Before I could make up my mind, a shout came from shore. “Cloë, put the rifle down.”
Eric stood astride a boulder at the water’s edge. In his hand he held a rifle. He motioned for me to move away from her and out of the line of fire.
“If you don’t, I’ll shoot you,” he yelled above the sound of the boat’s motor.
“You wouldn’t kill me, Eric. I’m your sister.”
“And Meg’s my wife, and she means more to me than life itself. If you harm her, you’re dead. Now throw the gun into the water.”
Oh Eric, my love. Watch out she doesn’t shoot you instead.
I moved the boat farther away and watched her chin rise in resistance and her shoulders brace for action. The rest of us remained frozen, not daring to move.
“My brother doesn’t love me either,” Cloë muttered.
Oh shit. Here goes. I started to shout, “Watch out, Eric!” when I heard the splash. It took a few seconds for the sound to register. When it did, I felt limp with relief. She had thrown the rifle into the water.
Then the tears came. “Oh Eric, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’m just so angry at everyone and everything for what they did to Allistair.”
“I know. I feel your pain. Can you get to shore?”
She began paddling toward her brother.
“Meg, you and Becky go back to Siggy’s. I’ll keep Cloë with me.”
“No, Eric, I’m staying with you.”
At this point a man emerged from the trees and strode onto the beach. He wore a traditional Haida vest over his jean jacket and a woven band around his head, much like the ceremonial clothing the men had worn at the potlatch. “Auntie says they stay.”
He raised a hand to his face to brush something away. I stiffened. It wasn’t a complete hand. I glanced at Becky to judge her reaction. But she was waving a greeting at Two Finger as if she’d forgotten our earlier conversation.
Fortunately, when Becky and I were talking about the possibly of this man being Allistair’s killer, Cloë was frantically paddling away from us. Though it probably didn’t matter; she was going to suspect any strange man she met on these shores.
With his rifle relaxed at his side, Eric seemed at ease with the man, suggesting that he didn’t believe him guilty of murder. But Eric wasn’t with us either when the possibility was raised. Yet Louise had said that the reason for this visit was to stop a killer. So if it wasn’t the man talking to Eric, who was it?
I didn’t give my husband a chance to convince Two Finger we weren’t needed. I drove the boat up onto the pebbles and jumped out.
“Hi,” I said, “I’m Meg Harris, Eric’s wife.” I held out my hand and felt a firm handshake. I searched for guilt in his gaunt, almost skeletal face, but saw only worry and something else, maybe resignation.
He gave Becky a bear hug. “It’s been a long time, kiddo. You sure ain’t the little pipsqueak who used to steal jelly beans from my pockets.” His eyes twinkled with admiration as he eyed her slim yet curvaceous figure. “Sorry to hear about your boyfriend.”
While they talked, I turned to Eric. “What’s going on? Where’s Louise and Siggy? Are they okay?”
“They’re fine. In fact, Louise seems to have everything firmly under control.”
“Where are Ernest and Sherry?”
“With Louise.”
“Does the other boat belong to —”
Two Finger interrupted. “We should go. Auntie’s expecting us.” He headed up a path leading away from the beach, Becky not far behind.
Eric and I started to follow, but I noticed we were missing the last member of our group, again. “Where’s your sister?”
The kayak lay abandoned on the pebbles, along with the paddle. But Cloë was nowhere in sight.
“Christ, where’s she got to now?” Eric said.
“Maybe she went on ahead.”
“Who knows? Given her current frame of mind, she could be anywhere. I’d better look for her. You go on ahead.”
“No, I’ll look with you.”
After many futile minutes of calling out her name and searching the bush around the beach, we decided she must have snuck past us and gone up the trail after the others.
“Thank god, she doesn’t have the rifle anymore,” Eric said as we started up the path.
