North Country Mom

by Lois Richer

  Not that Alicia had any right to ask a thing of God. Giving her son away when he was most vulnerable made her unworthy of motherhood.

  But I was vulnerable, too, her heart cried. I didn’t know I’d never see him again. Don’t let him grow up alone and scared like I was, Lord. Please keep him safe.

  Her cell phone vibrated. She snapped it open. “Hello.”

  “It’s me. Listen, Alicia, there’s something you must know. Jeremy Parcet has been asking questions about you.” Nancy Runningbear’s voice was as clear as if she was seated beside Alicia in the train instead of miles away in Vancouver. “He’s been looking up kids who were in your class, asking them where you are, what you’re doing, stuff like that.”

  “M-Mr. Parcet is?” Terror stole Alicia’s breath. “Why?”

  “His father died. Apparently there’s a stipulation in his will that Jeremy must show proof of an heir within three years or he can’t inherit.” Her old friend paused. “I was told Jeremy’s wife can’t have children,” she murmured.

  Alicia’s throat choked with fear.

  “My guess is he’s done some research, knows you got pregnant after he attacked you and is now after the child.” Nancy harrumphed her disgust. “I thought you should know.”

  “Thank you.” The words came out in a whisper.

  “Don’t thank me. That man was someone you trusted, your teacher for goodness’ sake. He should be in jail for what he did to you.” Nancy paused. Alicia could hear Nancy’s husband’s voice in the background. “Harold’s telling me to get to the point which is, if Jeremy can prove he’s a father, he’ll be able to inherit. It’s around four million, Alicia, very big motivation to find you. Once he does, he’ll turn up and press for details about your child. You have to be careful.”

  “Yes.” Fear clamped a band around the back of Alicia’s neck. “I appreciate your warning, Nancy,” she murmured, checking over one shoulder to be certain no one was listening. “I’ll always be grateful for the way you and Harold took me in back then. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

  “God would have provided someone else,” Nancy assured her, her voice cracking. “He always does. We’re just happy He used us. I have to go now. You be careful.”

  “I will. Thanks for the heads up. Bye.”

  Alicia stared into the darkness outside while she absorbed what she’d heard. The wheels clicked over the tracks in a rhythmic motion that had apparently lulled Jack to sleep. She peeked over at him again. The man was certainly handsome. But she couldn’t think about his looks or the way his raspy voice made her skin tingle.

  The same ten-year-old prayer sighed from Alicia’s heart. Surely God would answer soon. Surely this time He’d protect her from Mr. Parcet. If not her, because she’d failed to be the mother she should have, then surely for her innocent child.

  She’d let herself imagine expanding her business, but she ought to know that God didn’t give people like her their dreams. That was for better people, people who didn’t make terrible mistakes like giving away their child.

  But the past didn’t matter now. She had to concentrate on finding her son, on making certain he was safe and loved. And far away from Jeremy Parcet, her rapist.

  Again Alicia’s gaze rested on Jack. He’d been a detective. Maybe— No! Asking him for help would mean revealing her past. She could imagine the disgust she’d see in those blue eyes.

  No. She’d have to handle this herself.

  Chapter Two

  Painful prickles woke Jack around three-thirty. He tried to shift his sleeping arm but a weight held him down. Waking more fully, he peered through the darkness at the woman whose head rested against his shoulder.

  She reminded him of the Indian maiden in that show Giselle used to love when she was little. Pocahontas. Only Alicia Featherstone was prettier. Those high, defined cheekbones and straight, proud nose proclaimed her Native Canadian ancestry. Her hair, almost black as a raven’s wing, was bound in thick braids and tied at the ends by strings of leather woven with turquoise beads. Thick bangs fringed her broad forehead ending just above arched black eyebrows.

  Though her eyes were closed, he knew they were a rich espresso that turned black when she was upset. Lush lashes rested on dusky cheekbones. Her full lips pursed as she gave a tiny shiver and shifted her head to a more comfortable position against his shoulder.

