Hockey Fever

by Glenn Parker

  The future indeed looked dismal. Perhaps he would have to swallow his pride after all and go on his knees to Brush. Wasn’t that what Brush expected him to do?

  He kicked at a rock. That was no way to solve his problem. A job was bound to show up sooner or later. The problem was the time in between. Would he be able to weather that?

  A few days later, Don received a letter from Jess Abernathy who owned a building supply company in a place called Fairmore in Southern Saskatchewan. Don remembered him as being a friend of his father. What could he possibly be writing Don about? He couldn’t remember the last time anyone wrote to him in longhand.

  Dear Don,

  I just read in the paper of your decision to quit hockey. If you haven’t already found yourself a job and you’re available, I would like to offer you a position with my firm. I own a building supply store here in Fairmore and have been in business for many years. Your father once worked for me years ago when you were just a toddler. He was a valued employee and we became very good friends. It is because of our friendship that I am offering you this job. If you decide you would like to come to work for me, send me an email or better still come down here to Fairmore and let’s have a talk. I look forward to meeting you.

  Yours truly,

  Jess Abernathy

  Don read the letter over several times. He could hardly believe his luck. This was the perfect answer to his dilemma. And it would get him out of town and doing something constructive instead of sitting around moping about his future and driving his mother crazy.

  “Your father worked for him for a long time,” his mother told him. “They were great friends. In fact, he wanted your father to come into partnership with him.”

  “Seems odd him writing me out of the blue. Did you have anything to do with this?”

  His mother shrugged. “You’re more famous than you give yourself credit for. A lot of people out there have been following your career, Jess Abernathy being one. He was always a keen hockey fan and since he knew your father, he’s probably been keeping track of your career.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Does it matter? He’s offering you a job, that’s the important thing.”

  “I guess you’re right. What do you think? Should I take it?” There was something final about the whole thing. There was no turning back if he accepted the job. It would be the end of his hockey career and he knew it. Was he prepared to accept that fact? It was a scary thought.

  His mother smiled. “That’s your decision, dear. It looks like a wonderful opportunity for you.”

  “I don’t remember anything about Fairmore. I guess I was too young. What’s it like?”

  “Well, I guess it’s changed a lot since we were there. But it’s a nice town. That land your father left you is only a few miles out of town. You’ll be able to go and look at it when you’re there. It had a cabin on it, but there might not be much left of it after all these years.”

  “I’d forgotten about that,” Don said. He looked at the letter again and then at his mother. “Guess I had better go and pack. And I’ll give him a call and let him know I’m on my way.”

  His mother came to the train station to see him off. It was drizzling and Don felt oddly depressed. There was something despairing about going to a strange place to take up a job he knew nothing about. He knew he should feel glad about it, but he didn’t. He was going to a job but he was also cutting the last link with the team. Was this what he really wanted?

  His mother gave him a hug. “Good luck, dear,” she said. “Phone me or send me an email and let me know how things are going.”

  Don waved at her from his window as the train pulled out of the station.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Don watched the flat, brown landscape of Southern Saskatchewan pass by his window. He had never been this far south — at least since he was too small to remember it. He was sure that they must be getting awfully close to the American border.

  The land, as far as he could see, was similar to most other parts of Saskatchewan. He was amazed at how far you could travel without seeing much change in the land. It was continual and monotonous.

  He wondered about the town he was going to. It had a hockey team that had won the Canadian Intermediate title several years ago. He knew that much about it, but little else.

  He wondered what it would be like to work at a building supply centre. He knew nothing about the lumber industry but was hardly in a position to be choosey. Besides, from what his mother had told him about Jess Abernathy, he was a fine man and a good one to work for.

  He noticed a change in the scenery. Flat prairie was being replaced by gently rolling hills. It was a pleasant change.

  “Great country, isn’t it?”

  Don looked over at the old fellow sitting across from him.

  “Yes it is. I’m surprised at the hills. I was afraid it was going to be flat and uninteresting all the way.”

  The old fellow chuckled. His weather- beaten face was a network of wrinkles that gave him a benign look. To Don he looked like someone who had spent a lot of time in the outdoors. Perhaps he was a retired farmer.

  “Well, it might surprise you to know that we do a little skiing down in this part of the country.” He grinned. “Not me though —

  I’m getting a mite old for that kind of stuff.”

  Don smiled politely. Somehow he couldn’t imagine this frail little man flying down a steep hill on skis. The very thought made him chuckle to himself.

  “You headed for Fairmore by any chance?”

  Don nodded.

  “Been living there for thirty years now,” he said. “Name’s Harry Thompson.” He held out a withered hand and Don shook it feeling unaccountably embarrassed. He had never been good at striking up chance acquaintances. Perhaps the old guy could give him some information about Fairmore.

  “Don Jordan’s mine,” he said. “You don’t happen to know Jess Abernathy, do you?”

  “Who doesn’t? He’s practically an institution around Fairmore.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Don’t tell me you’re the young fellow’s going to work for Jess.” When Don nodded, the old fellow looked pleased with himself. “I thought you looked familiar. You were playing for the Huskies, weren’t you?”

