by Caron Todd
Jack had known that was coming, but as a greeting? “Avoiding eyestrain.”
“I’m serious, Jack.”
“So am I.”
Ned stared at him. “You give up years of study because you don’t want to look at a monitor? Come on. You can hire someone to do that for you. If you didn’t like running a business you could have detoured into research any time. Any university would take you, starting with this one. We went into the semester short two people.”
“I’m not looking for work.”
Ned eyed the wall and the floor before saying quietly, “Some of the guys are wondering if you’re having a meltdown. I told them of course not. People make career changes all the time.”
“Thank you.”
His friend nodded and stared at the floor some more. Finally, sounding both apologetic and encouraging, he said, “But this is a dramatic change. And an impulsive one, from what I could see. So if there is something…I mean, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. One of the guys on the psych faculty here has a private practice and I’m told he’s good. Discreet.”
“I thought we were going to have lunch.”
“We are.” Ned checked his watch. “There’s a great Chinese food buffet just around the corner on Victoria. We’ll load up there and I’ll harangue you about getting back to work at something that matters.”
“Pumpkins don’t matter?”
A new expression crossed Ned’s face. “Lots of farmers’ daughters out there?”
Jack couldn’t help laughing. That would be an explanation Ned could understand.
“A farmer needs a wife, Jack.”
“Heigh ho the derry-o.”
“Jack?”
“Just some reading I was doing. Nothing to worry about.”
THE THREE WOMEN SAT elbow-to-elbow in a study room off the library, their feet up on chairs on the other side of the table, a plate of tomato and cheese sandwiches in front of them.
“Liz is a natural,” Pam told Emily. “Too bad she can’t come by the classroom every term.”
“A natural?” Liz asked. “Those kids couldn’t wait to get out when the bell rang.”
“But they didn’t groan. Not once.”
Emily handed Liz a mug of clear tea. “Careful, it’s hot.”
“The hotter the better. I’ve been cold ever since I got here. Jack says it’s going to snow by Halloween.”
Pam looked meaningfully at Emily. “Jack says.”
“Don’t start, you two. Small talk about the weather doesn’t mean anything.”
“Bothering to deny a harmless observation might mean something.” Emily pushed the plate of sandwiches closer to Liz. “I was prepared to believe Jack glued himself to your side at the barbecue because he was shy, or because you’d asked him to make sure no mosquitoes landed on your neck—”
“Or because he had a microphone and she was dictating a new story,” Pam said. “There are lots of reasons for a man to hover protectively beside a woman he’s just met—because I thought his posture was protective, didn’t you?”
“Like a shield,” Emily agreed.
“Did you do anything at the barbecue besides watch me?”
“We watched Jack, too.”
“I’m not denying he’s attractive—”
Pam whispered to Emily. “She thinks he’s attractive.”
“But Jack has his mind on pumpkins and Christmas trees, and I’m going back to Vancouver in a week. There’ll be narrow mountain passes and glaciers and grizzlies between us.”
“Us,” Emily repeated.
Liz stared into her teacup, hoping they would soon be done with this line of questioning. They couldn’t really think she and Jack were about to embark on a relationship, could they? Just because he was one gender and she was the other and they had enjoyed a couple of conversations?
“Come on, Liz,” Pam said. “How long is it since you’ve gone out with someone you really like? Jack is so nice and so good-looking and he seems interested, who knows why—”
“I’m enjoying the single life. The unattached, uninvolved, uncomplicated life.”
“Voluntarily, you mean?” Emily asked. “I’m enjoying the single life because I haven’t met anyone I’m willing to complicate it for.”
“You will, hon,” Pam said.
“Not if I stay in Three Creeks.”
Liz looked at her cousin in surprise. As far as she knew Emily had never considered leaving. “Are you thinking of moving?” She could come to Vancouver. There’d be four at Sunday dinner.
“Of course not. This is my home.”
