BY MIDAFTERNOON THEY WERE back at the lake house, where Jack let Senna and Charlie off on the end of the dock before continuing to Goose Bay. “Think you can handle the dog chores by yourself?” Jack asked.
“Of course.”
“Charlie’ll help, won’t you, Charlie?” he said, catching the boy’s eye. “I laid some groceries in yesterday, so you won’t starve tonight, and you can always drive into Goose Bay for a wild night in the big city, it’s not that far. We’ll fly back to the lodge first thing in the morning.”
“We’ll be fine,” Senna said, kneeling to hug Chilkat who had come to greet them. “Will you be spending the night in town?”
“Probably. A little bit of socializing from time to time helps keeps me civilized,” he explained. “Charlie, better keep Ula tied up. Keep an eye on things for me, would you?” That said, he taxied a short ways from the dock before opening the throttle and taking off. Senna watched the plane climb and then bank around, heading for Goose Bay, waiting until it was out of sight before turning for the lake house, Chilkat at her side. Already, Charlie was nowhere to be seen, and already, she felt Jack’s absence in a way that was too acute to be ignored. She tried to squelch the churn of jealousy she felt when she wondered where he’d be spending the night. It was really none of her business if he had a bountiful array of pretty girls in every port…and she was fairly certain he did.
She tossed her day pack on the kitchen table and thought about the admiral’s journal. If she did nothing else tonight, she would read through it, and try to understand the man he’d been. It was still early. She had plenty of time to meet with the lawyer and discuss her grandfather’s estate. Goose Bay wasn’t that far, and she could have supper there before returning to the lake house. She rang her mother’s house, getting no answer, then phoned Granville, who answered on the first ring.
“Of course I have time to see you this afternoon, m’dear,” he said, sounding tickled pink to have gotten a phone call from her, or from anyone, for that matter. “Come right along on.”
Senna left a note for Charlie on the kitchen table, informing him that she’d fed the sled dogs, promising to be home by 9:00 p.m. and telling him that there were cold cuts in the refrigerator, bread in the bread box atop the counter. She felt guilty leaving him, yet for all she knew he was in North West River by now, visiting his uncle. “I’ll be home by dark,” she promised Chilkat, who walked her out to her car and watched her leave with those solemn, wolf-like eyes.
How strange the world looked to her now, after just two days of being out of touch with the hustle and bustle of humanity. Of course, one could hardly classify Goose Bay as being a hustle-and-bustle kind of place, but compared to the lodge on the Wolf River it felt like New York City. Mr. Granville ushered her immediately into his office, sat her down and poured her a cup of strong black tea.
“So, you’ve seen the properties, then. The lake house, the fishing lodge?”
Senna nodded. “Jack Hanson flew me out to the Wolf River yesterday.”
“Ah. Good.” Mr. Granville opened the file on his desk and adjusted his glasses as he sifted through the papers inside the folder. “Now where did I put that letter…”
“Letter?”
“Yes,” Granville said, rustling through the file. “A letter your grandfather wrote just before he died. He asked me to wait until you’d seen the lodge and met John Hanson before I gave it to you.”
Senna sat up straighter. “Why?”
“I don’t know, m’dear. I’m sure the letter will explain that, if I could just find it….”
Senna fidgeted impatiently while he searched. “It must be in there. That’s his file, isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes…” Granville scanned the file’s tab and cover page, nodding affirmation, “but for some reason it’s not in here.” He pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and looked across the desk at her. “Oh, don’t worry, m’dear. It’s here somewhere. Maybe I misfiled it…it was an emotional meeting, the last time your grandfather came here. He knew he didn’t have long to live. It was just a matter of days, y’see. We shared a few glasses of screech and talked about all the good times, walked down to the pub in the rain…” Granville sighed, removed his glasses, rubbed his closed eyes. “Good times we had together, your grandfather and I. He was a great man, but I’m sure you knew that.”
