by Pat Mestern
“Would I know Harry, perhaps met him years ago?” Ramona asked.
“Oh, I don’t think so. You were born in ’41. Harry left the village in 1932, came back briefly in ’53 but I doubt your paths ever crossed.”
“I can’t figure out how you know so much about individuals,” Ramona said.
“Village grapevine, telephone chatter, and your grandmother keep me up-to-date on what’s going on. In Harry’s case, it’s a little more personal.”
“I saw the fellow in very interesting circumstances earlier this month. I was hiking on the rail right-of-way …”
“Just say, ‘when I was walking the rails,’ Eve interrupted. “That phrase takes me back a few years. Reminds me of when some friends used to catch the morning daily to the city for a day’s shopping during the ’20s. We’d come back the same day. Of course during the dirty ’30s no one had the money to pay for a ticket, let alone shop. Now, you were saying …”
Ramona, accustomed to her mother’s quirky interruptions said, “Out by the overpass, at the edge of the forest where the sumac bushes have taken over, I saw him. He was standing at the edge of the bush, the dog sitting by his side. And, not two feet away, a pure white doe with her fawn stood looking at them. The dog didn’t move. The man, Harry, didn’t move. The deer didn’t run. As a matter of fact, it took a few steps toward him. It was one of those magical moments that one can only dream about.”
“You saw an albino deer?”
“Yes, absolutely white, ghostly white, and the fawn very pale too.”
“My, my,” Eve said. “You know Indian legends tell of great reverence for white deer. They’re considered sacred in some cultures.”
“Well, Mr. Forest must have some magical powers about him because the deer wasn’t the least bit afraid of him, or the dog.”
“Harry spent a number of years in the bush where your Uncle Tomas lives. He was with two of Tomas’s friends, Ollie and Nibi. You might remember them. You met them in the late 1940s and early 1950s. From what I understand, Harry lived pretty much to himself, and by himself. He always had a dog as a companion. During the winter he trapped. During the summer he traveled from one prospecting camp to another cutting hair.”
“A little fellow like him living in the bush?”
“Don’t underestimate Harry Forest,” Eve said.
“What do you think he’s picking up?” Ramona asked.
“Bits of bone, teeth, maybe a piece of jewelry, depending on what someone might have been buried wearing …”
“I beg your pardon?” Ramona steered the car to the side of the road, stopped, and glanced in the rearview mirror. “He’s picking up human remains?”
“I expect so. Picture this. The road used to go straight along the allowance to the property line where it ended in a T intersection. Drivers had to come to a full stop before turning north or south. County officials are to blame for desecrating the burial ground. About twenty years ago, one of their members didn’t make the turn after a particularly festive occasion where booze was the guest of honour. Unfortunately, he died of his injuries. Let’s just say that huge old maple trees and cars do not a good match make. Some brainless fools figured they’d make the road easier to navigate. They decided to bulldoze a road right through the middle of the old burial ground. A man’s stupid accident should not have been an excuse to disturb a cemetery that has been in existence for more than one hundred years.”
“Graves were ruined?”
“Markers were removed and piled in a corner of the fence row. Then gravel was laid over the graves and graded. Eventually the road was paved. Those in charge didn’t think that they needed to do anything about removing any of the bodies. This happened before the provincial Cemeteries Act came into effect.”
“And no one objected?”
“A few conscientious people wrote letters to the council and newspapers. The cemetery’s “residents” were for the most part paupers, Irish immigrants and displaced Scottish Highlanders who came through during the 1840s and 1850s. So many years had passed since the last burial that few descendants were around to care about what happened to the graves. There are cemeteries in the village where most people were, and still are buried. This one was basically forgotten.
“But if the village or county council had tried to push a road through the new cemetery or Catholic burial ground there’d be hell to pay,” Ramona said.
“The project would have been stopped in a heartbeat.”
“Given what Harry is doing right this very minute, was he one of those who objected?”