Liz knew Emily meant she couldn’t leave. That was what she believed, anyway. When she was still in junior high she’d told Liz and Susannah that she would always stay with her mother. Julia lived in a world of her own, that was the phrase everyone used, and it was a world where stove burners were left on high while she lost herself in her book collection. People said she’d always been like that, but the tendency had got worse after her husband died when Emily was eight.
Emily re-focused the conversation on Liz. “I don’t believe you want to be single. You love falling for guys. You call me every time it happens, chirping like a songbird.”
Liz laughed at the description, and hoped it wasn’t true. She did like the feeling of being smitten, but it rarely developed beyond that. “I’ll admit I like men—taken as a group, a subspecies. Taken individually, though, they’re never as wonderful once I get to know them as they are at first sight.”
“Poor guys, give them a break!” Emily said. “They’re not knights in shining armor. And you, much as I love you, cuz, are not Guinevere.”
“That two-timing bit of fluff? I should hope not.” Liz jumped when the bell on the wall near her ear rang. “Already?”
Pam put down her half-empty cup. “That’s only the first bell. We have five minutes till class starts, but I like to get into the room before the kids do. Otherwise I have to sort out whose fault something is.”
Liz and Pam were almost out of the library, when Liz stopped as if she’d banged into an unexpected wall. Over the door was a oil pastel she hadn’t seen in fifteen years. It showed a close-up of the smallest of the three creeks, the shallow water still and murky. Through cattails half gone to seed, a wounded mallard floated.
Emily came to stand beside her. “Your Mom and Dad found it in your room after you left. They didn’t think you wanted it and Andy’s parents didn’t leave a forwarding address. I guess we could have tried harder to find them.”
“Everyone assumed they didn’t want us to find them,” Pam said.
“It was in the hallway of the old school for years, on that wall between the grade five and six and the grade seven and eight rooms. I know he didn’t go to elementary school in Three Creeks—”
“Over the water fountain?”
“High up, so it wouldn’t get splashed.”
Andy had been so angry the day he’d found the duck. He wasn’t against hunting, but he was furious that a hunter would take a shot he wasn’t sure of making. His first impulse had been to wrap the bird in his jacket and rush it to the vet, but he could see how badly it was hurt. It would have died, afraid and captive, before he got to Pine Point. The image of its quiet effort to hold its head up, resisting defeat even near death, had stayed with him for a long time.
“Do you want it back, Liz? That would be fine. I mean, Andy gave it to you.”
“No,” Liz said quickly. “I’m sure he’d…” Her voice trailed off. What was she sure of, where Andy was concerned? She forced herself to look away from the picture. Emily’s and Pam’s faces were full of concern, so she looked away from them, too. “It was a long time ago. Ancient history.”
Hardly aware of Pam at her side, Liz made her way back to the classroom, glad to see the children already in their seats, apparently as eager to get back to their stories as they’d been to go outside. Responding to their questions helped her push Andy’s drawing to the back of her mind. It was like s
tuffing a suitcase too full, though, pushing one last item in only to find it springing back, forcing the lid open.
Jennifer had covered her paper with small irregular shapes resembling squares. They were filled with kittens, stretching and sleeping, batting their paws at nothing.
Stephen’s story was well on its way. Number 10 was coming at me fast. I knew I had to get rid of the puck before he sent me flying into the boards. No one could make that shot, but I had to try.
Most of the boys had followed the same idea. Dave had drawn a few stick figures with blades on their feet and hockey sticks in their hands. Underneath the sketches he’d written, Two days before Chrismas the creeks finly froze up and the guys played hockey. There was a blizerd and school was canseled so we played all day. They had to shovel it first.
“That’s all I’ve got,” he said, when he saw Liz reading.
“Could you add some detail?”
He looked at his paper and sighed. “Like which guys?”
“That would help.”
“But it’s just another line, and I need, like, four more pages. I guess I could say who got checked and who scored.” He brightened up as more possibilities occurred to him. “And who was in goal and who got the face-off.”
