by Pat Mestern
“You were just a sweet young thing when you vacationed with your dad,” Don said.
Ramona smiled. “Young, yes. I don’t know about the ‘sweet.’”
“So, when did Nibi die?”
“I don’t know. I heard she left in 1989.”
“She left?”
“One of my neighbours used to go north to fish several times a year. He knew Uncle Tomas. I explained that I used to visit the Algoma District as a child but that I’d lost touch with everyone, including a woman called Nibi Olsen. When he came back from a fishing trip in 1989, he said that he’d asked around and someone had told him Nibi had left. That’s the way the fellow spoke of people who’d died. For him, they ‘left’, not ‘passed’ or ‘passed away’ or ‘died.’”
Chapter 7
2004
A Restaurant in Port Sydney
“You did it again, Don. When you didn’t find tomato soup on the menu, you handed the waitress a tin of Campbell’s best. Did you see the look on her face?”
Don laughed. “As I said, you’re always safe ordering tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich,” Don said. “You know the soup is from a can and you can’t go wrong with grilled cheese dipped in ketchup.”
“But I don’t think that the cook appreciated the waitress handing the chef the can and asking for it to be served with a grilled cheese sandwich which also wasn’t on the menu,” Ramona said.
“Not at first, Don said. “Not until he came out for a little chat and I explained that I wanted to impress him with my whacky sense of humour. Handing him a twenty-dollar bill helped too. You have to admit that everyone ended up having a good laugh, even the chef.”
Ramona giggled. “You’d be easy to cook for. That’s old-fashioned diner food for sure. You realize that this could be considered our second … date, for want of a better word.”
“It goes a little further than that,” Don said. “For anyone who doesn’t know the full story, we’re off together, as a couple.”
“That rumour won’t take wings before it gets shot down,” Ramona said.
“You know what my favourite saying is regards relationship?
“No.”
“If I ever get as far ahead as I am behind, I’ll have a good handle on the dating game. It’s not as easy to find someone as it used to be.”
“Have you actually been looking for a good woman?” Ramona asked.
Don laughed. “Not really. These days I’ve no idea what to look for in a woman.”
“There’s a lot to be said about the era we grew up in,” Ramona admitted. “I miss some of the good times; Sadie Hawkins dances, Glee Club, Teen Town dances …”
“Cadets,” Don said. “That made responsible young men out of some fellows. You realize we are really dating ourselves, Ramona?”
“I’ve no problem doing that. Ramona raised her hands as the waitress removed the empty soup bowls and set down the plates of sandwiches. “Changing the subject, who have you contacted in Algoma Mills? Who are we going to see?”
“Not who are we going to see as much as what am I going to ask. I’m relying on you to know, or at least recognize the names of some of the older residents. I have no idea why Harry spent time in the north other than visiting your uncle.”
“Until Uncle Tomas died,” Ramona reminded Don.
“The visits continued after Tomas died. Harry did indicate to me on my first visit with him that his yearly visits north were important to him.” Don cleared his throat. “There are several discrepancies between what is stated in the will and what I expected to find in his papers.”
“Which leads you to believe that there are papers or documents missing,” Ramona said.
“Yes. The mystery, for want of a better word, needs to be solved before the will can be probated.”
“I understand it’s none of my business what’s in the will,” Ramona said. “I’ll just make an observation. You haven’t contacted anyone. You’re flying in the dark, like an owl fishing for food.”
Don laughed. “You sure have a way with words! I did make arrangements for our accommodation. We’re staying in a cabin on Lake Lauzon. I rented it from a local. Don’t worry. It has two bedrooms. We’ll stop for groceries though. I was told there are a couple of restaurants nearby, but we should plan to have some groceries at hand.”
“And, who’s going to do the cooking?”
“We’ll flip for the privilege.”
“There was a general store on the highway just before the turn-off to the Lake,” Ramona said. “If it’s still there we can shop for groceries before we sign into the cabin. If not, we can drive into Algoma Mills. Speaking of cabin, you do realize that to see Ollie and Harry’s old cabins we’ll have to land the plane on the lake where they are located. Will that bother you?”
