by Myrna Dey
“I know,” she said, not unkindly. “That’s why you have to practise. It will get easier as both heal.”
“I’ll work on it.” I hoped to suggest she needn’t waste any more of her time, but really I didn’t want to be rushed through my pauses.
She reached up and gave me a pat on my good shoulder. “I’ll check on you later.”
Unaccustomed to pain, I could not believe how difficult it was to keep from acting like what I would call a wimp in anyone else. As I stopped to rest for the tenth time in five metres, a man emerged from a room across and down the hall. He too was propped on crutches with a cast just like mine, but on the left leg.
“Care for a three-legged race?” He smiled.
In returning the smile, I momentarily forgot the pain. He was attractive in an unassuming way. Soon he was next to me, negotiating his crutches like limbs. He waited for me to advance down the corridor in unison, so I listened to my inner voice saying “Suck it up.” The shoulder would have to suffer for the mobility of the legs, I decided, swallowing a spray of stars that came from the choice.
His next question threw me off guard: “So, how did you do it?”
I had not thought up a response yet for strangers. I was not about to admit to being shot because of all the drama that would involve; nor could I say I was a nurse this time, in case he asked me a technical question about our injuries. To my own surprise I blurted out: “Doing a pirouette.” For some reason, a memory of Gail’s sprained ankle from our RAD classes in junior high came back to me. “And I should have known better. I’m a dance teacher.” I then added hastily: “What about you?”
He stared at me as if he didn’t believe me. Weren’t dance teachers this tall?
“The Grouse Grind. A clumsy step for me too. It’s not as if I haven’t done it before.”
I had climbed the brutal eight hundred metres of Grouse Mountain myself. Three times. It was always Ray’s idea and I vowed each gruelling ascent would be the last. “I guess we’ll both have to learn to be more careful.” The punishment for my lie was a ripple of pain in the shoulder that added to the flush on my face.
“Maybe we should sit for a while. You look as if you need a breather.” He lifted a crutch and pointed to an open door. “The lounge is in there.”
“You seem to know your way around here,” I said, dragging after him. The lounge was empty other than a pale old man watching TV with his intravenous stand.
“Yeah, I’ve been up and down a few times. Maybe I didn’t have as many visitors as you.”
I settled myself carefully in a chair, extending my leg and accidentally touching his, which was stretched out across from me. What did he mean by that? Had he been watching my room? “Or maybe I’m just lazy about therapy.”
“You won’t be doing too much dancing for a while.” He gave me a crooked smile, unfortunately the kind I must beware of, for Ray Kelsey had one too. Height, thick, dark hair — all the warning signs were there. I glanced at his bare hands. The wedding ring was no doubt with his watch in an envelope in a locker.
“No, I guess not.” My cheeks were hot. “I’ll have to find some other means of amusement.”
Then he blushed, acknowledging the innuendo I had not intended. In the midst of all our blushing, the old man raised himself creakily from his chair and did a two-step out of the room with his stainless steel partner.
“How long are you in for?” I tried to change the subject.
“You make it sound like a prison sentence. But I suppose you would be familiar with that, Constable Dryvynsydes.”
I stared at him. So he had been watching my room and seen all the uniforms going in and out. But my name? Maybe he had seen the TV account. Nurses talk too.
“You’re showing me up in detective work.”
“At least in powers of observation. You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Should I?”
“You should. You arrested me.”
MY MOUTH HAD NOT YET CLOSED when a familiar voice quacked outside the door to the lounge. Megan bounced in followed by Lonnie. She wore hipster jeans that showed off her tight little midriff.
“The nurse told us you might be here.” She gave me a hug that was arm’s length by necessity. “So how you doing, girlfriend? Taking a fall for the force — that should earn you some brownie points.”
Other than detecting a whiff of envy in her voice, Megan’s irritating buddy talk went over my head. I was still fixed on my wardmate sitting across from me. I could not place him at all. Had he been in a growop raid? Surely he was not part of the biker scene, and I didn’t recognize him without a helmet or bandana. As Megan gushed, he raised himself onto his crutches. Smugly, I thought, knowing he was one up on me. Then he nodded farewell with another smile and left before I could introduce Megan and Lonnie to him, thereby learning his name.