Senna leaned forward in her chair. “Mr. Granville, I’ve changed my mind about putting the property on the market right away. Jack’s going to open the lodge and run it for the summer, like he and my grandfather had originally planned. He’s going to bring your sister Goody Stewart and her niece out there as soon as possible. He’s fetching them tonight, as a matter of fact.”
Granville donned his glasses and stared in owlish surprise. “Does Goody know about this?”
“I would assume so. Jack told me it was all prearranged. Why?” Senna felt the beginnings of a tension headache gathering in her temples.
“Well, when the admiral died, Goody figured the lodge wouldn’t open. She took a job over on the Island working for a friend who owns some kind of a restaurant in Black Tickle.”
“Has she left yet?”
“I believe she took the mail boat just yesterday. Her grand-niece is still at the house. Lives there, see. Wavey wouldn’t leave Goose Bay for all the tea in China. She’s stuck on Jack, that one is.” Granville shook his head.
“Grand-niece?” Senna’s image of a seventy-year-old woman accompanied by her fifty-odd-year-old niece, two solid and reliable employees to anchor the cooking and cleaning chores at the lodge, vanished in the aftermath of Granville’s dismaying news.
“Wavey’s my granddaughter, my daughter’s only child.”
Senna’s headache was becoming more of a reality. She took a sip of the tea. It was without a doubt as strong as it looked, but a little caffeine might be just what she needed about now. “That’s not good news, Mr. Granville. We were counting on Goody to cook for us. Can Wavey cook?”
“Wavey could do anything she set her mind to, if she would just set her mind to something. She’s a beautiful girl, but…” Granville took his glasses off again, pressed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, and shook his head.
“Mr. Granville, my grandfather’s letter. It’s very important that I read it. Could you please call the lake house or the lodge just as soon as you find it?” Senna rose to her feet as she spoke, as did Granville.
“Of course, m’dear. I have both numbers and I’ll ring you up just as soon as I put my hands on it, I promise.” Before she left his office, he told her about a good place to eat close by. “Everyone at the base eats there, see,” he said.
Senna was surprised to find that it was raining when she stepped outside and began walking down the street, and even more surprised to see an occasional snowflake pelting down out of the leaden sky. At 5:00 p.m. the little pub was nearly empty. Senna was shown to a table by the only window, where she searched the menu for boiled bangbellies and was relieved when she didn’t find any such fare listed. It was probably something Jack had made up. She ordered a burger and fries and drank a Molson ale while she waited, watching rivulets of rain zig and zag down the windowpanes. What if Granville couldn’t find the letter? Judging from the general state of disarray his office was in, that was a very real possibility, especially if the two of them had been drinking screech at the time her grandfather handed it over.
Even more troubling, where were they going to find a cook willing to spend an entire summer at a remote fishing lodge on such short notice? Her burger arrived and Senna devoured it, recalling that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She was finishing off the last French fry when she saw two people walking down the street toward the pub, both bare-headed in the cold rain. The young woman had long dark hair, a pale English complexion and was laughing up at something the man had just said. The handsome man was none other than Jack Hanson. Even as she stared, Senna realized that the young woman could only be Wavey, Good
y’s grand-niece—and she also knew that this peaches-and-cream girl was never going to slave over a hot stove or scrub a dirty toilet.
Just one look at the way Wavey was gazing adoringly at Jack and Senna knew they were going to need to hire both a cook and a housekeeper if the lodge were to operate for the summer. Charlie was supposedly the chore boy, but he was young, and like all youngsters had shown little desire to help with any chores whatsoever. Dear God. If the situation weren’t so desperate, it would be funny.
Jack and Wavey entered the pub and Senna hid behind a menu as they made their way to the bar. As soon as she’d paid her bill, she gathered her things and stood. No fear of being seen by those two as she walked out the door. They were way too interested in each other to pay any attention to the other pub patrons. Senna pulled her coat on while she walked down the street, filled with anger and frustration. She was angry with herself for feeling so frustrated, and frustrated for feeling so angry.