“Now you’re talking. You said there was a blizzard…how cold was it?”
“Pretty cold.”
“Did your fingers feel like blocks of ice inside your mitts? Were birds falling dead from the branches above you?”
He lifted his hands in front of him, as if showing her how big a fish he’d caught. “The whole thing, you mean.” His hands went up and down, tracing brackets in the air.
“The whole thing,” Liz agreed. “Not just what happened, but what your five senses noticed about what happened. What you thought and felt. And don’t forget dialogue.”
Dave looked even happier. “Right! Cause you need a new paragraph for each person who talks…that would take up lots of space. Thanks, Miss Robb!”
She smiled. But as soon as she turned away, the suitcase lid popped open.
CHAPTER FIVE
GOING SO SLOWLY DOWN THE gravel road that a whole herd of deer could have crossed safely in front of her, Liz left the town behind. She felt like the kids in Pam’s class—glad to get out of the house that morning; just as glad to leave the school now. The grade fives were going to finish the day with a baseball game, so she’d helped them clean up before the afternoon recess bell, then stopped in at the general store for dinner provisions. A little something for tonight, and salad ingredients for tomorrow.
As she turned into her grandmother’s driveway Bella and Dora emerged from the lilac bushes, just as they had the night she arrived. Now their tails wagged, and they looked pleased to see her.
“Hey girls. Have you been good? Did you keep the monsters away?” They wagged their tails harder. “You did? Well done!” She followed the dogs into the kitchen, where she found Eleanor surrounded by dishes, polishing a Spode dinner plate. She carried her brown paper bag to the counter. “I brought you a treat from the grocery store.”
“How nice.” Eleanor watched as Liz reached into the bag and pulled out a frosty, plastic-wrapped package. “Now what could that be?”
“It’s frozen lasagna. It’s good, Grandma. Really. I get it all the time.” She waved a head of romaine lettuce in the air, followed by a bottle of Caesar dressing. “I’ll make salad to go with it.”
“Lovely. We can eat in front of the television. Like roommates, with those meals in divided trays.” Eleanor looked pleased at the thought. Eating in the living room had always been unheard of in this house, and as far as Liz knew her grandmother never watched anything but the national news and royal weddings and funerals.
Liz tucked the lettuce into the crisper and turned on the electric oven. The lasagna needed to cook for two hours, so she’d have to put it in soon. “I had a good time with Pam’s class.”
Eleanor began polishing the next plate in the pile. “I thought you would. Ten is a nice age. Did you miss the old school?”
“The new building is beautiful. So bright and roomy.” Liz almost mentioned Andy’s drawing. Instead, she took a tea towel from the drawer and joined her grandmother at the table. “You’ve been busy with dishes all day?”
“Dusting and counting. Edith is keen to have the Spode. I wondered if it might be an idea to give each family a share of it. Edith could have the dinner plates, your mother could have the bowls, and Julia the teapot and cups. A few serving dishes for everyone.”
“It would be a pity to break up the set.” It was actually two sets, with a transferware pattern of soft blue flowers on a white background. It had belonged to the first Julia, who had come to the wilds of Manitoba prepared, believing she would never set foot in a china store again.
Liz picked up a rose colored depression glass platter and held it so light from the window shone through. She ran her hand over the raised pattern of trailing leaves and flowers. There wasn’t a chip or a scratch on it. “I always loved this platter.”
“Then it’s yours. Six small plates go with it.”
“I wasn’t asking for it, Grandma. You should take it with you.”
“I’m content to know it will be with someone who appreciates it.”
Liz carefully put the platter down. Maybe it and the six plates could travel safely in her carry-on luggage. She wondered how much of their charm came from their surroundings. Would they look as pretty in a modern apartment? “None of this seems right. I can’t picture you living anywhere but here. I’m sorry, I know I keep saying that, and it doesn’t help.”