“There’s a fruit basket from our team in your room.”
I pulled myself to a standing position, trying my best not to wince in front of Megan, but she spotted the cover.
“Lonnie, see if there’s a wheelchair around.”
Defeated, I was soon being wheeled back to my room where a mammoth hamper awaited me. Fruit was incidental to all the other delicacies like tapenades, pâtés, crisp water biscuits, canned brie, sugared almonds — and those were only on the outside.
Megan demanded I give a detailed account of the shooting, and I did. She said she would have done exactly the same thing in my position, but I knew she believed she would have spotted the kid’s gun in time to take him down one way or the other. It’s a good thing — or maybe a bad one — that every set of circumstances is unique and it’s impossible to know how we would really react, if given the chance. We like to glorify ourselves in judging the actions of others. We all do it, not just Megan.
Megan was doing her best to console me with shop talk — how both our teams were getting restless and talking transfers — but I was beginning to flag again. I was thankful when another nurse appeared with a trolley of pills. Megan and Lonnie stood up, signed my cast, and left. One of the pills calmed my shoulder and made me drift off again. I’m not sure how long my eyes were closed, but when I opened them, Dad was sitting quietly in the chair vacated by Lonnie. He didn’t say a word until he was sure I would not go back to sleep.
“How’re you doing?” He had brought some cashews and oranges, which he now tucked shyly behind the miniature deli and Janetta’s plums.
“Better after the painkiller.”
“I see you have some new signatures.”
“What do they say?”
“‘Chin up, Lonnie.’ and ‘LYLASBAWLM, Megan.’” He spelled it out and waited for an explanation.
I rolled my eyes. “Love you like a sister but a whole lot more. It’s a high school thing.”
“Isn’t it a compliment?”
“Sure, if you mean it.”
“How can you be sure she doesn’t?”
I knew I was too hard on Megan and conceded, “You’re right, she probably did.”
Dad got nervous over my strong opinions about people. He didn’t suspect hypocrisy or trickery in others because he had none himself. Sara had brainwashed Dad and Janetta with a theory she based on Grandpa’s lush lawn wherever they lived. If the best remedy for weeds was healthy grass, the surest way to block resentment was with thick and impenetrable gratitude for what you had. Both Dad and Janetta had aced this exercise like star pupils, but despite repeating it so often, Sara never did master it herself. Neither would I. Indulging my irritation with the Megans of the world was like a guiltily satisfying second piece of cheesecake. Sara would have understood; I missed her for the second time today. “Janetta brought more letters, but I’ve only had a chance to read one.”
At the hint of imposing, Dad stood up until I said firmly, “It’s your family too. We can read them together.” I picked up the second one, noting that April 16, 1900 was five years after the last. I read aloud:
Dear Sisters and Bro
ther,
You have a new nephew Llewyllyn Thomas Hughes born March 4, 1900. At six weeks he is plump and healthy and brings me much happiness. I had given up hope for a baby after losing one before birth after Owen.
Thank you for your letters Catherine. Congratulations on your engagement. Clarence Williams is a lucky man. I hope he will stay clear of drink and treat you well. That is what matters for a woman in marriage.
The Extension mines are rich in coal but the town has grown up without planning. Stumps from timbers needed in the mine are everywhere, the water is poor and scarce in summer, drainage is bad, and we live in makeshift cottages that were moved from another used-up mine. The most lasting feature is the coal dust covering them. Our little house requires more space and many repairs, but Roland does not have an interest in such work as Tommy did.
I am reminded of Wales and of you whenever I look out upon the bluffs that surround this town, especially in spring when the oxeye daisies and delphiniums are in full colour. I also planted a lilac bush next to our front door and its blossoms, along with the white flowering dogwood tree in our yard, bring me much delight. We must look for beauty where we can.
