by Joan Boswell
“Well now, I’m getting set to go fishing. There’s a big old bass out there just waiting to be caught.”
“Can we come?” She’d told him her name a couple of times, but he couldn’t think of it now. She sure did make him think of Joanie when she was a kid. “We’ve never been fishing.”
“Aw, you’re better off staying here with your mom.”
“She’s gone shopping.” The smaller one spoke up. She was about five, Stu guessed. “Sarah’s the boss of me until she gets back.”
Stu wasn’t really listening. He’d forgotten to bring the net down. He’d never be able to land a bass without it, but it was going to mean struggling up that hill again.
“Say, you wouldn’t do a favour for an old man, would you? I left my fish net in the shed.”
“Well . . .” Sarah scrunched her face up and stared up the hill.
Oh, boy, he could see it coming. The kid couldn’t be more than ten or eleven, but she was a born negotiator. Stu knew that from previous encounters. Just the other day he’d had a run-in with her about riding her bike through his tomato plants. He’d asked her to stop, and she’d given him a big song and dance about him not being the boss of her.
She had her hands on her hips right now. “We might get it. But only if you take us fishing with you.”
“We’re bored,” chimed in the little one. “We got nothing to do.”
He weighed the pros and cons of having to put up with two kids in a boat against the prospect of climbing that hill.
“Okay. But you better run over and tell your mother.”
“Don’t you listen to anything?” Sarah rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. “We told you, Mom’s gone to the village. I’m in charge, and I say it’s fine.”
The two girls ran for the stone steps, their bare legs flashing in the pre-storm light.
Once he got them settled in the boat, Stu fired up the old Evinrude outboard motor and crossed to the other side of the lake. He tried casting, but the girls kept shifting in their seats, throwing off his aim. He had to shush them, explaining that bass have good hearing and would be scared away by their high-pitched squabbling.
“I’m bored,” the little one complained.
“Well, boring’s what fishing’s all about. You shouldn’t have come if you didn’t want to sit still.”
Her bottom lip quivered, and Stu relented. “Tell you what, there’s a place I haven’t been to for a coon’s age. It’s kind of hidden away. But I’m pretty sure I could find it again.” Stu smiled at the memory of long-ago trips to Mosquito Creek with Joanie and Franklin. They used to love scrambling down the water-washed boulders where the upper lake spilled into the creek.
“Take us there. Please!” Both girls began to chant, “Please, please, please.”
Stu looked over at the clouds mounting above the northern shore. The leaves were turning in the quickening breeze. “It’s going to rain for sure.”
But the girls only increased the volume. “Please, please, please.”
Stu turned away to start the motor, but the chanting was getting on his nerves. He gave it too much gas and flooded it. “Joanie! Stop that this instant,” he shouted.
Sarah looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Who’s Joanie?”
He was startled and a little frightened. What in the world had made him say that? “She’s my daughter. I just got mixed up for a minute.” He pulled the rope, and the motor caught. “Hold on. We’ll be there soon.”
The outlet from Mosquito Creek was concealed by acres of reeds. You had to know the route through the five-foot high vegetation to find it at all. Stu turned off the motor, lifted the prop out of the water and let the boat drift until he found a small gap. It had filled in considerably since he’d last been here, but he managed to pull the boat through with his hands. Once past the shallow mouth of the creek, he fitted both oars in the locks and rowed past floating clumps of lily pads. He asked Sarah to lean over the bow and yell if she saw any stumps or deadheads in their path. When they got to the waterlily meadow, he cast his line, and almost immediately a bass hit the lure. The girls screeched with excitement as Stu struggled to get the net under the flailing fish and haul it in. He grabbed it under the gills, yanked the hook out of its mouth with pliers and dropped it onto the floor where it thrashed, flapping against the seats and sides of the boat. Laughter turned to screams as the girls cringed together in the bow. “Get it out of here,” one of them demanded. He’d forgotten which was which. “Throw it back in the water.”
