Not Suitable For Family Viewing

by Vicki Grant

  I nod but I’m not thinking of Mom. I’m thinking of Anita. I feel like I’m not going to stop shaking until I see her again.

  “I guess I should call the police,” Mrs. Hiltz says. She’s saying it more to herself than to me but it freaks me out. I feel myself squeezing my hands into fists. If the police get involved, I’ll have to talk.

  Mrs. Hiltz lifts her chin, stares off into the distance for a second, then turns to me. “No,” she says. “I am not going to call the police. Frankly, I’m the more likely target of this threat than you are, my dear. I can think of two thorny issues I was involved in recently. I’ve appealed the development of a strip mine in an ecologically sensitive area and I also began a petition to demand compensation for victims of abuse at the former orphanage. I wouldn’t be surprised if this little package was from one of my opponents. Well, phooey on them! I’m not going to give whoever did this the satisfaction of thinking they scared me. I’m going to act like this never even happened.”

  She takes my hand and looks me in the eye. Her skin is smooth, like it’s made of wax or something. She says, “I hate to put you in a position of perjuring yourself, dear, but would you mind not mentioning this little incident to anybody?”

  “No. No,” I say. “I won’t tell anybody.”

  “Anybody at all? This is a small town. Word spreads like wildfire. Percy doesn’t need to be worrying about something like this, right before an election.”

  I nod. I understand.

  She says, “Thank you. I’ll come up with some story about how the window got broken. I’ll say a branch snapped off a tree and smashed it or…” She squints as she tries to come up with something better. “Or…I’ll say I was playing catch with Casper and took a wild throw. Yes. That’s what I’ll say.”

  She looks at me like Is that okay?

  I give this weak smile. I don’t know how I managed to get off the hook so easy.

  She says, “I’m old. I can get away with it. Percy will tease me mercilessly about my bad aim of course but it will be worth it. When the time’s right, I’ll tell him what really happened.”

  She turns to go. Her shoes crunch on the broken glass.

  “Now watch your feet, dear. I’ll find you a pair of slippers—then why don’t you come and have a cup of cocoa with me? I think we could both use something to calm our nerves right about now.”

  She doesn’t know the half of it.

  45

  Thursday, 10 a.m.

  You, You and Mimi

  “Taking a Stand.” Mimi interviews Patricia McDermott, a courageous woman who faced her fears—and changed the world.

  I sleep on the couch in the study that night. I wake up late the next morning to the sound of men replacing the glass. It’s stupid but there’s something about it that makes me feel better. I’m not so scared any more. It’s like I hear them banging away and I think, Stuff can be fixed. What’s the big deal? I didn’t die. It was just a brick. An empty threat. Now that I’ve had some sleep, I realize it probably wasn’t even aimed at me. I mean, Mrs. Hiltz seemed to have a couple of pretty good reasons to think she was the target. And anyway, who even knew I was staying here? Levi and Kay? They wouldn’t be throwing bricks at me.

  I decide right then that I’m not going to go home—not today, at least. I’m going to stay here and find out everything I can about Rosie Ingram. (While I’m here, I might even make an effort to get to know Levi a little better too…)

  I get up, brush my teeth, put my clothes on. My face isn’t quite so puffy today. I do my best to cover up my black eye with some concealer. I put a bit of eyeliner and mascara on the other eye. I try out a couple of shades of lip gloss and end up going for a sort of rusty-coloured neutral. I braid my hair. I’ll be okay.

  Mrs. Hiltz is sitting in the living room, watching TV. She flicks it off when I walk in the room but not before I see Mimi get the audience all up on their feet for her patented “Powerful Woman Pose.” Normally, all the “Fighting Female” stuff seems corny to me. Today, it seems like a sign.

  Mrs. Hiltz says, “Oh, you caught me! I shouldn’t waste my time in front of the television, but there’s something about this Mimi woman I find absolutely intriguing!”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Me too.” I get this urge to just come right out and tell her about Mom.

