Patricia was doing up her coat as she passed us. “Now you boys have fun. We’ll go into town so we’ll be out of your way. Should be back by supper time. And we’ll expect you to stay for dinner after all that hard work, Andrew. Won’t we Kathryn?”
Kathryn put her towel on top of the dresser and did her own coat up. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s always interesting to have a man in the house. There are so few good ones around.”
Without looking at Jamie, I could tell that comment had struck a bull’s-eye. The war got colder, and so did I.
Patricia stepped out through the hole in the wall and waited for Kathryn to join her. “Tell you what, I’ll make spaghetti tonight. It’s Galen’s favourite and I already have some sauce in the freezer. Is that okay with you boys?”
I nodded and so did Jamie. “That will be okay, Mom. See you later.”
“Bye. Come along, Kathryn. You drive, okay?”
“I’d love to. And try not to work too hard, boys. Men sweat so when they try to prove too much.” This was why I hated to be in the same room with the both of them at the same time. Separately, they were each fine and nothing but polite and natural to me. But put them together and the worst sides of each came out. I have an aversion to most types of wars, especially psychological ones.
Kathryn walked by Jamie with a curt “bye” and, with a genuine smile, touched my arm in a warm manner, then she was out the hole in the wall with Patricia.
Jamie was silent for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I wish she’d leave. I wish Mom would just kick her out and everything would be like it used to be.” I’d heard this all before a thousand times. And a thousand times I’d tried to find different ways of changing the subject, but with little success.
“I don’t think that’s going to happen. And I don’t think things can ever be the same until they find your father. Come on, give me a hand with the dresser.”
On the wall over by the door was a picture of Galen, in his military dress. Jamie was staring at it. In retrospect, they looked a lot alike, except Jamie was a bit heavier. Probably the Ojibway influence.
“Give me a break, my dad’s dead. Everybody knows it except Mom. I’ve tried to tell her that a couple of times but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Mom’s so sure of him coming home. I don’t know what to do.”
He looked over at another picture on Patricia’s dresser. This one was a wedding picture of Galen and Patricia and the middle right side of the frame looked unusually tarnished, as if it had been picked up a lot.
“And that woman doesn’t make it any better.”
I quickly grabbed the side of Kathryn’s dresser and lifted my end up. “Hey you, enough talking. I have school in a couple of days. Work time.”
Nodding in agreement, Jamie put the picture back down on Patricia’s dresser and leaned over to grab the other end. We groaned together and lifted the heavy piece of furniture a few feet until Jamie stumbled over his own footing, smashing his shoulder against Patricia’s maple dresser. I saw the marriage photograph slip from the top and, hearing me yell, Jamie made a lunge for it. Kathryn’s dresser made a crash landing.
Two things happened almost immediately. Jamie caught the picture before it hit the ground, and because the dresser was left in my hands alone, it tilted, almost falling over. Half the drawers came flying out across the room. I managed to steady the thing to prevent it from falling over completely, but a definite mess had been made. The bedroom now resembled a war zone.
Jamie looked at the four drawers and their scattered contents, then at me.
“Oops,” was the quintessential Jamie comment.
I quickly kneeled down and started to gather up some of the stuff; clothes, travel pamphlets, a sewing kit, and some letters. Not knowing what to do, I started randomly putting the various articles back into the drawers. I noticed Jamie wasn’t helping me. He was still holding his parents’ wedding picture.
“Hey, aren’t you gonna help?”
“Let her clean it up. Her stuff. Wasn’t our fault. It was an accident.”
“Don’t give Kathryn ammunition to use against you. Leave it like this and she’ll think you went through her stuff.” Evidently I had struck a logic cord in his head and he replaced the picture and started gathering Kathryn’s clothes together.
It would be obvious to her that things in her drawers had been rearranged a bit, but we could have blamed it on moving the dresser back and forth. She’s not a dumb woman, but sometimes people will believe anything, especially during house renovations.
