by Pat Mestern
“I’ve never heard you mention siblings.”
“There was only me. Mom and Dad wanted more children but for some reason, it just didn’t happen. Mom said it must have been the chemicals Dad worked with in the factory. Grandmother said it was in ‘God’s hands’ how many children a couple had. In reality, it was a health issue mother had which I inherited.”
“It sounds as though you were very close to your grandmother.”
Ramona smiled. “No more than I was to Mom and Dad. Mother was what we call today a career woman. Granny understood her need to achieve and took up the slack. Even though Mother’s ancestry went back to the early 1800s in Upper Canada, and Dad was born in Canada, the family was perceived to be Italian. It didn’t help that we were considered a rather eccentric bunch, and lived up to the reputation assigned. We didn’t fit in some circles, you know. The old girl’s groups were just as nasty as the old boy’s groups.”
“In other words, you learned to be independent at an early age.”
“Creative and opinionated too,” Ramona said. “There’s nothing like a cold shoulder to spark a hot reaction.”
Don called to Major who was sniffing around at the far corner of the glade. “Let me guess. Your father’s parents, being Italian, dared breach the gates of a Scottish community where even the Irish were considered outlaws.”
“Right on,” Ramona said. “It was a situation fed by the fact that a lot of men came back from both wars with negative opinions of anyone Italian—or German for that matter. It wasn’t a great environment for all generations of the Carmello family, including me, a second-generation, Canadian-born person.”
“There’s no doubt that some people can be harsh in their opinions and sharp-tongued with criticism,” Don said.
Ramona was silent for a moment. Her attention was on the former Carmello compound, two houses, barn, garage, orchard, large garden. The lands were no longer in family hands. They were sold shortly after her mother died. The new owner respected what he’d purchased. He loved the orchard and gardens. But unfortunately, the gentleman was elderly and the property was now in limbo.
“May I be so bold as to ask why you didn’t inherit the property after your mom died?”
“That’s a good question,” Ramona said. They never owned the property. It was always in Grandmother’s name. In her will, she requested that the property be sold and whoever purchased it had to sign an agreement that mother could live in the cottage for as long as was needed.”
“And you didn’t buy the property?”
“I would have loved to have purchased it but the money wasn’t there to do so. John didn’t have much of an insurance policy. Neither did mother. Any money that grandmother’s estate received from the sale of the property was divided between Mother and Tomas. Mother spent most of her allotment just keeping everything in good shape. Property during the late 1970s didn’t sell for much. Real estate was not like it is today.”
“Wouldn’t the solution to the money issue have been selling Castello dei Sogni?”
“Not at that time. I couldn’t sell the property where I’d spent my married life. At the time there were too many memories—raw memories. I realize now I probably made a mistake.”
“Decisions sometimes depend on where one’s heart lies at the time they need to be made,” Don said. “At the time you made the right decision for the circumstances. Changing the subject a bit, I think you mentioned that Lorraine was connected to the home property.”
“Yes. She does a lot of traveling but needed a place to call home so the new owner asked if she could move into the big house while he lived in the small cottage. Lorraine basically cleaned both houses and kept an eye on the fellow when she was home, until the day he died. She had to move out after his will was read. The property has to be sold.”
“Did you and she know the fellow?”
“Yes, he was a friend of Dad’s. He knew the property. He loved to garden. Growing apples was his passion.”
“So, he was the right fellow for the property at the time it was sold.”
“Yes, I had full access to the houses and property. I’m not being disloyal to John’s memory but I have to say that my heart now lies over there. My most important memories are entwined with that property. It’s hard to explain. You know the old saying, ‘when one door closes another opens.’ My loyalties have now opened the door to that property and the preservation of it. I am concerned because the land is located in an area that a developer would love to take advantage of and soon. I can see the houses coming down, the fruit trees ripped out, and a strip mall built on the land. You know what I mean, the typical strip and maul mentality. And, I do mean maul in the literal sense of the term.”
