The House on Creek Road

by Caron Todd

  “Aunt Edith—” Liz was swept into an embrace that nearly cut off her air supply. With one hand, she held the heavy bowl away from her body, tilting precariously.

  “I’ll take that, Auntie Liz.” Jennifer, Tom’s oldest child, rescued the bowl before it fell.

  Edith’s grip loosened. “I always said you’d come home eventually. Now, if only Susannah were here. My nest is empty, I’m afraid.”

  “Empty, but visited often,” Eleanor said dryly. Susannah’s brothers, Martin and Brian, lived just down the road with their families.

  “Of course, it’s a long time since Sue lived at home, but it always seemed that she was still ours.”

  Liz nodded. She felt as if she’d lost a bit of Susannah, too.

  “This Alex, I don’t know, he obviously considers her his. I suppose I’ll have to adjust. Seeing the wedding for myself would have helped that process, I’m sure. Jennifer, dear, will you put that bowl with the other salads?”

  Edith led them along the driveway, edged by curving perennial beds. Most of the flowers had died down and looked like tufts of straw, but a few rust-colored mums still bloomed. “Eleanor, let’s find you a comfortable spot and a hot drink. Jennifer, there you are. Salad safely stowed? Good. Will you look after your aunt? Just take her around the yard and help her mingle until she gets her bearings.”

  Liz could sense anxiety in the air, and restrained excitement, as if people were waiting to see the Queen, or Santa Claus at the end of a long parade, and thought someone might get in their line of vision. Was she the source of all that feeling, or had it just been too long between parties? She watched her aunt and grandmother walk away so she could avoid looking at anyone else. There was a barrier between herself and the people who’d come to welcome her, and she didn’t know how to cross it. She didn’t want to cross it.

  “Who do you want to meet first?” Jennifer asked.

  “How about your dad?”

  “You had breakfast with my dad. Anyway, he’s barbecuing.”

  Liz could see Tom across the yard, lifting the lid of one of four gas barbecues, tongs in hand. A spicy, smoky smell she’d noticed earlier intensified. Teriyaki something.

  Jennifer lowered her voice. “Everybody’s looking at you, like they’re waiting.”

  Her niece’s discomfort made Liz ashamed of her hesitation. “Let’s just go into the fray and talk to everyone at once.”

  Pleasant faces and friendly voices greeted her. Liz found it easy to respond the same way. Part of her even began to enjoy the evening. She spoke to the couple who’d sold her mother eggs and cream, and to the repairman who’d nursed her family’s appliances through mishaps years after their warranties had expired. There was her Sunday School teacher, completely unchanged, and her grade-one teacher, unrecognizable, and in a wheelchair. Second and third cousins who’d never made the trip to Vancouver dived right into the middle of family stories, as if she’d only been away for a few weeks. Parents of young children told her which of her books they’d borrowed from the library and which they’d bought. Someone brought her a cup of cocoa, a few people mentioned her dented car and everyone agreed she’d done well for herself. Through it all, Jennifer followed along, saying hello to each person by name, in case Liz had forgotten.

  As she moved away from signing a book one father had thought to bring with him, a pair of arms came around Liz from behind and a chin rested on her shoulder. “Gotcha!”

  Liz recognized the voice and the freckled arms. She turned to smile at her sister-in-law. “Pam. I wondered where you were.”

  “In the kitchen, of course. Why is it that as soon as I manage to get out of mine I find myself in someone else’s? Emily and Aunt Julia are still there, keeping the cocoa going.”

  Interpreting her mother’s arrival as permission to abandon her aunt, Jennifer ran off to join the other children at the far end of the yard. They were holding out brown grass to three sorrel mares, and even though the horses could graze the same grass themselves, they reached eagerly over the fence to take it.

  Pam pulled Liz’s elbow. “Look. There’s the new cutie.”

