by Caron Todd
“Are you warm enough, Grandma?”
“I’m nearly ready to run into the snow, that’s how warm I am.”
Liz opened the door of the woodstove to check the fire. She would let it burn down a little more before putting in a large log, a piece of the hardened birch they’d been saving. It would take its time to catch, then burn slowly and steadily through the night.
Jack stood beside her. “I’ll watch the fire, Liz. Can you sleep sitting up?”
“I haven’t really been sleeping anywhere.”
He took her hand and pulled her gently back to the chair. “Get as comfortable as you can.” He tucked the quilt around her. “Even if you just rest or doze it’ll do you good.”
“Why did you say you’re no kind of knight?”
His face looked blank.
“At the barbecue—”
“I suppose because I don’t qualify.”
“You’re chivalrous.”
“Do you think so?”
From behind him, Eleanor murmured, “Definitely.”
He seemed uncertain if he was being teased. “There’s no Round Table. I don’t fight dragons. And I’m afraid of horses.”
Liz smiled. Nothing complimented chivalry better than modesty. He was a knight. He just didn’t know it.
CHAPTER TEN
LIZ AWOKE TO THE SOUND of male voices. It was a few minutes before she was alert enough to sort out the pleasantly deep rumble. Jack, sounding calm. Tom, sounding defensive. And Eleanor’s soft voice, barely making it through the grill. She hoped her grandmother and Jack hadn’t been awake long. The power had come on at about four o’clock, and as soon as they’d felt warm air coming through the registers, they’d gone back to their rooms for some real sleep. Had she slept through breakfast? Tea and miniature chocolate bars, probably.
Liz pulled off the clothes she’d worn to bed and shivered her way into a fresh pair of jeans and a sweater. She smoothed the sheets and the comforter and shook the pillow so it was plump again, then went across the hall to the bathroom.
Above the frost that coated the bottom half of the window, she saw Tom and Jack go outside. Stepping into the holes he’d left on his way to the house, Tom headed to his truck, parked at the end of the driveway, and Jack struggled through unmarked snow to the garage. By the time he got back with a shovel, Tom had unloaded his snowblower. Liz smiled. Gentlemen, start your engines.
She sat on the edge of the deep porcelain tub, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them. Tom’s snowblower roared, sending an arching fan of white powder into the air. Sensibly, Jack began with the porch steps and worked his way along the path toward the driveway. His movements were steady and efficient, and despite the snow’s depth he made good progress.
She’d liked sitting near him by the fire last night. When they’d come upstairs, she’d liked knowing he was just down the hall. And she liked seeing him when she looked out her window. He had a comforting presence. Sometimes he was funny, sometimes cautious, always kind. It wasn’t his kindness that had got to her when they’d made their way downstairs after the lights went out, though. She had been so aware of his body she’d felt it in the banister and in the paneling on the wall. How could her mind have room for Jack?
“Elizabeth?”
Liz started and turned, nearly falling into the tub. Her grandmother stood in the doorway with a tray. “Grandma! You shouldn’t have come upstairs.”
“I do come up from time to time, you know.”
“Let me take that.” Liz set the tray, holding coffee and toast, over the sink. “This is so nice of you.”
“Is toast enough for now? It’s nearly lunchtime.”
“It’s perfect.”
Eleanor looked past Liz, then moved closer to the window. “What a pair. As soon as your brother turned up they started growling at each other about my driveway. I don’t understand them. Well, I suppose I do. One wants a grandmother and the other has one. What I don’t understand is why it’s a problem.”
The deep sound of a large diesel engine, in the background for the past few minutes, had become louder. A John Deere tractor with a front-end loader and attached snow-pushing blade came into view. It chugged to a stop at the mouth of the driveway. Idling noisily, it looked ready to push the snow and Tom’s blower out of its path. The blade came down and as the tractor moved forward its engine roared. The driver was invisible inside an enclosed cab.
“Uncle Will?”
“Thomas and Jack will have to move quickly. He won’t wait all day.”
