Stormy Cove

by Bernadette Calonego

  Aurelia pulled a tome off the shelf and laid it on a table in front of a window.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Lori didn’t know whether to be happy or intimidated by the book’s size.

  “This whole thing is about cod?”

  “Why, yes, there’s a lot to say. Cod dominated Newfoundland history for a long time. And European history.”

  “You’re using the past tense,” Lori remarked.

  Aurelia blushed, as if caught out.

  “I’m afraid the good times are past—but don’t tell the fishermen that. They’re still hoping the cod will come back.”

  Did Noah hope that as well? There was so much she wanted to ask him. All of a sudden, she was dying to be on the boat, watching him fish. The legendary cod. She imagined taking photos that might almost seem biblical. She felt Aurelia’s eyes on her.

  “I’ve heard that the official catch quotas set by the Ministry of Fisheries in Ottawa are very low. How low, actually? I wonder how much cod they’re still permitted to catch at all.”

  “Will you be going out cod fishing?”

  “Yes, tomorrow, I hope, if the wind dies down.”

  “Who with?”

  “Noah, or anybody who’ll take me along.”

  “It must make Noah proud that you show so much interest in his work.”

  Lori avoided Aurelia’s curious gaze and opened the book.

  “Do you think so?” she asked offhandedly.

  “Well . . . a lot of women think those guys always stink of fish and don’t make much . . .”

  Lori was at a loss as to how to take that. People always wanted to know the exact nature of others’ relationships. And if they couldn’t, they speculated. Even when the parties in question weren’t sure about it themselves. Lori repeatedly asked herself if she was being fair to Noah. Was she really any different from the women for whom a fisherman wasn’t good enough? She’d never really thought it through. Maybe Noah was only an exotic eyeful for her. A diversion for as long as she was there on her book project. Did she respect him enough for his hard work, his humaneness, his tenacity, his . . . ?

  “It must be entertaining for the men when you’re on board,” Aurelia continued.

  “Yes, I’d like to think so, even if I mostly just get in their way,” Lori replied airily, to change the subject. “Is your husband a fisherman?”

  “He used to be, but he gave it up and sold his license. He drives the second school bus now. And I work in Gideon Moore’s office off and on when he needs secretarial help.”

  “Are you glad he doesn’t fish anymore?”

  Aurelia toyed with her pencil.

  “Yes, I am. It made me anxious when he was out on the ocean. We have three kids. I didn’t want to be a widow.” She paused and raised a hand as if fending something off. “Joseph Johnston’s funeral is this Friday. Did you hear about his terrible accident? No? He slipped on the deck of his boat and fell into the fish hole. Head first. They couldn’t do anything for him. Like I said, Friday’s the funeral. Another new widow in the village.”

  “Like Noah’s mother.” The words escaped Lori before she could stop them.

  “Yes, Winnie never recovered from that tragedy. Sure, Archie looks after the family, but . . . when Noah’s dad was alive, he and Archie . . . oh, what am I saying? I mustn’t gossip.”

  “It’s not gossip,” Lori assured her, eager to learn more about Noah’s family. “Nothing secret about it. I’m sure the whole village knows.”

  “Everybody knows, that’s for sure. But . . . anybody else will probably tell you the same thing: the two of them didn’t always fish in the same waters.”

  Lori looked at her without saying anything. That encouraged the librarian to continue.

  “Archie will never be another Abram Whalen, no matter how hard he tries. He simply isn’t made of the right stuff. He’d really like to, but . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t want to keep you from your book. You can borrow it. You’d be the first, though it’s been here a while.”

  “The first? Isn’t anybody here interested in a big book about cod?”

  Aurelia put on the cardigan she’d thrown over her chair and watched the children coming in from the corridor linking the library to the school.

  “Somehow the interest in fisheries has dwindled. I think most folks secretly think that fishermen are losers.”

  She said it with a tinge of regret, as if she felt guilty of treason—she, the wife of a man who’d given up his fishing boat for a school bus.

  Lori started to leaf through the book, and in a few minutes, she was buried deep in the descriptions, the numerous illustrations, tables, statistics, and particularly the old engravings and photos from a lost age.

