She shivered as she imagined Ezra’s eyes watching her. Uneasiness crept through her, and the hair stood up on the back of her neck. Of course, the dogs would know if he were there, but she was happy to get inside just the same.
They split the fare in silence. John wiped his hands on his pants and got up.
“You can’t stay here. Trapping is done, and I’m leaving.”
“I want my husband found and buried,” Nancy said. “He didn’t deserve to die. Ezra also said that he’d killed Philip’s mother. I don’t know if that was true or if it was to frighten me, so I don’t know if anyone will be looking for me.”
“And Philip’s mother is Ezra’s wife. Is that what you said?”
“Yes, she’s twice his age. They’ve been married for almost two years.” Nancy grimaced when she thought of being married to such a vicious man. Philip and Malcolm had gone up against Ezra more than once when they saw bruises or black eyes on their mother, but in the end, she had turned on them. Perhaps it was to protect them. Nancy didn’t know.
She was responsible for this tragedy. It was her fault Philip was gone. Her own foolishness. She’d have to right that wrong.
“I’ll take you to Zoar. That’s as much as I can do,” John said. He left the cabin.
Nancy was torn—she couldn’t stay there. She had some idea about how to survive, but not by herself. Philip had taught her how to hunt and fish, but he was the provider, she the helper.
John was rummaging outside. There were two hollow thuds on the cabin wall. She could see the darkening and lightening through the seams in the logs as John MacDonald moved in and out of shadows. The tin pan rattled, and a few more sounds signalled a man packing up his belongings.
He returned and took the plate that had held the rabbit, then left again. Water splashed, and tin rattled once more. He stood in the doorway and motioned for the caribou hide that had kept her warm the night before. Rolling the pelts, he tied them with a string of rawhide and left again. A few moments later, he called for her.
Nancy grabbed her sealskin jacket and followed the sound of his voice. The dogs bounded toward her through the trees. John was behind them with his load secured to a wooden rack on his back.
“Let’s go.”
The dogs ran ahead, and on occasion, he whistled them back. Nancy settled into the drone of the day as she marched behind him. The whoosh of the branches on their clothes, the buzz of early mosquitoes, the hollow clink of metal scraping together in the pack, crows scavenging for food in the distance, and the crunch of their feet on the thawing tundra kept her company. Her mind was occupied with thoughts of Philip, always culminating with his body discarded in a rocky washout. Sadness built within her as she trudged onward.
The sun was high in the sky when they came upon a narrow trail. John pulled off his pack and took a seat on a large rock nearby. He didn’t speak, and she got the feeling he had forgotten her.
“You’ll get wet there,” he said when she was about to lower herself onto a grassy hummock. He motioned toward another rock. “Rest there.”
He whistled for the dogs, and they returned. Nancy recognized the breed as sled dog huskies and remembered seeing the sleds leaning against the north wall of the cabin in the shade of the trees.
They were on a rise overlooking the ocean and the numerous islands that were cloistered between Nain and Zoar. The sky was grey and reflected on the sea of pack ice in the distance. There was no telling where one ended and the other began. The ebb and flow of the current had loosened the ice around the shore. Blue water added a splash of colour to the lifelessness of the view. Scattered spruce kept their heads low to the terrain, trained by the icy winds and harsh winters on the exposed coast. From this distance they were no more than dots, but up close they bent over as if growing along the land instead of skyward.
Though spring had come early, the timing wasn’t right to put the dogs out on the islands for the summer. Though some dogs stayed around the villages, most mushers had an island for the dogs where they could run free and hunt until the snows came once again. However, late spring storms had been known to lay a thick cover, and today the sky was ripe for just such a thing.
Behind her, in the distance to the west, white-cloaked hills mixed with a foggy haze that married the sky to the land. Sparse patches of trees nested to form green and grey pockets around lakes and rivers edging on the even greyer tundra. Nancy believed there was nothing beyond what the eye could feast on. She hadn’t been outside the Mission in Nain except for the year before, when she went to Zoar for Paul’s wedding, and last spring, when she’d accompanied Philip north to the sealing camps to collect pelts.
Now she’d go to Zoar again, to bring news of Philip’s murder. If Ezra was there, she’d risk being arrested by the missionaries, should he claim she had counselled him to kill her husband. She risked death if he laid in wait for her near the Mission.
8
Zoar was situated on a narrow peninsula sheltered by several islands to the east. The linear settlement was strung along the coastline with a low but steep ridge peppered with ragged black spruce at its back. Like many of the settlements along the coast, without intimate knowledge of the location, it would be hard to find.
John MacDonald had traded furs at Zoar for winter staples. He’d been welcomed but didn’t stay despite the offers to winter there. He took his bearings from various landmarks, as well as the sun’s position in the sky, to lead them to Zoar.
Though barely perceptible in the grey of the day, he saw the curls of smoke as they drew skyward on the horizon from the chimneys in the settlement. The buildings themselves would not come into view until they crested the ridge. He stopped for a moment, and the woman he knew as Alice butted into him before he could turn. She muttered an apology and stepped back.
She scanned the skyline and pointed toward the smoke. He nodded.