Sixty-One
We tramped along a barely discernible trail, more like an indentation in the all-pervasive moss, through the dense rainforest. The trail wended its way up, in and around giants whose enormous moss-covered roots crisscrossed the forest floor. I stumbled over them several times. If not for Eric’s steady hand, I would have fallen. Because the going was so tricky, it was difficult to keep an eye out for Cloë. Every once and a while Eric or I would stop, hoping to catch sight of her, but finally realized that in the thick forest she could be walking only metres away and we would never know.
Sound was once again muffled into silence by the relentless moss. Like the calm before a storm the stillness had a menacing feel to it, no doubt augmented by the eerie half-light we were walking through. Although Becky and Two Finger had a fair lead on us, because of the man’s slow, almost halting gait, we were closing in on them. Apart from the four of us, the forest seemed devoid of life. Not a squirrel twitched or a bird fluttered. I wondered where Louise, Siggy, and the others were.
The path grew steeper, the trees smaller— if you could call a metre-thick tree smaller. At one point I thought I heard singing, but when I didn’t hear it again I blamed it on an overactive imagination. We caught up to Becky and Two Finger and slowed our pace to match theirs. The funereal speed didn’t bother me. I wasn’t entirely convinced I wanted to get to wherever Two Finger was taking us.
The trees abruptly stopped and a rock face appeared out of the gloom. Almost vertical, with no obvious footholds, the granite wall looked to be at least ten metres high. It disappeared into the shadows in either direction, with no apparent way around it.
Two Finger stopped and took a few minutes to catch his breath. He seemed unusually thin, so much so that I wondered if he was ill.
“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked Eric.
He shook his head. “I’ve only seen the beach, where Louise told me to stay. She’s good at giving orders.” He grinned. “She wanted me to stop people from going inland.”
“It’s new to me, too,” Becky said.
“Follow me.” An unsmiling Two Finger pointed to the right and started shuffling along the uneven ground next to the cliff face.
Judging by the footprints in the odd patch of bare earth, Louise and Siggy and maybe the others had scrambled along here recently. Given Louise’s stiffness, it wouldn’t have been easy for her. But I had a feeling that her iron will would overcome any pain.
I was concentrating so hard on my footing that I failed to notice Siggy until Two Finger said, “Hey, Scav, any action?”
The Dutchman was sitting on a boulder next to where part of the cliff had crumbled. On his lap rested his rifle.
He stood up as Two Finger approached. “I haven’t seen anybody since Auntie and your brother headed up.” He nodded in our direction. “I see you have company. Auntie said if they came, they were to go too.”
He motioned to a cleft in the wall. About a metre and a half wide, it sliced through the granite to the sky above. Two Finger disappeared into it, as did Becky.
I turned to Eric. “What should we do about your sister?”
“I’m sure she’s around here somewhere.” He looked back the way we’d come. “She’s in rough shape, isn’t she?”
“I’m afraid she might be having a nervous breakdown.”
“She’s always been kind of flighty, but I’ve never seen her this bad. I shouldn’t have let my anger get the better of me. I should’ve stayed in touch.”
“Don’t blame yourself. These things happen. I don’t think there is much either of us can do for her at the moment other than to be there for her while she works her
way through her grief.”
“I know, but hell, she could get us killed in the process. I should’ve recognized how fragile she was and insisted she stay in Queen Charlotte.”
“But we thought this was going to be a simple scattering of Allistair’s ashes. I was hoping it would help.”
“I did too. Instead, it’s become something far riskier. I sure as hell wish I knew what it was about.” Balancing the rifle in his hand, he turned to Siggy. “What’s waiting for us on the other side of this passage? Should I have my gun ready?”
“You won’t be in any danger. If I know Auntie, she will have the situation under control. The rifle is only a precaution.”
“And what is the situation?”
Ignoring Eric’s question, he said, “You better get going.”
“Eric, I’ll wait here in case Cloë comes, okay?” I said. “You go.”
Siggy shook his head. “You can’t stay behind. She wants all of you with her. If the woman comes this way, I’ll send her on. And don’t make any noise. This is a sacred place.”