Eleanor spoke bracingly. “The house isn’t manageable for me anymore, not even with all the help the family gives me. The roof needs to be re-shingled, some of the windows reglazed, the garden dug over, the fruit trees pruned. It’s been wonderful living here, but I’ll enjoy being in town.”
She put down the tea towel, and her voice slowed. “I was going to pack the china away today…but what if I’m still here at Christmas? We’d need it then. And the table.” Will had offered to contact an antique dealer about the dining room set, but she hadn’t given him the go ahead yet.
“Someone in the family will take it. I’m sure of it.”
“And if they don’t, that will be fine. I can hardly cling to that piece of wood, can I?” Eleanor pulled the tea towel from Liz’s hands. “You’re pale after your day at the school. Chalk dust never did agree with you. Why don’t you take the dogs for a walk while I finish here?”
“You’ve been working by yourself all day, Grandma. I’m not here for a holiday.”
“Bella and Dora need more exercise than I can give them. Off you go now.”
“If you’re sure.”
“That’s more like it! Obedience is a fine thing in a grandchild.”
Liz slipped the tray of lasagna into the oven before she left and repeated that she’d make the salad when she returned. As soon as she took her jacket from the hook by the door, the dogs were at her side and the moment the door opened they bolted for the woods. Hands in her pockets, Liz followed more slowly, breathing in the spicy air. The last of the marigolds, she thought, and crumbling leaves.
When she reached the swing, she stopped and tugged on the rope. It seemed secure. One foot on the tire, she pulled herself up, swaying slightly. No ominous sounds came from the rope or the branch, so she pushed with her free foot and the swing went higher. A stronger push, higher still. She’d forgotten the dizzying feeling, part elation, part seasickness.
The last time she’d been here was with Andy. She had climbed up just like this, feeling pretty with the breeze in her hair. He’d taken a running jump onto the swing, sending it flying, and when she’d yelled at the sudden speed and height, he’d wrapped his long, thin arms around her, laughing. That was after the wedding and after the fuss, when her grandparents were the only people who didn’t look at them with disapproval.
She jumped off while the swing was still moving and
whistled for the dogs. They came bounding out of the bush near the barn, ears pricked forward, then turned and disappeared again. Liz stuffed her hands back into her pockets and started through the garden to the pasture.
The barn’s huge double doors were open. From the look of the grass tall and tangled in front of them, they hadn’t been shut for years. Although the barn had been empty for just as long, she still noticed an animal smell, soaked into the ground and the weathered boards. No more warm, munching animals with big, brown eyes, glad to be scratched behind the ears. Now it was a place for bats and rats and hornets.
If she took a couple of steps back and stood on her toes, she could see into the hayloft. From the time they were Jennifer’s age, it had been one of their favorite places. She and Susannah would stretch out on the bales, chewing long pieces of straw and reading, or talking about all the wonderful things that would happen when they grew up.
How old had they been the summer they’d planned to sleep up there? Grade five, six? The last adventure of their holidays. They’d included their brothers, but Emily couldn’t come. Aunt Julia had said she was too young. The five of them blew their combined allowance on soft drinks and chips and packaged cookies and hauled the food and their sleeping bags and some games up the ladder. Most of the mosquitoes were gone by then, but wasps were urgently looking for places to nest, and at night moths fluttered heavily, attracted to the flashlights.
They’d sat in a circle with loose and baled hay all around them and empty swallows’ nests overhead. After sunset, they took turns telling ghost stories, voices more and more hushed as they went, bodies more and more crouched, heads closer and closer together, flashlights casting odd shadows on their faces.
And then they’d heard the noises. Crackling sounds outside, just below the loft. In one motion, they jumped up and leapt from the window, without a thought for broken ankles, and ran as fast as they could for the house. In with a bang, shushing each other loudly as they thumped up the stairs and into the back bedroom. Someone turned on the light and they stood silently, in a circle again, eyes wide.