“I’ll admit that I’ve never been in a floatplane.” Don dipped the last corner of his sandwich into a puddle of ketchup. “I’m game if you are.”
“Me? I can hardly wait. I lived in floatplanes when we visited Uncle Tomas. Don’t think I’m being too forward, Don, but really, what is your plan?”
“Questions. We ask lots of questions of everyone remotely associated with Harry, or who even knew him in passing.”
Ramona smiled. “I have one question for you, maybe two. You said that you were adopted and raised by the Chambers.”
“There was only my mother who raised me, just the two of us. She needed me as much as I needed her. What’s your question?”
“I’ll get right to the point. What was your adoptive mother’s maiden name? Did she ever tell you?
“LaMariée,” Don said. “Jennie LaMariée. Mariée is spelled with two e’s and an accent over the first.”
“Interesting,” Ramona said. “French in origin, the word surname means ‘the bride’. I assume that she never said much about family though.”
“No, she didn’t. There was some sort of … rift between parents and children. Mother said she came to Kitchener to work in the office at the Schneider Meat Plant. She met dad there. They married and moved to St. Mary’s where his parents lived. After he shipped out she worked in a grocery store.”
“Did she ever give a reason as to why they adopted a child?”
“No. And, I didn’t ask.” Don pushed his plate aside and said, “I saw a telephone booth outside, across the street by the store. I’ve a couple of follow-up phone calls to make before we hit the road again. Do you want to sit in the car? Here are the keys.” Don reached toward his pocket.
“No,” Ramona said. “I saw a bench that overlooks Mary Lake. I’ll enjoy some fresh air until you’re ready to roll again. You’re not angry at me for asking about your adoption, are you?”
“Of course not,” Don said. He rose and extended his hand to Ramona so she could get out of the booth gracefully.
“Thank you. In this day and age, that is a very gentlemanly act.”
Don laughed. “Just old school etiquette, my dear.”
Ramona made herself comfortable on the bench, pulled a small notebook from her purse and added the name LaMariée to a list. Somewhere deep in the back of her mind a memory stirred; faint, undefined, unconnected … perhaps useful at some point in time.
For Ramona, every mile of highway north to North Bay and west through Sudbury to Algoma Mills brought back memories of a great childhood and huge family reunions. A stop for coffee in North Bay brought back memories of canoeing on Lake Nippissing. The barren treeless landscape for miles on either side of Sudbury reminded her of the mines and tips of redhot tailings, especially spectacular on dark summer nights.
Several miles west of Sudbury she asked Don to stop at the side of the road by a unique rock formation. To Don’s delight, she took a hammer and chisel from a box she’d stashed in the back seat before they left. As she chiseled away at the rockface, she explained to Don how her father, on his annual trek, used to stop at various rock formations to check for garnet, pink quartz, chert … To Don’s surprise Ramona knew a lot
about rocks. He’d always wanted to be a geologist and was fascinated with the bits of rock she handed him. By the time they reached the store which was close to the turn into Lake Lauzon and their cabin, the box was full of rock samples and they’d only been yelled at twice for trespassing on private property.
With the exception of several glass-fronted display fridges and a freezer, the store’s interior hadn’t changed much since Ramona’s last visit in the 80s. Only the man behind the counter was new, young, unfamiliar. While Don gathered supplies from the shelves, Ramona chatted with him.
“Are you new here?”
“Somewhat,” the fellow said.
“Have you lived in the area long? Did you know a Tomas Carmello?”
“Name’s familiar.”
“What about Nibi Olsen? Is that name familiar?”
“Sort of. Why do you ask?”
“Tomas Carmello was my uncle. I knew Nibi years ago. Did you know an Arnie and Liza who used to own this store?”