“He was. He wrote letters to councilors and local papers but to no avail. His efforts were thwarted because he didn’t live here at the time. His mother was in the house just around the corner, sort of kitty-corner to the burial ground, the same house that Harry lives in now.”
“Strange that he’d now take it upon himself to respect the dead by checking the shoulders of the road for their remains.”
“I think that one of his ancestors, on his father’s side, was buried there. To tell the truth, Harry does have a fixation for cemeteries—one in particular about four miles south of here. It’s strange that your father didn’t tell me that Harry is back in the area and picking bones. He’s very tired these days, you know. I’m worried about him. He shouldn’t be out fishing today.”
“You know what Dad’s like. No one tells him what to do.”
“I know. I just pray he knows when to slow down. Maybe he didn’t know that Harry has come home.”
“Well, I’ve passed Harry walking into the village,” Ramona said, “and, I’ve seen him near the Catholic Church quite a few times.”
“Interesting,” Eve said. She glanced at her watch. “Let’s pick up some Eccles cakes at The Hearth Bakery as a treat for Grandma Carmello’s teatime. Grandma’s the one who can and should tell you all about Harry Forest. Hettie told me that Grandma was in fine fettle this morning, but she had a few rough spells during the night. I was more than a little concerned, I’ll tell you.”
“Mother, you’ve taken on so much responsibility, taking care of Grandma the way you do.”
“Why wouldn’t I? You couldn’t ask for a better mother-in-law. Your dad does what he can too,” Eve said. “And, you’re close by. I just don’t like to bother you.”
Even propped up with pillows, a bright yellow knitted shawl around her shoulders, Grandma Carmello looked lost amidst the covers in the double bed. Carefully brushed white hair framed a deeply wrinkled face that mirrored years of hard work and emotional stress. Unusually bright eyes for a woman as old and sick as Grandma darted from Eve to Ramona. “Well, don’t stand there like you expect to be bitten. Sit down. Tell me what’s new in the world beyond my four walls.”
Ramona smiled. Since Grandma had become bedridden, the world was divided into two areas that included everything and everyone beyond her bedroom door, and that which happened in her room, a twelve-by-twelve-foot space that was both home and prison for the elder of the family.
“Frankie’s fishing with a couple of friends today, upriver near the Flats. He and Hettie are doing a great job of keeping the house and flower gardens in good shape,” Eve said.
“Hettie makes a better gardener than nurse,” Grandma grumbled, pulling her shawl around her shoulders. “I can’t get out of bed to enjoy the gardens, so I don’t know why anyone bothers to keep them up.”
“You’re the one who didn’t want a wheelchair,” Eve said.
“I can see it now—out the bedroom door and then a tumble, straight down the stairs. I couldn’t learn how to drive a car. What makes you think I could manage a wheelchair, without killing myself or someone else?”
Eve laughed. “You old reprobate. You grumble and growl at everything, but underneath that rough exterior, you’d melt cheese.”
“I’ve a reputation to uphold,” Grandma said.
“And, I have some news you might enjoy that has to do with that,” Eve said.
“Well, don�
��t keep me waiting,” Grandma said, settling into her pillows. “The Lord could strike at any minute and I’d miss the fun.”
“It’s about Harry Forest,” Eve said. “We passed him on River Road, a burlap bag in his hand, walking the gravel shoulder.”
“Picking bones,” Ramona added. “Can you imagine doing something like that?”
“Are you surprised that Harry is picking bones, Eve? After all, when you were in grade school your May Day consisted of scouring the church hill for whatever burial remains had been exposed after the winter. The church is sitting on a gravel hill that has a penchant for eroding after every heavy rain.”
“I once found a brooch on a piece of cloth,” Eve said. “Bones might still be showing up, but I don’t think that anyone bothers to look for them now. Have you seen anyone around the church checking the grounds recently, Ramona?”
“I don’t know because I haven’t attended church for a while. But I have seen Harry Forest in the area, a lot.”