  “Oh, good. Nice to know I’m not the only one who’s fallen for her nonsense,” she says.

  So much for that.

  Doesn’t matter. Percy seems like a better bet anyway. He was at school with Rosie. He’d know where the ring came from. I’ll see if I can arrange a meeting with him.

  Mrs. Hiltz brings her hands together with a little clap. “So, dear, I’ve been thinking. If you really still want to leave, I’d like to drive you to the airport. If you can get a flight out, we could leave as early as this afternoon. I’d love to have the chance to get to know you a little better.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “But I’ve decided not to go after all. At least not yet.”

  “Really?” She sort of chokes on her tea.

  I pat her back. She seems so old and frail.

  “I’m fine, dear. I’m fine…That’s marvellous news! I guess I’m going to have a chance to get acquainted with you after all. So what changed your mind?”

  “You, I guess. You’re right. I mean, I don’t know if the brick was aimed at me. And even if it was, I shouldn’t let people scare me—especially since I’m not finished here. There are still questions I need to get answered.”

  She puts a finger on her cheek. “Hmm. Anything I could help you with?”

  “Actually, I was sort of hoping I could talk to Percy about it. Do you think he’d mind?”

  I get the feeling I stepped over a line. Maybe she likes to be the expert around here. She fusses with her napkin, folds it up, tucks it under her saucer.

  “Oh, well, dear, normally I’m sure Percy would love to help but he’s just so busy these days. The election, you know…” She gives me this embarrassed smile. “What are you interested in? Still the Bisters? The feud? The Ingrams? That sort of thing?”

  She’s looking at me so intently that it throws me. I hate all this lying. It makes my ears hot. I pour myself some orange juice from the jug she put out on the table, and try to sound nonchalant.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Just sort of what happened to everyone there…”

  “Percy couldn’t help you with that anyway, I’m afraid. He was away for a long time after high school. He lost contact with most Port Minton people. I wonder, though, if there’s someone else who’d be a better resource for you…Hmm…let me see who I can come up with.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “That would be great. In the meantime, I think I’ll go back and see what else there is on it at the library.”

  I pick up the cane and my backpack and get ready to go.

  She gets up too. “Can I drive you over?”

  “No thanks,” I say. “A little walk won’t kill me.”

  She tries to talk me into a “real” breakfast but I just want to get going. She shakes her head in this young people today way and holds the door open for me.

  “You know,” she says, “there is something I could help you with, come to think of it. Why don’t you let me take you down to Port Minton this afternoon at about five? We had some grand plans a number of years ago to open a community museum in the old church. It didn’t come to pass but I have a number of very interesting documents stored there, detailing the families of the area. I bet there’d be lots of information for you there. It’s been ages since I was down to the Port and I would love to get a look at it again myself. Can I talk you into it?”

  It might be just what I need.

  “Sure,” I say. “That sounds great.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll pack us a picnic!”

  46

  Thursday, Noon

  www.youyouandmimi.blogspot.com

  Mimi complains how modern society is drowning in a sea of facts. What can we do to
turn back the tide?

  The library is cool and quiet. I head over to the table. The box is sitting there waiting for me.

  I don’t know why, but I see the box and this thing happens to me. I hear a clicking sound in my brain, as if someone’s fiddling with the focus button. It’s not like I’m hallucinating or anything but suddenly I realize everything’s changed. The box used to be this big depressing, overwhelming, scary pile of papers. Now it’s just a box. I can’t even remember why it scared me. I feel my posture improve.

  I might be a mess on the outside but inside I feel like I’m coming together. I got off the couch. I went to Port Minton. I’m gathering the clues. I’m figuring out who Mom is. I’m not running away. I’m falling in love.

  I’m okay. I’m in charge. I’m normal. I’m good. (I sound like I’m watching too much You, You and Mimi.)

  I sit down and pull the box toward me. I can do this. I get out Rosie’s yearbook, just to see if I missed anything first time around.