“They were my grandparents,” the clerk said. “My dad, Gerald, ran the store after Grandma died. I inherited it from him. He’s in a retirement home in Espanola—Alzheimers …”
“I didn’t know Arnie and Liza were parents.”
“There were two kids. One went west. My dad stayed. Someone had to take care of the place and his parents.”
“He was a good son,” Ramona said. “He put family first.”
“Well, their roots were deep in the area, fur traders, Hudson’s Bay folk, French voyageurs, Ojibway …”
“DuChamp is definitely a French name.”
“So is La Mariée, my grandmother’s maiden name.”
Ramona looked around to see where Don was. He was busy getting tins of soup from one of the shelves. “Say that name again,” she said.
“LaMariée.”
“Did she have a sister?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
Don was making his way toward the counter. “We’ll talk later young man. I can’t explain now. I’ll just say that I’ll make it well worth your while to see your family tree.”
The guy shrugged. “OK. No problem, as long as the explanation and money are good. By the way, my name’s George.”
“Deal, George. We’re staying at the cabins on Lake Lauzon, the ones that used to be owned by my uncle. I’ll come on over when I have some time to … myself.”
Chapter 8
Matinenda Lake
Tuesday, August 11
Ramona and Don watched the Norseman taxi out of the sheltered cover and up the lake. Dean, the pilot, turned it into the wind, opened the throttle, roared back down the lake, and took off. He tipped the plane’s wings then flew south.
“Let’s hope he remembers to come back for us tomorrow,” Don said. “We sure are isolated out here.”
“He will,” Ramona said. “Just imagine my surprise when Dean turned up at the Lauzon dock with a Norseman, a ’51 model to be more precise. When we chatted with him yesterday, he seemed impressed that I’d remember the make of one of the floatplanes Uncle Tomas owned.”
“It sure is an old beater,” Don said. “It’s noisy but enjoyable. I didn’t expect to be on a remote lake the morning after we arrived. It was the only time Dean could fit us into his schedule. Do you know him? He seems a bit young to have worked with your Uncle.”
“I never met him before last night,” Ramona said. “He’d heard of Uncle Tomas and he’d flown Harry into the cabin a number of times during the past ten years or so. He said that Harry travelled light, two large packs. He’d stay a week at the cabin then spend the rest of the time in a motel in town. I didn’t know that Uncle Tomas’s cabin burned until he mentioned it.”
“All useful information,” Don said. “It’s time to introduce me to what’s left.”
“Before we look at the cabins can we leave our supplies here and go to the lookout? It’s just over there, on the heights of the cliff at the cove’s entrance,” Ramona said.
“Sure. Lead the way.”
“No. You lead the way. There may be snakes around I don’t like snakes.”
“What kind of snakes?”
“Rattlesnakes.”
“Now, you’re kidding me.”
“Maybe.”
Don reluctantly took the lead. He wasn’t about to mention that he didn’t particularly like snakes either. Several times he put a hand out to help Ramona over a rough patch. When they reached the top they stood together and looked over the pristine view.
The shoreline was thirty feet below the granite cliff. To the right, the cliff quickly tapered down to form the cove with its gravel beach. Crystal clear lake water sparkled in the midmorning sun. To the left, the cliff arched in a long circle until another cove entrance cut through it.
An ancient canoe rotted in the undergrowth, its fading red paint the only indication of its existence. As far as the eye could see majestic pine and maple trees dominated the landscape. Closer to the shore white and yellow birch bent gently in the wind. The blue sky reflected in the water of the lake, knitting land and sky in gorgeous colour.
Don finally spoke. “I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
“And this is why Dad came north every year to vacation, and why Uncle Tomas chose the Algoma District as his home. This is probably why Harry returned every year. He missed the north. I remember the cabins, the hovel, diving off this point, fishing in the cove, the black bear that came into the camp every night …”
Don swatted at a persistent fly. “Are you ready for our adventure?”
“I sure am,” Ramona said.