As she drove back toward North West River, she tried to put the image of that beautiful girl clinging to Jack’s arm out of her mind, but she couldn’t. Was Wavey one of Jack’s girlfriends? Granville had said she was stuck on Jack. And why was she, Senna McCallum, a successful career woman with a job in Maine, even thinking about such things? Charlie was still nowhere to be found when she arrived at the lake house, but Chilkat welcomed her back with a glad little “woof,” flattening his ears and fanning his tail as she climbed out of the car.
“Hello to you, too, old boy. Let’s go check on the rest of the team, shall we?” He accompanied her down the short path to the dog yard, where she counted heads and actually dared to pat a few of them before returning to the house. She took a long, hot shower and afterward fixed herself a cup of tea, which she carried upstairs to her grandfather’s room along with his journal. She climbed into the bed as Chilkat sprawled across the foot of it and switched on the bedside lamp. If Granville never located the letter, at least she had the journal. She only hoped the reading wouldn’t be too dry and dull. She drew up her knees, propped the leather-bound volume against them, and opened the cover. She’d call her mother in a little while, just as soon as she couldn’t force herself to read another word.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JACK TOOK THE NEWS of Goody Stewart’s departure with all the grace of a poleaxed prizefighter, slumping in Goody’s doorway while Wavey tried ineffectually to pull him inside. He rubbed his face, dazed and unbelieving. How could Goody run off like this? What were they going to do without her? Who was going to prepare all those authentic Newfoundlander meals?
“Come on, Jack. Don’t look so glum. Goody needed to get away from here when the admiral died,” Wavey was saying, still tugging at his arm. “Don’t just stand there looking lost. You still have me, don’t forget, and I’ll never let you down.”
He stared at Wavey’s pale face and those dark expressive eyes. Hope stirred within. “Can you cook?”
“I can read a cookbook,” she said. “That’s a start, isn’t it? How tough can cooking be?”
“Oh, God,” Jack groaned. “Did Goody leave behind a list of supplies, by any chance? She started working on one a couple weeks ago….”
A frown puckered Wavey’s smooth brow. “What kind of supplies?”
“You know, like flour and sugar and…” Jack gave up. “Wavey, can you think of anyone, any of your friends, any of Goody’s friends, who can cook, who can clean and who can work like a dog under less-than-perfect conditions?”
The frown deepened and her lips pursed. “I know a girl named Chloe,” she offered slowly. “She used to work on the base, cleaning, but she got pregnant. I think she can still mop floors and stuff like that, but she probably shouldn’t bend over too much. She’s only six months along but she’s pretty big. Everyone thinks she’s going to have twins because twins run in her mother’s side of the family, but I think she’s just really big, and she’s put on weight, too. A lot of weight. Some do, you know, when they’re pregnant. I can ask her, though, ’cause I know she really needs money….”
Jack groaned again and collapsed against the door frame.
Wavey’s face suddenly brightened. “Gordina Hutchinson! She works at the pub. We could walk down there and talk to her, she’s probably working tonight, but we can’t let Harley overhear. He’d kill you if you ever stole Gordina from him. He says she’s the only cook he’s ever found who can fix a runny omelet for a customer while suffering from a bad hangover.”
“Queasy.”
“C’mon Jack,” Wavey said, tugging him in the opposite direction now. “Let’s go down there. It won’t hurt to ask her, and she does make a really good runny omelet.”
By 10:00 p.m. they’d visited every pub, restaurant and tavern in Goose Bay and exhausted all possibilities. Wavey was leading the way back to Goody’s house. She kept hauling Jack up against her when he veered off on another tangent. “Well, here we are,” she said as they reached Goody’s plain little house looking out over the Sea of Labrador. “I still think Gordina’s the best bet, and she said she’d come.”
“She smokes,” Jack said, wondering what Senna had fixed for supper, if she’d found the steaks he’d stashed in the refrigerator and the exorbitantly expensive asparagus he’d placed beside it on the top shelf. He felt a twinge of envy that Charlie was sharing her company at the lake house while he’d floundered through every eatery and drinking hole in Goose Bay trying to scare up a good cook at the last minute.