“I’m not throwing it back. I promised Belle I’d bring a big one back for supper.” Stu looked up and realized the younger one was now crying in earnest. “Tell you what. I’ll kill him, and then he won’t bother you.” He stood up and pounded the butt end of an oar onto the bass’s head. It twitched a couple of times and then lay still.
“Gross! I’m going to throw up.” The older one started making retching noises.
Stu was seriously rattled. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll let you kids off at the waterfall. You always have fun there, don’t you, Joanie?”
He started the motor again, driving the boat into the tall grasses at the base of the rushing water and helping the girls to step out onto land. Fat raindrops began splashing off their bare arms and dark blue circles appeared on their bathing suits. “All right, you and Franklin play here for a while, and I’ll see if I can catch another fish before the rain starts in earnest. I’ll be back before you know it.”
The girls looked at him with wide, frightened eyes, but said nothing.
“You awake, Stu?”
Stu lurched upright in the armchair, his heart pounding. “Good God. You trying to frighten an old man to death?”
“Sorry to wake you, but Joanie’s been trying to phone, and you didn’t answer.” Franklin unzipped his yellow slicker and hung it over the back of the rocking chair. “She’s been listening to the news broadcasts and wanted me to make sure you were okay.”
Stu snorted. “I must’ve unplugged the phone. It’s the only way I can get any rest around here.”
“You’ve missed everything then.” Franklin ran a hand over his wet hair. “It’s the damnedest thing. Some kids have gone missing.”
“Kids?” Stu felt his stomach contract. “Not Joanie. You did say she’s okay, didn’t you?”
“She’s fine. Been trying to call you from the city.” Franklin bent over and peered into his eyes. “Are you all right, Stu?”
“Who’s missing then? You said someone’s missing.”
“It’s the Pilon kids from next door. Their mother left them on their own while she went shopping in the village. When she got back, there was no sign of them.” He went to stand by the front window. Stu struggled out of his chair to join him. It was pitch black out there. Through the rain beating against the glass, he could just make out a string of lights bobbing far out on the lake.
Franklin sighed. “Everybody with a boat’s out there. The rest of us are searching the woods behind the cottages.” He picked up his coat. “We’re worried about some of those old feldspar pits. The area’s riddled with them. And there’s been a few bear sightings near here this summer.”
“Wait a minute. I . . .”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.” He turned away from the window. “There’s something . . . uh, you sure Joanie’s okay?”
“I told you. She’s fine.”
Suddenly, it felt like a skid of bricks was pressing down on Stu’s chest. He’d never experienced such pain. His knees began to buckle, and he could feel the room tipping, feel Franklin’s hand under his elbow. He mustn’t lose consciousness, though. There was something important he wanted to say. Something about blue bathing suits.
Sue Pike wrote her first crime story, ‘Murder Isn’t Right”, at the age of seven. After a long sabbatical, she began writing again, and her more recent stories have appeared in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Storyteller, Cold Blood and all five Ladies’ Killin
g Circle anthologies. “Widow’s Weeds” from Cottage Country Killers won the Arthur Ellis Award for Best Short Story of 1997.
When Laura Smiles
Liz Palmer
Oh, God. Here comes Carol, our activities director. She needn’t think she can wheedle me into playing bingo.
“Hi there, Ruth. I’ve got something interesting for you today.” She radiates energy and efficiency.
I force a smile. She has a tough job trying to keep us busy. Most of us in the nursing home want to be left alone, to remember . . . or forget.
She lays the Winnipeg Free Press in my lap.
“Isn’t that the same house as the one in the photo on your dresser?”
Even without my glasses I recognize Grove House.
“It’s my grandparents’ home. Every July they waited there for me.” I point at the step. “With Great Aunt Muriel tatting lace in the rocker. As I ran towards them, Pop would turn to Nana and say, ‘I guess it must be the first day of summer, because our ray of sunshine has arrived.’ ” Carol is smiling patiently, and I see I have told her this story before.