  “That’s right,” Don said reluctantly. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain why he wasn’t playing any more — especially to a complete stranger.

  “I read that bit in the paper about you quitting. Quite a surprise. A lot of people are wondering about that.”

  Don stared out the window. It was just his luck to run into somebody who knew about him. It was going to prove a nuisance, of that he was sure. He looked back at the old man who was staring at him curiously, waiting for an explanation.

  “It’s a long story,” Don said curtly. “I’d rather not discuss it if you don’t mind.” He didn’t want to appear rude, but then he couldn’t bear to start rationalizing his decision to a perfect stranger.

  “I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean to be nosey. I’m just surprised, that’s all.” He paused, then said, “maybe you’ll play for the Blades. They could use some new blood.”

  “The Blades? Is that the name of your intermediate team?”

  “Yeah, that’s their name all right. You’ll see the sign when we come into town. ‘Home of the Fairmore Blades. Canadian Intermediate Champions, 1998’. Of course, they’ve gone downhill since then, but they still play a good brand of hockey. I suppose it would be a real come-down for you.”

  “I doubt it,” Don assured him. “Some of the intermediate teams I’ve seen have been pretty good. But I’ve quit hockey for good. I wouldn’t consider playing for anybody now under any conditions.”

  Harry Thompson looked disappointed. “Sure could use you. Last year the team finished in the basement. Since the crowds have fallen off, they’ve quit bringing in players — can’t afford it now. We’ve got an assortment of ex-juniors, ex-pros and some
that never made junior or just didn’t want to leave town. Trouble is, some of the veterans are retiring this year and it’s going to hurt the club.” He suddenly grinned. “Bet old Lew will be around to see you in a hurry once he hears you’re in town. He doesn’t miss a trick, does old Lew.”

  “Who’s Lew?”

  “Lew Simons, the coach — and a good one too. He coached a pro team in the States for awhile. I think he played pro himself until he lost his eye — not the NHL but in the minors. Sure knows his hockey.”

  “What can you tell me about me about the town?” Don asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “Great little town is Fairmore. Three or four thousand people. A farming town mostly, but lots going on. Shania Twain’s been here. So’s Willy Nelson. A lot of the smaller towns have faded right out. Why, I can count half a dozen that are ghost towns now — towns that used to be a real going concern.

  “A lot of older people have moved into Fairmore — sold their farms or left smaller towns in favor of a larger place where they’ve got more facilities. Fairmore isn’t lacking for much. From what I’ve heard, they’re even thinking of putting in a new swimming pool. Things like that draw people to a town.”

  Harry Thompson’s face took on a thoughtful look as he shook his head. “Don Jordan,” he said, as though he couldn’t quite believe it. “Fancy you coming to Fairmore.” He paused and looked intently at Don. “You know there used to be a fellow here years ago by the name of Ben Jordan. As I remember, he was quite a hockey player too.”

  Don smiled. “He was my dad. I guess you could say this was his home town.”

  “Well, this is a day for surprises. Come to think of it, you do resemble him a little. I heard he was killed in a car accident a few years ago. Is that right?”

  Don nodded. “Yes, he was.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. He was a good hockey player. I didn’t know him personally, but I’ve seen him play often enough. He was a great stick handler.”

  They stared out the window of the train at the shifting scenery, the delicate topic leaving them momentarily at a loss for words.

  “We’re getting close to Fairmore,” Harry said a few minutes later. “I can always tell by the speed of the train. It’s slowing down. We’ll be passing the cemetery in a minute.”

  “Can I ask you a favor, Mr. Thompson?” Don suddenly asked.

  Harry regarded him seriously, then grinned. “Sure, go right ahead. If I can help you out, I will.”

  “Well, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about my coming — about what we talked about.”

  Harry laughed good-naturedly. “You’re not serious! I mean, here I’ve got the sweetest bit of news to hit Fairmore in months and you want me to keep it to myself. That’s asking a lot don’t you think?”

  “I guess it is,” Don said. “But I’ve got my reasons. It’s very important to me.”

  “Okay, but how long do I have to keep my lips sealed? I’m not very good at it, you know.”

  “Just a couple of days — until I can get my bearings.”

  “I’ll do it, but I don’t think it’ll do any good. News travels fast in a small town. People know what you’re doing even before you’ve done it. I can tell you haven’t lived in a small town much.”

  “No, I haven’t,” Don admitted.

  Harry looked out the window as the train whistled. “Well, there’s the cemetery. We’ll be in Fairmore before you know it.”

  “Can you suggest a good hotel?” Don asked.

  “Well, there’s Ma Schafer’s at the Fairmore Hotel. She’s a great little cook. Makes the best cinnamon buns this side of the border — and she’s reasonable. Most of the single teachers and bankers live there. It’s just one block off Main Street.”

  “I’ll try it,” Don said as he stood up to get his luggage.

  His first impression of Fairmore wasn’t a favorable one. A brisk fall wind blew in his face as he struggled with his suitcases up the main street. The place looked almost deserted in the semi-darkness.