Tommy and Lizzie and their two daughters live in the new town of Ladysmith, where the loading wharves for the Extension coal are located. We are 12 miles apart and the mine train makes three trips a day between the two towns, but I do not see much of his family. Gomer stays with Mama in Chase River but for how long? He speaks of marriage to Thelma who cleans rooms in Mrs. Bailey’s Temperance Hotel. Her family owns a dry goods store in Victoria and has a place for him in the business. Gomer has always hated the mines because the coal dust makes him cough and because it is hard work. He has never taken to work of any kind. I help Mama whenever I can. I have asked her to live with us but she says our house would be too crowded for so many souls. Tommy is building another room and she will probably move to Ladysmith.
Mama has taught me sewing skills like Margaret. There is more work than I need in this town, especially repairs for bachelor miners.
I would not have known Evan and Gwynyth from the photo you sent Mama. They are so grown-up. Please continue to write. I will try to do better than one letter every five years.
I remain your loving sister, Jane.
“At least we know we’re not missing any letters,” I said to Dad. “She doesn’t write because her life is so dismal with Roland Hughes and she’s not the type to complain.”
“You solved that quickly.” Dad examined the letter, shaking his head. “My namesake. Over a hundred years ago. Note the second ‘y’ in Llewyllyn. I guess Sara didn’t know about the spelling or I could have been tied with the train station in Wales.”
“The new baby has made her chattier. No more kisses, though. Or Cassie.”
At the sight of all the floral and edible tributes surrounding me, I felt overwhelmed by my coddled life when no one ever looked after my great-grandmother except herself. Metres away sat my supreme guardian, who seemed to be reading my mind.
“I think you should come home with me when you’re discharged. You won’t be up to much for a while. I can check on your apartment and bring your mail for you every few days.
“Thanks, Dad. I might take you up on it.”
No excuses for a weed in my lawn of gratitude. The prospect of cooking and doing laundry on crutches was more than I could face, especially when I wasn’t big on either in my able-bodied state. It also crossed my mind — deviously — that Dad and his books would be there to consult when I did my final paper. The library texts he had brought from my place sat unopened on the night table, the fault of visitors, nurses, and sedatives, I rationalized. The cost of a couple of months rent on an empty apartment would probably be equivalent to home care and taxis if I stayed in it. And the force was good about compensation.
Dad stood up. “Smells like the food wagon outside. I’ll leave you to eat your supper.”
As soon as he was gone, a nurse arrived with a bouquet of daisies. Before I had a chance to see the card, the phone next to my bed rang and I knew both were from the same person. Gail had carried daisies at her wedding and sent them for Mom’s funeral.
Hearing her voice made me realize how much I missed her, again followed by the thought that Jane Hughes would probably not have had such friends. When Gail asked how I was, I surprised myself completely by announcing, “I’m going to apply for Serious Crimes.”
“Wow!” she replied. “So the shot in the foot has been a shot in the arm. How’s that for a caption?”
I felt the same way. Maybe all the recent talk had made up my mind and, of course, Gail should be first to know. I couldn’t explain that my great-grandmother had also played a part. How could I be so wishy-washy about taking a risk when her life was full of challenges?
“Wait ’til I tell Monty.”
“He might be inspector before it happens.”
She said she would see me at Christmas. It was their turn to spend it with her parents in Vancouver.
“Love you like a sister but a whole lot more,” I said.
She laughed. “I haven’t heard that since high school, but ditto.”
“And one more thing.” An idea had popped into my head. “Could you do me a favour and find out where that picture came from? The one of Sara and her sister that I bought at the garage sale? It’s a duplicate of mine and I can’t figure out how it would get to Willow Point. See if any of the family members can give you some background? Would it be a huge pain?”
“Not for a budding journalist.”
