Blue Star

by Valerie Van Clieaf

  “Carey,” he whispered, “are you awake?” She pretended to be sleeping. He went back downstairs. A while later she heard someone knock on the front door.

  “What is it now?” She recognized his voice. It was the doctor. She heard footsteps moving to the back of the house and a door closing. That was the last thing she remembered before she fell asleep.

  The children were moved to the gatehouse the next afternoon.

  “It smells nice here,’ said Amy. She was one of the sisters from Abbotsford. It did smell nice, like fresh lemons. The kids were afraid it would be a prison because of Georgina trying to get away, but it wasn’t. Carey asked Seth if Georgina was okay. He said she was, but Carey could tell he didn’t want to talk about it.

  “When is she coming back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Carey knew Ange was away on business for a few days because he told her. You could see another, bigger house through the kitchen window. Seth told her Ange lived there and it was like a palace inside.

  Joy was at the gatehouse because Melanie was sick. Seth said that was because she was a junkie. The children liked Joy. She was nicer than Melanie. She never hit anyone.

  Ange Batlan returned from his trip on Thursday. Carey was in the kitchen and she saw the taxi drop him off in front of his house. He wasn’t home long when he came over to the gatehouse to visit.

  The kids were all watching Madagascar. Ange asked Carey to come sit with him in the kitchen. Marie followed them and sat close to Carey, holding her hand tightly. She thought that might make him mad, but he didn’t mind. He even smiled at Marie. He told Carey he was sorry he hadn’t been here to greet them when they came and hoped they were enjoying their holiday. She was sure he meant that they didn’t have to be with the men.

  He was smiling and happy and she didn’t want to make him mad, but she really wanted to know if Georgina was okay. She didn’t ask though, because Melanie was in the kitchen with them and then Joy came downstairs to make a cup of tea. Finally, they both left. She had just started to tell him about Georgina when Ange got a call. She heard him say, ‘Hi Mark’. It must have been important, because he only listened for a minute and then he got up and left the gatehouse without saying a word to her and continued talking to Mark outside. Then he made more phone calls and it sounded like he was arguing with someone. Carey saw him walk back to his big house through the window, so she and Marie went back to watch Madagascar with the other kids. She knew Marie was enjoying it because she let go of her hand.

  CHAPTER 18

  We got back from 100 Mile House around suppertime on Wednesday. Bart insisted on getting take-out for us before he dropped us off. Lucas went in with him.

  “Now, you won’t have to cook Luke. You can just feed her and let her talk.”

  “She won’t let me hold her,” said Lucas. The transaction was done. Bart put away his credit card. Lucas picked up the take-out bag and they left the restaurant.

  “You’d probably feel the same, if you’d been through what she’s been through,” said Bart.

  “I just want to hold her.”

  “Not your call buddy.” He put a reassuring hand on Lucas’s arm; felt him freeze and quickly withdrew it. What a mess, he thought. Lucas, wound up tight as a drum and Morgan unravelling.

  “Would you like to talk to someone about how you’re feeling? I have a colleague,” but Lucas didn’t let him finish.

  “I’m good.”

  “Okay then,” said Bart, with misgiving.

  They dropped us off. We ate, then sat quietly. He waited me out. It was a long time before I started to talk. I had to talk. I was choking on the ugliness of what had happened to me. It filled me to overflowing, spilled out all around me, had taken over our little cottage.

  Remembering is a gift, I told myself. Realized, even as the thought came to me, my Nokomis would say that. Still, the words didn’t come easy. At one point, Lucas silently offered his hand and I took it. By ten o’clock, I’d talked myself out. I was exhausted. We got undressed and got into bed. I remember reaching for his hand. I don’t remember falling asleep.

  CHAPTER 19

  Lucas sat up, numb with fear, his heart racing, a train hurtling full tilt down a mountainside. Another nightmare, but all he could remember were red flowers, like the blooms on the rhododendron bush that mom planted by their bamboo cabin in Santa Maria. It didn’t make sense, to dream of flowers and to be so frightened. He stayed in bed for a few minutes, breathing deeply, trying to get his heartbeat under control.