I entered the defile with the comforting sound of Eric’s footsteps close behind. My nostrils twitched at the dank smell of decay emanating from the darkness. Although light seeped down from above, it was not enough to light up the floor. To help guide me, I kept one hand on the cold, damp wall. I was glad I did when my foot smashed into an unseen rock jutting up from the floor.
“Careful,” Eric whispered placing a bracing hand on my back.
I could just make out Becky’s yellow jacket several metres ahead of me. She appeared to be moving at a higher elevation. Then I felt the gradient rise, until it became fairly steep. The walls grew lower and it got brighter until I could see Becky and Two Finger clearly as they climbed up through the pass. Soon they were in full sunlight as they disappeared over the lip. I stepped into the brilliance with Eric right behind me.
Although I was momentarily blinded, I kept walking until I felt Eric’s restraining hand on my arm. “Stop,” he said.
I’d been walking toward the edge of a cliff.
“Wow!”
Before us stretched the magic of Haida Gwaii; at our feet the undulating forest canopy, and beyond that lay shimmering blue inlets and bays and the rich green of the neighbouring islands. Beyond the islands stretched the endless cerulean expanse of the Pacific Ocean. We were truly at the edge of the world. On either side of our granite perch the mountains continued to rise. We seemed to be in a high valley.
“Fabulous, isn’t it?” Eric said. “But we’ve got to go. The other two went through the trees over there.”
Once again we found ourselves back in the gloom of a dense forest, but these fir trees were neither as tall nor as thick as the giants below. After meandering a short distance, the trail ended at a clearing at another cliff face, this one not as high as the last, but with several yawning gaps in its jagged, lichen-covered surface.
Four people were sitting cross-legged on the moss in a semi-circle facing the wall. One was Louise, resplendent in her ceremonial blanket and cedar hat and looking none the worse for her difficult trip up here. Another was the man I’d seen accosting the new chief at the pole raising, the man Louise said was her nephew Johnnie. He resembled Two Finger in height and facial features, but carried considerably more weight on his tall frame. Like his brother, he wore a ceremonial vest and headband.
As I’d done with his brother, I tried to read guilt in his deeply bronzed face. After all, he was the man being accused of cutting the ropes that killed François. But once again I saw only sombre resignation.
A rifle rested on the man’s legs. Its muzzle was pointed in the direction of the other two people, whose identities came as no surprise: Ernest Paul and Sherry. Neither appeared pleased. Fighting mad was more the expression on Sherry’s face, while Ernest firmed his lips in defeat.
On the ground directly in front of Louise sat a bentwood box with Haida figures painted in red and black on the sides. How sad, I thought, that the only time Allistair was truly Haida was in death. What a difficult decision it must’ve been for Cloë to finally admit that her son belonged as much to the Haida world as to her own.
Without saying a word, Louise motioned for Eric, Becky, and me to join the circle beside her. Raising her eyebrows, she mouthed, “Cloë?” Although she seemed unperturbed by Eric’s response, I thought I heard her mutter, “What will be, will be.”
Two Finger, his rifle firmly gripped in his good hand, took up a position closer to the rock face.
When I sat down I realized we were facing what appeared to be an entrance to a cave, and Two Finger seemed to be guarding it.
Louise continued to sit in silence. Johnnie, his body stiff with tension, flicked his eyes back and forth from the carver to his brother to the cave. Sherry also glanced nervously at the yawning hole, while Ernest ignored it.
Someone was inside. Friend or foe? Probably foe. Why else the guns.
Everyone stiffened as a sudden noise came from the cave. It sounded like something scraping along the ground.
A woman’s voice that seemed familiar said, “Jeez, this had better be worth it.”
Suddenly the filthy back end of a man appeared in the opening. He backed his way out of the hole dragging a wooden box. It, too, was covered with dirt. Pushing the other end of the box was a woman, also crawling on hands and knees and equally dirty. The man, his back still to us, lumbered to his feet and with a forceful tug pulled the box free of the cave. He bent down to help the woman up. Her face was hidden by her long hair. Given her size, I thought for a moment she’d become wedged in the hole, but the man was able to pull her free, and with a “Never again,” she lay splayed out, panting, face down on the soft moss.