  An old Canadian Geographic magazine underneath catches my eye. I put down the yearbook and pick it up.

  I’m stunned. Embree Bister is on the cover, looking just as mean, just as dirty and only a little bit younger than when I saw him a few days ago. There are a bunch of raggedy kids and a scared-looking woman in the background. The title’s written in large white letters—“The Lost Tribe of the North Atlantic.” Levi told me it was a big deal—but that big a deal?

  I hold my breath and flip through the magazine until I find the article. There are lots of pictures of the Bisters. They all look like extras in a movie. Who else would be that dirty? I wonder if the photographer had to tell them not to smile—or were they all just as naturally charming as Embree?

  The magazine’s a good twenty years old but I can tell that even back then their clothes were out of date. One of the women is wearing a long dress—and it’s pretty clear she’s not heading off to the prom. Embree’s wearing a suit with patches on the knees just like you’d see on some Halloween hobo. The kids must have just put on whatever they could find. One boy’s shirt is torn up to his ribs. Another boy—who I’m pretty sure is Gershom—is wearing a jacket that was obviously meant for a very large man. Their hair is matted and long and sticking out all over the place. The snot under their noses is black and crusty. I can just imagine what they smelled like.

  There’s a picture of Embree sitting under a tree, reading an old book. The sidebar reads:

  Highbrow Hillbilly. Despite no formal education, Embree Bister is a voracious reader. The shabby homes on the Island have little furniture and few amenities but are stocked with over seven hundred books, all dating from before the 1888 quarantine. Abednigo Bister, patriarch of the family at the time of the feud and Embree’s great-grandfather, was an educated if eccentric man who’d sailed the world in his youth. His passion for learning continues in the family even to this day. Although woefully unaware of the world beyond Bister Island, the children have an almost encyclopedic knowledge of pre-twentieth-century art and history.”

  Another photo shows a guy in a white coat examining a kid’s mouth.

  The Bister diet is so impoverished that many people have lost all their teeth by their early twenties. Rickets and scurvy, although almost unknown today in the developed world, are also common afflictions of the clan. Many family members also have webbed toes and suffer from “the falling sickness” (epilepsy).

  The worst picture, though, is of a girl holding a baby in her arms. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. She’s staring up at the photographer from a pit in the ground. She’s dirty and kind of pointy-faced. She looks terrified—and sort of terrifying too. You wouldn’t be surprised to hear she was possessed by an evil spirit or something.

  Primitive Bunker. Minerva Bister and her 2-year-old brother, Cicero, were among several children found in an underground hideaway not far from the main residence. Their father, Embree, is a stern taskmaster who preached against the evils of the outside world to his flock of fourteen. Children were instructed to secrete themselves in this underground cellar at the first sign of an approaching boat. This may be why, until recently, government officials believed there to be only two children on the island, 16-year-old Gershom and 18-year-old Barnabas.

  I feel sick, or I guess sickened. That’s a better word. Imagine living your whole life on this tiny little island, in these nasty old shacks, with deerskins for windows and crates for chairs and a hole out back for a toilet. Imagine having to hide every time someone came over. (At least when I hide, it’s in a comfortable room with a flat-screen TV.)

  I skim the article some more for Ingrams but there’s no sign of them. Mrs. Hiltz makes it into the magazine, though, lots of times. I recognized her picture right away. Her hair was brown back then and she stood straighter than she does now, but otherwise she hasn’t changed that much. Even on Bister Island, she was wearing lipstick.

  I guess this is what she meant when she talked about rabble-rousing.

  Despite her wealth, Opal Hiltz still considers herself a Port Minton girl. Widow of industrialist Enos Hiltz, she was the first to sound the alarm about the situation on Bister Island.

  “I did it for two reasons,” the well-known philanthropist says today. “I had a strong suspicion that there had to be other children on the Island. A young woman I once knew, Nettie Faulkner, had shocked the community years ago by running off with Embree Bister—and yet the only children anyone ever laid eyes on belonged to his brother, Disraeli.”