I left Jamie to pick up the rest as I replaced the restocked drawers in what I hoped was the proper order. “Finished with the others yet?”
Turning, I saw that Jamie had a telegram in his hands. From where I stood, it looked official. But the expression on his face did not bode well. His eyes looked as strained as the hand holding the telegram. He didn’t even look like he was breathing. Slowly, he started to open the letter.
“Wait a minute Jamie, that’s illegal or something … ?”
My warning received no reaction. He either didn’t hear me, or he didn’t care. Slowly he drew the telegram out of the envelope, pinching the tip of it, then let the envelope fall to the ground where I picked it up, curious.
You could tell by the insignia that it was from the United States Government. I’d recognize that self-righteous eagle anywhere. It was from the Department of Defense. It looked old.
Feeling like a cat with a canary in his mouth, I couldn’t help but look around nervously. I wasn’t actually doing anything wrong, but I believe I feared being guilty by association.
Jamie opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. He looked like he had no breath with which to speak. Then his hoarse and distant voice came: “August twenty-first, 1985 … nine years ago … the remains of Private Galen Hill were recovered … buried with full military honours... condolences … special thank you to Kathryn Sargent for arranging burial services since Patricia Hill could not be found.”
The words on that telegram and the look in Jamie’s eyes made the pit of my stomach dry up. The silence made it worse. Ranting and raving I could have handled—it would have been an outlet—but not the silence. His breathing was the only thing that made me conscious of time passing.
Then one deep breath, and a whisper.
“She knew. All this time she knew. And she didn’t tell us! She buried my father without telling us!” His formerly cold and distant voice was now anything but. Noisily, the guilty letter was unconsciously being crumpled in his hand.
Slowly the intense look of anger dissolved into genuine sadness. “It’s over. My dad is real again. He’s back over here. I’ve got to tell Mom.” Out of nowhere, his face took on the appeal of a puppy with a large soup bone in sight. I figured this particular soup bone might be named Kathryn.
This look of eagerness in his face had me worried. We were not the best of friends, him being just a little too intense for my tastes, but I knew him well enough to be concerned about his anxious and eager looks. I’d seen this look as the cause of too many fights and too much trouble.
“I guess you should. Why do you think Kathryn would have done all this? It doesn’t make sense.” That was the truth. I had always thought Kathryn was pretty cool as things went, but now I wasn’t so sure. There was a lot here that wasn’t being explained.
Jamie threw the crumpled letter against a wall. The anger was coming back. “Of course it does. I told you all along she was a bitch. Maybe now Mom will see the real her.”
I chose my next words very carefully. “Jamie, just be sure you want to tell this news about your father to your mother to let her mind rest, not to get revenge on Kathryn.”
He looked at me. Those brown eyes could have driven a few of the two-inch nails we’d been using through a hardwood floor. Perhaps because of this I grabbed my hammer. “Sorry, just thinking aloud. Well, let’s go get that door frame, huh?”
His stare never wavered. “Whose side ar
e you on? This is my mother we’re talking about. And my father. I’m going to tell my mother about this because I care about her. That’s why. She deserves to know, don’t you think?”
“Hey, I’d really rather not get involved in this. You’re the son, not me. I’m just hired labour.”
Muttering to himself, he went out the hole in the wall and I soon could hear him struggling with some lumber. I leaned against Kathryn’s dresser wondering what I’d gotten myself into. Occasionally I could hear splashes of mumbled sentences floating in from the lawn. “You have no idea. You can’t. She’s my mother, not yours. I know what’s best for her … ”
Other than the sporadic grumbling, for the rest of the afternoon we worked in silence. Or rather, I worked in silence. I don’t think Jamie was really there, other than in body. It took him three times as long to do things as it did me, making me acutely aware that my plan to finish the bracing then run away and hide before the women got home was fast disappearing.
Even more discerning was Jamie’s lack of interest in the quality of work he was doing. It was obvious that some of the bracing would have to be done over again, but this was not the time to inform him of this. Jamie was in his own little world and I don’t think I was welcome there.