The pair retraced their steps, picked up their packs of supplies and sleeping bags, and trod the narrow path toward the structures. It was obvious that one had extensive fire damage. Another had no door and looked as though two of the walls had collapsed.
“The burned-out mess is what’s left of Uncle Tomas’s place,” Ramona said.
Dean looked around and laughed. “I can understand why Dean told us to sleep in the cabin with the roof and door that closes.”
“That was Ollie’s cabin,” Ramona said, pointing to the intact structure.” She turned to Don and said, “I have to ask. Did you pack your tins of tomato soup? What about cheese for the sandwiches and a frying pan? I remembered the loaf of bread and butter.”
Don laughed. “Always the joker, aren’t you.”
“No,” Ramona said. “I just figured now was the time I needed a good laugh. This is so depressing to see. So much rot. So much neglect.”
Close to Ollie’s cabin there were signs of human habitation. Someone had piled rocks in a circle to make a fire pit. Several large sections of tree trunks lay on their sides, obviously used as seating round the fire. The windows and door to the cabin were intact. The windows appeared to have been cleaned recently.
“Strange,” Don said. “Who would have been here? Let’s hope it’s not a drug dealer or a bank robber.”
“Some people don’t like civilization. Dean did mention a fellow who checks the property occasionally,” Ramona said. “If the old stove isn’t in the cabin we’ll be cooking over an open fire. When we visited we always stayed in Uncle Tomas’s cabin. We were always welcome in this cabin, though, by Ollie and Nibi.”
“I assume the ruins over there are what’s left of Harry’s hovel.”
“Correct assumption. Are we ready to breach the walls of Ollie’s retreat? Rather I should now call it Harry’s retreat. If he came every year, he’d have to stay in this cabin.”
The cabin’s door opened easily, another indication to Don that someone had been to the property recently. Inside everything appeared to have been put into some semblance of order. Several pots and an iron frying pan shared a shelf with a pile of old china plates, four mugs, and three cereal bowls. The one important thing missing was the stove. An old kitchen table was complemented by two rickety chairs. There was one single bed with a mattress that had long ago seen better times. Handmade shelves
, surprisingly full of books, stood next to the bed. Three small wooden boxes and several lidded metal tins sat on top of the shelves.
“I was right about the furniture and other belongings in the cabin by the river behind Harry’s house. They came from this cabin. They belonged to Ollie and Nibi. What is in here must have been in Harry’s hovel. Tonight should prove interesting,” Ramona said. “I can tell you right now. I am not sleeping in that bed. The floor maybe …”
“Neither am I,” Don said. “While there’s still light, let’s do a cursory search.”
“What are we looking for?”
“I honestly don’t know. Any indication there might be a paper trail pertaining to Harry.”
“I’ll start with the books,” Ramona said.
“I’ll look in the chest at the bottom of the bed.”
Ramona examined each book carefully. Obviously, Harry liked Zane Grey, Louis Lamour, Ralph Connor, Walter Scott, the poetry of McLaughlin and Montgomery.
“Are you having any luck?” Don asked. “The only thing I’m finding is clothes, mostly old. But some are too big for Harry’s frame. Oh, look at this, a teddy bear.”
“Sometimes men need something soft to cuddle,” Ramona said.
“Wouldn’t a stuffed Teddy hint there was a child here?”
“Maybe, but that one looks too new, 1960s perhaps.”
Ramona eventually got around to checking the boxes and tins on top of the bookcase. There were candles in one of the boxes, knives, forks, and spoons in a second one. The third box was empty. She then turned her attention to the tins. The first tin was full of matches. The second was full of bits of paper, invoices marked paid from the general store, a receipt for fishing lures, a Royal Bank account book from 1979. She quickly scanned its pages. There were only two entries, one with a starting balance of $54,639 and a deposit for $1,135, showing a balance of $56,744. A small key was taped to the inside back cover of the book. “Heaven help me! Don, you’d better take a look at what I’ve found.”
Don stopped checking one of the dark corners of the cabin then took the key and bank book from Ramona. “Bingo!”