  “It’s supper time,” Harry said. “Everything closes up tight until seven — except the cafes. Then you’ll see it come to life. Saturday night in Fairmore is something to see.” He slapped Don on the back. “Well, good luck young fella. It was nice talking to you. I’ll do my best at keeping my mouth zipped, but don’t make any bets on it. Sure hope to see you out on the ice.”

  He held out his hand again and Don shook it. “Ma Schafer’s is just one over,” he said, pointing vaguely to his left. “She’ll give you supper. Tell her Harry sent you. It might be worth a drink to me sometime.”

  Don watched the old man cross the street and disappear into the darkness. He shook his head and continued walking up the main street wondering if Harry would keep his promise.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Fairmore Hotel was an ancient two storey structure that was badly in need of a coat of paint. The sign declaring its name was only barely distinguishable as though it had long since abandoned any pretence of elegance.

  Don hesitated before opening the screen door and entering. He could hear voices around a supper table somewhere down a long corridor. He stood uncertainly for a moment before noticing a bell on a table with a sign reading: RING FOR SERVICE.

  Don hit the bell and immediately felt foolish. The sound that issued from it was drowned out by the laughter coming from the supper table. He stared at the bell considering whether he should hit it again when a lady’s head appeared out of one of the doors leading on to the corridor.

  “Be there in a moment,” the voice said and Don relaxed, thankful that he had been spared another encounter with the bell.

  Presently, a small, middle-aged woman came toward him wiping her hands on her apron. There was a matronly look about her that made Don feel at ease. This had to be Ma Schafer.

  “Can I help you?” she asked pleasantly.

  “Yes, I understand you take in boarders. I’m looking for a place to stay.”

  She glanced at his suitcases. “Just off the train, are you?”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “Well, I’ve got one room on the second floor if you want to take a look at it. It’s at the front so it’s not the best, but you can make up your own mind.”

  She led him up a narrow staircase and opened a door at the top. She switched on the light as Don stepped into the room. It was small but clean. The window looked out onto the street he had just been on.

  “This’ll do fine,” he said.

  “I charge six hundred dollars a month payable in advance on the first day of the month. Breakfast is from seven to eight, dinner at noon. Supper is at six.”

  Don reached for his wallet, but she put up a hand. “Don’t worry about it just now. Tomorrow is soon enough. Have you had supper yet?”

  “I had something on the train,” Don lied. As she turned to go, he said, “Oh…Harry Thompson recommended you. I met him on the train. He said to mention it.”

  She smiled. “He would. I’m Ma Schafer, by the way. Most people just call me Ma.”

  “I’m Don Jordan.”

  “If you’d care to have some coffee and cake later on don’t hesitate to come and join us,” she said.

  When she had gone, Don lay on the bed suddenly feeling a little weary. He stared up at the cracks in the ceiling and again the uncertainty of what he was doing came back to him. He immediately dismissed it from his mind and began to unpack.

  He glanced at his watch when he had finished unpacking. It was seven o’clock. Too early to go to bed even though he felt like it. He put on his jacket and left his room. As he walked out the front door, he could still hear the people at the supper table.

  He stood debating on which way to go. He decided to retrace his steps and have a look along Main Street. A pain in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten.

  He returned an hour later having walked around the central part of the town. It wasn’t the prettiest of towns nor perhaps the one he would have chos
en for himself if he had had a choice, but it had a quaintness about it, a character that was already growing on him.

  The walk had done him good. The brisk fall air had cleared his head. He no longer felt depressed or uncertain. A feeling of optimism had taken hold and he now looked forward to his new job and whatever else the town offered.

  * * *

  The next morning, he was awakened by a loud knock on his door. It was Sunday. His watch read eight-thirty.

  “Just a minute,” he called. He reached for his dressing gown, glanced at himself in the mirror to make sure he looked presentable and opened the door.

  A tall, rugged-looking man with thinning grey hair and a glass eye was standing there. He smiled a lopsided smile and said, “Don Jordan?”

  “That’s right,” Don said, suspecting who it was and wondering if the loose-lipped Harry Thompson had already spilled the beans.

  “Name’s Lew Simons. Mind if I come in?”

  The room became appreciably smaller with the addition of the newcomer. Don pulled out the only chair and gestured for Lew to sit down.

  “Heard you were in town so thought I’d come over and introduce myself,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been talking to Harry Thompson,” Don said. “We had an agreement.”

  “You’ve met Harry, have you? Quite an old character, isn’t he? Quite the hockey fan is Harry. Knows almost as much about hockey as I do. But it wasn’t Harry who told me about your arrival. It was Ma Schafer. I just happened to come over for a cup of her wonderful coffee and she told me you had arrived.”

  “Oh?” Don said, feeling a little guilty about not trusting Harry to keep his mouth shut.

  Lew Simons cleared his throat. “You’ve probably heard from Harry that I coach the local hockey club.” Don nodded. “Fact of the matter is, I wanted to ask you if you were interested in playing for us this year. I heard about you quitting junior.”