Deer Life

by Ron Sexsmith

  “And Claira?” Deryn continued. “I may not be able to carry you around like I used to, but Big Eyes certainly can, and if your father would permit him to take Lucky’s place in that regard, I’d be forever grateful,” he concluded then bowed his head in anticipation of Mr. Hinterlund’s response.

  But Magnus, who had still not fully grasped where Lucky had gone to, or even how Deryn got there, could only answer, “Well, I guess I don’t see why not!” to the eruption of cheers as Claira squeezed him harder than ever before.

  Grimsby then winked at Deryn (who as usual winked right back). For they both understood without saying a word that there was somebody they needed to see, and right away.

  For Maggie and Tressa had been on the fence, literally, this whole time. They had heard the gunshot and the screams, of course. But it had been some time since they’d heard anything more, and so naturally they were both beyond concerned.

  “I sure hope Claira and her father are okay; Crad, too, of course. He’s become very special to me,” said Maggie, glancing over at Tressa, whose smile, as always, held just the right amount of kindness.

  “I’m sure it was Miss Eleanoir we heard screaming,” Tressa said. “I’ve known Claira her whole life, and that didn’t sound like her at all!”

  Maggie heaved a sigh of relief and said, “You’re probably right,” while noticing Tressa’s elegant profile for the first time. “You know, you’re a very attractive girl,” she remarked. “And such a caring person, too.”

  Tressa didn’t quite know where all this was heading, but Maggie elaborated in short order. “Don’t you have somebody special in your life, dear? Someone you love?” she asked, not meaning to pry.

  Tressa looked down at their four feet dangling and replied, “Yes, I am in love with someone, but it just so happens that someone was married today!”

  Maggie’s mouth opened in surprise before spreading warmly into a smile that ran the entire width of her face.

  “Well, judging by the sound of that scream,” offered Maggie, “I don’t think it’s going to last!” This she said with an ironic wink as they bumped shoulders and giggled like old school chums in a moment of unexpected gallows humour.

  It was in the midst of this camaraderie that Tressa noticed our heroes returning. “Look!” she said and pointed excitedly. “They’re coming!”

  And indeed they were. Maggie strained her eyes toward the oncoming entourage of friends now fast approaching. And although she couldn’t quite make them out yet, there was something victorious in the way they walked, or at least it seemed that way. She could see Claira on top of who she assumed was Lucky and the loping mountain range that could only be Griff and Gruff. “Oh, and there’s Mr. Grimsby!” she sighed with a hand over her heart. “And Mr. Hinterlund, too!” Maggie nudged Tressa with her elbow. “He’s so handsome!”

  “Yes, I know!” Tressa replied, her eyes now brimming with grateful tears.

  “Well, that’s odd,” said Maggie, shading her eyes with both hands. “Now, who’s that little girl there walking beside Claira?”

  “What little girl?” asked Tressa, squinting forward herself. But as their friends drew nearer, the face of the mystery girl became more and more familiar to her.

  “I don’t think that’s a girl,” said Tressa, who then let out a soft shriek before adding, “oh, Mrs. Hedlight.”

  Maggie searched Tressa’s eyes curiously for a moment before returning to the girl in question, until suddenly, as though her heart had recognized him first, she lifted both hands to her face and burst into tears. Without wasting one second more, Maggie hopped down from the fence and ran to her boy, crying all the way. Deryn came running, too, until both met halfway in a tear-filled embrace that was more joyful than anything the old Hinthoven sign had ever witnessed before. Naturally, the faces that would soon gather ’round them were all moist with happy tears that rolled from soft cheeks to the green grass below.

  And as they walked back to Hinterlund Farm to enjoy the feast Tressa had prepared (but mostly each other’s company), Crad walked arm in arm with Maggie and was convinced she could not have looked more beautiful if she tried. “You did this!” he said, gently tapping her wrist. “Because you never gave up on your boy!”

  “Well, I did have my doubtful days,” she admitted. “But you helped me through them, Crad Grimsby, and now you’re stuck with me!” This stolen moment, which they followed up with a tender kiss, was happily noticed by Deryn and Claira.

  “I hope we’re just like them when we’re older.” She smiled.

  “Older? I for one have no intention of growing old,” said Deryn. “You and I will stay young forever, isn’t that right, Big Eyes?”

  “If that’s what your five senses are telling you,” came his predictably droll response, to which Deryn laughed, and much too loudly.

  “I keep forgetting, I’m the only one who can hear him,” he said, before nervously whistling and puffing his cheeks awkwardly.

  “Silly boy!” said Claira as they drifted off in a vast dream of happiness.

  Trailing behind the pack ever so slightly came Magnus and Tressa. During the emotional reunion at the Hinthoven sign, he had caught a glimpse of her eyes and all the tear-filled kindness they held. It was as though he were seeing her for the first time. She’s absolutely lovely, a voice inside of him said. And as they walked together, he told her as much. “Tressa, I’m an idiot.”

  “Sir, you are not,” she said, though to his hand now raised in objection.