Jack must have come to the same conclusion. He stuck his shovel into a snowbank and hurried to help Tom move his machine out of the tractor’s way.
Eleanor began to laugh. “It won’t be long now, will it? I’ll get lunch ready.”
Liz took a bite of toast and a gulp of coffee. “I’m right behind you, Grandma.”
“Good.” Eleanor gave her an approving smile. “There’s nothing like keeping busy.”
Liz had just put a plate of sandwiches on the table when the three men came in, stomping snow from their boots, voices booming around the kitchen. Jack and Tom, both with an armload of wood, were teasing Will about the way he’d appeared, engine snarling, a road warrior ready to race. They hung up their parkas, put their gloves on the stove and sat at the table without any “after you, ladies” movements. Will left his snowmobile suit on, unzipped to the waist, the top half hanging down over the bottom.
“This is nothing to talk about, hardly a storm at all,” he said. “Not like the whiteout of ’77. Remember, Mother? By the time we cleared ourselves out of that one the snowbanks were over our heads.”
One by one, Eleanor handed Liz bowls of homemade soup they’d taken from the freezer and heated. “I do remember. The driveway was like a tunnel from the house to the road. It doesn’t matter what you’re digging, though, does it, William? You used to push your toy grader through the garden dirt just as happily as you cleared snow today.”
Will gave a pleased smile. “What was I, six?”
“Younger. It was your favorite thing when you were four. You were particularly happy the day you dug up a whole row of beans.”
Tom took a sandwich from the plate, saw that it was tuna salad and put it back. He turned the plate around until he found ham and cheese. “Whose garden did you dig in, Jack?”
Liz looked at her brother gratefully. It was a small step, a simple courtesy, but more than he’d been willing to do for Jack so far. Now, if Jack just wouldn’t get touchy…
“I grew up in an apartment,” he said, his voice relaxed. “We used to dig in the school yard at recess, but not without paying for it later.”
“No garden at all?” Will asked. “I thought people in the city liked balcony gardens.”
“Whoever built our apartment didn’t think of balconies.”
“So you’re a true-blue city dweller. High-rise living, cement instead of grass, somebody making the snow disappear before you even get up in the morning. That explains why I was treated to the sight of you tackling a three-foot drift with a shovel. Quite a change for you, coming to Three Creeks.”
Jack smiled. “Third floor walk-up, birch trees out the window and snow-packed streets with ruts so deep you could get lost on your way to school. But you’re right, things are a lot different in Three Creeks. I don’t regret the change of lifestyle at all.”
Will and Tom looked speculatively from Jack to Liz. To her relief, they kept whatever thoughts they had to themselves. Tom helped himself to another sandwich and asked, “What sort of business did you have in Winnipeg, Jack? Something with computers, I heard.”
“He told us all about that last night,” Eleanor said. “He designed computer programs.”
Will’s eyebrows went up, and he nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a good line of business to be in, isn’t it?”
“It’s a very good line of business,” Jack agreed.
“But you left it?”
“I sold the whole kit and cab
oodle.”
“And bought a farm.”
Liz could see her uncle wondering what to put in the credit and debit columns.
“Quite a step for someone who never had so much as a balcony garden,” he said. “You seemed to find your way around your pumpkin field all right. If you can afford to wait for the trees, maybe it’ll all work out. Next thing you know everybody will want to grow Christmas trees.”
Jack couldn’t hide his surprise at Will’s interest. “I hope not. The market’s only so big.”
“Dad wanted to plant trees, didn’t he, Mother?”
“Not as a business. He used to talk about having a field of evergreens close to the house. He liked the idea of everyone coming over to choose a tree each year. He never had the leisure to make it happen, though.”
“Well, since Jack’s renting a Robb field no doubt he’ll let all of us come tree-picking once they’re big enough.”
Liz looked at her grandmother. They hadn’t talked any more about how she planned to divide her land. She didn’t seem concerned about her son’s assumption.
