“What about the song?” Johnny was curious.
“Well, what’s your favorite song?”
Johnny thought. “I don’t really have one. Can’t think of one anyway.”
“Think back to when you were younger, what song has a really good memory?”
“Well, let’s see.” Johnny thought, and then he remembered a song that had been popular when he had bought his first car. He had a few CDs and played the song often, sometimes singing along as he drove.
He told Al the name of the song and what he remembered about it.
Al nodded, “That’s sort of how this song hit me, but even as I heard it, I thought, ‘Man, what is the matter with you?’ because this song was more than just a sound or style of music.”
He looked over at his son-in-law, looking for understanding.
“Okay.” Johnny was nodding. “I think I get it. The message was as important as the band or sound, huh?”
“That’s it, more than the music. It was if the song was written especially for me to hear. I wanted to hear it. I wanted to hear it again, to understand what it meant. And the guy singing it was really good, but was telling me the song, not trying to entertain.” He paused, “Oh heck, I don’t know. Here, I’ll play it, see what you think.”
And Johnny listened. Though unfamiliar, the tune was bright and the words he could understand were compelling. He understood the emptiness Al had explained, the longing for hope, and love, and a place to be. A home.
The men were quiet as the track ended, and Al touched the screen to play it again. The words touched Johnny deeply, speaking somehow of the love he shared with Mary, and the promise of better things to come.
It was really sinking in. Things were truly getting better and could stay better too. It was similar to unloading his snowmobile; the anticipation of a new ride, new country, new hills to challenge. He could feel a catch in his chest, the same as when he watched Mary sleeping or when he saw her unexpectedly in town.
Why did this song seem to so special? He didn’t even understand the words, yet they pulled at his thoughts and made him feel like life was good and important and the future would be even better. “Turn it up!” Joanne was awake, smiling toward the front seat. She shook Mary. “Wake up, Mary, you’ve got to hear this!”
And Mary woke as the volume rose, the crisp high notes clear, and the rhythmic bass thumping, the rich vocals compelling her to listen.
Mary looked to the front. The important men in her life, husband and father, were listening, heads turned slightly to the side. From what she could see from the back seat, it appeared they might be trying to hide their eyes.
She smiled, contented. Her life was so good.
Chapter 34
Terry slept late on the day after Christmas and woke to a crisp, sunny day. She pulled the blinds open and looked outside as the coffee maker did its work. Frost was thick on the power lines and tree branches in her mother’s neighborhood and a street hockey game was in full swing. Terry leaned on the counter, watching the game through the living room window. She sipped some coffee; the high-pitched shouts audible from the street.
A middle-sized boy scored and ran around with his stick in the air, celebrating. She grinned at his arrogance. The game looked like fun. The nets appeared new, and she guessed they were someone’s Christmas present. The kids looked like they played a lot, the game fast with crisp passes and strong goaltending.
Her mom had left a note on the refrigerator and she turned to re-read it. It was sweet, directions to frozen food, a thank you for the ride to the airport, and some movie and restaurant coupons clipped on the bottom. Opening the cupboard, she pulled out a yellow container of hot chocolate mix. It was heavy, and when she pulled off the plastic lid, she saw the foil seal still intact. Perfect.
Terry took a large pot from another cupboard and set it on the stove. She checked the refrigerator. Yes, an unopened gallon of milk. She poured the milk in the stock pot, added some water, then turned on the heat. While the milk heated, she rummaged around in the pantry and found a plastic bag, partially filled with white Styrofoam cups.
She added chocolate mix to the warming liquid and shook in some cayenne pepper. Stirring with a whisk, she added vanilla and a touch of cinnamon. Terry next added unsweetened cocoa powder, the mixture darkening as she stirred. She tasted it. Pretty good. She sprinkled salt over the top and swirled it in vigorously.
There was a plastic tray standing against the wall on the end of the counter, a garish Santa and his reindeer emblazoned on its surface.
She did a quick count of the players and the little kids watching and started filling cups, standing them on the tray. A few parents were in their yards, one man cleaning out the trunk of his car, another struggling with a drooping string of Christmas lights. She added a few cups and headed outside to share some Christmas.
The hockey players responded to her cheerful “Merry Christmas” by stopping the play and watching her walk down the snowy sidewalk, their sticks resting on the frozen road. One of the goalies took off his mask and gloves and ran over to help. Grabbing a milk crate one of the little kids had been sitting on, he improvised a sturdy table, taking care to make it level. She had thought the players were all kids, but this guy was at least six feet tall.
“Thanks! That looks good!” He waved the others over. “Come on you guys, look what she made for us!”
He was a good-looking teen and was wearing a Prince George Cougars jersey. Terry was surprised. He was a junior hockey player who she recognized. She thanked him by name, and now he was surprised.
“Nice goal last week against the Rebels. I was there in Prince George, watched you beat my team.”
He grinned. “Thanks, but that one was more about the assist.”
This started an argument among the younger players, sure that their hero didn’t need to share the credit. As eager hands reached for the hot chocolate, the argument continued, punctuated with a chorus of thank you’s. Terry indicated the extras and the hockey player walked with her, carrying the tray while she handed out hot chocolate to the adults within view.