  “No, let me finish. You see, I am an idiot, and I’ll tell you why. Because I took you for granted, and that was wrong. But mostly it’s because you were the best thing that ever happened to Claira and myself, but I sent you away.”

  Tressa’s heart was beating so loudly now, she was convinced it would explode right then and there. “Oh, Mr. Hinterlund,” she implored. “I understand, it wasn’t you, it was her.”

  “Yes, it was her,” he admitted. “But even so, I never should have fallen for it. I put my whole world in jeopardy, and that was inexcus­able! Oh, and please call me Mags,” he added with his trademark grin now fully on display.

  “But how could you have known?” Tressa began to say when he raised a hand once more to continue.

  “The biggest reason, though, that I’m an idiot,” he said, “is because … I never noticed how incredibly beautiful you are.”

  Tressa’s eyes overflowed as she looked to the ground and began to tremble.

  “And if you let me,” he went on while firmly holding on to her shoulders, “I promise to tell you just how beautiful you are with every passing day for as long as we live, and longer if possible.” And with that, a kiss took place that was witnessed by all, adding greatly to the abundance of smiles and happy tears, while brightening up all their lives in the process.

  For love had truly lifted the world from its place of loss and loneliness, only to replace it with friendship and fulfillment of which was there was seemingly no end. And what with this being a fairy tale and all, as you might have guessed, they all lived happily ever.… Well, you know.

  In the weeks and months following Eleanoir’s death, Hinthoven basked in the glow of many changes. At Hinterlund Farm, for example, a double wedding took place as Magnus married Tressa and Crad married Maggie. A third knot might’ve also been tied, but then Deryn and Claira were only seventeen, and neither one of them was in any hurry to grow up just yet. Besides, this was Magnus’s only daughter, and he hoped, like all fathers, to someday throw a big reception and pull out all the stops, so to speak. The other major development was that Crad, having signed over The Willow Tree to Charlisle, had now acquired The Fist and Firkin! He gave it a fresh coat of paint, added a few new windows to make it less dreary, and changed the letter T to an H, renaming it The Fish and Firkin! Griff and Gruff were kept on to help with the day-to-day operation, as well as providing security when
necessary. Though with all the new and colourful changes he’ d made, most of the unsavoury customers had stopped coming altogether!

  Soon it became less infamous and more famous for serving the best fish ’n’ chips in town. (If you’re ever in Hinthoven … just saying.)

  The florist, too, had forgiven Crad for running off with his carriage (not to mention all the bouquets that were lost or damaged). It didn’t hurt that Magnus hired him to supply all the roses for the double wedding! And as well, Deryn and Claira both took on jobs at the flower shop after school. For she’ d become quite gifted at floral arrangements, and Deryn and Big Eyes handled all the deliveries. There was just something about having a personal bouquet delivered by a handsome boy riding on a deer that made sales go through the roof! In other news, wanted posters for Jacques Tourtière had been plastered throughout the land for kidnapping and attempted murder. Though no one knew for sure whatever became of him. There were rumours he had choked on a potato and died, while many believed he’ d been eaten by a family of bears. At any rate, nobody was all that sad to see him go, and least sad of all was Crad Grimsby. He even spearheaded a movement to have the Tourtière house condemned as a safety hazard, which was unanimously agreed upon by everyone on city council. People were mostly happy that a sense of normalcy had returned to Hinthoven, in all its boring glory.

  The Hinterlunds and the Hedlights (along with Mr. Grimsby) became as close as any family could ever be and would get together regularly for holidays and even Sunday roasts. Best of all, Big Eyes no longer had to live in fear of hunters or hide in caves. He had a home now with two of the best friends a deer could ever hope for.

  With the death of Eleanoir came many unconfirmed reports of other spells being broken in various townships along the peaceful river. Come to think of it, in a little room just above the Lonely View Tavern, Sallee (now the innkeeper’s widow) was busy cleaning Crad’s old chamber one afternoon when a middle-aged woman chillingly appeared next to the window. As you can imagine, this gave Sallee such a fright that she ran screaming all the way down the stairs. Merthaloy looked over at the willow tree for a moment before realizing where she was. And then, checking herself in the vanity, she could hardly believe her eyes! Her face, though still childlike, was now set in the body of a much older woman. How much time had she lost?

  And where was her big brother? These were the questions foremost on her mind as she descended the staircase as in days of old.

  But Sallee, who was now cowering in the kitchen, could barely even look up as Mertha walked over to the sink where she had once washed the dishes and looked out on all the birds and squirrels. “Sallee? It’s me, Merthaloy,” she said. “Don’t you remember?”

  This only served to make Sallee tremble more as she covered her ears and cried, “You’re not real,” while attempting to shut her eyes tighter than was humanly possible.

  “Sallee, look at me, I’m as real as you are,” Mertha implored and held out her hand. “Here, see for yourself.” And so, after gathering all her nerve, Sallee took hold of Merthaloy’s lily-white hand, looked in her eyes, and knew right away that it was truly her. A little older, perhaps, but every bit as real as on the day she had disappeared. There was so much to talk about, it seemed, but Merthaloy had lost enough time as it was. All she wanted was to find her brother as soon as possible. The only news Sallee had ever received from Crad, though, was that he worked at an inn called The Willow Tree. But that was over twenty years ago, and she’ d heard nothing since.