  Jack McKinnon stood a few yards away, holding a pie in each hand. His deep voice reached them. “Sorry I’m late, Edith. Pumpkin pies, just as you asked.” A picture formed in Liz’s mind, a silver-eyed fairy king going to market, a string of pies floating behind him…

  Definitely Tara, rather than Saturn. Not the pretty, child-friendly kind of fairy, though. The primitive kind, with nature’s beauty and force and heartlessness. Dressed in dry fall leaves. No, not dressed…part of the leaves, nature personified. Liz’s hand ached for a pencil.

  “I just love him,” Pam said, in a near whisper. “He’s your grandma’s new neighbor.”

  “I met him last night.”

  “Imagine, he grows pumpkins. He wants to grow Christmas trees.”

  “Appealing, isn’t it? There’s something about him, though—”

  “I’ll say.”

  Liz looked at her sister-in-law doubtfully. “Does Tom mind all this appreciation?”

  “He values an innovative farmer as much as I do.” Pam caught the eye of a white-haired man standing nearby. “Isn’t that right, Daniel?”

  “Isn’t what right?” Daniel came closer, his step slow and stiff, so different from the energetic stride Liz remembered. He might not be able to outmuscle a misbehaving horse anymore, but he hadn’t lost the ramrod bearing he’d picked up as a Mountie, or his air of authority. “Good to see you, Liz. Thought you’d never come back.”

  “I wasn’t sure I would, either.” She smiled. “Now that I’m here, I’m glad I did.”

  Daniel nodded. “So, we had some excitement last month.” He waited until Liz started to prompt him, then continued, “Your cousin came through town with her new husband.” He paused again, and Liz remembered that he’d always talked that way, stopping as if to wait for a response, but then going on if you tried to make one. “I saw him through the car window when they were driving back to Winnipeg to catch their plane. Your poor aunt planned a whole get-together for them. Thought she could have a sort of reception, at least, if not the wedding. Managed to get the family together, I hear, but they only stayed for an hour, just long enough to introduce the husband, and then they were gone. Wouldn’t you think a daughter would make time?” He stopped to take a breath.

  Quickly, Liz said, “I’m sure Susannah would have, if she could.”

  “She would have,” Daniel said, nodding pointedly, “if it had been up to her. I guess there’s not much chance she’ll ever move back home now, not with a husband like that, always gallivanting around the globe digging up dinosaurs.”

  “Sue’s always digging up dinosaurs, too.”

  “Doesn’t seem like real work, does it?” Daniel’s gaze wandered past her, and with a nod he moved on, joining some friends beside one of the small fires.

  Jack had deposited his pies on a picnic table. Liz watched him wander through the yard, speaking to a few people, politely accepted, but not really welcomed. It would be years before anyone believed he belonged in the community. Years, or never. He might always be the guy who’d bought the Ramsey place.

  Pam dropped her voice suggestively. “Got your eye on Jack?”

  “Of course not. I’m just sorry for him. This isn’t an easy place to fit in.”

  “Half the people around town say he’s growing marijuana.” In response to Liz’s surprised glance, Pam explained, “City guy, failed business, money to spend. Talks about organic farming. Case closed.”

  “I don’t think his business failed. Grandma told me he wanted a change.”

  “My dad says a businessman from the city wouldn’t choose to farm unless he was crazy or desperate. That’s the way most people see it.”

  Jack had come to a stop under a maple that looked soft with age. He was alone, and suddenly Liz felt the need to protect him. Murmuring to Pam that she’d talk to her later, she hurried over, intending to offer a real wel
come. Instead, she found herself saying accusingly, “Why didn’t you tell me my grandmother gave you permission to take soil samples from that field?”

  He took a careful sip from a disposable cup full of steaming cocoa before answering. “She did more than give permission. She suggested I test it.”

  “You let me think you were trespassing.”

  “I didn’t want to take the wind out of your sails.” Jack gently swirled the cocoa around his cup, catching bits of froth clinging to the sides.

  Liz’s cheeks warmed at his description of her behavior. “She told me if the field’s right for evergreens, she’ll rent it to you, not sell it.”

  “I wouldn’t think of trying to take it away from your family after all these years.”

  “I thought—” Liz stopped. It was an awkward thing to come right out and say.

  “You thought I was an evil rancher out to steal an old lady’s land?”