“We’re almost there,” Alice said.
“The snow is not far off,” John said. “We should hurry.”
They made good time before the first of the heavy wet snow quickly rendered a white spell on everything it touched. Near the village, John whistled for the dogs. He pulled tethers from his backpack and secured the dogs to a nearby tree, where they quickly circled and lay down for a rest.
Alice didn’t complain as they continued on to their destination. The snow was rapidly accumulating and made descending the ridge a bit tricky. John reached for her hand to guide her down the hill. She hesitated and then took it, though she was probably sure-footed enough to make it on her own. The wind picked up, and snow beat into their faces as they crossed the threshold of the community. John tucked her in behind him as he closed his coat tighter around him. Dogs barked in the distance—he guessed they were tied out beyond the houses. They were near the church when they came out of the trees. Snow was stuck to every part of him, and he regretted not tying the top of his boots tighter about his calves.
“Do you know where you’re going?” John asked.
“Paul’s is over there,” Alice said, pointing toward the general area of the smaller wooden units close to the three-storey trading post.
He took her hand and pulled her along through what had turned into a raging blizzard. Her hands were bare and cold under his. John would have been in a shelter long before this to wait out the storm, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He’d see her to her destination and head to the post for a night’s rest.
In the shade of the trading post, they got a reprieve from the icy wind and made better headway to Paul’s. The houses were all similar box-shaped wooden structures. They stopped at the third. John, relieved to be clear of the company, turned and prepared to hurry back the way he came, as Alice stomped and brushed off her clothes in the porch.
John was tempted to return to the woods, but it was too late to be foolhardy. Instead, he brushe
d himself off and laid down his pack just inside the door of the warm dry goods store. He moved to the reddened pot-bellied stove and rubbed his hands together before extending them out over the heat.
A balding man in his early fifties came around the counter and offered his hand. John shook it. “MacDonald, what brings you in this evening?”
“Came for a few supplies,” John replied.
“Thought you might have the mail,” the man said. “Been a while since it came in. Nobody runs it like you.” He laughed. “Word is the boat can get to Hopedale but no farther north yet. She’ll try for a few more days before heading back to Makkovik to wait.”
“Ice is breaking up.”
“The Esquimeaux say there’s a lot coming down the coast. I’ll listen to them,” said the man. “Thought it was going to be a short winter, but not by the looks of it out now.”
“It’ll blow itself out by the morning,” John said. “Speaking of that, I was hoping to hole up somewhere around here tonight.”
“Three beds are spoken for out back, but there’s two more.”
“That’ll do.”
They agreed on the price, which John promptly paid. He pulled a stool near the fire and sat and dried the insides of his boots and coat and picked up some items to replenish his pack. Settling up with the storekeeper, he returned to the fire. This was going to make him soft, he allowed. He wondered how Alice had made out, then mentally reminded himself that it was none of his business.
John could see through the window that darkness had come early with the storm raging outside. He was about to head to the storeroom and turn in for the night when the door opened and a man rushed in, closing it firmly behind him. He came right to John.
“MacDonald,” he said. “Paul, Paul Martin.”
John didn’t speak. He wasn’t the sort to start or join in conversation. The storekeeper looked up from a book and waved. “Paul.” Paul waved back.
“Need to see MacDonald, Henry.” The storekeeper nodded and went back to what he was doing.
“I’ve seen you before,” said Paul.
“Been around the post a few times,” John replied.
“You brought the mail from Hopedale a few times. If I rightly recollect.”
“Yes,” John said. “When the boat couldn’t get through.” John had been hired several times each year to bring the mail along the coast. He didn’t care what the conditions were like. He managed to make the trek no matter the weather. The nights were long and cold, but it kept him away from people. It wasn’t the people, really, but the fear of being found out.
“I want to speak to you about where I can find my brother.”
“I don’t know that,” John said.
“I know,” said Paul. “If you can tell me where you picked up . . .” He paused for a moment. “Where you picked up Alice, it might give me a better idea.”
John explained in great detail where he had found Alice in relation to the trail. He gave Paul his best guess as to where his brother might be located based on what she had said.
“Me and the missus were wondering if you could carry Alice to Hopedale and put her on the boat,” Paul said in a hushed voice. “We’d pay you, of course.”
“I’m not in the business of people.”
“Look, mister,” Paul said, his voice shaking just a little. “Alice is in trouble. If Ezra finds her, she won’t survive. You know what I mean.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“I’d go myself only for I have to find my brother’s body,” said Paul.
John caught a glimpse of three men coming for the storeroom. He thought he recognized one but couldn’t be sure. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen ghosts of people from the Island. He saw them when nobody was there. He’d heard the Esquimeaux say it was common in folks who didn’t belong on the lonesome land. It had driven some people foolish. He quickly turned his back to the three who were making their way toward Henry.
“All right,” said John. “But we leave at first light, and I’m coming with you now.” His heart began to race. He jammed his feet into his boots and grabbed his coat and pack.
“Yes,” Paul said. “Of course.” His jaw had dropped with the turn of events.