  Alicia wore no rings. She’d said she was single, which Laurel had told him in passing. His sister had also mentioned that Alicia had planned a big summer project for the Lives Under Construction boys—building a sod house like the Cree Indians would have used when the first settlers came to Churchill. As soon as Laurel had been certain he was moving to Churchill, she’d asked Jack to help.

  Alicia doesn’t know the meaning of overdoing, his sister had told him. Nothing stops her from giving her all. She’s what Mom used to call a giver. She thinks she can accomplish anything she sets her mind to.

  Not a bad thing to believe. He’d hidden his chagrin at Laurel’s request. You think she’s in over her head?

  No, but a whole house? It’s too much for her. I know you and Simone volunteered with the restoration work on that sod building at the museum in Vancouver. You must have picked up some knowledge. Laurel had pinned him with her gaze. The boys are really looking forward to this, Jack. They’re planning a community celebration when it’s finished, to show off their handiwork. You’ll help Alicia, won’t you?

  If I have time, Jack had finally agreed. Running the hotel is going to be a steep learning curve, sis. It’s not something I’ve ever done.

  It won’t be like running a big-city hotel. Laurel had chuckled. Anyway Teddy will be here for the whole summer to help. He’s grooming his son to take over his hotel empire. Teddy wants to give him time to manage on his own. With an expert like him to teach you, you’ll have lots of time for Alicia.

  That’s when Jack had noticed something in his sister’s voice, something that he had to nip in the bud.

  Don’t matchmake, Laurel, he’d warned. Don’t even consider it. I’m not interested in anyone. At all. Ever.

  Ever? Laurel had smiled sympathetically. I know Simone’s death hit both you and Giselle hard. Give it a little more time.

  More time? For what? It felt as if he’d barely survived the past two years. Jack was pretty sure more time wouldn’t heal the gaping hole in his heart. Simone had been his high school sweetheart. They’d done everything together. They’d been soul mates. That only happened once in a lifetime and God had ended it.

  Now Giselle would be the focus of his world.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to crush you.” The soft apology broke through his thoughts as Alicia jerked away. Cool air chilled his arm where her warm cheek had rested. Her face bore a flush of embarrassment. “Please excuse me.”

  “No problem.” He rotated his shoulder, trying to ignore her scrutiny through the shadows. It didn’t work. He subconsciously noticed every detail about her. Not because he was interested, he told himself. Just a habit left over from his law-enforcement days.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  “I’m not used to sitting so long.” His nose twitched at the scent she wore. He’d noticed it earlier. Something dried and earthy, like an herb. Sage? “Are you full-blooded Cree?”

  “Yes.” She looked a bit surprised at his sudden question but didn’t volunteer any more. Instead, she averted her eyes as if hiding something.

  “Where do your parents live?” Why did he feel compelled to learn more about her?

  “They died when I was thirteen.” Alicia faced him, her eyes darkening to black diamonds. “My dad was a pilot. They were returning from visiting a friend up north when their plane crashed. I was sent to live in Vancouver with a distant relative.” Her gaze challenged him. Any other questions?

  “I didn’t mean to pry,” he apologized.

  “It’s not a secret. Anyone in Churchill could have told you the same thing,” she said.
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  But Jack was pretty sure they couldn’t tell him any other details about Alicia Featherstone. According to Laurel, she kept to herself. He guessed most people respected the resolute barriers she wore like shields.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Alicia murmured.

  “I guess.” He waited warily, hoping she didn’t have the wrong impression. Alicia was very pretty but he wasn’t interested.

  Liar.

  “What’s with the boots?” Her gaze fell to his feet.

  “You don’t like them?” Jack held out one foot, admiring the feel of the supple leather snuggled against his toes without pinching.

  “They’re great. Very, uh, pretty.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s just that you don’t strike me as the pretty type.”

