That first weekend together in Kitsum, neither of them had any desire to leave the small apartment. It was late February; the skies were completely grey; rain poured down endlessly. The apartment was a warm cave in a storm. It was a cocoon. She did not think beyond its walls. She managed to emerge from its embrace only long enough to phone Ruby and tell her that she was exhausted from the week and that she was going to spend the entire weekend sleeping. Ruby did not sound like she completely believed her, but she did not question her further. It was enough of an excuse to keep her sister and nieces and nephews from coming to look for her. At the time, that was all Monica wanted.
On Monday morning, first Becky, then Millie, asked her where she had been all weekend. She even caught Tom watching her suspiciously as he hung up his wet jacket. Their mother had expected her for supper on Sunday; the girls were clear about that. Monica got the message. She may have been tired on Saturday, but surely by Sunday afternoon, she should have been rested enough to see her family. After school, Monica went to Ruby’s. She had to at least tell her sister. It would not do to have Ruby hear about Monica and Michael from someone else. She and Michael had already driven in from Campbell River together. Who had seen that? Who had seen Michael coming and going from her place? This would have all been just gossip to Monica except, of course, for her niece Brenda. The slightest thought of Brenda and her reaction caused Monica’s stomach to clench tight. She was not ready for that; she would do her best to hold that one off for as long as possible, but she had to let Ruby know what was going on.
At her sister’s house, Monica practically pushed Ruby into her bedroom. Monica was not prepared to stay at the house all evening to wait for a chance to speak to her sister alone. Using the bedroom for a private talk was the only quick option. Brenda and the kids were in the living room watching television. Ruby was obviously annoyed at being interrupted from cooking dinner, but at least she did not complain out loud. She just looked quizzically at her “baby” sister.
Monica had been in Ruby and Martin’s bedroom only a few times over the years. She realized that she had not done more than knock on the door or drop off laundry there since she was a teenager. It was not that the room was formally off limits or anything; it was more that everyone treated it as a sort of private space. Monica suddenly felt shy. She kept her eyes on the tiled floor.
“Sorry,” Monica started. She knew that she was going to be apologizing for this for a very long while. “I know this isn’t a good time, but I’m sorry I didn’t come over on the weekend.”
“Were you sick?”
“No,” she reassured Ruby. “I’m fine. I’m great. School’s good. The place is good. Everything’s good.” Monica had the feeling that she had to get her words out rapidly or she would not be able to utter them altogether. Still, she hesitated. “The heat in that apartment is set too high. It gets really stuffy if you don’t open the window a little.”
Ruby stared at her. They both knew that Monica had not dragged her into the bedroom so that she could tell her about the heat at Kitsum Elementary School.
“I have to tell you, Ruby. I have to. It’s not something I ever thought would happen. I never would have planned or imagined this happening. It’s too strange.”
Ruby waited wordlessly for her to continue. Monica looked away from her sister and back at the floor. Even with the regular scrubbing and mopping that she knew the floor got, the tiles had yellowed over the years.
“You know I went to see Michael Clydesdale…to speak with him about Brenda.” She waited for Ruby to make a noise in response. “Well, I ran into him again right after New Year’s when I went to Campbell River. We had lunch and talked, mostly about Bren. Then, when I went to Campbell last time to get stuff for the new place, well, there he was again. Anyways, Rube, it’s not like I expected to be attracted to him or anything. Farthest thing from my mind. Hell, Ruby, I didn’t expect to like the guy. I really didn’t. After everything that happened, I thought he was a real asshole. But I did. I did like him. I do, I mean. I like him a lot.”
She dared a brief glance up at Ruby. Her sister’s eyes had narrowed and her head was ever so slightly bent forward; Ruby was watching and listening to her very seriously indeed.
Monica was almost too frightened to speak. It was too important; it all meant too much to her. How could she explain to Ruby how Michael’s hair shone in the winter sunlight, how his body moved sleekly and easily as if he flowed rather than walked, how his arms made her feel safer and more loved than she had ever felt? Ever imagined possible? How could she say?
“I’m in love with him,” Monica told her sister in her smallest voice.
“What?” The sound emerged from Ruby not so much as a word being spoken but as an angry guttural response to pain.
“I’m sorry.”
Ruby stared at her — her eyes were wide open now — for what felt like a long time. Suddenly, Monica was a little girl again waiting to be reprimanded for losing her jacket or for being out past curfew on a school night. In the end though, Ruby merely shook her head sadly. “I have to get supper ready.”
“Yeah, I have to go too,” Monica managed.
She knew it was a futile wish, but she wished it anyway. If only her sister could hug or touch her now and assure her that all would be well again. That was not going to happen. She no longer had any right to expect it to happen. Ruby brushed hurriedly by her on her way back to the kitchen. Monica did not attempt to look at her again. She fled the house before her nieces or nephews could notice.