  Morgan was asleep. He got dressed and went to the kitchen. He filtered some water, ground coffee beans, and started the coffee maker, then sat at the table. His jaw ached; he was clenching it so tight. He lay his head in his arms, trying to relax.

  He thought of his mom and their small apartment on Rupert Street. The tenant before them had painted the kitchen a soft yellow and mom loved the colour. Nineth never said so, but Lucas knew how much she missed Guatemala. Vancouver is a beautiful city, but Guatemala is a tropical paradise. She told him lots of stories about Santa Maria in the early days, before he was born and stories about Finca La Perla, the plantation owned by his great-grandfather, Ignacio. Her family were seasonal workers at his plantation and when she was old enough, she worked there too.

  He’d read about La Perla. Ignacio Arenas was a cruel man. They called him the Lion of Ixil with good reason. Workers guilty of infractions were imprisoned in bamboo cages. His mom never spoke of the cages or the horrible conditions the workers lived under: Living huts open to the sky during the rainy season; the floors a sea of mud.

  I wake up to the smell of coffee. It’s early, but I get out of bed, put on my housecoat and slippers, and go looking for Lucas.

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Pretty good. What about you?” No answer. Not that he had to. It was obvious he’d gotten little sleep. He looked terrible. He poured coffee for us and I joined him at the kitchen table. I remember when we moved into the cottage, the table was already here, a gift from the previous tenants but badly scratched up and painted over. We’d sanded it down and refinished it with a mixture of turpentine and linseed oil, a finish my dad often used. A lot of the scratches were still visible. The distressed look, we’d joked.

  Lucas watched as I ran a hand over the satin smooth wood. “I just remembered something: You know that smell when you refinish old canoes. It’s called spar varnish.”

  “You’re on your own,” said Lucas. “This table is my only woodworking project.”

  “Dad used to build canoes and he’d do upkeep and repair every spring. He used linseed oil mixed with turpentine to restore the wood, just like we did for the table. Then he’d finish with a coat of spar varnish.”

  I called Detective Fernice, reached her voicemail and left a message that I just remembered something about where I was held. She called back in minutes. I put her on speaker and quickly filled her in.

  “I remember the smell of spar varnish. I think I was held in a place where wooden boats are repaired.” And then, it clicked. “The docks. The hammering sounds I remember are the sound of the docks when they’re operating! Just a minute.” Lucas and I both fetched our laptops. Back at the table, I told her I was searching for boat builders on the Burrard Inlet.

  “We live close to the inlet. When the wheat pool or the sugar refinery is operating, it gets noisy and we’re blocks away. But the level of noise I remember was much louder. Way more intense.”

  “Okay I found a small boat builder on False Creek near Granville Island,” Fernice piped up.

  “False Creek is too far from the docks,” I said. “That’s the Inner Harbour. I remember the banging as really loud, so the place had to be damn close to the docks.”

  “What about this one,” said Lucas. Seabreeze Marine Boat Repair. It’s on the North Shore, right on the inlet.”

  “Just a minute,” said Fernice. “Okay, got it. But wait. It looks like they buil
d and repair fibreglass vessels.”

  “No, they do wooden boats too! Click on Our Services, then Marine Boat Repair. See the subheading, wooden boat repairs. Looks like it’s a smaller yard, close to the main one. I guess most boats are no longer made of wood, but in a port town like Vancouver there’s probably still people with wooden craft who’d need maintenance and repairs done.”

  Fernice agreed. “I’m still searching for other likely builders around the harbour area.”

  “There aren’t any others on the South shore,” said Lucas.

  “There are a few boat repair places in Richmond and Delta, but both communities are too far away from the docks. I think Seabreeze Marine Boat Repair is the most likely spot.”