  Mrs. Hiltz attempted to ask after Nettie on Embree’s occasional visits to town but the answers she received were, at best, evasive. She put this down to the Bisters’ famous insistence on privacy, until a chance encounter made her believe that there was more at play.

  She explains. “Last year at around this time, Embree was in Port Minton with his nephew, Barnabas, picking up some molasses and flour. It happened to be our annual Spring Fair and I was manning the bakery table set up on Main Street. Barnabas was 17 at the time but so small for his age he could have passed for 12. I offered him a cookie. He gobbled it down like a starving man, and then, when Embree wasn’t looking, asked if he might have a few more to bring back for his ‘cousins.’ I knew then that there were other children on the Island.”

  Early attempts by Mrs. Hiltz and other concerned citizens to bring resources to the Island were rebuffed with threats of violence. Finally, in desperation, Mrs. Hiltz brought in the provincial government. “I don’t believe in forcing our way of life onto others but the welfare of the children took precedence over any qualms we had in that regard. We were worried that the youngsters were not receiving the medical care they might need.”

  Her concerns were justified. When a team of hospital personnel, social workers and government officials finally strongarmed their way onto the Island, they were shocked to find ten rail-thin children covered in sores and so filthy as to be almost unrecognizable. Several of them reported they had lost siblings the previous winter due to starvation or to “the bloody flux” (dysentery). There was concern for the children’s emotional health as well. Although polite and well-spoken, most of the children appeared as afraid of their adult relatives as they were of the strangers.

  The children, the ill and the elderly were removed from the Island shortly after these photos were taken. Mrs. Hiltz shocked many by offering to foster one of the displaced children. Most others were adopted out of the area.

  Mrs. Hiltz’s childhood friend Nettie Faulkner was never found. Embree claims she left him after the birth of their last child, but authorities believe that foul play may have been involved in her disappearance. The Bisters have never reported any deaths on the Island.

  So much for not knowing anything about the Bisters. By the sounds of it, Mrs. Hiltz pretty much rescued those kids all by herself. I wonder why she didn’t tell me. My guess: too humble. I can sort of understand now why Mom gave me the name Opal. Mrs. Hiltz is a pretty amazing—

  I get a chill.

 
; So you’re one of those, are you?

  I’m looking at this picture of Embree in front of his arsenal of old guns and that just pops into my head. He said, What’s your name? I said, Opal. Then he said something like, So you’re one of those, are you?

  That’s why he hates me. It’s not just peeing on his property or my so-called research. It’s the name. He must know Opal is Mrs. Hiltz’s name too. She came in and broke up the Island, got all the kids off. Everyone else might think she’s great but she must be pure evil to him. He probably figures I’m related to her somehow. Maybe he thinks she’s up to her old tricks again. Maybe he thinks she wants to get him kicked out of the park or something. That might be enough for him to hate me too.

  That might be enough for him to want to kill me.

  I start feeling freaked out again. I throw the magazine back in the box. I try to calm down. I wish I could talk to Anita right now. Not about this. Just talk to her about anything. Hear her voice. That would make me feel better.

  I can’t call her. Doesn’t matter what I talk about. She’d know by my voice that something’s up. I can’t fool her.

  I get up and switch on the computer. I’ll e-mail her. I’ll just say hello, tell her I’m okay. She’ll e-mail back. That will have to do for now. I type in my password.

  I’ve got mail.

  From: gumdrop113@airmail.com

  To: birdbrain76@airmail.com

  Subject: Death-defying feat

  U so o me! I went 2 the house yesterday cuz I got off work early. Mom ran out of Pledge & had 2 go 2 the store. She made me clean the baseboards while she was gone. She gave me hell for not finishing them by the time she got back but who cares? I got the file. U better tell me what this is all about when u get back. (U better tell me about this guy 2.)