“Yes, but she’s the only one who said she’d come.”
“She smokes while she cooks. I saw her.” Jack felt as old as the universe as he stood on Goody’s threshold. “Look, I appreciate all your help tonight, Wavey. If you still want to work at the lodge, be ready at dawn.”
“I’ll be ready,” Wavey said, and Jack was startled when she reached out and seized two fistfuls of his jacket just below his throat. “You don’t have to go, Jack,” she pleaded. “Stay here tonight. Stay with me. We’d have the whole house to ourselves. You don’t have to be alone anymore, I know how lonely being alone can be….”
Jack closed his hands over hers, pried them off his jacket, and held them securely in his own. “Wavey, you’re a good girl, and I’m flattered, believe me, I am, but I’ve always thought of you as a baby sister and I always will. If you want to work at the lodge, come out to the plane at dawn. I won’t blame you if you don’t show up. The job is about as unglamorous as it gets. Good night,” he said, closing the door firmly in her face and beating a hasty retreat.
Gordina was still working at the pub and Harley was nowhere to be seen. “If you want the job, be at the plane docked in front of Goody’s house at dawn,” he told her, and she nodded grimly, cigarette clenched in one corner of her thin mouth, blue smoke wreathing her face.
Jack returned to his plane, relieved to see that Goody’s house was dark. Wavey must have gone to bed. He could have slept on the couch in the living room, but decided that would be unwise. The wind gusted and the plane was rocking on its pontoons. He climbed into the cockpit and settled himself in his seat with a sigh of pure exhaustion. He wanted the lodge to be a success more than he’d wanted anything in his entire life. But he was almost positive that neither Gordina nor Wavey would show in the morning, Gordina because she wanted more money than he could promise her, and Wavey because he wouldn’t sleep with her. Without skilled help, the lodge wouldn’t fly.
It was cold and raw inside the plane. Sleet skittered off the windshield and the rough harbor chop splashed up against the undercarriage and rocked the plane on its pontoons. By morning there might be an inch or two of snow on the ground. Jack huddled deeper into his jacket, reached for a blanket out of the back and draped it over himself. He was bone-tired. It was time to let go of all life’s troubles for a little while, and let the universe sort things out.
From the Journal of Admiral Stewart Anderson
McCallum:
February 23
Forty-two below zero. Too sick to run dogs today.
John took both teams out and did all chores. He’s cutting firewood now, I can hear the chainsaw. Clients coming next week, day-trippers. He’ll have to deal with them, too. Take them out on the lake if the weather allows, or use the Naskaupi Trail if it doesn’t. Every day now I feel more useless, though he takes up the slack without complaint. Without his help I wouldn’t be able to stay out here. I doubt I’ll see another winter. I only hope I live long enough to see the lodge completed.
With my own death so near at hand, I feel the weight of countless other deaths on my conscience. Many times I’ve looked up at the stars in the night sky and wondered why I’m still alive when so many good men are dead. Our existence on this planet seems no more than a series of chaotic events, randomly strung together. If logic and reason had any place at all in this universe, and if there really were a godly hand behind the sun rising and setting, day after day, year after year, millennium after millennium—would any of us be standing here at the end of our lives, wondering why?
Senna closed her grandfather’s journal, leaned her head back against the headboard and closed her eyes. Dear God. Not every entry had been as dark, as troubling, or as profound, but toward the end his writing had become more and more melancholy and introspective. Reading this journal had proven to be a far different experience than she had anticipated. There were very few entries describing meals cooked, and very little of the trivia that cluttered the average day. Some entries were delightful, enthusiastic descriptions of the animal and plant life. He would describe in beautiful detail the various plants growing along the edge of the lake, how the ducks and geese migrating through in early fall would come ashore to eat the ripe berries, how the bakeapples would ripen in August and the locals would harvest them for incomparable pies and preserves and how the black bears would sit on their haunches stripping raspberries from the thickets near the lake house.
Sharing Spaces Page 11