  It was quickly clear that this book wasn’t only about a fish that once fed half the world but about a part of history she didn’t know anywhere near enough about.

  She felt a sudden cold draft from the door and halfheartedly turned her head. The woman who’d come in paid as little attention to her as was possible under the circumstances.

  Lori was startled to see Ginette in the library, but she found out why when the woman made a beeline for the computer.

  “Your computer still isn’t working?” she heard Aurelia say.

  “Dunno what’s wrong with the damn thing. I’ve already lugged it to Corner Brook for repairs, but it’s going crazy again. Piece of shit!”

  Ginette sat down noisily, and Lori was glad she had her back to her. But the atmosphere in the room had changed. Though she kept on reading, Lori’s concentration waned.

  Fifteen minutes later, she went to Aurelia to check out the book. Then she put her running shoes on and shut the door behind her. A moment later, she saw Ginette coming out of the library behind her.

  On an impulse, Lori began to run, catching up to Ginette before she could get in her car.

  “Can I ask you something?” Lori began.

  Ginette didn’t answer, just stared with outright suspicion all over her face. The wind blew her cropped curly hair in all directions. Lori had on a beret, as always. She decided not to pussyfoot around.

  “Do you remember Bobbie Wall’s B and B in Deer Lake? You were there last March with a young man and a woman. Was that woman Una Gould?”

  Ginette was dumbfounded.

  “Who . . . what . . . you stalking me or something?”

  “I happened to be staying in the next room. I couldn’t help hearing, even if I didn’t want to.”

  Ginette tried to keep her composure. She put her hands in her jacket pocket.

  “Then you know if Una was there or not.”

  “Well, I wasn’t being nosy. I didn’t even stick my head out the door.”

  “Then it’s none of your damn business.” Ginette pulled out her keys.

  Lori braced herself against the wind.

  “Maybe not mine, but other people might be interested.”

  Ginette gave her head a shake as if irritated by a child’s petulant behavior.

  “You’re crazy. Una? Una, of all people?” More vigorous headshaking. But her resistance was losing steam. “If you ask me, something happened to Una. Something bad. I can’t prove it, but she didn’t just cut and run. You didn’t know her, but I did. If she took off, then it certainly wasn’t by herself.”

  “Then with who? With you?”

  “With me? Why the hell with me? No way was Una interested in women! She’d have gone off with a man! Is that so hard to figure out? But he obviously gave her the runaround.”

  Lori noticed the white-and-black stripes on Ginette’s press-on nails.

  “Who was the man?”

  Ginette swayed her body back and forth like an elephant would his trunk and didn’t move her feet one inch. Her whole demeanor radiated anger and impatience.

  “If you can’t find that out, then I can’t help you. I’ll tell you, though, she certainly wouldn’t have run off with a guy who can’t pay his bills. She already had one of those
at home.”

  With that, she opened the car door and got in.

  “And stop sticking your damn nose in my business!” She slammed the door.

  “What’s that mean, gave her the runaround?” Lori shouted, but Ginette revved her motor in response.

  Lori was frustrated as she watched the orange Pontiac Sunfire disappear. Then she remembered she’d left her scarf behind. Aurelia was waiting with it in hand.

  “Lucky again,” Lori acknowledged.

  The librarian looked concerned.

  “You shouldn’t listen to Ginette. She’s always spreading rumors about people. Women like her are a disgrace to our community. They come on to our guys, but they’re only after their money. Never lift a finger except to try and worm some dough out of a man. We don’t need women like that in Stormy Cove. They should stay the hell out.”

  Lori hadn’t expected such rough language from Aurelia. The residents of Stormy Cove hardly ever criticized anybody in public, and she found Aurelia’s emotional outburst so intriguing that she dared to ask a delicate question.

  “Ginette mentioned a man Una tried to run away with, but he left her in the lurch. Do you have any idea who it was?”

  A mistake. Aurelia’s face immediately shut down.

