.”

  “You want my help?” Alicia’s brown eyes widened. Jack nodded, his brain noting in passing how pretty she was. She glanced around, then swiveled her gaze back to him. “This might hurt.”

  Did she think he was a wimp?

  “I’m tough,” he said, straightening his spine. “Go for it.”

  Jack kept his face stoic when she asked him to fetch two garbage bags. He remained resolute when she loaded all but two of the soft velvet toys and stuffed animals into the bags. He didn’t even wince when Alicia carefully removed the frilly lace-edged lamps or asked his help to get down the flouncy curtains that blocked the view of Hudson Bay. But when she lifted the ruffled pink spread from the bed, he choked.

  “That cost a fortune,” he muttered.

  Alicia simply raised one eyebrow.

  “Go ahead,” he groaned, holding the bag while she stuffed it inside. The room looked bare and unwelcoming. “Now what?” he demanded.

  “Can I look around your lodge?” Alicia caught her long glossy hair in her hand and twisted it into some kind of knot on her head. She pinned it in place, then said thoughtfully, “There may be some things that we could use to help this room. Otherwise, you’ll have to order stuff in and that could take days.”