  “I’ll make a trip over there right now,” said Fernice.

  “I’d like to come along.”

  “Let me check it out first. If the site looks promising, I’ll get a search warrant and I’ll want you to have a look around as well. Right now, I need you to sit tight.”

  “Oh man,” I muttered, but my indignation was lost on her.

  “I’ll keep you informed.” she said, before hanging up.

  “There are other things for us to do,” Lucas said, “after we have some breakfast.”

  I’d just gotten out of the shower when I heard the land line ring and moments later, Lucas saying: “Grandma Effie. it’s good to hear your voice.” My Nokomis. I quickly dried off and put on my robe.

  “You know Morgan. But she has to take me with her everywhere she goes.” I was beside him now in the kitchen.

  “Here she is,” said Lucas. “That’s my main job right now. Bye for now Effie,” said Lucas, handing the phone to me with a smile.

  “What’s your main job,” I whispered.

  “Taking care of you,” he whispered back.

  “Boozhoo Nokomis Effie.” (Hello Grandma.) I sat in the chair Lucas had just vacated. My grandma’s given name is Iphigenia, but I’ve always called her Effie.

  “Boozhoo Morgan.”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t called sooner, Nokomis.”

  “That’s okay. We know you’re resting. Your man called and told me enough to keep me quiet for a few days. I like him but tell him for me he’s a terrible liar. I could hear the worry in his voice even as he told me you were going to be okay.”

  “I’m healing up nicely. My good looks have taken a beating, but I’ll be good as new in no time.”

  “They beat you!” Oh boy. I’ll have to be more careful what I say. “Morgan, I’m an old woman, don’t play with me.”

  “They did rough me up some, Nokomis, but I’m okay. Really I am.”

  “Rough you up! Morgan. Please!”

  “I’m sorry Nokomis. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Well you did! Did they hurt you bad Morgan?” I could hear the worry in her voice.

  “Not too bad,” I lied, contrary to everything that was reported, and most of it accurate, at least in that regard.

  “Your man told us last week that you’re trying to find a missing child.”

  “The police are looking for her. The girl is a cousin of a student at Simon Fraser who asked for our help.”

  “Did she run away?”

  “No. She was abducted.”

  “Abducted.” She was quiet a moment before she asked, “Who took her?”

  “A young native man was seen driving her away.”

  “No!” Her distress was real. “Where is she now?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “She’s a prisoner.” Nokomis spent six years at Fort William Residential School. Her sister, my great-aunt Mary, died there—of fever they told the family. Even then, Effie wasn’t allowed to go home.

  “The people who took you, they meant to kill you, didn’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you in danger now, Morgan?”

  “Nokomis, we’re being very careful.”

  “You’re in danger.” She was silent a moment. I said nothing. “I know you too well, Morgan. I watched your story on Aboriginal People Television Network. You—out running alone—at night. Your mother always worried that you were too reckless and wouldn’t know when it was time to know fear and be cautious.”

  Nokomis was right. But that was the old Morgan. I didn’t yet have the words to tell her, or anyone, that something had changed. The change had grown from the very real fear I felt when I woke up with my hands tied behind me; when I had looked at the cuts and bruises on my face and body; when I tried to speak, and didn’t recognize the hoarse croak that was my voice.

  “Please. Nokomis. I don’t want you to worry about me.” That sounded pretty lame, so I tried again, a bit more truthful this time. “We’re up against some very bad guys and you can believe me when I say I’m afraid of them and I’m being very careful.”

  “You’re afraid?” Effie asked, quite surprised.

  “I am afraid, and I won’t do anything foolish, I promise.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. This world is not safe for us. I’m an old woman and I know too well the terrible things that have been done to our children, our women, our people.” She was silent for a moment, struggling for the right words. “They are unable to treat us fairly. This is woven in the cloth that holds this world together. It breaks my heart that this happened to you. I struggle with forgiveness Morgan, and even as I struggle, more wrongs are done.”