  “Now you see the harm women like Ginette can do. I don’t want to hear another word of it.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to air dirty linen in public. Thanks for my scarf.”

  She turned to leave, but Aurelia stopped her.

  “You should get to know a better class of women. Would you like to come to a potluck supper tonight? We have it once a month, me and some women who are fun to be with.”

  Lori waited a few seconds. What could she bring this time that wouldn’t be rejected like her potato salad? Aurelia misinterpreted her hesitation.

  “None of Noah’s close relatives; you probably see the Whalens often enough,” she said quickly. “In case that’s what you were thinking.”

  “Thanks, I’d really like to come. I just can’t stay too long because of getting up to fish tomorrow morning.”

  “Sure, I understand perfectly. Six, then?”

  Lori nodded and Aurelia described the way to her house.

  On the drive back, the crosswind was so strong that she had to steer hard against it. The ocean was like a roiling gray metallic broth. The whitecaps were thick on the waves. Anybody in a boat out there was a dead man. Raging spray splashed against the bare cliffs and the houses near the shore. Lori drove up the hill and noticed the light was on in her living room. Hadn’t she turned it off this morning? Then she saw the yellow Mustang. And Reanna in it.

  What’s she doing here? And how did she find out where Lori lived? Of course, from Will Spence, who’d ambushed her at home many weeks ago.

  Reanna had on a baseball cap, her blond hair in a ponytail. She looked like an American college girl. A very pretty college girl in a bright green windbreaker. She flashed her even teeth in a broad smile as she got out. She squeezed her arms against the sides of her slender body, her hands in her jeans pockets to keep the wind off her as much as she could.

  “Hi, Lori! I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Lori didn’t feel like inviting her in in spite of the weather. She was friendly, but businesslike.

  “Unfortunately, I only have a minute. What can I do for you?”

  “I heard there are some archaeological finds around here and that you were going to some dig. Can you give me a tip, colleague to colleague, where it is and how to get there?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Will found out about it from somebody, don’t know who. So it’s true?”

  Lori calculated before answering. No point in denying it, so just give a tiny fingernail of information.

  “I’ve heard about it too, but I have no idea where it is. I’m not really interested in archaeology for the moment, got other plans. Sorry I can’t help you.”

  She picked up the cod book.

  “Can’t Will Spence tell you more about it? He knows everybody here.”

  Reanna rolled a stone back and forth with the toe of a boot.

  “He’s too busy, that’s why he wants me to take care of it. You don’t know the archaeologists?”

  What did Reanna already know? She must have discovered that Lloyd Weston was leading the dig. So why had she come to pester Lori?

  “My book has to do with fishing life, Reanna.” She lifted up the book. “Cod is taking up all my time.”

  She laughed like this was a funny joke. Fortunately, Patience appeared, carrying a plastic bag.

  “Can you pop in,” her neighbor called, “if you’ve got a minute?”

  Lori went toward her.

  “Sure can, I’m coming right now.”

  She waved good-bye to Reanna, who was still standing beside her car, went upstairs with Patience, and took off her shoes. Patience pulled a bowl out of the bag and set it down on the table.

  “This is a mousse I made with crabs from the freezer. Not as good as when I make it fresh, but the gals like it a lot, and Aurelia told me you’re going to the potluck tonight, and I’m disappointed I can’t because I’ve got to help get the fire hall ready for a birthday party. You can take the mousse, if you like, so you don’t have to cook anything.”

  The bush telegraph was working fast today. Lori was delighted all the same.

  “That’s so sweet of you, Patience! I was really at a loss about what to bring. Who’ll be there tonight?”

  “All the really nice gals. Nobody you know, but that’s OK. We always have a great time together. What did that blond want?”

  “Oh, she’s an intern with the Cape Lone Courier. She was with us yesterday when we went out to the icebergs. She’s trying to sniff out a story, like reporters always do.”

  “She wants to be like you, Lori. She’s telling everybody she wants to make a book of photographs.”

  “Oh, she does, does she? Then she’d better learn photography first.” Lori tried to sound casual, but Patience’s remark touched a sore point.

  “Why did Ginette go after you today?”