“Well,” her eyes sparkle, “a skeleton’s been found there, hidden in a secret tunnel. Let me read you the article.” She is about to pick up the paper when one of the fellows across the room starts yelling. She scoots over to sort out the problem. I have no need to read the story. I close my eyes and remember the first time Nana and Pop were not waiting for me on the steps. I was ten.
Sitting on the bench, feet swinging to and fro, I watched the second hand tick round the face of the station clock. In seven minutes, I’d be getting on the train and travelling to Merton all by myself.
“Sit still, Ruth, I’ve something to tell you.” I stopped counting the ticks and waited, expecting yet more of Mother’s instructions on how to behave. Instead, she said “You will not be the only child at Grove House this summer.”
“What do you mean?” Summer had always been me with Daddy’s parents, and Great Aunt Muriel.
Mother’s lips compressed the way they did when she was cross. “Your cousin, Laura, will be there.”
“You never told me I had a cousin called Laura.”
“Because I was unaware of her existence until I received a letter this morning. Eleven years old, and she’s only just turned up.” Mother obviously disapproved of such unorthodox conduct. “Aunt Muriel writes that Laura’s had a very difficult life, and Nana and Pop want you to be especially nice to her.”
“Where has she been? And why has her life been difficult?”
“Her mother died last year.”
“Oh.” I edged closer to my mother. “Does she live with her father?”
Mother shook her head. Her fingers tapped against the stiff brown leather of her handbag. “She hasn’t got a father either.”
“She’s an orphan!” I couldn’t imagine having no parents. “Does she live in an orphanage?”
“No, with a foster family. Now that times are hard, they can’t afford to keep her, so she’s going to live with Nana and Pop.” Mother stood up as the train came into the station, hissed out its steam and came to a shuddering stop. She helped me put my bags into the carriage. “I’ll see you in a month.” We hugged. “Be a good girl and be kind to Laura.”
I waved until she became a dot in the distance, then sat in the corner and watched the fields go by. A cousin might be fun. She’d be able to do things Nana and Pop couldn’t, like climb trees. I’d share my toys with her, and she’d be grateful. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of her living with my Nana and my Pop.
The train slowed as it approached Merton, and I dragged my luggage to the door. Through the glass I could see Old Joe, Pop’s general handyman, waiting with the buggy and the brown mare. It didn’t take long to load up, and soon we were trotting down the dirt road towards Grove House. Joe steered the buggy through the wooden gates. The horse broke into a canter, and Joe shouted “Whoa” at her and hauled on the reins. We’d arrived.
I swivelled round to wave at Nana and Pop. They weren’t there. Great Aunt Muriel sat alone on the verandah, a long ribbon of lace falling over the arm of the rocker. She smiled and nodded at me.
A small lump of fear formed in my stomach. I climbed slowly down from the buggy, very slowly in case they hadn’t heard us coming.
Joe hitched the horse to the railing and lifted my bags out. Finally, the screen door opened and Pop appeared, leading a girl by the hand. Nana held the girl’s other hand. They came and stood in a row at the top of the steps, Nana and Pop beaming proudly at my new cousin.
“Hey, Ruth, come and meet our little ray of sunshine.” Laura smiled at Pop when he said this, and the lump in my stomach hardened. She kept hold of Nana’s and Pop’s hands, and I hesitated at the bottom of the steps. How could they hug me, if she didn’t let go? Then Laura looked down at me. She had dimples and big blue eyes colder than the wind in our Winnipeg winters.
“She doesn’t like me.” Her voice trembled, and she buried her face in Nana’s flowered shirt. Nana’s arms went round her.
“Of course she does, darling. You do, don’t you, Ruth?” Nana and Pop both glared at me as though I’d done something bad.
“Yes.” I mumbled, staring at my sandals, knowing I hated her just as she hated me. Knowing my summers at Grove House had changed forever.
Within the hour, the pattern had been set. Laura led the way to my room. Tucked under the eaves near the top of the stairs, it had sloping walls and a wide window seat. Years ago, Pop had painted my name on the door. My books were on the shelves, and my toys were in the closet. Except they weren’t. And the eiderdown with the yellow roses wasn’t on my bed either.