Will and Tom both got up from the table. Will had Julia’s driveway to clear, and Tom needed to get some more feed to his cattle.
“Good lunch, Mother.” Will sorted through his gloves as if he had a whole pile of them. “You play any hockey, Jack?”
“Pickup games. Nothing organized.”
“There’s an old-timers’ league starting up at the community center once the ice goes in. We can always use another man.”
“Old-timers,” Jack repeated.
“That’s anybody over twenty-five.” Will grinned. “Better get used to it.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra left wing,” Tom said, a little stiffly. “Can you manage that, Jack?”
“I’ll certainly give it a try.”
The kitchen was quiet when Will and Tom left. Eleanor sat down to finish her lunch. “Isn’t that encouraging, Jack? My family is beginning to behave itself.”
For now. Liz wondered what would happen if Eleanor decided to sell Jack the field.
REID HAD HOPED THE BLIZZARD would paralyze traffic so he couldn’t get to the office for a day or two, but the worst of the storm stayed north of the city. There were a few fender benders at intersections along the way, and that slowed him down, but by nine-thirty he was at his desk. Croker didn’t seem to believe in weekends. When there was nothing to do, the best minds worked overtime.
Reid’s job was to recover the files on Jack’s disk. He’d been at it for days. Whenever Croker asked him how things were going he talked about bits and bytes and overwritten fragments. That seemed to satisfy the guy that his expert was well-occupied.
During this exercise in futility he’d had plenty of time to think. A couple of things worried him. You had to wonder how they’d missed the disk the first time they were at the house. The book had pretty much opened to the clump of glued pages, and the cut edges weren’t exactly invisible.
Then there was the page Jack had chosen, and the particular area of the page where he’d cut. Who loses and who wins… Reid didn’t have a copy of King Lear, so he’d found it on the Internet. Not that reading it did him much good. He’d never understood a word Shakespeare said. Certain lines leapt out at him though…talk of enemies and spies, victories and his least favorite, Come, let’s away to prison.
Coincidence? Or did Jack know about the first break-in, and he was letting them know he did? If that was the case, the disk they’d found was worthless. He hadn’t mentioned his doubts to Croker. It was kind of self-defeating not to, but every cell of rebellious fifteen-year-old left inside him wanted to watch the guy flounder a little longer.
He’d honestly thought this whole project would be much easier going. He knew Jack, and Croker knew people interested in making a purchase. Wouldn’t you think they could find the product and sell it? And then be very happy, if not forever after, then at least for as long as it took to spend a million bucks? Give or take.
Without knocking first, or saying hello, one of Croker’s chums came into the office and whispered something Reid couldn’t hear. A second later Croker was at the desk.
“Looks like you don’t know McKinnon as well as you thought. He’s got another address. An apartment, right here in Winnipeg.”
Reid didn’t say anything. He was always tempted to explain things, but it made him look weak, and Croker didn’t listen anyway. Without another word, the two men left. Reid restrained himself from locking the door behind them.
So, he didn’t know Jack had kept his apartment. As if that was going to make a difference. Did Croker really think a second address would lead him to a copy of the algorithm? You didn’t have to know about his real estate holdings to know Jack. He wouldn’t leave something valuable in a place he hardly ever went. If he cared about something, he liked to be able to put his hands on it. He liked to look at it and think, “That’s mine.” Croker wouldn’t find anything. Nothing but dust and a nice view of the Assiniboine River.
Then what? He’d be back, crabbier than ever. And Reid would have nothing to give him. Because they were dead in the water. Nothing could be rescued from Jack’s disk. Croker would see that as evidence of Reid’s incompetence. Try explaining to a micro-managing Type A sociopath that there’s a difference between being incompetent and having a strong adversary.
ALL THE FAMILY BUT ELEANOR and Liz had gone to Brian’s for a blizzard party. Eleanor wanted to stay home and rest, and Liz wanted to work at something calm, a mundane job that would keep her mind occupied.
