by Pat Mestern
“The parlour is to the left. Behind it there’s a large pantry. Of course, the door into it is in the kitchen,” Don said. “The door to the right opens into a dining room. I should have said opened into the dining room. The room became Harry’s bedroom after he found it difficult to climb the stairs. Someone must have helped him move his bedroom furniture downstairs. Harry made the room behind it into a library. Are you ready for the grand tour? It won’t take much time to see everything.”
“I’m ready as rain,” Ramona said.
“Prepare thyself. There’s no sense in my even showing you the upstairs rooms. They are empty, devoid of furniture, carpets, and curtains. We’ll start with the parlour.” Don opened the parlour door and stepped in. Ramona followed close behind.
“Why there’s nothing here but a barber’s chair, a small table beside it, a metal wastebasket, and a laundry basket full of rocks. Did you remove the furniture?” Ramona’s voice echoed around the empty room.
“No. Apparently Harry gave his mother’s furniture away. He cut hair here to make a few extra dollars. This was his shop, so to speak. He didn’t advertise his services. He got business by word-of-mouth.”
“Dad was probably one of his clients. How strange that the man lived in a house devoid of anything that smacked of earthly possessions.”
“Not quite true,” Don said. “The bedroom does have a few pieces of furniture. And there is the library, kitchen, and cabin …”
“You did mention in one of our conversations that Harry died in the bedroom?” Ramona asked.
“Yes.” Don crossed the hall, brushed a cobweb from the wooden door frame, and opened the door to Harry’s bedchamber. The room was spartan in its furnishings, a single bed, chest of drawers, Victorian pine wardrobe with a mirror mounted on its left door and a kitchen chair with three pair of shoes lined up neatly beneath it. A large basket full of interesting-looking rocks occupied a space beside the chair. A bedside table held a large piece of quartz rock, a glass lamp, a wind-up alarm clock, and a small battery-operated 1960s radio. The only decorative touch was a framed Tom Thomson print on the wall over the bed’s headboard.
“Now, prepare yourself for Harry’s library,” Don said, walking to the next door.
Ramona couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Except for one corner the room behind Harry’s makeshift bedroom was lined floor-to-ceiling with wooden shelves full to overflowing with books. From the look of the covers most were very old. A comfortable-looking chair, footstool, and reading lamp were tucked into the corner. Beside the chair there was another large basket full of rocks. A desk sat in front of a window devoid of curtains. The desk’s centerpiece was an old typewriter and a black rock the size of a serving bowl on top of a pile of white paper. One piece of paper was still in the typewriter as though Harry had been typing recently.
Ramona walked over to take a look at the paper. “Harry was typing a poem,” she said. “He has two lines, ‘God gave us memories so we could have roses in December. My roses have never wilted so I continuously remember ….’ These words have to have something to do with Charlotte.”
“Harry obviously had her on his mind all his life,” Don said. “He spent most of his house-time in here. Come on. Before you start to go through the papers on the desk and books, you have to see the kitchen.”
Taking Ramona by the elbow he walked her into the kitchen tail where an old-fashioned wood stove with its smoke pipe dominated the back wall. Two iron frying pans hung from hooks on the wall so they’d be handy to the stove. A huge woodbox was located by the back door.
“That was always the trouble with chimneys that were built right into stone walls,” Ramona said, pointing to where creosote had leached down the wall. I’ve a problem with creosote staining both outside and inside walls at home.”
“Harry used this stove a lot as he spent most of the winter in here when he wasn’t in his library or the cabin. A neighbour told me the furnace was rarely used.”
A pine corner cabinet sufficed for built-in cupboards. Against the wall on the right side of the kitchen a small table stood between the electric stove and fridge. It held a toaster, an assortment of pots, pans, bowls, and Harry’s coffee percolator. A round table with three wooden chairs took up the centre of the room. The table was cluttered with spoon and napkin holders, salt and pepper shakers, a sugar bowl, unopened mail, and magazines.