“Where are my things?” I pointed at the empty shelves.
“Laura borrowed them. We knew you wouldn’t mind.”
I did mind. I minded not being asked.
“I’m very sorry.” Laura hung her head. “Please forgive me.”
“Well said,” Nana smiled and patted Laura’s head. “And you with nothing to apologize for. Ruth, I’m sure you’re going to be generous and share with your cousin. I’ll get the juice and cookies ready for when you’re finished unpacking.” The door closed behind her.
Laura glanced from me to the mirror. “No one would think we were cousins,” she said. She sounded pleased, and I didn’t blame her. I was skinny, with crooked teeth and straight brown hair. Laura had white skin with rosy cheeks and long golden curls like my best china doll. Nana and Pop couldn’t help but love her the most.
“I’ll fetch the books and the puzzles. The rest of the toys stay in my room.”
“No,” I said. “You bring everything here to share out.”
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged and left the room. I took the dresses Mother had placed in the top of the case, shook them, and hung them in the closet, wishing all the while that Laura had never been found.
The door crashed open. “Ruth,” Nana snapped, “did you tell Laura to bring your things back?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“To think you could be so selfish, Ruth Cummings. When I found Laura crying outside the kitchen, I told her she must have made a mistake. However, I see it’s Pop and I who have made the mistake. You, young lady, have been spoiled.”
Tears filled my eyes. I tried to explain, but Nana wouldn’t listen. During the next few days, this happened time and again. Laura would twist my words and turn me into a monster while I, I could only stutter my protests.
Night after night I cried myself to sleep. Laura had cast a spell on Nana and Pop. Like the Ice Queen, she’d planted a sliver of ice in their hearts, and they’d forgotten how happy we’d been before. I longed for a good fairy to arrive to melt the ice. Gradually, I withdrew into myself.
Sometimes the sounds of Pop and Laura singing the songs he used to sing with me drifted through my bedroom window. He and Nana knew lots of songs and dances from their time on the stage. That’s how Pop met Nana. She’d starred in a travelling show that played in Winn
ipeg when Pop was very young. He fell in love with her and ran away to join the troupe.
I didn’t have anywhere to run to. Mother spent every July in Regina caring for her father while her sister had a holiday. Daddy never stayed in Winnipeg in the summer. He took his students to the far north to study rock formations. I prayed Grandpa would die so Mother could come home, then cried with shame for my awful thoughts.
The third week of that dreadful month arrived. I’d taken to spending the days reading in the old maple behind the stables. On the Wednesday morning I’d finished making a sandwich to take with me and gone into the pantry for an apple when Pop and Nana came into the kitchen.
“When Laura smiles at me, I’d do anything for her,” Pop said.
“I know what you mean. She just melts your heart.” Nana sighed. “I wish Ruth hadn’t grown into such a sullen, unattractive girl. It would be lovely for Laura to have a friend.”
“Ruth isn’t happy unless she’s the centre of attention.” Pop’s voice faded as they went out to the garden. Tears streamed down my face. The sandwich fell to the floor as I sobbed into my hands.
The pantry door opened, and soft arms held me close. “There now.” Aunt Muriel patted my back. “Don’t cry so. Come along with me.”
“Why, Aunt Muriel?” I cried. “Why don’t they love me any more? Is it because I’m not pretty?”
Aunt Muriel wiped my eyes with her lavender scented handkerchief. “No, my dear. Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes. Nana and Pop made one a long time ago, and Laura suffered. Now they are trying to make amends, and unfortunately, you are caught in the middle.”
Aunt Muriel had her rooms in the round stone tower on the south side of the house, and for the rest of the holiday they became my refuge.
It rained every day the last week of that July. Laura played spillikins with Pop and skipped rope on the verandah, with my rope. In the stone tower, Aunt Muriel took a black-bound ledger out of her bookcase. “I’ve a puzzle for you.” She put it down on the gate-legged table by the window. “First you must promise to keep what you learn a secret.” She sounded very serious.