Worlds Between

by Nordgren, Carl;

  “I thought when we bought the Goose you said it was instead of an Otter.”

  “Ahhh, you must admit our guests love that extra comfort the Goose offers.”

  “But they won’t pay extra for it, an’ it costs more to operate.”

  “We’re quite profitable when we carry four or more passengers.”

  “Which happens how often? Hey Dutch, how often would you say Tony flies the Goose in with four or more passengers?”

  “Close to half the time, eh?”

  “I’ve checked. It’s barely a third of the time. The rest of the time, the Goose flies at our cost, at our loss.”

  Brian had expected her enthusiasm and was confused with her steadily growing dismissal.

  “What’s wrong here? From the beginnin’ you’ve been pushin’ for more growth. An’ we grow every year, some years faster than others, but it’s the safest bet I know that we’ll grow again next year an’ the one after, amen.”

  “Lately I find I’ve been tryin’ on a new business perspective, seein’ the world through a different set of priorities, yeah. Maybe instead a investin’ all our profits back into expandin’ the businesses, maybe it’s time we start runnin’ them for maximum profits and start savin’ some, start puttin’ somethin’ aside, for tomorrow, for contingencies.”

  “For Gracie girl.”

  “That’s right, an’ for you an’ for me.”

  “We’ll start at savin’ soon enough. We need two more cabins for a neat dozen, an’ if one of them is that big cabin you designed last winter that’ll give us a capacity of 60 guests an’ if I say there’s been plenty of times we could have been filled at that level if we had the space you’ll say…”

  “Plenty of times? For a few days is more like it.”

  Brian shook his head. “Well, I’ve been promisin’ the Bachelor boyos from Grassy Narrows we’d build another guide bunkhouse so we gotta do that. An’ we need a larger electric generator. An’ this Otter…Come on, the fun is in the growin’ of it; you’ve said so time an’ again.”

  “The profit is in gettin’ the most from what we’ve built.” Brian didn’t like to show his disappointment in her in front of Simon, but Maureen could see it and decided it was time.

  “What if I didn’t go on your trip to Chicago?”

  “My trip?”

  “Then there is just your plane ticket to pay for, so. Then we can take our time considerin’ the purchase of another plane, yeah, an’ wait an’ see what next year looks like.”

  “An’ why wouldn’t you come? These shows, we’ve always done ‘em together.”

  “Always? This will be our third year.”

  “But why would you miss a return to our blues club?”

  “Because the same time the shows are takin’ place, well, it happens to be the best time for me to visit Mum.”

  “She’s fine?”

  “Besides her cottage is just outside Derry an’ so she lives with British oppression every day? Sorry, yes, she’s all right.”

  “Yes, sure, you need to go an’ check on her, an’ then finally convince her to come live with us.”

  “She’s a stubborn woman who believes hell ain’t fire but two feet of snow.”

  “Go over an’ try, but come with me, too. You can do both. We can do both.”

  “The show in Chicago is Mum’s birthday, an’ the next day is my niece’s first Holy Communion. It’s been seven years since I’ve seen Mum on her birthday an’ the Lord knows how many family communions I’ve missed.”

  Brian was quiet, thinking, no longer trying to hide his disappointment.

  “What would we do with Gracie?”

  “I’ve thought about that. She’d come with me and I would leave her with her Uncle Eamon when I visit Mum.”

  “Sure they’d love to see her. This feels like one of those times you’ve decided already?”

  “I’m not ignorin’ your concerns, but yes, I’ve decided already.”

  Mary was in the kitchen, peeling potatoes. Grace O’Malley and Little Stevie were under the table, playing with their bits and pieces. Grace picked up a piece of driftwood and lay back on the pillow that sat on a small blanket. She held the piece of wood in front of her eyes, and turned it, watching one surface flow into another. Little Stevie climbed the carved lynx he was playing with over stones and pine cones, and it leapt over Grace’s shoe, then he brought the lynx with him as he laid his head on the pillow next to hers, shoulder to shoulder. He reached over to kiss Grace’s driftwood with his lynx and she kissed the lynx with her driftwood.

