The Liars

by Ida Linehan Young

  He thought of Lavinia and what her last days must have been like. Would that be Alice? Did he care? Had he been away from civilization so long that he’d become cold-hearted? Was there just enough humanity in him to go back for her, or was it too late?

  John saw movement in the pre-dawn that settled the dilemma for him. A lone figure had followed his tracks, startling him at first. A ghost? A man from the trading post? But the small and slender figure wasn’t a threat to him—or maybe she was the biggest imperilment of all. It was Alice, who had followed his footsteps in the snow.

  The dogs ran out to greet her, but he whistled them back. Alice fell sideways a few times as she misstepped on a hummock but managed to right herself before hitting the ground. John should have gone to meet her, but he was mesmerized by her outline as the sun rose behind her. She looked golden and unearthly as she fractured the morning light that surrounded her like a halo.

  The dogs shifted querulously beside him. They, too, were uncomfortable and seemingly unable to move. His eyes strained as he watched her kick snow ahead of her as she trudged toward him.

  “I thought you were gone,” Alice said.

  “So did I,” John said under his breath as he stared at her face. Her chest heaved beneath the sealskin coat, and the air crystallized in front of her with each breath. The dogs whimpered again, anxious to play. “I came for the dogs.” He made a circular motion with his hand, and the dogs leaped up and began to canter around once again.

  Alice continued to stare at him as he sat in the snow. “I came for the dogs,” he repeated as he pushed himself up to stand in front of her, almost touching. She looked up at him but didn’t move, and he had to step back to avoid her. “The sled is no good without the dogs.”

  John whistled again and began to retrace his footprints. He didn’t look back to see if Alice was coming. As he was trekking down the ridge, he noticed places where she had fallen on the steeper part. He had the thought no sooner out of his head when she struck him from behind and nearly took him off his feet. Reaching out for the nearest limb, he grabbed her arm as she passed him. He shuffled his feet a few times before he managed to right himself and then dragged her to stand in front of him.

  One of the dogs struck the back of his legs, and he lost his footing. His feet shot out from under him. There were arms and legs flying as he and Alice tumbled down the ridge and landed in a pile of snow at the back of the church. She was partially under him when he found which way was up. He pushed his head up out of the snow and quickly stood, taking her with him.

  Alice spat snow from her mouth and brushed at her face so she could see. “Are you all right?” John asked.

  She stomped a few times, twisted her arms around in the air, and moved her head from side to side. “Nothing’s broken,” she said as she walked away from him toward Paul’s house. He brushed himself off before following her.

  The long and narrow sled was swept off and leaning against the porch when John reached the house. Alice must be inside. The dogs’ harness was draped over the rail at the back. Paul’s tracks were all around, where he had dug out the sled and retrieved the ropes from the shed.

  Paul came out as John was getting the dogs tied into the harness. The lead dog, a female, was a mosaic of browns, greys, black, and white. He had a specific order for the other six. He’d learned from trial in different positions over the last two years where on the line the dogs liked and worked the best.

  Paul was quiet as he threw several caribou hides on the sled base. He had tied food in another, smaller tanned pouch, which he laid near the back.

  “Alice will be right along,” Paul said. “She’s saying her goodbyes to Irene.”

  John didn’t answer but nodded that he understood. Paul grabbed some rawhide string for the shed and tied down the pelts to the cross boards.

  “The runners are good and strong. The sled’s only had a few seasons on it,” Paul continued as he worked. The snow crunched under their feet as they moved around the sled, getting it ready for the journey.

  “The dogs look fit,” Paul said. “Think they can make it in two days?”

  “Should be,” John said.

  “You won’t have any trouble from Alice. She’s toughened to the Labrador. She was the best thing that ever happened to Philip.”

  John was pretty sure that Philip was dead because of Alice. But that wasn’t his business. He would take her to Makkovik and be rid of her there. That would be the end of it. He’d be on the lookout for Ezra on their journey. “I’m almost out of shot,” he said, patting his gun.

  Paul went into the house and returned with several shells. “This is what I have.”

  “That should do,” said John. He wasn’t in the habit of missing a target.

  Alice and Irene came out behind John. Alice hugged her sister. Irene swiped at her eyes.

  “You be careful,” Irene said.

  “I will,” said Alice. She hugged her sister tightly. “Goodbye, Irene. Thanks for doing this for me.”

  “We’ll make sure everything will be all right, won’t we, Paul?”

  Paul went to the step. “I’ll bring him home, Alice. Don’t you worry.” Paul squeezed her arm, and she hugged him.

  “Philip will get his proper resting place?” she asked.

  “He will.”

  “I’m so sorry this happened,” Alice said. She started to cry.

  “We’ll bring him home, Alice,” Irene promised. They hugged, and Irene whispered something to her. Alice nodded and wiped her face. The tears had almost frozen there.

  “Going is the safest thing to do,” said Paul. “You know that better than anyone.” Turning to John, he said, “Thanks for taking her. Alice has some money.” He held up his hand when he saw that John was about to interrupt. “Alice has some money,” he repeated. “I’ll give you some time to get out over the ridge before telling Brother Hayward what happened.”