“You should pay attention,” Grandma Carmello said. “We have family buried in that church graveyard. Mark my word, sooner or later there’ll be a problem. I won’t be around to fight for the deceased, but I’ll tell you honestly that their remains must be left to rest in peace.”
“I know that Charlotte isn’t buried there,” Eve said.
“No, but other relatives are.”
“We’ll just have to hope that Harry Forest will take up the cause,” Eve said. “I’m sure that you will too. I wish your father were alive. He’d eat the beggars for lunch!”
“Harry be damned!” Grandma said. “You never know when he’ll fall off his twig. Then it will be your fight. And, don’t shirk your duty or I’ll come back to haunt you all, if necessary.”
Eve laughed. “And you would, too. Given your record, you could hoodwink the Lord into letting you interfere.”
Grandma laughed. “Who said anything about the Lord? There’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll have to negotiate with the horned devil in the basement. Have either of you spoken to Harry?”
“I haven’t,” Ramona said. “I didn’t know who he was.”
“I haven’t either,” Eve said. “No one made any mention of him.”
“I need to see Harry,” Grandma said. “We have to have a serious chat.”
“Grandma, would you please tell Ramona everything you know about Harry and the others. I think that it’s important she knows the connection between Charlotte and him, between Harry and Tomas, Lorraine, and Serena. There are things you know and things you don’t, things you might have surmised that have different connotations.”
“Why?”
“She should know the whole story from you because Harry certainly won’t tell her. I can only fill in some of the more public bits.”
“I suppose you’re right, Eve. Facts not revealed is history lost forever.”
“Or trivialized to the point that it loses all meaning,” Ramona said.
“You saw Harry, so you understand that his physical appearance did play a role in the story,” Grandma Carmello said. “Charlotte saw the good in the boy. She recognized a gentle nature, housed in a wizened body.”
“That’s being unfair,” Ramona said. “Harry is not wizened. He’s just a little man.”
“You didn’t see him as a seven-year-old,” Grandma said. “He was so different from the other children. People shunned him like he was from another planet. They didn’t spend enough time with him to realize what a clever mind he possessed. He was known as a ‘ragazzo che fa de tappezzerie,’ ‘the boy who was never invited to dance.’”
“But Charlotte did realize his potential. She invited him to dance.”
“Charlotte was a different—how do they say it now—fish in a kettle? No, kettle of fish?” Grandma chuckled. “Even as a youngster, she saw the good in everyone. She was attracted to Harry because she realized he needed someone to be his friend.”
“And things blossomed from there,” Ramona said.
“They were friends all through school. They thought on the same level, had common interests, shared some physical attributes. You know that, Ramona. You’re no taller than Charlotte and have that pale hair she so loved.”
“Did you approve the relationship?” Ramona asked.
“Such a question,” Grandma Carmello replied. “Whether I approved or not is a moot point, given how circumstances played out. Charlotte had Harry’s ring on her finger when she died. She was buried wearing it. Enough said.”
“That act probably cemented the total dedication to Charlotte which is still evident today in Harry,” Eve said.
“How do you know that?”
“From what I’ve heard and know. From the demure look he shows around women,” Eve said.
“Ramona, there are some letters that you should read,” Grandma said. “You’ll find a shoebox on the top shelf of the walk-in closet in the guest bedroom. Bring it to me. Eve, did I hear Hettie say you brought Eccles cakes?”
Eve laughed. “Grandma Carmello in charge again, just like old times. I’ll go help Hettie get the tea ready. Ramona, you find the shoe box. I can’t imagine you keeping Harry’s letters.”
“You should know by now that I kept everything, especially writings that pertain to Charlotte. Your father, Frankie, learned from an expert how to hoard.”
Ramona smiled. Her grandmother was obviously referring to her father’s penchant for keeping everything from bottles, bottle caps, and used stamps to the foil that lined cigarette packages, scraps of useable paper, and every book he could lay his hands on.”
“We had to be creative during the Depression,” Eve said. “I’m off to make the tea.”