  After a couple of minutes passed Mary checked to see why the children were so quiet. She found them both asleep, each curled in a ball, facing one another, the driftwood in Little Stevie’s hand, the lynx hiding in a tangle of Grace’s hair.

  Simon’s new practice was to separate himself from Brian and Maureen when they walked the streets of Kenora on business, usually five yards ahead. When he told his reasons to Maureen she was proud of him. “I want to see if I can stand alone in the white man’s world.”

  He led them up the slope of land above the NOA office at the float plane docks on Lake of the Woods onto the sidewalk leading to downtown. They approached a corner where a drunken Ojibway sat alone. Simon walked past whispering a prayer that the spirits that haunted the man would allow him some rest.

  Brian slowed a step and asked his wife, “Do we know this fella?”

  “When they are so into the drink, nothin’ about them is recognizable. They’re very much like the Celts that way, yeah.”

  Brian took out his wallet for the dollar he would hand in response to the drunken appeal. He handed it to the man as they continued on their way.

  But Brian was recognized.

  “Big Brian g’me a dolla’.”

  Brian stopped to look again at who this was but couldn’t identify him. Many Grassy Narrows and White Dog Reserve Ojibway tried guiding and didn’t like it and didn’t stay long enough for Brian to learn who they were.

  “Big Bri’ a great friend of Ojibway. Everyone knows this is so. That is why Big Bri’ give me a dollar. But what can I do wit’a a fuckin’ dolla, eh?”

  Maureen took Brian’s arm when she saw he bristled at the disregard.

  “The situation has one successful resolution. You keep walkin’.”

  “Why did he say that?”

  “Don’t judge or you’ll be judged.”

  With the next corner turned, they were downtown, headed to their attorney’s office. Off the lobby of the office building there was a travel agent, and Maureen stopped at the door that Simon had just entered.

  “You two go on up. I’m going to see about flights, then I’ll join you.”

  The Great Lodge at Innish Cove had just closed for the winter; it was boarded up and put away. Joe Loon’s clan would stay in their village for a few more weeks and Albert would check on Innish Cove one more time before the clan packed up to travel to Grassy Narrows as their winter camp. Brian had a practice of flying in with Dutch for one last check in the final days the River was ice free; Maureen teased him that he needed to give Innish Cove one last goodnight kiss for the long winter nap.

  Brian was at the dock with the stack of family luggage, waiting for Dutch to fly in to take them to town. Maureen and Grace O’Malley were in the Chapel, sitting side by side in front of the statue.

  “He’s my age.”

  Maureen was lost in a searching prayer; Grace touched her arm.

  “Is he my age?”

  She heard her daughter this time.

  “Who?”

  Grace pointed to the boy climbing his father’s shoulder. “Jesus.”

  Maureen looked up. The boy could be five, but Maureen had imagined him younger. Since Grace was small for her age they looked the same age.

  “I guess so.”

  “I don’t like our house in Kenora, Mum.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to live in Kenora.”

  “I’ve
never heard you say that before. Why don’t you want to live there?”

  “Because Little Stevie and all my friends are here.”

  “We wouldn’t see them durin’ the winter if we stayed. They go live at Grassy Narrows now.”

  “Then I want to go live there, too.”

  Maureen smiled and wished Brian was there to hear this for himself.

  “We can’t do that sweetheart. Only Ojibway live at Grassy Narrows.”

  “We should ask them. I think they want us to live there with them.”

  “We need to live in town, Gracie. But I tell you what. Maybe it’s time for you to go to school. You’d make lots of friends in school.”

  The suggestion brought fear to her daughter’s eyes.

  “Little Stevie says the schools are scary. They hit the children at school, with sticks and with belts and they make them bleed.”

  “Oh no, Gracie girl, he’s talkin’ about a very different sort of school that they only send the Indian children to. At your school the teachers would be very nice. I promise you. They would never hurt any of their students.”

  “Little Stevie is afraid someday he will get caught by the bad men who want to send him to school.”