  She smiled. “An evil Christmas tree farmer.”

  At last some warmth crept into his eyes. Liz wasn’t sure if she’d really moved closer to him, or if it just felt as if she had. She took a step back just in case. This was her grandmother’s neighbor. It was almost wrong to think of him any other way. He was the pie maker, the pumpkin farmer who’d been taken under Eleanor’s wing. She shuffled through her mind for a safe conversational topic, something far removed from cocoa-touched lips. “You’ve chosen some unusual crops,” she said finally. “This has always been a wheat and oats kind of place.”

  “That’s what everybody says. Newcomers growing new crops? Whatever is the world coming to?”

  She decided not to tell him about the marijuana theory. “It’s not that people are unfriendly. The same families have been here for more than a hundred years, though, and they’re slow to accept new faces. In twenty years you’ll still be a newcomer growing new crops.”

  “And you, even if you don’t set foot in the place again in all that time, will still be the town’s favorite daughter.”

  There was some truth to what he said, but something else came through, a bitterness or disapproval he’d almost managed to hide. “Maybe not the favorite daughter,” she said lightly. “Second, even third or fourth favorite, I’m not sure.”

  From the center of a group of men standing near one of the picnic tables, a familiar voice rose. Liz stiffened.

  “Elizabeth? Is something wrong?”

  She hardly heard Jack’s question. What was Wayne Cooper doing here? She hadn’t seen him when Jennifer had led her around the yard. He must have come late. He was standing comfortably, hands in his pockets, shooting the breeze. Anyone would think he had nothing in the world to regret.

  He turned, and saw her. “Liz!” He sounded happy, as if they were old friends. Before she had time to react, he’d reached her side. He glanced at Jack, then ignored him. “Hey, Liz. You look great.”

  “You, too,” she said automatically. “Almost grown up.”

  Another quick grin. “Almost, almost. Gotta avoid that last step, where you turn into your old man. Anyway, the wife likes my boyish charm.” His wiggled his eyebrows, his signature comedic move ever since grade two.

  “You’re married?” Liz looked around for her grandmother. Would she mind leaving early?

  “Yeah, someone took me on. Hard to believe, I know. You remember Sally, she always had that long ponytail—”

  “I remember you pulling someone’s ponytail.”

  Wayne smiled at the memory. “That’s her. How about you, Lizzie? Got a man tucked away somewhere?”

  Liz felt a burst of anger. He was smiling, waiting for an answer, as if he had every right to ask her about her personal life, about who she loved. The world could fall apart around him and he would still smile, as pleased with himself as ever. She was aware of wanting him gone, and then suddenly he was. Jack had moved between them, and without taking any steps at all that she was aware of, they were halfway across the yard. They kept moving, Jack’s hand on her arm, until they reached the fence that separated the yard from the pasture. Three grazing heads came up, ears flicked forward, and the horses sauntered over to meet them.

  “I hope that wasn’t high-handed,” Jack said. “You seemed to want to get away.”

  “I can’t believe he’s here. Aunt Edith wouldn’t have invited him.”

  “There were notices about the barbecue on the community bulletin boards.”

  She had forgotten about the boards. The town was too small for a newspaper, but you could find out nearly everything that was going on if you kept an eye on the messages people tacked up in the stores and the post office.

  The horses had crowded close to the fence, competing for position. One touched its nose to Liz’s shoulder, pushing gently. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said softly. “It’s not fair, is it? The people have all the treats. Where’s the alfalfa? Where’s the bran mash?” All three horses listened, but the first mare kept the other two away. “So you’re top dog, are you?” Liz pulled her hand over the heads of wild oats growing near the fence, collecting seeds, and held it out flat. The horse ate, tough lips nuzzling her palm, delicately picking up each kernel.

  “How can you be afraid of Wayne Cooper, and not of these two-ton beasts?”

  “I’m not afraid of him. I just don’t like him.” She wasn’t sure how to explain without telling the whole story. “Wayne…likes to find your soft spot and give it a squeeze.”

  She brushed the last few oats from her hand. “I need to get out of here. Do you think you could find my grandmother for me, so I won’t risk bumping into him again?”