She sat on the floor in one of the spare bedrooms beside a 1950’s steamer trunk, lifting out odds and ends. There was a Chinese checkers game with a handful of mismatched marbles. A tattered Pin the Tail on the Donkey poster. A plush cat that had lost its button eyes and most of its fur. Things that should have been thrown away a long time ago, but were tucked in this trunk instead.
She unfolded the checkers board, and arranged the marbles she had on the six-pointed star. Four blues in one point. Two yellows. One green. Three orange. And that was all. She rolled the last marble over and over in its spot. She used to pull the game out when the grown-ups were visiting, when they talked and talked longer than she could imagine anyone being able to talk. Her grandfather always saw her putting the marbles in place, and he always left the loud, laughing group of parents and aunts and uncles to play with her. She loved snaking her marbles across the board so she could jump all the way from one side to the other. Getting them right into the point was the problem. She never had patience for that.
Liz swallowed. Her throat felt tight. She took a deep breath, but it didn’t help, it just spread the tightness to her chest. She leaned forward and breathed again. Deep breaths always did the trick, didn’t they? Deep breath in, and slowly blow out, and the tightness goes away. It was foolproof. Not this time. She could breath in, but not out. She was going to burst. She leaned on the trunk to push herself up and hurried on unsteady legs out of the room and down the stairs.
“Grandma?” Not in the kitchen, and not by the phone.
Eleanor’s voice came from behind her. “Elizabeth? I’m in the living room.” She was sitting forward on the sofa, a finger keeping her place in her book. “Oh, my dear.”
Tears flowed down Liz’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Grandma.”
“That’s all right. A good cry may be just what you need.”
Liz shook her head. That wasn’t it. She managed to say, “I didn’t come for Grandpa’s funeral.”
Eleanor set her book on the coffee table. “Sit down. Here, beside me.”
Liz could barely see her grandmother patting the sofa.
“Shh. There now.” Eleanor stroked Liz’s arm. Her hand kept stroking and quiet words kept coming like a lullaby. Finally she spoke more firmly. “Now, my dear girl. Your grandfather wouldn’t like to see you so upset. Would he? No, of course not.” She reached into her pocket and brought out a handkerchief. “Here, see what you c
an do with that streaming nose.”
Liz blinked to clear her vision. Irish linen, with a narrow lace edging. Like her dresses, Eleanor’s hankies hadn’t changed. Starched and ironed and folded in quarters, big enough for one good blow. Maybe. She sniffed and wiped her cheeks with her hand. “It’s too pretty, Grandma.” Still sniffing, she searched her own pockets. In one, she found a long strip of toilet paper.
“That should last you a week. I’ll just put on the kettle. It’ll boil before you’re mopped up.”
Liz followed her grandmother into the kitchen. She watched her lift the kettle, shake it, place it over the fire. Something in the familiar action made the tears start again. Bella and Dora came closer, their noses at her knees. She bent to pat them and cried harder.
“I understood why you didn’t come to the funeral, Elizabeth, and your grandfather would have, too. Goodness knows there were more than enough people around who thought they were helping me…and many who really were, to be fair. I wish you had come for your own sake. Still, it’s not the first time someone has said goodbye from a distance. Did you think he didn’t hear you? Of course he heard you.”
She hadn’t said goodbye at all. That was the thing. There was nothing for him to hear. She had sent flowers. Why would he care about a bouquet of flowers? An assortment of Okanagan apples, maybe, all the unusual varieties he’d wished he could grow on the prairies.
“Your grandfather loved you. And he knew you, through and through. You were such a sweet child, but I remember him saying he wouldn’t want to cross you. Even when you banged your knee on a door you’d look at it so fiercely, as if it had got in your way on purpose. He wondered what you’d do if someone really hurt you.”
The strip of paper had lasted five minutes, not a week. Liz reached for a paper napkin in the holder Eleanor kept on the table and shook it open. After dabbing and blowing until it was saturated, she said, “I never thought of Grandpa knowing me. I just thought of him as someone who did nice things. He always had humbugs in his pocket.”