“That’s really nice, you playing with these kids. Most of them are wearing Blades jerseys.”
He laughed. “Some of these kids are probably better than me.” He pointed to two boys, playing one-on-one. “My little brothers. Look how the smaller one holds his stick, beautiful hands.”
Terry agreed. They did look very skilled, not yet teenagers.
He pointed down the street. “Our house is right down there, lived here all my life. We play hockey on this street all year. Lots of taillights broken over the years. “He sipped more chocolate. “This is really good. Is there hot pepper in it?”
She told him the ingredients.
“I’m going to make this for my host family,” he said, sipping again. “I live with a great family in Prince George. Sure is good to be home for Christmas though.”
They chatted about his upcoming games, and he invited her to watch a home game the following week if she was in town.
The kids were back at play, yelling for their hero to get back in net.
“Gotta go, today I’m a goalie. Thanks again.”
She watched him trot off to grab a goalie stick and break into the play, stealing the ball, running up to score on a hapless twelve-year-old wearing an oversized Calgary Flames jersey.
Terry collected the empty cups and carried the tray back to the house. After cleaning up the hot chocolate mess, and the leftover pizza from the night before, she took the trash out to the garbage can in the garage.
A thin phone book, doing temporary duty holding up the Santa Clause tray, was resting on the counter. She pulled it over, flipping through the pages idly.
She thought back to the movies the night before. The day after Christmas, and here she was alone. Pulling out her phone, she sent a quick message to Mary Amund. She knew Mary had plans to go shopping on Boxing Day.
She received a reply immediately, followed by a selfie of a
happy Mary in a tack shop, surrounded by leather horse stuff, not the kind of shopping Terry was familiar with.
She sent three question marks and a perplexed face emoji. Another selfie came right away. This time Mary was holding up a cute pair of blue and tan western boots.
Terry dialed Mary’s number.
“Hi, Terry! Merry Christmas!” Mary’s shopper’s-high voice was rich and familiar.
“Do they have some good sales on boots?”
They did, and ten minutes later, after a flurry of photos and conversation, Terry’s new pair of driving boots were safely tucked into Mary’s cart, along with a cute western shirt with pearl snaps and a pair of jeans they were both sure would fit Terry perfectly. And she had saved seventy-five percent!
Unbeknownst to Terry, a similar shirt in extra large was also resting in the cart. Mary was sure Terry would like to give Isaac a post-Christmas gift, and they would look so good together.
Terry decided she wouldn’t stay five more days in her mom’s empty house and called the airline and paid to change her ticket. When this was complete, she opened the phone book and made a few more calls.
Her plane would leave in twenty-six hours, just enough time to take care of some business. An hour and a half later, she was driving her rental car into downtown Saskatoon.
Terry spent the afternoon helping three regular volunteers at a soup kitchen prepare place mats and fill small gift bags for a New Year’s dinner that would be served in a week. They were happy for the help and enjoyed Terry’s cheerful conversation. One of them was a counsellor, and Terry surprised herself by sharing her current struggle with fear and the story of her abduction.
The women listened and even cried with her when she broke down. As they tried to comfort her, Terry was struck with the realization they were lonely too. She suggested they each tell their story while they worked.
They finished the job faster than expected, and Terry treated her new friends to a nice meal at a nearby family restaurant. On a whim, she bought travel mugs while paying at the counter. In the parking lot, she presented them each with a mug, as a reminder of their time together on Boxing Day. The women responded with happy hugs.
When she dropped them off back at the soup kitchen, the counsellor pressed a card into Terry’s hand. “If you ever need to talk to someone, please feel free to call.” She indicated the door through which the other two women had gone. “And thanks again for helping us today, the dinner, and the mugs. I will be going home to my family, but those two really needed this unexpected blessing today. My kids wrapped gifts for them, and that’s all the Christmas they really had. Your gift, out of the blue, really made their Christmas special!”
And with these words playing in her mind, Terry headed back toward the suburbs, fears diminished. When she got home, she was going to call Freda to thank her once more. And then she would call Isaac and see what he was doing tomorrow evening.
And maybe there would be more Christmas movies to enjoy this evening.
But when she pulled in the driveway and saw a note taped to her garage door, her plans changed. The note scrawled on wrapping paper read: Come on down to house number 2133. Hockey on the big screen, chili, and nachos! Game starts at 7:00, come whenever it suits. Go, Cougars!
Chapter 35
Terry was excited to get back to Vanderhoof. She realized that it was her new home; it truly felt like home. She had a growing network of friends, a good job, a relationship that could be the start of something special. And all in a place she knew nothing about before seeing the ad for employment.
But fear was a constant nagging presence, tempering her excitement of going home. Where were her captors, where were they right now? Were they looking for her, guessing she may be traveling at Christmastime, scouring airports? Her flight connected through Calgary, the city that could be the hub of operations for Joseph and his gang, or whatever it was.
Now, sitting in her seat on the plane at the gate, waiting for a few late passengers, she dialed her contact at the Prince George RCMP detachment. She wished him a Merry Christmas, and then explained where she was, her itinerary, arrival time in Prince George.