  “Sure.” Jack didn’t move. “It’s none of my business, but do you mind if I give an opinion?”

  For some reason, she didn’t mind. She wanted to hear what he thought.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, so I could be wrong—leaving might be the best thing for you to do. Cooper would be chasing you away, though. If you let people scare you off, you never stop being scared. That’s basic, Elizabeth.”

  “Liz.” She took a deep breath and felt her muscles relax a notch. “I don’t know how to deal with him.” She knew Jack didn’t understand. Wayne must seem inconsequential to him, a little obnoxious, but harmless.

  “Want a suggestion?”

  “If you’ve got one.”

  “Let’s help ourselves to whatever your brother’s been cooking, and then you can introduce me to your friends. Cooper won’t get near you again if you don’t want him to, I can promise you that. But he’ll see you ignoring him, having a good time in spite of him. If he’s hoping to intimidate you, it’ll be hard for him to take.”

  It was, as Jack said, basic. Her instinct to put herself in a whole different time zone than Wayne Cooper had been stronger than her good sense.

  Liz had been looking at Jack’s chest throughout the conversation. Finally, she looked up. Right away she could see that the image of the heartless primitive fairy was all wrong. His face was warm, concerned. “I really appreciate this. I didn’t have you pegged as a white knight.”

  “That’s good. I’m no kind of knight.”

  There was a touch of sadness in his smile. Launcelot exiled from Camelot, she thought, Arthur from Avalon. Instead of a violin, a lute for those long fingers to strum. Instead of a pie in hand, a shield. Could she do a story about knights, or had children already seen all they wanted of swords and dragons and wizards?

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE BLADE SANK ALMOST A QUARTER of an inch into the glued pages. Jack sliced in between the lines of text, removed the point of the knife and sliced again. When he’d cut three sides of a four inch square, he bent back the paper like a door. He placed an unlabelled diskette inside, smoothed a little glue on the cut edges, then pressed the pages down. He had opened the book at random, but King Lear’s line, just above the cut, would amuse Reid if he noticed. Who loses, and who wins; who’s in, who’s out… Not that the game ever really had a winner or a loser. It was the challenge they enjoyed.

&n
bsp; The shelves of the built-in china cabinet in the dining room were full of books: paperback thrillers, textbooks of computer and mathematics theory, gold-lettered classics. Jack slipped The Complete Works of Shakespeare back in its place.

  He’d spent a lot of time he didn’t really have preparing the clues contained on the disk. Reid might not even find it. He would try, though. Housebreaking was a new twist to the game, and Jack didn’t like it. He lifted the box he’d got from Daniel Rutherford onto the kitchen table. A surprising man, Daniel.

  The bulletin boards were one of the things Jack liked about Three Creeks. Birthday announcements, cards of thanks, lost dogs, free-range hens, help wanted, jobs wanted. One of the ads had always made him smile. Punks a Problem? Poachers Got Your Goat? Call Daniel Rutherford…Taking Care of All Your Security Needs Since 1975. Not expecting much, Jack had decided to see what Daniel had to offer.

  The older man lived alone on the edge of town, in a story-and-a-half house with crocheted doilies protecting his sofa and chair from the touch of his head and hands. Down in his basement, it was another world. Metal shelves were filled with precisely organized equipment—cameras, tape recorders and other machines Jack couldn’t identify. It turned out Daniel wasn’t a retired farmer, as he had supposed. He was a retired cop. RCMP Special Branch, long disbanded and replaced by CSIS, the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. A retired spy? He couldn’t be.

  Once Daniel knew Jack was there on business his tendency to gossip had stopped, just like that, like turning off a tap. Still, Jack was cautious. Taking his cue from Daniel’s ad, he’d said kids were poking around his place, not causing any real trouble, but he wanted to find out who they were. He had come away with two small cameras that could be hidden under the eaves near his front and back doors, and an electric eye to place at the end of the driveway. Anyone driving or walking in would trigger the cameras, so intruders would film themselves. Daniel liked the irony. And Jack liked knowing Reid wouldn’t surprise him again.