  The question came out of the blue, and Lori almost dropped her cod book.

  “Oh, she just made some noises about how I shouldn’t stick my nose in her business. She probably was referring to Noah.”

  The words popped out so fast that it took a second for her to realize that it was a bit of a lie.

  “What kind of noises?” Patience’s otherwise round face looked almost pointy with curiosity.

  “She said Una would never have run off by herself because she had something going with a man and wouldn’t have left without him. And I asked who it was and Ginette said: You can’t even see what’s staring you in the face. And so I wondered if she meant Noah. Though I really can’t imagine she did. Maybe she’s only trying to spite me.”

  Not a peep from Patience. Had she put her foot in her mouth? Was all this too candid for Stormy Cove? She looked at her friend, whose face was now drained of all color. Lori felt a pain in her chest.

  “Was it Noah, Patience?”

  Please don’t let it be Noah!

  Patience, startled by Lori’s imploring tone, laid a hand on her arm.

  “No, no, it was certainly not Noah, absolutely not. Ginette lies like a rug—you can’t believe anything she says. She knows—”

  At that moment, the phone rang.

  Patience picked it up.

  “Go ahead,” Lori said, “I’ve got to get back anyway. See you tomorrow.”

  She was afraid Reanna was still staking out the house. But there wasn’t a trace of her.

  The phone rang in Lori’s place too.

  She wasn’t surprised to hear Lloyd Weston’s voice.

  “We’re flying in with the chopper on Friday. Are you good to go?”

  “Yes, where should I be?”

  “I’ll pick you up at your place. We want to keep the site as hush-hush as possible.”

  Lori almo
st laughed out loud. Keeping something secret in Stormy Cove—that was a sheer impossibility, especially if Weston was coming to her house. Surely the archaeologist couldn’t be that naïve. But something was on the tip of her tongue.

  “A reporter from the Cape Lone Courier came over to my place a while ago. She’d heard you were bringing me along to take pictures and wanted to know exactly where the dig was.”

  “What? Who did she hear that from?” She could hear the concern in his voice.

  “Somebody or other told Will Spence, the editor, about it. She claims she doesn’t know who it was. The strange thing is . . .”

  “Yes.”

  “I just think it’s strange that Will isn’t taking over such an important story himself. The reporter’s just an intern.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Reanna Sholler. She’s from Ontario.”

  “Sholler? S-h-o-l-l-e-r?” There was a pause while Weston noted the name.

  “Well, we don’t want that paper up there yet. And no lady from Ontario either. We have an arrangement with Will Spence—that much I can tell you. When we’re ready, he’ll get his story, but not yet. You’re still with us, though?”

  “I think I should get my publisher’s permission, pro forma; they’re paying for the book, after all. But it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve already told the person responsible, so I’m sure that it’ll be all right.”

  “I’m counting on you, Lori, I think our cooperation is an opportunity for us both.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Lori swung her backpack over her shoulder. It was filled with leftovers from the potluck—they’d been pleased to watch Lori stuff herself all evening. How could she have resisted the crusty rolls, the pasta salad with coconut and exotic spices, the chicken casserole with creamy cheese sauce, the incredibly fine lasagna, the sweet berry soufflé, and the innumerable tempting desserts?

  “Where do all these delicious things come from?” she asked time and again. “Did you pull them out of a hat?”

  That evening, she had to throw all her prejudices regarding Stormy Cove cuisine overboard. And her prejudgment of the women who had very carefully studied their recipes and ordered ingredients on the Internet that weren’t available locally. Lori was ashamed she’d never thought of doing that herself. She’d mourned for her delis and exotic restaurants in Vancouver instead of using her imagination. These women might be living in a remote place, but they weren’t lacking in imagination. In that merry circle, she’d learned how much she’d missed until now. For instance, the name of the dealer in St. John’s who paid the most for handmade wall hangings (still far too little in Lori’s opinion, but she kept mum). Or in whose homes there was drug dealing. She also learned which couples weren’t so keen on fidelity and that it was common in the Hardy Sailor to get your butt pinched or your breasts groped.