  “Thanks.” Jack smothered his chuckle when she dipped her head. “It’s not about fashion. I do—did,” he corrected gloomily, “a lot of work on my feet. I decided early on that I wasn’t going to be a literal flatfoot so I bought good shoes.”

  “You do realize they’ll be ruined in Churchill?” she warned. “You must have noticed on previous visits that we only have pavement in some places. Other streets are gravel. The worst roads around town are dirt. If you wear those on the beach, the stones will poke through the soles and you’ll suffer a lot worse than flat feet.” She thrust out her own foot. “Trust me. You will end up in ordinary hiking boots, just like the rest of us.”

  “Never.” He liked her dare-you attitude. “Tell me about your store.”

  “Tansi?” She frowned, leaned her head to one side. “I told you. I gather First Nations work from all across Canada, some of it very unusual. I try to sell it with bits of history attached, to give tourists perspective on how the piece came to be, what it means to our culture.”

  Jack noted how a sparkle lit up her eyes as she spoke. It was clear Alicia loved her work. He paid close attention as she continued.

  “There’s a lot of prejudice toward Native Canadians.” Her chin thrust out as if to defend her people. “I’m trying to create a bridge by showing and teaching the values in our culture. I want to help people appreciate the meaning of their purchase.”

  “What kinds of things do you sell?” He wanted to keep her talking. She intrigued him. Surprising when nothing had really interested him for ages.

  “My stock changes constantly. There are no two things alike. At the moment I have an Inuit carving of a walrus, very tiny but perfectly detailed. A woman makes beaded slippers with real rabbit fur trim for my shop. She lives entirely off the land. This trip I restocked silver and beaded earrings made by a village elder who is wheelchair-bound but the most creative lady you’ll ever meet.” Alicia shrugged. “I also have some paintings of the northern lights, knitting that’s been dyed from local plants, photos of the area. All kinds of things.”

  “And I’m sure the polar bears are represented, too,” he teased.

  “Of course. Bears are an important part of Cree culture,” she said.

  “Do you make any of these crafts?”

  “I’m not really talented in that way.” The light in her eyes faded to a dull mud tone. “I never had much time to learn the old ways because I was taken from my community when my parents died.”

  “Were you adopted?” he asked, curiosity growing.

  “No. I was thirteen. Adoptive parents want babies or very young kids.” She frowned at him. “Why did you ask that?”

  “Just wondering.” But Jack knew he couldn’t shut down like that. He’d poked into her life; turnabout was fair play. Besides, he needed help to figure out his next move. “Giselle is adopted. My wife wanted to keep it a secret as long as she could. I didn’t agree but Simone was adamant. Then she died. I thought I’d tell Giselle when she turned sixteen.”

  “But she found out first?” Alicia guessed.

  “Yes.” His lips tightened into a line. “Two months ago she found her mother’s old diary and figured out we weren’t her birth parents.”

  “It happens.” Alicia didn’t say any more but somehow Jack felt her empathy.

  “She’s really angry that we didn’t tell her.” He sighed. “That’s natural, I guess. But she keeps demanding more information about her birth family.”

  “And you don’t want to tell her?” Disapproval laced her voice.

  “I can’t tell her more because I don’t know any more.” Jack’s jaw clenched. Why had he started this?

  Alicia leaned against the window of the train, her gaze on him.

  “I have so little information.” He raked a hand through his hair as helplessness gripped him. “There’s nothing to go on. Simone insisted on a closed adoption. That means that Giselle can’t find out anything more than what we already know until she’s eighteen. Then she can request the adoption agency in British Columbia to open her file.”

  “Normal procedure.”

  Jack nodded. Did Alicia know about adoptions? If she did, maybe she could talk to Giselle, help her understand it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t get the answers she wanted.

  “I’m assuming her birth father’s name wasn’t listed or is a dead end?” Alicia asked.

  He nodded. “Dead end.”