Grandma Carmello waited until Eve left the room then said,” Ramona, I want you to read the letters then return them to me. If I kick the bucket before you’ve finished, make sure that Harry Forest gets them. You’ll understand why after you read everything in the box. I will tell you one thing about Harry Forest. He might be of few words but he’s strong on writing—and action, if it needs to be taken.”
“Grandma, you shouldn’t talk about death,” Ramona chided.
“Why not? It’s better to tell the truth than to ignore the facts, or to lie. After last night, I guarantee that I’ll be traveling light, somewhere soon. Now, don’t you spoil the afternoon with tears.”
Ramona reached for her grandmother’s boney, heavily veined hand. “Let me get this straight. You say that you’ll be traveling light, as in a bulb or as in carrying no luggage?”
“As far as I know, you can’t take anything with you. I’ve never seen a hearse with a U-Haul hitched behind. I doubt that you can even take memories. Those you leave behind for others to enjoy. As for the light, I should have said toward the light, the one I saw last night. I’d like to think I’ll be a star so that when you look up at the night sky, you’ll think of me, assuming I’m heading up.”
“And, on cloudy nights,” Ramona said, visually disturbed by Granny’s reference to having a light experience. Hadn’t she read that sort of thing happened to people who’d had a brush with death?
“You’ll know that me and a lot of others are in a foul mood.” Sensing Ramona’s distress about her mentioning the light experience during the night, Grandma said, “Ramona, don’t worry about me. I’m ready to go. I don’t fear the light. I’ve served my time on earth. It’s my turn to move on.”
“Teatime.” Eve stood at the door holding a tray. Hettie was behind her with a spoon in one hand, a bottle in the other.
“A little bitter with the sweet,” Grandma said. “I don’t know why you bother stuffing that foul-tasting tonic down my throat. It’s not doing any good. Hettie, bring me a hot buttered rum!”
“The medicine’s not doing any harm either,” Eve said. “Take it like a warrior-woman.”
“I will if you promise to be in touch with Harry Forest this afternoon. I want to see him tonight. It’s important I see him tonight. Don’t ask me why.”
“I
wouldn’t think of meddling in your affairs,” Eve said, “especially when they concern Harry Forest. Just promise me you won’t get upset with him.”
“I’ve no intentions of getting upset with or about Harry. What I have to … what we have to discuss is important to both of us. And he needs to know … I have to tell him a few things before … Oh, for Pete’s sake, just make sure that Harry Forest gets here tonight.”
December 1975
My friends – Ollie and Nibi
I am enclosing my usual tome with my annual Christmas card. I hope you receive the envelope in good time. I have tucked several photographs which I know you’ll enjoy looking at. They were not taken by me. As far as I can ascertain, all is well at this end for everyone.
I must tell you that I have met the niece of my beloved Charlotte. She looks so much like Charlotte that I find myself tongue-tied in her presence. Never did I think memories could fill one’s mind so completely that the past would become the present. Now I must think of the future.
Ollie, on Tomas’s last run he said that you were not well and shouldn’t live such an isolated life. He said he was going to offer you and Nibi a cabin to live in which is on his highway property so you would be closer to medical attention. Please take him up on his offer. And please when reading this to Nibi, do not leave out my advice. I worry about you; both of you.
In early October I lost a good friend, Charlotte’s brother Frankie. His wife, mother, and that niece were devastated. And now I understand that the mother, Mrs. Carmello, is poorly.
It is Christmastime. I will wish you the best for 1976 and hope to see both of you when I come north in July.
Seasons Greetings,
Harry F.
Chapter 5
July 2004
As Major, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, slowly walked toward the stick his master had thrown, Don made himself comfortable on the park bench beside Ramona who, even though the summer’s heat was unbearable, was knitting a woolen scarf. “I know that it’s warm, but pooch needs some exercise. Just a couple more fetches and he can lie down. Living in an apartment isn’t the best situation for a dog his size.”