It was late in the afternoon, that golden time just as the sun is beginning to set behind the still-active clouds of heat lightning on the horizon, adding a sense of other-worldliness to the summer sky. It was into this picturesque scene that the ladies arrived, arms laden with packages and groceries. This was the moment I had been fearing all afternoon.
Jamie straightened up from planing a two-by-four, and stood tall. I mentally wondered whether, should the situation arise, I could take Jamie in a fight. Or in the prevention of one. We were about the same height, but he was a little heavier, most of it muscle—he loved to work with his hands and back more than I did. He also had done more fighting than I had. The odds were in his favour. Nothing was going right that afternoon.
As they approached, they waved, oblivious to the atmosphere. I managed a weak half-circle of my right hand and noticed, out of the corner of my eye, Jamie nodding his head almost imperceptibly in acknowledgement. Patricia yelled from the front door: “Dinner in about half an hour, boys. I hope you’re hungry.” Kathryn put her arm around Patricia as they entered the house. They laughed about something as the door closed behind them.
I waited nervously for some reaction, but, surprisingly, nothing happened. Clichés rushed through my mind: it’s always quietest before the storm, the Natives are restless, the eye of the hurricane …
Again we went back to work until, without looking at me as he finished planing that board, Jamie spoke.
“Okay, you’re the genius, what do you think I should do?”
I hunted for nails, or at least I pretended to. “Whatever you want to do.”
He threw down his plane. “You’re a lot of help. Not more than two hours ago you were chewing me out for wanting to do what I think is the right thing to do.”
“Then do it. We both know that whatever I tell you to do, you’re gonna do what you want anyway. That’s the way you are. Why do you think I’m the only one here helping you with your stupid house? Nobody else would come. You give them too much of a hard time. It’s your way or no way. Does any of this sound familiar?” There, I had said it. I waited for the effect.
It was one of silence. At first. “My life is my life, Sailor. I do what I want ’cause it gets me through. That’s not an explanation, or an excuse, just the way it is. My life is a lot different from yours, way different, and I have to make do. When you have to live with growing up in this house, talk to me then. Then you’ll know why I do what I do. Speaking of which, I can also finish the house myself. Thanks for everything, Sailor.” I was being dismissed. He turned and went inside the house, slapping the plastic door aside.
My pickup was waiting for me, and I had the door opened before I heard Patricia’s voice calling from the kitchen window.
“Don’t you dare leave this property. The spaghetti’s almost cooked and we have far too much for us to eat alone.”
I had been invited to dinner and Patricia was determined to make sure I was going to eat. But I was determined not to give up without a fight. Like the dark thunderclouds hanging over that little house, I knew what waited at the end of the dinner.
“I really got to get home. I sort of promised my mother … ”
“Kathryn is setting the plates. You get in here right this minute.” With that she slid the window closed. I was trapped. I could still get in the truck and drive away, but I couldn’t do it with a clear conscience. Like a virus, Patricia has a way of worming her way into your subconscious. The door to the truck closed behind me.
The walk to the kitchen door was the longest of my life. I had never noticed how serene the house looked, with the lake as a backdrop. I could see bodies moving around in the darkness of the kitchen window. I wondered what they served at the Last Supper.
Though I’d been working all day, I had no appetite. My brain feverishly tried to come up with a logical way of getting out of dinner without insulting Kathryn and Patricia, but I had lost my only chance.
Jamie was already sitting at the table when I entered. I took the seat nearest the door, right beside him. Patricia was in mid-scolding.
“Why must you always fight with everybody? You should be like your father more, everybody likes him. He has friends everywhere. And Andrew is always welcome in this house.”
The room reeked of garlic and oregano. Jamie had the salt shaker clutched firmly in the palm of his hand. He was squeezing it. “You just remember that, young man. So, how’re the noodles doing, Kathryn?” Without waiting for an answer, Patricia grabbed a noodle with a fork and slid it into her mouth as Kathryn finished making the garlic bread. I remembered that Kathryn was part Italian. I couldn’t help thinking that there was nothing quite like a traditional Italian/Indian spaghetti dinner.