FOURTEEN
Brenda hurried out of Marcie’s house in a daze. What her best friend had just told her! That her favourite of favourites — Auntie Monica — was seeing Michael Clydesdale! There was no way. Someone had started a rumour from bits of old gossip. That had to be it. That sort of thing happened all the time in Kitsum.
It simply could not be. Marcie herself had admitted that it might not be true. She was getting her gossip muddled with her own distress about being forced to move with her parents to Campbell River. Yes, that had to be the case. She was upset about the move herself. Her friend did not want to leave Kitsum. It was not even her idea. It was not fair. Nothing was fair!
So much confused energy propelled Brenda that she arrived home in what felt like mere seconds. Once there, she could not sit or calm herself down. She left the house quickly and headed for the lake trail, the first place she could think of where she would be completely alone at that time of year. It was not until she had actually reached the lake and was staring across at the stunted bog forest that her mind began to slow enough for her to think somewhat coherently again.
She would need to calm down until she knew what was going on for sure. Marcie’s gossip had likely originated with Carolyn. Everyone knew that woman was one of the meanest gossips around and that she did not like their family. Troublemaking, that is what she would have been doing. Brenda came up with a plan. Not a great plan, but at least one with some chance of working. She would ask Thomas and Becky when they got home from school. They would probably know more than anyone. Millie was too young yet; she would only get mixed up and say that Auntie Monica’s boyfriend was the principal or someone else who had only spoken to her.
The hard part was waiting for Tom and Becky to get home from school. She actually had to stop herself from racing down to Kitsum Elementary to meet them as they exited the school building. She only had under an hour to wait, for heaven’s sake. She needed to control herself. Her mind was spinning. Monica had not visited them lately. Was her aunt avoiding her? What did her mother know?
Her best friend was leaving Kitsum. What about that? She had just got Marcie back, and now she was going to lose her again. Her throat felt like it was closing up. Brenda had to force herself to swallow, to breathe. Please, please, please, she chanted. Let it all be a mistake.
When Becky got home, Brenda followed her into the bedroom that she
shared with Millie. Her sister had a puzzled look on her face; she could see that Brenda was mad about something. She just could not figure out what it could be.
“Auntie Monica works in your classroom?” The words came out like an accusation.
Becky nodded.
“Have you been to her new place?”
Again her sister nodded.
“Who stays there?”
“Auntie Monica stays there,” Becky said.
“Who besides your aunt? I heard someone else lives there too.”
Becky looked confused. “I think she stays by herself.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“I think I’m sure.”
“But you’re not, eh? Because I heard that Auntie Monica has a new boyfriend.” Brenda tried to soften her tone a little. She knew that she was scaring Becky unnecessarily. “I’m trying to find out who he is, that’s all.”
“Not Saul?”
“No, not Saul,” Brenda almost screamed.
She saw the tears well up in her little sister’s eyes and knew that she should ease up on the questioning.
“I said new. A new boyfriend. Monica has another boyfriend now.”
“I don’t know, Brenda…I don’t know.”
Becky was openly crying now. Brenda walked out of the room.
She went to Tom’s room next. He was still young enough to be afraid of his older sister. She would find out what was going on from him.
“Marcie was telling me that Auntie Monica has a new boyfriend.” Tom did not speak very loudly, and Brenda had to lean in to hear him. “Yeah, I think so,” he answered.
“Who, Tom?”
“I forget his name.”
“Think, Thomas.” Brenda stood over her brother, waiting.
“I dunno, Bren. I’m sorry…”
“Christ, Tom. Think.”
“I really don’t know.”
Brenda took a deep breath. She tried to hide her anger from her brother. He had always had trouble remembering names. Badgering him would get her nowhere. She turned instead and went back to her own room.
She had left Marcie’s too quickly. She should have pressed Marcie to go over every detail of what she had heard, and then to reveal where she had heard her news. Maybe there was something her friend had missed telling her. She would have to wait for the next day and she would have to start the conversation all over again. Brenda paced to and fro.
She would have to wait for the kids to go to bed. Her whole life, she thought bitterly, was now nothing but waiting. Junior went out to the hall for basketball as usual. The winter hours had been extended until ten o’clock so that the teams could get ready for Prince Rupert. No one had wanted to change them back once that tournament was over.
“You want tea, Mom?” She knew that with her father out herring fishing, her mother would enjoy her company at this time of night. Some evenings, she felt bad about going upstairs and leaving her alone on the couch to stare at the television.
Her mother nodded appreciatively. Brenda did not find it hard to talk to her, especially with her dad away. Ruby had really been nothing but kind since Brenda had told her about being pregnant. There was no reason not to bring up the subject of Monica and her new boyfriend. “Marcie told me something today…” She brought the tea and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch from her mother. “About Auntie Monica.”
A look of shock flashed across her mother’s face. Brenda watched that initial look turn quickly into one of weariness and resignation. Suddenly Brenda knew that her mother had anticipated the very conversation they were about to have, and that scared her. “Wait…what did Monica tell you?” she managed.