I hung up just as my supper tray was set in front of me. White fish, mashed potatoes, cauliflower in cream sauce, white roll, vanilla pudding. Was the dietitian colour blind? I thought about putting the lid back on and nibbling from my gift goodies, but decided I should probably eat the fish. Soon the whole plate was clean. The painkiller had numbed my shoulder, now I had only to concentrate on getting on the crutches and out the door. When I reached the room two down and across the hall, I stopped and adjusted my crutch. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a care aide standing over the bed with linen in her hand. I looked unabashedly now. The old sheets and blankets were in a pile on the floor and no one was in the room.
“Where’s the patient?” I hopped to the doorway.
“Discharged.” The aide smoothed the sheet to a boardlike surface, as I once did in Depot but never since.
“So soon?”
She shrugged. “He must have been ready.”
“What was his name?”
“You can ask a nurse. All I know is someone is waiting for this bed.”
Moving aside to let her pass, I continued down the hall toward the lounge to make sure he wasn’t in there. Empty, of course, so I propelled myself back to my room. Rather smoothly, I discovered. Just as I sat down on the bed, a nurse I had never seen showed up with equipment. I waited for her to take my blood pressure before asking: “Do you happen to know the name of the fellow across the hall with the cast on his leg?”
“He’s gone.”
“I know, but do you know his name?”
“The tall man?” She was making it difficult.
I nodded, and she looked at me curiously until I added, “We’ve met before and I was embarrassed not to remember his name. You know the situation — we probably went to school together and I should know who he is.”
“Warren Wright.” She was so stingy with the information that I wondered if she was jealous. Hospital names aren’t confidential and she should know I’d be able to get it if I had to.
“Was that Warren? He’s grown a foot since I last saw him.” I marvelled at the ease with which I could lie recently. Maybe I was ready for the undercover unit in spite of my conspicuous height.
With an eye roll at my blood pressure reading — as if it were a polygraph — she left.
Warren Wright. His history lay at my fingertips, but how soon would I get to the CPIC computer again? He would be in my files, so it wasn’t unethical, but it
was not the kind of check I would ask someone to do for me.
Suddenly I wanted to get out of here — not only for CPIC access, but to put in a transfer application from Dad’s computer before I changed my mind. I flopped backward on the bed and lifted the cast manually to the other side. This and the walk down the hall cost more energy than I expected. I sighed, sank back against elevated pillows and picked up a letter.
September 25, 1905
Dear Sisters and Brother,
Our mother was laid to rest in the Nanaimo cemetery on Saturday, September 23. Thank you for your telegraph messages. We too were sorry you could not be here to say goodbye. She went peacefully of pneumonia in Thomas’s home. Her twelve years in Canada were filled with illness and I wonder if she would be alive and healthy, if she had stayed in Wales. She would tell me such a thought is foolish because we will never know.
Thomas took care of funeral arrangements and Gomer and family attended from Victoria. My little Llewyllyn was disappointed that his older cousins Myrtle and Edna would not play with him, and he was kept from playing with his two-year-old cousin Ethan. His Aunt Thelma was afraid he would harm her son. She does not know what a gentle little boy he is at five and a half. Sometimes I fear he has grown up too fast in our home.
Thank you Catherine for your letters. I am glad that you enjoy married life. It is a blessing your husband is a bookkeeper and not a miner.
With coal dust everywhere I am thankful I no longer have to take in laundry for wages and hang clothes on the line. At least it has not hurt my garden where I grow almost everything we need — potatoes, carrots, turnips, leeks, swedes, parsnips, cress, peas, beans, tomatoes, and onions.
You will not believe me anymore when I promise to be a good correspondent. If we ever meet again, I will tell you all that has happened in the last ten years. I hope you will still write now that Mama is gone.
I remain your loving sister, Jane
How I wanted to know what Jane Hughes was leaving out of her letters. She had reeled me into her world and I yearned to discover more about this woman who started our family in Canada. Besides the absence of kisses I felt sad about the line “If we ever meet again…” A new, resigned voice had taken over the young girl who had agonized over her family being so far away. I did not believe she missed them any less; rather, that she now kept all her feelings to herself. Carefully I unfolded the second-to-last letter.