  “I will go with you an’ show you the school I am talkin’ about, yeah, an’ if you don’t want to go I won’t make you.”

  “Okay.”

  Grace sat quietly, but she was determined to convince her mother to let her live with her Ojibway friends.

  “Are you sure only Ojibway live at Grassy Narrows?”

  “Yes, I am. But maybe this winter your father an’ I can take you to visit Little Stevie there.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  Maureen thought for a moment about how this place, here in front of the statute, had become her home, the place she felt most at rest. Then she returned to her prayer, searching for guidance in her response to Kevin’s call, for forgiveness for deceiving her husband about the nature of her trip, and asking the Lord God Almighty what her role must be to get justice for her father.

  “An’ may God bless the Innocents.”

  Chapter 5

  Winter Wonder

  It was Christmas Eve in the early dawn and the world was covered in snow, blanketed with snow, shrouded and capped by snow. Brian, Maureen, and Grace O’Malley drove their ’55 Ford Country Squire station wagon through the deserted streets of Kenora; the streetlights were still on. Brian was at the wheel, controlling the car’s slide as he turned a corner to head north on Highway 678, a two lane highway, plowed and cleared. So much snow had already fallen that winter that in many places the plows created snow walls on both sides of the highway nearly twice as high as the roof of the car.

  Maureen sat next to Brian, and Grace O’Malley stood on the back seat, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the back of the front seat between her parents; she was dressed for an adventure in the snow and calling out with laughter whenever the car slid on a slippery bit of pavement. She sang absent-mindedly. Often the lyrics were nothing more than “Little Stevie, Little Stevie” sung to her own tune.

  “Little Stevie sure will be happy to see me.”

  “He will indeed.”

  Dutch was waiting for Brian and his family further north on the highway where a logging road provided access to the River. Dutch had been working for days to arrange the transportation for an adventurous trip over the River and through the woods and the deep snow to Grassy Narrows Reserve.

  The tailgate of the station wagon was filled with Christmas presents the Burkes were bringing to their friends on the Reserve. Many of the gifts were for Joe Loon’s clan. As the fishing camp grew Brian hired more and more guides from the men whose families had years before moved fulltime to the Reserve—when they guided the men lived in the Bachelor’s Bunkhouse Brian built for them at Innish Cove—and he had presents for the regular Bachelor’s as well.

  They drove north for most of an hour, rounded a turn, and up ahead they saw the curved lines of the dark blue Bombardier half-track against the snow and pines. The enclosed twelve-passenger snow machine—skis in the front, Caterpillar tracks wrapped around a series of five wheels—was heated and stocked with food and warm drinks, blankets, and plenty of extra fuel stored safely. They exchanged Christmas greetings, caught up with news as they loaded the gifts from the station wagon, and then Dutch showed Brian and Maureen how to operate the snow machine’s controls in its solo cockpit.

  They said thanks and goodbye and Merry Christmas to Dutch, agreed to meet there at noon the day after Christmas, and Dutch left in the station wagon as Brian took off through the forest down the logging road that led to a feeder branch of the River. He traveled an easy pace at first, slowly increasing his speed as Maureen’s teasing urged and as he grew more confident steering the skis in the deep snow.

  Grace O’Malley stood on the seat next to her mother and looked out the round window as the Bombardier knocked the snow-covered fir branches that tossed their snow into the sunlight and then danced for her in their brilliant silver shower. Her sing-song tune changed and she began to sing, in Irish Gaelic, Silent Night. After the third line she faltered, so Maureen, and then Brian joined her, and their voices carried her along.

  “Oíche Chiúin, oíche Mhic Dé, Cách ‘na suan, dís araon, Dís is dílse ‘faire le spéire,

  Naíon beag gnaoigheal ceannanntais caomh…”

  They sang as they sped through the forest but stopped when Brian slowed down as he approached the River. He looked out over the snow-covered, ice-covered River.

  “It’s frozen a month?”

  Maureen leaned forward to look out over Brian’s shoulder.

  “It’s thick enough. Let’s go.”