  “But surely you have the name of the biological mother on Giselle’s birth certificate?” Her head tilted to one side as she studied him. “You were a police officer. You must have a lot of contacts. Couldn’t someone track the name?”

  He didn’t want to answer but Alicia kept waiting.

  “I did track her.” Jack sighed. “Two years after the adoption, Giselle’s birth mother disappeared. There’s no trace of her.” Oddly, it felt good to discuss this with her.

  “What about Laurel? Surely as a former social worker, your sister could—”

  “Social workers are provincial employees,” he explained. “Laurel never worked in that province.”

  “I see.” Alicia fell silent, apparently lost in thought.

  “Can I ask you something?” Jack waited until she nodded. “How do you know about adoptions? You said you were never adopted so—” He let it hang, his curiosity about her growing.

  “I wasn’t.” Her gaze moved to one side, avoiding his. “I, um, for a long time I’ve been looking for someone who was adopted. But the clues I had led to dead ends. I don’t have connections like you do so I don’t know where to look next.”

  “My connections weren’t much help,” Jack told her. He dug in his pocket and pulled out the slip of paper he’d been carrying around since his last day of work. “But this might be. Someone gave me this website address. They said it’s been helpful to others. It wasn’t for me, but you’re welcome to copy the address and check it out.”

  “I, um, don’t have a pen or paper,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

  “I do.” Jack pulled out the small pad and pen he always kept in his breast pocket and held them out. “Old habit from my detective days.” Surprisingly she didn’t take, either. “You already know about this site?”

  “No.” Her cheeks darkened. “This is embarrassing. You see, I have really bad eyesight and my glasses are in the bag you put up top. Would you mind copying it out for me?”

  “I can get the bag,” he offered, shifting to rise.

  “No, no. Don’t stir yourself.” She laid her hand on his arm. “You’ll wake up someone.” She jerked her hand away. “If you could write it down for me, I’d be grateful.”

  “Sure. Okay.” He scribbled down the web address, tore out the sheet and handed it to her.

  “Thank you.” Alicia studied it for a moment then folded it and tucked it into her jeans pocket. “I’ll take a look when I get home.”

  “I hope it helps.”

  When Alicia merely smiled at him before turning her face to the window, Jack understood that was all the conversation she wanted for now. Suited him. He didn’t want her to think he was trying to get too friendly. He checked on Giselle then pulled his e-reader from the seat pocket in front and flicked it on.

 
; But the novel couldn’t hold Jack’s interest. Instead he got hung up thinking about the woman next to him. There was something about Alicia Featherstone that intrigued him and it wasn’t only her quick rush to defend God.

  Though she’d been friendly enough, she had a quality about her that said no trespassing. She seemed to not need anyone else. Self-contained, that was it.

  Jack couldn’t help wondering why. Alicia was lovely to look at, had a nice figure and ran her own independent business. She appeared to have her life together. And yet when she’d crashed into him earlier, she’d jerked back, ready to protect herself. He remembered how she’d ordered him to let go of her arm. She’d tensed—an automatic response to a perceived threat.

  Because she’d had to defend herself before?

  As he’d told Laurel, Jack wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship with anyone. But his detective background made Alicia’s almost bristling reaction interesting, as had her response when he’d asked if she had kids. Suddenly Jack could think of a hundred questions to ask the lovely Indian woman.

  She’s nothing to do with you. You and Giselle are on your own. Even if you could forget what you and Simone shared, are you really willing to risk loving again and losing again?

  No.

  In a rush, the lost, empty feeling he’d battled for two long years returned. He’d barely survived the pain of Simone’s death and that was only because of Giselle, because he was determined not to lose her, too.

  Alicia Featherstone might become his coworker on the kids’ project, but that’s all she could ever be. He would not contemplate loving and losing again.

  Jack twisted in his seat so his back was to Alicia. He forced himself to read the words on his screen. But despite his best intentions, every so often his glance slipped to the silent woman in the seat next to his.

  Though he was tired, sleep evaded him.