  “And then what?” Alice asked.

  “Brother Hayward will get some men to go with me. We’ll find him.”

  Paul asked Alice to describe the area again where she had been on the trail. Once he had the details, he shook John’s hand.

  Alice refused to ride. John shrugged. It was of no consequence to him if she couldn’t keep up. He turned the dogs toward the trail that circled around the ridge and followed a gradual incline to the top. Grabbing the rail of the sled, he pushed it along on the snow while the dogs took off running. This was what they loved. They barked excitedly as he signalled for them to go. Dogs tethered on the other side of Zoar barked their displeasure at not being able to join them. Within minutes the whole community would be awake. John was happy to get out of there before the settlement came to life.

  He didn’t look back, and when the trail looped around at the top of the hill, he saw that Alice was close behind but a little out of breath. John slowed the dogs and then stopped them with another whistle. He motioned for Alice to get on the sled. She nodded and ran up beside them. John grabbed her arm, and she jumped on. She untied the hides, leaving one beneath her, and laid two over her legs. John’s pack was behind her, resting on the steering rail that John held. She leaned back on it, and he got the dogs going once again. They yipped and barked their delight and set out across the barrens, south, toward Makkovik.

  John felt the wind on his face and buried his chin inside the neckline of his sealskin jacket. The hood was pulled tight, and the fur from an Arctic hare that circled his face kept his brow from freezing. The sealskin clothes had not failed him yet. He’d fallen in rivers and gotten caught in freezing rain and regular spring downpours, but the clothing had kept him warm and dry.

  With the new-fallen snow glazing the frozen terrain, they glided smoothly behind the dog team. There was something cathartic about running behind the sled, pushing off the ground, and springing back up on the ru
nners, while holding on with all his strength so he didn’t wind up on his face in the snow waiting for the dogs to return. Or worse, the dogs not returning and having to march along the trail until he caught up to them. But this morning the dogs were swift, and the exhilarating feeling came from just moving his body into the bend of the winding track to keep the sled from upsetting.

  Times like this, he was wrenched back to glimpse younger and happier times. He believed they had been good before his father died. Before his mother remarried. Before his nightmare began.

  John didn’t like to think of those days—if they were even real at all. The memories were overwrought with the torturous life he had lived after his father’s death. Even now, he didn’t know if the times he dreamed of were not just that. A dream. Something he’d made up to keep from going insane.

  He forgot about Alice until she signalled she needed a break. Near midday, he guided the dogs to a thicket of black spruce under a darkening sky. They would be hungry and thirsty by now.

  Alice went off into the woods while John made his way to the nearest rise to search the country they had just come through. He knew Ezra to have a reputation as a hunter and an expert tracker, so he wouldn’t easily be seen even in the whiteness of the land.

  John looked from west to east. A squall blew in off the ice and passed through the terrain farther north. The wind had shifted, and it looked clear to the south. Seeing nothing alarming, John decided to make a quick fire. He’d warm the woman, make some tea, heat the dried caribou, and give the dogs a chance to run loose.

  The dogs danced around Alice as she made her way back to him. “Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked when she saw the smoke rising through the trees.

  “Nothing’s stirring,” John said. “We’ll be all right.”

  With the tin kettle in hand, he scooped up snow near the base of the tree behind him and strung it on a stick. He took out some tea and a mug.

  Alice untied the rawhide string from the package Paul had given them. She dug down in the sack and took out a mug and a spoon. After rummaging some more, she pulled out some of Irene’s sliced bread.

  Looking around, she found a small limb sticking out of the snow. She pulled off the sprigs and cracked it off before shoving it into the bread and holding it over the flame. Before long, curls of black smoke rose around the browning slab, and she pulled it back toward her and turned it over. She laid the slice on the sled and gestured for John to take it.

  “That’s for you. Oh, wait. I have some partridgeberry jam here, too.” Alice dug down again and removed a small crock filled with dark red jam. The top was covered and tied with a thin piece of rawhide. She laid the jar on the sled and went to work on another slice of bread.

  John hung strings of meat over the stick that held the kettle. Steam was rising from both as the flames danced and licked the bottom of the tin.

  Alice sat on the edge of the sled with her feet buried in the snow as they ate and drank in silence. While she waited for John to finish his tea, she pulled her knees to her chest, folded her arms over them, and rested her head there, watching the dogs bound.

  John couldn’t see her face, but he watched her just the same. He was taking his last swallow when the dogs started to growl. First one, then the others. Their teeth bared as a slow rumble emanated from deep in their bellies.

  John threw the dregs from his cup. The dogs were reticent to come when he signalled. He whistled louder and shouted to them in the language of the Esquimeaux. They slunk back to their positions on the line, tails low and thick.

  Within moments, Alice had the sled packed while John got the dogs on the leads. Each one snarled and growled, fur raised, staring toward the trees. John tried to calm them. Then he caught a movement in the trees. It was subtle, and he wasn’t sure at first.