John would be out of the store before Henry realized he had gone. Out on the step, he pulled on the sealskin mitts and followed Paul through the blinding snow. The wind whipped and tore at his face, and he held his mitt to his brow to see where he was going. It was nearly pitch black, but Paul had a rope that guided the way. John had to force himself to concentrate after seeing the men inside. He could easily get turned around and lost on a night like this, even with the houses so close.
Paul shouted something at him, but he couldn’t make it out. John followed him into the porch. “We don’t have much room, but you’re welcome to the floor.”
“The shed’s fine with me,” John replied.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Irene said. Alice sat at the table. Her red, sad eyes fixed on him. He felt a warmth go through him that wasn’t from the fire. It was surprising, and he was not sure he liked it.
Paul was talking again, but John wasn’t listening. “So, you’ll take her.”
“Could you say that again?” John asked.
“Alice is afraid of Ezra, and with good reason. She has to get away from here,” Paul repeated. “He is a dangerous man. She’ll go to the Island from Hopedale. So, you’ll take her?”
“I have the dogs,” John said. “But no sleds.”
“I have what you’ll need. We don’t have much money, but we’ll give you what we got.”
John looked from Paul to Irene. “I was planning to go to Hopedale. The sleds will be fine. I’ll get them back to you.”
“We have to pay you,” said Irene.
“I’m going anyway. No need.”
It was settled. Irene had a ptarmigan soup on the stove and bread sliced on the table. She offered, and he gladly ate.
The storm raged well into the night. John settled on caribou hide near the door. Paul took the daybed, though he offered it to John, and Irene and Alice slept in the room with the children. Whispers carried on the air after they went to bed.
Paul jammed a large spruce stick into the fire and turned down the damper in the metal stovepipe. It was drafty, but John had slept in colder places. He remembered spending part of a winter in an abandoned sod hut the first year in Labrador. He only came out to hunt for food and get firewood. After a particularly bad snowstorm, he was immured, and it took him two days to beat his way out from under the snow. An Esquimeaux man came upon him when he was looking for his hunting party. John had been cold and scared and hungry. Truth be told, he was ready to die.
The old Esquimeaux took pity on him and brought John along with him. John stayed with the man at an inland camp with a dozen other families for the rest of the winter. He learned some of the language, sledding, and most importantly, he learned how to survive. John came to hold the people and their ways in the highest regard and also to respect the land.
He made a name for himself at the traplines. John gave over all his furs to the camp folks, who traded them for supplies. When spring came, the old Esquimeaux, whom he called Joe, gave him his dogs and sleds. He said it was a fair trade for all the furs. John refused, but the old man made the excuse that the dogs were too young for him. They needed a young master, and that was John.
When John awoke the next morning, the entire camp had scattered to the seal camps on the coast. John was alone with the dogs and a pair of sleds. This time he knew what it took to survive. He trapped some more and ventured out on occasion to sell the furs and pick up supplies at stores in the Moravian Missions on the coast.
That summer he built a crude shelter that would be the centre of his traplines. It lasted a good many winters, and n
obody had been inside the cabin until he’d come across Alice and brought her back there a few days before.
9
John slept fitfully and woke just before dawn. The wind had subsided, and he wondered, not for the first time, what he’d gotten himself into. Paul snoozed on the daybed, and the fire had long gone out. John crept out from beneath the caribou hide and slipped out into the porch. There he made quick work of tying the rawhide in his seal boots, pulled on his coat and mitts, and slung his backpack on his back. He opened the door and kicked out the snow that had piled there.
Twilight gripped the land in a crisp cocoon. Nothing stirred on the white powdered ground. John’s breath created a haze ahead of him and clung to his face as he trudged through knee-high snow. Ice formed on his cheeks and in the two days’ growth that had formed on his chin. He wasn’t inclined to be bearded, finding the hair too itchy to his liking. He suffered the consequences on mornings such as these.
With great care he picked his way around the houses and toward the store, being mindful of humps where the snow might be covering something that could trip him. From the store he veered to the west and bypassed the church. He climbed the hill without incident, using the tree limbs to pull himself along. Several times he had to hunch over as the trees dumped their branches on him and cold water trickled down his neck.
Once he cleared the ridge, daylight was closer, and he took his bearings from the landmarks he’d been careful to remember the day before. John headed southwest and waited until he was a reasonable distance from the village before he’d signal for the dogs. He crossed the vast expanse of snow, its smoothness deceptive to the untrained eye. When he reached the treeline, he gave a soft whistle.
The snow moved as the white and grey dogs uncurled from their frosty beds. They yawned, shook the snow clear, and pranced around their tethered territory. John untied them, and they bounded back and forth across the land, digging their heads beneath the snow as they went, rushing toward him and then veering off to either side at the last moment. They pawed each other and wrestled in the white powder as he took some seal jerky from the pouch in his pack. John sat cross-legged in the snow as he contemplated his next move. He could easily be miles from here before anyone knew he was gone. He could go back to his solitary existence and forget he’d ever crossed paths with Alice. One of the dogs nuzzled him, looking for food. He fed the pack and watched them tussle over the last few morsels.
The Liars Page 5