“Finished with that door yet? A cold draft comes through that thing at night, you know.” That was from Kathryn.
His voice oddly calm, Jamie answered, his eyes firmly on Kathryn. “Things will be fixed up soon. Things will be just the way they used to be. Wouldn’t want something like that to be bothering you for a long time. That would be wrong, eh Kathryn?”
It was the first time I’d ever heard him use her name, let alone in her presence. Kathryn’s reaction was immediate, a quick look of surprise and puzzlement. You could tell she saw something unusual in the way he looked at her. Jamie had scored round one in a battle Kathryn didn’t yet know was happening.
Patricia was rinsing the noodles under the tap, oblivious to what was happening behind her. “Good. I’m not your father. He loves sleeping out in the open but all the insects get to me, even with that tarp you put up.”
“Yeah, Dad was kind of tough, eh Mom? Think he’s still alive?”
Across the kitchen, Kathryn had turned away from Jamie and was popping the bread in the oven. When she heard this she froze over the stove. I closed my eyes, wincing. Whatever people may have thought of Patricia’s living arrangement with Kathryn, there was an unspoken agreement everywhere in the reserve not to burst her bubble about Galen being alive. You can fool around with a living person but hands off the dead ones.
The strainer of spaghetti was quietly lowered into the sink. Kathryn and I glanced at each other briefly, wondering what Patricia’s reaction would be. She hadn’t moved from the sink. Her voice was remarkably controlled, quiet even, and very firm.
“Your father is too alive. They never found his body, and I know him well enough to know that men like him don’t die easily. He is alive somewhere and don’t you forget it!”
Jamie cleared his throat ominously. “But how can you be so sure, Mom? It’s been almost twenty years and … ”
“I just know!” she screamed. “I made him promise me he’d come back. He promised!” Kathryn fell back against the stove, a look on her fac
e so intense I wouldn’t have thought it possible, and I closed my eyes again.
“Jamie … ” I said, trying unsuccessfully to diffuse the situation.
In a whisper Jamie again asked, “Do you, Mom?”
“Jamie … ” This time it was Kathryn’s turn to intervene.
With a cry, Patricia reached in the sink and threw the strainer full of spaghetti across the room. Tendrils of white pasta sailed through the air, pelting Jamie. Even I felt a whip of it, still burning hot, going down the neck of my jacket.
“Don’t you dare ever say anything like that! Ever again!” Patricia flew at Jamie, her arms working like a flailing machine gone crazy. She hit at him repeatedly, making the spaghetti fly again until Kathryn and I pulled her off. Fighting her way out of our arms, she ran from the kitchen and disappeared down the hallway that led to the bedroom. The house shook with the slamming of a door.
Kathryn’s eyes turned in their sockets to look at us. Jamie, I, and the kitchen were a mess.
Kathryn trembled as she spoke. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you know what you just did?”
Without speaking, Jamie removed a piece of paper from his coat pocket. He must have recovered it from the floor when I was on my way to the truck. He smoothed it out and held it up for Kathryn to see.
Kathryn glanced quickly at the telegram. Then, almost instantly, the emotions playing across her face fell away as others rushed in to take their place. The fierce anger that had been burning had now been replaced by wide-eyed fear as the reality of the telegram registered.
I saw a small smile, however cold, appear on Jamie’s face—one of ultimate victory.
I could see a lump moving down Kathryn’s throat as she swallowed. “Where’d you get that? You went rummaging through my things, didn’t you?”
Jamie shook his head, ever so slowly, every movement exaggerated in his control of the situation. “No. Didn’t have to. It appeared before me as God wanted it to.”
You could almost see the wheels turning in Kathryn’s head as explanations and excuses came and went through her mind. And Jamie sat there, quietly, waiting for them. Unfortunately, so was I.
Fearless Warriors Page 11