Louise coughed.
The man wheeled around and gasped.
The woman raised her head. She narrowed her eyes and directed them straight at Louise. She hissed, “It’s ours. You’re not going to stop us.”
Sixty-Two
I wasn’t surprised, and judging by the expression on Eric’s face, neither was he, to see the new Chief Greenstone and his mother emerging from the cave. The fancy new yacht had been the tip-off. But the shock mirrored on Becky’s face told me she hadn’t suspected.
“What are they doing here?” she asked.
“Yes, tell us.” A smile verging on smugness crept over Louise’s face.
“I don’t have to tell you anything. You’re not the Matriarch anymore,” Rose retorted. “Now get out of my way.”
Gripping the box like a battering ram, she pushed her bulk forward, her son close behind. Before she had gone two steps, Johnnie blocked her way. Even though his rifle remained pointed away from her, the message was clear. His brother, his rifle likewise crossed against his chest, pulled up behind Harry, squeezing the two of them into a vice grip.
“Why don’t the two of you sit down,” Louise said. “I’d like us to discuss this like reasonable Haida.”
The former Greenstone Matriarch sat like a Buddha, calm and serene. From the slight upward twitch of her lips, I thought she might even be enjoying this.
Harry remained standing, as did his mother. When his gaze fell on Ernest and Sherry, he started, as if noticing them for the first time. Ernest shrugged. With the bravado gushing out of him, Harry sank cross-legged to the ground. His mother, on the other hand, continued to stand, her chin jutting out in challenge, the box crushing her bosom.
“Awaay, sit down. It’s over,” Harry said. “Look who else is here.”
“They took us by surprise,” Ernest said.
Rose whirled around to face him. “That woman’s got no rights. We’re still going through with it.”
Sherry bit her bottom lip. “You sure? She said she’d have me arrested.”
“Rose, take a seat and show us what’s inside that marvellous box,” Louise said.
It was indeed a marvellous box, as fine an example of a bentwood box as any we’d seen at the museum. The wood wore the rich mellow shee
n of old cedar. Although the colours of the painted Haida creatures were faded, the carving on the lid didn’t appear to have been blunted by time. Unfortunately the creeping darkness of rot marred one of the bottom corners. This box was very old.
When Rose leaned over to place the box on the ground, a necklace dangled from her neck.
“Hey, that’s Allie’s,” Becky cried out. “I’d know that jade necklace anywhere.”
Rose grabbed the pendant and slipped it under the neck of her sweatshirt. But not before I also saw the familiar green stone.
“You stole it!” I hissed. “You broke into my sister-in-law’s room, knocked her unconscious, and stole it.”
For a moment, Rose seemed at a loss for words. Then she turned to her son and was about to say something when he spoke up. “I did it. But I didn’t mean to hurt your sister. It was an accident.”
“I don’t think Cloë would agree. What’s so valuable about the necklace that you had to steal it?” I asked.
“Yes, tell us,” Louise said.
“Why should I?” Rose shot back. “You’re the one who knows all about it.” With a groan she eased herself to the ground.
“But your son stole it. He must’ve had a good reason.”
Harry looked at his mother and started to speak, but she cut in. “What can I say? He loves his mother. I saw the white woman wearing it. Admired it. And Harry, wanting to please his mother, borrowed it.”
“Borrowed? Yeah, right,” I retorted. “But more importantly, when could you have seen Cloë wearing it? The only time she had it was when you were caught up in the pole raising and potlatch, and she didn’t go to either.”
“Okay, okay, I told Harry,” Ernest said. Rose glared at him.
“Why? What would it mean to him?”
“Yes, do tell us,” Louise said.
“You know perfectly well,” Rose answered.
“I want to hear it from you.”
Rose clamped her mouth shut and jutted her chin out in a show of refusal. She jammed the box against her thigh and kept her hand firmly on it.
Silver Totem of Shame Page 26