“Have you heard rumours to back up that hypothesis?”
“Yes, and it makes me sick to think of such a thing happening. I’ve heard rumours about this park too. There’s nothing sacred as far as developers are concerned. I spent so much time in this park, on this rock. It was my ‘go-to’ place when I had issues to resolve, when I wanted quiet time to read, when I broke off a relationship. When Great grandmother and Dad died I came here. If only rocks could talk, this one would have ten books in it.”
Don laughed. “I bet it was your courting rock too.”
“Strange, but no, it wasn’t. My husband wasn’t into … rocks. After he was buried, I didn’t go to his grave often. I came to this rock. After Grandmother then Mother died, I came to this rock.”
“It grounds you,” Don said. “It’s your Life Rock. That’s what my mother used to call her special rock. It was along the river in one of the parks.”
“Life Rock. I’ll remember that. The phrase completely explains my special stone.” Ramona leaned forward and turned to look at Don. “Changing the subject, it is apparent that Aunt Charlotte and Harry Forest were cut from the same cloth. Because of their physical appearance, they both endured nasty jibs at school. They understood that there were very few who didn’t take sides. Charlotte was better at accepting the situation. She was more outgoing and eventually became a fairly popular young woman. Harry, on the other hand, retreated into his own world of books and learning. Uncle Tomas and Dad respected Harry for his tenacity and enjoyed his company. They were in the minority.”
“So, Harry’s second home was the Carmello compound.”
“Yes, and that’s the last place he saw Charlotte alive, from the roof of the front porch. There’s where he formally bound himself to her just before she died. Take a close look at the porch and windows above, especially the one on the right. Listen to my story and use your imagination.”
January 1932
But for a faint light in the kitchen and a fully lit bedroom on the second floor over the front verandah, the house had the muted appearance of one waiting for the hand of death to descend. And it would, very soon. Charlotte lay in the lit bedroom. Her mother, Mrs. Carmello—Marianna, stroked the young woman’s left hand. Doctor Tullie held her right.
Harry sat on the roof in foot-deep snow, arms around his knees in an attempt to conserve body heat. Even wearing two sweaters and his heaviest wool coat, the January cold penetrated to the bone. Harry periodically cleaned the fog from his breath off the window. His eyes never left Charlotte’s face. He hoped she would rally enough to see him.
When the bedroom door opened slightly, Mrs. Carmello went to it, probably talking to Tomas, her son, who although barred from the bedroom acted as the go-between in the house. He delivered hot water, towels, food. He knocked first then passed the necessities through when the door was opened just enough to receive them.
Marianna Carmello knew Harry was holding vigil at the window. It was the only place he could be close to Charlotte. The house was under quarantine. Occasionally she took her eyes from the anguished face of her youngest daughter and glanced toward Harry, but she never left the girl’s side.
“Harry,” A head appeared above the verandah’s roofline. “Ma wants to know how long you’re going to
stay on the roof. She understands why you’re here but she’s worried that you’ll catch pneumonia or freeze to death. She says that you should go stay next door with Grandma Carmello and Frankie. We’ll let you know when Charlotte’s … gone.”
Tomas heaved himself onto the roof, crawled up, and sat beside Harry. “Look,” he said, “I know you’re sweet on Charlotte; that you two have a spark for each other. But it’ll do you no good sitting up here. You’ve been at this window for twelve hours. You can’t stand it up here much longer.”
“I won’t leave,” Harry said. “I have something to give Charlotte and I won’t leave until she gets it, before she … dies. She’s going to die, isn’t she? I mean, you said when she’s … gone. That means die, doesn’t it? She’s not going to walk out of the room.” There was a catch in Harry’s voice.
“Fraid so,” Tomas said. “There’s nothing can be done. She got diphtheria from a patient at the hospital in London. You know, nursing puts you in precarious situations.”
“That’s what Charlotte wanted to do,” Harry said. “She wanted to help people.”