It took her mother a long time to answer.
“She didn’t mean to hurt you.”
That simple statement was all Brenda needed to confirm her worst fears. Marcie’s news had been true after all. Her own aunt — her aunt who was like a big sister — was doing this to her. She had been doing this to her for who knows how long, behind her back. Not only had Michael Clydesdale not become Brenda’s boyfriend; he had somehow become Monica’s boyfriend. It was too horrible to fully imagine.
“Tell me,” she ordered her mother.
Once again, her mother took ages to begin. “I guess Monica first talked to this Michael because you asked her to. Anyway, that’s what she told me.” She looked at Brenda with sad eyes.
“Then, Monica said she wasn’t satisfied with whatever this guy had said to her, so she went to talk to him again. She didn’t tell me, Bren, that she was doing any of this. I would have told her not to bother. I mean, she was talking to him for nothing.”
Not nothing, Brenda thought with alarm, but talking to him because she had asked her to talk to him.
“Brenda.” Her mother was serious. “You are not to tell your father that I told you this. He never wanted you to know…look, he went to see Michael himself. Not long after you told us about being pregnant. So it was stupid of Monica to go, after Martin had already spoken to him.”
“Dad?” Brenda could not believe it.
“He didn’t ask me, Bren. He just told me after he’d seen him.”
“And?”
“Well, I guess your father told him not to bother you anymore.”
Brenda shook her head. She had waited for months to hear from Michael. Then to find out that her own father had prevented it! Her chest felt like it was about to explode.
“How could he? How could Dad tell him that?”
“But Monica didn’t know that. I guess she thought that she could help you out by talking to him. So she met up with him in Campbell River. She didn’t tell me much, Bren. Just that they started to see each other after that. I can’t imagine what she was possibly thinking. I really can’t. The only reason Monica told me was that she was afraid of me — and you — hearing it from someone else. I guess Monica expected me to tell you but…I just couldn’t, Bren.”
Brenda wanted to call her aunt every nasty name that she had ever heard. At the same time, reverberations of what her father had done pounded inside her head. Her mind was a boiling cauldron of chaos, swirling and churning. All of it — her being pregnant, her father making mysterious arrangements with Michael, Monica luring Michael back to the teacherage — it was all completely incomprehensible. None of it made sense. The world she had always known and trusted had disappeared, only to be replaced by this distorted horror story version. She sat on the couch, her tea now cold beside her, and stared into a darkening storm.
FIFTEEN
Winter days passed so slowly in Kitsum that it always came as a surprise to realize that spring had nearly arrived. Suddenly a person realized that the days so abruptly abbreviated were growing longer again. Temperatures rose. Rain fell more often as drizzle or heavy mist than as torrential downpours. The community was coming alive again after its long hibernation. Even Brenda, Nona noticed, was once again taking daily walks.
Nona had begun to take her tea at a small table beside her living room armchair. From there, she could gaze out her front window at the expanse of Kitsum Harbour. Herrings were schooling in the bay. Eagles perched on the shoreline trees and rocks. Flocks of seagulls flew spirals in the sky and landed to float upon the water alongside masses of ducks. Sea lions barked day and night, diving and resurfacing while eating their fill of the small fish.
The marine radio was busy with herring fishery news and weather predictions. After the Barkley Sound opening, Nona knew that Martin would be heading back up the coast to their area to fish. Then the Pacific Queen would tow his herring punt and gillnets up to the Central Coast for more activity up there. He and the other herring fishermen followed the same routine every year. Harry had fished herrings, too. Some years, when they had to wait especially long for various openings, he had been gone from home for over a month.
Like everyone
else in Kitsum, Nona eagerly awaited the herring spawning. Then the whole of Kitsum Harbour would be white with the milt of the male herrings as they let go over the eggs the females had laid. Everyone would have a tree out, hoping for thick coatings of kwukmis on the branches. She could no longer do that herself anymore, but Martin Junior had assured her that he would be out with his grandfather and that they would put a tree down for her. She used to love taking part in all that exciting work with Harry and Charlie. They would cut down small hemlock trees along the shoreline, and pick up stones the size of bowling balls to use as anchors. Harry would tie a rock anchor to one end of the tree and secure a buoy to the other end. Then they would drop it from the skiff into the waters wherever the herrings were spawning the most. Across from Frank’s old cabin used to be a good spot. Inside Corner Beach, too. Harry said that the herrings liked to spawn on all the eelgrass that grew under the water there. Nona would go along in the boat to check the trees, sometimes once, sometimes a few times, every day. Then she would watch as Harry and Charlie hauled them up to see how many layers of eggs had accumulated. It only took a day or two for their trees to be thick with spawn. Then they would pull them into the boat and Nona would spend all day on the floats cutting up the branches. Before long, there would be large pails full of kwukmis and layers of coarse salt. Then they would have enough kwukmis to last them through spring, summer, and fall.
Through Different Eyes Page 12