One of the most notable modern conveniences was a stainless-steel sink built into a wooden stand against the kitchen’s left wall. The stand was flanked on each side by a door.
“The door to the left of the sink leads to the pantry. The door to the right is for the washroom,” Don explained. “Harry had modern conveniences installed for his mother. Before that, she had to make a dash for the outdoor privy.” Major’s barking interrupted Don’s conversation.
“The dog seems upset about something,” Ramona said.
“He’s probably treed a raccoon,” Don said. “They are the bane of his life and the woods around here are full of them. We’d better go rescue Major. Are you ready to see Harry’s cabin? It’s hidden in the woods, down by the river.”
“Yes,” Ramona said. “It’s been years since I’ve explored the riverbank in this area.”
“You probably didn’t know about the cabin because Harry didn’t build it until after he returned to the area.”
“I remember the spring by the river: lovely cold water, a tin cup hanging from a tree branch for dipping and drinking.”
“The cabin’s not one hundred feet from the spring,” Don said. “It was Harry’s source for drinking water.”
Major joined the pair halfway down the path then, familiar with the terrain, he led the way to the cabin.
“How beautiful,” Ramona said when she saw the log structure tucked into the landscape of limestone ridge and cedar copse. “How romantically … pioneer. But don’t you think it strange that Harry had a cabin at the back of his property.”
“Perhaps the cabin served two purposes. It reminded him of his time in the north and gave him private space to share with the woman he professed to love. Wait until you see the inside of the place. I’ll wager dinner out that what would confound many, will delight you.”
“You’re on,” Ramona said. “Lead on, Sir Donald. Surprise me.”
Don unlocked the cabin’s heavy wooden door and stepped aside to let Ramona go first. In the dim light which came through the cabin’s small, dirty windows, it was difficult to see much, but Ramona recognized a number of items that she’d seen in grandmother Carmello’s house. Some of Charlotte’s framed sketches, drawn in high school, decorated the walls. A photo montage hung over a bookcase. A chair, complete with a Texas Star quilt that Ramona remembered seeing at her grandma’s house, sat near a pot-bellied stove. Grandmother Carmello had said that it was a Christmas present she’d made for Charlotte.
“Oh my goodness, Don! The place is a shrine to my aunt.”
“I’d say so,” Don agreed. “Few got to see this sacred spot, for want of a better description.” Don stepped into the cabin. “Even his closest neighbour wasn’t invited into the building.”
“Proving that there’s more to life than meets the eye,” Ramona said. “If only I’d known …”
“What would, or could, you have done? Given the number of Charlotte’s possessions, or those that meant something to your grandmother that are here, she, your father, or Uncle Tomas must have been involved in giving things to him.”
“I do recall letters I read some years ago … Such poignant possessions. Look, there’s Charlotte’s doll, the first one she received as a Christmas present. It’s in the wooden cradle her father built. Goodness Don! This is hard to comprehend.”
“Is being here too disturbing for you?”
“No, given what I know about the bond between the two. Let me have a good look around. I need to put both Harry and Charlotte to rest. This might be the place to start.”
“Do you want to be left alone for a fe
w minutes?”
“Stay. If I cry, pay no heed. Tears come easily sometimes as memories surface.” Ramona walked around the room, touching a chair, picking up a dish, touching a picture, running her hand across the mantle. She stopped at a bookshelf and ran her hand over the covers. A beam of sunlight flashing on something on the bookshelf got Ramona’s attention. She retrieved it, looked closely at what was in her hand, then glanced at Don. “This appears to be the nameplate off my Aunt Charlotte’s coffin.”
“It is,” Don said. “Did you not know that Harry had the written permission of your grandmother to have Charlotte’s remains exhumed and cremated to be eventually buried in the same urn with him? There was a permission to exhume letter that she signed tucked in with his will.”