Tomas shifted his position so he could look into the room. “If you’re not careful, you’ll catch your death of a cold, chum. It’s not my business to ask, but what’s so important that you’d catch pneumonia and risk death?”
“If that happened at least then we’d be together,” Harry said. “Look, I need to give her something.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Tomas said. “Now, tell me. What is it that you want Charlotte to have?”
Harry removed a mitt and dug in his pocket to retrieve a small box. He held the box over his jacket, as close as he could to his heart, then opened it and gently touched its contents. “I bought an engagement and matching wedding ring. We were going to get engaged on New Year’s Eve. I want her to have a ring afore she dies, while she can still comprehend that I love her … so much I’ll never marry another.”
“Does Ma know about this?” Tomas asked.
“I don’t know if Charlotte told her. I didn’t have the chance to ask because I didn’t see her after she arrived home. Because of the storm I couldn’t meet the train … and then Frankie came to the house to tell me to stay away.”
“Well, I came down from Algoma on December 23 because Charlotte wrote me to say it was important that we all be home over the holiday. I figured there must be something important going on. But Charlotte didn’t say anything to me afore she took sick on Christmas Eve. It wasn’t long afterwards that the house was put under quarantine when Doc Tullie figured out what we were dealing with.”
“I’ve gotta get a ring to her, Tomas. I want to make sure she gets it. You know how close we are.”
Tomas looked from Harry to the scene unfolding in the bedroom. “I’ll go talk to Ma. You know, I’m not even supposed to be up here because I’m under quarantine too. Fortunately Grandma Carmello had the croup and Frankie volunteered to stay at her place to keep the woodstove going or the two of them would be under quarantine like me. It’s killing me, Harry. I’m used to open spaces and fresh air and lakes and woods …”
“Please,” Harry said. “Do what you can for me, and for Charlotte.”
Tomas crawled down the roof and lowered himself to the ground. A few minutes later Harry saw the bedroom door open a crack. Mrs. Carmello left Charlotte’s side and spent some time talking with Tomas. Several times she looked from Charlotte to the window then back to Charlotte, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
Harry held the box close to his heart again then opened it. He gently brushed his fingers across two rings before taking one out and slipping it into a pocket.
Within fifteen minutes Tomas was back on the roof. “Ma says that she understands. Doc Tullie will come to the window. You’re supposed to give him the box then Ma will place the ring on Charlotte’s finger for you. She didn’t know about the engagement but she says that it’s only right that she wear the ring now, under the circumstances.”
When Tomas knocked on the window, Doc Tullie opened it just enough to accept the box. Solemnly the elder gentleman gave it over to Mrs. Carmello who opened it, frowned, then nodded toward Harry. Doctor Tullie put his left arm under the pillow to carefully lift Charlotte’s head and shoulders just enough that she could look toward the window. As he held her, he spoke quietly with the young woman. Then with his right hand, Doc Tullie lifted her chin so that she could better see Harry. Mrs. Carmello took Charlotte’s left hand in hers and gently placed the ring on her finger. Both Tomas and Harry, their faces pressed against the window, thought that they detected a small smile of acknowledgment before Charlotte, closing her eyes, gasped for breath. The moment was so poignant Harry didn’t trust himself to speak or to look at Tomas.
Tomas finally took the initiative. He cleared his throat and said, “Ma says that you have to get off the roof. With his hand on Harry’s shoulder, he gently tried to pull him away from the window. “You’re to go to Grandma’s place and stay there until … the end happens. It won’t be long now, Harry.”
“I’m not leaving the roof,” Harry said.
Tomas studied the face of the man beside him. One of Charlotte’s favourite observations about her special companion was that God had definitely been in a playful mood when he created Harry Forest. She was right. Physically, the man was definitely one of a kind. “Figured as much,” he said. “I’ll bring a couple of blankets and ply ya with hot coffee. You want a shot of hooch in the coffee?”