  “Shouldn’t I check it?”

  “The Mounties been takin’ their Bombardiers on the River for over two weeks, yeah.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Dutch called them for me an’ asked.”

  Brian opened his door as he eased the Bombardier down the bank onto the frozen River. He turned off the engine and listened. He got out and brushed back the snow to see the ice, to judge its thickness, and it was solid, neither sign nor sound of cracking. Except the wind and his own sounds all was quiet, until Grace O’Malley said, “Da, Little Stevie is wondering where I am,” and Maureen laughed. Brian got back in, started the engine, engaged the track, and headed off down the River.

  This branch of the River wound its way through the vast spruce forests before it joined up with other branches to form a main channel that would lead through ridges before it opened into a wide lake. On the far side of that lake sat Grassy Narrows Reserve, where a full River channel formed again. The directions were clear and the distances were great, so Brian sped down the River at full throttle.

  At first they found places where sections of the forest had been logged recently by pulp companies and others where the logging was years before and the forest was restoring itself.

  When they arrived at the main River channel, much of the ice was wind swept of snow. When they left the main channel they plowed back into the deeper snow caught between the ridges, and once they faltered in a deep drift but Brian found the best-geared power to plow through.

  The ridges gave way, the channel got broader, and they came out upon the lake. Here, too, the wind had control, and they saw that most of the lake’s blue grey ice ahead of them had been swept clear of snow by the steady wind and strong gusts. Brian was practiced on ice by now, and they flew across the lake on the smooth clean sheet. Grace studied it from the window and then declared, “Da. I want to play on the ice.”

  “I do, too, Bri. Look at how beautiful it is. We’re on an adventure, remember?”

  “Let’s just get a bit closer to the far shore an’ block some of that wind.”

  They traveled on but soon Maureen told Brian to stop. She made sure her daughter was bundled well, and they stepped out onto the ice. Grace O’Malley ran and slid, an
d ran and slid, and fell, and when she fell she found she could slide better on her knees than her rubber-soled boots and she did, running and running and then dropping to her knees to slide and make her parents laugh as she did it over and over again.

  On her hands and knees she invested a deep attention studying the patterns of bubbles and small cracks captured in the thick sheet of ice. Brian had turned off the Bombardier’s engine so they could enjoy the full silence of the deep north wood’s winter.

  Her parents laughed some more when Grace hopped up again, and ran and slid and fell and slid. While she was on her knees, Maureen bent down to take her shoulders and pushed her along like a sled, and Grace O’Malley called, “Faster Momma, faster.” Maureen took two quick steps then let go with a last forceful and measured push so Grace slid and slid and slid, slowly turning as she did, and then she stopped, facing the far shore fifty yards away. Their laughter filled the space around them.

  They became suddenly silent.

  First the deer, a mature doe, stumbled from the trees, trying to run, but struggling in the deep snow from her obvious exhaustion, trying to leap but never fully clearing the drifts, fighting her way towards the shore and finally busting out of the snow and jumping out onto the ice. Brian started to laugh when the deer hit the ice, for her legs flew out from under her and she fell, her legs splayed. But Maureen and Grace O’Malley sucked their breath, for they had sensed something else was coming. As the deer struggled to get to her feet Brian sensed it, too, just before they saw what had panicked the doe.

  Two wolves stepped out together, one grey and white, the other midnight black, and they stood side by side on a small bit of high ground over the shore, their heads held low, tongues hanging, panting, looking down at the struggling deer, seemingly ignoring the family. Maureen took a moment to notice the wolves’ patience, as if they knew the mission was now accomplished, before she ran to Grace O’Malley, slipped and fell into her, and scrambled to get up. As she grabbed her daughter two more wolves ran out onto the ice from under the branches of the pines closest to shore, and they attacked the deer together while the doe was still down, one wolf taking a hind leg, the black one biting at the deer’s neck until it found a firm grip. Maureen thought Grace must have seen the rush of the initial attack but only heard the snarling and the bleating of the killing as she turned with her, slipping and nearly falling again.