  “Is it him?” The terror in Alice’s voice was palpable.

  The dogs were restless, whining, and pulling on the lines. “It’s a polar bear,” John said. “Maybe cubs, too. She’s coming fast, probably very hungry.”

  He grabbed the back of the sled and repositioned it to give the dogs a clear path across the frozen land. They were barking, agitated and anxious to move. He couldn’t risk them running in different directions. Unsheathing his knife from his belt, he hauled down on a couple of low-hanging green branches, breaking some and cutting others at the same time. He grabbed the stringy dry moss dangling close to the trunk.

  “What are you doing?” asked Alice. Her eyes were fixed on the woods, where the sounds of the bear, crashing limbs and bawling, were getting louder.

  John laid the moss and then a green bough on what was left of the flames. They ignited. A crackling noise was followed by thick black smoke that rose into the air. John gave Alice the reins while he grabbed some more limbs. He threw several more on the flames before turning to the sled.

  The fire roared and devoured the wood and blazed toward the sky. He glanced at the bear and kicked at the sticks so that they were partially hidden behind the now raging inferno. He figured he had time for one more try with the limbs, which he quickly added to the burning pile.

  Turning, John scooped up Alice about the waist, hoisted her over the handrail, and deposited her on the sled. He whistled for the dogs to go, dug the balls of his feet in the snow, and pushed on the wooden rail to give them a good start. The dogs were anxious, and somehow in the commotion the lead dog had tangled with the one behind her. Before he could act, Alice leapt from the seat and pulled the second dog back and to the side. She dragged on the lead dog until she could slacken the rope. It was no easy feat when the dogs were worked up. She pushed the second dog under the line that was tangling her, freeing both.

  John had snatched the rifle and loaded it, ready to defend them. But to his amazement, Alice had the situation handled rather quickly. The lead dog took off, and Alice fell sideways into the snow when the second rope twisted around her feet. She managed to kick it free before it tightened. She was trying to get up from her prone position when the last dog passed her.

  John, with one arm wrapped around the back rail holding the gun, and his feet on the runners, reached out and grabbed for Alice’s arm with his free hand. He managed to whip her up out of the snow. She made two running strides while he grasped her coat. He yanked hard and landed her onto the sled, holding tight so she didn’t shoot off the other side.

  He looked back. The bear was standing on her hindquarters, batting at the smoke and flame, two year-old cubs barrelling in behind her. One was close to the fire when the mother’s powerful jaw clamped down on the back of its neck and flung it aside. She roared her displeasure and batted at the other one with a swing of her powerful head. Hopefully she would be confused by the fire and wouldn’t venture too far from her den with the cubs.

  John had been distracted by Alice and missed the signs. But that was his fault and not hers. The dogs picked up speed as they hit the open barrens. He loosened his tense grip on the rail, let out a long, deep breath, and let the dogs do what they did best—run.

  Not unlike him, in many ways. Seems like that’s what he did best, too—run. It hadn’t been a plan, it hadn’t been thought out, it had just been done. He had no idea how empty it would be when he started.

  First, fear and anger had driven him, then survival. Now he didn’t know. He only knew his life was empty. The first feeling he’d had in a long time was just now. Fear for the woman who accompanied him and the need to protect her.

  He mulled over his “becoming.” He hadn’t thought about that in quite some time, either.

  10

  St. John’s, eight years earlier

  In many ways, Teddy White envied his friend John MacDonald. Teddy’s father had been killed by the police at a voting rally when Teddy had just passed his tenth birthday. His mother had remarried soon after and, despite his mother’s less than sincere efforts to the contrary, h
is stepfather threw him out on the streets before he turned thirteen. His family moved away sometime after that, and he was on his own.

  Teddy ran with a gang of others like himself, stealing money and food, trying to evade the constables, sleeping on the streets or in barns or wherever they could find shelter. He had to be tough. Sometimes he believed himself to be more an animal than a person when he was hungry and hadn’t eaten for days.

  One day his friends had accosted a young, dark-haired girl who had a basket of bread on her arm. She wasn’t making it easy for them.

  “You go on and get out of here,” she shouted, her stance straight and defiant. “This is for the mistress, and she’ll have my hide if I don’t get it back to her.”

  Three boys faced her as she backed up to the stone warehouse wall just off Duckworth Street. Two boys moved in on each side of her while the other stayed in her path in case she ran. One boy moved to her left, where she clutched the basket in her hand, and tried to grab some bread.

  “We won’t take it all,” he said.

  “You won’t take any,” she returned. She swung her right arm around and struck the boy across the face before quickly putting her back to the wall again.

  Teddy had just received a few coins for mucking out the horses’ stalls at the stables at Government House. He was going back toward the docks when he saw the commotion. The girl must have tried to take a shortcut between the buildings. He admired her courage as she refused to back down from the bigger boys.

  “Now, lads. What’ve we got here?” Teddy asked casually.