  I thought of Kate and Bart. “We have many white allies. Some of them are helping me now.” Silence greeted my words. Then with a sigh, she spoke again.

  “That may be so, Morgan, and I am grateful to them. But what can they know about us? What can you teach them about us, our history before them, in their language?”

  Nokomis had a way of getting right to the heart of the matter. English is my first language. Everything I am hangs better on that frame than anywhere else. I’m haunted by the fear I’m strictly a visitor to her culture, my mother’s culture. It’s mine too, but sometimes, I feel like I’m spinning in one orbit, and mom’s family is right beside me in another. I don’t want it to be that way.

  “Your cousin Tanaka tells me what’s happening with your case. She gets the information online, from one of those native bloggers.” That made me smile. “But Morgan, some of the things the others are saying about you are not true!”

  “I know, Nokomis. It’s a deliberate smear against me, and Lucas too. We think the people who had me abducted are behind it. We aren’t fighting back because we want them to think that their campaign is working. We’re doing that because we don’t want to endanger the child.” I didn’t want her to know, not yet anyway, that there were other children being held.

  “Your secret is safe with me. I have to go now. I hear your grandfather calling me.” A little poetic license here, as it sounded to me like he was in the same chair!

  “He was in the garden, putting it to rest for winter and he’s probably hungry but too tired to make himself something to eat. He needs my help. We’re getting old.”

  My time was up. I was being dismissed. “I love you both and I’ll call soon.”

  “See that you do and take care of yourself Morgan. Think about coming home for Christmas. I’m sure Tanaka won’t mind if you stay with her.”

  “I will. Giizagiin Nokomis (I love you, Grandma.) Minawa Giwabamin.” (See you again soon.)

  “Giizagiin Morgan. Remember your promise. Don’t go anywhere without your man,” she added, just before she hung up. I found Lucas in the kitchen.

  “I’m thinking of going home for the Christmas holiday.”

  “That’s a good idea. Visit your family, your cousins. Tanaka wants you to come.”

  “She does?”

  “She told me when I called her last Friday. We can stay with them.”

  “You’ll come too?”

  “I’d love to.”

  My cell rang. It was Fernice. She’d been to the boatyard and absolutely n
othing jumped out at her. I found that hard to believe and said so.

  “I hear you, Morgan, but we’re not done yet.” I sighed with exasperation. She ignored me.

  “Have you heard from Stacie Smith by any chance?”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” said Fernice, abruptly hanging up.

  “Fernice says she didn’t find anything at the boat yard.”

  “If she said there’s nothing there ...”

  “There’s no other possible boatyard where I could have been held!”

  “You could have been held in someone’s private garage, close to the inlet, where a wooden boat was stored.”

  “What about the noise level? The sound of the docks?”

  “Right. That’s not as easy to account for, is it, unless you were right on the water.”

  “I’m going to check out Seabreeze Boat Yard.”

  “Not without me.”

  “We’ll be really careful. We’ll tell Kate and Bart where we’re going.”

  “We could do a car rental,” said Lucas.

  “We could, and that’s an excellent idea.”

  “And we should wear disguises. We’re a rather distinctive couple.” We stood up, nose to nose.

  “You could wear your blonde Marilyn Monroe wig and lots of red lipstick and something to cover up the stitch marks and this bruise here especially,” he said, touching my cheek gently. “And your big Sophia Loren shades. I love those on you.”

  “It’s not a Marilyn wig.” It’s an Agnetha Fältskog shag.” At his confused look, “Agnetha. ABBA.” I love ABBA.

  “Right. She’s one of the A’s.

  “And what about you? You can’t go like that,” I said, taking in his faded shirt, jeans and sneakers.

  “I’ll wear black pants, black shirt and shades, and my new black blazer. I look great in black.”

  “You do.”

  “We’ll be a nice couple, looking to have their old boat fixed up—my grandfather’s boat, of great sentimental value.”