  So it was that early the next morning, Merthaloy set out for The Willow Tree, where she was relieved to find out that not only was her brother still alive, but that he was married and living in Hinthoven, of all places!

  Always the gentleman, Charlisle even offered to escort her through the woods himself. An offer, though, that was politely declined. For this was a journey she just had to make on her own! As she neared the edge of the forest on the Hinthoven side, she stopped to take a sip from the same pond, incidentally, where Eleanoir had met her demise. It’s so lovely here, she thought as all around the shades of night began to fall. She even took a few swings on a rope that childhood had left behind. It was in mid- swing, in fact, when she looked up at the branches and saw there an unkindness of ravens all nesting in a strange bowler hat. “Where’d you get that from?” she giggled. And as she climbed up the ancient tree, the ravens would soon surrender their nest without a fight and fly off for safer branches.

  So with the hat firmly in her possession and her feet on solid ground, she began to shake out all that the birds had left behind. In doing so, she couldn’t help but notice the strange inscription on the inside. “C.O.W. Hixenbaugh,” Mertha read out loud. “Well I’ll be …” She had thought to purchase a wedding gift for Crad in town, but this seemed almost predestined. “He’s going to love it,” she said, placing it proudly on her head. But then how could he not? It was from their hometown, after all!

  So at this time we say goodbye to Merthaloy, now off in search of her big brother for what will surely be a joyful reunion, with a raven’s nest for a hat and a touch of twilight in her eyes. As to the rhythm of her footsteps on gravel, an old schoolyard song returns to keep her company as the sleepy candlelit town flickers in the distance. Her shadow is practically there!

  Leaves in the whirlwind, scarecrow’s clappin’,

  All good children ought to be nappin’.

  THE END

  The Mariposa Folk Festival

  Michael Hill

  Mariposa began in the heyday of the early 60s “folk boom.” In its more than fifty-five years, it has seen many of the world’s greatest performers grace its stages: Pete Seeger, Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, Gordon Lightfoot, Buffy Sainte-Marie, Jann Arden, and Serena Ryder.

  The festival has long held a musical mirror to popular culture in Canada. It thrived during the folk boom years and the singer-songwriter era of the early 70s. Its popularity dipped during the rise of disco and punk as the 70s wore into the early 80s. And it nearly died due to lack of interest in the 90s — the age of grunge and new country, and the golden age of CD sales. Thanks to a recent wave of independent, home-grown music, Mariposa is having a resurgence in the early twenty-first century. Audiences have always come and gone, but the festival has stayed true to its mandate: to promote and preserve folk art in Canada through song, story, dance, and craft.

  Festival Man

  Geoff Berner

  Travel in the entertaining company of a man made of equal parts bullshit and inspiration, in what is ultimately a twisted panegyric to the power of strange music to change people from the inside out.

  At turns funny and strangely sobering, this “found memoir” is a picaresque tale of inspired, heroic deceit, incompetence, and – just possibly – triumph. Follow the flailing escapades of maverick music manager Campbell Ouiniette at the Calgary Folk Festival, as he leaves a trail of empty liquor bottles, cigarette butts, bruised egos, and obliterated relationships behind him. His top headlining act has abandoned him for the Big Time. In a fit of self-delusion or pure genius (or perhaps a bit of both), Ouiniette devises an intricate scam, a last hurrah in an attempt to redeem himself in the eyes of his girlfriend, the music industry, and the rest of the world. He reveals his path of destruction in his own transparently self-justifying, explosive, profane words, with digressions into the Edmonton hardcore punk rock scene, the Yugoslavian Civil War, and other epicentres of chaos.

  After the Bloom

  Leslie Shimotakahara

  Lily Takemitsu goes missing from her home in Toronto one luminous summer morning in the mid-1980s. Her daughter, Rita, knows her mother has a history of dissociation and memory problems, which have led her to wander off before. But never has she stayed away so long. Unconvinced the police are taking the case seriously, Rita begins to carry out her own investigation. In the course of searching for her mom, she is forced to confront a labyrinth of secrets
surrounding the family’s internment at a camp in the California desert during the Second World War, their postwar immigration to Toronto, and the father she has never known.

  Epic in scope, intimate in style, After the Bloom blurs between the present and the ever-present past, beautifully depicting one family’s struggle to face the darker side of its history and find some form of redemption.

  Copyright © Ron Sexsmith, 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purpose of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

  Cover image: istock.com/modera76

  Interior illustrations: Ron Sexsmith

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Sexsmith, Ron, 1964-, author

  Deer life / Ron Sexsmith.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4597-3877-5 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-4597-3878-2 (PDF).--

  ISBN 978-1-4597-3879-9 (EPUB)

  I. Title.

  PS8637.E938D44 2017 C813'.6 C2016-907755-1

  C2016-907756-X

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country, and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Ontario Media Development Corporation, and the Government of Canada.