“Oh my heavens, I didn’t know.” Years ago Grandmother, just before she died, demanded that she see Harry. Maybe then … Oh Lord, why didn’t I know? But then I rarely visit the cemetery where Charlotte was buried.”
“I’m beginning to figure out when the remains were exhumed, cremated and the ashes ended up in Harry’s urn. He obviously left instructions with someone as to where to find them. The headstone was left in the old cemetery on instructions from your grandmother.”
“Let me guess. Charlotte’s ashes were here, kept in the cabin until … needed.” Ramona couldn’t control the catch in her voice. Tears came quickly. “My heavens! What a love he had for her. Can I take this with me, Don?”
“Of course, this is all yours - unless there is an … issue.”
Ramona managed a smile. “Given what I’ve just learned, there is no way there would be an issue. Can we sit outside for a while? I need some fresh air.”
They sat on a wooden bench just outside the cabin’s door. Major lay at their feet.
“Do you realize how lucky you are, Ramona? You have a lot of knowledge about your ancestors.”
“Mother assumed the role of history keeper for both the Carmello and O’Grady families. Once you got her started, information just rolled off her tongue.”
“And she was the same age as Harry and Charlotte so was well aware of their special relationship,” Don said. “That’s a big advantage for me, if she told you.”
“She only knew Harry because she and Dad were friends at the time, a friendship that dragged on through the Depression before Dad felt he could propose marriage.”
“Did she see anyone else during that time?”
“If she did, she didn’t tell me.”
“Did your father date other women?”
“I’ve no idea. Why the personal questions, Don?”
“They just came to mind. No, that’s not true. There are things that need to be cleared up before Harry’s estate can be settled. His instructions need to be carried out. Let me just say that there’s something … missing.”
“Is it something specific to instructions in his will?”
“Yes. Ramona, how do you feel about accompanying me on a trip -probably three, four days; maybe a week?”
“Let me guess where. Your next quest for information has to be in Northern Ontario, the Algoma District, to be more precise.”
Don laughed. “You are a mind-reader. I need to talk with a few people who knew, or know, the Olsens.”
“I’ll tell you one thing right now,” Ramona said. “When you visit the Olsen cabin, if it’s still standing, you’ll think you are seeing double. Harry has replicated the cabin, right down to the furniture, from what I recall seeing on my last visit to Matinenda Lake which was in 1959 for a two-week holiday with dad. I went north one more time, for Uncle Tomas’s funeral.”
“Maybe he had the cabin’s furnishings shipped south?” Don said.
“Probably Uncle Tomas brought them down in his Norseman. That’s a floatplane. He flew down at least twice a year to see his mom and brother. The Norseman was a real workhorse of a plane and could carry quite a load. Don’t look at me like that. If I’d had my druthers, I would have been a bush pilot. Mother wouldn’t hear of me doing that for a living. Women were supposed to be secretaries, nurses, or teachers during the 1950s and early 1960s.”
“From what I know, you chose secretary.”
“I did, under duress. There were so many other things I wanted to do with my life.”
“Do you feel like taking the trip?”
Ramona smiled. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been more than fifty miles from home? Of course, I’ll go with you but on two conditions: separate rooms and I pay my own way.”
“I’m on estate business,” Don said. “You’re my …”
“I pay my own way,” Ramona said. “No ‘and, buts, so’s and yets’ about it.”
“OK. It’s a deal.”
“I’m raring to go. It’s been a long time since I’ve canoed Lauzon or had a ride in a floatplane. Lorraine said that she’d babysit pussycat for me if I ever felt the need to travel.”
“Good, I’ll make arrangements for pooch and draw up a schedule.”
“Can I take another peek into the cabin?”
“You certainly can.”
Ramona stood in the doorway, placed her right hand on her heart, then looked around the cabin’s interior. “Can I ask a favour? Or make a suggestion? I’m a little concerned about this personal family memorabilia being in the cabin. It is my family’s visual and physical history of Charlotte that I’m seeing here. What if someone breaks in? What if some kids find the place and trash it? It was a different situation when Harry was here to protect it and had Major around to alert him to any problems.”