“You know I don’t bide the stuff,” Harry said. “It ruined Dad and I don’t want anything to do with it.”
“Just thought I’d ask, under the circumstances,” Tomas said. “The next few hours will be rough.”
“What happens … you know … after Charlotte dies?”
Tomas rubbed the window free of fog to look at the drama unfolding inside. “Charlotte was a popular young lady. There will be a visitation. She’ll be laid out in a coffin in the living room in front of the big window. Those who feel the need to pay their respects can come up on the verandah and look through the glass at her. After the coffin is closed here, the priest will do what he has to. Then the coffin will be taken to the Old Road Cemetery, down-country a way where Pa is buried. There’ll be a private service for the family. Ma says there’ll be a mass at St. Frances Church so everyone can pay their respects, but by then, the coffin will be in the ground. There’ll only be a picture to view in the church.”
“And you, Tomas? How are you going to handle Charlotte’s death? When are you going north again? Down here you’re like a fish outta water. Frankie says you can’t bide civilization.”
“Frankie and Ma will need me for the winter so I’ll stay until April. Ollie and his woman, Nibi, can handle my trap line. How about you?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “It was lonely enough when Charlotte went off to nursing school but now that I know I’ll never see her again, I can’t stay around here. I’ll need to get away from the memories, from mother, from the stares and the chatter—always the chatter.”
Tomas placed an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Maybe there’s a way,” he said. “Let’s talk more after … you know. Once all this is done, let’s talk.”
Early February 1932
A cold wind chilled Harry to the bone. Snow came at him sideways, blown like a curtain in an open window. He had packed the heaviest clothes he owned. On Tomas’s instructions, he’d layered himself with long underwear, vest, two sweaters, a Melton jacket, and flapped cap, but he was still cold. Harry watched the caboose disappear into the distance before turning his attention to finding the general store where, if everything had fallen into place, Ollie Olsen would be waiting for him. With night upon him, Harry didn’t want to be caught out alone in a foreign landscape.
A single light burned in the rail station, a small wooden building that didn’t look like it could survive the winds off Lake Huron. When Harry opened the door a tall, thin man looked at him over wire-rimmed glasses. The fellow to
ok in the diminutive figure and old suitcase. Assuming that Harry was a boy, the fellow said, “Train’s left, son.”
“I know,” Harry said. “I just got off it. Ollie Olsen’s supposed to meet me at the general store but I’ve no idea where it is.”
“Well, on a night like this you can’t walk to it. Give me ten minutes and I’ll drive you there. I’ve a little job to do first.”
“Thanks,” Harry said. “I’ve never been up this way before. The furthest I ever got from home was Toronto.”
“One can’t bide cities once this landscape takes hold of their heart. Are you here for a visit?”
“As far as I’m concerned, I’m here to stay,” Harry said.
“You know Ollie?”
“I’ve never met him.”
“So you’ve never spent time in the bush or trapped animals?”
“No.”
The station master smiled. “Son, you’re either a fool or a survivor.”
“Maybe both,” Harry said.
“You’re the packsacker that Tomas sent our way, aren’t you. Arnie’s been waiting for you. Said to keep an eye out for a fellow who might seem just a little out of place ‘round here.”
“A packsacker?”
“What we call a fella who’s heading somewhere to get away from whatever’s bothering him where he came from.”
“Why not call them tramps?” Harry asked.
“Nah. There’s a difference. Packsackers usually go home again. Look, there’s a freight coming through in an hour so I’ll drop you off at the store, unload, and head back here. If you need anything, or things don’t work out, my name’s Pete MacPherson. I can get you on a train heading south anytime you want or need to go home.”
“I’ll remember that,” Harry said. “Is there a barbershop around here?”
Pete laughed. “Who gets their hair cut ’round here? Well, maybe the minister, the storekeeper, the teacher, and myself. Everyone else is ‘bushing it’ until spring. And, bears and beavers don’t give a damn about how a human looks.”