The officer was kind and supportive. He would be available during her flight and encouraged her to call at any time if she saw anything suspicious or just needed to talk. He gave her a different number and she guessed it was his cell phone. Hanging up before the steward asked people to stow their phones, Terry was glad she had called. She was not going to travel by herself again until this situation was dealt with, that was for sure.
Terry had enjoyed the previous evening with new friends. The teasing began when she arrived wearing a Red Deer Rebels jersey. The chili served in big mugs smelled good and the large nacho platters disappeared as if by magic.
She stayed late, enjoying the inside look at a hockey family. She had been surprised how young the parents were. The Cougars player was only seventeen, and the youngest child was a little girl Terry guessed to be six years old. The two younger brothers she had seen playing hockey had a small but wild horde of friends visiting for the game, and during commercials there was a lot of noisy horseplay going on in the back of the recreation room.
Now settled in her seat, Terry watched other passengers board the plane and tried to distract herself by guessing their stories. Were they returning home, going to work, visiting? Did they have problems like her own?
The flight and connections were uneventful. While waiting to change planes in Calgary, Terry was surprised to receive a call from the RCMP officer with whom she had spoken earlier. He was reassuring and let her know he had spoken with airport security, and they were on the alert for any suspicious behavior. He made sure they had the men’s descriptions and sketches done by the RCMP artist.
Terry was relieved when her plane touched down in Prince George, and when she saw Isaac’s smile in the warm reception area the sense of relief amazed her.
Isaac walked with her to her pickup and helped her clean the snow from her window. They drove in convoy to a new restaurant on the highway. Over dinner, they shared their Christmas experiences, and Terry looked forward to being home for a few days before going to work.
While Terry and Isaac were driving from Prince George to Vanderhoof, Johnny and Mary were washing dishes in the mountain cabin near Fernie. They had toured the Rolling Hills, meeting dozens of other riders on a Christmas break. Al and Johnny had challenged some rough and steep terrain, and the ladies had enjoyed the warm fire and the leisurely trail lunch.
“Mary, what was your favorite part of today?” Johnny was scrubbing the dishes industriously.
“Well, I liked the smells. The snow, the trees, and even the exhaust.” She laughed. “I would rather not smell your gear though. You guys had steam coming off your heads when you took your helmets off at lunch time.”
Al and Joanne were out filling the hot tub. They were all sore from the first day of riding and were not looking forward to getting up in the morning. The hose had been trickling into the hot tub all evening, and Al was tending the wood burner that heated the water. Joanne was keeping him company while the Amunds tidied the kitchen.
“What was your favorite thing today?” Mary blew a strand of hair out of her eyes.
“I liked riding with you. Just riding along with you.” Johnny smiled at her. “I also liked seeing the other riders, the family with those kids.”
Mary laughed. They had been picnicking beside the trail, feeding bread crusts to the jays, when they heard the drone of small engines. Three mini sleds were buzzing noisily up the trail, three little helmets bobbing. The leader slowed near their fire, was nearly rear-ended by machine number two, and machine number three peeled off the trail into the deep snow and tipped over, the diminutive rider disappearing helmet first.
Johnny rescued the little rider and brushed the goggles free of snow to reveal big, blue eyes and a high-octane smile. A quiet four-stroke machine was close behind, and seeing the tangle of small snowmobiles, the rid
er’s helmet had quickly come off, exposing a mother’s concerned face.
She had apologized for the interruption but stayed at the insistence of the party, drinking a cup of coffee and helping three small kids out of their snowsuits to pee, and then suiting them up again, one at a time. The process had been lengthy and looked difficult to Johnny. When the last helmet had been buckled on, the snarl of a modified hill climb machine grew louder, and the party was joined by a man on a custom machine that had Johnny and Al up and walking over before he turned off the engine.
Squeals of “Daddy” swirled out from three small helmets as the kids abandoned their sleds. The greeting from the busy mother was much cooler, though she was a good sport.
The man had a booming, infectious laugh, and the family was soon in harmony, the kids competing to show Mary and Joanne their prized machines, while Johnny and Al drooled over the modified Yamaha.
The little girl Johnny had rescued from her plunge into the powder wouldn’t leave until he came and looked at all the special decals she had plastered on her little sled. One question from Johnny led to a torrent of information about cartoon characters and other subjects he couldn’t understand. The conversation ended with the little girl peeling one of the prized stickers off her windshield, and carefully applying it to the windshield of Johnny’s Ski-Doo.
Hello Kitty proved to be a conversation starter on the duration of the trip and was preserved that evening with some clear tape attaching it firmly to the window of Johnny’s otherwise unblemished machine.
Chapter 36
The second morning started slowly for everyone but Mary, accustomed to riding her horses. Though she had been a little stiff the evening before, she woke refreshed and ready to go. The other three, however, were happy to sit in the hot tub and drink the mugs of coffee she brought them.
They ate the breakfast Mary prepared, sitting in the steaming water, enjoying the view from their vantage point, air fragrant with smoke from the fire of cured aspen.
Always a Brother Page 18