“You’ve a valid point, Ramona. We can pack everything and move it up to the main house. Harry’s neighbour said that he’d help if I needed him. The liquor store always has boxes.”
“I don’t want Charlotte’s life … memories … possessions desecrated or lost.” Ramona gestured toward the doll and cradle. “But who would want these mementoes, Don? I’ve no children, no siblings. Mother’s gone …”
“Understood,” Don said. “What about Tomas’s children?”
“There were no children from a very brief marriage,” Ramona said. “The marriage was annulled. Living in the bush with someone like Uncle Tomas was not something the woman he married wanted to do. And he was a difficult man to understand, wild to a certain extent. Mother told me that Harry usually flew back north with Tomas when he came down every summer. He returned home by train two, three weeks later.”
“Interesting information,” Don said. “Maybe there is someone up north more closely related to Harry, as in blood related, and I don’t mean his father’s relatives,” Don said.
“You’re not implying again…” Ramona didn’t finish the sentence. She shook her head. “You can’t be serious, Don.”
“Until all avenues have been explored, the possibility exists. He was a man, after all.”
“All men are not created equal,” Ramona said. “You’re thinking a liaison between Nibi and Harry, aren’t you?”
“I understand from the few notes in the estate file that there was a child in the Olsen household.”
“And again, I say there is DNA testing,” Ramona said. “I’m 99.9 percent sure that it would implicate Ollie or Tomas, not Harry.”
“That’s why the trip north.”
“Who says that life is dull, boring, and predictable? Mine certainly hasn’t been in the past several months, ever since I met you,” Ramona said.
“We’ve been good for each other,” Don said.
Ramona gave Don’s arm a pat. “A man’s company always sparks interest in a woman, proving that for a large percentage of the population both men and women are created equal.”
“I’m glad you exempted a few men and women from your unequal theory.”
“Wait until you meet a few of the characters up north. Talk about eccentric! When Lorraine and I were at Tomas’s funeral, in 1982 when I found out that once an eccentric, always an eccentric, an observation I should have known, living with Dad.”
“L
orraine went with you. Is she related in any way to Nibi, Ollie, or Tomas?”
“There’s no connection between Lorraine and anyone up north. I wasn’t used to driving long distances alone and she kindly offered to accompany me. One of the things I did learn on that trip was that Ollie died in 1977. Wait a minute, it could have been 1978.”
“And what about Nibi?”
“She was much younger than Ollie. She was alive in 1982, looking healthy for her age. She made a beautiful pine wreath for Uncle Tomas’s grave.”
“And you never met a son, daughter, or grandchildren?”
“No, I didn’t. No one stood by Nibi’s side at the burial service. I wasn’t introduced to anyone. It was a rather strange funeral—well, not really a funeral, just a graveside service. There were quite a few people at the cemetery. I didn’t recognize too many. Because there was no reception after the burial, I didn’t have the opportunity to meet many of them personally. Lorraine chatted up a few people who stood near us, one guy in particular who seemed interested in her - again. He was the one that showed up at Harry’s burial for a very short period of time.”
“And did she get any more information from him?”
“No. But I can understand why he’d have been attracted to Lorraine. She was, and still is, a good-looking woman.”
“Didn’t you think it strange there was no reception or that someone didn’t invite you back to a house for a gathering?” Don said.
“Not really. Uncle Tomas often thought ‘outside the box’ as far as traditions were concerned. I did hear the fellow tell Lorraine that it was written down somewhere Nibi should be in charge of Tomas’s funeral as she was party to his last wishes.”
“And you recognized no one but Nibi? Are you sure of that?”
“I was so young that I wouldn’t remember many people from the times I spent up north. Some faces were vaguely familiar but I couldn’t put names to them.”